#sil's writing

[silver-pieces]

she loves it

Pairing: dom!Wanda Maximoff x (afab) fem!reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Synopsis: Your secret arrangement with Wanda is getting harder to hide in front of the others. Wanda pushes her control over you to new limits.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, smut (sex w/ magic, fingering, orgasm denial), spanking, dom/sub, consensual mind control, roleplay, heavy exhibitionism

A/N: Part 2 of You Will Beg. Shoutout to my ⚡️ anon for giving me ideas for our reader’s superhero name. Name idea came from her OC’s superhero name, Voltage 🥰 I’m so happy with how this turned out and so nervous to share it to the world! Reblogs & comments are especially appreciated. I hope you enjoy... 

Divider ❊ Masterlist ❊ More Wanda ❊ Taglist

one < Series Masterlist > three

“You’re really killing it out there, Sparky.”

You shoot Natasha a look that says seriously? but she just grins and leans back, swiping her drink from the table.

“I really hate that nickname.”

“What? It’s cute, right ladies?” she insists, looking to the others for support. To Wanda, who has been sitting across from you all night.

Mouth suddenly dry, you down, twisting your hands in your lap.

From beside you Maria snorts and mutters, “sounds like a dog’s name,” to which Natasha makes a sound of outrage while the rest of you break out into giggles.

“Wanda, back me up on this.”

Shit. You look up sheepishly.

Wanda meets your eyes and shrugs nonchalantly. “I like it.”

“Yesssss!” Nat claps her hands in victory, but you barely notice, rooted in place by Wanda’s gaze. She lifts a bottle to her lips, not breaking eye contact with you until she has to tip her head back to take a proper swig. You follow the movement of her throat as she swallows, before looking down at your hands again. A tiny pulse runs along your palm, matching the spark you feel inside.

When you’re alone with her, everything feels perfect. You can submit to her completely, knowing you’re safe because she’s in control. But the moment you’re around her in public, you go back to that shy, awkward novice that can barely meet her eyes.

As agreed, no-one else knows about the two of you, but you’re afraid you’ll give yourself away if you’re around her for too long. She’s trained you too well, made you too damn submissive.

Like right now, all she did was look at you and say she likes your nickname, and you’re undeniably wet.

God, you’re so fucked.

“But seriously, the media has like ten different names for you. You’ve got to have a preference right?” Maria nudges you.

You blink. “Yeah, I guess Voltage has a nice ring to it?” You glance towards Wanda on instinct. Seeking her approval on everything is quickly becoming a habit.

“Well, it’s definitely better than ‘Iron Man’,” Maria says, making the others laugh again.

The conversation shifts to other people’s superhero names, and you breathe a sigh of relief to be out of the spotlight.

All the fame and attention happened fairly quickly once you got control over your powers, and it’s safe to say you’re definitely not a part of the stealthier side of the Avengers anymore. These days, your name gets mentioned alongside Captain Marvel, Wanda, and Thor.

You might not like it, but you've come into possession of a wild power - one that demands to be unleashed. Nothing else works; meditating with Bruce, stretching with Nat, combat training with Sam, running, swimming, boxing, nothing stops the buzzing once it starts.

Nothing, except for Wanda.

This morning, she stopped by your room and spanked you over her lap before the day had even begun.

Afterwards, she teased you until you begged and promised you’d be good for the rest of the day. You swear you can still feel the orgasm she gave you, the stretch of her fingers inside your tightness.

“Fuck me, who has time for all that?” Natasha scoffs.

You look up. “Huh?”

“Relationships,” Maria says to you. “You know Miss Romanoff, some of us can multitask.”

“Oh? And who is this lucky person you’re ‘multitasking’ with?”

“Hm, no, I’m afraid you’ll have to pry that information out of me.”

Nat leans forward. “Oh you know I could.”

“I know exactly what you can do, Miss Romanoff. I’ve read your file.”

“Oh, shit,” you laugh. “Have you got some kind of mind reading ability we don’t know about?”

She shoots you a grin and shrugs. “I’m sure Wanda’s better at it than me, but I have my ways.”

“Huh...”

Maria sets her drink down on the table and points. “So: I’ve got someone, Romanoff’s too ‘busy’... what about you, Maximoff?”

Fuck. You stiffen in your seat.

Wanda barely reacts, simply regarding Maria with a blank look. “What about me?”

“Oh, interesting.” Nat leans forward, eyeing her up and down. An unwarranted flare of jealousy sparks within you. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

Wanda shrugs. “No, I'm not actually.”

Nat doesn’t seem to get the message. “Ah ha! The only question is - are you top or bottom?”

Maria chokes on her drink.

Oh my god. You try not to squirm in your seat and give yourself away, ignoring the way your mind is racing. Nat is too smart for her own good.

Wanda’s jaw sets, a glimmer of steel in her gaze as she stares Nat down. “You do realise I could just read your minds and know exactly who you’ve all been boning, right?”

Nat slaps the table. “Definitely top.”

“Mm-hm,” Maria agrees.

Wanda’s steely demeanour breaks. She cracks a small, exasperated smile, and chuckles. “You two are away out of line.”

“What? Hey, we’re all proud of you for finally getting some!”

She raises her hand in defence. “I’m not - ”

“But if you were, hypothetically, then we’re all very happy for you. Right guys?” Nat gestures to you and Maria.

“Oh, of course!” Maria says.

You give a short nod. All that is going through your mind is the familiar sensation of Wanda bending you over her knee, her palm heating your ass, wetness running down your thigh. The feeling of ultimate submission - 

“So do you use your magic on them during sex?” Nat’s question interrupts your thoughts.

“I would,” Maria intones, sounding just a bit tipsy, “If I could. Really make them feel my power, you know?”

Nat nods in agreement. “Come on, Wanda, you know you want to share.”

You sink down in your seat.

Wanda’s gaze catches on you for a brief moment, before she looks away, folding her arms and sighing. “If I tell you some things, will you finally leave me alone about it?”

Nat raises her hand solemnly. “What happens at ladies’ night stays at ladies’ night.”

A knot forms in your stomach. You don’t know what’s worse - if she’s about to talk about you, or someone else that you don’t know about. The arrangement you have with Wanda isn’t exactly a ‘relationship’, but the thought of her being with someone else... your heart sinks.

She shrugs. “There might be someone.”

Nat claps and whoops and Maria leans forward in interest, while you just keep your eyes lowered, wishing you could be anywhere but here.

“Do you... use your magic on them?”

Wanda flicks her gaze to Maria. There’s a glimmer in her eyes, her head tilting as she considers the question.

Don’t, you think, but you can see it already - her demeanour has shifted; no longer laid back, but proud and powerful, and perhaps a bit cocky too. It’s like Nat and Maria have flicked a switch inside her.

She concedes with a nod. “I have.” 

“Oh shit! And they let you?”

“She loves it.” She says the words so smugly it sends a prickle down your spine, and she briefly glances at you before leaning back in her seat, chin raised and a smirk on her face. “She’s very submissive.”

Heat pools in your core. You bite your lip, holding back the curses you desperately want to let out.

“Damn,” Maria breathes, clearly impressed. “I’m jealous.”

“I thought you had someone?”

She waves her hand. “Yeah but not a submissive.”

“What about mind stuff?” Nat waves her hand around her head. “You know, like the shit you pulled on us.”

Wanda tilts her head. “Not yet.”

A thought flickers in your mind - your dreams. The vision of her, standing across the room from you, lit up by the red sun. You never asked her if she put them there.

Maria laughs. “Girl, if I had your power, I would be exploring the shit out of my fantasies. I mean, if you’re both into roleplay, imagine the possibilities.”

Wanda gives her an assessing look. “Like what?”

“Yeah are we speaking from experience here?” Nat adds, grinning at Maria.

“Hey, I’m just saying.”

“Saying what?” Nat prompts again.

Maria shrugs. “You could... make them say the things you want them to say, you know? Give them the freedom to actually live in the roleplay without having to, you know, act,” Maria says. “And with the visions you can make others see? I mean...”

Your eyes dart between the three of them, struggling to keep up. Roleplay with mind control? Fucking hell. The heat is flaring beneath your skin now, an ardent mixture of mortification and electricity. Your power buzzes beneath your skin in response.

“So how serious is this?” Nat asks, lowering her voice. “Are we ever going to meet her?”

Wanda’s smirk becomes fixed, and she pulls out her phone, as if to signal she’s done with the conversation. Her brow furrows as she begins typing. “I don’t know about that.” Your heart sinks just a little, before she continues, “she’s very shy.”

“Aw, cute.” Nat scrunches her nose.

“Bring her around!” Maria says with a dismissive wave. “I’m sure she’d fit right in.” And she nudges you, as if to say right?

You stiffen and nod in agreement. “Yeah.”

Nat turns to you as if a thought just occurred to her, her face alight with excitement. “What about you?”

“Me?!” you squeak.

She nods. “Your love life! Tell us all the goss.”

“Right.” You look to Wanda, who barely glances you way as she puts her phone away. “Uh, I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

“Yes!” Nat raises her hand to high-five you. “Singles for the win!”

You force a smile and slap her hand, somewhat amazed she didn’t see right through you. “It’s like what you said - I just get too busy.”

“You know you’ve got folks lined up though, right?” Maria asks. “Being The Avenger’s new darling and all. Voltage.”

You duck your head, just as your phone buzzes in your pocket. “I suppose.” You’ve never really thought about it, between learning how to handle your new powers, and your time spent with Wanda, you haven’t had the time or mental capacity for much else.

You check your phone in your lap, and lose your breath when you see it’s from Wanda. You open it under the table.

When we get back, I will find you in your room naked on the bed with your ass in the air.

You almost drop your phone. Instead, after swallowing your sudden shock, you look up, across the table, to Wanda.

She’s leaning back in her seat, paying attention to their conversation and ignoring you completely.

Slowly, you tuck your phone away, and try to ignore the sudden rushing in your ears.

Wanda takes her time.

At first, you debate whether or not to obey her instructions. This whole night has thrown you off guard and you’re not sure if Wanda deserves your submission. She told other people what she was doing to you, and she was smug about it.

You know you should be mad at her. Instead, you find yourself eagerly stripping down and laying on the bed after only five minutes of deliberation. Maybe it’s fucked up, but you need this.

She makes you wait on purpose, you’re sure of it. It’s a mind game she likes to play - a way to remind you who’s in charge. Your mind races, wondering what you did to deserve this extra punishment.

The room is silent, but somehow you can sense when she arrives, as though her magic reaches out to you on instinct.

Eager to be good for her, you keep yourself in position on the bed, completely still. Your naked ass shivers in the air.

Finally, you feel the skim of her hands over your back. A sensation of warmth spreads through you as she begins to adjust your posture; spreading your legs a fraction farther apart, pushing down on the small of your back, tilting your ass higher for her.

You bend to her will, loving how attentive she is, losing yourself in her presence.

She breaks the silence, her voice soft and low. “Tell me what you thought about, tonight at dinner.”

You’ve been submitting to her control long enough to know that she expects a quick, honest answer. “I was embarrassed that you were talking about me,” you say.

“Is that it?” she drawls.

You bite your lip, viscerally aware of the wetness growing between your legs. “I was wondering about that mind control thing. If we could... if it could maybe help me control my powers.” Honestly, controlling your powers was the last thing on your mind, but you had to scramble to find some excuse for the roleplay other than I just want to try it with you. “And... if you’ve maybe done it to me before?” you add.

Her magic twines around your wrists gently but firmly, pulling them together on the small of your back. “What do you mean?”

You swallow. “I sometimes have these dreams of you. Actually just one dream, the same dream, over and over. I meant to ask...”

She’s silent for a moment. “If I told you it wasn’t me, would you believe me?”

You nod. “I would.”

“Hm. Well, it wasn’t. At least, not consciously.” She sighs, tracing a finger up your thigh. “Sometimes, though, I think I don’t know half of what I’m capable of. Perhaps my subconscious reached out to you.”

Your mind races. If she did, then she’s been doing it subconsciously for a very long time. Weeks before the two of you started meeting like this.

She murmurs softly in your ear, “tell me the truth, solnyshko. Did I cross a line tonight?”

The hairs on the back of your neck raise on end, her low lilting tone brushing against your ear like magic. “No,” you respond. “I thought about it and I decided I trust you... I just don’t want you to tell them it’s me.”

She hums in amusement, smoothing her hand over your head. “That’s one decision I’ll still let you keep.”

You half-smile into the sheets, face pressed into the bed.

The mattress dips beside you. “You’ve been a very good girl so far. On my lap now.” Her magic bindings release.

Flushed with heat at her praise, you move to follow her instructions, placing yourself over her lap and trying not to keen too much when she strokes your head like one might a cat. Sometimes you think she likes to treat you like a pet, giving you one-word commands, praising you when you obey, forming magic collars around your throat. All in the name of controlling your powers, of course.

A hard spank jolts you from your train of thought, and you force yourself to start counting before she can scold you for being too slow. “One.”

“This time, after you count, you beg me for the next one.” She spanks you again, a firm slap on your bare ass.

The number comes out on instinct. “Two!” What did she just say?! Fuck.

You struggle to form the words. Heat flares between your legs in delicious humiliation, and you swallow down your remaining pride. “... please spank me again.” The words come out low and quiet, thick with embarrassment you can’t hide. It’s always harder at the start.

But she doesn’t say a word, merely obliging your request and heating your backside with another firm spank. The heat goes straight to your aching, needy cunt.

You tense your thighs. “Fuck... three!” And you bite your lip, rocking yourself over her lap to try and ease some of the tensing growing between your legs. The heat is enflamed and sore and unforgiving.

It’s the ultimate mental struggle. You have to beg her for the next one, because she’ll add more to your punishment if you don’t, but saying the words means you’re giving in.

You’re still struggling to find the words, when Wanda murmurs from above, “What do you say?”

A spark of electricity jolts between your fingers. “Just give me a moment!” you snap.

Then regret instantly washes over you as you realise. Fuck, you’ve disobeyed. “Wanda, I’m sorry, I was just - ”

She releases her magic from your wrists. “Off my lap. Onto the floor.”

You huff nervously, already cowed by the sharp tone of her voice, and obediently slide off her lap and onto your knees in front of her.

She cups your chin, tilting your head up. A beautiful, terrible goddess looking down at you kneeling before her. “You talked back.”

“I’m sorry - ”

“Ah ah.” She tilts her head, eyes glowing red in warning. “I didn’t say you could talk now.” And you feel a collar of her magic forming around your throat.

You close your mouth and look down in deference. And although you’re being punished, you can’t help that warm feeling inside you that glows brighter every time she exerts her dominance over you. You’re losing yourself in her again, and it makes you feel free. There’s no room for anything else in your head but her.

Her fingers creep up your face, pressing lightly against your temple.

You lean into her touch, her palm cupping your cheek.

“You said you wanted to try mind control, solnyshko. I think I’ll use it to punish you for talking back.”

Your eyes flare open and you look up at her, at the red glow simmering in her eyes. You want to speak, to ask so many questions, but you can’t, not unless she allows you to.

She draws in a shaky breath. “Remember, tell me if I cross a line.” The reminder is gentle, promising no anger or backlash if you do.

But all you feel is nervous excitement.

Keeping your eyes fixed on hers, you nod, and brace for her to enter your mind.

Wanda hesitates, her fingertips hovering over your temple.

You’ve put your trust in her completely, and she’s never been more high on her own power, yet cautious about using it. Mind magic is a delicate, dangerous skill to use on someone. To her, it’s always been a defensive instinct. To the Avengers, it’s a useful tool, occasionally a weapon. But to you...

Roleplay. Punishment. A million possibilities run through her mind, of the different things she could make you do, the visions she could make you see.

But none of them seem right. Your infraction is insignificant really, Wanda was just waiting for any excuse to get you like this. The way you had squirmed in your seat tonight, flustered and so fucking submissive, was an intoxicating, heady rush of power. She couldn’t think straight - she just knew she had to have you again.

So she sends tendrils of her magic into your mind with one path - to seek out your darkest desires and make them a reality.

On your knees in front of her, your eyes glow red, and your breathing shallows, as she invades your mind.

Your thoughts become hers, a rush of memories and emotions that centre almost entirely on her, on Wanda, her dark eyes and stern voice. She sees how you lie in wait for her every morning, how your eyes follow her during the days, how you dream of her at night.

A proud thrill races through her.

She clears her throat and pushes past that, to where she can find your darkest desires.

There are several, but one practically jumps out at her - a strong desire, one you’ve thought about recently. One where...

Oh, yes.

Wanda’s magic flares, and she makes your desire into a reality.

“Are you listening to me?”

You zoned out for a second, but, looking up at Wanda, everything becomes clear again.

Some part of your mind registers that you’ve entered an vision in your mind; a strange new reality all created and controlled by Wanda. It’s obvious, because you know for a fact you weren’t wearing clothes a second ago, but now you are.

You frown, trying to recall what led up to this moment, but the memories before this moment are vague, and a small voice in your mind whispers that it’s much easier to just accept your new situation.

The collar around your neck is warm on your skin. It’s connected to a red thread of magic that winds through the room and ends at Wanda’s fingertips. From behind her, the sun is setting behind a wall of glass.

It’s your dream. Only Wanda isn’t standing this time, she’s lounging on a throne, elevated over a simple stone dais that overlooks the scene.

There are people in the room, even though you’re caught in Wanda’s gaze, you can see them in your periphery, in beautiful dresses and tailored suits. The buzz of people talking, the clinking of glasses, the swell of laughter from one group or another, echoes around you. None of them seem to care about the collar around your throat.

"Come here.” Wanda speaks from across the room, but you hear her voice in your mind as clear as day.

The urge to obey her compels you forward on instinct. You mind tells you she is the ruler of this strange place - a dark conquerer to be feared, and obeyed. And she’s giving you an order.

Heart in your throat, you approach the dais. Some people give you a passing glance as you weave your way through the crowd, but no-one outright stares, despite the fact that you’re wearing a collar of Wanda’s magic.

You walk up the steps and stand in front of Wanda, hands clasped behind your back - for some reason, that feels like the correct position.

Her face is unreadable as she takes her time looking you up and down.

You try not to squirm beneath her gaze, but you can’t help the feeling that you’ve done something wrong.

Her eyes soften. “Relax.”

You open your mouth to speak, but find that you only have a select few phrases you can choose from. It’s a strange feeling, having Wanda’s magic in your head, dictating how you can act in this world. For a moment, you panic, but the words the line is there, in your mind, ready to be spoken just as she promised.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and remind yourself that this is all just an illusion, and from the context, you seem to be playing some kind of servant. This is your punishment.

“I’m sorry,” you say, speaking the words her magic dictates, and casting your eyes down demurely. “How may I serve?”

“I want a demonstration. Turn around and display your powers for everyone.”

Trying to swallow down your nerves, you give her a nod, and turn around to face everyone.

“Everybody,” Wanda calls, barely raising her voice, and yet everyone stops to turn and look. A hundred faces turning in your direction. You shift nervously, glancing behind at Wanda on her throne, as she announces you. “A demonstration of my little Voltage’s power.”

The way she says that name is so patronising, heat rises to your face.

A murmur of excitement runs through the crowd.

You lift your hands up to the ceiling, and, as ordered by Wanda, you light up the ceiling with your powers. A rush of electricity channels through your arms, and the entire room is bathed in white light.

The crowd looks on in awe, but you hear none of it above the thunderous waves of your power, travelling through your arms and out the palms of your hands.

It feels good, letting it out. You could keep this up forever, you think to yourself, letting your power flow out more and more. You don’t want to stop.

“Enough.”

Her command washes over you, and you feel your powers cut off instantly, against your will. The electricity dies off, and brilliant light fades, casting the room back in sunset red. You look at your hands in confusion, before realising what happened.

Wanda cut off your own powers with a single word.

Holy fuck. That’s just the vision, right? She’s not this in control of you in real life... is she?

As the fake crowd of beautiful people applauds her light show, you turn and send her a confused look.

She’s smug, sitting on her throne. Curling one finger, she pulls you toward her by the collar on your neck.

You struggle not to lose your balance as you’re drawn in front of her again.

“Good girl,” she croons, “your powers are beautiful.”

None of the words you want to say are allowed. Her magic cuts you off from saying them, steering you towards the approved script. You know you have the option to tell her she’s crossed the line, but you aren’t there yet. So despite struggling against it, you find yourself saying, “Thank you for letting me use my powers.”

And as you say the words, a pulse of heat thrums in your clit, and you can no longer ignore the fact that you’re incredibly wet. Knowing she’s in complete control of this, of you.

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t have, but I wanted to entertain my guests. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your punishment.” Her magic flares in her hand, and with a twist of her wrist, the collar around your neck flares and tightens. The little gasp you make is involuntary. “Some of our friends are here. I want you to entertain them for a little bit, then come back to me, okay?”

But before you can respond, you feel her magic somewhere else on your body. You realise, as her eyes are glowing with a hint of red, that she’s stimulating your pussy with her magic. It feels like she’s shoving her fingers inside you and rubbing your clit, despite the fact that she’s not even touching you.

Fuck.

Her dark eyes gleam viciously. “Can you be good for me?”

You shift your legs, desperately trying not to react. “Yes, Wanda.”

“Go, then.”

Your mouth goes dry as you cast you gaze on a familiar group of people.

Natasha, Bruce, Maria, Steve, and Sam, are sitting in a lounge area to the side of the room, smiling, laughing, drinking, and talking among themselves. And as you force your feet to carry you towards them, Wanda’s magic invading your tightness, you can’t seem to convince yourself that this is an illusion anymore.

Wanda thinks you're the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, walking around in public with her collar displayed around your neck. Even though none of these people are real in this vision, it’s a deeply satisfying feeling, showing you off, as hers, for once.

She sits back and watches you approach your little group of friends. Her magic is slowly pushing in and out of your tight little channel, and rubbing against your clit, using the perfect amount of pressure she has learned from experience makes you come.

“Hi, guys,” you say, and you sound adorably flustered. Wanda increases the pressure just for a moment, and is rewarded by the sight of you subtly pressing your legs together.

Wanda makes Natasha the first one to acknowledge you. The spy gives you a friendly smile, her gaze briefly sliding over your collar as she scoots over and beckons you over.

You sit on the edge of the seat beside her, the tiniest furrow in your brow.

“That was really something, wasn’t it?” Bruce says, a gleam of fascination in his eyes. “I mean, your powers are really flourishing under Wanda’s touch. Do you think she’d let us see it again some time?”

You shoot a brief glance in Wanda’s direction. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask her.”

Wanda is unable to hide the smirk on her face as she listens in to your conversation. She’s growing quite attached to the thought of a world where everyone would have to ask her for permission to see your powers. And the fact that she drew this vision from your mind, that on some level, you’ve thought about publicly submitting to her control like this, is a welcome surprise.

She strengthens her magical grip on your pussy, pushing deeper inside of you as you struggle to sit still and engage in the conversation.

A quick peek in your mind, just to check everything is okay, tells her all she needs to know. The top layer of your thoughts are a steady stream of WandaWandaWanda and don’t come don’t come don’t come - 

With a flick of her hand, she focuses all of her energy on the most sensitive areas of your body beneath your clothes. Phantom hands cup at your breasts and lave at your nipples. A trail of heat runs down your behind, evoking the sting of a spank on your ass. It strokes inside your pussy and rubs at your clit, thick stripes of magic flaring up and down through your wet folds.

Sitting on her throne, Wanda waits patiently for you to fall apart.

You’re going out of your mind.

Wanda’s magic is setting you on fire and consuming you from the inside out, and you desperately need to come. But you can’t, not in public, and definitely not without her permission.

This is your punishment.

“Wanda,” you whisper, knowing she can probably hear you in this vision she created. “Please.”

“Did you say something?” Natasha asks from beside you.

Hot, lazy strokes on your clit. Wanda’s magic thrusting up into you. You force yourself breathe, and shake your head at her. “Just talking to myself.”

She chuckles and turns back to the others.

Wanda’s voice sounds in your head, a low drawl. “Do you remember why you’re being punished?” 

You desperately try and cast your mind back, to anything that happened before this world existed. It’s all fuzzy and distant, escaping your grasp every time you try and reach for it. It doesn’t help that your body is on the edge of release, and Wanda’s magic is unrelentingly exploring every inch of your skin beneath your clothing. “No, I’m sorry,” you breathe silently. “Please, I can’t - ”

“You will not come,” Wanda orders with a growl in your ear.

You whimper and turn to look at her from across the room, where she lounges on her throne.

Her dark eyes pierce yours. Slowly, she lifts her hand and curls her fingers. In response, her magic flares on your body.

You’re lost. The sensation of her magic laving, pinching, squeezing, spanking, thrusting, is too much. You stiffen in your seat, biting back a moan. Looking around at the others, you feel a wave of mortification at the thought that you’re about to come. They haven’t noticed yet, Natasha laughing at something Sam said as you shift and stiffen on the edge of the seat beside her.

“W-Wanda - ” you whimper.

Suddenly, your electricity flares. No, you think as you look down at your hands, but it’s too late. It’s vibrating beneath your skin, demanding release.

The dam breaks.

White beams of light jump from your hands and dart around the room, missing the people around you but zapping at the walls and ceiling above.

Blissful hot waves of orgasm ripple out from her magical touch, flooding through your body as Wanda stimulates your release. Your eyes roll back, the moan you’ve been holding back escapes your lungs, and you give in to the mortifying feeling of wetness seeping between your legs as you start to come, hard.

Then, just as quickly as it came, her magic retreats from your body.

The withdrawal jolts you out of your bliss. Your orgasm starts to fade, leaving a terribly unsatisfied feeling in your core, and you clench your legs together. The electricity pouring from your hands dies down. Blinking, you look around. Your friends are ducking down low in their seats, some looking at you in shock. “What...”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticing a parting in the crowd.

Wanda stalks towards you with a look of anger in her eyes.

Your mouth goes dry; guilt and shame washing over you. You came, the one thing she told you not to do.

“I’m s- ”

Before you can finish, she flicks her hands. Her magic lifts you up out of your seat until your feet are off the ground, and despite your instinctive struggling, you are suspended in the air before her.

She twists her hands again, and her magic flares, and your clothes rip apart, exposing your bare skin.

It’s just an illusion, you desperately tell yourself, but you’re already growing hot under the attention of the other people in the room, many of them openly staring. But it’s your friends’ reactions that get to you the most. As they recover from your outburst of power, they cast you disappointed glares, or simply ignore you altogether. As though this is normal.

You’re too shy for this.

You open your mouth to say the words, the line, but something holds you back. Curiosity, perhaps, or just a desperate need to feel Wanda’s dominance, the aching need between your legs ruling over your head.

“I’m - ” you start to apologise again, but the words are cut off in your throat.

Wanda tilts her head menacingly. “I think a well-deserved spanking is in order.”

Your pussy throbs with need.

Her magic flares, and suddenly you find yourself bent over the arm of the lounge, putting your behind on display to Wanda and the crowd behind her, while you’re forced to face Natasha and the others.

Just an illusion, you remind yourself, as you briefly meet Natasha’s condescending gaze, before looking away as a wave of submissive shyness comes over you. Just an illusion.

Wanda spanks you without warning.

You let out a high-pitched gasp, and clench your thighs together as the sting goes straight to your pussy.

“Have you forgotten how to count?” she snaps.

“One,” you rush out, and bite your lip, rocking your hips over the arm of the lounge.

“Too late, we’ll have to start over.” Fuck. “After each one, I want you apologise for being a bad girl.”

Your pussy flares with arousal again, and you think you might come just from Wanda’s dominance alone.

She spanks you in the same spot, and your skin flares with stinging heat.

“Oh...” you moan, the arousal in your pussy heightening. You need her to touch you there. “One! I’m sorry for being a bad girl.”

Spank.

“Two,” you gasp, canting your hips. It’s so hot and wet between your legs. “I’m sorry for being a bad girl.”

“Louder,” she demands, slapping your ass again.

Your eyes almost roll back at the delicious shudder running through your body. You make sure to project your voice louder like she asked. “Three! I’m sorry for being a bad girl!”

She keeps going. Each spank rings out a satisfying slap of skin on skin, the added mortification of being out in public only heightening your arousal. Murmurs go through the crowd, a few people returning to their conversations. A few times she spanks you several times in a row, and to your dismay, she tells you you’re only allowed to count them as one spank.

Despite your very obvious, desperate, pathetic arousal, you go untouched.

You apologise over and over for being a bad girl, for disobeying her, for daring to do something without her permission. You’ve never been more remorseful for your actions. 

“Thirty-seven, I’m so sorry for being a bad girl, Wanda,” you sob, tears streaming down your face. You need her forgiveness, to hear her call you her good girl again. You’ll do anything.

Wetness starts to drip down your legs.

Wanda pauses, and growls. “Goddammit, fuck. You’re so turned on by this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Wanda,” you respond. “I’m sorry.”

She inserts two fingers inside your pussy without warning.

You go stiff, arching your back for her and spreading your legs as pleasure wracks your body. “Wanda!”

“You want my forgiveness?” she snarls, curling her fingers inside you.

“Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Don’t. Fucking. Come.”

The order washes over you, and you groan as you realise you can’t physically come, not unless she gives you permission. But it doesn’t change the fact that she’s shoving her fingers inside your tightness harder and harder.

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to endure. You desperately want to come, but you need to be good for her.

Your legs remain spread. You’re not even sure if it’s by Wanda’s magic, or if you just feel compelled to present to her fully like this, so she can punish you.

The tension in your core is drowning out anything else. All you can think is Wanda’s command. Don’t. Fucking. Come.

But the pressure is too much. She’s too good, and you’re so close, but you can’t come without her permission. She dominates you effortlessly, bending you over and spanking you and bringing you to the edge with ease.

You break.

You go limp, let go of everything, and just accept what is happening to you. Wanda is in complete control of you, and there’s nothing you can do. You realise you should be grateful to receive this punishment, to be the centre of her attention.

More murmurs from the others echo around you, but you ignore them. Wanda’s fingers invade your pussy faster and harder until your thighs are shaking and your core is a mess of tension and torture.

You close your eyes, and take your punishment.

You’re not sure when exactly the scene shifts, but at some point, you notice that the sounds of the other people have faded, replaced by the rushing of water on the shore.

The pressure in your pussy stops, leaving you on the edge of an orgasm with no release.

Wanda is letting you rest your head on her lap, running her hands over you. The sunset across the water bathes you both in light.

You go to speak, but Wanda cuts you off with a hush. There’s a warmth in her eyes as she cups your chin, thumb stroking against your cheek. “Relax, solnyshko. You took your punishment well. You’re warm, and safe, and there’s no-one around but us.”

“Is this another vision?” you murmur.

“One of mine,” she confirms, a small smile on her face as she casts her gaze around the scenery again.

“It’s beautiful.”

She looks down again at you, a dark gleam in her eyes. “You’re beautiful. And all mine.”

You nod.

It’s not a question, she’s just stating a fact.

You’re calling.

Wanda stares at your caller ID photo for a few moments, the photo taken when you weren’t looking, looking down in shyness. You are adorable.

Something has shifted in your dynamic. It’s not just your punishments that belong to Wanda now, but you.

“You’re supposed to be radio silent,” she says as soon as she answers the phone, eager to admonish you, already planning punishment for you when you return.

“Wanda I - ” you stutter, “I...”

“What?”

“I need you to give me permission!” you cry out, sounding desperate. The sounds of an explosion echo through the speaker.

Wanda frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“My powers, Wanda. I need you to tell me to use them. I can’t...”

“You can’t what?” she prompts. “Use your words.”

“I can’t use them - I think you did something to them. Please, I need to help! The others are fighting.”

A dark wave of satisfaction comes over Wanda. This is wrong, this is too far, this is out of control, but... fuck. You really are hers.

“Okay,” she says. “Use your powers to help them.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Yes, Wanda.”

one < Series Masterlist > three

#wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #wanda #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #wandavision #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #sil's writing #wanda smut #wanda maximoff smut #scarlet witch smut #wlw #lesbian #bisexual

[suntails]

hijo de la luna

#okay FIRST off. song by mecano my friend said is soooo silver and it is. like. the story steers off his course but its still his song #SECOND. this isnt Actual hollow moon fanart but it is in my heart. ive reread ell's fic 3 times now and every time it kills me. KILLS #go read it. hollow moon by serenescribe. its a 40k oneshot of silver slowly but surely being moon snatched. its delicious #the tumblr crowd already knows how swagalicious ell is tho i dont need to sell it to u. the munchiest crunchiest writing ever. mwah #but yes. i want silver to be made of moondust. i want him to shimmer and glow white as snow i want him a MOON CHILD #also i do Not make OCs bc im not creative but i think his roommate is a vil fan and eats oatmeal and likes sil's birds #by proximity. doesnt care for animals otherwise. he also has a crush on silver he told me himself #twst #twisted wonderland #twst silver #if catríona suntails doesn't draw a dramatically lit background then what's the point #suntails

[akindplace]

Hi, Brazilian blogger here. One of my favorite things about Brazilian food is how much variety there is but also the fact that some of the things we eat have to be done so carefully because it could hurt you. Or, at least, they look very odd.

It’s very common in my home state to eat pequi. It’s a small, yellow fruit, it is very, very sweet.

The problem is… that brown thing around the white seed? Thorns. Biting into one might mean you get it stuck in your tongue. But people still eat it, so it became known as the fruit of the state. And people put it in rice and... I’m not a big fan, I would rather not eat it because it is extremely sweet.

Maniçoba is famous in the North of Brazil, it has its origins in the culture of indigenous populations. It’s made from leaves, and it needs to be cooked for 7 (yes, seven) days as to reduce risks of poisoning, the plant is toxic because of the cyanide in it.

After it’s cooked, pork meat is usually added.

Last but not least, there is a plant called guaraná, and it looks like dozens of eyes staring at you. It’s not dangerous to eat. It has a lot of caffeine in it, so it’s used in energy drinks as a stimulant, and in a fizzy drink with the same name. I really like the way it seems to stare at your soul.

#Brasil sil sil #food mention #cw poison #brazilian food #on being Brazilian #Brazil #isso me lembra aquele meme o Brasil não é para iniciantes #original writing #I had to edit this a bit because I wrote it when I was sleepy sorry

[jaegerisms]

geto who stays at jujustu tech after hidden inventory, and sometime in the future ponders the subsequent developing of your relationship~

It would definitely take Geto a few years to even allow himself to consider if he wanted to marry you. Once he did, it would take him a few more years to actually pull the trigger. So much time in fact, that Satoru of all people gets on his case about it, “Dude, if you don’t fucking marry her already-“

“Satoru please don’t start this right now.” Their daily smoke sessions turning into a weekly occurrence after that. Almost monthly until Satoru gets tired of being avoided and demands his friend tell him why he dreads the topic of marriage so. How could he explain that even though you were the only person he could see himself with, the thought of getting down on one knee made his hands clammy, his heart race, his breath all but stop?

He wasn’t Satoru. He couldn’t brush off his worries so easily. Maybe there had been a point in time when he possessed the confidence to do so. Believing himself to be strong enough to handle anything and come out on top. But that had been before he saw the world crumple around him. Before he realized that he was just man, and there were risks he didn’t have the capacity to handle. Things he couldn’t control.

Eventually, Satoru’s insistent nagging would force Geto to divulge his worries to his friend. And upon hearing them, Satoru bursts into a fit of booming laughter. It pissed Suguru off.

“Bro, you’re nervous? Seriously? It’s been 6 years, if she was gonna leave you it would’ve already happened. Trust me, your emo ass has nothing to worry about.”

For a few weeks afterward, Geto would catch himself studying every interaction between the two of you. The soft voice with which you consoled him, the way you always asked if he was alright after too long of a silence. The way your hand always seemed to drift to him. As if you needed to feel his skin on yours as undoubtedly as your lungs needed air.

The way you brushed his hair, humming whatever tune your mind had decidedly fixated on. The tenderness with which you held his face, tucking his hair behind his ears and staring at his lips as if it pained you not to be latched onto them for even a moment.

Even if he was no longer the careless over confident sorcerer you had fallen in love with all those years ago, he was still your Suguru, no matter what shape he had grown to take. And upon the realization that he could be anything and you would still be there, he went for it.

On a Sunday morning, over coffee, as you sang along to the theme song of whatever show you had playing on tv. Taking sips of your mug between each nail you painted. Bare feet splayed on the edge of the coffee table, chewing on your lower lip in concentration as you tried your best not to make a mess of your attempted pedicure.

Drunk on the casual intimacy, in awe of the effortless beauty that had him in a chokehold, the words fell from his tongue before he had the chance to actually understand what he was doing, “Marry me.”

You nearly choked on your drink. The brush in your hands just moments before clattering to the ground, leaving a stain on the floorboards he would undoubtedly chastise you for later.

“Y-you mean that?”

“Yeah.” He choked out, holding his breath so fiercely he thought he might turn purple. Hands gripping the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles became white.

The shriek that erupted from you nearly scared him half to death. Wet nails be damned, you jump up from your spot on the floor and run to him. Throwing your arms around his neck and jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. He couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped him at your unabashed animation.

Now that wasn’t so hard was it?

#jjk #gojo satoru #geto suguru #geto headcanons #geto suguru headcanons #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto x y/n #geto x you #sil writes

[whumpshaped]

someone said "the phrase people pleaser implies a choice to be that way, i prefer the term fawn response because it more adequately describes that the person is just desperately seeking safety by the only method they know" and i havent stopped thinking about it

#most of my whumpees r ppl pleasers/have a fawn response #bc im projecting #sil is maybe the only one w a fight response #my go tos to write are freeze and fawn #so this ... rly made me think a lot..... #is ppl pleasing the same as the fawn response? is it the same behaviour? is it the same root? #i never thought abt it #but maybe it is #given how absolutely horrifyingly difficult it is to try and Not be a ppl pleaser #i forget where i saw this quote but maybe the person was right..... #thinking thoughts... #irlshaped

[robloxmythoids]

ILLUMINA AND DARKHEART GONNA FIGHT OVER READER ROMANTIC HCS PLZ

Illumina and darkheart headcanons !!

illumina+darkheart fight over reader

GIGGLES AND KICKS MY LEGS HAAIII !!!! DO U KNOW HOW LONG IVE BEEB WAITING FOR A POLY REQUEST . im kidding i started this blog like a week ago BUT STILL !!!! :3 thank u for the request please please please enjoy !!!!

edit : btw this isn't illumina x darkheart . they both just really want reader

- first time you met them was in a completely mundane situation. like absolutely fucking normal. You're at the store late at night and you reach for the ranch and you turn and you see illumina the sword also reaching for the ranch. absolutely terrifying for a poor mortal soul like you

- it's the equivalent of seeing jesus christ at a gas station by the way. ethereal light and everything

- you met illumina and darkheart both on different occasions. like you just Kept On Running Into Them. like at least twice every two weeks. first one to talk to you was darkheart because he was so damn baffled about why you kept on running into eachother

- NO ONE knows how you managed to bag them. not even you. you walk around hand in hand with two fucking gods and you three are like ^_^ yippee yahoo I love my partners! and people are staring in shock and mild terror

- assuming that you're mortal, they're both pretty protective of you. they learned how fragile you little mortals really can be!!!

- darkheart likes to pick you up and for the reason stated above. he likes taking you around and making sure you're okay. although illumina fucking HATES it he gets really sad he's like a pouty cat when you don't pay attention to him.

- they fight over you a lot btw. if illumina gets a hug you have to give darkheart a hug cause they WILL fight and you WILL have to stop them from destroying the entire place

- when they fight one of them will just pick you up by the back of your shirt like a cat and their scruff and then walk away with you. you just dangle from their grasp until they set you down. illumina does this most whenever him and darkheart are bantering he just picks you up and walks away from him

- when you cuddle the only way you can keep things civil is by being inbetween illumina and darkheart. the only way. they both want to hug you!!!

- they like taking you out a lot. they both like to take you out on dates and probably flaunt you to the other sfoth :3

- overall darkheart and illumina fight over you so damn often it's insane. but they love you lots :-) they try their best to keep it civil but also they're VERY willing to beat eachother up over who gets to get a kiss first

#IM SOOO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I GENUINELY HAD NO IDEA WHAT TO WRITE #this has been clogging up my rewuests so im sorry if its short i tried . #im done with this sorry i tried my best . my bad #these made me giggle a lot i like it when characters haye eachother but come to an unspoken truth over someone they mutually love its a sil #lay dynamic i really like #roquests #ronony #x reader #phighting! #illumina PHIGHTING! #darkheart PHIGHTING!

[psychedelic-ink]

So random but, would you guys want to join if I made an oscar/pedro server? what do you guys think?

#sil talks.🎤 #it would be for everyone to join ofc but +18 #so you don't need to write make gifs or art #you can just chill

[serenescribe]

Hello hello~ here for the ficlet requests and I just wanted to drop this little cutie off with you! 🐊 🐶

Enjoy him~

[✐] ficlet frenzy

Malleus doesn't believe he'll ever get used to the feeling of handling slimy fish.

Wrinkling his nose, he gives the salmon a dirty look before flinging the fish into the air, hurling it as far as he can. In a flash, there's a sudden burst of movement — a blurred figure leaping from the surface of the water, powerful crocodilian body allowing it to lunge upwards and grab the fish right in its human mouth.

The subject tumbles back into the water with a large splash, water flying everywhere. But that, Malleus is used to by now. He had to get used to it after the subject had dragged him into the water on his first day on its team, refusing to let go.

He watches as the subject — a hybrid with the head and torso of a human and the lower body of a crocodile — drags itself out of the water, giving him a pleading stare. It opens its mouth, warbles the same whine Malleus has grown to recognise — a peculiar nickname that it has assigned to him, one that sounds a little like Wakasama.

"Yes, yes, I am aware that you would like to have more," Malleus sighs. Reaching into the bucket at his side again, he flings another salmon into the air, watching the happy crocodilian boy go chasing after it, eyes fixated on the happy smile that graces its face as it tears into the fish with too-sharp teeth.

There's plenty of things that makes him recoil about being assigned to the Crocodile's team. The high death count, needing to interact with it every day, the fact that it has some level of obsessive separation anxiety from him — for what reason, Malleus still doesn't know.

And yet, Malleus cannot help but think that perhaps, after all this time, he has grown rather fond of it.

After all, he's taken to calling it by its name now. Sebek, a name that had taken multiple tries of hissing and growling for Malleus to understand, but a name that makes Sebek indescribably happy whenever Malleus uses it.

"Sebek," he calls out, reaching for another fish in the bucket.

And Sebek perks up, glancing over from the water, indescribably happy.

Really, Malleus can't help likening its behaviour to that of a clingy puppy when it acts like this.

#my writing tag #tumblr drabbles tag #ficlet frenzy #reverse containment breach au #twst #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #sebek zigvolt #twst writing #twst fanfiction #target audience of two here (me and olive) #tldr containment breach au is a scp-esque au where half the cast are entities studied by the other half #this is technically reverse containment breach bc og cb has sil and seb as the researchers #crocopuppy our beloved. sebek wails for wakasama at all times

[clericofkelemvor]

so you could say i have some feelings about astarion's personal quest

(entirely unpolished and unedited)

#my writing #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #this is like. the fun dramatic moment ive been thinking of since i did it #but i wanna explore also how astarion just. cares! he cares so much about this! even if he chooses to do it! #anyway um yeah its nice to write again a little #sil #astarion is having a bad time but trust me sil is too

[silver-pieces]

always his

Pairing: Dark!Bucky x (afab) fem!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Synopsis: You never wanted to see his face again. Too bad you don’t always get what you want.

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT READ OR INTERACT, smut (rough unprotected p in v sex, creampie), tw: noncon, tw: infidelity (reader is married to another man), tw: food, breeding kink, housewife kink

A/N: Written for Synth’s Writer’s Camp with the encouragement of the amazing @syntheticavenger​ - this was such a great idea & I’m so grateful to have been a part of it 🥰 This is a dark fic so please heed the warnings!!

Divider ❊ Masterlist ❊ More Bucky ❊ Taglist

Bucky is here.

Bucky is here.

You stand in the kitchen with your hands braced on the countertop, taking deep breaths, trying to calm your frantic heart.

Your kitchen is your safe haven; the only place you can retreat to. But it’s temporary - they’ll expect you back soon. And it’s not enough time, not when you never wanted to see him again.

Tonight was supposed to be fun. You were going to meet your husband’s new work friend, serve dinner, then retire early while they watched the game.

And you had spent time on your appearance. It doesn’t matter that your husband never compliments you - you doubt he even notices. No, looking your best is something you take pride in - choosing a dress both modest and alluring, ensuring your heels, makeup, and jewellery, are all perfectly styled.

Of course, when the doorbell rang, you had to be the one to answer.

At first, you didn’t recognise the man standing before you, dressed in a pair of slacks and a henley stretched taut over broad shoulders. But it didn’t take long for you to recognise him.

Your ex-husband.

Bucky kept himself clean shaven when you were together, but now an attractive dark stubble covers his lower face, lining his cheeks and sharp jawline, looking almost unkempt. His hair is shorter, though a few strands still fall across his face.

But it was his eyes that caught you in that moment: a shade of blue you thought you had forgotten years ago, staring back at you in pure, utter shock.

Your polite smile had immediately frozen.

This has to be some kind of sick game he’s playing with you. You left him years ago… has he been stalking you? Grimly, you know from experience it’s something he’s capable of.

Bucky never saw straight when it came to you. That’s why you left.

The moment was interrupted when your husband arrived, placing his arm around your waist and inviting Bucky inside.

You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s gaze dropped to your husband’s grip… and darkened.

And now he’s inside, your ex sitting on the couch with your husband. Your heart clenches at the thought of them… talking.

You shouldn’t have left.

Wiping your palms on the skirts of your dress, you square your shoulders and busy yourself with the menial tasks you had excused yourself for.

It only takes you two minutes to return to them with two beers in hand. The TV is already on, your husband sprawled on one side of the couch while Bucky occupies the other corner, brooding.

“Here, baby,” you say, handing your husband the bottles.

He finally looks away from the TV and shoots you a half-grin. “Ahh, finally!” But he only takes one for himself.

Your heart sinks, hopes of your husband giving the other drink to Bucky instead of you dashed. At least, judging from his reaction, Bucky hasn’t said anything about you.

Hesitantly you make your way across the room, passing in front of the TV, feeling positively flushed with heat by the time you reach Bucky and offer him the second drink.

He reaches for it. “Thankyou.” And there’s a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes; one you’re familiar with. He drops his gaze down your body, slowly, very clearly appreciating you.

You stiffen.

No. This is exactly what you ran from - the way he got off on you being his perfect little housewife. It scared you, the way he consumed you, to the point where you didn’t know where you ended and he began.

You can’t fall back into that life - you can’t.

But damn, the way he’s looking at you makes you feel a way you haven’t felt in a long time. When was the last time your husband showed his appreciation?

Not like Bucky. Even now, when he has no right to, he’s checking you out so brazenly you’re surprised your husband hasn’t noticed.

Heavens, you need another breather. “Excuse me,” you murmur, and slip out of the room, heading to the bathroom, bracing yourself in front of the gilded mirror. You force yourself to think about your breakup, to remember the ugly parts - his jealousy, his possessiveness, his obsession.

The door creaks open behind you -

It’s him.

Your ex quietly shuts the door, his dark eyes meeting yours in the mirror and making your core flare with sudden unwanted desire.

You seem unable to say a single word as he comes up behind you, his gaze turning hungrier as he takes you in from behind, and takes you by the nape of your neck.

“What are you doing?” you hiss as he manhandles you down, over the sink.

He flips the skirt of your dress up, exposing your bare thighs and panties.

You whimper. “Please don’t. My husband - ”

“Be as loud as you want, doll,” he murmurs, and in the mirror you see him haphazardly undoing his pants, a strained bulge beneath the fabric, “Right now I don’t fucking care if he catches me balls-deep inside you.”

His hardness spills out, dominating your attention as he yanks your panties down your legs, evidence of your arousal surely staining the lace.

You swallow, bracing against the sink as his other hand closes around your waist. “I - I don’t - ”

But he’s taking his hardness into his fist, already guiding himself into your wetness. “Mine,” he growls.

You have only seconds to react before he enters you in a clean, brutal stroke. He’s bare and hot and deep, the feeling heightening as your channel clenches around him.

“Fuck!” he grits out.

You bite down, trying to stay quiet.

He palms the curves of your ass and pulls out, leaving you empty and wanting, before snapping his hips against you more, building rhythm, harder and harder each time.

You can see him in the mirror, a look of ecstasy across his face as he pounds you against the sink and manhandles you to his liking. His grip tightens on your neck. “Does he fuck you like this? Huh?”

“No!” you gasp before you can stop yourself. “God, Bucky, no.” You’re already his again - the past few years of your life erased with each thrust of his cock inside you.

This only incenses him further. He growls, shifting above you, lowering his body over yours. “Then why the fuck did you marry him?”

You whimper.

“Hm?” he shakes you by the neck. “Did I not fuck you enough? Did you forget who you belong to?”

“Bucky - ”

He holds your head up so you can see him, large and dominating, and you, bent over the sink. “Fucking look at yourself. Wet, bare, spread for me. What more proof do you need?”

You can’t think, not over the disorienting sensation of being fucked by him again.

He lets out a frustrated growl in your ear. “I waited for you to come crawling back. Waited so long.” Hitching your hips higher, tilting your lower body up to meet him. “Only to find you here with another man. Fuck!”

Wetness is running down your thighs now, your cunt wetter with each slam of his hips, each display of his dominance. There’s nothing but him, and you curse yourself for ever leaving him, for leaving this -

“Get you pregnant,” he pants, “make you mine again.”

Your legs give out and you don’t hold back, screaming his name as you climax. Some dim panicked thought registers in the back of your mind, but it’s gone moments later when Bucky’s grip tightens, and he goes still, his length fully inside you, and he starts to fill you with his seed.

Your husband had the game up loud.

You sit there beside him, eyes turned towards the screen, but unable to take anything in. The mess between your legs is impossible to ignore.

Especially with Bucky, swigging his beer out of the corner of your eye like nothing is wrong.

Because to him, everything is exactly as it should be.

And you prove him right, when, later that night, you show up on his doorstep, begging for him to take you back.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #tw: noncon #tw: food #tw: infidelity #dark fic #sil's writing

[jaegerisms]

Geto would be the exact opposite of gojo when it comes to how he shows affection or attraction towards women. Gojo is outspoken in everything he feels, never failing to let you know exactly what he’s thinking in the moment. Whereas Geto would be reserved, withdrawn. So much so that you doubt whether he even likes you.

Once you break down that tough exterior you understand why he feels the need to hide his feelings so. Every aspect of him is intense, almost suffocating. Eye contact so fierce it burns holes into you your skin, kissing like he’s trying to steal the air from your lungs leaving you to slowly suffocate. Even in making love, his grip is strong enough to leave bruises.

It’s out of consideration that he hides this part of himself from the women he crosses paths with. Just wants to make sure they are up to handle everything he has to give before showing his true colors.

#jjk #geto suguru #geto headcanons #geto suguru headcanons #geto x reader #jjk geto #gojo satoru #geto smut #geto x y/n #geto x you #sil writes

[i-eat-worlds]

Roadside Assistance

Sil crashes his motorcycle.

thanks to @snaillamp for helping with the medicine things. Go check out their stuff!

A&F Masterlist

cw: motorcycle crashes, major character injury, medical whump, fear of dying, depictions of pain

Sil felt like he was on fire.

Which was odd, considering it was pouring.

The rain did nothing to cool the hot, burning agony that spread all over his skin, nor the too-bright, buzzing sensation in his head or the sharp, intense pain in his hips and his legs. It was all over him, loud and screaming, and refusing to shut up.

He wanted it to stop. Now.

He didn’t care how.

Moving slowly, he tried to look at what was around him. His bike was tipped over several meters away, lying right in the middle of the road. The team had to be miles ahead of him already, halfway towards the lake. No one was coming. No one was going to find him.

Not unless he made them.

Ignoring the pain that blossomed around his ribs, he raised his arm and started to fumble with the strap of his helmet. It felt like it was suocating him, too tight against his cheeks and his forehead. Trying to keep the discomfort minimal, he knocked at it with his hand, slowly pushing it off his face. Once he’d gotten it past his ears, he dropped his hand back down and started patting for the pocket that held his phone.

A groan escaped his lips when he accidentally brushed the torn flesh off his thigh. He should've worn his leathers. Joseph was going to kill him for that.

The phone’s screen was cracked beyond repair, but it worked well enough. He raised it to his face, only for it to vibrate when it didn’t recognize it. Ugh. His fingers were shaking so much that it took several attempts to get it right.

Joseph was the last person he’d texted, and he quickly tapped the call button, followed by speakerphone. It only took two rings for him to pick up.

“Sil? Watcha’ need?” He said, voice calm, almost bored.

Oh. Joseph didn’t know yet.

“Help,” he choked out. “Fell off ‘m motorcycle.”

There was a beat of silence. “Where are you?”

His voice was still calm, but it was now obviously artificial.

“Green Lane?” It did look familiar, but he wasn’t quite sure where. “It ‘urts, Joseph.”

He could hear the sounds of him rushing to gather the team from the other side of the phone. “We’re on our way, Sil.”

That was good. Joseph would help him.

“Mmm. ‘hank you.” The pain flared, and his vision swam. “Always, Sil.”

His vision narrowed, and then went black.

“Sil? You with us?”

The voice was distant, but familiar. Who?

Someone’s hands were on his head, gripping it tight. There was the sound of Velcro being torn apart. The rain had stopped.

“Sil? C’mon.”

It was American.

Joseph.

Slowly, he pulled his eyelids apart.

Eric was looming over him, hands holding his neck. Joseph was only half visible, kneeling further down by his legs. He couldn’t see the rest of the team, though they had to be here. When he tried to turn his head to look for them, Eric’s grip grew tighter. “Try to keep still. We’ve gotcha.”

“Sil, can you tell me what hurts?” Joseph said, cutting off what was left of his pants.

“…Hips, legs, arms, head.” The list didn’t really cover everything. If Sil was being honest, it hurt everywhere.

“Alright, this is going to suck.” Joseph slid something under his legs. “I’m worried that your pelvis is broken, and this’ll help.”

That was bad, wasn’t it.

Sil caught an flash of bright orange as Joseph pulled it up higher, folded it over, and pressed a weird looking white thing over it. And then he pulled.

He gasped, hands curling up and digging into the still damp pavement. Ow. Fuck. Ow.

“I know, I know,” Joseph said.

It was pressing against the skin that had been scraped away by the road, which was horrible, but the real pain was emanating from the inside.

Joseph grabbed his wrist, eyes scanning him over. “Teri, what’s the ETA on support?”

“They’re saying sixteen forty-ish.” Sil couldn’t see her, but he could see Joseph’s face, and that told him plenty.

“The ambulance?” He pulled something out of his bag.

“Yep. No helimed.”

“Sharp scratch,” he warned, before the needle burrowed into his arm. He looked up to Teri. “Tell them to get the chopper out here.”

Helicopter? How bad was it?

Everything hurt, and he was tired and his heart was going so fast. Was he going to die?

It occurred to him that was not a question he should ask Joseph. Not after Pat. He casted his eyes up to Eric.

“ ‘m I gonna die?” He mumbled, voice practically a whisper.

Eric looked a little surprised. “No. We’ve got you.”

“But the ‘elichopter.”

“It’s to get you more help faster,” Joseph said, voice hard. “It does not mean you’re going to die.” Sil swallowed, and Joseph moved on. “I’m gonna give you something for the pain, and start some fluids, then I’ll look at your leg.”

There was a rush of cool down his arm. After some brief ddling with tubing, Joseph hooked him up to a bag of saline and enlisted Avia as a human IV stand.

Sil had no idea what his leg looked like, though judging from the splintering pain that radiated from his shin, it wasn’t pretty.

Joseph started to work. As it turned out, the drugs only damped pain, not removed it. The world was hazy. His chest hurt.

He blinked, very, very slow.

His eyes slipped closed.

Discomfort flared in his chest.

“Hey, none of that.”

Joseph was leaning over him, eyebrows furrowed. There was a rigid something around his leg. A shiny, metallic blanket was spread over him. It didn’t do much, though it kept the breeze out, which was appreciated.

“But ‘m tired.” Not tired. Exhausted. Like his life force was being drained out of him.

“I know,” Joseph said. “But try and stay awake.”

He grumbled. “Alright.”

Sleeping was so easy. He wanted easy.

Joseph’s fingers pressed into his wrist, and his eyes watched his chest. “You’re doing great, Sil.”

Avia smiled at him. “Yeah. You’ll be back to beating my ass at video games in no time.”

He smiled dumbly. “I will.”

“Or maybe I’ll beat yours?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“I don’t know if I’ll have an ass left after this.” His eyes ickered to Joseph. “Thoughts medic boy?” He snickered.

“I can assure you that you still have an ass, Sil,” he shook his head, “and a concussion.”

Any further conversation was cut out by the roar of a helicopter passing overhead. It was painted bright blue and orange, INSUPA MEDEVAC emblazoned on the side. The helicopter circled, lining itself up to land in a nearby field.

Several minutes later, two orange suited medics came down the road, carrying a bright yellow back board with them. Joseph started his report while they squatted down. Three introduced themselves, and Sil was not paying as much attention as he should’ve been. He was rolled and laid down on the board, strapped down tight, and then blocks were secured around his head.

It was easy to take the backseat as he was moved around like a human doll, positioned and lifted and transported.

He was tired.

He was cold.

It hurt.

He let the dark spots flashing in his vision take him.

He hoped he would wake up.

He didn’t know for sure.

*** His throat hurt.

That was the first thought he had when he returned to his body.

Sure, other things hurt. His leg, his hip, his chest. But that one was new.

He tried to open his eyes, but shut them immediately when the light came flooding in.

“Good morning, Sil.”

American.

Joseph.

He tried again, squinting away from the glowing terror. “Why’s it so bright?”

“Hospital.” Oh. That made sense. “Do you remember what happened?”

Sil huffed. “I crashed. Now my throat ‘urts.”

“That’s one way to put it.” There was the sound of a chair sliding across the tile. “I’m gonna get the doc in here, alright?”

“Can I ‘ave water first?” His throat really hurt.

Joseph paused. “Yeah.”

“Thank you,” he said as Joseph put the cup to his lips.

“Always, Sil.”

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump @painful-pooch

#worlds babbles #whump #medical whump #injury whump #broken bones #fear of death #joseph oc #sil oc #whump writing #this is fun tho I wished the pelvic fracture played a bigger part #unfortunately #they tend to come along with other things #this is bad but I might be tired. #but I finally got around to throwing Sil of a motorcycle so yay

[sothas]

sour sample

hii i’m back with another silly little ficlet!! i’ve had this in my docs since september but wanted to post it. it’s very self-indulgent but i hope you enjoy <3

#my writing #tesblr #nilonii telvayn #dad sil

[revelisms]

Excerpt: Business & Brunch

Silco and Sevika debrief before a meeting. A Councilor arrives.

Taken from 'webs of blood and gold,' a story on Sevika, Silco and Mel securing a political alliance (with some inklings of Melvika on the horizon). This takes place loosely in my scraps and doves series, somewhere between 'heron blue' and 'fire and thread'. Full story on AO3. CW: Themes around war, political disempowerment and social unrest; mentions of dysfunctional parental relationships; gaslighting, emotional manipulation.

"She's late."

Idly, a gloved hand slithers between wool dark as raven's blood: twists free a glint of silver. "Only by some minutes."

"She has us drag our asses up here on a damn Sunday, and she's late."

The tick-ticking of his pocketwatch clips shut. "Plotting your vengeance, already?"

Sevika scoffs. Slumping into the booth's cushions, she cuts her eyes across the room. A gloss of checkerboard tile reflects countless-faced prisms and too-clean light, sugardust and fluffed eggs sweetening the air: a burst of warmth diced by raucous chatter. To her left, a window bleeds a nasty draft.

Winter had always been a damned nuisance—but never worse than here. For all the ails that came with the Gray, there was one thing it was good for: this season never dared to cross their streets. A thick cloak of fog trapped the heat far into the bowels of their city, each lane waxed with a layer of mugginess and grime, enough that the touch of dry air on one's skin felt all but alien.

This many levels above the Fissures, the chill was unbearable. Worse yet, it'd laid a personal vendetta against the arm that blue-headed hellspawn had augmented for her; she'd had an ache in her shoulder all morning, clear to each copper-tamped fingernail.

Sevika rolls out her wrist, tries to force heat back into her wired veins. "I'll be plotting something, if the royal bitch isn't prancing out of her carriage by the half-bell."

Canted across from her, Silco's mouth twitches. "Then let's hope, for her sake, that she does."

"Meaning?"

He smooths the crease of his pocket with a bird-boned hand. Behind his silhouette, past the warbled glass, a myriad of streetlamps bloom in a frosted haze. "Any butcher worth their salt knows which cuts to age," he rumbles, dryly, "and which to roast on a spit."

Metal fingers lay a sharp triplet over the varnish. "Didn't know we were working the meat business, now."

Sevika loosens her palm, crooks a quick-footed server over for a coffee. "Two," Silco amends. The boy takes off.

The noise of the café sits nauseatingly between them. For a breath, she wrangles with it, watches him think, click-ticking the gilded points of her claws upon the table. His stare sits on them like a blade playing pinfinger.

The air of it all is too still—too misfitted.

She needs a drink. Needs the burn of a cigar in her lungs. Needs to sever this frostbitten stump from her shoulder. Needs him to say something.

Mismatched eyes, cold as the arctic and burning as scorched earth, flit back to her.

"A delicacy," he prowls, elbow sliding in an easy hush over the leather at his back, "requires a refined taste." He flicks his wrist, studying the dome of glass that crests past their shoulders. "I expect you may lack the proper palate."

Something unpleasant knots up in Sevika's mouth. "Topside refineries weren't made for us," she gruffs: challenging, denying.

They were the supply. Never the intended demand.

Silently, the tapetum of his dead iris leers at her. Lingers. "Weren't they?"

Two coffees clack to the table. Sevika takes the distraction like the needed blessing it is. She knocks two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of cream in hers, stirring it until the metal sings. Silco takes his black as the Pilt.

It's not the motor oil either of them prefer—but enough to make the morning bearable.

She shakes out her spoon, slowly, and keeps her eyes averted. He's left the conversation dangling on a hook, as always: waiting to see what else will make her bite. It's the guise she expects from him, most days. A black-finned beast dormant beneath the waves, stirring the shallows for unsuspecting prey.

At some point, though, that bathypelagic creature will slip back into its cave—traded for something more human; more imperfect.

This Councilor of theirs isn't here to play bait. They've fished the deal from her, already.

Still.

For now, they have a moment of respite: to plot, poison, provoke. Two predators yet to file their fangs, trapped between the walls of this marbled palace.

Her fingers itch for a smoke. She puffs out a phantom drag. "They won't give us a seat."

"We don't need one."

"Bold assumption."

Silco hums. "They've hedged their bets on those, for generations."

She sits on that, for a moment. Squeezes her cup by the rim, sliding the porcelain aside, to nest her arms in the space it clears. "New blood ain't gonna change that," she hushes. "They've tried to change it, before. They'll try to, again—and they'll fail."

"As the barons had?"

(Before he'd come along, like some spirit lifted from the gallows; strung every family on a tether and bought their loyalty in blood, upheaving all that the Undercity used to be—all the complacency that had shackled them, for decades—with profits no Sump-child could have dreamed, in a lifetime.)

Sevika drags her thumb against her knuckle. "Topside's a different beast."

The scarred line of his mouth ticks at one side. "Same animal," he gravels. His eyes shift. "Different cage."

Instinctively, she turns to follow the line of his sight. It doesn't take long to find their target.

Weaving through the maze of the café floor are two women, heels clacking off the tile, dressed head to oil-slick boot for a political runway. Unhurriedly, the spear of his stare unwavering, Silco reclines in his seat. Sevika feels his leg shift beneath the table: a sharp knee nudging into her own. She straightens, on command.

"Lesson one," he leaves her with. His hand turns to pick at one of his gloves, tugged clean finger by finger. The leather lazes to the varnish.

It's not long before their company has found their place at his table—their office for the day; one that, for every inch of public air and Topside frivolity surrounding it, stands eerily enough as his—and, by then, the second glove has been stripped: bared fingers laced, laid patiently upon the table's edge.

"Councilor Medarda," Silco greets.

The woman who stands front-and-center before them wears a flourish of navy and moonstone, vibrant as an ocean tide tressed over one's skin. She carries the taste of winter with her. It lays an odd contrast with the fragrance that ebbs sweetly off her wrists: the cool bite of melted frost encasing a desert flower.

Sevika takes her in, with a fine-toothed comb.

Not a strand of hair stands out of place, an elegant knot of gold-stamped locs. A brush of gloss shimmers at her eyes. Her lips are kissed with wine. She watches them form around her words, giving breath to a voice incense-smoked and ambered.

"Goodness, you've drinks already." Medarda lifts a thin hand, swiftly shedding her gloves. "I do apologize—I've left you waiting. A meeting ran over, I'm afraid."

Silco gives a thin smile. "No doubt the Council is in the throws of annual planning."

Medarda clicks through the clasps of her coat. "Horrendous time of the year," she sighs. "But, alas—it's a necessary one."

"I can empathize." He gestures to the empty chairs at their table: a command wrapped in silk-lined civility. "Please—take a seat."

Even in so few words, he has the attention of their Councilor wrapped around his finger—and the companion who gawks, blatantly, at her side.

Had she been spoon-fed a life of luxury, rather than survival; raised to view every interaction as a marker of prestige and self-deliverance, Sevika may have empathized with this skittish thing's wandering eyes.

The lot of them always had a morbid curiosity, when pulled to his table. Most up here knew him only as the hell-eyed Industrialist of the Underground; his heels were lined with a shitstain of Piltie superstition so thick it rivaled the cult fervidity that shadowed his every turn downtown.

Some let that curiosity get the best of them: flight instincts wrestled down to bask in a strange, offputting charm: like this dollfaced stranger, tressed in velvet and green, does now—and were Sevika anything like those foolish, naïve things, too brazen for their own good, she, too, may have eyed the directive sweep of his palm with more intrigue; may have found the serration of his demand a dark sort of thrill, rather than a dismissal tightly-leashed; may have took more time than she needed to watch him unlace the scarf at his neck, with a loose-wristed flippancy that did nothing to match the smoked cavern of his voice.

But Sevika's nothing of the sort—not for such surface-level contradictions as those.

(There were far more than that, beneath it all.)

Instead, she claims a front-row seat for the show, pitting a scoff under her tongue when the lift of his frigid stare sends the woman's own stumbling to her boots.

The fates must be on their side, today. The little sparrow gets stuck with the vacancy to his left.

"My assistant," Mel says, settling at Sevika's right. "Elora."

Late, Sevika thinks, and with unannounced guests.

Beneath the table, the point of a boot bruises into her calf, snapping any choice words at the neck.

"Sevika," Silco trades back—part introduction, part steel-lined warning. "My right-hand."

Medarda smiles, faultless a shield as any. "A pleasure." Her coat finds a home on an ornate carving, her gloves pocketed within it. Even reduced to her thinnest layers, she is no less armored. Blue cascades here, too: a seamless flow from the high neck of her collar down to the loop of fabric that cinches her sleeves at her fingers. On one, her familial crest glints in the light: a guiding star locked in a golden brace.

Sevika takes note of the ring—and of the silence.

The board has been set.

At one head of the table, a demon reigns in a fog of shadow: the streets at his back, winter's light a harsh carving through every edge: slicked hair, sloped shoulders, eyes glowing like sea-ice and cinder. At the other, a queen lays a barrier to the bustle of her people, the clamor of her commerce, bathed in crystalline light.

Their server returns, carefully polite in his Councilwoman's presence.

The game begins.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #fic excerpt #silco arcane #sevika arcane #mel arcane #the way i can't wait to write these two let me tell you #meanwhile: the divorced energy is off the charts for sil and sev in this hoo #i have no excuse they're both just fine as hell ok #🫠 #writing

[psychedelic-ink]

GUESS WHO GOT HER LAPTOP BACK

✨ M E ✨

#sil talks.🎤 #FINALLY #gonna be queueing all the reblogs tags etc today #and gonna write my little heart out

[fauvester]

is julians baby photo collection like blackmail in the garak-bashir family?

omg i was so immediately charmed by the idea of amsha visiting i had to drop everything and do that instead. cardassians are such sluts for big families and the kids have TWO living grandparents! a wealth! a superfluity of venerated elders!

the bashirs are very confused and a little privately dismayed about the direction their son's life has taken him, at least until Garak is elected the castellan of the planet. and they are making their peace with their lizard grandkids

#dee s 9 #garashir adoption au #young elim is offscreen cooking dinner and playing the role of Brick wall that Richard is talking at about his newest project #elim is so so good at Simply not engaging. thin mouth smile raised eye ridges like Hmm sounds nice *sends off most venomous vibes possible* #but he's taking one for the absolute team for his father #absorbing the direct unflinching Richard Bashir radiation like a chernobyl hazmat worker casing the elephants foot #ANYWAYS YESSSSSSSS YOU KNOWWWW THEY GO WILD FOR HUMAN BABY PICTURES #THEYRE SO NAKEY! THEYRE NAKEYYYYY OUT SOME SCALES ON!!!! #its not blackmail its precious beloved adorable stunning groundbreaking trendsetting family heirlooms #the girls LOVE adati amsha they shower her with affection she is their sweet graceful glamorous foreign alien relative #she gets grandkids who write to her regularly. richard gets a SIL who's the leader of a (fashy rubbleish) planet