Hello! Nice to see y'all here. I'm the biggest bird, but I'll also answer to Niya lol. If you are here I'm assuming you're 18+ if not get the fuck off my page. Anyway, I'm a very open person so my DM's and ask are always open to whatever you want to talk about.
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summary: Wanda kidnaps you and makes her hers, breaking your resolve and turning you into her perfect, mindless toy. All with the help of a simple fucking machine.
comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡
"Wake up, sleepyhead."
A soft voice rouses you, the sound of soft rain pattering on the roof. You could smell fresh, wet dirt, and the air felt heavier, somehow. It never rained in Arizona, even in the spring.
Your eyes spring open, your mind rushing to catch up. You feel groggy, and your mouth is dry.
"Where am I?" You croak, trying to move your arms.
A soft chuckle sounds out from behind you, and you freeze, the fog in your mind starting to dissipate as you become more alert.
"You don't remember?" A woman steps in front of you, her hair dark red and curled beautifully. You would think she was rather stunning, but something in the back of your mind screams in distrust. "You were so sleepy on the drive up, darling. I'm surprised you didn't wake up once we got here. It did make positioning you much easier, though."
The woman smiles at that, her green eyes crinkling up. She is quite pretty. You think, in different circumstances, you might have worked up the courage to ask her out. Her hands reach your yours, grabbing them softly, and you finally look down.
"What the fu-"
"Ah ah," The woman reprimands, a sharp pain hitting your cheek. It takes you a moment to realize that she's slapped you. "We don't use that kind of language here."
Your hands are strapped down with thick leather bands to the arms of a chair. There's a puffy sort of leather on the arms, so your skin isn't digging into the wood. A small mercy, really. You assume your legs are in the same situation, since they don't move when you command them to.
"I- but," you give up on pulling against the restraints. It's obvious this woman knows what she's doing. "Did you… Do this?"
The woman fully smiles now, her teeth bright white and perfect. It's unnerving, just how perfect she is. A beautiful woman in front of you, speaking to you with that soft voice of hers, her thumb stroking the back of your hand soothingly. You could almost forget that she had just slapped you, or that all signs were pointing to her being a kidnapper.
"Of course I did, sweetheart," she murmurs, tilting her head. "You're mine, aren't you? But you don't fully know that, not yet, at least. But don't worry, soon you'll be mine completely, mind, body, and soul."
She speaks so poetically, it's hard for you to focus on the words that she's saying. There's a certain lilt to her words, like she grew up speaking another language, but you can't quite pinpoint what that language is.
"I'm, uh, yours?" You ask, brows furrowing as you start to remember more. You were walking, no, hiking on one of your favorite trails. You went there often… Ah, you suppose you are quite predictable. That's probably how this woman managed to kidnap you. The only thing you can remember is a sharp prick on your backside, and then waking up here.
"Wait," you shake your head. "Did you inject me with drugs in the ass? And where am I?"
It's so incredible to even say it out loud. But now that you're remembering more, you can still feel a slight soreness in your backside.
Wanda chuckles, standing from where she'd been kneeling in front of you. She begins speaking, even as she moves to the other side of the room with her back turned toward you. It looks like a normal room, with a small window on the wall to the right of you. There's a large table, and a chest of drawers underneath it. You can see some objects on the table, but get distracted by the woman's words.
"I did, darling. It is the easiest part of the body to aim for. Besides, I didn't want to risk hurting you by going for your arm."
She peeks over her shoulder at that, and you feel an urge to say something.
"Um, that's nice of you."
The woman smiles again, and you blink. What are you doing? Shouldn't you be trying to escape?
"Thank you, sweetheart. I put a lot of thought into this, you know. I wanted everything to be perfect for you. After all, I take care of what's mine."
"You never answered my other question."
The woman raises a single eyebrow at your tone, and you flush.
"We're somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, but I'm not going to tell you exactly where. Not yet, at least. I have a cabin out in the forest. It's very isolated here, but once we learn to trust each other, I can take you back to my main residence."
"So are you rich or something?" You blurt out, wishing you could just bite your tongue for once.
"Yes," the woman simply says, finally turning around. "You'll never want for anything ever again, dear. I'll take very good care of you."
You blanch as she turns, staring at the object in her hands, her words not registering fully.
The woman holds a dildo in her hands. It's dark red and moderately sized, with ribbed edges and a weird attachment at the base. It looks kind of like a screw.
"Um," you try, hoping to distract the woman as she begins to screw the dildo onto a small machine near your feet. "What's your name? I should probably know that, you know, if I'm gonna be yours and stuff."
"It's cute how much you ramble when you get nervous, darling," the woman murmurs, smiling up at you, one hand patting your bare knee reassuringly. "This won't hurt; in fact, it will be quite the opposite. I just want you to get all comfortable for me before I start the process. How does that sound?"
"The… process?"
"Of breaking your mind until you're mine." The woman smiles again, moving the machine under your chair. She fidgets with something, positioning the dildo, you suppose. Wait, how was she planning on… oh, fuck.
The tip of the dildo prods at you, resting right near your entrance.
"How, what?" You hadn't noticed your pants missing, but you do now. Luckily, the woman had let you keep your shirt on, but you doubted it would stay that way.
"Well, I designed this chair with a hole in the bottom," the woman says, her soft voice growing excited as she shows you a remote. "The machine can go forever, unless the generator stops, but it never has. This remote controls it, see?"
She flicks a switch, the ON button, you think. You tense, your eyes wide.
"Oh, sweetheart, don't be afraid," the woman drops to her knees in front of you, her eyes wide and imploring. "Look, I'll even lube it up for you. It's not even my biggest dildo, darling. Isn't that kind? I just want you to feel good, that's all I want. Eventually, you'll be able to take anything I give you, but I'm being gentle right now. For you, darling."
Her hand grabs a bottle of lube. You can hear soft squelching sounds, and you assume she's lubing the dildo up, but you flinch every time her fingers graze you.
"What's your name?" You whisper, a pleading sort of tone in your voice. You would be embarrassed, but you're too fucking scared to care.
"Wanda."
You take a shaky breath. "You don't have to do this, Wanda. You could let me go, I won't tell anyone, I promise, just please-"
"I love it when you beg, dear," Wanda interrupts, her voice still soft, but there's a hard edge to it. "But don't ever ask to leave again. I didn't put in all this work just for you to be ungrateful. Is that really how you say thank you to me?" Her green eyes glint up at you, her eyebrows raised and smile gone.
That expression scares you more than the dildo. You shake your head.
"I'm sorry, Wanda."
You don't know what else to say, but that seems to work for her, because that dazzling smile returns to her face. She stands, one hand holding the remote, her other gently touching your face. You're surprised at how warm her fingers are, and you resist the urge to lean into her touch. It's the only comforting thing about this whole situation. Honestly, why does she have to be so fucking nice?"
You see her fingers turn a dial on the remote, and you hear a quiet motor start.
It doesn't hurt. It doesn't even feel bad. In fact, it doesn't feel like much. The motor whirs softly, the tip of the dildo slowly pressing into you. It slides in easily, and you wait for it to fill you. It retreats, and you look up at Wanda in confusion.
The dildo returns, slowly sliding in again, the tip just barely sliding inside you before it retreats again. It's moving maddeningly slow; the thrusts are constant, but shallow. The lube makes it so you can barely feel the dildo; the girth of it just barely presses into you before it retreats again.
"See?" Wanda murmurs. "I told you it would feel good. I'll be back."
She doesn't offer any other explanation, whirling around and leaving the room. You swore her pupils were larger than before. There was something about the way she had looked at you that sent shivers down your spine. There was this possessive look in her eye, and it said that she would never let you go.
You don't really get much opportunity to reflect, though, your attention constantly being pulled back to the dildo thrusting shallowly up into you. It's driving you insane. The sun has shifted slightly, you can tell from the window, and the shadows are growing longer on the walls. You wish you knew how to tell time from the sun, but it had never seemed like an important skill before now.
There is lube smearing around your entrance. You're sure it's dripping onto the floor. But you're not sure if your arousal has also mixed in with it. You wouldn't be surprised, honestly. Your clit is throbbing. It's peeking out from under its hood, protruding slightly. You can feel the slightly cool air from the room hitting it, and you let out a soft whimper.
You want more, you realize. The thought should horrify you. It should disgust you. But it doesn't, in fact, you can't quite bring yourself to care. Not when this dildo is teasing you, stimulating you, and making you ache from need, but not giving you any satisfaction.
The door opens, and Wanda steps through, shutting it gently behind her. She's changed out of the dark clothing she was wearing before. Her pants are casual, and a tight shirt shows off her form.
"It's been a few hours. How are you feeling, darling?"
You wait for the fear to return. You wait for the revulsion, the innate urge to escape from your captor. But you feel none of that. All you feel is the burning need in your gut, and you feel something break away from your resolve.
"Please," you whisper. It comes out breathy, almost a whine, really. Wanda's eyes light up, her smile gentle as she moves to kneel in front of you again.
You meet her eyes fully, no hesitation left in you. God, she's gorgeous. You already knew this, but now you can fully appreciate it. You think you could learn to love her, maybe even be as obsessed with her as she is with you. But for right now, she's the only person who can satiate the need growing inside you.
"What do you need, sweetheart?" Wanda asks, her eyes searching yours, her hands stroking up your thighs slowly. She grabs your hips for a moment, biting her lip as she glances down to watch the dildo as it moves slowly in and out of you.
"Please turn it up, Wanda."
"Perfect," she whispers, and the approval warms something inside you. She turns the dial, and the dildo slides deeper. It still goes at the same slow, torturous pace, but now more than half the dildo slips inside you with each thrust.
You groan, feeling it stretch you in a deliciously wonderful way. You can't cum just from penetration, but goddamn it feels so good.
"Oh, thank you, Wanda," you breathe out, relaxing into the chair. Her hands run over your thighs once more, and you find yourself enjoying the sensation. You want her to touch you more. You want her hands all over, stimulating every part of you. You'd do anything to cum. Her fingers dig into your hips, and you let out a soft moan.
Then, Wanda pulls away, standing.
You look up at her in confusion.
"I have a special gift for you, would you like that?" Wanda asks.
You can't think straight, your brain dripping out between your legs. All you can manage is a weak nod, your body melting into the chair as pleasure warms your gut.
"When I ask you a question, you will respond verbally, do you understand?" Wanda's voice is velvety smooth and melodic, her words slipping between your ears and wrapping around your brain like a firm hand.
"Yes, Wanda," you murmur, looking up at her. You even manage a smile.
"Good," Wanda whispers, "Very good, so perfect for me."
Her hand strokes your face for a moment before she turns and walks to the table on the opposite side of you. You would be curious about what she's doing, but you're more focused on the dildo pumping into you. There is no friction, no resistance as it fucks you relentlessly. You can smell your own arousal, your own neediness permeating the air, but you can't bring yourself to care.
Wanda returns, a dark red piece of leather in her hands. She holds it reverently, the gold metal buckles clinking gently as she holds it up, and you realize it's a collar.
"See?" Wanda grins, showing you the tag. "It says Wanda's Good Toy on it, isn't it perfect?"
You nod. It is perfect. It's what you are, after all, isn't it? Allowing yourself to be fucked by her, to let your arousal cloud your judgement, all because of a simple dildo. You'd let her play with your body anytime she wants, as long as it always feels this fucking good.
Wanda smiles wider, kissing the top of your head as she steps closer, fastening the collar around your neck. You can smell her perfume now; she's never gotten this close to you before. You feel intensely grateful as she leans in, her vanilla scent only increasing the arousal thrumming through your veins.
"Doesn't it feel so good?" Wanda asks, the collar buckled into place. It fits snugly, not too tight, but not too loose. You can feel your brain going slightly fuzzy. It feels like a comfortable sort of weight has been placed on you, and you're not sure you want to escape.
"Yes, Wanda," you murmur, squirming in your restraints as Wanda turns the dial again. The dildo thrusts fully into you, the base of it pressing against you as you gasp. "It feels so good… I- thank you, thank you so much."
"Good," Wanda strokes your hair. "So good for me. Do you see how good I can make you feel? Don't you want this?"
You nod, your eyes unfocused as she turns the dial again, the thrusts increasing in speed. A louder whine slips past your lips as your words become frenzied and desperate. "Yes, I love it. Please… oh, fuck, I love it so much."
Wanda's hand connects with your cheek again, and you moan.
She freezes, and you look up. Her pupils are blown wide, a smile slowly spreading across her lips. It's not like the gentle smile she's been wearing. No, it's a smile of satisfaction, of pride, of love.
"Language," she whispers, before her lips crash into yours.
You moan into the kiss, letting her have her way with your mouth. Her tongue snakes into yours, firmly pressing against yours before she pulls away, her teeth biting into your lip and sucking. She thoroughly claims your mouth, the dildo working you up as she straddles your lap.
"You're perfect," she moans, her fingers digging into your hips as she grinds down on your thighs.
You can't respond in much more than moans. It's all so much. The dildo pumping into you, her fingers bruising your hips, trailing up your body, tugging at your collar. Her arousal smears on your thighs, her breathy gasps in your ear as she sucks hickeys into your neck. It's overwhelming, and all you can feel is Wanda.
"Cum," she commands, and your mind goes blank as white-hot pleasure consumes you. Your hands grip the ends of the chair arms, your fingernails digging into the wood as you convulse. Your clit is throbbing, pleasure shooting through you as the dildo continues to hit the deepest parts of you, not slowing even as you cum again.
Wanda is shaking on top of you, her breath warm on your cheek as she presses her forehead against yours. You think she's also had an orgasm, her moans echoing through your brain. One of her hands is shoved down her pants, and you can see the outline of her fingers rubbing furiously at her clit.
Your orgasm lasts for what seems like forever, the dildo unrelenting as it fucks into you. It fucks you through the aftershocks, sending you headfirst into yet another orgasm.
"Too much-"
"No," Wanda interrupts, her voice raspy. She turns the dial up, moaning at your responding whimpers as the dildo increases its pace yet again. "It's never too much. You'll take what I give you."
You nod, letting your pleasure overwhelm you again.
"Isn't this so nice?" Wanda asks, the words whispered against your chest as she sucks more bruises into your skin. "Being so brainless for me, letting me control your pleasure however I want? Isn't it so nice to not be in control, to let me make all the decisions for you, darling?"
Hi, I wanted to know if you're going to continue "The Great I Am," no pressure, I just really like this story and would like it to continue, bye 👋 👋 👋! Thank you so much regardless.
Yes, I will. I’ve been busy working on some scripts for school, but I have started chapter 3. Thx for your support, friend ☺️
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
brain plagued with thoughts of straddling a girl’s lap and sharing a joint. getting progressively higher and needier and grinding down on her lap and kissing her neck until she gives in and fucks me
Summary - After another episode, you end up in the hospital, catching the eyes of Natasha.
Warning(s) - Chronic illness, Hospitals? There will be more in other chapters. This is a dark fic. Minors dni
Authors Note - This ones about Natasha. Let me know if y'all would like more Natasha focused chapters in the future.
Chapter 2: Here's to Hoping
The glow of the moon reflects off the nearby buildings as Natasha crouches on the side of the rooftop Yelena was on. She stares down into the building where room 3B would be. For a moment she doesn't move. She doesn’t move or breathe or blink, yet somehow her heart is racing.
“You’re very quiet, sestra,” Yelena observes, coming to sit on the ledge next to Natasha.
“Just thinking,” Natasha whispers.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Natasha exhales, watching the smoke of her breath dissipate into the air.
“What went wrong?” Yelena takes out her earpiece. Natasha doesn’t want to speak yet, but she knows her sister won’t stop until she gets an answer.
“I told you, insufficient information, apparently he’s smart enough not to leave illegal files in his office.” She runs her hands through her hair, the red of it gleaming with the sunset.
“Sure, but you’ve broken into the Kremlin, there's no way some resident doctor outsmarted you.”
Natasha’s jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, it happens.”
“Not to you, sestra.” Yelena sighs, knowing Natasha wouldn’t respond anymore, so she drops it.
Natasha turns to the access door to make her way off the rooftop.
----
The ride to the safehouse was tense. No words were spoken, but the heat of the failed mission lingered heavily throughout the car. Natasha’s fingers tap an uneven rhythm on the steering wheel.
Yelena sits in the passenger seat staring at Natasha’s profile as if she were solving an equation. Still, she says nothing.
“Typically, when you stare at someone, you do it subtly,” Natasha says sarcastically.
“I’m not typical, and neither are you.”
Natasha smiles faintly. “You could at least pretend.”
“I’ll figure you out, sestra.”
“Mhm.”
Out the window, the hospital lights fade behind her, and she catches herself glancing in her rearview one last time before forcing herself to focus on the road. The static on the radio was almost taunting her.
----
Back at the safehouse, Natasha immediately heads up to the shower. The water hisses on as she starts to undress. She removes her hair tie before massaging her scalp with her fingertips.
Steam rolls upwards, fogging the edges of her reflection in the mirror until she looks like someone she doesn’t know. Someone softer. Someone slower.
She steps into the shower, the water that is supposed to relax her instead makes her think back to the hospital. All she can think about is the way you smiled at her despite the fact you were struggling. The way her heart raced just from looking into that room.
She tips her head back into the water, forcing herself to breathe steadily. This isn’t new. And that's the problem.
When she finally steps out, she wraps a towel around herself. Swiping the back of her hand across the mirror only reveals tired eyes and that familiar flicker she refuses to name.
“Damnit,” she mutters under her breath.
----
Natasha pads down the hall with a towel around her shoulders. The safehouse is dark except for a dim light she left on. Yelena is asleep on the couch, one arm draped over her face. Natasha moves softly, as though her heartbeat might wake her.
She heads immediately to the kitchen.
Opens the fridge.
The cool air feels grounding as she practically sticks her head in.
She grabs a bottle of vodka before heading over to the table. The cap twists off with ease, and she takes a swig, exhaling slowly as the familiar burn warms her throat.
“Here's to hoping I’ll fall fast asleep tonight.” She whispers to herself, almost like a ritual.
Natasha turns on her laptop. She tries to tell herself she's doing mission reports and nothing more. The blue glow hits her face like a wave.
Of course she lied.
Before even thinking about it, she types what she remembers.
3B
20 Years Old
Cardiac Monitoring
Chronic Arrhythmia
Her fingers hover, some sane part of her screaming to stop.
The other parts screamed louder. Just one look.
She hits enter.
Files she knows she shouldn’t be looking at flicker across the screen. They have nothing to do with her mission and nothing to do with her target.
Just you.
In and out of the hospital. Frequent collapses. Episode triggered by stress and overwork. A pattern. A vulnerability.
Her chest tightens. Not with pity, no this is something else. Something recognizable.
She shuts the laptop as though it would erase everything she's feeling. The sound of the slam wakes Yelena.
“You’re brooding over there, stop brooding, it's too loud.” Yelena’s voice comes out deep with sleep.
Natasha forces a smile. “Go back to sleep.”
“I will as long as you keep that brooding over there.” She turns over before falling back to sleep.
Natasha lets out a sigh of relief, reaching for the vodka again. She takes a big swig before taking it with her to the bedroom. Throwing herself onto the old spring mattress, she lets out a deep breath.
After staring at the ceiling for a while, she flips over to turn the light out.
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Summary - After another episode, you end up in the hospital, catching the eyes of Natasha.
Warning(s) - Chronic illness, Hospitals? There will be more in other chapters. This is a dark fic. Minors dni.
Authors Note - It's been a minute since I've written on here. I'm not sure why because I write a lot otherwise. Let me know what you think.
Chapter 1: Not Again
Beeps fill the room as your eyes stutter open. The blinding fluorescent lights above you make you blink rapidly as your eyes scatter around your surroundings. Suddenly you're smacked with a sterile scent, and low chatter fills the halls.
“Fuck. Not again,” You take a deep breath, this is nothing new. Slowly the ambiance around you starts to calm your nerves. At the hospital again, you wonder what did it this time.
Slowly you move each of your fingers, then your arms, then your legs, and finally you roll your neck. Great, at least nothing's broken this time. As you move to sit up, the doctor walks in.
“Oh good! You’re awake. How are we feeling today?” He begins to walk closer as he checks off some things on his clipboard. You can’t help but smile.
“Well, seeing as I ended up here, not so great. But since you’re here, I’ll go ahead and say great anyway, Dr. Erskine.” He smiles while looking over your chart, he hasn't looked up yet.
“I told you, for you, it’s just Abraham.” You go for a comeback but you decide against it opting to let him speak this time. "I thought we had agreed that you would reduce your stress levels."
“Oh. Was it my heart again? I didn’t promise, Abraham, I said I’d try.” He sighs, taking his glasses off and finally looking up from his clipboard. “Besides, exams have been kicking my ass lately.”
“Well, if you're in the hospital every other week, that's not going to help you either. Let me explain this to you since you seem to have forgotten. You have a heart arrhythmia. You need to take it slow.”
“And you seem to have forgotten I’ve tried that, and it just doesn’t work for me, doc. I understand what I have, but I also understand who I am.” Abraham smiles, this dance is nothing new. He taps his pen a couple of times before he speaks.
“It seems to me you want to be here. I don’t understand why you won’t let me help you.” You know what he’s talking about, but you try to avoid it every time. It's frustrating when he tries to make you seem weak, like you can’t make it through despite the ailment.
“I’m sorry I don’t want your experimental practices, but I think I’d rather live with pain than possibly not live at all.” You sigh, rubbing your face. “You’re lucky I even let you suggest that, doc.”
He clicks his tongue, putting his glasses back on. “You need to rest for the next couple of days. And I mean actually rest, so you’ll be staying here. No more studying marathons.” He hums, and you roll your eyes.
“I’ll try,” you say, though you both know what that means.
Natasha walks into the hospital, slightly adjusting her earpiece. Her shoulders square as they pop out of her tank top. She walks up to the receptionist, clearing her throat. “Good morning, I’m here to see Landon.” It takes a couple of seconds for the receptionist to realize she is being talked to. The receptionist blinks up at her.
“Your relation to the patient?”
“Consultant,” Natasha says confidently, sliding a fake ID across the counter. The receptionist does a quick once-over on the ID.
“Room 4C. Take the elevator to the right, then it's down the hall on the left.”
“Thanks,” she nods, walking away.
The elevator dings, signaling its arrival. She steps in, but instead of pressing four, she presses three. The door closes, and she speaks into her earpiece. “Just got past security really easy, heading to his office now.”
“Copy. Out in 10 minutes, sister, or I will come get you myself.” Yelena’s voice crackles on the other line. She is on the roof scoping the hospital.
“Sure,” Natasha switches off her earpiece as she arrives on the third floor. The first couple rooms look fairly new as she does a quick sweep through the window. Most of the rooms are empty, and some have the windows drawn.
She almost walks past room 3B, but something stops her. Natasha does a double take, and she watches a patient half sitting, half fighting with the bed remote, the thin hospital blanket drops to the floor. The IVs in their arm look as though they are about to rip themselves free. Natasha pauses, she finds herself with one hand resting on the door frame. She doesn’t mean to stop, but she does.
She watches you mutter under your breath as you fight with the hospital. The remote drops from your hand, and instead of getting more frustrated, you laugh, seemingly trying to convince yourself that everything is fine. Natasha’s mouth twitches into smiles, but it's almost like pity. Maybe it is, she isn’t sure.
Her eyes shift to your chart next to your bed. 20 year-old, cardiac monitoring, chronic. Nothing to do with her mission, but she can’t seem to tear her eyes away. You look up, suddenly catching her eyes, not for long but long enough to snap her out of it. She steps back, correcting herself, looking to her wrist as if she is looking at the time, and speeds away.
By the time she reaches the end of the hall, she's having to tell herself that was nothing. What was wrong with her? She's on a mission. She finally reaches the office of Dr. Abraham Erskine, but she doesn’t go in, she reaches for her earpiece there's a slight static before she speaks