nattysbg

20 she/her

[wandanatgf]

CALL OUT MY NAME

– summary it slipped out of your mouth before it even registered in your brain, you just called wanda ‘mommy’ by accident and she doesn’t seem to mind ? [f!reader x mommy!wanda]

– warnings mommy kink , fingering, finger sucking, thigh riding, marking, teasing, feral wanda :3, overstimulation, degrading, biting, spanking, name calling (sweetheart, good girl, malysh, etc.), kinda badly written aftercare ngl, not proofread, men & minors dni

– a/n comeback after 5 months, i've been busy bc of school :(( hope yall like this and are as feral for mommy wanda as i am

wanda had you cradled against her. your back against her front as she slipped her ringed fingers in and out of your crying cunt. she spoke the dirtiest words with the sweetest fucking tone as she thrusted her fingers into you, her other hand wiping tears away from your cheek.

"i can't, i can't, please! s' too much!" you cried into her chest, thighs begging to be closed because even you came down from your third orgasm, wanda never stopped the pace.

finally, she pulls her glistening fingers out of your cunt for the first time in… god knows how long, then holds it up to your face, spreading her fingers to show you the string of wetness connecting them.

“if you wanted me to stop you wouldn’t be making such a mess, hm ?” wanda hums, her lips brushing against your ear. she pushes her fingers into your mouth, pressing them against your tongue and making you taste yourself before thrusting the spit-soaked fingers back into your dripping cunt with a low groan. 

“your mouth is telling me to stop…” she sighs, “but your pussy,” she lightly pinches your clit, sending waves of electricity up your spine and a loud moan out of your mouth, “is telling me a different story…” 

“f-fuck !” you cry, tears brimming in your eyes, your thighs are trying their best to clamp shut but wanda keeps them open by hooking her legs around yours. 

your back arches against her front, “mommy please ! i can’t-” 

the title slips out of your mouth before it even registers in your brain. 

then your eyes widen, you realise your slip up. wanda’s fingers stop their relentless thrusting.

“i- i don’t know why i said that…” you push yourself away from wanda and quickly scramble to explain yourself, “i- i didn’t mean to say that, it just slipped out, im sorry wand-”

before you can even complete your sentence, wanda reaches for your waist and flips your body around so you’re now lying on your back, she hovers over you and her fingers enter you again, “no, not wanda,” she shakes her head lightly, her face right above yours as her eyes darken in a way you haven’t seen before, "i'm your mommy, isn’t that right ?” she fucks into you even harder. 

hearing wanda’s words, your pussy clenches around her fingers, a moan slips out of your lips as your hips jerk upwards against her hand, the movement presses your clit against her palm and your thighs immediately attempt to clamp shut despite the intrusion that is wanda’s body between them. 

“yeah, that’s it sweetheart,” she mumbles, pressing kisses against your neck, her movements are sloppy and feral, teeth scraping against your skin and her free hand grabbing for whatever part of your body is available to her. she palms your breast before her nails dig into the soft skin, sure to leave red crescent moon shaped marks for the next few days. 

but wanda still needs more, needs more contact, so her legs straddle your thigh as she continues pumping her fingers into you, her hips grind against your thigh and you can feel the wet patch forming on her panties. 

“w-wanda what are y- too much- fuck…” you cry, her fingers pushing in and out of your pussy in a way you’ve never felt, her fingers repeatedly hit that spongey part inside of you making you let out a whorish moan at every thrust. 

then a bite against a particularly sensitive part of your neck, the pain shoots through your body sharply but then melts down into a hot achy feeling between your legs that makes you grind against wanda’s fingers. you gasp and immediately reach for wanda’s head, not exactly pushing her away but your fingers tangle in her red hair, grasping at her scalp. 

“what did i just tell you, huh ?” wanda asks you condescendingly, her lips brushing against your neck as she spoke, “just a dumb little girl…” she murmurs. 

wanda’s lips finally leave your neck so her head can come up to look you in the eye, her pupils are blown in a way you never thought possible and glued to the way your eyes are brimming with fresh tears. her hand cups your cheek and her thumb brushes against your lips with uncharacteristic sweetness, you lean into her touch as you let out unintelligible whines. 

“toomuchtoomuchtoomuch,” you cry, your face almost trying to burrow into wanda’s hand for some form of comfort as you squirm in her grasp, trying to escape the way she's plowing her fingers into your pussy. you were feeling so fucking sensitive after the many orgasms she gave you and she was anything but caring towards the way you were feeling right now. your hands reach between your thighs for wanda’s, grasping at her forearm to try to get her to slow down. 

“uh uh, malysh,” she tuts, removing her hand from your cheek to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, “you wanted me to be your mommy, right ?” she asks with a slight tilt of her head, a small smirk forming on her lips, “i’m just giving you what you want.” 

“maybe my ears are broken but… i don’t hear you saying your safe word, so lie there and take it like a good girl,” wanda’s voice is smooth as honey as she speaks, “you don’t want me to tie you up, do you ?” and it isn't a threat, it isn’t a question either, it’s a promise of what she’ll do to you if you deny her. 

you panickily shake your head, “no- no i dont want that.” you hiccup, already imagining how long you'll be in this position if she ties you up, body vulnerable to everything she wants to do to you and more. 

“that’s what i thought,” she smiles and then leans down to kiss your tear stained cheeks “now be a good girl for mommy, hm ? let mommy use you.”

wanda removes her grasp from your wrists, trusting that you’ll leave your arms up there and you do, hands curling up in an attempt to stop yourself from pushing wanda away from your sensitive cunt. 

“what’s my name ?” she asks, her eyes scanning your face for every tremor of your lips and flutter of your eyelashes, she wants to make sure you give her the right answer, the answer you were giving her just now before getting so embarrassed.

you know what she wants to hear but that embarrassment adorning your cheeks doesn’t want to give in, doesn’t let you say what she wants to hear or what you, deep down, want to say. you open your mouth nervously, lips trembling as you give her your answer.

“wan-” 

wrong answer. 

suddenly there’s a red hot sting between your legs. wanda’s hand comes down on your clit, smacking it with precision, your thighs immediately try to clamp shut but wanda’s knee between your legs pushes outwards and makes sure that you can’t. 

“no mommy, no !” you cry, hands immediately leaving their position above their head to try to push her hand away, “i’m sorry mommy ! please mommy !” you sob, immediately giving in to what she wants to hear, you didn’t need anymore convincing. 

wanda hums, a little sound of satisfaction. 

“hands back up.” wanda gives you a look, a reminder of her previous promise. her hand hovers above your clit as well, prepared to smack you again if you didn’t listen. 

you agonisingly slowly put your hands back up above your head with a whine, a small protest of your own that wanda chooses not to do anything about. your legs are trembling, prepared to clamp shut again if she tries to smack you again.

“good girl.” she praises, her finger delve back into the velvety walls of your pussy with a small smile on her lips.

as wanda settles back into her rhythm, the pace is no longer just frantic, it’s relentless and methodical, every thrust of her fingers aim to draw a noise out of you, a whimper, a moan, a whine, it’s all music to wanda’s ears. her pussy continues grinding against your thigh, her arousal spreading across the expanse of your skin as she angles herself so that her clit hits against you perfectly every time, when she finally finds that spot her eyes roll back and she bites her lip, she lets out shallow breaths and small grunts as her hips grind against your thigh with the same rhythm that her fingers are fucking into you. her fingers hook deep in your cunt finding that sensitive, swollen spot and your hips buck upwards involuntarily. 

“for someone who wanted me to stop, you seem awfully desperate…” wanda mutters, her voice dropping into that register that makes your stomach fill with jittery butterflies. 

your cheeks grow into an even darker shade of red if possible from hearing her words. your hips grind against her hand as she fucks you, everything that happened, the way she smacked your  pussy, her fingers in your cunt, the humiliation from accidentally calling her mommy, her lower register, it all melted together into a hot tingly knot in your lower stomach. 

“fuck…” wanda groans, her hips pushing against your thigh with her head keeled back. she looks down at her fingers disappearing in and out of your pussy and almost has to stop herself from letting out a moan. 

“gonna cum all pretty on mommy’s fingers like a good girl ?” wanda watches you get closer, watches that feeling build up again despite the overstimulation, all while knowing that you know she’s not gonna stop. 

“i can’t, mommy… its too much…” you whine. 

“yes you can, malysh. you’re gonna cum for me one last time, just- fuck- one more and we’re all done,” wanda bites her lip, rubbing your clit even harder, her hips starting to grind against your hips sloppier, her breaths get shallower, clear that she was also close. 

your back arches violently with the way her fingers curl into you and your walls clench around her fingers, practically sucking her in. 

“just one more lyubov, i know my good girl can do it.” her voice feels like a hot chill running down your spine. her voice trembles as she speaks, she’s almost there too. 

every muscle in your body locks tight, your back bowing off the mattress as a loud combination of a moan and whine gets torn out of your lungs. it’s all too much and too everything and all you can do is ride the sensation that wanda is making you endure. 

before you know it, your legs shake and you cover wanda’s hand with your release. wanda’s hips press particularly hard against your thigh and she cums not too long after, her fingers in your cunt stopping their motions as her pussy squirts all over your thigh. 

“good girl- good fucking girl- god- mommy’s dirty little girl” wanda gasps, she leans forward and trails kisses against your neck, moving up until her lips meet yours. 

“mommy don’t stop, mommy please-” you cry against her lips, hips wiggling, clearly wanting her fingers in you again. wanda lets you ride out your orgasm on her fingers, it feels all too much and you were clearly too sensitive down there right now but it just felt so fucking good you couldn’t get enough. 

“thank you mommy- thank you thank you thank you” you mumble as you come down from your orgasm, “thank you mommy.” 

your head gets fuzzy and goes to that floaty headspace wanda loves you in, you feel like you’re floating, held in place and still on earth only by the weight of wanda’s body and the heavy intoxicating pull of her presence. 

when the aftershocks begin to subside, leaving you heavy limbed and too tired to move, you feel wanda’s fingers leave you and you whine, not enjoying the fullness that was taken away from you. then you feel a kiss against your forehead, wanda says a few words that didn’t register in your brain and her presence falls away. 

a few seconds after she leaves is only when you truly realise that she’s left. your eyes blink against the lights that look way harsher than usual and you bite your lip anxiously. 

“mommy ? mommy where are you…” you mumble, curling in on yourself, missing her warmth. 

her voice comes from afar, “i’m coming malysh, mommy’s right here, she just went to grab something to make you feel better, okay baby ?” 

it all went in one ear and out the other for you, just a string of words pieced together that didn’t make any sense. 

just as you were about to call for her again, she appears in front of you, you smile and your arms weakly reach out for her.

“want you.” 

wanda lets out a happy sigh, “we gotta clean you up moya lyubov, afterwards we can cuddle okay ?” 

you nod sleepily, feeling wanda press the warm towel against your skin. you wiggle a little when wanda softly rubs the towel against your sticky inner thighs, they still felt sensitive and the towel felt rough against your skin. 

“shhh it’s okay baby, we’re almost done,” wanda reassures you, making quick work with cleaning your thighs before moving on. it was probably only 5 minutes but it already felt like hours to you. 

when wanda was finally done, she leaves you again for a moment, but this time she gives you a pillow to cuddle while you waited. 

she took her time away to put the towel in the laundry basket and clean herself up but before you knew it, you felt a dip in the bed and slender arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to wanda. 

she pulls you close and guides your head to rest against her chest, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. 

“you did so good for me today malysh, i love you so much,” she mutters praises between kisses against your head. all the while, your eyes slowly flutter shut as you drift away, listening to the sound of wanda’s voic as you fall asleep.

– a/n can u guys tell idk how to write orgasms and aftercare idk. i like lowkey need to start reading more orgasm and (especially) aftercare writing this is embarrassing 💔 like i want everyone to know that this fic was delayed by a day bc i didn’t like how i wrote the aftercare, i still don’t and cringed at it but i gave up 🥲🥲🥲

extra a/n this is my third attempt at posting this tumblr pls stop being mean, im just a girl who wants mommy wanda inside of me okay thank you

[westwriteswhatever]

Take a Breath

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: You love giving Natasha control of your body, but you had never given her control of your breathing before. After a self-defense lesson, you discover you may like it more than you think.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+, daddy kink, top Natasha, dom/sub undertones, age gap, breath play, throat grabbing kink, new kink discovery, grinding, fingering (r receiving), some plot, a lil degradation, thigh smacks (like twice), scissoring (both ofc) , a lil overstimulation, making out, a lil subspace, aftercare

A/N: finished this fic on a flight with a man looking over my shoulder trying to see what i'm doing. like sir, this isn't for you. —

The discovery comes slowly. So slowly, that even with your back pressed against Natasha's front and her arm wrapped around your neck trying to teach you self-defense, the dots don't connect.

"Baby, I'm only going to squeeze for a second so you know what the technique is, but always know you can tap my arm at any time before then if you feel uncomfortable or unsafe." Natasha meets your eyes in the mirror. Her arm is only wrapped loosely, allowing you to tilt your head up to maintain contact. You give her a mischievous smile.

"Well, I didn't feel unsafe in the first place, but someone insisted on teaching me self-defense," you respond with a teasing lilt.

Natasha rolls her eyes in that playful way she does when she wants to be annoyed with you but can't quite manage it.

"Sue me for wanting you to be safe," she says with exasperation, but the underlying worry in her voice grows. "There's been a rise in crime in the area and I can't always pick you up from your university. What if something happens when you're walking back home?"

You let your head drop down with a sigh. As you do, her forearm presses lightly against your throat. You know she's right. It's why, despite all your whining about how much you don't want to learn, you still ended up in the home gym in this exact position.

In front of this mirror, sunlight glinting off it from the midday rays coming through the windows, Natasha annoyed behind you. You pick your head back up, tapping it lightly against her bicep with a little smirk.

"I'd probably be fine. Like I have been this entire time." Light sarcasm bleeds through every word.

You feel Natasha inhale deeply, her chest expanding against your back, before letting out a heavy sigh that brushes against the crown of your head. It's the quiet fear and worry in her eyes that finally makes you knock it off. That, and the fact that you've complained before every single technique she's tried to show you for the past thirty minutes.

"But since you insist…" you drawl out, softening your posture.

"I do insist," she responds, completely deadpan.

You give her a little grin through the mirror, matching her gaze. "Ready whenever you are."

"I've been ready for the past five minutes," she mutters under her breath.

Her expression shifts. The playful irritation vanishes, replaced by the cool, focused seriousness of an instructor. "Okay, I'm going to squeeze gradually since this is just to show you."

She pulls you closer, erasing the remaining space between your bodies until your spine is flush against her. She secures her arm more tightly around your neck, the crook of her elbow aligning under your chin, while her bicep and forearm lock against either side of your throat.

You drag your eyes up, your gaze immediately drawn to Natasha's face that's looking down at you with concentration. Even without her squeezing yet, the muscles of her arm are prominent, all of them viewable from the tank top she's wearing. Your gaze shifts.

Your breath catches in your throat, not from her pressing yet, but from how the two of you look in the mirror. You love giving Natasha control over you, over your body, but you had never given her control of your breathing before.

She's just trying to teach you something, you chastise yourself internally, clearing your head when you feel Natasha begin to squeeze.

Pressure builds on both sides of your throat, making breathing more difficult, but not impossible. Heat starts to build in your face as blood becomes trapped. Your hearing begins to become muffled as Natasha squeezes harder, her bicep and forearm pressed tightly against your neck.

"Okay, baby," Natasha says through the ringing in your ears, "I'm only going to do the full hold for a second, remember what I told you earlier."

And then the pressure reaches its height. Her arm presses painfully against the sides of your throat. That lightheaded, fuzzy feeling you get when you stand up too fast immediately washes over you, your vision beginning to narrow. Your heart beats rapidly, threatening to explode out of your chest.

But then, Natasha releases you, wrapping her arms around your waist and holding you against her. You slump forward, your breaths coming out ragged through your mouth, your body trying to regulate itself.

You knew you weren't in danger. It was Natasha after all. You expected to feel relief after she released you. But what you weren't expecting was the rush.

This is what you imagine being high feels like. The oxygen-rich blood rushing back to your head feels like it was injected with exhilaration. Your limbs tingle pleasantly, warmth rushing through the rest of your body.

The sounds of your own breathing finally register in your ears and the tingling begins to fade away. You tilt your chin up, meeting Natasha's observant gaze in the mirror. But most of all, you notice your own eyes, wide and bright. You hadn't even realized the corners of your lips were upturned.

"Are you okay, detka?" Natasha asks, staring at you seriously.

You school your features as the fuzziness completely fades away. What was that? you wonder, but you notice Natasha is beginning to look concerned.

You give her a wide smile. "I'm okay," you promise her, your voice a little scratchy. "Now, are you going to show me how to get out of it?" you ask, straightening your posture. You lean your back against her and tilt your chin up, looking up at her playfully.

She looks down at you with a teasing smile. "I will, but can you try not to stall by complaining this time?"

She releases her arms from around your waist when she feels you wiggle against her. You turn around to face her, leveling her with a playful glare. "I wasn't stalling."

"Yeah, yeah," Natasha says sarcastically, turning around and waving her hand like she doesn't believe you.

She walks across the gym to grab her water bottle. You trail behind her, wanting to bother her a little more.

It's two steps in before you feel the uncomfortable stickiness in your panties.

—

It's a week later when you remember the way you felt during your self-defense training with Natasha. You had passed off the heat that you felt, deciding that it was probably just because of your close proximity to her. Life went on with you going to classes, finishing assignments, and meeting friends. All while missing Natasha, who was on a business trip for five days.

Or at least, it was supposed to be for five days.

"I just couldn't stand not being with my princess for any longer," Natasha breathes out against your lips, her hand tilting your chin up as she presses your back against the front door.

The cool wood of the door seeps through your shirt, making you shiver against her.

"I… I missed you," you murmur honestly, still in shock by her sudden arrival a day early. You meet her gaze with wide, innocent eyes as she rubs your bottom lip with her thumb. She's looking at you with so much affection that it makes your heart ache.

You wrap your arms around her waist, clutching the fabric of her blazer in your fists. She takes a step closer to you, if that's even possible, your head tapping softly against the door.

Her grip on your chin tightens. "I missed you too, baby girl. If only I could work from home all the time and keep you locked up here with me," she muses, looking up for a moment like she's actually thinking of a plan to make it happen.

She looks back down at you with an innocent smile, leaning her head down closer to you until your foreheads tap gently against one another. "But for now… I just want to spend time with my princess."

Her lips are just barely touching yours, the slight movement of her lips against yours making you want more.

"Natty…" you mumble against her lips, your eyes full of want.

You barely have time to blink before her lips capture yours in a searing kiss. Your head presses further against the door. The feeling of her lips melding with yours, her tongue pushing through the small gap between your lips, makes you feel lightheaded.

Her thumb hooks over your chin, forcing your jaw down to deepen the angle. Her other fingers spread across the side of your neck. The contact is light, but the heat of her fingers is immediate.

Her tongue wrestles with yours. It's a familiar game of dominance that you always play with her, even though you know you'll always lose. You feel her fingers press a bit harder against your pulse point the moment you try to fight back, sending tingles throughout your body. It's the same feeling from when you were in the gym with her a week ago.

She presses her tongue down against yours, finally winning the game. You feel the slight curve of her smile against your lips before she explores your mouth like a victory lap. You bite down on her tongue lightly. It's a silent, stubborn reminder that you aren't taking the loss lying down.

You feel her tongue pause its exploration, her breath brushing against your face as she huffs in disbelief. Suddenly, she shifts her leg between yours. Her free hand pushes you down by the shoulder, forcing your core flat against her knee as she follows your lips.

You gasp when the solid muscle of her thigh presses against your clit.

She begins to bounce her leg, releasing and returning the pressure over and over again. Natasha's lips leave yours for a moment, and the muffled moans previously hidden behind the kiss finally ring clear in your own ears.

"Natty…" you moan breathlessly, inhaling sharply when she bounces her leg a bit harder, driving your body down harshly against her thigh. "Need more," you whine, gazing up at her pleadingly. The few seconds of contact aren't nearly enough.

She raises a brow at you, her thumb dropping from your chin to the other side of your neck. "Then don't mess with me, baby," she growls before forcing her tongue into your mouth again.

Her hand grips your throat lightly, holding you in place. The slight pressure makes every breath just a bit difficult. Excitement courses through your body at the restriction, heat beginning to pool deep in your stomach.

You don't quite understand why, but you want Natasha to take more. You want her to hold your breath in her hands.

You release one hand from its grip on her blazer, sliding it up the arm that's holding your neck. You place your palm over hers, feeling the prominent veins in the back of her hand. Her fingers twitch at the unexpected touch.

Between the heat of her tongue and the tightening in your airway, your thoughts grow fuzzy. You press down on her fingers before you can think twice. Finding her thumb, you force it down against the other side of your throat—cutting off the oxygen more and drawing a strangled gasp from your lungs when you try to breathe in.

You feel the bounce in Natasha's leg pause, your full weight resting against her thigh when your knees buckle. Her fingers twitch, trying to release their grip on your throat, but you don't let her.

Her face pulls away from yours. Her expression morphs into puzzlement as she takes in your face. You hold her gaze even when your vision begins to tunnel at the edges.

You know she could easily break your grip and move her hand away if she wanted to. She knows it, too.

The sounds of your choked gasps begin to fade. You squint your eyes against the static forming in your vision.

Natasha's puzzled expression shifts, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile of disbelief. Her eyes dance with that familiar, dark amusement—the same look you've seen before when your body is trying to swallow a thick strap she bought.

Your grip on her hand loosens as your consciousness begins to slip. The moment your fingers fall away, Natasha releases the pressure, and your lungs force you to inhale sharply, desperately pushing oxygen through your body.

Your chest heaves as you slump forward, your forehead tapping against Natasha's chest.

You feel the blood begin to flow rapidly back into your head and limbs. The tingling in your fingers feels like sharp pinpricks, but the dopamine flooding your body along with the oxygen stops any real pain. The pressure of Natasha's thigh against your clit feels ten times more sensitive. Your body squirms against her to chase the friction before you even realize what you're doing.

Natasha gaze drops to your hips before her dark eyes lock back onto yours with certainty. A slow, knowing look crosses her face. Her body shifts slightly, and suddenly you hear her breath right against your ear.

"And here I thought I was the only crazy one," she murmurs, her hot breath sending pleasant shivers down the side of your body. Your soaking panties press uncomfortably against you, making you whine. You reach for her hand shakily, bringing it to the waistband of your pants.

"Off," you whine, your voice raspy but airy like you're in a dream.

Natasha leans back, you catch the tail end of her rolling her eyes before she raises a brow at you. She breaks your grip on her hand easily, moving both her hands beneath your thighs. She smacks the back of one of them lightly. Even with the light contact, it sends a jolt through your leg, making tears form in your eyes from how sensitive your entire body feels.

"You're not the one in charge here. Do you understand?" she grits out lowly.

You look up at her slowly, giving her that teary, apologetic pout that she loves. "Yes, sir," you mumble defeatedly.

She smacks your thigh again but a little harder this time, making you gasp and your eyes widen, a tear finally streaming down your cheek.

"That's Daddy to you."

Your lips jut out in a harsher pout. "You said only in the bedroom."

She leans back a bit more, hoisting you up. Your legs wrap around her automatically and you press your cheek against her shoulder, peering up at her. She raises a brow at you while turning around and walking further into the house.

"Where do you think we're heading?" she asks, amusement and arousal dancing in her eyes.

—

The sounds of your muffled, whiny moans echo through the bedroom. The wet, sticky sounds whenever Natasha drives her fingers into you make more of your arousal gush out around her hand.

You're face down, your cheek pressed against the silk sheets, your bottom up in the air as Natasha drives three fingers deep inside you over and over again relentlessly. Your ripped panties are strewn haphazardly next to your face, the rest of both your clothes thrown around the room.

Natasha couldn't help herself anymore the moment she'd carried you in here. She'd held the pieces of your panties up in front of you mockingly when she saw how soaked they were, telling you they were ruined anyways.

Her fingers curl perfectly against the soft, spongy spot inside you that she knows so well, making your fingers tighten around the sheets.

"D-daddy," you stutter out, moaning in between every syllable. "Gonna cum."

Her pace doesn't slow, rather, she rams her fingers even deeper, curling them at just the right moment as they retract. You shift your eyes until you can just make her out through your blurry, tear filled vision.

She has a wicked grin on her face, her gaze dropped low, watching her fingers go in and out of you. Her breaths quickening whenever you cry out when her fingers tap against the deepest part of you.

Her eyes drift to yours, her pupils so dilated, you can barely see the vibrant green you love so much.

"Look at you dripping all over the sheets. You couldn't just ruin your panties, huh? Had to ruin my sheets as well." You look down past your breasts. A thick string of your slick drools down your folds connecting to Natasha's expensive sheets, collecting there and darkening the fabric.

You close your eyes immediately, heat rushing up your neck to your cheeks. Natasha laughs behind you, her pace slowing slightly but making sure the tips of her fingers drag at just the right spots. You turn your head, muffling the cry that's forced out of your mouth when she uses her other hand to press a fingertip against your clit and drag it around.

She begins to circle your clit faster, her fingers driving into you following suit. The heat in your body spreads, concentrating around where she's touching you. The feeling of her touch only grows more sensitive, your insides throbbing against Natasha's fingers and tightening whenever she hits deep, like your body doesn't want to let her go.

"Cum whenever, baby. But just know, Daddy's not done with you," she informs you with an amused lilt, her voice a little breathless. The promise of what's to come makes the tension in your lower tummy grow, the heat becoming molten. All you can feel is her fingers stretching you out, her fingertip playing with your sensitive nub.

It only takes a few more thrusts of her fingers until the coil inside of your tummy shatters into pieces. Your bottom trembles against Natasha's bare torso as she releases your clit, placing her hand on your hip and pulling you back against her then away, her fingers moving in and out of you at the movement.

"Daddy s-stop," you force out, your voice shaking when Natasha continues, your body becoming overly sensitive. Her fingers dig into your hipbone.

"My baby girl wants to stop?" she asks sympathetically. It only lasts for a moment before the edge in her voice returns. "That's funny when you're the one who won't let me go." Your cheeks flush when you realize how tightly your walls are holding her fingers in place. You whine into the sheets when Natasha lets out a bright laugh.

"Fine fine," she says with a sigh, acting as though she's conceding. She wiggles her fingers out from your tight hole with effort, bringing her sticky fingers to your other hip.

"But it's Daddy's turn now," she announces suddenly, not giving you a moment before she flips you onto your back.

Your eyes blink open in surprise, drifting up Natasha's naked body to her face. She doesn't meet your eyes. Her gaze is lower, settling just below your chin.

"I guess everyone will know you're mine," she murmurs, her eyes darkening. "How could they not, when the imprint of my hand is right here on your neck?"

The corners of her lips curve into a satisfied smirk.

Your hand finds its way to your neck, your fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin where she held you earlier. The feeling makes a bolt of thrill shoot down your throat to your lower tummy, igniting the flames all over again.

Your breaths quicken as Natasha easily lifts one of your legs, placing it over her shoulder and exposing your core completely. She leans forward, driving your leg back closer to your torso. Her hand finds its way between your breasts, right over your sternum, resting her palm heavy against your skin.

"Ah!" you cry out at the unexpected sensation of Natasha pressing her clit against yours. It feels more sensitive then when she had been circling it earlier, the coil in your tummy tightening again. You try to squirm away, but she only shifts closer, pressing her hand harder against your chest, effectively holding you in place.

Your breathing becomes labored as she begins circling her hips, the most sensitive part of you rubbing against hers in an agonizingly slow rhythm. You look up at Natasha, your eyes pricking with tears from the overstimulation.

Her face is flushed, her eyes wide, still glued onto your neck as if she's looking at a wonderful view rather than the splotchy marks on your neck. Maybe they're the same thing for her.

She thrusts her hips harder into yours, the pressure between your cores growing. You hadn't noticed outside of the sounds of your increasingly ragged breaths, the slick sounds coming from where she's pressed against you. Your eyes drift down, finally noticing her arousal sticking to the sides of her inner thighs. Her slick melds with yours, creating a sticky mess between you that makes her clit slide against yours easily.

"Fuck," Natasha groans, her eyes close for a moment as she rolls her hips against you. Her hands presses down harder against your chest, making it more difficult for your lungs to expand. She opens her eyes, the green in them mere slits as her other hand slides up to your neck, her thumb tracing the line of your throat with deliberate pressure.

"You think I didn't notice the look on your face in the gym a week ago?" she taunts, her fingers tightening slightly against your skin. "Those bright eyes, that excited smile on your face. And then at the door when you forced my fingers to press against your throat." Her voice begins to strain as the motion of her hips begins to stutter.

You let out a garbled cry when her clit slides against yours aggressively, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks at the overwhelming ache in your lower tummy, the coil threatening to snap at any moment. Natasha's looking down at you almost drunkenly, her hand around your throat, her palm pressing into your chest making it harder and harder to breathe. The pressure mounting in your head, your thoughts turning fuzzy along with your vision.

"Daddy… p-please," you choke out, your voice raw and strained against the pressure on your throat. You don't even know what you're asking for. For her to squeeze harder, for her to roll her hips more, or for her to let you cum.

You let Daddy decide.

And in true fashion, she does all three.

She leans her head in close to yours, her jaw clenched tight as her movements become erratic against you. Your airy moans, the sound of you struggling to take a breath, and you whispering "Daddy" despite it all, driving her crazy.

"Fuck, baby," she grits out. "You crazy girl. You're making Daddy go insane."

She looks down at your hazy eyes, her breaths just as ragged as yours despite her airway being clear. The sticky concoction of your arousal is spreading all over you—your folds, your clit, and your inner thighs. Your vision starts to fade slightly, the edges becoming fuzzy.

Suddenly, Natasha's head drops down beside yours. Her long, low moan is barely audible to you as she releases your throat and moves her hand off your chest, placing her palms on either side of your body instead. Her hips stutter against you, her clit sliding against yours then missing entirely at random intervals, making it hard for your body to keep up.

The rush you felt in the gym and at the doorway doesn't even compare. It's like a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away, your consciousness flickering despite the harsh breaths you take in and release. Your entire body trembles uncontrollably at the dizzying electricity flowing through you. It feels like you could float away from the sheer lightheadedness, your head completely empty as oxygen perfuses through your body like a drug.

Your limbs tingle, your breaths taking ages to slow. Natasha recovers faster than you. Her hand, still sticky with your slick from earlier, cups your cheek. Her finger taps against your skin at a steady rhythm, and your breathing slowly begins to match the beats.

The sound of both your breaths finally registers in your ears. You hadn't even noticed Natasha moving your leg back down. It rests flat against the mattress now, Natasha laying on her side and looking at you with a soft, satisfied expression. She doesn't stop her rhythm.

You blink slowly. The lingering shocks in your body begin to fade, though the surface of your skin remains hyper-sensitive. Natasha gently rolls you onto your side, scooching you closer until your ear is pressed flat against her chest. Her tapping stops, letting the steady thump of her heartbeat do the work of grounding you instead.

Your thoughts feel distant, like they're on a deserted island while you're floating on the sea.

You just want to be with Natasha.

You squish your cheek closer against her skin, wanting to feel her more. Her hand rubs your back soothingly.

"We can lie for a bit," Natasha murmurs quietly, using that soft tone she saves for when she thinks you're on the verge of sleeping. "But I'm going to have to bring you water soon."

You let out a raspy groan against her chest. You don't need water. You just need her.

You hear the rumble of Natasha's low chuckle against your ear. "I know you don't like it, crazy baby. But it's necessary." Her feet tangle with yours under the sheets. Her voice lights up with a teasing lilt. "And here I thought I was the kinky one."

You roll your eyes lightly, not having the energy to do anything more. She's definitely still the kinkier one.

"Hey, I felt that, you know," she teases. Then, her tone turns more serious. "I could tell you wanted me to, but I didn't squeeze that hard. We need to talk about it more."

"Mmm…" you moan in agreement.

She huffs out a laugh, her chest vibrating under your cheek. "I bet you weren't even paying attention during the self-defense lesson."

You close your eyes tiredly. You were definitely paying attention. — A/N: before you go around doing this to your partner or yourself, just know that anything related to your neck/throat is dangerous 👍

[maximoffsbutch]

Hi. Could I request a stepdadNat of when she took readers virginity or when they had sex for the very first time together? You choose if they were alone or if the reader's mom was there and they had to be forcefully silent. thank youuu

i have a similar idea but not for a stepdad fic, so i'm keeping that for a different time. i wanted this one to be a little fucked up, but i feel like i'm still holding back. too scared of freaking you all out. anyway, thank you for the request!

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, heart pounding, wearing nothing but one of your stepdad’s old t-shirts. It’s soft with age, sporting the logo of her favorite sports team, and the thought makes your chest warm.

Natasha’s crosslegged beside you, her face quietly contemplative. Her hand rests on your thigh soothingly.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she murmurs, voice low. “I can go back to my room, pretend I was never here.”

“I want to,” you whisper back, and your cheeks burn. “But I’m nervous.”

Natasha’s face softens. She leans in, and you tilt your face for easier access as she kisses you slowly. “My sweet girl,” your stepfather murmurs. “I’m gonna take good care of you.”

And when she lays you back and spreads your legs wide, she wastes no time putting her mouth right between your legs. Your hips snap upward at the familiar hot touch, and you moan softly as she devours your soaked cunt.

Slowly, her tongue slips into you until you’re dripping, grasping the sheets and whimpering. After what seems like an age, Natasha finally sits up to kneel between your thighs. Something warm slaps heavy against your slick cunt, and you gasp.

“I’m gonna put it in now, okay, baby?” Your stepfather’s face is only inches away from yours, her breath warm on your face, and you nod slowly.

The blunt tip presses against your entrance, and then slowly, achingly, she moves her hips forward, and it pushes in. A gasp is torn from your chest with the intrusion. The sharp, burning sting makes tears spill down your face.

“Daddy… it hurts,” you whimper, sight blurring with tears.

Natasha freezes, leaning down to kiss your hair, your wet cheeks. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry it hurts,” she groans, voice thick with lust and regret that swirl together dizzyingly. “Just breathe for me. It’ll feel so good soon, I promise.”

She sinks deeper, and your hands scramble to grasp her broad shoulders. Every inch has disappeared inside you, and Natasha keeps her hips still to let you adjust to the new sensation. When she catches your wide, hazy eyes, she smiles, a genuine one, and leans down to kiss you softly. “You’re so good for me, baby. Look how well you take me.”

The burn slowly melts into a deep, aching fullness, and Natasha starts moving in slow, deep thrusts that make obscene sounds every time she bottoms out. Your whimpers turn into desperate moans, your nails digging into her skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” she growls, hips rolling harder. “You kept your virginity for me to take, didn’t you? You wanted Daddy to take it.”

Your words slip out between broken sobs. “Don’t– I don’t trust anyone else–”

The words are sick. Natasha can’t help how hard her cock throbs. She groans loudly, her brow furrowing as she fucks you as slowly as she can manage, resisting the urge to quicken her thrusts, to bury her cock deep in your hot cunt. 

“That’s right, baby,” she breathes shallowly, watching your lips tremble with soft gasps. “No boys. I’m the only one you can trust.”

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

18+ MINORS DNI

or: a lake day turns into a hunt

part of the short n’ sweet universe

a/n: the header took me forever and im still not sure i like it so please be nice. also first time writing primal play and though i tried to do enough research idk if this is terribly inaccurate so i apologize in advance lmao

summary: you and nat try primal play on accident

warnings: smut (penetration/p in v), primal play, unprotected sex, kinda exhibitionism ig are you tired of this tag yet, nat being an ass, blood, alcohol

word count: 4.2k

It's the third time her hand has slipped under your bikini. It was resting on your lower thigh at first, fingers brushing just underneath the snug fabric. Her palm, warm and a little rough against your skin. Lake water clinging to everything.

Nobody notices. They don't really care. It's a hot, humid summer night. They're preoccupied with getting rid of all the beer before it gets warm. Still, a few eyes turn your way when you start mumbling at each other.

"Third time's the charm", she whispers. You look at her, eyebrows kinked. "Don't give me that look."

"Why not?", you whisper back. "That's all it takes, huh?"

She licks her lips. It's been a long day. You got here in the afternoon — you walked around for an hour to find a nice, somewhat secluded spot. You rolled logs so they'd be closer to the shore. You all went into the water to watch the sun dip below the horizon. 

You're not watching anymore. You've slowly moved closer to her, wading deeper into the lake, pressing up against her with your hands linked behind her neck.

Her fingers tap against your ass. She doesn't know what she's hoping for, really — that you'll have sex with her, right then and there, while surrounded by your friends? Surely not. She'll have to wait until you're inside your tent.

"Let's get out of the water", she says, her nose pressed against your forehead. "It's getting late."

"It's, like, 8pm."

A weekend by the lake. It was a collective effort, an idea pitched by Wanda during a movie night. You were watching a comedy movie from your childhood, one you all remember fondly. With none of you being financially equipped to buy a lake house (except for Tony, who stood his ground when saying no), you decided to do the next best thing: dig out your old tents and drive to the nearest lake.

"That is late", she argues. Her voice dips a little more. "I'm going to lick you dry, just so you know."

You scoff and splash a handful of water at her. She laughs and pulls you in again, tasting sweet and a little earthy when she kisses you.

You do eventually make it out of the water. You're shivering, and Natasha grabs her vintage Knicks hoodie to put it on you. The campfire is still lit, crackling and lighting up the surrounding patch of sand. 

"To warm up", Clint says, passing around a flask. "Who's helping me with my tent?"

You sip on the liquor, leaning into Natasha's side. "Not us", she says. "We got our own to put up."

"We?", he repeats. "You're staying in the same tent?"

You smirk against the mouth of the flask. The last time you did something like this — spend the night cramped into Steve's tiny dorm — you woke everyone up. Surprise, you got kicked out, too.

"Oh, come on", Natasha grins. "When we talked about coming here, you sounded very excited about the 'sounds of nature.' Don't complain now."

"Romanoff..."

Wanda, who's sprawled out on the ground with her head resting against a damp log, lightly nudges his ankle. He glances at her with his eyebrows knitted together. She doesn't really mind your antics — she brought her headphones for that reason — and she doesn't see why anyone should start bickering over that, either.

"Why are you surprised?", Natasha asks. "It's not like Laura and you will be practicing chastity all night."

"She's right", Laura remarks.

"See?"

At this point, he's had enough. He makes a dismissive motion with his hand and steals back his flask again, downing the last bit of whiskey that was in there. It'll be a long night.

You get up half an hour later. Steve is still poking at the campfire, and Wanda is trying to convince Daisy to ditch her own tent and sleep in hers. You watch Natasha dig through the stack of tents until she finds the one you brought.

"Need help with that?", you ask, tilting your head and twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

"I got it", she says, heaving it over her shoulder. "Where do we put it?"

"Somewhere private!", Clint shouts. You shoot a smirk his way before turning towards her again.

"Right there", you say, guiding her closer to the grass. "Bet you can't set up our tent before everyone else."

Natasha's ears perk up. She likes a challenge, unfortunately. At the same time, she knows you're planning something. Maybe get a rise out of her one way or another. She'll fall for it, anyway.

She adjusts the tent over her shoulder deliberately to flex her arms a little. "You're doubting me?"

"Me?", you drawl, watching her set it down in the spot you picked. "Never. Not unless you give me a reason to doubt you."

She gives you a look. Her hair is all natural from the lake, the worn hoodie with the sleeves rolled up. You're definitely planning something. She has no idea what that'd be, though.

"Funny. Hand me a pole."

Whatever you're doing — it's working. You can tell by the way she's starting to rub her eyebrows. "Is it?", you ask, blindly handing her a pole.

You can't help yourself. Nothing can top the kind of sex you have when she's just a little ticked off. One time, she drove her car against the wall while backing up into a parking lot. That was right after she picked it up from the mechanic, too. You remember that night vividly.

"I think that's the wrong pole", she says, looking at the instructions and swatting at a bug. 

"I think I had the wrong pole inside me last night."

Nothing except gritted teeth and the sound of cicadas. The sun has gone down, and all that's left to light up the area surrounding the lake is the campfire and a few LED lamps you brought along. She puts the instructions aside, with a bit more force this time, and keeps working on the tent.

The tension in her shoulders seems to dissipate the moment the tent is set up in front of her. She tosses your sleeping bags inside and motions for you to lay down.

"After you", she says, kneeling to watch you crawl in. You plop down on your stomach. "Comfy?"

"Can't complain."

"Wait 'til I get out the air mattress", she promises, crawling above you. Her hand palms your ass, and she leans in to kiss your shoulder. "So, did I do it? The tent thing?"

"Huh? Oh, no. I saw Steve get done with his, like, two minutes before you."

She groans with her mouth against your skin. Oh well — at least you've made it into the tent. You can still hear the fire crackle outside, the cicadas. You smell the lake water clinging to everything. You're so so close to her too, in one of her hoodies and tiny soft shorts. Before she can do anything about the arousal that's starting to flood her, you disappear from underneath her.

She blinks, but you're outside the tent already. "Y/N, don't play with me."

"Think I'm that easy?", you retort. She emerges from the tent. "Put some effort in, babe."

"What? I told you I'd get out the air mattress", she complains. "Come back inside."

Her hand reaches for you, but you make a smooth move backwards. Her eyebrows furrow.

"Come on", she says.

"Can't catch me?", you tease. Clenching her jaw, she takes a step forward. "I thought you were so big and strong and fast."

Natasha loves you. That's why she joined this camping trip. She loves you, and she wants to have sex before falling into what's supposed to be the best sleep of her life. Yet here you are, making her walk in circles around the tent like an idiot.

Another step. She grazes your wrist, you jump back, and a harsh breath escapes her. You're smiling, which is only adding to her frustration. It's fun for you. 

She tries not to let her patience wear thin, but it isn't easy. You hop backwards, making her miss your arm by a fraction of an inch. At this point, everyone has disappeared into their tents. It's just you and her and the forest stretching out behind you.

"Y/N", she hisses. She speeds up, and so do you. "Stop being a brat!"

"Sounds like I'm in trouble", you say, eyes twinkling. 

"You think?"

"Got a hunch."

You're still circling the tent like maniacs. There's a thought in the back of your mind, brief and barely registered, about how someone will probably get out to tell you to knock it off — but nothing happens, and Natasha darts forward again. 

Her fingers catch your top, but they slip before they can get ahold of you. You let out a sound of surprise, and that's when it changes. 

It's like a light switch being flipped. Something dark flashes in her eyes, unexpected enough to startle you. You take a few quick steps backwards, she follows again, and suddenly, you leave the path you were following around the tent.

Neither of you even consider stopping. Leaves and sticks crunch underfoot as you start paving your way into the forest. There's no bonfire here, no LED lamps — only the moonlight dapples the ground with patches of milky light. 

You're both running now. You let out a breathless laugh when she curses behind you, but the sound turns more panicked when you almost trip over a root. 

There's no need for fear, right? Nothing about this is unsafe. It's Natasha. You know her better than anyone else. You'd trust her with your life. But out here, surrounded by tall trees and darkness, even the knowledge she's following you makes your throat feel tighter. 

She's hunting you. In this moment, you're prey. Blades of grass brush your ankles, a mosquito lands on your arm. Your heart is pounding against your ribs like a rabbit's. You were laughing at first, but you're too out of breath to do so now. 

She clenches her jaw, the heavy fabric of her hoodie too in the way. She reaches for the bottom of it and tugs it off in one fluid motion. You're blurry in the darkness of the forest, your body being swallowed by the absence of light. 

"You can't run forever!", she calls. You can tell she's close, maybe a couple feet away. You're not sure how she hasn't caught up yet — you're far from being able to outrun her. 

"Shut up!", you reply, dodging a low hanging branch. 

Natasha's gaining on you. You can't see her, can't even check on her, but you can hear her. She's getting closer and closer, and that's when she stumbles over an old tree trunk. 

The laugh that comes out of you is exhilarated, foreign almost. Natasha curses. 

"That's what you get!"

You do expect her to say something. She doesn't, and maybe that's worse. She knows she can catch up to you with ease, and you hear her footsteps become more frequent. 

Slaloming through the trees, which grow denser as you go deeper into the forest. Fireflies lead the path. You slip once, twice, your heartbeat in your throat. 

You don't notice how sweaty you are until her hands grab your waist. 

Momentum catches you both. You hit the ground, Natasha tackling you, and your uneven breathing turns into a startled gasp. You stare up at her, dirt speckling your cheeks, trying to squirm away. It's a fruitless attempt. She's too heavy.

"Got you", she mumbles, her grip getting tighter. 

You let out a breathless noise, still fighting back. Your hands press against her chest, but she's stronger, bigger. The feeling of her fingernails scraping at your sides gives you goosebumps.

"Fuck you!", you hiss, grasping at her tank top and pushing her away. Trying to push her away — it's like attempting to move a mountain. 

Do you even want her gone? Not judging by the dampness between your legs, the warmth balling deep in your belly. You try to ignore it. It's desperate and hopeless. 

"Stop that!" She grunts, one hand wrapping around your wrist. The other is on your hip, keeping you pressed against the uneven ground. 

You can see the sweat on her thick biceps. Your racing thoughts stumble for a split second — she was in a hoodie just moments ago, wasn't she? — but you don't dwell on it. You slash your fingernails across her face and she lets out a pained groan.

"Are you insane?", she barks. Her fingers curl into your hip, nails sinking deep into soft skin, and that's when you moan. She stares down at you, still half breathless. 

"Do you ever shut up?", you snap back, bucking your hips in another attempt to get her off you. 

She rolls over instead, tugging you right along, and you knock your knee deep into her side. Little twigs crack, there's a noise somewhere in the distance, one you can't identify, and Natasha lets go of your wrists.

It's disappointing, oddly enough. You stare down at her, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. That's when she grabs the front of your hoodie, eyes locked with yours, and that's when you both realize.

It was a chase at first. It's a game now, and you're both silently trying to figure out whether the other understands. You're not even sure you know what you're getting yourself into — role playing isn't uncharted territory for you, but this is new.

You couldn't back out if you wanted to, anyway. Natasha's hard, an aching throb in her sweatpants. She's trying to catch her breath, which should've happened minutes ago. You're soaked, not just from the lake water now, and you're grinding against her. You're both too far into this to stop.

Her hand reaches up to the back of your head, fisting hair and pulling you down. Lips and teeth clash, your nails scrape down her chest, and she flips you over.

"Want to run again?", she pants, mouth on your jaw. Her teeth drag lower, all the way to your neck. "Come on, go and run. Watch me catch you again."

You shake your head. Her breath is hot against your skin, her body heavy on yours. "I'll run. Good luck."

She laughs, her fingers fumbling with the waistband of her sweatpants. "Aw, look at you. I think you want to be caught."

You lean in, teeth sinking into her firm shoulder. Her voice drifts into a low moan, one hand wrapped around the bulge inside her boxers.

You take off your hoodie. Your bra, too. Natasha leans in open mouthed, her tongue pressing against your nipple before sucking it into her mouth. You taste like lake water, and though she didn't fulfill her promise of licking it off you earlier, she does her best to make up for it now.

Your back arches, shoving more of your breast into her mouth. Her teeth graze your nipple. She pants quietly and slides her hand down her erection, squeezing when she reaches the base. She's close to jerking herself off — too close — and you grab her face.

Clearly, you aren't thinking. She was biting down on your nipple ever so slightly, and when you move her face, her teeth clamp down on it a little too hard.

"Fuck", you moan loudly. 

She scoffs, leaning down to press a kiss to it. "Shit. Need attention that badly?"

The look you give her doesn't faze her. Natasha laughs, her hand still inside her boxers, fingers sticky. She kisses the curve of your breast, and when your hand joins hers, her breath catches.

You stare at her, your hand sliding down and back up her shaft. "Were you planning on doing this without me?"

Natasha lets out a noise, her eyes locked with yours. "Does it look like it?"

"It better not. I can still leave."

She frowns at you, quickly searching your face. She doesn't believe you. No way in hell would you leave now, especially not when the way back to your friends leads through a dark, tangled forest.

She pushes your hand out of her boxers. Her fingers find the front of your shorts, starting to rub tight circles into it, and you let out a whiny breath.

"You don't mean that", she mutters, holding your wrist down with one hand. You rock from side to side, again trying to shake her off. "Y/N!"

"I told you I'm not that easy", you retort. Your free hand pushes against her chest, but she's heavy, solid, unmoving. "You're giving up?"

Natasha is pent up and out of breath. She's so hard it hurts, a dull pulse in her boxers. Your knee knocks against her ribs and she groans. 

"Are you done?", she barks, wrestling your knee down with her own. Her hand finds your other wrist, pinning it down above your head as well. 

Her hands are big enough, she realizes. She grasps both your wrists in one hand, her fingers wrapping around them tightly. 

You let out a moan. She's taking off her pants with one hand, struggling to get the waistband over her erection. Then, her thick length springs free, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. 

"Look at you", you mock, betrayed by your breathy voice. "Almost nutted in your pants? Haven't even really touched you yet."

Natasha bites her tongue. She glances up at you, her face reddened and a little sweaty, with red baby hairs sticking to her temples. She fumbles with your shorts, but your hips are in the way and the smooth fabric won't budge. 

"You struggling?"

She doesn't say anything. Her hand grabs the waistband, tugging again. You watch her tip leak with frustration. It's your favorite little quirk. 

"Need some help with that?", you purr. 

Something snaps at your words. The fabric rips apart, courtesy of Natasha's impatience, and it takes your underwear with it. You let out a surprised noise, your thighs clenching and your skin heating up.

She’s too impatient to even try and wait. A calloused hand push your thigh aside, and she lines herself up with you before thrusting in deep. One thrust, deep and leaving no time to get adjusted, is enough to wipe every thought from your brain.

Your back arches. She curses and her head drops forward against your shoulder. Her hips roll against yours, fucking into you. You want to clutch her shoulders, run your nails down her back until she’s a bleeding mess, but her grip on your wrists hasn’t loosened, and desperate as you are, you sink your teeth into her neck.

It takes her off guard. Her hips stutter, and her hold on your wrists slackens for a split second. You pull free and run your nails down her back, a hum of satisfaction escaping you.

“Dammit”, she mutters, pounding into you. Your nails sink into taut muscle. “I swear to god, Y/N.”

You scoff, scratching along her back. She curses but never breaks pace, her chest slick with sweat. You can tell it’s starting to become painful, and it only spurs you on. 

Manicured nails sink into taut even deeper. Natasha’s eyes shut. Continuing is a struggle and a necessity, and she finds the underside of your knee to shove your leg up and open you up more for her.

Your body jerks with each thrust. You claw at her back, drawing blood, and watch her eyebrows furrow. You wanted her ticked off — you might’ve pushed her a little too hard, though.

Her hand feels its way up your body, groping and squeezing flesh and curves. When her fingers find your nipple, she gives it a rough twist. 

Your heart rate kicks up, every nerve ending humming. There’s nothing but silence surrounding you now. Every sound is amplified, every thrust is driving you closer to that edge. Natasha throbs hotly inside you, feeling heavy and swollen, and you grasp at her skin. 

A rush of heat floods outwards. Natasha feels like she’s about to burst, like a shaken soda bottle, like she’s seconds from spilling all of herself inside you. Her head goes fuzzy, and the image of you beneath her when she opens her eyes doesn’t help.

Your mouths knock together. She palms at your breast, feeling the achingly stiff bud against her skin. You move one hand to her front to find her necklace and get a tight hold of it, and she moans against your tongue.

She comes in heavy, messy bursts. You squeeze her hips with your thighs, your own orgasm making your mind go blank. Everything feels hot — the leaf covered ground, her slick stomach pressed against yours, the cum dripping out of you.

It takes a moment for you to reel your mind back in. Sound, movement and color return, your thoughts become clear, and reality sinks back in. You look at Natasha and let out a quiet noise.

Drops of blood have dried on her face. You only realize now, with the adrenaline slowly ebbing down. You got her harder than you meant to. You give her a sweet little smile in hopes she won't notice you wiping it off with your thumb.

Natasha lets out a shaky breath, her neck drenched in sweat. She's covered in dirt — her biceps, her chest, skin speckled with mud. She's still inside you, too, not being bothered to pull out.

“See”, she mumbles, “I caught you.”

You huff and give her chest a shove. “Please. That was all luck.”

“Was not”, she retorts, pulling out of you. “Could’ve caught you jumping on one leg.”

You roll your eyes and prop yourself up on your forearms. You flick some dirt off your body. “How long did we stay out here?”

Natasha shrugs, scanning your surroundings. There’s no way to know what time it is. You both left your phones inside the tent, she realizes. 

“Too long”, she says. “We should head back.”

You both get off the floor. You pick up the shorts she ripped apart, the underwear that’s now nothing but a few tiny, flimsy pieces of fabric. Natasha rubs her neck before taking off her sweatpants to give them to you.

“My back hurts”, she complains, checking herself. She rubs a hand down her spine and glances at it. “I’m bleeding, too. What the fuck, Y/N.”

You hum, putting your hands on your waist and making her turn around. The scratches are deep, long lines scattered across her sculpted back. You give her butt a pat.

“I have disinfectant in my purse”, you assure her. “Come on, let’s head back before we get lost.”

She shoots you a look but doesn’t say anything. You start to find your way back to the campsite, trying to spot things that seem familiar. A root that Natasha tripped over, a shrub of juneberries, a heart etched into a tree.

Finally, Natasha’s hoodie. She picks it up and makes you put it over your shoulders.

A few moments later, you see a tiny light at the other side of the forest. More lights join it, and the closer you get, the better you hear the voices accompanying them.

“There they are!”, Clint yells. “Are you guys insane?”

“Do you know how worried we were?”, Wanda adds. “You can’t just vanish into the wilderness! In the middle of the night, too!”

Natasha grimaces, her hand resting on your waist. You exchange a look before closing the last few feet separating you from the others.

“Sorry”, she says. “We didn’t think you’d, you know…notice.”

“You were quiet”, Clint grumbles. “Too quiet. Why are you bleeding?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”, you ask, voice sweet as sugar. He drags his hand down his face. “I’m taking that as a no.”

He doesn’t bother arguing. You’re not wrong, either — as concerned as he might be, he’s not curious enough to make you tell the tale of how you and Natasha disappeared in the forest for over an hour. Instead, he turns around, silently gesturing for you to follow him.

Half an hour later, you’re back inside the tent. Clint and Wanda are gone, probably on the verge of falling asleep, and you’re applying bandaids all over Natasha’s back. She hisses when you use a towel, soaked in disinfectant, to wipe a particularly nasty scratch.

“Got you good”, you tease, pecking her shoulder. “We’re done here. You look like a work of art.”

“I’m sure”, she mutters, reaching for her hoodie. “My entire back is burning.”

You shrug and sink down into the mattress. Natasha glances at you and sighs, her fingers touching your knee, before joining you. Her body presses against yours, warmth cocooning the two of you.

Her hand slips under your body. Her nose nuzzles your neck, now smelling of lake water and something earthy. 

“Another thing I can check off my list.”

“You’re disgusting.”

She laughs, a rough and tired sound that shoots straight into your chest. Maybe she didn’t get to lick you dry, but whatever this was — it’s way better. 

[w1dowatrace]

First Time

Summary: Grief and anger tip Wanda and you into a messy, charged first time together where your stepdaughter uses you to cope. And the two of you cross a line that can never be uncrossed.

Pairing: Stepdaughter Wanda Maximoff x Stepmom Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Tags/Warnings: 18+ fauxcest/stepcest, smut, dubcon-ish, toxic emotional dynamics, grief/loss, parental issues, alcohol intox, harsh and mean Wanda, jealousy, Sigmund Freud and I are having blood compact

Request: How did Wanda and r's first time happen? (Tnx u, fren)

Author's Note: This is a compensation because I can't post The Assessment fic just yet, I promise, I am looking for a way. And pls if anyone knows how I can post 14k words here without Tumblr cockblocking it unless y'all don't want this fic to never see the light of the day.

Navigation | Masterlist | Tip jar | Patreon

ᱬ

You repeat it to yourself like a mantra: I'm not gonna bother her anymore. I'm not gonna try to please her, or earn her trust. Never again. It's not working, it's never going to work, and you're tired of hurting both of you.

But the words don't stick. After your husband slapped her, you can't stop thinking about how Wanda flinched, the way she stared at his father like she didn't recognize him. You talked to him that night after and said that what he did was unforgivable. He sighs and says he was just protecting you—that her daughter was out of line.

You tell him you didn't need protection. You'd rather him protect her than you—Wanda's his daughter. And she's hurt, grieving, and he hit her instead of listening. He doesn't say anything back and the silence that settles between you is heavier than any fight. The argument simmers until your husband grabs his keys and says he's going out. You're left alone in your shared bedroom, the half-washed dinner dishes still piled in the sink, and every thought circles right back to your stepdaughter.

You'd told yourself you'd never bother her again, that you'd keep your distance and never try to win her over. But your feet carry you down the hall anyway, your throat tight with worry you can't push down. Your knuckles brush the wood just as you realize the door's already cracked open a few inches, and you push it slow, peering inside. You half expected it to be empty, figured she'd snuck out to the club like the neighbors keep whispering about your stepdaughter who's always out drinking. Instead, she's laying on her bed.

The room smells like her lavender perfume and cheap cigarette smoke. 

Her eyes blaze when she sees you in her doorway, shoulders hunched defensive like she's ready to throw you out. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she muttered harshly as she quickly stood.

You hold your hands up slowly, like you're calming a spooked animal and took one small step further into the room, keeping your voice soft. 

"Your dad left. We had a fight. What he did to you wasn't okay, Wanda. And…and I just want to apologize." Your eyes catch her split lip, the faint crusted blood at the corner, and you react without thinking. "Wait, your lip—let me get you some ice."

Before you can step away from her room, she shoves the door closed behind you, pressing her body hard against you to trap you against the wood.

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart hammering so hard against your ribs you can hear it in your ears. You can feel every line of her body pressed to yours, warm and tense, the scent of her lavender perfume and the smell of whiskey in her mouth suffocating you.

"Wanda." You breathe her name, tapping your hands against her chest to push her back, but she doesn't move and just presses closer.

Panic warms your cheeks. Her nose brushes the side of your head, nuzzles past your ear to your cheek, warm breath together with sharp alcohol fanning your skin, then lower, pressing to your pulse point on your neck. Every logical voice in your head screaming this is wrong, she's your stepdaughter, this will ruin everything.

Her green eyes are dark, half-lidded with whiskey and something hungry that makes your knees go weak. Her split lip is still bleeding a little.

She grinds her thigh hard against the space between your legs, making you gasp and smirks when you grab her shoulders to steady yourself. Her breath is hot against your jaw, voice rough and mocking.

"Your husband left, so now you come crawling to me? What would he think if he saw his sweet wife right here, shaking for his daughter?"

Her hands are rough, her words sharp enough to cut, but you can feel the tremor running through her body. Under all the anger and heat, there's this raw, open hurting you can't miss. Your maternal instinct kicks in—you can see the hurt she hides behind the anger and you just want to ease it.

Even if this messy, wrong thing is the only way she'll let you.

"It's okay. I'm here…I'm not going anywhere."

All of a sudden she rears back and slaps you hard across the cheek, the sting blooming hot across your skin. Her eyes are glistening with unshed tears and her voice cracks when she snarls at you. 

"Don't you dare say shit to me. You have no fucking right to talk."

She yanks your shirt down to expose your breasts, sucking one hard between her lips while her other hand shoves two fingers deep inside you. She doesn't slow down, keeps pumping them fast even after you cum, rubbing your clit until you're shaking and sobbing. She only pulls back when she feels your knees giving out before pushing you to the bed.

Your stepdaughter was set out to break you that night and you let her. She bit until you cried, pulled your hair until your scalp stung, dug her nails into your skin hard enough to leave marks that would still be there when her father got home. Well, she didn't care, it wouldn't be her to explain why'd you have such weird marks all over your body like you were fucked like an animal.

You let her break every soft, stupid boundary you'd set, because you could feel how badly she needed to break something and you'd rather it be you than what's left of her broken heart.

The next morning, you wake up in the same bed you fell in last night. You don't remember falling asleep, not after everything your stepdaughter who's missing right now did to you—your whole body throbs, every muscle soft and sore, the faint bruises against your skin. You didn't even know if you fell asleep or you passed out.

Your husband was always gentle. A big man who's vanilla in bed, nothing that left you aching like this. What you got from his daughter though was nothing soft, nothing gentle—rough, desperate, raw, a kind of intensity you'd never felt before, one that still hums under your skin even when she's gone. Something that you didn't know a woman can do.

You spot your crumpled clothes scattered across her room, you bend to grab them one by one. You should be wondering if your husband is home now since he left last night after your fight. But instead you're thinking where possibly your stepdaughter could be.

And speaking of, turning to the kitchen you find Wanda walking just inside the house. You swallow hard, forcing your voice steady and a little desperate.

"Hi. Are…are you hungry? What do you want? I am gonna make pancakes."

She leans against the doorframe, eyes dragging slow over your hurried turtleneck. Her lips twitch into that cold, sharp smirk. She completely used you, fucked you so stupid you could barely stand last night, and here you are, still being sweet, asking if she's hungry.

Pathetic.

Wanda pushes off the doorframe, already stepping toward you, maybe to finger you while you prepare breakfast or spank you out right there on the counter. But the front door clicks open before she can reach you and his father's boots thud down the hall, straight into the kitchen.

He walks straight to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and apologizing for last night, for leaving, for fighting with you and hurting Wanda. 

"I'm sorry, baby…I'm sorry." He slurs, his hot breath smells like beer.

Erik tilts your chin up and you didn't mean to not look away from Wanda standing by the doorway as her father kisses you—you are as shocked as she is. 

Her jaw clenches so tight her muscles jump under her skin. 

Your husband pulls back, still murmuring apologies for letting things get so out of hand last night and you can't make yourself answer him.

Your stepdaughter still watches from the doorway, jaw still tight as you lift a hand to cup her father's cheek, your voice soft and steady when you speak. Your eyes are now on him, attention now on him as you repeat the same words you said to her last night, right there in front of him, and she can't look away.

"It's okay. It's okay, I'm here…I'm not going anywhere." You say softly to your husband that seemed so close to spiraling.

Wanda's nails dig into her palm and she swallows hard, the bitter taste of something she won't name climbing up her throat.

My Mother, My Dearest: Masterlist

[maximoffsbutch]

Top Down

Pairing: Auntie!Wanda x Fem!Reader Summary: Your aunt's nice convertible is perfect for a summer day trip, as well as spreading your legs. Set in the same universe as My Mother's Husband. Content Warning: Semi-public sex, exhibitionism, age gap, fingering, oral sex (R receiving). Word count: 1.6k A/N: is this really my first fully fledged auntie!wanda fic after many, many asks and headcanons and drabbles? long overdue, if you ask me. inspired by my desire to buy a vintage convertible and drive around a pretty girl in it.

Your aunt’s sleek convertible is parked on a quiet stretch of winding coastal road. The roof is completely folded down, leaving the two of you utterly open to the warm evening breeze. 

The sun has dipped below the horizon. The overlook sits just above the main lane, where other cars whip past in fast blurs of metal and light, their tires humming against the asphalt.

They’re going too fast to really see anything, or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.

This car is worlds away from Natasha’s. Your stepfather’s car never has its roof down, its windows are tinted, everything kept sealed and private exactly the way Natasha likes it. 

Wanda’s convertible invites the world in. The open top lets the warm coastal air swirl around your bare skin, exposing everything. 

Your skirt is already bunched high around your hips. 

You were sitting in the passenger seat, heart pounding as Wanda leaned over with a glint in her eyes. The moment her lips curved into a smile you knew what she wanted, but you hadn’t expected her to pull over so sharply, to swing her leg over the gear stick and slide down between your thighs right here, right now, not with the roof wide open to the sky and the road just below.

Cool evening air kisses your exposed cunt, making you shiver. You squirm, thighs restless as you glance toward the road again. Another car speeds past, close enough that you catch the brief flash of headlights sweeping across the guardrail. 

Someone could glance over at just the right angle. They could catch a glimpse of bare skin, of Wanda’s dark hair nestled between your spread legs. 

Your belly flares hot at the thought. A half-nervous, half-desperate sound escapes your lips.

Wanda hums. She presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, then another higher up, savoring the way your muscles jump under her touch. Her breath ghosts warm and teasing across your slick cunt, sending sparks racing up your spine, and you exhale at the feeling.

A pleased sound in Wanda’s throat. When her tongue finally drags through you, achingly unhurried, your head falls back against the leather seat with a shaky moan.

“Fuck… Auntie, please,” you mumble, voice trembling lightly.

She’s overwhelming from the very first lick. Heat blossoms deep in your belly as her hot tongue tastes every inch of you with lazy strokes, like she has all the time in the world. Your hips jerk up involuntarily, and you screw your eyes shut. Your teeth dig into your lower lip, trying to stay quiet, but another car passes below and the risk sends a fresh rush of arousal through you.

You shift desperately, one foot pressing against the dashboard for leverage as you spread your legs wider. The other dangles over the side of the seat, and the position leaves you completely open to her, to the air, to anyone who might look a little too long. The thought of being spotted makes your clit throb against Wanda’s tongue.

Wanda’s hands settle firmly on your hips, and her painted nails dig in just enough to hold you steady for her. Her tongue is wet and hot, and it circles your swollen clit with devastating patience. You whine, hips churning as it flicks lightly before flattening out to lick long stripes from your weeping hole up to your clit. 

You can tell she’s smiling even though her mouth is hidden, and then she dips lower, pushing her tongue inside you in a slow stroke that makes the most obscene sound mix with the distant hum of passing traffic.

You moan loudly, a helpless, breathy sound that carries on the open air. “Fuck–! Feels so good,” you whine, your leg bucking and kicking at the dashboard. Your fingers tangle desperately in her dark hair, trembling and unsure whether you want to pull her closer or push her away from the intensity.

Another car rushes by. This one is closer and louder. Your belly tightens again, a sharp, embarrassed thrill rolling through you like lightning. 

What if they caught the way your back arches off the seat, the way your Auntie’s face is buried shamelessly between your legs?

The runaway thought makes you clench hard around her tongue. Wanda gasps, a pleased sound.

Her tongue doesn’t stop its movement. Soft whimpers spill freely from your lips now, and pleasure builds in heavy, rolling waves, fed by the slow drag of her mouth and the fluttering fear-excitement in your chest.

Wanda hums softly against your cunt, and heat flickers in your belly. The low vibration pulls another broken moan from deep in your throat. She looks up at you through thick lashes, and then she starts sucking on your clit, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“W– Auntie!” Your sweaty skin shifts against the leather seat as your hips buck against her face.

You barely have time to adjust before she’s licking harder, her tongue flicking in tight, perfect circles that make stars burst behind your eyelids. Your hand flies up to cover your mouth. It does almost nothing to muffle your desperate gasps.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” Wanda murmurs against your cunt when she pulls away, barely audible over the next passing car. “You like it when anyone can see, don’t you?” 

Her words send another jolt straight to your core. She presses her tongue deeper, and your breath quickens as she savours you.

“N-No, I don’t–” you lie, your cheeks flaring up instinctually. 

You do. You’ve never realized it before, but you love being shown off like this, a mark of possession that makes your head spin.

Wanda purrs against your clenching cunt. Her eyes, impossibly green and gleaming, look up at you through her lashes as she tastes you, and the sight is enough to get you to mewl. Spurred on by the pretty sound you make, she slides in two fingers alongside her tongue, curling them just right against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, and you suddenly forget how to speak.

Your words come out in desperate shudders, wrapped in moans that mingle with the sound of hot asphalt and rubber. “T-Too much, Auntie, please, I’m–”

Wanda groans against your pussy, and the vibration makes your hips buck again. The wet sounds of her mouth and fingers grow louder, more determined to push you close to the edge.

You’re panting now, her name broken between whines and pants, moans rising and falling with every thrust and curl. Heat burns through your belly as another car speeds past, its headlights briefly illuminating you both. Your hips jerk wildly, grinding against Wanda’s face as pleasure crashes closer.

Your aunt starts to lick slower, careful of pushing you over the edge too fast, too soon. She pulls back just enough to place soft, teasing kisses along your folds and inner thighs, letting the tension ease just enough. You’re so wound tight you can’t help your whimpering and begging.

“Please… Auntie, I need– oh god–”

“Shhh,” she whispers, nails digging into your thigh and leaving painful little crescents. “You love knowing they could see you like this, don’t you? Spread open, moaning for your Auntie.”

And finally, finally, she returns to your clit, sucking hard while her fingers pump steadily. The pleasure slams back into you tenfold. Your thighs tremble around her shoulders. You whimper her name like a prayer, over and over, voice cracking.

It hits you like a wave crashing against a cliffside. You come with a loud, gasping moan that echoes into the evening air, and your back arches sharply off the seat, thighs clamping tight around her head. Your entire body shudders, electricity dancing on your skin. Wanda licks you slowly and tenderly, drawing out every last tremor until you're a whimpering mess beneath the open sky.

Only when the aftershocks fade does Wanda pull back, lips glossy and swollen. Her eyes are soft with something close to love, and your chest tightens.

A gentle, lingering kiss to your trembling inner thigh, before Wanda carefully tugs your skirt back down over your hips. 

Her hand reaches out, and you shakily take it in your own. Her thumb strokes soothing circles over your knuckles as your breathing slowly steadies and the world comes back into focus.

The cars keep passing below. None of them slow down. None of them seem to have noticed the scene that just unfolded above them. But your face stays flushed hot, your heart still racing wildly in your chest, and a warm glow lingers low in your belly at the memory.

Wanda leans in closer, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead with gentle fingers. Her voice is barely above a whisper, warm and full of affection.

“Pretty princess,” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Did you like that? Feeling so open for me?”

You can only nod, still catching your breath, a shy smile tugging at your lips. Wanda smiles softly. The sky has darkened further now, and the stars are beginning to peek out overhead. The thrill lingers like the taste of salt in the air.

She starts the engine eventually, but not before stealing one more deep, lingering kiss that tastes just like you. As the car pulls back onto the road, your hand stays laced with hers on the gear stick. 

The memory of the passing cars and Wanda’s mouth between your thighs burns in your mind for the rest of the drive back to your stepfather.

[sapphicsleepywriter]

show me all the sweet things you’ve got in store

— southern!wanda maximoff x fem!reader

- wanda maximoff masterlist

in the aftermath of the affair, you and Wanda try to go back to life as normal. but when an announcement from your spouse puts you in a time crunch, Wanda begins to wonder if you’ll choose her over everything…

content: some smut with plot ‼️; drama; petnames; domesticity/playing house; technically forbidden romance; cunnilingus (both receiving); fingering (both receiving); praise; couch sex; drinking/inebriation; u-hauling; 3.8k; men and minors dni

a/n: i had originally started on part two of you could be my silver spring a couple weeks ago, but then i hit a wall with that draft and wound up trashing it. i gave it another go and i actually found my flow state this time around. thanks for all the love on part one of this scandalous little au, and i hope you enjoy this one as well <3

Wanda was awake before you, but she didn’t mind. Not in the slightest. It meant that she got to just lie there and take you in, bask in your presence. She takes in the way your lashes brush your cheeks, how you look so peaceful, and maybe even younger like this. She takes in the soft rise and fall of your chest, your mouth hanging open against Wanda’s neck, emitting soft snores. Were you drooling on her a little bit? Absolutely. Did Wanda mind? Not in the slightest.

Wanda’s eyes dip lower, to the parts of you the blanket doesn’t conceal—the slope of your shoulders, the hollow of your throat, the shadow of your breasts. Here Wanda’s mind strays naughty as she can’t help thinking that she’d know exactly how it would taste if she were to suck one of those perfect breasts into her mouth right now.

Her thighs squeeze together, and it’s a telltale sign that she needs to stop perving and get out of this bed. But first, she reaches out to tuck a strand of hair ever so gently behind your ear. Then, she presses a lingering kiss to the center of your forehead. Grinning as she stands from the bed, Wanda pulls on a sea foam-green sill bathrobe on her way out the door.

Wanda wears that smile all the way down the stairs and into the vast kitchen. There are only two things on her mind as she moves around pulling out ingredients—you and pancakes.

Wanda works diligently, humming a Fleetwood Mac song under her breath as she whisks together eggs, milk, pancake mix, and a dash of cinnamon. Before long, the hiss of a pan and the decadent smell of hotcakes fills the kitchen. Wanda is so in her element that she doesn’t even feel your presence until you’re right behind her.

She’s jolted when your arms go around her waist, but then she relaxes into your touch, the feeling of your front pressed to her back.

“Well, that just won’t do. No one’s ever been able to sneak up on me,” Wanda drawls.

You smile into her skin, kissing the back of her neck. “Well, maybe you just need to stay a little more vigilant, Miss Maximoff,”

Wanda shivers. Never had she liked being called by her last name so much.

Wanda turns in your arms to get a good look at you. You’re dressed in gray baseball t-shirt and little else, simple black cotton underwear peeking from beneath the shirt’s hemline. Wanda licks her lips and pulls your body flush against hers.

“Goodness, you just look so delectable,” she purrs. “What am I gonna do with you, sweet thing?” Wanda’s hands are already on your hips before you can respond. She turns you, backing you against the corner of the counter.

“Hop up here for me,” She commands softly, and you listen, jumping up and letting her shift you back onto the countertop and stand between your legs.

“Baby,” Wanda hums, her warm breath fans your neck and you suddenly feel the need to clench your own thighs together. “You look good enough to eat,”

“So eat me,” you whisper back.

Wanda doesn’t need to be told twice. A wicked gleam flashes in those green eyes as she lowers herself to her knees, kissing her way down your thighs as she goes. You open up for her without being asked, a sigh falling from your lips. Wanda’s breath ghosts over your center, an index finger on the edge of your panties to move them out of the way, and just when you think she’s about to give you everything, she pulls back and stands to her feet.

You whine, squirming for her. “Come back,”

“Not yet, sweet thing,” Wanda chuckles, her voice a touch husky. “Don’t wanna burn our breakfast,”

Another pitiful sound stirs in your throat, but Wanda merely brushes a kiss on your temple, pats your thigh consolingly and steps back to the stove, flipping over a perfectly golden brown pancake just in time.

For the most part, breakfast goes off without a hitch—the two of you occasionally feeding each other bites, you complimenting Wanda’s perfect pancakes, Wanda dabbing whipped cream on your nose just to kiss it away. Wanda hadn’t even realized that her mask seemed to have slipped again until you tilted your head at her.

“Seriously, Wanda, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” You ask, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

Wanda sighs. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to be present with you, I absolutely do. But…my mind is stuck on last night,”

You exhale softly. “Yeah. Mine is too,” you search Wanda’s eyes, suddenly panicked. “You’re not…regretting anything, are you?”

“Oh, baby, no. No, no, of course not,” Wanda is quick to reassure you. “I don’t regret anything about last night or what we did. It was so special to me, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, searching Wanda’s face. “It was special to me too,”

“Good,” Wanda smiles, then cups your face. “It’s just that…” she tries again. “Well, you know that my feelings for you were absolutely premeditated and…well, I know that at the end of the day, you’re still married,” she exhales slowly, meets your eyes again. “And I don’t want to make anything harder for you than it already is,”

“No,” you shake your head. “You’re not making anything harder, Wanda. I’ve been wanting this, wanting you, for…I don’t even know how long. I’ve never been so sure about someone or something in my life,”

“But baby—“

“Remember what else we said last night?” You ask, kissing one corner of Wanda’s mouth and then the other. “That just for this weekend, we could just pretend? Not worry?” You repeat the cycle, kissing the left corner, then the right again.

Wanda’s lids flutter as she leans into the touch. “Yes,” she breathes. “I remember,”

You lace your fingers through both Wanda’s hands. “Then get lost with me, Wanda. That’s all I want right now,”

In a second, Wanda is on you. And just like last night, she absolutely devours you right there in the kitchen. All of your senses are heightened and your tongue hangs out of your mouth, eyes rolling back into your head. You grip the corners of the table for purchase, moan after moan trickling from your mouth as Wanda’s expect tongue works magic inside you.

The two of you remain in that cozy bubble right up until Monday. You take trips back out to the lake together. You explore the little shops in the downtown area, hand in hand whilst browsing cute trinkets, imagining which ones would look good in your home, with neither one of you touching on the fact that you live separately.

In the evenings after dinner, you lie snuggled up on the couch watching early-2000s romcoms. You make each other see stars over and over; eyes rolling back, bodies rocking together; white-knuckle grips on the matters as you lose count of the amount of times you’re taken to ecstasy.

On Sunday night, the air cools your skin after another thorough love-making session. Wanda holds you in her arms, watching as the silver light from the window dances across your skin.

“Wanda?” You speak up, your voice coming through soft and sleepy.

“Mm, yeah, honey?”

“Can you promise me something?”

Wanda’s heart fluttered. She’d promise you the world and then some, and she says just as much out loud.

“Can you promise me that we’ll always be this close? Even though the next couple weeks might be…difficult, weird. Nothing is gonna come between us?” You ask.

Wanda exhales slowly, months worth of tension easing from her shoulders. She cups the back of your head, lifts it to make eye contact. “I promise, baby love,” she whispers against your lips. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna change,” and then she’s kissing you, long and deep, and nothing else matters, nothing else exists except for the two of you.

Monday morning comes quietly. The two of you don’t speak much at first, just exchange polite smiles while you pack up your things. It’s inoffensive, but it does give Wanda’s mind space to wander again.

More comfortable silence follows on the drive back to town. The radio plays softly and Wanda holds your hand across the center console. But as she gets closer and closer to town, more dread lands like a stone in her chest.

The realization that you can’t just come home with her, that she’s still driving you back to your house, the one you still shared with a spouse. And she’d be going home alone, to her big empty house, doomed to have nothing and no one to hold when she went to bed that night. She’d gotten used to having a warm body next to her for the past three days, and now that it was being ripped away from her so suddenly, she didn’t know what to do with herself.

Wanda drops your hand over the center console just as she pulls up to the curb outside your house. And not a moment too soon with your spouse standing outside waiting for you. Wanda grits her teeth against a snide remark she promised herself she’d keep down as she pops the trunk for you to collect your things.

Wanda is out of her car a second later, ready to assist you, but your spouse beats her to it, moving toward the trunk of Wanda’s car to collect your things. She hovers awkwardly by the back door as she watches. She’s only half-listening to what ever your spouse is saying, until a few key words—“promotion”, “Vegas” and “opportunity to move” make her stand at attention.

“…a promotion, isn’t it great?” Your spouse was saying. “…gonna get the chance to take a brand new office down in Vegas!”

Wanda’s gaze darts to you, taking in your speechless expression. Your spouse, however, seems to interpret this as excitement, hugging you and sweeping you off your feet. Wanda’s jaw tightens at the display, but she quickly schools her gestures, clearing her throat.

“So, that’s it, then?” Wanda asks, trying to make her voice sound breezy, bordering on flippant. “New job, and you two are gonna just…move away?”

“Yup, Nevada,” your spouse beams, wrapping an arm around you waist. “Las Vegas! Won’t that be exciting, honey?”

Wanda’s gaze strays to you once again, expectant. There’s now a faraway expression on your face. Wanda silently wills you to disagree, to push back. But then, you simply smile, patting your spouse’s hand. “I think…we have a lot to discuss later. Okay?”

“Right, right,” your spouse waves their hand dismissively. “So much to talk about, but let’s not worry about that now. For now, I just wanna focus on the celebration. Next Friday. All our friends can come. And Wanda?” Your spouse turns toward Wanda. “Maybe you could bring over another one of those delicious pies you made for the watch party?”

Wanda plasters on a smile, to avoid saying they what she’d really rather prefer is for your spouse to shut their pie hole. But then, she makes the mistake of catching your gaze. She knew it wasn’t really your spouse she was saying yes to. She was saying yes to you.

“Yeah, sure,” she concedes. “I’ll see what I can scrounge together for your little shindig. And contests on the promotion, hon. Really.”

Wanda knew she had to leave soon. She could feel her nostrils flaring like a bull’s, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to charge at your spouse or you. So Wanda makes her excuses and leaves, but not before getting pulled into one of your tight hugs. Your body presses against hers, every single curve she has memorized, and she feels like she needs a cold shower. Or an afternoon alone at an ax-throwing arena.

It takes everything in Wanda to release you and climb back into her car. She watches your reflection diminish in the rear view mirror and as her fingers grip tight to the steering wheel, she doesn’t know whether she wants to cry right now or scream.

***

Four days go by without the two of you speaking.

Not for lack of trying—you definitely tried to reach out—but Wanda was still feeling bitter. Crabby because you’d said nothing when you spouse mentioned moving to Nevada. Because wasn’t that the same thing as agreeing? Agreeing that you wanted your spouse over Wanda? Wanda felt like she could be sick just thinking about it.

There was a part of her; particularly a part that didn’t exactly take center stage right now—the rational part of her—that knew she was jumping to conclusions, gettjng irrational herself. You’d frozen up, hadn’t known what to say. And here Wanda was being unfair and avoiding you over it.

Around seven in the evening, the doorbell rings. Wanda curses the interruption, since she certainly hadn’t been expecting or wanted guests. But when she opens the door, she finds you standing there, a desperate look in your eyes.

“…hi,” you breathe, shoulders slumping in relief or shame or maybe both.

“Uh…hi?” Wanda replies, confused. “What’s going on? When did you—“

She doesn’t get the chance to finish her sentence before she’s swept up into a deep kiss. Wanda stumbles back, but you hold her steady, kicking the door shut behind you. You press Wanda against the edge of her staircase. The blunt end digs into Wanda’s back, but she doesn’t care. Can’t care with your mouth on hers.

You kiss your way down Wanda’s body—her jaw, her collarbones, her chest. You kneel in front of her, fumbling with the zipper on her jeans. Wanda tilts her head back, chest rising and falling with barely concealed arousal. You slide Wanda’s jeans down at an agonizing pace, but your impatience wins out, the fabric stopping only midway down the other woman’s thighs before you start mouthing at her clothed center, running your tongue back and forth against the cotton like gentle brushstrokes.

“Oh, baby!” Wanda gasps. “Right there…yes!” Her fingers tangle in your hair and pull.

Wanda already feels like she’s seeing stars, just from this little stimulation alone, so she practically goes cross-eyed when you finally move her underwear out of the way to mouth at her properly. It only takes a few well-placed licks and added suction on her clit for Wanda to go hurdling over the edge. By the time she comes, she’s absolutely ravenous, and doesn’t bother with recovery or climbing the stairs. She opts to push you toward the living room instead.

You stumble onto the couch together, mouths attached, mirroring each other’s touch with insistent fingers. You come together, names on each other’s tongues, stars dancing behind your eyes. Wanda’s mind goes blessedly blank in the afterglow. When her brain eventually, slowly comes back online, she realizes she still has questions that haven’t been answered.

“What are you doing here?” She asks you.

“I just missed you,” you sigh. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of you for the past four days, remember?”

“Well, I was mad at you,” Wanda say bluntly

“I know, and it’s the Vegas thing, right?”

“Yes y/n, of course it’s the Vegas thing!” Wanda huffs, exasperated. “I mean, I’m tryin’ to keep my patience here, but you said nothin’ when they brought it up! Did you know about that? Did you already decide you were going? If so, then what the hell did you even get involved with me for? You can’t have your cake and eat it too, and I don’t know if I wanna—“

“Hey, hey, hey,” Your hands frame Wanda’s face gently, stalling her fire as you rest your forehead against hers. “Breathe,” you instruct.

Wanda doesn’t want to listen. She wants to keep throwing her hissy fit. But the contact, the closeness. She can’t resist just melting into you. For years, there has never been someone like you for Wanda. Someone who could stop an impending tantrum just with one simple touch; forehead to forehead. Before a few months ago, Wanda never thought herself the kind of woman who could be tamed. But she was so unequivocally gone for you. She’d do anything for you. She was all yours.

“To answer your questions, no, I didn’t even know moving to Vegas was an option. My spouse hasn’t told me any job-related news in months. They just…stopped updating me about stuff like that, and I stopped updating them. I was just as blindsided as you were by the news, okay?”

Wanda’s shoulders deflate just a little and you run your hands up and down her arms. “And for your next question, no, I didn’t decide I was going to go, because I don’t want to go,” you say. “I don’t want to leave town. I don’t want to leave my job…” you kiss Wanda’s shoulder and then her cheek. “…and most importantly, I don’t want to leave you. I’m choosing you? Wanda.”

“So then…” Wanda swallows hard, meeting your eyes. “That means you’re choosing to…divorce your spouse?” she says the words carefully, quietly as if something will go wrong if she says it too loudly.

“Yes,” you declare, searching Wanda’s eyes. “I want you to be with you, Wanda,”

Wanda feels her heart take flight in her chest.

“I’m not going to say anything until after the party. I was going to find time to do it before, but they’ve already invited everyone. Would be too much of a hassle to cancel now. Especially because of a divorce announcement, you know?”

“Yeah,” Wanda agrees, running a hand up and down your naked spine.

You sigh into Wanda’s neck. “I just wish I could get it over with. Rip the bandaid off without having to cause a scene,”

Wanda chuckles. “And here I thought you liked a little drama,”

You roll your eyes and swat her shoulder. “Hey, don’t implicate me. How was I ever supposed to resist you after you looked so darling in my cowgirl hat?”

“And aren’t you just so glad I let you talk me into putting that ridiculous thing on my head?” Wanda teases, nuzzling her nose against you and making you wrinkle yours.

“I’m grateful for everything that happened last weekend,” you take Wanda’s hand, kiss her knuckles. “It made me open my eyes,”

“Yeah, well,” Wanda mirrors you, lifting your knuckles to her own lips. “Maybe I needed to open mine too. See what was right in front of me,”

***

Wanda had been fashionably late to your spouse’s promotion party—because there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she was showing up early to celebrate that moron—and when she does arrive, it only takes walking a couple steps into the house to realize she’d missed a few chapters.

For one, there seemed to be no music playing, and guests on either side of the room had abandoned their own conversations to watch one in the center of the room with rapt attention. Wanda follows the gazes of nosy party guests to find the drama in question: you standing in the center of your living room, your speech slightly slurred from possibly already having a drink or two.

Wanda catches tidbits of conversation: “never asked me if it was okay”, “self-centered prick”, and then the most damning ones: “I can’t do this anymore,”

Those last words, seem to knock all of the fight out of your spouse. “Wait…what?”

“I don’t want to move to Vegas with you,” you say, “and to tell you the truth, I think I’m in love with someone else,” for one lingering moment, you look up and meet Wanda’s. Butterfly wings flap between her ribs, minding all the gaps. She watches you turn back, pressing a packet of papers against your spouse’s chest, before storming out of the room.

While everyone else is distracted, hounding your now ex-spouse with questions, Wanda slips out behind you. She wanders the halls aimlessly for a while before taking the stairs. Shefinds you in the en-suite bedroom, haphazardly throwing things into a duffel bag.

Wanda hesitates, a hand coming up to grip the doorway. “Baby love?”

You whirl around and as soon as you register that it’s Wanda standing there, your face falls and you practically collapse into her arms.

“I did it,” you mumble “I did it, Wanda,”

“You did, but what happened to ‘no drama’ at the party?” Wanda teases, squeezing you tightly to her.

You sigh into her skin, “I was gonna keep things drama free, I really was, but then they mentioned starting a family as soon as we move out to Vegags, deciding things for me like I wasn’t even in the room, and I just…snapped. Of course, it didn’t help that I’d been drinking because I think I convinced myself that you wouldn’t come and then…. I just lost it from there,”

You look up at Wanda, sheepish. “I’m sorry if my immaturity tonight makes you rethink this whole thing—“

“Not in the slightest,” Wanda shakes her head, smiling. “You stood up for yourself and what you love, and more importantly, you chose me back. That’s all I could ask for,” she searches your eyes. “And you meant that part, didn’t you? I’m…someone you love?”

You hold Wanda’s gaze, a dopey smile that you can’t stop breaking across your face. “You are,” you confirm. “You absolutely are someone I love. A lot,”

Wanda beams, nuzzling her nose against yours. “Good. Because you’re someone I love too. A lot,”

You tilt your head up enough for Wanda to capture your lips in a quick peck.

“I’ll always choose you,” you murmur, resting your forehead against Wanda’s.

Wanda smiles, cupping your face in both hands. “I’ll always choose you too, honey,” she says, then she pecks your lips once, twice before releasing you. “Now, let’s get out of here. I get the feelin’ we’ll no longer be welcome,”

You smile, wrapping an arm around Wanda’s waist. “Your place, then?”

Wanda shakes her head, her smile warm against your lips as she kisses you again, “Our place,”

[westwriteswhatever]

Sweet Girl

Pairing: WandaNat x Sub Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda catches you out in a lie. Will you tell her the truth on your own or will she find her own way to get it out of you? Hopefully all before Natasha comes home.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: 18+, mommy kink, daddy kink, dom/sub, strap-on use (r receiving), strap referred to as cock, grinding to vaginal sex, a lil dumbification and degradation, some plot, dacryphilia, belly bulge, nipple sucking for comfort, Wanda's a little mean in the beginning, aftercare

A/N: the things i write when i'm bored at work. —

You blink down hazily, struggling to control your ragged breaths. Your hands are braced next to Wanda's waist, sliding the smooth curve of her strap between your folds. You squeeze your legs together harder when the blunt tip bumps against you on the forward slide, gasping sharply when it presses firm and heavy on the reverse. A whimper slips out at the wet, needy sounds echoing in the bedroom. You freeze mid-motion, heat rushing up your tummy and neck out of embarrassment.

"Look at Mommy," Wanda commands.

You look up slowly, sucking in your bottom lip when your body accidentally shifts. You meet her gaze. Her green eyes are dark, nearly black, as she studies your face. Her head rests lazily against the headboard, watching you like an entertaining television show. Her eyes move lower, noting the way you inch forward, your walls clenching, wanting to be filled.

Desperate, you rock forward until the tip rests right against your opening.

Wanda’s hands shoot to your hips. Her fingertips dig hard into your hipbones, anchoring you in place before you can push any further. Her stern voice cuts straight through the pounding in your ears.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Her eyebrow raises, the corner of her lip pulling up in a disbelieving smirk. With a sudden shift, she pulls you back, letting the tip slip out entirely and forcing you down near the base.

You groan quietly, your eyebrows pulling together in frustration. You were so close to being full after the past twenty minutes of torture.

Before you can even blink, Wanda grips your wrist and yanks it toward her. With your balance gone, you barely manage to plant your hand higher up, stopping your face inches from her bare breasts.

She leans in, her breath hot against your ear. "Answer Mommy's question," she whispers, sending a shiver down your spine. Her tone drops, her voice dripping with condescension. "Or is my baby too stupid to speak right now?"

You whine pitifully, burying your face in her chest to hide from her gaze. Your thoughts are beginning to slow, your limbs turning into jelly. "I-I didn't do it on purpose," you manage to mumble out.

Her hand leaves your hip, her thumb and index finger clamping firmly around your chin to force your face back up. She's wearing that amused, knowing expression she gives you whenever she catches you out in an obvious lie.

"Say that again," she orders, tilting her head. "Say it clearly, and I'll let you have your way." She leans closer, her lips brushing yours as she speaks. "If you can do it, Mommy will slide her cock all the way inside you, just like you want."

You bite your bottom lip hard, the image making your opening gush and your insides tighten. You suck in a deep breath, releasing it slowly to prepare yourself. Wanda's other hand releases your wrist and moves it beside you.

Your voice trembles despite the preparation. "I didn't—"

You cut off with a sharp gasp as Wanda’s thumb presses hard against your clit, rubbing in slow, heavy circles.

"Hmm..." Wanda drawls, her voice far too bright and cheerful against your growing dread. "I guess you couldn't do it. And here I thought my baby was smart. All you had to do was say six words."

She releases your chin, her thumb moves to press your bottom lip open, moving against your lip in the exact same slow rhythm her other thumb is using against your clit. Her eyes are bright, her breaths heavy, clearly pleased by how easily she can manipulate your mouth.

It's unfair.

"But… but you" you start, your words jumbled from Wanda slipping her thumb deeper between your lips, pressing down on your tongue. "You cheated," you just barely manage to choke out when she applies more pressure.

Wanda tilts her head, her expression morphing into an innocent, pitying smile. "How could I have cheated when the rules only apply to you?" she asks slowly, speaking as if she doesn't think you can comprehend simple words.

"Y-You—" you stammer in disbelief.

She abruptly presses her thumb hard against your clit, forcing a sharp cry from your throat as your body jerks against her. She continues speaking as if you aren't wriggling uncontrollably on top of her. Every time you try to twist away from the overwhelming sensation, she presses harder, your slick spreading across her cock the more you squirm.

"I what, baby?" she asks. She tilts her ear toward you, mimicking someone listening intently. "Mommy was just trying to help you."

You try to think of a response, anything for her to fill your aching emptiness, but your mind is completely blank. Tears prick your eyes at the unfairness of the situation, your lips wrapping around Wanda's thumb automatically when you realize you can't bite the inside of your cheek.

Wanda gives you an almost triumphant smile. "Good girl," she praises, her voice shifting into a lighter, pleased pitch when you slump against her defeatedly. Her thumb releases your clit, your body chasing the feeling again even though you had moved away just earlier. Her fingers swipe down against your folds, making you tremble against her from the sensitivity.

She pulls her hand back and brings her fingers in front of your eyes. Your slick drips from her fingers. She presses the pads of her thumb and index finger together, then slowly pulls them apart, stretching a thick, glistening string of your own arousal between them. It catches the bedroom light perfectly.

Your face flushes at the undeniable evidence of your reaction. You try to turn your head away but Wanda presses her thumb harder against your tongue, forcing your gaze to stay in place. She rubs your slick between her fingers, studying it closely like she does when she's looking at a document in her office. Wanda is silent, making the sound of your uneven breathing more apparent.

"Hmm…" she muses, eyes drifting back down to where you're dripping against her cock. Her lips curve into a smirk. "Honey, you know this is supposed to be a punishment right? You were whining so much earlier, but look at you making a mess."

Your insides throb from the mixture of shame and desire. You gnaw on her thumb lightly, a single tear finally slipping from your lower lashes and tracking slowly down your cheek. Wanda's eyes soften briefly before shifting back to her amused expression. She taps her index finger against your chin, prompting you to release her thumb from your teeth. She brushes your tear away with it, her eyes glimmering with desire.

"Daddy always folds whenever you look at her like that," Wanda says softly, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "She hates it when you cry. Immediately turning into a teddy bear just to make you smile again."

Natasha… Daddy would always stop her teasing the moment your bottom lip began to tremble, tears forming in your eyes. She'd fret about, tickling your sides to stop you from crying. Mommy is different.

She tilts your chin up slightly, ensuring you meet her eyes.

"But I know these aren't sad tears," Wanda continues, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Mommy can't help but tease you more when you look like this." She brings her thumb to her lips, licking away the remnants of your tear.

Without warning, her hands clamp firmly down on your hips, anchoring you tightly against her. The sudden movement forces a sharp gasp from your throat, your entire body jolting when your clit presses hard against her cock.

You look up at her with wide, startled eyes.

She leans her head in close to you. "Now, let's start again," she whispers lowly in your ear.

She begins to guide your hips, forcing you to slide against her again. It moves between your folds easily. Wanda's stomach glistens from where your slick has dripped down.

"Every time you stop from now on, I'll add five spanks to your punishment," she warns in a low, dangerous tone. "And it won't be from me. Daddy is soft on you most of the time, but you know how Daddy feels about you blatantly disregarding our words."

You force yourself to slide forward, whines exiting your mouth as you remember the last time Daddy had spanked you.

"Mommy…" you whimper shakily. It's getting too hard to move your body. Sweat drips down your back from the overwhelming sensation of her prodding right at your entrance, only to slip away every single time. "Too tired," you whine, your movements slowing to a crawl.

Wanda lets out a disappointed sigh. "No wonder you're tired," she says. She lets your hips come to a stop, but she keeps her hands firmly in place. She meets your eyes, leveling you with a hard stare.

"Mommy was so excited to see you after three days. So excited, that Mommy even left Daddy behind when we had to stop at the company building and took a taxi here herself." She lets out a slow breath. "But imagine Mommy's confusion when she found her baby sitting on the kitchen island, when she knows she's not supposed to."

You bite the inside of your cheek, your eyes drifting downward to her chest.

"Look at me," she says, the authority in her voice forcing your eyes back to hers. She narrows her eyes slightly. "And imagine Mommy's surprise when she opened the fridge to find all the food she made you still there. Except…" She leans in closer. "Only one bite was taken from every container. As if her usually sweet girl did it on purpose."

Guilt claws at your chest, making you bite down harder on your cheek. You press your hands into the mattress, pushing yourself up and leaning back to avoid her gaze, trying to ignore the wet sounds that erupt at the movement.

Wanda's stern voice eases slightly, her eyes watching you with care to make sure you don't lose your balance and fall backward.

"Mommy was so worried to find six coffee capsules missing," she continues, her voice softening into that incredibly gentle tone she uses when she knows you've had a terrible day. "Even though her baby girl knows it makes her anxiety worse, even if she doesn't realize it at the time."

She tilts her head, searching your face as you try to turn away.

"When Mommy asked you earlier, your face fell and she knew you wanted to tell her what's wrong, but instead you decided to talk back," Wanda notes softly. "So? Do you finally want to tell Mommy why every time she called you, you said that you were doing great and that you were eating well?"

Your gaze drops. The guilt is still fresh and heavy, pressing down on you despite how sluggish your brain and body feel. You really had wanted to tell Wanda why you were acting out when she first asked. You wish you had just confessed over the phone on the very first day they were away. But back then, you had already made the decision to have two coffees when you knew you should've only had one. Your bad behavior had spiraled from there.

It had all culminated in her arrival today—and the crushing, sad expression on Wanda's face when she realized you had barely touched the food she lovingly made for you. Even then, when she had given you so many chances to just be honest, you had talked back instead.

You know Wanda and Natasha can't just drop everything to be with you. You tell yourself you need to toughen up. It's just so hard being alone now, especially since you met them and learned what it feels like to be cherished. You knew you needed this punishment just so the weight of the guilt would finally stop crushing you. And you know she sees right through you. She knows it, too.

You shake your head. The confession is right there on the tip of your tongue, but the simmering guilt in your chest refuses to let it out just yet.

Her lips pull into a thin line. "Fine," she says, all the softness in her voice gone. "That's five spanks then. Mommy didn't forget. " She pulls your hips toward her, her fingertips digging into your skin. You bite your lip, trying to stop the moan that still slips out at the sudden stimulation.

Once the tip prods at your weeping entrance, you expect her to let it slip away as she has been this entire time, but instead it slips inside and she forces your momentum backwards and down, sinking her entire cock into you at once.

You cry out loudly, your arms wrapping around Wanda's shoulders instinctively. Your walls flutter uncontrollably, the tight ball that had been wound in your lower tummy for the past half hour finally unravels, your thoughts exploding and blanking all at once. Your thighs tremble against Wanda's, your cheek squishing against her shoulder as your ragged breaths puff against her neck.

Wanda shifts beneath you, sitting up more properly but sending her cock deeper into you until you feel it hit a wall and can't go any further. You whine from the overstimulation, your pulse thrumming in your ears. Your breasts press against Wanda's, bringing some comfort as your thoughts come back to Earth but a haze rests over you brain. The rush of emotions jumbles your head, but you know one thing. You just want your Mommy.

"If you don't start moving in ten seconds, I'm adding another five spanks," Wanda reminds you sternly. You lift up slightly, your knees aching from being bent for so long. You wrap them around Wanda's torso, sinking back down on her cock sending whimpers past your lips. You rest your head back on her shoulder, squeezing your arms and legs around her tightly.

"You're not getting out of this by acting cute and snuggly now, baby."

She brings her hand to your chin, tilting it so that you're forced to look up at her. Your bottom lip wobbles, tears pooling above your lower lashes. Your breaths come out in ragged gasps, the way they always do right before you start sobbing.

Wanda's eyes widen in alarm.

Her hand rushes to your cheek, cupping it with gentleness. "Baby, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" she asks frantically, her voice thick with worry as her eyes desperately scan your face and your trembling body.

You shake your head, tears falling steadily down your cheeks as you finally spill everything you've been carrying since the moment they left.

"I-I'm sorry, Mommy," you sob, your voice watery and broken. You try your best to time your words between desperate gasps. "I s-should've just told you when you asked me, but I didn't. I was being bad on purpose."

Wanda rubs her thumb against your cheekbone, soothing the track of your tears as she watches you attentively. You know you should feel guilty for letting her comfort you right now, but instead, the warmth of her hand helps even out your ragged breathing.

"The house was too quiet, and my head was just so loud," you confess, a fresh wave of tears hitting your throat. "Daddy wasn't there at night, snoring loudly like usual. A-and you weren't there tossing and turning all night. No one was there at the table watching me eat like a-always."

You pause, sniffling softly as you try to rein in your big feelings. Wanda waits patiently, knowing you aren't done yet. You force yourself to take a deep breath, and she nods encouragingly, giving you the strength to finish.

"I know I shouldn't have lied on the phone, but I didn't want to worry you and Daddy. I have to learn to be okay by myself again," you breathe out. But the tears build all over again as the memory of the past few days crashes over you. "B-but then the coffee shop was so busy, and my professor wouldn't slow down in class. And I-I missed you guys, and I was alone. And-and—"

Wanda gently pulls your head down against her shoulder, cutting off your spiraling thoughts as she begins hushing you softly. You sniffle against her neck, trying to stabilize your uneven breaths. Wanda wraps her arms around you in a tight embrace, pressing one of her hands flat against your back. She begins to pat you in that slow, steady rhythm Natasha always uses whenever you're having a hard time breathing.

"It's okay now, my sweet baby," Wanda coos softly. "You're forgiven."

The guilt that had been simmering under your skin instantly dissolves at her words. You press your face closer to Wanda's neck, the timing of her pats finally evening out your breathing.

"We have a lot to talk about," Wanda notes gently. "But for now, do you want Mommy to pull out? You're probably all sensitive and swollen from rubbing against Mommy's cock for so long."

You blink blearily letting the remaining tears flow down and drip against Wanda's collarbone. You watch as the tears travel down the swell of her breasts, then to her stomach where it melds with your fresh arousal. You're exhausted, physically and emotionally. The orgasm you had unexpectedly upon Wanda suddenly entering you and the release of emotions after telling Wanda how you'd been feeling, empties your brain completely.

But the greedy part of you, the part that knows you can handle it, wants more. Wants more of Wanda.

You shake your head, your cheek brushing against her shoulder. "I…" you start, your voice cracking. "I wanna keep going," you whisper honestly, your head far too empty to feel embarrassed.

Wanda chuckles lowly, leaning in until her lips brush against your ear. "You're insatiable," she murmurs teasingly, undeniable affection lacing her voice. "Look at you all exhausted. Let Mommy do all the work now." Wanda's hand that had been patting you presses flat against your spine as she begins to lean forward. The feeling of her cock shifting inside of you forces whimpers past your lips. You muffle the sound against her neck, needing to feel her even closer.

"My sweet baby," she coos gently in your ear. She lays you down gently on your back, your head landing softly at the foot of the bed. You look up at Wanda who's now leaning over you, her hand planted next to your shoulder while her other comes up to cup your cheek. She gives you a little smile before leaning down, pressing her soft lips against your forehead then to both your eyelids.

She rubs her thumb against your cheek. "Poor baby. Your eyes are all puffy now." Her fingertips fall away from your face, tracing down your body to just below your bellybutton. She press down gently, the pressure sending shockwaves through your system. You gasp at the unexpected sensation.

"Hmm…" Wanda hums, her eyes looking down to where her fingers slide up and down your lower tummy. She presses down occasionally, making you squirm beneath her. It doesn't feel like she's tracing at random.

"Look down, baby" she directs you, her voice bright with wonder.

You crane your neck downward, blinking a few times to focus on where she's directing you. A sharp breath catches in your throat when you notice the outline of her cock showing, the tip pushing your skin upward into a small bump.

Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you let your head plop back down onto the mattress. You peer up at Wanda. She's biting her lower lip, drinking in the sight of you.

You watch her hips slowly move back—or rather, you feel it. Your walls tighten instinctively, unwilling to let go of the fullness you had craved so much. But Wanda doesn't move far. She allows the tip to remain anchored inside you, her gaze locked on your stomach, watching the way her cock slowly retracts.

She shifts her knees forward slightly. Your legs finally slip from her torso, spreading further beneath her.

She finally meets your eyes as you gaze up at her almost drunkenly. The green in her eyes is reduced to slivers, her pupils completely blown from arousal. She smiles down at you gently, her words are anything but.

"Mommy missed touching you even if it was only for a few days. I know my poor girl has already cried a lot today," she says softly, her voice carrying a hint of pity. Her lips slowly begin to curve into a dangerous smirk. "But Mommy wants to reward her brave girl. So she might make you cry just a little more, but they won't be sad tears anymore."

You blink up at her, your expression morphing into a little, dopey smile. Mommy is right here with you, looking at you exactly the way you've been craving for days.

"Okay, Mommy," you murmur obediently.

Your chest rises and falls faster as the anticipation builds.

"There's my good girl," she coos softly, sending a rush of butterflies through your tummy.

Her expression changes in an instant. She bites her lip again, but the dangerous smirk stays in place. You don't even have time to blink when she suddenly drives her entire length into you, the base of the strap pressing hard against your clit.

You cry out, your arms reach out for her instinctively, wrapping around her shoulders to bring her closer to you. Wanda doesn't stop though. You hear her grip the covers beside you before she slowly begins to slide out of you again. You look up at her with glazed eyes, tears threatening to fall from the corners of them from how sensitive you are, knowing what's coming. She takes a deep breath that you feel against your cheeks before she gives you an innocent smile. Her hips slam into yours but she doesn't pause this time.

She pulls out until just the tip remains inside of you, before driving her cock in as far as she possibly can, repeating over and over again, the pace increasing with every thrust. Your body slides up the sheets from the force but Wanda's hand grips your waist, pulling you back down to match her thrusts.

Choked moans escape your lips, the sound never being able to finish when she rams herself into you again, turning your moans into gasps. Your body, already sensitive from how she's punished you, teased you, and now using you, feels like it's already reaching the edge.

Shockwaves run through you body when she shifts slightly, the angle changing. The ridges of her cock grind and press against that soft, secret part of you that Wanda always finds so easily that sends you into a shaking mess.

"Mommy!" you cry out between the heavy beats of her thighs tapping against yours, tears running down the sides of your face. "T-too much," you whimper, your legs wrapping around her torso despite your words.

Wanda lets out a breathless chuckle, her eyes watching you squirm beneath her with amusement. "Is that so, princess?" she asks, a teasing lilt clear in her tone. Her eyebrows pull together, she brings her lips to your ear, her voice thick with strain. "Mommy's close. I know my patient girl can wait a little longer." Her thrust never miss a beat while she speaks to you.

You really don't think you can wait longer. Your breaths are coming out harshly between whimpers. It feels like your skin is vibrating from how sensitive you are. Wanda's increasingly ragged breaths brushing against your ear, her breasts swaying in your vision, hypnotizing you. The thick, sticky sounds whenever Wanda retracts. It makes the fire burning in your lower tummy burn brighter and hotter, threatening to consume you whole.

"M-mommy," you babble out over and over again like it's the only word you know. Wanda groans next to your ear, her thrusts becoming erratic.

"Cum whenever, baby girl, Mommy's right here," she breathes out heavily. You squeeze your arms around her tighter, your body tensing automatically at her words, her permission allowing you to finally let go.

Pleasure surges from where you and Wanda are connected all the way to your fingertips and to the top of your head. You feel almost lightheaded from the rush, your body feeling like it's floating higher and higher with no end. Your breaths come out in gasps at the altitude, your vision blurring.

Wanda's strokes become shallower, barely drawing back before pushing back in, your arousal gushing around her cock. It leaves you trembling beneath her from the aftershocks, your breaths beginning to slowly even out save for the sharp inhales when Wanda thrusts a little deeper. She gives you one more heavy stroke before she stops, her entire length shoved inside you as she grinds against the base of the strap.

"My good, sweet girl," she moans lowly, her torso shaking from her own orgasm. You and Wanda's heavy breaths meld with each other, echoing through the room.

You're spent. Your arms fall away from her shoulders, dropping beside you. Your legs follow suit, your feet unhooking from one another and plopping down on the covers. Your head feels floaty, your thoughts drifting by and fading away like clouds.

All you know is that you want Mommy.

You reach out shakily, grasping one of Wanda's breasts to signal what you want. She lets out a deep breath, her body no longer shaking. Her hand shimmies under your back, helping you follow her as she lays to her side, still inside of you.

"Do you want Mommy to pull out or a little longer, sweetheart?" Wanda murmurs, her voice tired but full of soft affection.

"Little longer," you murmur back sleepily, your legs tangling with hers. Wanda's hand slides up your spine to the back of your head, pushing your face gently to the swell of her breast. Your lips part automatically, taking her nipple into your mouth and sucking gently.

It's a ritual of sorts. It eases your mind and brings a level of comfort to you and Wanda. It extends past bedroom activities. She'd offer it to you when you were anxious, scared that you'd bite your lip too hard and draw blood again.

Wanda runs her fingers through your hair, your eyes closing at her relaxing touch. You lay there, pressed against her skin to skin, silently, unsure of how much time has passed. You swear you fall asleep for a moment, but your lips are still tight around Wanda's nipple when you would blink your eyes open only to close them again.

It isn't until a hand brushes against your cheek and the other voice you'd been missing sounds around you, that you peel your eyes open again begrudgingly.

"Hi, my cute baby," Natasha's raspy voice comes from above you. You barely turn your head while looking up, unwilling to release Wanda's nipple. Your heart leaps with joy upon seeing Natasha smiling gently down at you.

"Hi, Daddy," you mumble sleepily, your eyes shining with happiness.

Wanda chuckles next to you. "Baby, that tickles."

A sleepy little giggle bubbles past your lips upon hearing Wanda laugh. Natasha's thumb brushes against your tear-stained cheeks. "I see Mommy made you cry." Her eyes scan your face, moving downward to where you and Wanda are still connected.

You close your eyes again, the sleepiness closing in. "A little," you whisper, your lips wrapping around Wanda's nipple again, making Wanda shiver.

"Hmm…" Natasha drawls. "Does it have anything to do with the fact that all the food Mommy made you is still in the fridge, sweet girl?"

You act like you don't hear her, suckling a little harder. Wanda's laughter echoes through the room as you smile softly. — A/N: it's been a minute since i've written something like this. had to brush off the dust, so hopefully it turned out ok. i forgot how fun smut can be to write so might do more. thanks for reading!

if you read Choosing You, this is probably what the future will look like (not sure if i'm sticking with the titles though)

[p1nkbnny]

who needs oxygen when you have boobs in your mouth? ⊹₊ ⋆

ꢤꢆ back at it with the mommy milkers 🥛

description - your stepmom, wanda, has recently taken lactation pills as a favour to a friends baby whilst she’s away, but what happens when her friend’s trip is cancelled and she doesn’t need the favour anymore?

warnings - 18+, smut, stepmom!wanda, lactation, fingering, shy!reader, teasing, r first time, praise kink, soft dom wanda, sub reader, sweet wanda, kissing, slight aftercare, shitty description omg, lactation, lactation, did i mention lactation? lmk if i missed anything, my first full one shot, beware ;>

a/n - ok so i’m not too sure abt how the whole lactacion pill thing works and i tried searching shit up but it’s quite complicated and different for everyone i’m sure but im not that bothered abt accuracy it’s just a fantasy. the backstory is also kind of cliche but what other way is there to justify getting with your dad’s hot wife? 😂

thank you to my sweet sweet mootie @sparklejumprope13 for the title, it’s perfectly fitting <3

word count - 3.4k

it’s a warm summer evening. you’re sat in bed with your stepmom, wanda. her legs are splayed out as you sit between them, your back rested against her chest. soft rays of light pour into the room through the lace of the curtains, leaving floral patterns all over the walls. the beams land on your skin in little shapes, golden and toasty - making you sink further into her embrace.

her arms are wrapped around your waist, fingers splayed out on your shirt, softly rubbing the silky material and as she moves her hair tickles the back of your neck, causing you to wriggle a little in her grasp.

you’re watching a movie together - grease, one of your favourites. wanda isn’t particularly fond of musicals but she doesn’t care much, as long as she gets to spend time with her sweet girl.

it’s been nice, getting to spend time with wanda, getting to know her. she came into your life a little over three months ago and you were skeptical at first, because like so many of your dads past wives, they all stormed into your life with a motive, wanting to drain your dad of his life’s savings, then move on to the next rich prick. you couldn’t say you felt sorry for your dad, he was in-fact a prick, but every time one of his wives left it broke a little piece of you. you’d been so oblivious to their niceties and seemingly sweet gestures. every time you’d think, finally, finally you get to have the love you never had, the love you never felt you deserved - but every time, they’d leave like a thief in the night, taking a little piece of your heart with them. as you and wanda grew closer you’d often find yourself thinking that if she ever left you like they did, there’d be nothing left of you afterwards. you’d be a shell of broken pieces with no more love to accept.

it was scary, opening up to her about all of this, but she reassured you that she wasn’t like them. you chose to believe her one last time, and you’re once reclused self has now become chatty and open and vulnerable. you’re still deathly shy around her most of the time, but who can blame you when wanda looks the way she does - intimidatingly beautiful, pale green eyes and long auburn locks that shimmer in the rays of her bedroom where you both sit.

although you love the peace and serenity of relaxing with wanda, the moment is cut short when you hear a sharp inhale suck through her teeth. you turn your head and see her biting her lip, her hand pressed firmly into the skin of her thigh, trying to suppress whatever is causing her discomfort.

you sit up a little, thinking maybe your hurting her, but it doesn’t help, and another soft groan escapes her.

“are you okay, mommy?” you ask, tracing your fingers along the smooth skin on her legs in an attempt to relieve her. she shakes her head, wincing and cupping a hand on one of her breasts.

“ooouh - fuck,” she hisses, kneading her flesh. you sit, dumbfounded by whatever it is going on.

“sorry, sweetheart. mommy shouldn’t swear, but fuck-” she laughs acidicly. “it hurts.” her eyes close, like she’s trying to imagine anything other than the pain coursing through her veins. you sit and watch her fondle her breasts for a moment before the explanation to all of this shoots back into your memory. you remember her talking about a friend of hers who was going on a trip and wasn’t able to take her baby with her. she’d asked wanda to babysit for her and possibly cross feed because she didn’t want the baby on formula, for whatever reason you couldn’t remember - something about nutrients. wanda happily said she’d do it, but just a few days before the trip (after she’d already started on the lactation pills) her friend told her that it had been cancelled due to weather conditions.

wanda swore to herself to never do anything nice for anyone ever again after that. the pain is insurmountable, shooting through her flesh and making her stomach lurch.

“can i do anything to help?” you feel horrible, knowing she’s going through this for no reason and that there’s nothing she can do until the pills she took stop their effects.

“can you rub on mommy’s stomach please, baby?” the pills have also given her a number of side effects including cramps, and it makes her feel like a teenager who’s got their first period all over again.

you nod and she lifts her shirt up a little. you press your hand into her warm skin, slowly massaging the area with little dips of your fingers. she smiles through her pain at your efforts, reaching her hand out to smooth over your hair. “just a little more pressure, sweetheart,” she says, still moulding her breasts over her thin shirt.

you try your best to add pressure, but touching her like this feels weirdly intimate, especially when she has that contorted look on her face, and soft little whimpers spill from her mouth. you don’t want to overstep or end up hurting her.

“here,” she says, reaching out and patting your hand. “how about we switch, hm? you massage mommy’s boobs instead?” your lips part for a second before you realise and you quickly close your mouth, nervously rubbing the back of your neck. “a-are you sure?”

“of course, baby. mommy just needs a little more firmness on her tummy.” she connects her thumb and index fingers together as she speaks.

you don’t quite catch the coy smirk she lets her lips break in to for just a second, too busy not being able to look her in the eyes whilst you nod your head in agreement.

she straightens her face when you look up and gives you a tender smile instead, taking your hand and guiding you to her cloth covered breast. you lay your hand flat on the surface, too scared to move, to do anything. “go on sweetheart, help mommy feel better.”

it’s squishy and warm as you squeeze and you feel them spilling out of her bra underneath her shirt - the overgrowth of milk clearly making it too small for her. you begin lightly massaging, hands pressing in a clawing motion against her tits. “like this, mommy?”

she sighs, tipping her head back at your touch. “yeah, baby, oooh - that’s it,” she moans softly, placing her own hand on her stomach and pressing hard at the tightening pressure on her pelvis.

you massage for a few more minutes and it seems as though some of wanda’s pain has been alleviated. her eyes are closed and she breathes in long stretches as you work. you can’t say the idea of groping your mommy’s tits isn’t making your underwear just a little damp, and you try not to squirm every time she softly mewls, but it’s gets frustratingly harder with each passing minute.

even more so when you start to feel a slight wetness on her shirt. it settles on your palms, warm and slightly tinted. you pause, looking up at her. but she doesn’t seem to notice, too encapsulated in her meditative state.

the liquid flows a bit more freely now, darkening the patch of her shirt around where her nipples are. “m-mommy?” your fingers stop their motions on her boobs and her eyes flutter open. she sees you staring at your hand, unsure of what to do with the liquid that has accumulated there.

“oh, detka.” she coos, stroking your temple. “can you go and get mommy’s pump, please?”

you nod and she tells you it’s in one of her bedside table drawers. you stand up shakily, though you’re not sure why. your head seems to feel a little fluttery and you feel a slight jolt in your abdomen. a feeling that gets worse as you watch wanda lift her shirt up, revealing only a thin bra that has become almost transparent around her nipples.

you instantly look away, focusing on the task at hand. get her pump. you reach down to the bottom drawer of her nightstand and open it, fetching the item and walk back to the bed, almost antagonisingly slow.

you pass her the item and sit down next to her awkwardly, not knowing what to do with yourself. and if that wasn’t already hard enough, she reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, scrunching it up into a ball and aiming at the laundry basket a few feet away.

you turn away as soon as your eyes come into contact with her breasts, wanting to be respectful, not because you’re afraid of ogling her - no, never that.

“it’s okay, sweetheart,” she giggles. “you can look.”

you turn back around, smiling sheepishly and taking her in. they’re full, almost swollen, her nipples hardening as they come into contact with the fresh, cool, summer air. your cheeks turn pink and you try your best to look at her pretty face, but it feels like they’re staring right at you.

“you okay, bunny?” she snaps you out of your thoughts. you clear your throat and give her an unbelievable smile. “yes.”

she’s just about done fiddling with the pump and attaches the flange on to her nipple. she breathes, thinking she’s about to get a relief from all this, but the suction seems to not be working. she checks the tubing and assembly, not understanding what the problem is.

she tries once more and the suction fails again. she cups one of her boobs as an achy cramp suddenly attacks. “mmh,” she whimpers - unintentionally, or not, gripping one of your thighs.

you wouldn’t say you like seeing your mommy in pain, but the sounds she makes and the hold on your thigh is making quite the mess of your panties - much so that if she moved her hand one inch closer she’d for sure feel the stickiness coating your groin area.

“baby…” wanda whispers, her thumb making little circles on your thigh. “w-would you mind?” she asks, her words slow and drifting into the air. you catch them before they dissipate and your eyes widen involuntarily.

you know she really wouldn’t ask if she didn’t have any other option and the thought of her nipples in your mouth doesn’t seem like a bad thing, so why are you so nervous?

you stare into space, and she anxiously waits for your answer, hoping to get it sooner rather than later. “please, sweetheart…mommy hurts.” she winces, fingering her exposed, tender nipples. her words have you instantly obliging, nodding your head vigorously like that alone will stop her pain.

“yeah?” she waits for your confirmation, her tensed muscles finally relaxing a little.

“yeah,” you echo, your skin prickling with warmth.

“come here, sweetheart.” wanda opens her arms, gesturing for you to sit sideways on her lap. once you’re comfortable she kisses your forehead and rests her hand on the side of your thigh. you find it a little hard to breathe now that you’re close up to her - her breasts mere inches away from your face, dripping milk down onto her stomach. “go head, baby,” she coaxes, stroking your thigh.

you glance at her face once more and she softly smiles, all the extra reassurance you need to lean forward and wrap your lips around her nipple.

she sighs as you slowly suckle, letting her shoulders sink fully into their natural state. you hum and relax your tongue around her as the sweet, thin liquid flows into your mouth. it doesn’t taste like you expected, you somehow thought it’d be bitter, but it’s almost got a vanilla kind of tinge to it.

“mmh…good girl,” she murmurs, her fingers slow and soothing on your thigh, and a pulse of heat rushes straight to your core. your legs squirm slightly underneath her touch and you apply more pressure, suckling as the milk caresses your stomach lining.

wanda guides one of your hands to her other boob, placing it there and squeezing your fingers. you let out a low squeak as you massage, feeling the tiny milk droplets leak out of her nipple with each touch. “such a helpful little girl,” she says, moaning softly when you gently pinch her erect bud.

your sleep shorts seem to grow wetter just as fast as the milk seeps into your mouth. you don’t mean to have these reactions, but this whole situation feels like a fever dream, just not one you’d ever want to wake up from - it has your thoughts feeling blurry and your tummy feeling all funny. you press your free hand just above your panty line, willing the delightful ache away, but it doesn’t seem to work.

once the boob your undivided attention is on starts feeling a little empty, wanda sits you up and places you on the side of her other one. you don’t waste any time, latching on to her trickling nipple and shutting your eyes closed. she puts her hand back on your thigh, letting her fingertips dance up and down your skin. her lips widen as she sees just how much your enjoying it and she fights to hold back a moan when you accidentally bite her nipple, eager and hungry like you haven’t had a bite of food in days. you smile bashfully, an apologetic expression on your face.

“you like that, baby?” she grins, deep down wanting you to do it again. you just nod in response, irrationally afraid of what might happen if you let go for one second.

her fingertips trail up towards your stomach, she can’t seem to keep her hands to herself. she rubs the area with her palm, feeling your stomach bloat as it fills with liquid, the rising and dropping as you breathe accentuating the effect. “mommy loves your little tummy, sweetheart.” she presses a little harder, your stomach making little gurgling noises as you digest her milk.

you whimper, pursing your lips around her, forcing your legs shut as you squirm in her lap. wanda coos, kissing your cheeks and pushing harder against your stomach.

“poor baby.” she lowers her hands, trailing down towards your inner thighs. when you realise where she’s headed your brows pinch, and you gaze up at her, all doe eyed and fuzzy headed. she doesn’t say a word, her face motionless, just making it seem like innocent little touches. you almost believe it, but then you feel your shorts being pulled to the side and two fingers teasing you over your panties. you unlatch from her nipple, a sharp gasp squeezing out from your throat. “m-mommy?”

“keep suckling, baby - that’s it,” she mutters, gently pushing your mouth back onto her breast. her nails lightly graze your clit and you pule as she spreads your legs so that she can gain better access.

she flexes her fingers over your panties, slowly collecting all your dampness on her skin. “mommy felt how wet your sleep shorts were while you were drinking her milk, bunny,” she almost sings, gasping without a single ounce of shock at the wetness coating her fingers.

you find it hard to stay still, your legs writhing at her touch and your lips quivering around her nipple, making little drops of the white liquid drip out from your mouth. she neatly wipes the spilt milk off of your chin, kissing the corner of your mouth in the process. “was it making your insides all funny, hm? - sucking on mommy’s boobies.”

your hips buck at her words, making you flustered and hot within seconds - the teasing of her fingers on your pussy isn’t helping at all. “mhm…” is all you can manage with the sweltering heat attacking your core.

she pushes your panties to the side, running her fingers up your folds. “mm, i bet, honey.” she spreads them open, pressing a finger on your clit and rubbing in slow circles, and you let out a strained moan, burrowing your face in the side of her boob. “ohh, baby - does that feel good?”

you nod, whimpering into her skin as she increases the intensity, making your skin tingle and shiver. “fff- mommy,” you whine, popping her nipple back into your mouth and sucking eagerly, your teeth grazing her sensitive flesh. she moans inaudibly, her fingers slowing on your clit as she gathers herself before picking their pace back up and overwhelming your senses.

“such a pretty girl,” she says, smiling as if she’d just won the lottery and inching her fingers closer to your dripping hole. “say it for me, princess - tell mommy you’re her pretty girl.” she circles her fingers around your entrance, letting your slickness wrap around them like lube.

“‘m your pretty girl, mommy,” you mumble around her nipple, and it satisfies her enough so that she sticks her fingers inside your pussy, curling them slightly upwards and pounding them into you.

your hands clutch at her own as she fucks her fingers inside you, clawing and pulling involuntarily as your mind tries to keep up with your body. “shhh, i’ve got you. yeah, you’re doing such a good job…taking it so well.”

you suck lazily on her boob, milk dribbling down your chin and chest. wanda’s free hand rests on your stomach, pressing down like before, making you wriggle and press your hips up further into her touch, seeking what your body cannot handle.

you exhale sharply when she curls her fingers some more. her own hips start to lightly buck up against your thigh, the sight of your tired pussy being finger fucked and the feeling of your walls clenching around them making her insatiably aroused.

you feel her weak attempt at humping against you, the fabric of her pants and the position you’re in a useless barrier - you can tell how frustrated and pent up she is and it only causes your orgasm to draw closer. “god, sweetheart…you’re making mommy so wet,” she mewls, fucking her fingers deeper into your hole.

“‘m so close, mommy,” you cry out, your eyes glistening with unshed tears as you suckle on the remainder of what’s left in her boobs. the pressure on your cervix leaves you a whiny, disheveled mess, biting down hungrily on her nipples, needing more.

wanda groans, tilting your chin up and kissing your mouth - wet and sloppy and without any rhythm, struggling to keep her cool. her tongue rasps against yours and you noisily whimper into her mouth, the sounds vibrating against her oesophagus.

she teasingly presses harder on your stomach, knowing that will end up being your demise. you feel a knot of heaviness in your bladder and clutch at your mommy’s hands again, trying but failing to pry them off. “come for me, angel…come for mommy.”

you moan inaudibly one last time before your legs squeeze together and shake violently as your pussy contracts around her fingers and you reach your peak, a stream of pleasure washing over you.

“that’s it, baby.” wanda soothes, wrapping her arms around you while your body stiffens and your vision blurs. “soo pretty when you come.” she pulls her fingers out of you slowly then sticks them in her mouth, humming at the taste of you.

you whine, laying in the pleasure of your first orgasm for a moment, then press your face into her chest, ineptly sucking on the skin of her breast.

“shhh, mommy’s got you,” she whispers into your hairline, stroking up and down your backside. “such a good girl…”

she sits you on her lap, your legs straddling her. she looks down at your dazed expression and pouts at how soft and blissed out you look. it’s adorable, and she can’t resist pressing tiny little kisses all over your face.

you giggle, trying to shield yourself but she just pulls your hands away. “mm mm, i don’t think so” she teases, peppering your face even more and feeling her lips get warmer as you flush at her touch. “there’s my sweet girl.”

she softens, pulling you back against her chest and cradling you gently in her arms. “i love you, sweetheart,” she murmurs, petting your hair.

you bury your face deeper into her chest, drunk on love and affection - your mouth finds its way back to her nipple and you suckle until you no longer feel the sunlight on your back.

[maximoffsbutch]

Sweet Spinning Surrender

Pairing: Mommy!Wanda x Fem!Reader Summary: You've had one too many glasses of wine. Thankfully, Mommy's here to make sure nothing bad happens, right? Content Warning: Dubcon, mommy kink, intoxication, fingering (R receiving), power imbalance. Word count: 1.5k A/N: for the wonderful @sokovianpuppy on her birthday. i hope i did your kink list justice with this one. please be mindful of the dubcon tag, the con is very dub!

The lamp hums, its low golden glow the only source of trembling light in the living room. Outside, you can hear the rain tapping against the windows impatiently, but inside, the air is thick, cloying. Wanda’s perfume, something with fig and wood, usually makes your nose scrunch, but with how much wine you’ve had, all you can smell right now is the dizzying scent of crushed grapes.

You’re curled on the couch in one of Wanda’s oversized sweaters, the one that feels like it might’ve been plucked straight from a cloud. A half-empty glass of wine rests in your hands, your second now, while Wanda watches you from the other end of the couch. Her green eyes sparkle with something predatory that you don’t notice.

“Drink up, big girl,” she murmurs, her voice velvet to your ears. “You’ve had a very long week. Mommy wants to make sure you’re nice and relaxed.”

The bottle in her grasp tips forward, and the wine glugs generously into your glass, color so deep it makes you think of blood. You sip again, the wine burning sweet down your throat, and then again, over and over until your glass is lighter and the room is a little tilted on its axis. You swallow sluggishly, but when you try to pull back, Wanda keeps the glass there a second longer, and a trickle escapes the corner of your mouth when you finally pull away.

“Um,” you begin, your words coming out slower and softer than you want them to, a giggle laced between your words that doesn’t quite belong to you. “I think, um, that’s enough for me.”

Wanda shifts closer, the movement silent. Her hand finds your knee and begins to stroke, her thumb tracing little circles that make you skittish. “Shh, you’re fine,” she soothes, and your body slackens at the sound. “You’re alright, I’ve got you. Look at you, baby, blushing like that. You’re so pretty like this.” Her voice has a pleased note to it, like a panther curled up in the shade of a tree, body tense and waiting to pounce. 

The hand at your knee doesn’t stop. It slides up your leg and teases the hem of your sweater.

You squirm, pressing your legs together instinctively.

“Wait–” you say, the word slipping from your tongue. “My head feels weird.” Your voice is smaller, breathier than you’d like, almost faintly whiny. You push her hand away weakly, but the alcohol has turned your muscles soft and useless.

“Shh,” Wanda says again, the sound scratching a deep part of your brain. “Let me take care of you.” A gentle kiss to your temple while her fingers keep moving, slipping down until they cup between your legs over your panties. They’re already damp, and the realization makes your face burn hotter.

You squirm, your hips twisting away from her touch, but she follows easily, hand pressing more firmly.

“You’re getting so wet already, baby,” Wanda murmurs, her voice soft like velvet wrapped around a knife. “That’s okay. Your body needs this.”

“No… I don’t–” you begin, but the words tangle in your brain. You try to close your thighs, but her knee nudges between them, holding you open, exposed. Hot tears gather in your eyes, blurring the lamplight into hazy stars. “Wanda, please. It’s too much. I can’t.”

Another hush, less soothing than before, and then she’s nuzzling into your neck as her fingers push your panties aside. They slide through against your slick labia, slow and deliberate, and then, without hesitation, push inside you without any resistance at all. 

The sudden stretch prickles your eyes, and a broken whimper escapes your throat. You’re so full it hurts, and you feel yourself clenching around Wanda’s fingers despite confusion spinning in your mind.

“Easy, baby, I’ve got you,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing like she’s comforting a child. Her fingers curl deeper, stroking steadily against the sensitive spot that makes sparks shoot in your chest. The sound is filthy, rhythmic, and you whimper. “Just breathe. Mommy’s right here.”

The word lands when your head is already floating, thoughts too scattered to catch it fully, and it slips from your own lips before you can stop it, slurred and needy. 

“Mommy…” you sob softly, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Shame and heat twists together in your belly. “Mommy, wait– it’s too much, I can’t…”

“Poor, poor thing,” Wanda coos, almost mockingly, and your cheeks flare with heat as she leans in to lick away one of your tears. “But you’re taking my fingers so well. Look how nicely you’re opening up for me, baby.”

She scissors her fingers, stretching you impossibly wider, and the burn blooms into heavy pleasure that makes your hips jerk wildly. You whine, loud, pushing at her shoulders weakly as you squirm beneath her.

Your body is sliding against the couch, skin sweaty and sticking to the fabric. The sweater you’re wearing, Wanda’s, feels almost suffocating now, rubbing against your nipples with every twist and squirm. The scent of your arousal thickens the air, mixing with the foggy smell of wine. 

“Mommy… please, it’s too deep,” you say, voice cracking with dizziness. Your hips buck, trying to dislodge her, but the movement only drives her fingers deeper, and you moan despite yourself.

Your arousal coats Wanda’s hand, shining in the low lamplight. She holds you closer, moving an arm to wrap around your waist, effectively pinning you against her while her fingers keep their steady, unrelenting rhythm. 

“I know, baby. I know it’s a lot,” she soothes, her voice soft, and you almost forget how much you didn’t want this. “But Mommy’s here to help you, okay? You’ll feel so much better after you cum, sweetheart.”

Her thumb nudges at your clit insistently, and then it starts to circle, forcing out a cry from your mouth. Your legs tremble uncontrollably, thighs trying to clamp around her arm but they’re too shaky, your cunt too needy to allow the movement.

Tears stream steadily down your cheeks, and the blurry room won’t stop tilting. Every breath tastes like wine, and the wet sound of her fingers pumping into you fills the room alongside your desperate pants. 

“Please, Mommy– slow down, please, everything’s spinning,” you sob the words, half-begging, half-whining, not even sure of what you want anymore. The pleasure coiling tight and hot in your cunt is almost terrifying with how fast it’s building.

“Mommy knows exactly what you need,” Wanda says gently, almost tenderly, as if she was reading your thoughts. Her fingers curl with purpose, fucking you hard enough to make your hips cant upwards with every thrust. Her lips find your forehead, then your soft, fluttering eyelids, and finally a kiss to the corner of your trembling mouth. “My good girl. Let it build, sweetheart. Don’t fight it.”

You shake your head weakly, another broken sob escaping. “I can’t– Mommy–” The word keeps slipping out, making you dizzier, making everything more confusing. Your hips twitch in conflicted little movements, sometimes pulling away from her touch, other times grinding down on her hand. Sweat trickles down your back. The pressure inside you swells unbearably, every stroke of her fingers dragging you closer to the edge you never asked for.

Wanda’s breath is warm against your ear. “That’s it, baby, don’t fight it. It feels good, right? Let your body relax, don’t fight it.”

Your orgasm crashes over you without any mercy. Your whole body seizes, back arching sharply off the couch as a raw, choked cry is torn from your throat. Pleasure rips through your drunken haze in sharp waves, your cunt pulsing hard around her fingers, and warm wet heat gushes down your hand and onto the cushions. You’re sobbing through every spasm, tears flooding your vision, limbs shaking helplessly, your release too big, too intense, like it’s tearing through you.

Eventually it slows, weakening to soft pulses. Even as you tremble and whimper in the aftermath, Wanda’s fingers are still inside you, buried deep and stroking softly through the fluttering aftershocks. Your head is cradled against her chest, tears sticky against your cheeks. 

“Mommy’s got you. Breathe, baby. Just breathe.” Her free hand strokes your hair, heart-wrenchingly gentle even as her fingers give one last possessive curl inside you.

Your face finds her neck, dazed, exhausted, the room still spinning slowly around you. “Mommy…” you whisper, voice tiny and lost, unsure why the word in your mouth feels both comforting and terrifying.

Wanda smiles against your hair, pressing a soft kiss. “That’s right. Mommy’s here.” Her fingers twitch once more inside you, a wordless promise. The rain outside continues to fall. “Mommy’s not going anywhere.”

[penandpaperwriting]

Do you trust mommy?

Tags: step-mom Wanda, Dubcon, fingering, oral (r receiving), praise, mommy Wanda, implied age gap

“M-mommy… We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whimpered, your stepmothers fingers buried knuckle deep in your dripping pussy. Her body pressed yours into the corner of the couch, kissing and licking up your neck as she curled her fingers slowly.

“It’s okay baby, remember what I said last time?” Your stepmothers voice was so soothing and as you looked at her you couldn’t help but admire how pretty she was, even in your situation. Wanda’s fingers curled inside you again making your back arch with her. “I asked you a question pretty girl.”

Racking your brain you answered, “that, um… that all mommy’s made their little girls feel good?” She kissed your forehead and smiled, “Yes! Such a smart girl. Don’t you like when mommy stuffs your needy pussy?”

She knew how embarrassed you got when she talked dirty like that which only made you squirm more. “Mommy please…” she cocked her eyebrow at you before continuing to mark your neck. “Mommy, need you… I wanna cum.”

Wanda’s fingers rewarded your honesty by starting to pump inside and out of you. “Thankyou baby for telling mommy what you wanted. What would you do without me hm? Who could take care of your needs.”

She didn’t expect you to respond, already whining into your arm and squirming on her fingers. Pulling up your shirt she admired your tits, taking one nipple in her mouth as she fingered you. “Mommy, wait, I’m gonna- mommy!”

You tried to get away from her but Wanda only held your hips down with her spare hand. “Be still baby, you can cum whenever you want okay? Will you let me make you feel good?” With what little strength you had you managed to nod.

Wanda quickly adjusted so she could wrap her lips around your clit as her fingers fucked your sore pussy. It didn’t take long until you were tipping over the edge calling out Wanda’s name as your thighs squeezed around her head.

She released you when you tried to pull her away from the overstimulation which she allowed. Pulling her fingers out she kissed up your body slowly. “Such a pretty girl, so good for her mommy. I just wanna keep you all to myself and never let you go.”

Her lips connected with yours and she led an intense kiss as you tasted yourself on her tongue. “Mommy can we go to bed? I’m really tired.” She smiled as you struggled to talk and backed up from you.

“Yes baby we can go to bed, but mommy needs you to clean you up okay?” Your words of protest feel apart as her tongue cupped against your folds. Wanda had been teasing you for so long you felt sore and throbbing. Your hips couldn’t keep still as her tongue drank your previous release out of your dripping pussy, savoring the taste of you.

She continued for another five minutes, only stopping because you had started crying and saying it was too much.

Wanda loved having the house just to the two of you, carrying you to her husband where your father was gone on a work trip. Tucking you into bed before crawling in next to you. And sense you were such a good girl she let you suck on her chest until you fell asleep.

[maximoffsbutch]

would stepdad!nat ever film? 👀

oh, you jogged my memory… thank you so much anon. i had a little drabble sitting in my google doc like this. i hope you don't mind if i share with the class.

The camcorder’s red light blinks steadily. You’re already entranced by it, mouth stretched wide around Natasha’s cock, bobbing your head with eager, messy devotion. Saliva dribbles down your chin. Your eyes water, but you can't stop.

Natasha groans low, the sound vibrating through her chest. One of her hands grip the camcorder, and the other cradles the back of your head, guiding you gently as her hips roll forward to meet your mouth.

“Fuck… look at you,” she breathes, voice rough with arousal. “My perfect little pornstar. So eager to suck your Daddy’s cock.”

You moan around her length, the vibration pulling another deep groan from her. You take her deeper into your throat, nose brushing against her lower belly, cheeks hollowing as wet, filthy sounds fill the room. Natasha’s fingers tighten in your hair.

“That’s my good girl,” she sighs, a thumb stroking your tear-streaked cheek. “So pretty when you’re choking on me. Keep going, baby, just like that.”

Her hips twitch, cock pulsing heavy on your tongue. Your head bobs faster, desperate and sloppy, completely lost in the salty taste of her and the weight of the camcorder’s gaze.

“We’ll watch it after I cum, okay?” Natasha groans softly, hips rolling. “Gonna watch it while I fuck you from behind, baby.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing. You look up at her with wet lashes. The camera stares back.

[gayerthanevertbh]

like sugar on my tongue.

part i: in fucking debt

n.r masterlist | n.r one-shots masterlist | like sugar on my tongue series

summary: you’re a simple girl from new york. with two loving parents and a brother now off at college, life should feel steady—but instead, you’re drowning in debt. the weight of it all pushes you to the edge… until an unexpected encounter with natasha, an older woman you vaguely know through your mother—an acquaintance, a family friend of sorts—offers you something more than you ever imagined.

warnings: g!p natasha, older woman/younger woman dynamic, heavy smut, dom!natasha, sub!reader, angst, a bit of fluff, mentions of alcohol, dark romance-ish, and public sex.

note: this is just somewhat an introduction to this series, so i hope you like it! next part will have smut-who said that...

You were absolutely fucked.

Debt was curling its fingers around your throat, heavy and suffocating, and the worst part was you weren’t even sure when it had started piling up so high. Maybe it was the tuition you insisted on paying yourself because you didn’t want to burden your parents, maybe it was the small comforts you told yourself you deserved after long nights of writing, or maybe it was just the way you spent without thinking—an impulse, a rush, a moment of indulgence that always seemed harmless until the bill arrived. You weren’t one of those rich kids strolling through campus in designer coats and shiny shoes, you were the girl who came from a modest house in New York, raised by parents who loved you fiercely and taught you to be grateful for what you had. And yet somehow your room was stacked with bags and boxes of things you didn’t need, couldn’t sell, and refused to throw away. A hoarder, maybe, or just someone desperate for something she couldn’t name.

The numbers on your credit score glared back at you from the laptop screen, ugly and unforgiving, and you let out a groan that sounded more like defeat than frustration.

“Maybe you should try looking for a job,” Carmen’s voice broke through, her face framed by the grainy pixels of the call. She was lounging on her bed with the kind of ease that made you jealous. “I don’t know, maybe working as a barista or something? At least it’d be money.”

You dragged a hand over your face. “It could, but my parents won’t allow it.”

She gave you that look, the one that said she wasn’t buying it. “You don’t know that until you try.”

And she was right. Of course, she was right, but your mother—conservative, stubborn, convinced she knew what was best—had forbidden you from working until after college. You were only in your second year, two long years still ahead of you, and the thought of waiting while the debt grew like a shadow at your back made your stomach twist.

“I’ll talk to Dad,” you said finally, though the words didn’t carry much hope.

Carmen snorted, not unkindly but with that sharp edge of truth. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Okay, can we at least try to be hopeful?” you say, rolling your eyes the way you always do when you want something to sound light even though the pit in your stomach is real and loud, “I’ll figure something out—maybe I can make money from my thesis, or sell a few pieces, or—”

Carmen cuts you off before you can finish, the kind of blunt you’ve come to expect from someone majoring in Finance and who lives in spreadsheets and emergency plans, “That’s not really enough.”

You know she’s right; you know it in the slow way the room seems to tilt when you think about the numbers. Carmen is ridiculously smart, the sort of person who hears a problem and immediately sees three solutions and the risks attached to each, and lately she’s been the one keeping your expenses from collapsing into chaos because she actually understands how money breathes. You haven’t been entirely honest with her, not about how bad it’s gotten, and you can feel the warmth of her patience cooling into something sharper.

“I wish I could help,” she says at last, pity threaded through the words in a way that stings more than it should. “How much do you owe the bank?”

You lower your voice, embarrassed, the number tasting small and huge at once. “A thousand dollars.”

She swears, the single expletive landing like a slap because of how unremarkable and how huge it sounds coming from her. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“I know, I know—sorry—” you start, hands fluttering for something to steady you.

Carmen exhales, a long, exasperated sound, and presses her palms to her forehead as if trying to massage sense back into the situation. “Holy shit, Y/n. How the hell are you going to pay for that?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, exasperation folding into the slump of your shoulders as you lean back in the chair and let it creak under the small weight of your worry, shaking your head like the motion could dislodge the problem, “I’ll figure it out.”

Carmen’s eyes narrow; there’s no patience left for gentle encouragement, only the blunt edge of someone who sees consequences clearly and refuses to coddle them. “You better,” she says, voice low and dangerous, “or else you’re fucked.”

“So, what do I owe this visit for?”

“Hello, Mrs. Romanoff—”

“Please,” she interrupts with the kind of smile that has always left you off-balance, “call me Natasha.” She ushers you inside, her hand brushing yours as she closes the door behind you, and already there’s something in the air that feels heavier, charged, like static before a storm. “We’ve known each other since you were just a baby, after all.”

You nod, but the movement feels mechanical, because your stomach is alive with flutters you haven’t felt in years. When you were a kid, you’d been hopelessly enamored with her—this woman who seemed too beautiful, too elegant, too untouchable to belong to the same ordinary world you lived in. She had always been a charmer, her voice warm, her presence commanding, and sometimes you’d wondered if she was flirting with your mother, though your mother always laughed it off, insisting they were just good friends. Your father adored her, too, and from what you knew Natasha had a wife—Wanda, though you weren’t sure if that was still true anymore.

“Would you like a glass of orange juice? I remember you liked that,” she murmurs, the softness of her voice a little too intimate, a little too knowing. “Unless… you’ve changed.” Her hand lingers at your lower back as she guides you further inside, the touch deceptively casual but enough to make your pulse quicken. 

You haven’t, not really, and yet everything feels different now. Especially here, in her house—dark wood floors that gleam under the low light, shelves lined with heavy books and artifacts you can’t quite place, the air smelling faintly of leather, citrus, and something sharper, something like her. It’s beautiful in that dark academia way, elegant but shadowed, as though every corner hides some secret.

And standing here in it, with her hand still close, you realize how much you want to uncover them.

“Yes,” you stammer, your lips dry, your voice thinner than you’d like. “I’d… like that.”

Natasha’s smile tilts, a little bashful, her hair swept up into a loose bun that frames the sharp lines of her face. You turn, following where she leads, and your eyes catch on the photographs along the stairs—snapshots of years gone by, but none of them wedding pictures, none of them Natasha and Wanda. The absence stings louder than presence. Huh, you think, a strange mix of curiosity and relief blooming in your chest. I guess they did get divorced.

“W-Where’s Wanda?” The question slips out before you can stop it, even though you already suspect the answer.

The fridge door clicks shut, and Natasha leans back against it, her expression unreadable, shoulders lifting in the slightest shrug. “We got a divorce a few years ago.”

Your throat tightens. “I—I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be.” Her tone is steady, almost casual, as if the words had lost all weight over time. “It was over long before then. I found out she’d been having an affair with Vision.” She says it like she’s reading from a grocery list, not speaking of betrayal, and for a moment you wonder if she’s truly as unaffected as she sounds.

“Come,” she gestures with a hand, gentle but firm, “sit at the bar.”

You obey quietly, sliding onto the stool as she sets a glass of orange juice in front of you before claiming the seat beside you. Too close. Close enough that her fragrance—citrus bright, woodsy and deep, with that lingering trace of rose—wraps around you like memory. It’s the same scent you remember from childhood, the one you’d never quite been able to name, but always associated with her. Even now it pulls at you, unsettling in its familiarity.

“Your message seemed a little urgent.” Natasha sets her phone on the counter, her green eyes finding yours with that sharp, unblinking focus that always made you feel both exposed and seen. “What’s wrong, doll? Did something happen?”

Your heart stumbles. Oh god. If she keeps calling me that—

“Y-You have a company, right?”

Natasha tilts her head, studying you, then nods slowly. “Yes. I do. Why?”

The words catch in your throat. You’re terrified to ask—to beg, really—whether she might consider hiring you as an intern, or if she could at least put your name forward to someone she knows. You know it’s a lot, especially after all this time, after the distance that had kept her visits to your family rare. But desperation has a way of stripping you bare, and in this moment you decide there’s nothing pathetic about wanting to survive.

“I was wondering if…” The words taper off, thin and trembling, your knees knocking beneath the counter as though they’re trying to flee without you. Anxiety coils through your stomach, the kind that gnaws, whispering what-ifs—what if she laughs, what if she thinks you’re nothing but a greedy girl trying to milk an old family friend, what if she sends you out the door and never looks back? You wince at the thought and clasp your hands together tightly, nails pressing crescents into your palms. Get it together. “If I could… maybe be your intern. I know a lot about writing, and I’d love to learn in your field. Or if you know someone who could—”

“Woah, woah, slow down, kotenok.” Natasha’s voice cuts in, warm yet commanding, her hand finding your back and smoothing over it in slow, steady strokes. She acts as though you’re on the verge of a breakdown, though you aren’t even close to hyperventilating. “What’s happening? Something must’ve happened.”

What’s happening? Oh, nothing major, just that you’ve spent too much money on things you don’t need, have been trying to shoulder tuition by yourself, and now you’re buried in debt so deep it’s choking you. Is that what you want to hear, Ms. Romanoff?

“You wouldn’t want to know,” you murmur instead, but she hushes you softly, her hand still lingering, fingers tracing comfort into your spine. When she turns her head, her hair slips neatly over her shoulder, and suddenly her freckles are there, close enough to count. God, she’s beautiful—you’re enchanted, like you’ve stepped into some spell you can’t crawl out of. And here you are, pathetic, begging her for work.

“Are you doing okay financially?”

You shake your head. She only nods, her expression calm, understanding.

“Okay,” she says, steady as ever. “What happened? You’re still at NYU, right?”

“I… I have plans to drop out—”

“Please don’t,” she interrupts, her tone firm, almost pleading. “You know your father would’ve wanted you there.”

“I know, but I’m in so much debt,” you confess, voice cracking as tears sting your eyes. You swipe them away with the back of your hand, embarrassed by how quickly they come. “It’s my fault, really. I’ve been paying for my tuition because my parents aren’t working right now. You know Mom.”

She nods again, no judgment in her face.

“And Dad—” your voice falters, “—well, his car workshop isn’t doing so great, and he’s been… sitting around. So it’s been me, paying tuition, paying for essentials. I’ve been ghost-writing papers for students, sometimes the pay is good, but lately it’s barely anything. And honestly?” You laugh weakly, bitter. “I’ve been buying so much shit I don’t need. Are you sure you really want to hear all this?”

But Natasha doesn’t flinch. Her jaw doesn’t tighten, her expression doesn’t falter. She only listens, steady and unshaken, her hand never leaving your back. For some reason, that steadiness makes it easier to breathe. You find solace in it, though a small voice inside still whispers that you must look pathetic to her, desperate and small.

“You don’t have to help,” you add quietly, forcing a thin smile, already trying to pull yourself away before she can reject you. “You wouldn’t want an intern like me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Natasha’s gaze held you and suddenly the room narrowed to the green of her eyes, a color you’d never noticed properly as a child because you’d only ever seen her across a dinner table or at some polite gathering, never this close, never looking at you like she was reading the inside of your skull, and now you understood — painfully, absurdly — why Wanda might have been tempted, though the idea felt ugly and impossible, because Natasha moved through the world like a private storm, beautiful and precise and terrible all at once.

Her other hand came to your wrist and the fingers closed around you with a pressure that was at once casual and claiming, gentle enough to be kind but hard enough to leave a heat under your skin, “How much,” she asked, voice low, the words drawn out so they could roll around between you.

“A… a thousand dollars,” you said, the number out of you before you could bury it, and she nodded, slow, as if weighing it against something you couldn’t see. “That’s a lot, doll,” she said, and there was no judgment in it, only a darkness that made your pulse ping in your throat.

You murmured an apology, words falling thin, and she let out a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a small rueful sigh, “You’re right, you shouldn’t have been buying things you don’t need,” her tone sharp enough to feel like a scolding, and then softer, softer still as she watched the shape of your mouth, as if pity and hunger and amusement were all curdling into one expression and you tasted it. Her thumb brushed your wrist in a motion that looked accidental, and you felt it sweep everything away at once — the debt, your plans, the small dignity you’d tried to keep.

“I’m glad you reached out,” she said, and the words landed like an invitation, then a warning, “but I can’t let you be my intern—it would be… dangerous.” The last word lingered in the air, velvet and edged, and you realized with a small, reckless thrill that she meant more than the job, that ‘dangerous’ could be a promise or a threat, and you did not know which you wanted more. 

She holds your face like she’s learning the map of it, thumb and forefinger steady at your jaw while the rest of the kitchen blurs into background noise, the clock ticking and the hum of the fridge reduced to a distant tide. Her eyes are a private ocean — green and deep and hungry — and when she leans closer the air between you charges so quickly you could swear you can feel the electric filament of it.

“For I have something else in mind,” she says, voice low and silk-thin, and the words curl around you like smoke. They’re deliberate, measured, as if she’s been practicing how to say them so they land in the exact place she wants.

You would do anything. The thought arrives without ceremony, a foolish, urgent truth you can’t deny, and it sits in your throat warm and dangerous.

Natasha lets her fingers fall away and props her chin on one hand, watching you with an expression that’s part appraisal, part amusement, part something that makes your ribs clench. “You’re very beautiful,” she says, smiling like it’s a fact and a temptation at once. Her palm slides down to your knee with a casualness that is anything but casual, a single squeeze that leaves a little signature of heat where fabric separates skin from skin. “And I’ll be honest—I thought about kissing you the moment I saw you.”

Your breath stammers; the room leans in. For one dizzy second you are that small kid again, orbiting the grownups, desperate for one benevolent look, and then the child folds away because Natasha’s gaze is not maternal, not simple; it is possession with velvet edges.

She straightens and the practical voice returns, “But you can’t work for me,” she says, and there’s no explanation needed—she’s already drawn the line, clear and immovable on the surface: too complicated, too compromising. “It would be… dangerous, for both of us.” 

You feel the lifeline of her offer—placement at a company she trusts, a name that opens doors, a stipend steady enough to keep the red numbers at bay—and you should be grateful, you know you should, but gratitude gets tangled with something darker because the air between you hasn’t returned to ordinary. Her hand is still against your knee, and the scent around her—citrus and wood and the faint ghost of rose—fills your lungs like permission.

She watches you with a slow, feline smile. “I can place you somewhere excellent,” she murmurs, “somewhere respectable, with people who will take your work seriously. You’ll get experience, and pay, and you won’t have to swallow that fear every morning.” The promise is precise, practical, the kind of help that could reroute a life, and you can feel panic easing in your chest because the future suddenly looks like something with edges again.

Then she leans in, and the whisper that follows has nothing to do with CVs or references. It’s a deliberate change in tone, a velvet hand over a blade. “But I’m not offering you an internship here,” she says, each syllable measured, “because I don’t want us mixed up in that way.” Her fingers find yours and curl around them, holding as if to steady you and as if to mark you, and you realize she could let go at any moment and you would still be glittering from the contact.

“What if I told you I could wipe it all away?” Natasha tilts her head, that small, impossible smile pulling at one corner of her mouth as if she’s tasting the idea before she gives it to you, and when she speaks the kitchen shutters itself to the sound of her voice—low, even, silk over steel. “I could pay off your debt, every red number on every screen, and I could pay your tuition so you don’t have to crawl through another semester with that weight on your back. I could buy you the things you want—the stupid, useless things you tell yourself you deserve—or the things you actually need. I could get you an apartment, proper and safe, somewhere you don’t wake up to bills and panic, and if you wanted… you could live with me.”

The offer hangs between you like a promise and a question at once, generous and dangerous, an incision that leaves you both relieved and raw.

Her smile darkens in a way that makes the back of your neck prickle. “I want something else,” she says, and the words slow down until they become a small danger you can taste. “I want you.” Her mouth curves, indulgent and hungry. “Not on my payroll, not in my office. With me. Close. Safe—in my house, in my life. I would take care of you. Pay your debts, pay your tuition, buy you the things you tell yourself you don’t deserve. I would make room so the world couldn’t reach you the way it does now.”

You know what she’s saying before she finishes, the phrase landing with a clarity that leaves no room for euphemism, no softening. She names it like a contract and a caress at once. “Would you be my sugar baby?” she asks, and there is nothing coy or half-hearted about it, the question deliberate, almost ceremonial, spoken as if she is placing an offering at your feet and watching to see whether you will take it.

The kitchen holds its breath. Her hand tightens around yours a fraction, a punctuation that feels both protective and owning. In that tiny pressure you understand the shape of the bargain: freedom from the numbers, an ease you have not known in months, and in exchange something intimate that will belong to her — time, presence, perhaps favors she will expect and expect in kind. The word sugar tastes oddly modern and mercantile on her lips, yet when she says it it becomes heavy with promise.

You can see the life she sketches without words: a tidy ledger that reads balanced, evenings that begin with coffee and end warm and muted, a name whispered in introductions that opens rooms, a small army of obligations she will shoulder for a price that is not written in dollars. The danger is visible now and bright; it is a coin that glitters and cuts at the same time, and you are, impossibly, already moving toward it.

“I want you to be my sugar baby.”

You swallowed hard when her lips pressed against the palm of your hand—a slow, deliberate kiss, claiming more than just skin. It felt like possession, like she was etching her name into the space between your ribs, and the absurd intimacy of it made your head spin. You wanted to recoil, to stand and leave and never let her see you tremble—because you weren’t that kind of girl, you told yourself—but the warmth of her mouth lingered, seeping into places that had nothing to do with flesh and everything to do with want.

The words stammered inside you—say no, leave, don’t let her in—but something older and darker coiled beneath, a hunger you couldn’t ignore. You told yourself maybe you could take what she offered, clear your debts, rebuild your life, and walk away when it was all over—but the thought of leaving felt like loss, like severing a vein you hadn’t realized you needed.

“N—Natasha, I don’t—” you began, the protest thin, brittle.

Her fingers tightened once on your knee, then eased—patient, certain, as if time bent to her will. “Your parents won’t have to know,” she cut in, her tone velvet, dangerous in its softness. “Think about it—you, having everything you want, without a worry. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“W-Why are you doing this?” The question left you small, unsteady, the thrill in your bones betraying you.

Her smile deepened, as she squeezed your knee again. “Because I long for someone like you.”

The truth of it struck like a blade wrapped in silk. Salvation braided with possession, safety tangled with surrender—freedom traded for closeness. Every alarm inside you should have been screaming, every instinct telling you to run—but it felt like gravity instead, heavy and inevitable.

You were absolutely fucked—and worse, you wanted it. You wanted her, all of her, and the thought of saying no hurt more than the danger of saying yes.

taglist: @aru-son

[sokovianpuppy]

CAGE OF LIES

MEN AND MINORS DNI !!!

Pairing: Mommy!Wanda x Puppy!Reader

Summary: After failing a critical exam, you make the mistake of trying to hide the truth from Wanda. For three excruciating hours, she humors your act, playing the part of the perfect, nurturing figure while you spiral in a suffocating web of lies. But Wanda is as strategic as she is observant; she’s been watching you break from the moment you walked through the door. When she finally forces the confrontation, her disappointment is cold, clinical, and absolute. It is a long, grueling lesson in honesty designed to strip away your cowardice and remind you that you cannot hide from the one who knows you better than you know yourself.

Warnings: Mommy/Puppy dynamics, academic failure, lying, psychological tension, slow-burn emotional distress, spanking as punishment, emotional dominance, power dynamics, tearful submission, heavy aftercare, protective!Wanda.

The deception wasn’t just a moment; it was a performance, and for the entire evening, Wanda sat in the front row, watching you flounder with the detached, clinical curiosity of an entomologist watching a spider struggle in a web.

The house was perfectly still, save for the rhythmic thud of the fireplace logs and the soft clinking of silverware against china. Dinner had been a masterclass in psychological torture. Wanda was the perfect picture of domestic bliss, attentive, calm, and nurturing. She poured your wine, she cut your meat, she asked about your day with a sweetness that felt like a razor blade sliding behind your ribs.

"How was the testing centre?" she asked, her voice a melodic, low hum. She was watching you over the rim of her glass, her eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that made you want to crawl out of your own skin.

"It was... long," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart was a frantic, erratic drumbeat in your ears. "Lots of reading. I think I did... well enough."

"Well enough," she repeated, the words tasting like honey on her tongue. She leaned forward, the candlelight catching the red in her eyes. "You’ve worked so hard for this, Y/N. I’ve watched you study. I’ve seen the late nights. You’ve been so diligent."

Every word felt like a death sentence. You knew the results were sitting in your inbox, a failing grade, a glaring red F that mocked your incompetence. You had promised her you would pass. You had promised her you would be someone she could be proud of. And now, you were just a liar, drowning in the silence of her living room.

For three hours, she hummed that soft, haunting melody, the one she hummed when she was bored, or when she was thinking about how much power she had over you. She moved about the house with a grace that felt predatory. Every time you checked your phone, you felt her gaze shift to you. You weren’t being subtle; you were vibrating with anxiety. She saw it. She fed on it. She loved watching the way your eyes darted around the room, the way your fingers trembled against the fabric of the sofa, the way your breath hitched whenever she got too close.

She kept you in the cage of her normalcy. She made you sit on the couch while she read to you, her hand tracing patterns on your thigh, her fingers digging in just enough to remind you that you were held, that you were trapped.

"You're so tense, puppy," she murmured, her voice silk-wrapped steel. She stood up, smoothing her dress with agonising slowness. "And your thoughts... they're so loud tonight. It’s almost as if you’re trying to scream."

You froze. The blood drained from your face. "Mommy, I—"

"Shh." She pressed a single, cool finger to your lips. Her eyes were glowing now, a soft, pulsating scarlet that seemed to dim the lights of the entire room. The air grew heavy, static electricity dancing across your skin, making the hairs on your arms stand up. "I’ve given you all evening to tell me. I watched you sweat. I watched you tremble. I watched you lie, over and over, hoping I wouldn't notice the way your heart rate spiked every time you looked at me."

She sighed, a sound of genuine, heartbreaking disappointment. "I didn't expect you to be perfect, little one. I expected you to be capable. I expected you to be honest. But this? This is just... pathetic."

She walked to the fireplace, her silhouette long and imposing against the mantle. She didn't look at you. She simply flicked her wrist, and the heavy, solid oak doors of the house slammed shut and locked, the sound reverberating through the walls like a thunderclap. The windows frosted over, turning the outside world into a blurred, inaccessible gray. You were alone with her.

"Do you know why I'm disappointed?" she asked, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "It isn't because you failed the exam. Failure is a temporary state. It’s because you treated me like a fool. You thought your pathetic little secrets could hide from me."

She turned, and the sheer weight of her authority hit you like a physical force. She didn't shout. She didn't lose her composure. Her stillness was the most terrifying thing you had ever seen. She glided across the room, and when she reached you, she didn't grab you. She simply commanded, "Kneel."

Your body betrayed you, sinking to the floor without your permission.

"You've been dishonest," she said, pacing slowly around you, her fingers trailing along the back of your neck. "You've been manipulative. And you've been lazy. Thirty strikes, Y/N. And you're going to pay for every single one of them."

She forced you up and guided you toward the study, the room where she kept her 'instructional tools.' She pushed you over the edge of her desk, your chest pressed against the polished mahogany. You began to squirm, a desperate sob rising in your throat, but she flicked her wrist, and your body locked into place, held by the invisible, suffocating grip of her magic.

"Stop," she whispered against your ear, her voice dripping with a terrifying, possessive sweetness. "You've been moving far too much tonight. It's time to be still."

She reached for a heavy, wooden ruler, not for play, but for discipline. She weighed it in her hand, testing the balance, her eyes fixed on your back with cold, analytical focus.

Smack.

The first strike landed, sharp and searing. You gasped, your body bucking, but the magic held you rigid.

"One," she counted, her voice a calm, clinical drone. "That's for the failure."

Smack.

"Two. That’s for the initial lie."

Smack.

"Three. That's for the second lie. And the third. And every single second you sat across from me at dinner, pretending you weren't failing me."

She didn't stop. She took her time, pausing between every strike to watch you writhe, to watch the tears stream down your face, to ensure that the message was sinking into your very bones. She explained the theory behind her discipline as she worked, how you were an extension of her, how your incompetence reflected poorly on her, and how her "correction" was the only thing preventing you from becoming a complete failure.

"You're a mess, puppy," she murmured, her hand coming down again, the strike echoing in the silent room. "A weeping, lying mess. And look at you, you're still trying to hide from me. You're still squirming, still hoping I'll stop."

She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear, her hand resting firmly, possessively on the small of your back. She was no longer just a teacher; she was an architect, and she was busy rebuilding your obedience from the ground up.

"I am going to strip every layer of this cowardice away," she promised, her voice a low, melodic promise of more to come. "You are going to be honest, you are going to be capable, and most importantly, you are going to be mine. Are we clear?"

She waited for your answer, her hand poised for another strike, her eyes glowing with an unwavering, terrifying resolve. You were broken, you were stinging, and you were completely, utterly hers.

The transition from the study to the bedroom was a blur, a disorienting shift from the sharp, stinging reality of the desk to the cool, quiet safety of the room where you belonged to her. Your skin was still throbbing, a physical manifestation of your failure and her correction, but the suffocating knot of the lie in your chest had finally unraveled.

Wanda stood by the side of the bed for a moment, waiting. She didn’t hover, but she remained close, her presence a steady anchor in the dim amber light. When you finally sat on the edge of the mattress, the adrenaline that had fueled your panic all evening finally bottomed out. You felt fragile, like you might shatter if you moved too quickly.

"Come here, little one," she said softly. Her voice lacked the sharp edge of the study; it was heavy, velvety, and resonant with a depth of care that felt almost overwhelming.

You stood up on shaky legs and moved toward her. You didn’t even make it to the bed before the first heavy sob broke free. You collapsed into her, burying your face in the crook of her neck, and the tears came in a hot, frantic rush. They weren't just from the physical sting; they were the outpouring of three hours of holding your breath, of the crushing weight of disappointing the person whose opinion mattered most.

Wanda didn’t try to shush you or tell you to be strong. She let you fall apart. She moved backward, guiding you toward the bed, and sat down, pulling you into her lap. You were curled up against her, trembling violently, your hands clutching the front of her shirt as if she were the only solid thing in a collapsing world.

She rocked you back and forth, a slow, rhythmic motion that felt as natural as breathing. One of her hands stayed firmly on your back, not to punish, but to soothe, her palm moving in broad, reassuring circles that covered the places she had disciplined, effectively "healing" the hurt with the weight of her touch.

"I know," she murmured into your hair, her lips pressing against your temple over and over. "I know, my love. Let it out. It’s all gone now. There are no more secrets. There is only us."

You cried until your throat felt raw, the shame of the lie and the sting of the discipline leaking out of you with every breath. Wanda just held you, her heartbeat a steady, thrumming rhythm against your cheek. She was the one who had caused the pain, and yet she was the only place you could bear to be.

She reached for the silk cloth and the salve on the nightstand, her movements agonizingly tender. She moved with a reverent focus, dabbing at your skin with such care that you choked on another sob.

"You’re okay," she whispered, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw to force you to look at her. Her eyes were dark, devoid of the earlier scarlet glow, replaced by a gaze so soft and profoundly loving it made your heart ache. "Look at me, puppy. I am not angry anymore. The debt is paid. The lesson is finished."

She leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours. She didn't kiss you immediately; she let you breathe, her thumb gently wiping away the hot, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. "You are allowed to be flawed, Y/N. You are human. But you are my human. And I will never let you drift that far from the truth again. I cannot let you hurt yourself like that."

She pulled you flush against her, shielding you from the rest of the world. She tucked your head under her chin, her arms wrapped around you so tightly it felt like a cage, a safe, warm, and possessive cage.

"I’m sorry," you managed to gasp out, the words thick and wet. "I’m so sorry I lied and made you do that."

Wanda tightened her hold, her fingers digging gently into the back of your neck. "Shh. No more apologies. You’ve had enough for one night. You’re safe here."

She began to hum again, that low, familiar melody that usually heralded sleep. She kept her hand moving on your back, her touch so deliberate, so possessive, that you felt the last of the tension bleed out of your muscles. You were exhausted, your body aching and heavy, but as you drifted, you felt entirely, completely held.

She didn't move until your breathing had evened out into the shallow, hitching sighs of someone who has cried themselves to sleep. Even then, she didn't lay you down. She kept you gathered in her arms, her chin resting on the top of your head, watching you with an expression of such fierce, unconditional devotion that it would have shattered you all over again if you hadn't been already drifting into the dark.

She was your Mommy, your keeper, and your harbor. And as the last of your tears dried on her skin, you knew that no matter what happened, no matter how many times you stumbled, she would always be the one there to catch you, to correct you, and to hold you until you were whole again.

[splattynatty1984]

Make It Stick

Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Wanda told you it was time for bed. You rolled your eyes. She gave you fifty lines. You rolled your eyes again. It's just so hard to follow the rules, isn't it? Don't worry. Mommy's here to help you remember.

content: maximommy kink, spanking, vibrator (bzz bzz), edging, faux sympathy and condescension (make brain go fuzzy)

18+ NSFW oneshot, MINORS DNI | 3.9k words

ao3

The first time you rolled your eyes, Wanda saw it.

She always saw everything, which was something you knew and had known for a long time, and which had apparently not factored into your decision-making when you'd done it anyway. She'd been in the middle of telling you it was time for bed. Reasonably, calmly, in the tone she used when she was still giving you the opportunity to make a good choice. And despite every bit of sense in you, you'd rolled your eyes so completely and so visibly that there had been a moment of silence afterward that felt like it lasted hours.

"Excuse me?" Wanda had said. She sounded almost pleased, but her face. Oh, her face. The way her smile had shifted, how her eyebrows had grown a furrow between them.

You'd known, in that moment, that you'd made a miscalculation.

She'd set you up at the kitchen table with a notebook and a pen. The instructions had been simple: fifty lines, I will not roll my eyes at Mommy, neat handwriting, every single one. She'd sat across from you with her tea and a book, and she had not looked up once while you wrote, which was almost worse than if she'd been watching you. The casual attention—like this was a minor administrative matter she'd already moved past—had made your face hot for the entire forty minutes it had taken you to complete them.

You'd handed the notebook across the table and she'd read through every line with the same close attention she gave everything, turning the pages slowly. Then she'd closed it and looked at you.

"Good girl," she'd said. "Now off to bed you go."

You'd gone to bed. You'd laid there in the dark of your shared room for approximately forty-five minutes, listening to Wanda move through the apartment—the quiet sounds of her finishing her tea, washing the cup, the soft click of the lamp in the living room. Then she'd come to bed and settled beside you. She'd said nothing and that had been that.

That had been two days ago.

Tonight, she'd told you it was time for bed again in the same reasonable tone, same calm. You'd looked at her across the living room and your eyes had moved before you'd made the decision to move them.

All the way up. All the way back down.

The silence afterward had been different this time.

Wanda set her book down on the cushion beside her with the specific care of someone who was making sure their hands were free. She looked at you from across the room. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't change her expression, exactly. But something in it shifted, settled, went very still in the way that meant something underneath it had made a decision.

"Come here," she said.

You came. Of course you came—there was something in that tone that your body responded to before your brain weighed in on the matter—and you crossed the living room and stood in front of her, trying to look like you weren't already regretting the last four seconds of your life.

Wanda looked up at you from the couch. She took her time about it. She let the silence sit for a moment, comfortable with it the way she was comfortable with most things, and then she tilted her head very slightly.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me, baby?" she asked. Her voice was warm. Genuinely, pleasantly warm. It was not anger. It was something far more composed than anger. You almost wished it was anger.

"I didn't mean to," you said.

"Mm." She looked at you for another moment. "You didn't mean to. Your eyes just went up, all on their own." The corner of her mouth moved. "Is that what happened?"

"Kind of," you said, which was not a good answer and you damn well knew it.

"Kind of," Wanda repeated, with the gentle, patient quality of someone working through something with a great deal of tolerance. She reached out and took your wrist—lightly, just her fingers curled around it—and pulled you forward one step so you were standing directly in front of her. "We did this two nights ago, baby. Do you remember that?"

"Yes," you said, huffing out a breath.

"Fifty lines," she said. "Neat handwriting. I sat right there and watched you write every single one." She looked up at you with those dark eyes, warm and steady. "And you remember what they said?"

"I will not roll my eyes at Mommy," you said quietly.

"I will not roll my eyes at Mommy," she repeated pleasantly. "And yet." She gestured at you, an open small motion of her hand, indicating the entirety of what had just happened. "Here we are."

You opened your mouth, but suddenly her face went stern. Her chin lowered, her eyes narrowed, her entire demeanor changed in one second.

"I want you to think," she said, before you could say anything, "very carefully, about what you're about to say to me."

You closed your mouth, and her expression faded back to gentle just as quick as it had shifted.

"Good girl," she said, with a warmth that was somehow more pointed than sharpness would have been. "See, you can make good choices. When you try." She let go of your wrist and sat back slightly, looking at you with an expression of mild, genuine consideration, like she was turning something over. "The lines didn't work."

You almost shot back. You came so, so close to replying with something sarcastic. But somehow, surprising yourself, you managed to keep your mouth shut.

"You know," Wanda said, knowing. "Because you just did it again. While looking directly at me." She paused. "Was it worth it?"

You said nothing.

"I asked you a question, baby."

"Probably not," you said.

"No," she agreed pleasantly. "It wasn't. And do you know why it wasn't?"

You had several guesses.

"Because now we have to do something that actually works," Wanda said, standing up.

She was not rushing. She moved through the apartment the way she moved through everything, calm and not rushed. She went to the bedroom and you followed because following was the only thing your body was currently interested in doing, and she opened the closet and took out the box from the top shelf, the one you were familiar with, setting it on the bed.

She sat on the edge of the mattress and looked at you standing in the doorway.

All she had to do was snap her fingers and point to the spot in front of her.

You closed the door, before walking to stand in front of her. She looked up at you with that same warm, patient expression and reached for the hem of your sleep shorts.

"These can come off," she said, pulling them down with practical hands, leaving you in your underwear. She folded them, set them aside, and then she looked at you again. "And those."

Your underwear followed. She set those aside too.

"There you are," she said, pleasantly. "Go on and lay across my lap, sweetheart."

"Wanda—"

"That's not what you call me," she corrected, gentle as anything, the word landing in your stomach and spreading warmth. "And what I said wasn't a suggestion. Lay across my lap, please."

You didn't attempt to argue further.

She settled you there with practical, unhurried hands—adjusting your position until you were where she wanted you, her palm resting warm and still at the small of your back. You could feel the warmth of her legs beneath you and the quiet of the room and both of those things would usually be comforting but not at this particular moment.

"Okay," Wanda said, above you, with the tone of someone beginning a project they'd thought through carefully. "So here's what's going to happen." Her palm moved in a slow circle at your lower back—not soothing exactly, not yet. "We're going to talk about tonight. And I'm going to remind you of a few things. And then you're going to tell me you understand. And then—" a pause "—we're going to make sure it actually sticks this time."

You said nothing.

"Good," she said approvingly, like your silence was a choice she found pleasing. "See, when you're not talking, it's so much nicer. Isn't it?"

"Mommy—"

"That was almost silence," she said, pleasantly. "So close." Her hand moved to your lower back and held there, fingers tapping an absent rhythm. "Let's try again. Why are we here?"

"Because I rolled my eyes," you said into the duvet, your voice almost like a sigh.

"You rolled your eyes," she said. "After we'd already addressed this. After you'd written fifty lines." She stroked her palm once down the back of your thigh—slow, light—and back up. "Do you know what that tells me?"

"No…" you said.

"It tells me," she said, "that the lines were too easy." Another slow stroke down and back. "That you could write them and not really feel them. That you need something that's going to stay with you a little longer." She paused. "Do you think that's fair?"

"Yes…" you said quietly.

"Yes, what?"

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, biting your cheek. "Yes, Mommy."

"Good girl," she said warmly. "That's right. It is fair. And I want you to know—" her hand rested at the top of your thigh "—that I'm not upset with you."

Something in your stomach turned over.

"I mean it," she said, pleasantly. "I'm not angry. I'm not disappointed, even. I just know my girl, and my girl needs things to be very clear sometimes. Needs to feel them." Her palm moved to your ass and rested there, warm and still. "Don't you?"

You didn't answer.

"Don't you?" she said again, pinching the skin of your ass.

"Yes, Mommy," you said, squeaking.

Wanda smiled in satisfaction.

"There she is." A pause. "And that's what we're going to do tonight. We're going to make things very clear." Her hand lifted.

The first spank landed clean and sharp, exactly over your right asscheek. You made a sound into the duvet and she rubbed slow circles over the spot immediately after, her palm warm against the sting.

"One," she said, pleasantly. "We rolled our eyes after already being corrected for it. Which means we didn't take the correction seriously." Another one, the same spot, and your breath came out in a rush. "Two. We made a choice when we could have made a different one." She rubbed the heat in after, steady circles, her touch unhurried. "Are you with me so far?"

"Yes," you managed.

"Yes, what? Honestly, your manners these days."

"Yes, Mommy."

"Good girl," Wanda said, so warmly, and she landed another, lower this time, and you grabbed a fistful of the duvet. "See, that's all I want. For you to be with me. To listen. Is that so hard?"

It wasn't a question she needed an answer to, which was good because you didn't have one. She worked through the next several at her own pace—reading the sounds you made and adjusting, rubbing warmth into the heat after each one with the attentive patience of someone who was doing this correctly and knew it. She stopped occasionally to stroke your lower back, to let you breathe, to say something calm about what you'd done and why it had landed you here.

"Poor baby," she said, at one point, with a warmth that was so clearly arch that it made your stomach pull tight. "This isn't very comfortable, is it?"

"No, Mommy," you managed.

"No," she agreed. "I imagine not." She rubbed a slow circle over where she'd just landed the last one. "Maybe next time you'll think about this when you feel the urge to roll your eyes at me." Another one, sharper, and you cried out softly. "Or maybe not. Maybe you'll need reminders. And that's okay too." She soothed it afterward, her touch warm and certain. "That's what Mommy is here for."

By the time she finished, you were trembling and your face was wet. You were gripping the duvet in both hands, your backside hot, and you felt utterly and completely undone in a way that had nothing to do with anger anymore, that had in fact been several other things for a while now, things you were dimly aware of and not currently doing anything about.

Wanda seemed to be doing something about them.

Her hand slid from your lower back to your hip and then lower, and the sound you made was immediate and embarrassing. In response, she made a sound of her own, though hers had significantly more satisfaction.

"Oh," she said, pleasantly. "Look at that."

"Wanda—"

"Mommy," she corrected, and her fingers pressed through your folds, slick and openly desperate. "You're absolutely soaked, baby. After all that." Her fingers didn't move, just rested there against your clit, lightly. "Does being corrected do this to you?"

"Mommy—please—"

"Please," she repeated, in the tone of someone savoring a word. "That's better. That's so much better than an eye roll, isn't it?" She pressed slightly, adding pressure against your now need-induced throbbing clit, and you made a sound that was not a word. "See how nicely you can ask when you try."

She helped you up—hands under your arms, lifting you with an ease that she didn't make a production of—and arranged you on the bed. On your back, propped against the pillows, and she looked at you spread out in front of her and her expression was warm but had a heat underneath it.

She opened the box.

The wand was familiar. You'd seen it before, felt it before, had extremely specific opinions about it at this particular level of wound-up. Wanda held it lightly and looked at you with those hypnotizing eyes.

"We're going to finish this properly," she said. "And then you're going to go to sleep like a good girl." She tilted her head. "And next time I tell you it's bedtime, what are you going to do?"

"Go to bed," you said, your voice pretty much a whine.

"And if you feel the urge to roll your eyes?"

"I won't," you said.

"Mm," she said, pleasantly skeptical, the sound of someone who found this optimistic but charming. "We'll see." She clicked the wand on—the low hum of it filling the quiet room—and looked at you. "Spread your legs for me, sweetheart."

You spread your legs. There was no hesitation either. You knew that if you did hesitate, you'd be left without any relief and you'd already dug yourself into one hole tonight.

She settled beside you and brought the wand to your inner thigh first—not where you needed it, nowhere near where you needed it—and the vibration against the sensitive skin there made you inhale sharply and your hips tilt toward it automatically. She watched that happen with a small, warm expression.

"Oh, already?" she said. "Greedy girl. We haven't even started." She moved the wand slightly closer and then back, watching you chase it, and made a soft cooing sound. "Look at you. After everything we just did, you're this desperate?" She tsked gently. "I don't know whether to be concerned or impressed."

"Mommy—"

"Shh," she said, extending that for longer than it truly needed, and it did in fact make you more wet. "I'm getting there. You can wait." She moved the wand along your inner thigh in slow strokes—deliberate, close but not there—and watched your hips move with helpless frustration. "Can't you?"

"It's harrrrd," you whined.

"I know, baby," she said, with such warm sympathy that it made heat pool in your stomach. "I know it's hard. That's a little bit the point." She pressed the wand to the crease of your thigh, right at the edge of where you needed it, and held it there while you made a sound into the lamplight. "There you go. Is that better?"

"Please," you breathed. "Mommy—please—"

"Oh, keep begging, my sweet one," she said, warmly. "It's adorable."

"Please—I need—closer—"

"Closer," she repeated, like she was considering the word. "Let me think about that." She did not move the wand. She watched you squirm and tilted her head with the expression of someone finding this genuinely interesting. "You know, two days ago you wrote fifty lines. And tonight you rolled your eyes again while looking directly at me." She moved the wand a fraction closer and felt you tense toward it. "So you'll understand if I want to make sure we're in agreement before I give you anything."

"We're in agreement," you said immediately. "I understand, Mommy—I'm sorry—please—"

"You're sorry," she said. "That's sweet. You're so sweet when you ask nicely."

She brought the wand to your clit, and you genuinely cried out in both relief and surprise.

She kept the setting on low—she knew exactly what she was doing—and held it steady, watching your back arch and your hands grab the sheets, your whole body reaching toward something that was building fast from the accumulated tension of everything that had come before. She kept her eyes on your face, reading you the way she read everything.

"There's my girl," she said. "See? All you had to do was ask nicely." She kept the pressure steady and watched you climb, her voice staying that same warm pleasant register. "You're doing so well. Such a good girl when you try. It's almost a shame you made it so difficult to get here." She tilted her head. "Almost."

"Mommy—" You were close already, embarrassingly close, wound up from everything prior and now the wand. "Mommy—I'm going to—"

"Are you?" she asked, pleasantly interested, and then she moved the wand away.

The sound you made was not dignified. You did not give a single fuck about that.

"Oh, sweetheart," she said, with such warm, such loving, such completely fake sympathy, looking at you in your frustration with an expression of mild, caring concern. "Did you think we were done?" She set the wand against your thigh, letting the vibration hum against the skin there while you came down from the edge, watching your face the whole time. "We're not done yet."

"Mommy—please!"

"I know," Wanda said. "I hear you." She stroked your inner thigh with her free hand, light and soothing. "You're doing so well with asking nicely, by the way. I want to acknowledge that. It's a real improvement."

"Please don't—" You took a breath. "Please don't do that right now."

"Don't do what?" she asked, with innocent warmth.

"Talk like that when I'm—" You stopped.

"When you're what?" she said, her voice too encouraging.

You closed your eyes, that feeling settling in you, the one where your head got all mushy without your permission.

"When you're desperate?" she finished for you, and the word landed precisely where she meant it to. She cooed softly. "Oh, baby. I know. I know it's a lot." She brought the wand back to your clit and your whole body responded immediately, your back arching. "But you were quite the handful tonight. So we're going to take our time."

She worked you back up slowly—starting low, building the pressure in increments, reading every sound and shift. You were gripping the sheets, making sounds that the room absorbed, and she kept her voice soft and exactly calibrated. She cooed when you were good. She acknowledged, pleasantly and at length, every time you asked nicely. She noted, with warm and gentle specificity, exactly how you'd gotten yourself here and what you could do differently in the future.

She moved the wand away a second time just as you were about to cum.

"No!" The word came out before you could manage it. "Mommy—please—no—I was so close—"

"I know you were," she said sympathetically. "I could tell." She rubbed a small circle on your hip with her free hand. "You're so sensitive, baby. You feel everything so much." She looked at you with those warm dark eyes. "That's actually something I find very sweet about you."

"Then please—"

"Mm," she hummed. "In a minute. Breathe for me."

You took a breath in and made sure she could hear it. She watched you do it and kept her hand moving in small circles on your thigh, letting the vibrator rest against your thigh and waiting.

"Good girl," she said, when your breathing had mostly returned. "See? You can be so good." She looked at you for a moment. "Are you going to roll your eyes at me when I tell you it's time for bed?"

"No, Mommy," you said, meaning it completely.

"No," she agreed, like this was a lovely conclusion. "I don't think you are." She brought the wand back—higher this time, directly where you needed it, the pressure more than it had been—and watched your back come off the mattress. "Because you're my good girl. Underneath all the difficulty." She kept the pressure steady. "Aren't you?"

"Yes—Mommy—yes—please—"

"Again with the 'please'," she said, smiling. "There it is. That's all I ever want." She increased the intensity on the wand, feeling you tense and hearing the way your breathing changed completely.

"Cum for me," she said, simply. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Whenever you can. There's no rush."

The orgasm that arrived was enormous and it came quickly. Embarrassingly quickly, but it wasn't like you were going to complain. It was the result of two edges and everything prior, rolling through you in long waves—and she held the wand steady against your clit through every second of it, watching your face with warm attentive eyes. She only eased it away when you were trembling, making oversensitive sounds and reaching for her wrist to push the vibrator away.

Surprising you, because you had half-expected her to overstimulate you tonight on top of everything else, she set it aside. She looked at you—undone and flushed, sweat dripping down from your temple to your jaw—and her expression softened into something that was still warm but different now, the fake quality gone. Just Wanda. Just your Mommy.

"There she is," she said, quietly. "There's my girl."

She drew you close and you went immediately, pressing into her and feeling her arms come around you. She was warm and safe, and she held you like you were precious, her hand moving in slow strokes up your back.

"You did so well," she murmured into your hair. "All of it. Even the difficult parts." She pressed her lips to your temple. "Especially the difficult parts."

You were nowhere near words. She seemed to know this.

"I know," she said. "I've got you." She adjusted you both against the pillows, drawing the blanket up with her free hand. "You're okay. You're right here with me."

You pressed closer and she held tighter and the room seemed to settle around you both.

"Next time you feel like rolling your eyes," she said, after a while,"you can come and tell me you're frustrated instead. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Mommy," you mumbled into her shoulder.

"Good girl," she said, and you felt her smile against your temple.

She kept her hand moving on your back in those slow steady passes and you felt yourself getting heavier with each one. You heard her heartbeat under your ear. Smelled her specific scent. Took in her general calming presence. You felt the same hands that had spanked you earlier wrap around you and keep you in safety.

"Such a good girl," you heard her whisper one final time before you drifted off. "Hopefully the lesson sticks this time."

She knew it wouldn't.

In fact, she counted on it.

[gayerthanevertbh]

her moments.

you and natasha are having a fight until you’ve come to the point where you have thoughts about leaving her; she opposes the idea, and begs for you to stay.

WARNINGS: fighting, natasha flirting with other women (not cheating specifically), angst, and a little fluff at the end (i think).

NOTES: this is so short, i know, but i need to get out of my writer’s block. more updates will come soon! tomorrow, maybe with a smut one-shot, REQUESTS ARE CLOSED! 

navigation | masterlist

Keep reading

[maximoffsbutch]

Beach Baby

Pairing: Mommy!Wanda x Fem!Reader Summary: Heat and sand has gotten you a little fussy. Luckily, Mama knows exactly what you need. Content Warning: Mommy kink, age gap, light ageplay, semi-public sex, fingering (R receiving), dry nursing. Word count: 2k A/N: probably not a normal response to a heatwave, but i've done it anyway. i'm not sure if the appropriate term here would be ageplay or infantilisation but who really cares when you get to suck on some titties!!!

The sun pours over the secluded cove like warm honey, thick and unrelenting. Golden sand stretches in gentle curves, glittering where the tide has recently pulled back, and the ocean rolls in with lazy, rhythmic sighs. Salt hangs heavy in the air. Far down the beach, colorful umbrellas dot the shore like scattered jewels. Occasional voices drift on the breeze, laughter and shouts that make your stomach tighten with nervous heat. 

You’ve been sitting in the sand for close to an hour now, having finished the ice cream Wanda bought you. At first the beach was fun. You’d only ever gone rarely, and it was always a treat seeing Wanda in whatever pretty thing she’d decided to wear.

But you were growing more uncomfortable and whiny by the minute. Fine grains of sand had gotten into your sandals from the moment you stepped onto the beach, clinging stubbornly to your damp skin and scratching behind your knees. Mystifyingly, they’d even worked their way under the edges of your tiny bikini bottoms. 

Every shift feels irritating and wrong. A whine builds in your throat before you can stop it. “Mama, it’s everywhere,” you complain, voice small as you brush uselessly at your thighs. The grit only spreads. “I can feel it rubbing. It’s so hot… I wanna go back to the car.” 

Wanda turns from adjusting the large striped umbrella, her auburn hair catching the light in soft waves, almost glowing. Her white cover-up flutters against her body, outlining the generous slope of her hips. A familiar indulgent smile curves her lips, the one that always makes your cheeks burn and your thighs press together.

“Oh, my poor little baby,” she purrs, stepping close enough that her shadow falls protectively over you. Her fingers brush sand from your cheek with such tenderness that your eyes water. “Already fussing? Come here, let Mama take care of you before you get all burned and cranky.” She gently guides you back towards the beach lounger, and you petulantly follow her under the umbrella’s shelter. The fabric snaps softly overhead as the breeze tugs at it. 

Wanda takes a seat on the edge of a lounger and pulls you firmly between her knees. A sweet coconut scent blooms when she squeezes a generous amount of sunscreen into her palm, warming it slowly between her hands. You shiver when her slick palms glide over your shoulders, pressing the lotion in with long, firm strokes that melt into your overheated skin. 

Up your back, down your arms, and then back up. 

Her thumbs sweep across your chest, circling your nipples through the thin bikini fabric until they tighten into aching points. Heat pools in your lower belly, a whine trapped behind your teeth. Embarrassment and desire twist together until they’re indistinguishable. 

Anyone glancing this way would see only a woman helping a girl young enough to be her daughter. They could never guess how fast your heart races or just how slick you already are between your legs.

Wanda tips your chin up with a smile. You try not to squirm when she spreads lotion across your nose and cheeks with careful touches. “There we go. Can’t have my sensitive girl turning pink on me.” A blush rises to your cheeks when she taps your nose.

Then her touch moves lower, smoothing over your stomach and then around to your back. When her hands reach your ass, her touch slows, kneading the flesh while her fingers dip just beneath the bikini line. A fingertip traces along the sensitive crease where upper thigh meets cheek. Your breath catches. 

“Such a fussy baby today,” Wanda murmurs, voice warm against your ear. “All that whining about sand. Mama knows what you really need, doesn’t she?”

By the time she’s finished, your skin glistens with sunscreen. Every inch feels warm, oily, far too sensitive from her teasing touches. Wanda pulls you down onto the lounger, and you let yourself be treated like a doll as she arranges you across her lap, your back pressing flush against her chest. Your legs drape delicately over one of hers, leaving you open and vulnerable. A passing breeze makes you shiver. 

The distant voices feel closer now. Your pulse flutters with worry and excitement. 

An arm wraps securely around your waist. Her free hand slips straight beneath the waistband of your bikini bottoms, almost making you jump, and then two warm fingers glide through your folds, finding you hot and embarrassingly wet. The contrast between the gritty sand still clinging to your thighs and the smooth heat of her touch pulls a soft whimper from your throat. 

“Mama…” you breathe, grasping her forearm weakly.

“Shhh, baby. Let Mama play with her needy little girl,” she murmurs soothingly, lips barely brushing your ear. Her touch is firm, teetering on cruel, but it feels so good all you can do is nod dumbly.

Wanda’s fingers move with devastating patience, circling your clit in slow, sticky loops, then dipping lower to push inside you. Two fingers slip inside, easily stretching you open with a wet sound that makes your face flame. The heat of the day, the sunscreen, your own arousal, it all mixes into something filthy and overwhelming.

You can hear people in the distance. A couple walking nearer than you’d like. Their voices carry on the breeze. 

Your body tenses even as your hips rock subtly against her hand. “Someone might see,” you whisper shakily, the worry sharp and thrilling in your chest.

“They won’t see a thing,” Wanda reassures, curling her fingers deeper, stroking that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. “Just a sweet girl resting on her Mama’s lap.” Her thumb presses firm circles on your clit, matching the rhythm of her wrist, and you whine as heat thrums in your belly. Her chest is pressed softly against your back, breath warm against your ear as she keeps that steady, relentless rhythm.

Sweat beads along your skin, mixing with the coconut lotion and sea salt. Everything feels slick, overheated, and far too sensitive. The worry sits hot in your chest, someone could look over any second, but it only makes the pleasure in your belly sharper. 

“All that fussing over a little sand,” Wanda teases softly, the edge of her voice making you whine, “and now you’re dripping on my fingers like a helpless baby. You should’ve just told me you wanted your silly little pussy fucked.”

“Mama, please…” you whimper, almost begging now, turning your head toward her neck as much as the position allows. The scent of her skin, of sunscreen and salt, fills your lungs. Hot pleasure coils tighter and tighter. “It feels too good… I’m gonna—”

“Go on,” she whispers, voice low and encouraging. “Cum for Mama, baby. Let it happen.”

Your orgasm crashes over you in heavy, shuddering waves, not unlike the sea surging against the sand. You bury your face as best you can into the curve of her neck and shoulder, muffling a broken cry as your walls clench rhythmically around her fingers. 

Wanda’s fingers slow, gentling her thrusts into long, soothing strokes that carry you through your peak until the tremors begin to fade. Your breathing stays ragged, body limp and twitching against her. She keeps her fingers buried inside you, barely moving now, just a gentle presence while you catch your breath. 

The ocean keeps its steady rhythm. Distant laughter floats by. Your skin feels sticky everywhere. Sweat, lotion, arousal. Your mind feels deliciously fuzzy like TV static.

But Wanda doesn’t seem to be finished.

After a few tender moments, her fingers begin moving again, slower this time, deeper. She curls them deliberately against that sensitive spot inside you while her thumb returns to your swollen, sensitive clit with light, teasing pressure. A gasp is wrenched from your chest, the fullness bordering on overstimulating.

The pleasure builds gradually, almost lazily, like warm ocean waves lapping higher and higher. It feels biting, like it’s riding the heels of your last orgasm. You whimper, a keening sound, hips twitching in Wanda’s lap. “Ah… Mama, ‘s too much…”

“I know, baby,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “But my little girl can take a little more, can’t she? Just breathe and feel how nicely Mama’s fingers fit inside you. My sweet baby.” 

Your second orgasm takes its time. It simmers low in your belly, spreading outward in slow, pulsing waves. Every curl of your Mama’s fingers sends sparks up your spine. Your thighs tremble. Soft, helpless sounds keep slipping from your lips as the pleasure deepens and tightens into a knot. 

“That’s it… let it build nice and slow for Mama. Feel how full you are? My perfect, needy little baby. You’re going to cum again just like this, my pretty girl.” 

When it finally breaks, pleasure rolls through you like a long, powerful tide. Your whole body tightens in Wanda’s grasp, and then melts, a deeper release than the first that leaves you shaking and gasping in her lap. 

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, still hot on the heels of the first. Wanda smiles, kissing your temple through every ripple of pleasure, murmuring soft, soothing words until you finally go boneless against her.  Only then does she gently ease her fingers out. 

Your limbs are slack, feeling full of sand, and you’re utterly spent. Sticky, hazy, trembling, exactly the way Mama loves you most. Wanda brings her fingers to your lips. You suck them clean drowsily, tasting yourself mixed with sunscreen and salt, too tired to fluster at your own taste. 

You stay like that for a minute, pressed against Wanda, catching your breath with your face tucked against her chest. The need for closeness grows stronger, your brain foggy with childlike need. Slowly, sleepily, you turn in her lap until you’re facing her more fully. Your nose nudges at the front of her cover-up, seeking the warmth of her skin through the fabric, then slips lower to brush against the swell of her breast. 

Wanda lets out a soft, pleased hum. “Does my baby want to nurse?” You nod against her, already tugging weakly at the fabric, and Wanda smiles, pushing your hand away gently. “Let me, baby.”

She slowly pulls down the front of her bikini so her full, soft breasts spill free into the warm air, dusky pink nipples already pebbled from the breeze and her own arousal. You nose at her sweet-smelling skin before your lips latch onto her right breast, a needy little sound escaping you the moment your mouth closes around her nipple. A deep, soothing calm washes over you instantly as you suckle. 

Background anxiety about sand, strangers, and everything else melts away like butter, and soon there’s only warm skin against your tongue, and Wanda’s soft sighs of pleasure. 

A hand cradles the back of your head while the other strokes slow circles along your bare back and thigh. “There we go… nice and slow,” she murmurs, voice thick with affection. “You look so pretty when you suck on Mama’s tit like that.” 

You hum around her nipple, eyes fluttering half-closed. The taste of her skin, slightly salty from the sea air, grounds you completely. 

“Love you, Mama,” you mumble during a brief breath, voice small and drowsy. 

“Mama loves you too,” Wanda murmurs, guiding your head gently to her other breast. You paw at her chest as you latch on again, cheeks hollowing with lazy, sleepy suckles. Her heartbeat is steady against your cheek, nipple warm and wet between your lips. Every suckle sends little waves of contentment through your tired body, and they start to slow without you noticing. 

She rocks you ever so slightly on the lounger, letting you remain latched as the afternoon light turns golden and the waves keep their endless lullaby. “We’ll stay right here as long as you need,” she promises quietly, tracing lazy patterns on your thigh. “My little beach baby. Rest now. I’ve got you.”

The ocean breathes in and out. The umbrella flutters overhead. You drift in that warm, hazy space where nothing exists except Wanda and the steady beat of her heart against your cheek.