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5 minutes ago, NothingLeft said:

Well, thank you for the compliment!

To answer the easier question, twenty-four women will be in the line;

Pepper Potts/Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Lady Sif, Peggy Carter, Maria Hill, Gamora, Nebula, Hope Van Dyne, Ava Starr, Wanda Maximoff, Mantis, Valkyrie, Shuri, Okoye, Mary Jane Watson, Janet Van Dyne, Jane Foster, Betty Ross, Laura Kinney, Emma Frost, Hela, Christina Catastrophie (Angel Dust, 'Deadpool'), Vanessa Carysle and Carol Danvers.

To answer the last question, yes and no. I find the Captain Marvel of the MCU quite arrogant, overconfident and reckless, but in a way that makes her unlikeable rather than likeable like Tony Stark's arrogance and overconfidence. So, I got rid of her- originally, I wanted to have her fall to Thanos, but then I wrote Hela's first piece. But, I have found a way- involving Loki, Doctor Strange and Wanda Maximoff- to bring a more altruistic and heroic version of Danvers. Though, this Carol still has her pride and will still very much get embarrassed and frustrated should her suit get stuck in the worst of times.

If you, or anyone else, would prefer a more-film accurate version of Danvers- taking place in another universe, obviously- please let me know after the 'Line-Up' is released.

This sounds amazing , I can’t Wait to see all these women desperate in their tight costumes. I hope all of them wet themselves !

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  • 2 weeks later...

Natasha Romanoff

Before this begins, I want to preface one thing. People can ship who they want with who they want, I don't care. I don'y care if you ship Romanogers, or WinterWidow or if the Avengers are all one big poly group, or anything else. I respect people putting fictional characters with other fictional characters and having them bang. I just hope that courtesy can be extended, because the ship within this piece, as well as every future 'Black Widow' piece is... Lamented, I suppose. Again, ship who you wish with anyone, just please respect my ship. Sorry for the introduction like this, on with the piece.

Privatized Stark Pool, July 2024

Natasha sighed as the warm sun hit her exposed skin. It had been over eight months since- not to brag- she had dealt the final blow to the massive underground crime ring’s leader, Wilson “Kingpin”Fisk. It had been a harder fight than she had expected- he was massive, and most of his mass was muscle despite his rotund appearance. He had, earlier in the lifespan of the crime organization- the Avengers had been fighting this crime ring for almost two months before Natasha ended it- caught Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf himself, in a hand-to-hand fistfight, and Fisk had held his own until Captain America joined in. And even then the mob boss had still been doing remarkably well. 

Despite all that, the man wasn’t bulletproof. Natasha had made quite sure of that, especially after one of his henchmen had shot her in the leg, leading to… Well, to a dangerously fatal Hulk-Out that had caused quite “the PR disaster”, as Tony kept putting it.

Regardless, Natasha warmed herself in the sun and smiled, her amber sunglasses shielding her closed eyes. Any sound around her was muted by operatic orchestral music- her lover had recommended it, and she had to admit it was indeed calming and relieved her stress quite well- coming through white earbuds wired to her phone beside her. Beneath her was a crimson towel and nearby beside her was her third bottle of water, near-empty due to the sun’s heat.

The only thing her somewhat pale body was censored by was a deep, rich red two-piece swimsuit. It was relatively conservative for a swimsuit; the cups wrapped around her full, clear-fleshed C-cup breasts comprehensively, leaving only slight swells above the line of the padding. The bottom piece was also quite hiding as it had a removable swimskirt attached, though it was only draped over her left leg. The skirt dropped down to the apex of her calf, leaving the rest of her silky, pale leg- as well as her entire right leg- nude to the eye. 

Natasha resettled her body, smiling genuinely as the sun kept her flesh warm. The skirt on her bikini was, similarly to her towel, underneath her to ensure as cohesive a tan as possible- though, if it had been just her and her lover, she would have gone for a complete tan. However, there were others around, leaving Natasha to have to deal with much despised tan lines. Nevertheless, as the Black Widow breathed a deep, contented sigh, she received a sudden and cold awakening when water splashed onto her thigh. She removed her earbuds and sat up, joyous sounds now reaching her ears.

Sam Wilson, the Falcon, and Peggy Carter, Agent Genesis, were wrestling in the water quite nearby her- no doubt the cause of the splash of Natasha’s leg- Peggy giggling and squealing when Sam grabbed her foot from underwater. James Rhodes, the War Machine and Hela were under the shade of an old oak tree, Hela also under a dark towel. Happy Hogan, the Bodyguard, and May Parker alongside Thor, Loki, Valkyrie and Sif were in a nearby hot tub, and Morgan Stark was in the shallowest part of the pool with her parents, learning how to swim. Clint and Laura Barton- Hawkeye and Mockingbird- were lounging on the edge of the large pool, their three children- Lila, Cooper and Nathan, alongside Cassie Lang, Scott Lang, or Ant-Man’s teenage daughter- hitting around an inflatable ball. Wanda Maximoff was on the edge of the pool, whispering with a smile to her synthetic boyfriend Vision, who was on the rim of the water. Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne, or the Wasp- the couple had been married just over a month now- were napping in a cuddle against a wall of a building nearby, wrapped in a towel similarly to Hela. Mary Jane Watson and Peter Parker, or Spider-Man were in a corner of the pool occasionally stealing kisses from each other, and Christina ‘Angel Dust’ Catastrophie and Piotr ‘Colossus’ Rasputin were both on land, sharing a book. Piotr was leaned back while Christina read over his shoulder, holding an oddly feminine stance- at least for the six-foot mountain of a woman that could punch through sheer rock.

However, as Natasha scanned her surroundings, there was one very important person she couldn’t pick out. Among all her other comrades, there was one very important man she couldn’t find. But, when she rose in concern, a shadow underneath the water moved around Sam and Peggy’s wrestling bodies. The shadow became more defined and more lean as the person beneath the surface came closer until a head of dark brown hair, slightly greying around the roots, pierced the water. A tanned, wise face followed, the man’s eyes were a mysterious and deep dark brown in colour.

Natasha smiled as the man, only his head emerging from the slightly turbulent surface of the sparkly, clear water. Natasha turned herself around on her towel to lay on her tummy, putting her chin on her wrists and smiling at the man. Her lips were pink and shiny from a gentle coat of lip gloss. She licked her soft bottom lip in a playfully seductive manner.

“Hey lover,” She drawled slowly, holding her ‘L’ for a moment as to let her agile tongue flick out of her mouth teasingly. The man in the water smiled at her words before his long, and rather hairy, arms came above the water and pressed against the rim of the pool. He pushed himself up out of the water, revealing his lean muscular body. He was wiry but still visibly strong. His chest was covered in dark, thick hair that led all the way down below the waistband of his black swim shorts. He brought his body over the water level and sat on the concrete.

“What brings you here?” He asked, giving her a knowing smile. Natasha smiled lovingly, a look surely foreign to the dangerous Black Widow if you didn’t know her. But, to those who did…

May 2018

“He did…” Natasha whimpered, her voice on the edge of tears. The… The Avengers left from the Snap- Steve, Tony, Bruce, Rhodey, Hela, Nebula, Thor, Carol and Natasha herself- waited around patiently, staring and mourning as acquaintances, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and fellow Avengers that had been victims of the Snap appeared on floating screens as Natasha struggled to speak. “He did exactly what he said he was gonna do…” She coughed. Bruce gave her a sad, empathetic look, nodding to tell her to continue. “He… eliminated half of all life,” Her voice broke when Laura Barton’s face appeared on the screens in the air.

So many had disappeared. The confident high-flyer, Sam Wilson. The humble father, Scott Lang. The ever hard-lifer, Bucky Barnes. The adorably excitable Peter Parker. The wise prodigious king, T’Challa, Laura Barton and all three of her children, and so, so many more. Though, through all the pain and strife Natasha knew she would barely cope with, through all the strain and ache this event would cause, she knew one thing, she knew one man that would help her through it all, even though he had just come back less than a month ago.

Natasha looked up and swallowed the lump in her throat as Bruce came close to her. He carefully wrapped his arms around her- careful to avoid the nasty healing wound she had taken from Thanos in the battle for life. Natasha bowed her head onto Bruce’s shoulder and sighed a breath shaky from the stress and the loss.

“Where is he, Rogers?” Tony asked weakly from the table.

“Don’t know, he just opened up a portal and walked away,” Rogers whispered across from Tony, gazing at an old, scratched golden compass from the forties. Inside were two pictures. One of Bucky, with his long hair and scruffy jaw and another of a brunette with shiny red lips. “But I know for sure, we’re going after the bastard,” He muttered, clasping the compass closed.

Tony suddenly stood, almost outraged at Rogers’ words.

“Really? We? We’re going after him? Cause,” he paused, scratching his head, “Last time there was a we, we blew up an airport, Cap! We blew up an airport and you ran away!” The venom in his words visibly hurt Steve, only exacerbated by the masked ‘coward’ comment. “But, no! Now, now that there’s a big bad we have’ta kill, you’re all about we again!” It was at this point that Rhodey moved between Tony and Steve.

“‘Kay, Tony, y’made your point, now just sit down,” 

“Or is it just because we do our best after the fact!” Tony shouted, though Natasha separated from Bruce, enraged, and slammed her fists on the table. Everyone in the room jumped, some more than others.

“Yes, Tony! There’s a ‘we’ again! The only reason there wasn’t before is because an alien invasion was used against us! Because Steve had to stop millions of deaths- including yours, mine, Sam’s, Peter’s, Bruce’s-” everyone in the room did their best to ignore the cracks in her voice and the tears in the very corners of her eyes “- and everyone else that was on this team! Because a well-meaning woman made a mistake with powers she couldn’t hope to understand yet! Is that a problem Tony? Well, it’s not my fault that you can’t put aside your fucking problems for more than five minutes!” She shouted, coming right up to Tony’s seat. He looked at her with a tired expression as she approached, but he dared not respond. Everyone knew that an angry Black Widow was not to be trifled with.

Well, almost everybody.

“When you two are done arguing like children, we have a monster to kill,” The new girl, Carol, spoke from her place. Natasha gave her a dark, hate-filled look, but Rhodey placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Carol rolled her eyes and scoffed before continuing. “Right- this is going nowhere,” she sighed arrogantly, turning to leave.

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked callously.

“To kill Thanos,” It wasn’t a request and it wasn’t a suggestion. It was a statement, a definitive, unarguable fact. It was also the end of Natasha’s patience with this cocky new girl.

Natasha’s eyes grew even more infuriated and barely a second passed before there was a knife embedded an inch or two in the wall just beside Carol. Her cocky eyes went wide and her smile evaporated. She turned with a jump to see Natasha with her arm extended and a holster on her olive catsuit empty.

“Look, I know you’re new here,” Natasha seethed, her chest heaving with a dark, deep, bubbling anger. Her green eyes were firing daggers from under her short, blonde hair. “But we do this shit as a team. So if you wanna do right by Fury and be an Avenger, you’re gonna have to work with us,”She growled, turning back to the table. “Do we have any idea where… He is?”

“When Thanos was turning me into… this,” Nebula sighed, looking at her visibly false arm in slight disgust, “He spoke of where he wanted to go. Even disassembled, I wanted to please him. I’d ask ‘where?’, and he always said ‘The Garden’,” 

Rocket swallowed when Nebula finished- this blonde-haired Earth girl was just as feisty and scary as Gamora and he definitely didn’t want to waste her time- and quickly told, “Well, when Thanos snapped, it emitted a ridiculously huge cosmic-scale radiation wave like nothin’ the universe had ever seen- until two days ago when another one came from... this planet,” From the center of the table emerged a hologram of a serene grassy planet, and suddenly a multi-coloured aura- purple, blue, red, orange, green and yellow intermixed with each other- ruptured from the planet’s surface.

“Thanos is there,” Nebula promised.

Natasha felt her blood heat up again at the thought of finding Thanos.

“Then let’s kill the fucker.” Natasha said evenly. She moved towards the exit of the room, Carol stepping away in a subtle fear of Natasha. The Black Widow gave her a warning look and stole her knife from the wall, holding it invertedly in a clear warning. She exited without a word, Bruce Banner following her. Carol gave him an odd ‘You know you’ll die, right?’ look but didn’t say anything. He followed his now-blonde past lover until they reached her room, where she planned to grab more gear, though she stopped at her door.

“Leave me alone, Bruce,” She whispered. Her previous anger was nowhere in her voice and the breaking had returned. She sounded not only sad, but she sounded disingenuous. She bowed her head and Bruce could swear he saw the glisten of a tear fall from Natasha’s face.

“Well, given the circumstances, an-and what happened last time, I think that would be… the worst idea ever,” He played with the long sleeve of his shirt and Natasha gave a trembling smile over her shoulder.She suddenly rushed over and wrapped her arms around.

“I missed you, Bruce,”

Present

Five years. Over five years, they had rebuilt. They had rebuilt the Avengers the vest they could, yes, but they had rebuilt. Rebuilt their love that had been splintered when Hulk fled Earth in a Quinjet, for flawed but- eventually-  understandable reasons.

Bruce loved Natasha. Hulk also loved Natasha, but whenever Hulk was around, Natasha only seemed to get hurt. On the Helicarrier before the beast had fallen for the redhead, he had almost killed her. In the Battle of New York, she had blood dripping down her face. On almost every Code Green raiding party, Natasha ended up with a bruise, cut, fracture or limp. And, during Sokovia, she had come within inches of Ultron’s final hail of bullets. Hulk realized when he threw Ultron out of that jet… He was hurting Natasha more than anything else was.

She didn’t love Hulk. She loved Banner, and Hulk only hurt her. So, he had taken himself away, forgetting Bruce even existed. Then, on Sakaar, he finally found what he wanted; People who loved him. A girl who loved him, truly. But,  then Thanos happened, and he had… Thanos had beaten Hulk, and that was enough. If Hulk couldn’t beat something his size, was he worth anything? No, and he certainly wasn’t willing to go through another defeat or hurt more people in the middle of New York City just because Stark wanted him to.

But then… She came back. It had been spontaneous, Bruce had another nightmare and his body just couldn't cope with the stress properly. It was then he saw her. Her hair was different- light blonde now- but her face… It was Widow, and she was there. There for Banner, yes, but she had… She had been there for him, too. It had been so much, too much, and Hulk was… Scared. Scared he would hurt her again. 

Bruce shook off the memories and looked to Natasha’s face. Her almond face was still decorated with a light smile, her olive-tinted eyes were hidden under her sunglasses, which were glimmering as they reflected the water before her. Her lips were full and a shiny pink. Her skin was still pristine and unblemished, if an unnoticeably slight bit darkened from the sun. Her shoulder length hair, returned to its pristine, vibrant fire-red, fell teasingly over her face, framing it better than any piece of art he’d ever seen.

“Oh, saw a piece-of-art broad tanning on the waterfront, thought I’d come steal her heart,” He teased. They often did this, though neither knew particularly why. It was just a special kind of intimate fun to tease each other like this.

“Really? Handsome man like y’rself,” She drawled, “Must’a been some broad,” Bruce smiled inwardly as Natasha’s smile lifted. Her pale cheeks reddened ever so at the compliment, even though she had grown used to getting them from her lover over the last five years.

“Oh, she is. The most beautiful I’ve ever seen,” Natasha pulled herself up and sat on her knees before she moved closer to her lover. Her smile looked more intimate as she removed her sunglasses and studied her lover’s tanned face.

“What’s so beautiful,” She asked, though it was barely a question. Her words were closer to short breaths. Bruce swallowed as he felt his shorts shift with the beginning brush of an erection, but he kept up his facade.

“Well, lot’s ‘a stuff, doll,” Natasha sighed and pulled on her bottom lip with her teeth at the pet name. “She’s a fiery redhead with a personality to match,” He began, watching Natasha’s body carefully. Her chest rose and fell evenly, though every inhale pushed her plump, constrained breasts toward him, almost in offering. Her chest was tinged slightly red, but whether that was from the sun or from something else he didn’t know. 

“She’s got the best eyes, like grass mixed with an aged olive branch. They’re like… A forest, like they’re all nature as to offer,” He whispered, Natasha staring so lovingly with those forest eyes. She smiled curtly and moved closer, putting her small hand on his. It was so much larger, and he felt so warm to her touch. Natasha paid careful attention as a water droplet rolled into the thick, curly greying foliage on Bruce’s chest, having to put specific focus so she didn’t tangle her fingers in it. But with all her focus, Natasha still couldn’t help herself. She moved herself even closer and moved the hand not occupied onto Bruce’s chest. 

She laced her fingers into the deep, thick brush as Bruce breathed easy. The hair was still wet to her touch and it felt so soft on her fingertips. But the sudden sensitivity running through her arm flowered through to the rest of her body. Natasha sighed shakily as she felt her entire body come to her true and complete awareness- and her body was airing a clear signal that caused a hitch in her breath;

Natasha’s bladder felt quite heavy and full. The redhead’s knees caved towards each other slightly when the feeling, although not too terribly needing, pulsed against her flesh and against the lower curve of her stomach. Bruce smiled at her warmly, but his smile turned concerned when Natasha’s brow creased ever so in worry.

“Hey’s, what’s wrong?” He asked, though Natasha didn’t register the question. Blood was beginning to rush through her ears at a firehose pressure and it was clouding her judgement like the blackest of fog. She knew she needed to go to the bathroom, but the sheen on Bruce’s body was causing a shudder down her spine that was stronger than the one rushing up it from her bladder’s fullness. Her primal mind’s logical processes weren’t registering in her more recognizable thoughts anymore. The only thing that was registering was… Natasha felt like she was watching herself, not at all in control of her actions as she dove against her lover’s lips. 

This was wrong. She had to go, she knew, but she couldn't pull herself away. Natasha was a great spy, very likely the best in the world, and she knew how to keep secrets. One that she had held particularly close to her chest- among military, governmental, S.H.I.E.L.D. and Avengers secrets. She had quite a few... unorthodox sexual interests, many of which would be horrifying should anyone with malicious intent was ever able to find out. Natasha had confided almost all of her interests with her lover, and he thought nothing less of her for it. But, one was certainly more taboo than the others- maybe, sometimes it was definitely contested- and it was one she didn't mean to share yet, and certainly not without a foolproof plan. She... 

Bruce groaned in surprise and had to put a hand behind him to stop from falling back in the water. Natasha’s lips latched onto his and pried them open with next to no effort. She moaned and brought her hands to Bruce’s back and pulled him down onto her, her own back against her towel again. Bruce put his hands beside Natasha’s shoulders, but he didn’t pull away from her lips. Natasha felt her system say ‘fuck it’ as she moved her mouth down from Bruce’s mouth and onto Bruce’s jawline, licking her teeth as the gamma-warmed flesh, gently stubbled flesh. Bruce pulled away slightly and Natasha relented, breathing a little harder from the sudden heat between them.

“Nat… What, what’s wrong?” He asked, his breathing in pace with hers. Natasha laughed sultrily and ran her slightly trembling hands down Bruce’s lean, muscularly taut chest. She indeed tangled her thin, skilled fingers into the thick, luscious hair once more and tugged on it lightly, reveling at the sheen in the light.

“It’s not fair to tease me with this, Bruce, you know what it does to me,” She whispered haughtily, her foresty eyes lidded with a public-inhibited love. Bruce beathed a laugh and traced his redheaded lover’s bare left shoulder, ghosting the shadows of her toned bicep with his index finger. Natasha, feeling a resurgence of her need, crossed her strong, slender legs inconspicuously- though, as they were between his own, Bruce felt the action against his own thigh.

“Are you okay?” He whispered. Natasha bit her bottom lip before she rose to her lover’s ear. Her words were breathy and hot on his skin.

“I have to… go, Bruce, but I… don’t want to…” She swallowed in a slight nervousness- she knew that if someone she was on top of admitted they needed to pee but had no intention to leave, she would be… Well, she didn’t really know how she would react. She knew she should have felt disgusted with herself, but…

“You mean…” Bruce mumbled, bringing Natasha from her trance. He looked down to Natasha’s belly and brought a hand down to stroke her soft, smooth side, toying with the band of her swimsuit. Bruce smiled at the notion and looked back up to his redheaded girlfriend’s deep green eyes. The look- it was a look of sensual playfulness and aroused curiosity, something not at all foreign to either of them- warded forward the logical thought of ‘Go to the bathroom, it’s getting intense,’. Natasha gasped a breath subtly and tightened her legs further. Her mind began sobering- not sobering exactly, she could still feel the warmth and illogical attitudes in her mind, but the logical ones overcame- and she gasped again. “Well, then Nat, I never expected…”

Natasha’s mouth suddenly went dry when another wave of need crashed over her body, more intense than the last- so intense that it stole her breath right from her dried throat. She tightened her legs somehow more and her grip of Bruce’s chest grew stiffer as well. Bruce caressed her side again at the sudden tension racking through her before she choked out,

“I-I should go…”

“Why? You weren’t so inclined a minute before,” Bruce lulled, moving his hand over Natasha’s belly. The surface was soft and warm, but as he moved down towards the front of her bathing suit, the softness suddenly turned somewhat hard right above the band of her red swimsuit. Her bladder was filled and swollen and they both knew it wouldn’t be long.

“I… I didn’t…” Natasha felt no words come forward, and she was unsure of what words she should have even said. “I… I have to pee, Bruce,” She admitted again, the mere mention enough to bring a pang of fullness. Her legs shook from their crossed tension and she bit her bottom lip as she looked away from her lover’s eyes. She never imagined herself in such a vulnerable circumstance, nor did she think it would be so… thrilling. Her heart was beating quite a bit faster than normal, her skin was ablaze- the sun had next to no part in that- and the pressure on her organs was, while uncomfortable and bordering on mildly painful, was beginning to feel… nice- or the thought of release was. 

“I know, but you kind of did this to yourself, Nat,” Bruce purred as he rolled off and sat beside her on her left, his right hand still on her lower belly. He used his other hand to keep himself upright as he leaned back. Natasha stayed on her back and kept her legs tight together as her lover rubbed her throbbing bladder. Natasha breathed heavily and began bouncing her legs with need as she sucked her lips in. “Oh, it’s getting bad, huh?” He teased.

Natasha felt oddly playful at Bruce’s teasing voice. She nodded with a whimper, ghosting her hand over his with a want to hold herself that she suppressed for obvious reasons. She hissed in need and kept bouncing. 

“Mm-hm,” She suddenly recoiled when her bladder jabbed her again, though this jab was more powerful and painful than any previous. Natasha sat up and subconsciously moved her hand over her clothed opening, whimpering in sudden need. Bruce smirked at his girlfriend’s actions and leaned closer to her.

“There are other people here, Nat,” He moved his hand to her wrist and tugged her hand out of her crotch. Her thighs immediately slammed together to take its place and she breathed steady a few times to regain her breath.

“It’s starting to hurt,” Natasha commented, rocking herself back and forth ever so slightly. She knew this was turning into a game, but the growing need below her stomach was anything but. From here, she had three options; She could stop her game and go to the bathroom, she could snake her way into the pool- however gross that was- or she could…

“Well, maybe you should go then, doll,” The pet name brung another sprout of red to her face as she smiled painfully, and the most logical option seemed to be the best for her current situation. Natasha moved to stand, but she was unable to when Bruce placed a hand on her tummy. She gave a look that read, ‘What the hell?’ Bruce returned a sly smile that could only be deciphered as one thing.

‘I didn’t mean ‘go’.’

“Bruce, I can’t… I,” She paused to cross her legs and focus on holding. Her need was getting worse, and now she knew that it was now-or-never. “Bruce, if I don’t go, I’m…” Natasha paused, partly from another painful pulse and partly from embarrassment. She knew that she had walked herself into a corner with this. She rocked herself back and forth, and she moved her foot against her crotch. She began grinding herself against her heel to hold herself, but she also began growing hot at the nearly bare contact. “If I don’t go…” She whimpered uncharacteristically weakly, though the pain in her lower abdomen was far enough to justify it. “I’m gonna… Oh God,” She pressed her cheek to her lover’s shoulder and her heel as hard into her pulsing core as her body would allow, grinding herself carelessly in desperation. She panted quietly and sighed in need. “I'm gonna pee myself,” She breathed. The way she said the arousing phrase was less of a continuation and more of a sudden embarrassed promise. No longer was it now-or-never, no longer was it an avoidable possibility...

It was beginning to become an inevitability.

Bruce smiled and licked his top teeth under his lips when Natasha gasped against his shoulder. Her hand, unable to go between her legs like her body needed, constantly flexed and relaxed on her thigh as her heel did its best to fill its place. The redhead’s hips were rocking back and forth and the barest moan escaped her mouth when her heel caused her swimsuit to brush her budding clitoris.

Natasha’s mind was beginning to cloud again. She knew she needed to pee and she knew it would feel so good and that having an accident right here was inevitable, but she also knew that she was horny now, but one thing she didn’t know what she wanted first- did she want to pee herself to help her cum, or did she want to cum to help her pee herself? Either way, her reservations of saving her swimsuit were a faint, tattered memory, if they had even been there in the first place.

“You will, will you?” He purred, sending a warm shock of arousal up her back. Similarly to before, the warmth was countered by a shiver- a literal shiver- of an electric jolt from her bladder as it once again aired its needs. Natasha, mindlessly horny and desperate to pee, could only nod frantically.

It was then that the first leak jetted from her urethra. It was small, but when the warmth rolled down her warmed, flowering lips and down the gentle curve of her ass, Natasha squealed in a gasp and forced her heel inwards, apathetic to the wetness that soaked onto her foot. She curled inwards and tried to steady her breathing, but the hand that was fidgeting on her thigh shot between her legs, now not caring for anyone around. Her bladder was so full it was pounding against her belly, her stomach, her vagina. It was aching and was set to burst, and her urethra and pelvic muscles were burning with strain from holding back her flood. It hurt so bad, but the pressure on her and in her was so… pleasurable, and just the thought of more release was 

“Oh god, I-I leaked,” Natasha admitted quickly, gripping her pussy as tight as possible. She kept grinding into her wet heel and gripped herself furiously, even though she wanted nothing more than to just go. Bruce smirked at her words and gripped her side. His voice was barely a sultry whisper as he spoke in her ear,

“You should just let go, Nat, before it gets more painful,” Natasha breathed a shaky laugh and nodded quickly, now only wanting to relieve the pressing pressure so she could deal with her other pressing matter. The suggestion was more like permission to her. Immediately, she began doing her best to relax her tense body. But, the more she tried to relax, the more her body only grew more contained and stressed. She had the bright idea to push, but that caused a burning stab to her belly. She hissed in surprise more than pain. She couldn’t pee, even when she tried.

“I can’t, Bruce,” 

“What d’you mean?” He asked, tracing her hip.

“I can’t- My body won’t…” Natasha whined pitifully, another painful roll into her bladder bringing bleary tears to her eyes. Bruce’s hand moved from her hip to her lower tummy, caressing the hard lump slightly distending from her belly. The caresses felt good, but they soon only served to hurt her bladder more. “It won’t…” She panted, desperation lacing her voice. “It won’t come out, oh god…” Bruce moved the hand not caressing Natasha’s overfilled bladder behind them and suddenly grabbed something before bringing her red towel forth. He rolled it up into a ball and motioned for her to spread her legs. She did without second thought, though a small spurt escaped her, with a small shiny spot appearing briefly on her hot clothed pussy. Natasha tried to capitalize on the leak and push to rest out, but it was to no avail as more stabbing pain wracked through her belly. 

Bruce put the towel between her legs and right against her opening, and as he retracted his hand he made sure to brush a swollen nub under the subtly wetted fabric. Natasha bit her lip and breathed hard in her best attempt not to moan, but not only was Bruce’s hand still on her thigh but the sun-warmed towel against her throbbing, tired bladder was so alluring, despite the fact that the release she needed so much was beyond her.

“Bruce, I still can’t…” Her voice was growing desperate and sad, the pressure and stabbing in her lower abdomen was too much now. During her whole life, her pain tolerance had grown to almost inhuman levels but this pain was so unique and so goddamn bad. She felt like soon, tears would come to her eyes if she held on any longer. But her bladder absolutely refused to let go where she was. She knew that if she stood up, she would explode, but then everyone would see her. 

Another pang of overfilled warning smacked her bladder before Natasha was suddenly sucked into a kiss. Bruce’s lips worked hers open with ease, and the surprise of the kiss caused a hot spurt, larger than the previous to trickle down the warm inner part of her thighs, though her bladder still painfully refused to fully surrender. Natasha kept grinding herself against her heel and her towel desperately. Her hips were rocking back and forth on the towel beneath her, and she had to do everything in her power not to reach down her swimsuit. But, adversely, the pressure in her bladder was so painful and intense that she was worried it was going to have serious and dangerous effects.

“Please,” She begged- not her lover, but the universe- to just let her wet herself. Bruce kissed Natasha deeper and rested his hand in the small of her back and began caressing her, trying to tempt her body into releasing its heavy burden. Natasha’s entrance was aching and in pain as a seemingly endless flood was restricted, and her muscles were bound to the burst. The stroking on her toned back was so nice, but the tension in her body made it feel so rigid, so uncomfortably rigid. Her entrance was furiously grinding against the towel and her lips were ravenously gripping whatever part of Bruce they could reach. Tears were now indeed budding in the corners of her eyes as the redhead pushed herself as far into her kiss as she was allowed by basic physics.

Then, Bruce’s deft fingers sent a sudden, paralyzing shock up and down Natasha’s skilled, bendy spine.

It began slowly, and painfully. Like a string of fire, a small stream of urine began rolling down the tender, sore inside of Natasha’s creamy thighs, soaking into the towel beneath her. Natasha moaned against her lover’s mouth and pressed herself further against him. Her legs began quaking slightly around her balled-up towel as her vagina slowly collapsed. Between them grew the slightest psshh as urine darkened the towel. Natasha gasped and sobbed in a turmoiled combination of pleasure and burning pain on occasion as the trickle slowly grew, the sound growing louder in parallel. Natasha felt her shoulders and her back shudder uncontrollably when her bladder truly did collapse.

She moaned without control as the slight hissing from her weakened, trembling pussy turned into a forceful gushing. The small dark stain on the red towel and the slight golden shimmer along Natasha’s thighs both turned drastic- the darkness flowed rapidly, shimmering from the blasting pressure as the liquid bubbled up around Natasha’s crotch, slowly absorbing into the towel.

She was doing it. It was finally happening. Natasha breathed deeply as her thighs quivered from the violent hissing. She was peeing herself. Finally. And Natasha couldn’t help but slump against her lover as a heavy orgasm crawled ever closer, focusing only on grinding her hips. All the pain that had filled her body was now evacuating with her pee. She breathed raggedly and impossibly deeply as she wet herself into the towel, her legs unresponsive as he hips moved back and forth. The pressure, the pressing pain and the torturous heat was fleeing her body and against her swimsuit and the friction she felt, the now wet, sopping towel rubbing against her hot, pulsating pussy, stole another small moan from her lips. Her vagina’s lips were flowered open against her red swimsuit, and the feeling of rough fabric through the wet material of her swimsuit was stimulating her lusty mind so much.

So much her thoughts were irrational.

Still peeing herself, Natasha used her hand to move her swimsuit out of the way- an odd spshkcc accentuating the movement. She placed her crotch back against the towel, and the sudden feeling of the hot, damp prickliness, in combination with the still rushing liquid, pushed a moan from Natasha’s mouth that she had to bite down on Bruce’s shoulder to muffle it. She wildly rubbed herself back and forth, her lips frictioning with the rough material as jetting urine sprayed further into it.

At this point, the towel was beginning to oversaturate. A small, darkish puddle of yellow liquid began seeping out on the sun-heated concrete. It was growing just a bit slower than her flow. Natasha’s chest heaved erratically before she suddenly sighed with a heavy shudder in her breath. Her legs stopped rutting against the soaked towel and her stream sputtered somewhat, though it still continued to leak from her exposed opening. She felt her legs go slightly numb and her core to grow even more weak as it spasmed in pleasure.

Natasha sighed heavily and fell truly limp against her lover as her legs trembled and ceased their moving. As she peed, she felt her swimsuit fall back over her pussy, the hot liquid pushing back against her sensitive lips once more. Unrestrained, she moaned weakly. Her chest had turned a subtle shade of reddish-pink from her orgasm, and the towel was beyond soaked. Natasha looked down to see a dark stain growing on the concrete below her from underneath her red, dark towel. She did her best to stop her peeing, but her weakened muscles could only slightly stem the flow with a cry of denial. So, the Black Widow sat in relieved, orgasmic silence as her bladder slowly drained, the towel little more than a formality as a dark puddle marked the concrete around her. 

Finally, her flow trickled against her swimsuit and her vagina for a few moments before Natasha finally finished wetting herself. Her breathing was still deep, a thick blush was still on her chest and her crotch was warm and damp. Natasha rubbed her pussy once more on the rough, wetted towel- sending a sensitive shiver up her back-before running a hand up her lover’s chest. She swallowed a small anxiety- she had just pissed herself for almost three minutes- before she looked to Bruce's eyes.His eyes were warm and there was a smile on his face, though it was small and dark. Natasha breathed in relief and a newfound emptiness.

“Better?” Bruce asked, rubbing the small of Natasha’s back as her breath came back to her.Natasha nodded in a sigh and looked down to her soaked clothing. A slight embarrassment came to her, but she smiled in pleasure and emptiness.

“Yes,” she replied hoarsely. Natasha leaned her head against Bruce’s chest, her breath finally taming to a general level. She sighed shakily and moved into a sitting position, taking her hands away from her lover. “I-I should… I should clean up,” she said, moving off of her drenched towel.

Bruce smiled and moved before she did. He unballed the towel and laid it out over the large puddle, even though it was barely too broad to cover it fully. 

“That should dry in a couple minutes,” He brought Natasha up into a gentle hug, one she surrendered herself to entirely. She felt so satisfied and her legs were only barely keeping her steady. She did her best to maneuver her head and peck Bruce’s stubbly cheek, whispering a soft,

“What’d you think?” It was an odd question with, seemingly, a simple answer. She had just wet herself on a towel, not to mention she had orgasmed from it too. Any normal person would be disgusted, but the look on Bruce’s face wasn’t disgust nor disappointment. It was a look of curiosity and of temptation. Bruce pressed his body against Natasha’s and held her close.

“I think it was a test of your… Kinks, and I definitely think we can… Do something with it. Work it in with the others, definitely,” He whispered against her cheek as he brought her even closer. She smiled against his clavicle.

“It’s not gross?” She asked, a slightly confused tone to her voice. Sure, it wasn’t unheard of to have the same fetish as a lover, but what were the chances.

“Not at all. We all have our fetishes, Nat,”

“Even you?”

“Yeah, I have one,”

“And you never thought to tell me?” She reprimanded jokingly.

“You’re no better, apparently,” He admitted. 

“What is it?” Bruce moved against her ear and whispered it to her, and she couldn’t control her face running hot at his words. “Really? You?” She asked, her eyes slightly wider than before. 

“I could say the same thing for you. The world’s greatest spy, an Avenger and my girlfriend… Likes to pee her pants,” Natasha felt a red creep onto her neck at the mention of the words, but she couldn’t help the feeling that threaded through her whenever she did… that.

“I guess they can go hand-in-hand,” She whispered, looking down to her chest. She suddenly couldn’t help but gasp when her feet were swept off the ground. Bruce held her in his arms, hers wrapped around his neck as he smiled against her lips.

“They can, and I think they will. But for now, I think you need to rinse off,” He whispered. Natasha’s face suddenly went wide as she noticed them at the edge of the pool’s water.

“No, Bruce! Wait-” He threw her in, her last action a gasp of a breath in before following her with a dive. Under the water he rubbed against her belly and took a hold on her from behind. 

“I love you, my kinky spider.” He kissed her throat when they breached the surface, creating a gasp of pleasure from the redhead. She smiled and replied, a low tone in her voice,

“I love you too, my scientist."

Sometimes, the best things that can be created are created through second chances, and second chances they had since they’d met each other. Now, all they had was time, and time was not to be wasted...

Well then, @Batman007, there's another request done. Like I said, I'm trying to take these pieces easier as to not burn out, and I'm decently pleased with this one. Unfortunately, the first 'Natasha' prompt involved her actually being in charge of her accident, so if another is requested- or I do it after I finish the requests- I want to make it a true accident. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed my characterization of Natasha, and I hope that I did the MCU's best woman right. With that said, if you have a character you want a piece for, a situation for a piece- or even both- let me know and I'll add it to the queue. Right now, there are two requests that I have to do, so watch out for those. Since the 'wetters' weren't specified, I'll be using them to further complete the character checklist so we can get to the Line-Up. Right now, we're at 10/23, soon to be 12/23. But, feel free to request any character from the list above or any you think I missed, even if they already have a piece for them. In case you're curious;

Pepper Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Lady Sif, Peggy Carter, Gamora, Wanda Maximoff, Shuri, Mary Jane Watson, Laura Kinney and Hela (she actually has two)

All have their required pieces. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed this piece, and expect Wanda causing some poor soul's accident next.

Best regards,

NothingLeft

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51 minutes ago, NothingLeft said:

Natasha Romanoff

Before this begins, I want to preface one thing. People can ship who they want with who they want, I don't care. I don'y care if you ship Romanogers, or WinterWidow or if the Avengers are all one big poly group, or anything else. I respect people putting fictional characters with other fictional characters and having them bang. I just hope that courtesy can be extended, because the ship within this piece, as well as every future 'Black Widow' piece is... Lamented, I suppose. Again, ship who you wish with anyone, just please respect my ship. Sorry for the introduction like this, on with the piece.

Privatized Stark Pool, July 2024

Natasha sighed as the warm sun hit her exposed skin. It had been over eight months since- not to brag- she had dealt the final blow to the massive underground crime ring’s leader, Wilson “Kingpin”Fisk. It had been a harder fight than she had expected- he was massive, and most of his mass was muscle despite his rotund appearance. He had, earlier in the lifespan of the crime organization- the Avengers had been fighting this crime ring for almost two months before Natasha ended it- caught Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf himself, in a hand-to-hand fistfight, and Fisk had held his own until Captain America joined in. And even then the mob boss had still been doing remarkably well. 

Despite all that, the man wasn’t bulletproof. Natasha had made quite sure of that, especially after one of his henchmen had shot her in the leg, leading to… Well, to a dangerously fatal Hulk-Out that had caused quite “the PR disaster”, as Tony kept putting it.

Regardless, Natasha warmed herself in the sun and smiled, her amber sunglasses shielding her closed eyes. Any sound around her was muted by operatic orchestral music- her lover had recommended it, and she had to admit it was indeed calming and relieved her stress quite well- coming through white earbuds wired to her phone beside her. Beneath her was a crimson towel and nearby beside her was her third bottle of water, near-empty due to the sun’s heat.

The only thing her somewhat pale body was censored by was a deep, rich red two-piece swimsuit. It was relatively conservative for a swimsuit; the cups wrapped around her full, clear-fleshed C-cup breasts comprehensively, leaving only slight swells above the line of the padding. The bottom piece was also quite hiding as it had a removable swimskirt attached, though it was only draped over her left leg. The skirt dropped down to the apex of her calf, leaving the rest of her silky, pale leg- as well as her entire right leg- nude to the eye. 

Natasha resettled her body, smiling genuinely as the sun kept her flesh warm. The skirt on her bikini was, similarly to her towel, underneath her to ensure as cohesive a tan as possible- though, if it had been just her and her lover, she would have gone for a complete tan. However, there were others around, leaving Natasha to have to deal with much despised tan lines. Nevertheless, as the Black Widow breathed a deep, contented sigh, she received a sudden and cold awakening when water splashed onto her thigh. She removed her earbuds and sat up, joyous sounds now reaching her ears.

Sam Wilson, the Falcon, and Peggy Carter, Agent Genesis, were wrestling in the water quite nearby her- no doubt the cause of the splash of Natasha’s leg- Peggy giggling and squealing when Sam grabbed her foot from underwater. James Rhodes, the War Machine and Hela were under the shade of an old oak tree, Hela also under a dark towel. Happy Hogan, the Bodyguard, and May Parker alongside Thor, Loki, Valkyrie and Sif were in a nearby hot tub, and Morgan Stark was in the shallowest part of the pool with her parents, learning how to swim. Clint and Laura Barton- Hawkeye and Mockingbird- were lounging on the edge of the large pool, their three children- Lila, Cooper and Nathan, alongside Cassie Lang, Scott Lang, or Ant-Man’s teenage daughter- hitting around an inflatable ball. Wanda Maximoff was on the edge of the pool, whispering with a smile to her synthetic boyfriend Vision, who was on the rim of the water. Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne, or the Wasp- the couple had been married just over a month now- were napping in a cuddle against a wall of a building nearby, wrapped in a towel similarly to Hela. Mary Jane Watson and Peter Parker, or Spider-Man were in a corner of the pool occasionally stealing kisses from each other, and Christina ‘Angel Dust’ Catastrophie and Piotr ‘Colossus’ Rasputin were both on land, sharing a book. Piotr was leaned back while Christina read over his shoulder, holding an oddly feminine stance- at least for the six-foot mountain of a woman that could punch through sheer rock.

However, as Natasha scanned her surroundings, there was one very important person she couldn’t pick out. Among all her other comrades, there was one very important man she couldn’t find. But, when she rose in concern, a shadow underneath the water moved around Sam and Peggy’s wrestling bodies. The shadow became more defined and more lean as the person beneath the surface came closer until a head of dark brown hair, slightly greying around the roots, pierced the water. A tanned, wise face followed, the man’s eyes were a mysterious and deep dark brown in colour.

Natasha smiled as the man, only his head emerging from the slightly turbulent surface of the sparkly, clear water. Natasha turned herself around on her towel to lay on her tummy, putting her chin on her wrists and smiling at the man. Her lips were pink and shiny from a gentle coat of lip gloss. She licked her soft bottom lip in a playfully seductive manner.

“Hey lover,” She drawled slowly, holding her ‘L’ for a moment as to let her agile tongue flick out of her mouth teasingly. The man in the water smiled at her words before his long, and rather hairy, arms came above the water and pressed against the rim of the pool. He pushed himself up out of the water, revealing his lean muscular body. He was wiry but still visibly strong. His chest was covered in dark, thick hair that led all the way down below the waistband of his black swim shorts. He brought his body over the water level and sat on the concrete.

“What brings you here?” He asked, giving her a knowing smile. Natasha smiled lovingly, a look surely foreign to the dangerous Black Widow if you didn’t know her. But, to those who did…

May 2018

“He did…” Natasha whimpered, her voice on the edge of tears. The… The Avengers left from the Snap- Steve, Tony, Bruce, Rhodey, Hela, Nebula, Thor, Carol and Natasha herself- waited around patiently, staring and mourning as acquaintances, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and fellow Avengers that had been victims of the Snap appeared on floating screens as Natasha struggled to speak. “He did exactly what he said he was gonna do…” She coughed. Bruce gave her a sad, empathetic look, nodding to tell her to continue. “He… eliminated half of all life,” Her voice broke when Laura Barton’s face appeared on the screens in the air.

So many had disappeared. The confident high-flyer, Sam Wilson. The humble father, Scott Lang. The ever hard-lifer, Bucky Barnes. The adorably excitable Peter Parker. The wise prodigious king, T’Challa, Laura Barton and all three of her children, and so, so many more. Though, through all the pain and strife Natasha knew she would barely cope with, through all the strain and ache this event would cause, she knew one thing, she knew one man that would help her through it all, even though he had just come back less than a month ago.

Natasha looked up and swallowed the lump in her throat as Bruce came close to her. He carefully wrapped his arms around her- careful to avoid the nasty healing wound she had taken from Thanos in the battle for life. Natasha bowed her head onto Bruce’s shoulder and sighed a breath shaky from the stress and the loss.

“Where is he, Rogers?” Tony asked weakly from the table.

“Don’t know, he just opened up a portal and walked away,” Rogers whispered across from Tony, gazing at an old, scratched golden compass from the forties. Inside were two pictures. One of Bucky, with his long hair and scruffy jaw and another of a brunette with shiny red lips. “But I know for sure, we’re going after the bastard,” He muttered, clasping the compass closed.

Tony suddenly stood, almost outraged at Rogers’ words.

“Really? We? We’re going after him? Cause,” he paused, scratching his head, “Last time there was a we, we blew up an airport, Cap! We blew up an airport and you ran away!” The venom in his words visibly hurt Steve, only exacerbated by the masked ‘coward’ comment. “But, no! Now, now that there’s a big bad we have’ta kill, you’re all about we again!” It was at this point that Rhodey moved between Tony and Steve.

“‘Kay, Tony, y’made your point, now just sit down,” 

“Or is it just because we do our best after the fact!” Tony shouted, though Natasha separated from Bruce, enraged, and slammed her fists on the table. Everyone in the room jumped, some more than others.

“Yes, Tony! There’s a ‘we’ again! The only reason there wasn’t before is because an alien invasion was used against us! Because Steve had to stop millions of deaths- including yours, mine, Sam’s, Peter’s, Bruce’s-” everyone in the room did their best to ignore the cracks in her voice and the tears in the very corners of her eyes “- and everyone else that was on this team! Because a well-meaning woman made a mistake with powers she couldn’t hope to understand yet! Is that a problem Tony? Well, it’s not my fault that you can’t put aside your fucking problems for more than five minutes!” She shouted, coming right up to Tony’s seat. He looked at her with a tired expression as she approached, but he dared not respond. Everyone knew that an angry Black Widow was not to be trifled with.

Well, almost everybody.

“When you two are done arguing like children, we have a monster to kill,” The new girl, Carol, spoke from her place. Natasha gave her a dark, hate-filled look, but Rhodey placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Carol rolled her eyes and scoffed before continuing. “Right- this is going nowhere,” she sighed arrogantly, turning to leave.

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked callously.

“To kill Thanos,” It wasn’t a request and it wasn’t a suggestion. It was a statement, a definitive, unarguable fact. It was also the end of Natasha’s patience with this cocky new girl.

Natasha’s eyes grew even more infuriated and barely a second passed before there was a knife embedded an inch or two in the wall just beside Carol. Her cocky eyes went wide and her smile evaporated. She turned with a jump to see Natasha with her arm extended and a holster on her olive catsuit empty.

“Look, I know you’re new here,” Natasha seethed, her chest heaving with a dark, deep, bubbling anger. Her green eyes were firing daggers from under her short, blonde hair. “But we do this shit as a team. So if you wanna do right by Fury and be an Avenger, you’re gonna have to work with us,”She growled, turning back to the table. “Do we have any idea where… He is?”

“When Thanos was turning me into… this,” Nebula sighed, looking at her visibly false arm in slight disgust, “He spoke of where he wanted to go. Even disassembled, I wanted to please him. I’d ask ‘where?’, and he always said ‘The Garden’,” 

Rocket swallowed when Nebula finished- this blonde-haired Earth girl was just as feisty and scary as Gamora and he definitely didn’t want to waste her time- and quickly told, “Well, when Thanos snapped, it emitted a ridiculously huge cosmic-scale radiation wave like nothin’ the universe had ever seen- until two days ago when another one came from... this planet,” From the center of the table emerged a hologram of a serene grassy planet, and suddenly a multi-coloured aura- purple, blue, red, orange, green and yellow intermixed with each other- ruptured from the planet’s surface.

“Thanos is there,” Nebula promised.

Natasha felt her blood heat up again at the thought of finding Thanos.

“Then let’s kill the fucker.” Natasha said evenly. She moved towards the exit of the room, Carol stepping away in a subtle fear of Natasha. The Black Widow gave her a warning look and stole her knife from the wall, holding it invertedly in a clear warning. She exited without a word, Bruce Banner following her. Carol gave him an odd ‘You know you’ll die, right?’ look but didn’t say anything. He followed his now-blonde past lover until they reached her room, where she planned to grab more gear, though she stopped at her door.

“Leave me alone, Bruce,” She whispered. Her previous anger was nowhere in her voice and the breaking had returned. She sounded not only sad, but she sounded disingenuous. She bowed her head and Bruce could swear he saw the glisten of a tear fall from Natasha’s face.

“Well, given the circumstances, an-and what happened last time, I think that would be… the worst idea ever,” He played with the long sleeve of his shirt and Natasha gave a trembling smile over her shoulder.She suddenly rushed over and wrapped her arms around.

“I missed you, Bruce,”

Present

Five years. Over five years, they had rebuilt. They had rebuilt the Avengers the vest they could, yes, but they had rebuilt. Rebuilt their love that had been splintered when Hulk fled Earth in a Quinjet, for flawed but- eventually-  understandable reasons.

Bruce loved Natasha. Hulk also loved Natasha, but whenever Hulk was around, Natasha only seemed to get hurt. On the Helicarrier before the beast had fallen for the redhead, he had almost killed her. In the Battle of New York, she had blood dripping down her face. On almost every Code Green raiding party, Natasha ended up with a bruise, cut, fracture or limp. And, during Sokovia, she had come within inches of Ultron’s final hail of bullets. Hulk realized when he threw Ultron out of that jet… He was hurting Natasha more than anything else was.

She didn’t love Hulk. She loved Banner, and Hulk only hurt her. So, he had taken himself away, forgetting Bruce even existed. Then, on Sakaar, he finally found what he wanted; People who loved him. A girl who loved him, truly. But,  then Thanos happened, and he had… Thanos had beaten Hulk, and that was enough. If Hulk couldn’t beat something his size, was he worth anything? No, and he certainly wasn’t willing to go through another defeat or hurt more people in the middle of New York City just because Stark wanted him to.

But then… She came back. It had been spontaneous, Bruce had another nightmare and his body just couldn't cope with the stress properly. It was then he saw her. Her hair was different- light blonde now- but her face… It was Widow, and she was there. There for Banner, yes, but she had… She had been there for him, too. It had been so much, too much, and Hulk was… Scared. Scared he would hurt her again. 

Bruce shook off the memories and looked to Natasha’s face. Her almond face was still decorated with a light smile, her olive-tinted eyes were hidden under her sunglasses, which were glimmering as they reflected the water before her. Her lips were full and a shiny pink. Her skin was still pristine and unblemished, if an unnoticeably slight bit darkened from the sun. Her shoulder length hair, returned to its pristine, vibrant fire-red, fell teasingly over her face, framing it better than any piece of art he’d ever seen.

“Oh, saw a piece-of-art broad tanning on the waterfront, thought I’d come steal her heart,” He teased. They often did this, though neither knew particularly why. It was just a special kind of intimate fun to tease each other like this.

“Really? Handsome man like y’rself,” She drawled, “Must’a been some broad,” Bruce smiled inwardly as Natasha’s smile lifted. Her pale cheeks reddened ever so at the compliment, even though she had grown used to getting them from her lover over the last five years.

“Oh, she is. The most beautiful I’ve ever seen,” Natasha pulled herself up and sat on her knees before she moved closer to her lover. Her smile looked more intimate as she removed her sunglasses and studied her lover’s tanned face.

“What’s so beautiful,” She asked, though it was barely a question. Her words were closer to short breaths. Bruce swallowed as he felt his shorts shift with the beginning brush of an erection, but he kept up his facade.

“Well, lot’s ‘a stuff, doll,” Natasha sighed and pulled on her bottom lip with her teeth at the pet name. “She’s a fiery redhead with a personality to match,” He began, watching Natasha’s body carefully. Her chest rose and fell evenly, though every inhale pushed her plump, constrained breasts toward him, almost in offering. Her chest was tinged slightly red, but whether that was from the sun or from something else he didn’t know. 

“She’s got the best eyes, like grass mixed with an aged olive branch. They’re like… A forest, like they’re all nature as to offer,” He whispered, Natasha staring so lovingly with those forest eyes. She smiled curtly and moved closer, putting her small hand on his. It was so much larger, and he felt so warm to her touch. Natasha paid careful attention as a water droplet rolled into the thick, curly greying foliage on Bruce’s chest, having to put specific focus so she didn’t tangle her fingers in it. But with all her focus, Natasha still couldn’t help herself. She moved herself even closer and moved the hand not occupied onto Bruce’s chest. 

She laced her fingers into the deep, thick brush as Bruce breathed easy. The hair was still wet to her touch and it felt so soft on her fingertips. But the sudden sensitivity running through her arm flowered through to the rest of her body. Natasha sighed shakily as she felt her entire body come to her true and complete awareness- and her body was airing a clear signal that caused a hitch in her breath;

Natasha’s bladder felt quite heavy and full. The redhead’s knees caved towards each other slightly when the feeling, although not too terribly needing, pulsed against her flesh and against the lower curve of her stomach. Bruce smiled at her warmly, but his smile turned concerned when Natasha’s brow creased ever so in worry.

“Hey’s, what’s wrong?” He asked, though Natasha didn’t register the question. Blood was beginning to rush through her ears at a firehose pressure and it was clouding her judgement like the blackest of fog. She knew she needed to go to the bathroom, but the sheen on Bruce’s body was causing a shudder down her spine that was stronger than the one rushing up it from her bladder’s fullness. Her primal mind’s logical processes weren’t registering in her more recognizable thoughts anymore. The only thing that was registering was… Natasha felt like she was watching herself, not at all in control of her actions as she dove against her lover’s lips. 

This was wrong. She had to go, she knew, but she couldn't pull herself away. Natasha was a great spy, very likely the best in the world, and she knew how to keep secrets. One that she had held particularly close to her chest- among military, governmental, S.H.I.E.L.D. and Avengers secrets. She had quite a few... unorthodox sexual interests, many of which would be horrifying should anyone with malicious intent was ever able to find out. Natasha had confided almost all of her interests with her lover, and he thought nothing less of her for it. But, one was certainly more taboo than the others- maybe, sometimes it was definitely contested- and it was one she didn't mean to share yet, and certainly not without a foolproof plan. She... 

Bruce groaned in surprise and had to put a hand behind him to stop from falling back in the water. Natasha’s lips latched onto his and pried them open with next to no effort. She moaned and brought her hands to Bruce’s back and pulled him down onto her, her own back against her towel again. Bruce put his hands beside Natasha’s shoulders, but he didn’t pull away from her lips. Natasha felt her system say ‘fuck it’ as she moved her mouth down from Bruce’s mouth and onto Bruce’s jawline, licking her teeth as the gamma-warmed flesh, gently stubbled flesh. Bruce pulled away slightly and Natasha relented, breathing a little harder from the sudden heat between them.

“Nat… What, what’s wrong?” He asked, his breathing in pace with hers. Natasha laughed sultrily and ran her slightly trembling hands down Bruce’s lean, muscularly taut chest. She indeed tangled her thin, skilled fingers into the thick, luscious hair once more and tugged on it lightly, reveling at the sheen in the light.

“It’s not fair to tease me with this, Bruce, you know what it does to me,” She whispered haughtily, her foresty eyes lidded with a public-inhibited love. Bruce beathed a laugh and traced his redheaded lover’s bare left shoulder, ghosting the shadows of her toned bicep with his index finger. Natasha, feeling a resurgence of her need, crossed her strong, slender legs inconspicuously- though, as they were between his own, Bruce felt the action against his own thigh.

“Are you okay?” He whispered. Natasha bit her bottom lip before she rose to her lover’s ear. Her words were breathy and hot on his skin.

“I have to… go, Bruce, but I… don’t want to…” She swallowed in a slight nervousness- she knew that if someone she was on top of admitted they needed to pee but had no intention to leave, she would be… Well, she didn’t really know how she would react. She knew she should have felt disgusted with herself, but…

“You mean…” Bruce mumbled, bringing Natasha from her trance. He looked down to Natasha’s belly and brought a hand down to stroke her soft, smooth side, toying with the band of her swimsuit. Bruce smiled at the notion and looked back up to his redheaded girlfriend’s deep green eyes. The look- it was a look of sensual playfulness and aroused curiosity, something not at all foreign to either of them- warded forward the logical thought of ‘Go to the bathroom, it’s getting intense,’. Natasha gasped a breath subtly and tightened her legs further. Her mind began sobering- not sobering exactly, she could still feel the warmth and illogical attitudes in her mind, but the logical ones overcame- and she gasped again. “Well, then Nat, I never expected…”

Natasha’s mouth suddenly went dry when another wave of need crashed over her body, more intense than the last- so intense that it stole her breath right from her dried throat. She tightened her legs somehow more and her grip of Bruce’s chest grew stiffer as well. Bruce caressed her side again at the sudden tension racking through her before she choked out,

“I-I should go…”

“Why? You weren’t so inclined a minute before,” Bruce lulled, moving his hand over Natasha’s belly. The surface was soft and warm, but as he moved down towards the front of her bathing suit, the softness suddenly turned somewhat hard right above the band of her red swimsuit. Her bladder was filled and swollen and they both knew it wouldn’t be long.

“I… I didn’t…” Natasha felt no words come forward, and she was unsure of what words she should have even said. “I… I have to pee, Bruce,” She admitted again, the mere mention enough to bring a pang of fullness. Her legs shook from their crossed tension and she bit her bottom lip as she looked away from her lover’s eyes. She never imagined herself in such a vulnerable circumstance, nor did she think it would be so… thrilling. Her heart was beating quite a bit faster than normal, her skin was ablaze- the sun had next to no part in that- and the pressure on her organs was, while uncomfortable and bordering on mildly painful, was beginning to feel… nice- or the thought of release was. 

“I know, but you kind of did this to yourself, Nat,” Bruce purred as he rolled off and sat beside her on her left, his right hand still on her lower belly. He used his other hand to keep himself upright as he leaned back. Natasha stayed on her back and kept her legs tight together as her lover rubbed her throbbing bladder. Natasha breathed heavily and began bouncing her legs with need as she sucked her lips in. “Oh, it’s getting bad, huh?” He teased.

Natasha felt oddly playful at Bruce’s teasing voice. She nodded with a whimper, ghosting her hand over his with a want to hold herself that she suppressed for obvious reasons. She hissed in need and kept bouncing. 

“Mm-hm,” She suddenly recoiled when her bladder jabbed her again, though this jab was more powerful and painful than any previous. Natasha sat up and subconsciously moved her hand over her clothed opening, whimpering in sudden need. Bruce smirked at his girlfriend’s actions and leaned closer to her.

“There are other people here, Nat,” He moved his hand to her wrist and tugged her hand out of her crotch. Her thighs immediately slammed together to take its place and she breathed steady a few times to regain her breath.

“It’s starting to hurt,” Natasha commented, rocking herself back and forth ever so slightly. She knew this was turning into a game, but the growing need below her stomach was anything but. From here, she had three options; She could stop her game and go to the bathroom, she could snake her way into the pool- however gross that was- or she could…

“Well, maybe you should go then, doll,” The pet name brung another sprout of red to her face as she smiled painfully, and the most logical option seemed to be the best for her current situation. Natasha moved to stand, but she was unable to when Bruce placed a hand on her tummy. She gave a look that read, ‘What the hell?’ Bruce returned a sly smile that could only be deciphered as one thing.

‘I didn’t mean ‘go’.’

“Bruce, I can’t… I,” She paused to cross her legs and focus on holding. Her need was getting worse, and now she knew that it was now-or-never. “Bruce, if I don’t go, I’m…” Natasha paused, partly from another painful pulse and partly from embarrassment. She knew that she had walked herself into a corner with this. She rocked herself back and forth, and she moved her foot against her crotch. She began grinding herself against her heel to hold herself, but she also began growing hot at the nearly bare contact. “If I don’t go…” She whimpered uncharacteristically weakly, though the pain in her lower abdomen was far enough to justify it. “I’m gonna… Oh God,” She pressed her cheek to her lover’s shoulder and her heel as hard into her pulsing core as her body would allow, grinding herself carelessly in desperation. She panted quietly and sighed in need. “I'm gonna pee myself,” She breathed. The way she said the arousing phrase was less of a continuation and more of a sudden embarrassed promise. No longer was it now-or-never, no longer was it an avoidable possibility...

It was beginning to become an inevitability.

Bruce smiled and licked his top teeth under his lips when Natasha gasped against his shoulder. Her hand, unable to go between her legs like her body needed, constantly flexed and relaxed on her thigh as her heel did its best to fill its place. The redhead’s hips were rocking back and forth and the barest moan escaped her mouth when her heel caused her swimsuit to brush her budding clitoris.

Natasha’s mind was beginning to cloud again. She knew she needed to pee and she knew it would feel so good and that having an accident right here was inevitable, but she also knew that she was horny now, but one thing she didn’t know what she wanted first- did she want to pee herself to help her cum, or did she want to cum to help her pee herself? Either way, her reservations of saving her swimsuit were a faint, tattered memory, if they had even been there in the first place.

“You will, will you?” He purred, sending a warm shock of arousal up her back. Similarly to before, the warmth was countered by a shiver- a literal shiver- of an electric jolt from her bladder as it once again aired its needs. Natasha, mindlessly horny and desperate to pee, could only nod frantically.

It was then that the first leak jetted from her urethra. It was small, but when the warmth rolled down her warmed, flowering lips and down the gentle curve of her ass, Natasha squealed in a gasp and forced her heel inwards, apathetic to the wetness that soaked onto her foot. She curled inwards and tried to steady her breathing, but the hand that was fidgeting on her thigh shot between her legs, now not caring for anyone around. Her bladder was so full it was pounding against her belly, her stomach, her vagina. It was aching and was set to burst, and her urethra and pelvic muscles were burning with strain from holding back her flood. It hurt so bad, but the pressure on her and in her was so… pleasurable, and just the thought of more release was 

“Oh god, I-I leaked,” Natasha admitted quickly, gripping her pussy as tight as possible. She kept grinding into her wet heel and gripped herself furiously, even though she wanted nothing more than to just go. Bruce smirked at her words and gripped her side. His voice was barely a sultry whisper as he spoke in her ear,

“You should just let go, Nat, before it gets more painful,” Natasha breathed a shaky laugh and nodded quickly, now only wanting to relieve the pressing pressure so she could deal with her other pressing matter. The suggestion was more like permission to her. Immediately, she began doing her best to relax her tense body. But, the more she tried to relax, the more her body only grew more contained and stressed. She had the bright idea to push, but that caused a burning stab to her belly. She hissed in surprise more than pain. She couldn’t pee, even when she tried.

“I can’t, Bruce,” 

“What d’you mean?” He asked, tracing her hip.

“I can’t- My body won’t…” Natasha whined pitifully, another painful roll into her bladder bringing bleary tears to her eyes. Bruce’s hand moved from her hip to her lower tummy, caressing the hard lump slightly distending from her belly. The caresses felt good, but they soon only served to hurt her bladder more. “It won’t…” She panted, desperation lacing her voice. “It won’t come out, oh god…” Bruce moved the hand not caressing Natasha’s overfilled bladder behind them and suddenly grabbed something before bringing her red towel forth. He rolled it up into a ball and motioned for her to spread her legs. She did without second thought, though a small spurt escaped her, with a small shiny spot appearing briefly on her hot clothed pussy. Natasha tried to capitalize on the leak and push to rest out, but it was to no avail as more stabbing pain wracked through her belly. 

Bruce put the towel between her legs and right against her opening, and as he retracted his hand he made sure to brush a swollen nub under the subtly wetted fabric. Natasha bit her lip and breathed hard in her best attempt not to moan, but not only was Bruce’s hand still on her thigh but the sun-warmed towel against her throbbing, tired bladder was so alluring, despite the fact that the release she needed so much was beyond her.

“Bruce, I still can’t…” Her voice was growing desperate and sad, the pressure and stabbing in her lower abdomen was too much now. During her whole life, her pain tolerance had grown to almost inhuman levels but this pain was so unique and so goddamn bad. She felt like soon, tears would come to her eyes if she held on any longer. But her bladder absolutely refused to let go where she was. She knew that if she stood up, she would explode, but then everyone would see her. 

Another pang of overfilled warning smacked her bladder before Natasha was suddenly sucked into a kiss. Bruce’s lips worked hers open with ease, and the surprise of the kiss caused a hot spurt, larger than the previous to trickle down the warm inner part of her thighs, though her bladder still painfully refused to fully surrender. Natasha kept grinding herself against her heel and her towel desperately. Her hips were rocking back and forth on the towel beneath her, and she had to do everything in her power not to reach down her swimsuit. But, adversely, the pressure in her bladder was so painful and intense that she was worried it was going to have serious and dangerous effects.

“Please,” She begged- not her lover, but the universe- to just let her wet herself. Bruce kissed Natasha deeper and rested his hand in the small of her back and began caressing her, trying to tempt her body into releasing its heavy burden. Natasha’s entrance was aching and in pain as a seemingly endless flood was restricted, and her muscles were bound to the burst. The stroking on her toned back was so nice, but the tension in her body made it feel so rigid, so uncomfortably rigid. Her entrance was furiously grinding against the towel and her lips were ravenously gripping whatever part of Bruce they could reach. Tears were now indeed budding in the corners of her eyes as the redhead pushed herself as far into her kiss as she was allowed by basic physics.

Then, Bruce’s deft fingers sent a sudden, paralyzing shock up and down Natasha’s skilled, bendy spine.

It began slowly, and painfully. Like a string of fire, a small stream of urine began rolling down the tender, sore inside of Natasha’s creamy thighs, soaking into the towel beneath her. Natasha moaned against her lover’s mouth and pressed herself further against him. Her legs began quaking slightly around her balled-up towel as her vagina slowly collapsed. Between them grew the slightest psshh as urine darkened the towel. Natasha gasped and sobbed in a turmoiled combination of pleasure and burning pain on occasion as the trickle slowly grew, the sound growing louder in parallel. Natasha felt her shoulders and her back shudder uncontrollably when her bladder truly did collapse.

She moaned without control as the slight hissing from her weakened, trembling pussy turned into a forceful gushing. The small dark stain on the red towel and the slight golden shimmer along Natasha’s thighs both turned drastic- the darkness flowed rapidly, shimmering from the blasting pressure as the liquid bubbled up around Natasha’s crotch, slowly absorbing into the towel.

She was doing it. It was finally happening. Natasha breathed deeply as her thighs quivered from the violent hissing. She was peeing herself. Finally. And Natasha couldn’t help but slump against her lover as a heavy orgasm crawled ever closer, focusing only on grinding her hips. All the pain that had filled her body was now evacuating with her pee. She breathed raggedly and impossibly deeply as she wet herself into the towel, her legs unresponsive as he hips moved back and forth. The pressure, the pressing pain and the torturous heat was fleeing her body and against her swimsuit and the friction she felt, the now wet, sopping towel rubbing against her hot, pulsating pussy, stole another small moan from her lips. Her vagina’s lips were flowered open against her red swimsuit, and the feeling of rough fabric through the wet material of her swimsuit was stimulating her lusty mind so much.

So much her thoughts were irrational.

Still peeing herself, Natasha used her hand to move her swimsuit out of the way- an odd spshkcc accentuating the movement. She placed her crotch back against the towel, and the sudden feeling of the hot, damp prickliness, in combination with the still rushing liquid, pushed a moan from Natasha’s mouth that she had to bite down on Bruce’s shoulder to muffle it. She wildly rubbed herself back and forth, her lips frictioning with the rough material as jetting urine sprayed further into it.

At this point, the towel was beginning to oversaturate. A small, darkish puddle of yellow liquid began seeping out on the sun-heated concrete. It was growing just a bit slower than her flow. Natasha’s chest heaved erratically before she suddenly sighed with a heavy shudder in her breath. Her legs stopped rutting against the soaked towel and her stream sputtered somewhat, though it still continued to leak from her exposed opening. She felt her legs go slightly numb and her core to grow even more weak as it spasmed in pleasure.

Natasha sighed heavily and fell truly limp against her lover as her legs trembled and ceased their moving. As she peed, she felt her swimsuit fall back over her pussy, the hot liquid pushing back against her sensitive lips once more. Unrestrained, she moaned weakly. Her chest had turned a subtle shade of reddish-pink from her orgasm, and the towel was beyond soaked. Natasha looked down to see a dark stain growing on the concrete below her from underneath her red, dark towel. She did her best to stop her peeing, but her weakened muscles could only slightly stem the flow with a cry of denial. So, the Black Widow sat in relieved, orgasmic silence as her bladder slowly drained, the towel little more than a formality as a dark puddle marked the concrete around her. 

Finally, her flow trickled against her swimsuit and her vagina for a few moments before Natasha finally finished wetting herself. Her breathing was still deep, a thick blush was still on her chest and her crotch was warm and damp. Natasha rubbed her pussy once more on the rough, wetted towel- sending a sensitive shiver up her back-before running a hand up her lover’s chest. She swallowed a small anxiety- she had just pissed herself for almost three minutes- before she looked to Bruce's eyes.His eyes were warm and there was a smile on his face, though it was small and dark. Natasha breathed in relief and a newfound emptiness.

“Better?” Bruce asked, rubbing the small of Natasha’s back as her breath came back to her.Natasha nodded in a sigh and looked down to her soaked clothing. A slight embarrassment came to her, but she smiled in pleasure and emptiness.

“Yes,” she replied hoarsely. Natasha leaned her head against Bruce’s chest, her breath finally taming to a general level. She sighed shakily and moved into a sitting position, taking her hands away from her lover. “I-I should… I should clean up,” she said, moving off of her drenched towel.

Bruce smiled and moved before she did. He unballed the towel and laid it out over the large puddle, even though it was barely too broad to cover it fully. 

“That should dry in a couple minutes,” He brought Natasha up into a gentle hug, one she surrendered herself to entirely. She felt so satisfied and her legs were only barely keeping her steady. She did her best to maneuver her head and peck Bruce’s stubbly cheek, whispering a soft,

“What’d you think?” It was an odd question with, seemingly, a simple answer. She had just wet herself on a towel, not to mention she had orgasmed from it too. Any normal person would be disgusted, but the look on Bruce’s face wasn’t disgust nor disappointment. It was a look of curiosity and of temptation. Bruce pressed his body against Natasha’s and held her close.

“I think it was a test of your… Kinks, and I definitely think we can… Do something with it. Work it in with the others, definitely,” He whispered against her cheek as he brought her even closer. She smiled against his clavicle.

“It’s not gross?” She asked, a slightly confused tone to her voice. Sure, it wasn’t unheard of to have the same fetish as a lover, but what were the chances.

“Not at all. We all have our fetishes, Nat,”

“Even you?”

“Yeah, I have one,”

“And you never thought to tell me?” She reprimanded jokingly.

“You’re no better, apparently,” He admitted. 

“What is it?” Bruce moved against her ear and whispered it to her, and she couldn’t control her face running hot at his words. “Really? You?” She asked, her eyes slightly wider than before. 

“I could say the same thing for you. The world’s greatest spy, an Avenger and my girlfriend… Likes to pee her pants,” Natasha felt a red creep onto her neck at the mention of the words, but she couldn’t help the feeling that threaded through her whenever she did… that.

“I guess they can go hand-in-hand,” She whispered, looking down to her chest. She suddenly couldn’t help but gasp when her feet were swept off the ground. Bruce held her in his arms, hers wrapped around his neck as he smiled against her lips.

“They can, and I think they will. But for now, I think you need to rinse off,” He whispered. Natasha’s face suddenly went wide as she noticed them at the edge of the pool’s water.

“No, Bruce! Wait-” He threw her in, her last action a gasp of a breath in before following her with a dive. Under the water he rubbed against her belly and took a hold on her from behind. 

“I love you, my kinky spider.” He kissed her throat when they breached the surface, creating a gasp of pleasure from the redhead. She smiled and replied, a low tone in her voice,

“I love you too, my scientist."

Sometimes, the best things that can be created are created through second chances, and second chances they had since they’d met each other. Now, all they had was time, and time was not to be wasted...

Well then, @Batman007, there's another request done. Like I said, I'm trying to take these pieces easier as to not burn out, and I'm decently pleased with this one. Unfortunately, the first 'Natasha' prompt involved her actually being in charge of her accident, so if another is requested- or I do it after I finish the requests- I want to make it a true accident. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed my characterization of Natasha, and I hope that I did the MCU's best woman right. With that said, if you have a character you want a piece for, a situation for a piece- or even both- let me know and I'll add it to the queue. Right now, there are two requests that I have to do, so watch out for those. Since the 'wetters' weren't specified, I'll be using them to further complete the character checklist so we can get to the Line-Up. Right now, we're at 10/23, soon to be 12/23. But, feel free to request any character from the list above or any you think I missed, even if they already have a piece for them. In case you're curious;

Pepper Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Lady Sif, Peggy Carter, Gamora, Wanda Maximoff, Shuri, Mary Jane Watson, Laura Kinney and Hela (she actually has two)

All have their required pieces. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed this piece, and expect Wanda causing some poor soul's accident next.

Best regards,

NothingLeft

 Thank you! 

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  • 1 month later...

Hope Van Dyne

 

 

Avengers Tower, Wanda and Vision’s Bedroom

“So, you bully them without being mean?” Wanda asked, slightly confused by the three teens before her. Peter Parker- Spider-Man- Shuri, Wakandan-Jabari Queen, Pietro Maximoff, her brother returned from the dead and Mary Jane Watson, a remarkable reporter for someone her age, and Peter’s girlfriend to boot. They had all just explained pranks to the Sokovian girl, who was having a hard time truly grasping the concept. Pietro had his head in his hands as he sighed at his sister’s lack of knowledge about something he considered the best pastime ever.

“Uhm,” Peter began, his hand around the curvy waist of his lover. “Well, not really, but kindah,” Wanda rested her chin in her hands and waited for the teen patiently. “It’s all for fun, that’s the important part,” Peter finished, MJ and Shuri nodding. Pietro looked up to his sister with the slightest glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“For fun? Well, how can I… How can I help?” Wanda asked, perking up with a small, wary smile. Shuri, Peter, Pietro and Mary Jane shared a devious look.

 

Wanda and Pietro stayed out of view as Steve Rogers, leader of the Avengers, walked into a common room of the tower with a newspaper in one hand, a mug of- presumably- coffee in the other. He sat down on a loveseat and crossed his legs, resting his right ankle on his left knee. He sipped his coffee and shook the newspaper, beginning to read. Peter nudged Wanda’s side and nodded. The Sokovian sister nodded back shyly and sent out a wisp of her scarlet powers, making sure they were faint enough that even Steve wouldn't notice. They trickled through the air until they swirled around a lamp on a table to the Captain’s right, causing it to flicker for a moment. Steve looked to the lamp in confusion, blinked a few times to ensure he wa sin reality before shaking his head and returning to his reading. A few moments later, Wanda caused another, longer flicker, this time attracting Steve’s attention more intently. He stared at it for a few seconds, waiting for another flicker. Roughly fifteen seconds later, the Captain warily returned to his paper, occasionally glancing to the lamp, as if expecting it to blink.

Wanda then trickled her magic throughout the room, taking hold of all the lights. She smiled as Steve settled more comfortably into the seat. She then flared her powers, causing the entire room to darken for a moment. Steve shot up from his seat and took a defensive stance, wary of the lights and any danger it may be the origin of. 

“Bucky!” Steve stood, looking to the lights. A few seconds later, Rogers’ lover Bucky came into the room, his false arms tense with the sudden anxiety of Steve summoning him. “What happened?” 

“The lights are acting up,” Steve said, though his tone of voice made it sound more dramatic than he intended. Bucky clearly felt that way as well as he relaxed and chuckled as he asked,

“The lights?”

“I know how it sounds, Buck, but they’re-” To capitalize on the Captain’s words, Wanda sent a strong surge through the lights which caused both men to take defensive stances again. Bucky entered the room and took his stance near Steve, “- see? I’m not crazy,” Wanda felt an unnaturally rebellious surge of adrenaline rush through her, and she subconsciously knew she might be going too far already.

“Maybe it’s just the powerlines,” Bucky offered unconvincingly, despite his fists curled in hard balls. Steve scoffed with wariness. Both of them knew it couldn’t have been the power lines as they had been perfected by Tony Stark. And with his AI F.R.I.D.A.Y., mistakes were rare- though they did happen. That, and this was the first time something of this nature had ever happened in the room.

“Don’t say that to Tony,” Steve mumbled. Wanda was surely getting a little bit ahead of herself as she sent a thick surge through the lines. The bulbs glowed brightly with otherworldly hums and buzzes for a few seconds before the filaments within vehemently cracked and the room was shoved into dark, the only light entering being the subtle natural light from the windows. Steve and Bucky turned back-to-back, taking readied stances. Pietro reacted to the sudden dark with a curse under his breath before he took Wanda’s arm, breaking her trance.

“Oh shit, shit-shit-shit-shit come on,” Wanda, Shuri and MJ, who were waiting just nearby, giggled as the two men were left in the dark. There was a certain rush pulsing through Wanda’s veins, full of playfulness and exuberance. She knew, similarly to her fetish... She needed to do that again. 

“Who’s next?” Before Pietro could respond, MJ suddenly whispered with a broad smile and a giggle as they came to a stop.

 

Wanda’s smile was wide and there was an almost crazed look in her eyes as Scott flipped through a small handbook, the lithe man blissfully unaware of the four young Avengers waiting around a nearby corner. He breathed a casual laugh at a line in the book,

They had just returned from pranking Piotr Rasputin and Christina Catastrophie, or Colossus and Angel Dust, and before them Tony and Rhodey- Iron Man and War Machine- but Pietro had been whisked away by Thor and Loki afterwards. Wanda was definitely getting out of hand, but she was having far, far too much fun to just quit.

Shuri spoke up, talking almost like it was a battle plan rather than a simple prank. “The Wasp should be arriving anytime soon, and then we can do with the light show-” Wanda interrupted the other girl with a coy and ready smile.

“No… We have to change it up, make it... more.” She smiled with her teeth barely visible through the split in her smooth lips as Hope walked in, a promiscuous magazine that could be easily identified as one of Carol's in her hands- as judging by the cover with a large nude V-shaped man on the cover, save for a small towel wrapped around the model’s teasing hip bones- and her own distracting hips, covered in but a loose mid-thigh black dress, catching Scott’s attention right away. He smiled at her and she him, though with her tongue against her top gums in a heavily suggestive smile as she flashed him one of the female pages of her filthy magazine. The tanned, stubbled flesh that made up Scott's cheeks quickly took on an ever-so red hue and Hope smiled dirtily, obviously suggesting they try something new- though that list was growing shorter and shorter as weeks passed. Wanda threaded her powers through the air and wrapped around Hope's magazine before pulling it just hard enough to send it flying opposite of Scott and towards the wall the teens were hiding around. It made a heavy, noisy fluttering as it hit the ground and Hope, believing it to be just her and her lover, let out an uncharacteristic squeak of surprise and jumped back just a bit. The teens giggled quietly at the usually stoic and badass woman making such a cute noise. Shuri, Peter and MJ, believing the stunt to be over, moved away quickly and ushered Wanda to follow them to their next prank site, although she had a little more in store.

Hope and Scott traded looks before the slender woman went to retrieve her book. Unexpectedly, instead of kneeling and keeping herself proper, Hope bent over at the waist, flashing her lover with her plump ass for but a moment. Scott gasped subtly in surprise as a smile grew, but it was then that Wanda latched her powers into Hope's mind. 

The woman’s hazel-olive eyes swirled with a dark scarlet energy and a flood of memories, knowledge and secrets tried to wash through Wanda’s mind, but she evaded them as she was only looking to do one thing. 

Hope, under Wanda’s brief control, spread her robust legs wider apart and bent down further, showing all she had to offer under the teasingly short black dress. Scott's face fell into an almost drunkenly admiring stare as Wanda released Hope's mind. The scarlet twisted out of Hope's eyes and it took them both a second to come to, Hope from the mind control and Wanda from a sudden headache.

Hope stood up, her hands clasped tight around the magazine as she realized a few seconds weren’t accounted for. She quickly twirled around to her lover- her skirt rising with her movements to flash the very bottom curve of her meaty pussy- to alert Scott of her missed time, but she was entranced and almost silent- apart from a sharp gasp- when she saw his erection hiding under his pants, swallowing her sudden-onset horniness when it pulsated under her gaze. A single thought shot through her mind and she was a slave to it entirely. She quickly pinched the fabric of her dress between her perky breasts, as if by instinct, and pulled the neckline down before bending forward to allow her apparently braless boobs to sway teasingly before her lover, the lightly reddened areolas smooth and the nipples soft as she developed a coy smile.

Apparently Scott had enough teasing as he rose, throwing his book on the couch haphazardly.

Hope righted her stance with a smile as she beckoned her lover closer with a run of her tongue over her top row of teeth. Scott took a firm grip on Hope’s hips and brought her to the wall very near Wanda’s spot, pinning the Wasp against the wall. Almost immediately they clashed mouths and Hope was squeezing Scott’s chest with her rake-like nails.

Wanda’s eyes went wide as she heard Hope moan. She also felt her core warm at the sound of Scott’s moan as he ran his hand under Hope’s dress and along the curve of her round, plump butt. She was crouched down low to hide, but it wasn’t low enough to completely see up the flowy black abyss of the Wasp’s dress.

Hope suddenly brought her right leg up and hooked it around Scott’s hip, now standing on her right foot’s tip-toe. Scott moved his hands to cup his lover’s ass and lifted her up, prompting her to wrap her other leg around him. Hope moved her hands to her shoulders and brought the straps of her dress down before moving her arms back through them. The straps fell against her clothed ribs and she almost couldn’t wait to tug the top over her breasts. Her nipples were now half-erect peaks and Scott set Hope back down on her feet, moving his mouth to her left nipple and letting her slender arms wrap around his neck. 

Uncensored, a rapturous moan burst from the Wasp’s lips, and the moan sent a devilish idea through Wanda’s system. She reached out with her powers and hooked them on the hem of Hope’s dress. If Wanda’s own arousal- morals weren’t a concern right now, she was purely focused on seeing how intense she could get her teammates- was any indication Scott would plunge directly into his lover, with a scream of celebration erupting from the receiver.

Wanda readied her power and yanked Hope’s dress down. The edges fluttered uselessly, but Hope gasped before moaning slowly. Wanda looked to the scene before her before Hope suddenly cried out, her voice frantic under her lust.

“Scott, I’m- Oh, fuhhhck!” She dragged her moan out, arching her head back with another, deeper and more guttural moan as her lover pulled on her now fully hard nipple with his teeth before Wanda finally realized what was happening.

A stream of slightly yellow pee ran down Hope’s legs, pattering onto her feet and the floor below her. The back of her dress grew somewhat shiny as a rhythmic, wet pattering slapped the floor. Hope was wetting herself, because Wanda’s powers had reached a little too far past Hope’s dress. Or perhaps her lusty mind had pushed her power to Hope’s bladder subconsciously. Regardless of the explanation, Hope was pinned to the wall with pee running down her legs, and what was even more impressive was that Scott showed no sign of stopping.

Hope’s hands made sharp claws around Scott’s biceps as she whimpered, a hisss growing from her hot, dampened pussy. The hot liquid spilled carelessly around the two lovers, forming a puddle both were soon embracing in as Hope’s molten-torrenting pussy sprayed her bladder’s contents onto her dress, onto her legs and all over the floor.

“Scott I- oh god, fuck… I’m pee-” she hissed in pleasure as Scott moved his hand between Hope’s lower lips and created a hellish tkktktktkktkkk as he pistoned two fingers back and forth between the swollen lips. Hope’s words melted into a gasping moan, clearly telling her that he knew and didn’t care that she was pissing so fervently. Wanda sat, entranced by the scene before her- Hope’s moaning, Scott’s surprising dominance and Hope's “accident”, simply affixed. Hope suddenly recoiled violently as Scott’s hand paused and fidgeted violently with her reddened button, the stream of pee resuming its admittedly demonous hkkk despite already beginning to die down. It still splattered deafeningly into the floor, and the more the hellacious noise persisted the brighter Hope’s face became.

“Ohh fu-uh-uck!” Her voice was staggered as she gasped in between, her fading stream flickering perfectly with her words and creating a splaskh-splaskh-splaskh in the puddle beneath the two of them. Scott dove onto Hope’s open jugular as if pulled by instinct and sucked ruthlessly, bravely intent on leaving a dark mark. Hope’s stream trickled down her bare legs continually as Scott made his mark, a large bulge evident in his pants that Wanda was somehow only just noticing.

One thing that was very evident was the dampness in her own panties. The scene was literally real-life porn and fuck, Scott’s secret dominance was reminding her of her own lover, and a sudden ball formed in Wanda’s tummy. She was irrevocably turned on, and she needed to find Vision now. Wanda waited, biding her time as Scott lovingly chewed on Hope’s throat. A scratchy moan erupted from Hope’s lips and Wanda took it as an escape cover. She snaked further around the wall and paid no mind to a splash from under her. It was only when she reached the other side of the hall when she heard another splash, still underneath her despite the distance from Hope’s accident, that made her look to her own legs.

Wanda looked to her own legs and saw a dark mark over her crotch, down her thick, succulent thighs and pooled around her knees, which were rested on the ground. A blush shot to Wanda’s cheeks and her hands futily fell over her crotch with a warm, wet squlctch. Wanda looked around and saw no one, trying to identify the least populated route to her room so she could change with a few people finding out about her accident as possible.

When did she pee her pants? Was is when Hope did? Did triggering Hope’s bladder trigger her own in some way? It didn’t matter, what mattered was finding her lover, her room, or preferably both. She began her way to her room, doing her best to ignore the wet, delicious feeling of her urine-drenched panties rubbing against her beating, overheating, soaked pussy.

Scott and Hope continued their embrace, less than apathetic to the puddle underneath them as they felt each other frantically. Hope had hot rivulets running down and tickling the most sensitive part of her thigh as the flowing pee gently crawled from her needing, throbbing sex.

“Scott! Please, I just…” She begged, her brain short-circuiting from the pleasure. There was so much that should have been registering in her mind. There was a dark, almost painful hickey on her throat that was going to be impossible to hide. Her breasts were out to air and throbbing from need. There was a puddle of molten pee flowing down her slender, fit legs and into a huge puddle! But she didn’t care. She wanted more.

“Hope…” He growled, his hands fondling her breasts in a teasing, incomplete way as his fingers entirely dodged her red, aching nipples. “You had an accident, we should probably clean you up…” Under normal circumstances, Hope would have been mortified, but there was just some… energy in her brain that told her this was good. It didn’t feel like hers but she didn’t give even close to a damn.

“No! I just…. Please fuck me!” She begged, raking her nails over Scott’s clothed chest. Why was his shirt still on? Why wasn’t his hand on her pussy or her tits anymore? Dammit, she was just horny and Scott was so damn close to touching her!

“Tell you what. We get back to your room and we can fuck all we want,” Scott bargained, squeezing Hope’s slender hips. She growled in rough affirmation and began back to her room, but was stopped by Scott as he tried to cover his lover’s burning breasts back up. She swatted his hand away and whispered hoarsely.

“No... I’m not dressing back up. I'm not putting clothes on just to take them off, that's dumb.” It was very final and Scott could only scoff as Hope took off at a brisk pace, her breasts bouncing with her steps and her dress often fluttering up to reveal her thick, well-muscled ass rippling and bouncing parallel. Scott licked his lips and followed, sprinting to make sure no one caught a glimpse of Hope’s exposed tits.

Sometimes a little bit of pushing can be beneficial for everyone involved.

So... It's been just over a month, huh? Well, it's actually been almost two months since @desperation_fan requested Wanda's Psychic Forcing- the next is Emma Frost Psychic Forcing, and I hope my ideas pan out for that one- and I apologize if it was underwhelming after all this time. However, in my own sorry defence, I did say I was gonna take breaks if I felt burnt out an... Hoo boy, did I burn out hard. I got maybe a sentence a day down- if I was lucky- since the Natasha piece. If you want lower effort but higher quantity content, check out my Tumblr under the name nothingleftinlife, I post next to daily on there. Regardless, if you have any requests for characters, situations or both- or Hell, even constructive criticism is more than welcome- leave them for me below if they adhere to the first post's rules. Nevertheless, thank you to all those who stuck around, all those who read, and all those who reply in any way. I hope you have a good day and I hope you can find more consistent content on this blessed platform.

Best regards,

NothingLeft

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  • 1 month later...

Maria Hill

 

Particle Of A Moment

S.W.O.R.D. Headquarters

Emma Grace Frost was ashamed, humiliated and absolutely furious, and she was staring at the woman who was at fault from across a desk and through a window.

Maria Hill, supposed head of the Sentient World Observation and Response Division- or, more easily, S.W.O.R.D.- was sorting through the transcripts and recollections of yesterday’s briefing, or so it seemed. She was completely ignorant to Emma’s stare, but the cause for her visit was also unknown to everyone except Emma, as it was also the cause of the White Queen’s shame.

After the briefing yesterday, Emma had to pee. It had been almost two hours long, far longer than any briefing had reason or right to be- so when it finally did end, she was focusing only on not flooding her seat. She had spent the next fifteen minutes painstakingly making her ways through the winding hallways and around the agents, Avengers and any other prodding eyes to spare herself the shame. But it was all for not yesterday, as she couldn’t find a bathroom in time and-

Emma’s blood bit at her veins as it boiled, her mind roiling as it recalled why she was here. Her petite, elegant fingers curled into such tight fists that cracks came from her knuckles. She stared at Hill through the window, barely containing herself. A man, somewhat short with a tall forehead and a single glove on his right hand came in and closed the door to her office.

Maria smiled and spoke inaudibly, rising to meet the man with a firm handshake. They were certainly more than colleagues- though that was only clear to her because Emma was an expert psychologist. The subtle hints in both parties told her much of their story; Maria took her seat again, but her posture was more relaxed and casual than it was previously. They were friends. Maria’s deep-ocean eyes were shining, and her pupils were slightly larger than just a moment ago. Lovers, in fact. Though, a slight falter in Maria’s smile and a glance down to her hands. Les amoureux ne sont plus. But, the open posture of both people suggested that they were both willing to try again.

‘Even after this, cliff-head?’ Emma smirked as Maria returned her eyes to the transcripts. She pulled her legs under her desk and passed her visitor some of the papers, and it was then that Emma saw a clear opening for her plan.

Emma was vindictive when it came to revenge. She had felt such humiliation yesterday, and only something equal or positively worse would do. There were reasons Emma was a remarkable psychologist- mainly years of study and practice. That was the main reason, really, but there was another reason, and it had to do with the disaster that had struck five and a half years ago: April fifteenth, 2018, half the world disappeared. April sixteenth, 2023, half the world reappeared. April twentieth, 2018, there is a spike in acute gamma poisoning all across the world. April twenty-fourth, Emma woke up able to read minds and control people. 

Emma was a telepath.

Apparently, she had a rare genetic mutation, damn near undetectable under normal means and when Thanos- the alien titan who had somehow killed half the world- did so, it somehow- all the knowledge and data of the Vanishing was quite hush-hush for some reason- caused a huge gamma radiation wave. People who couldn’t adapt to the gamma got sick or died, but those who could- those with the gene, such as Emma herself- metabolized the radiation. But, in 2023, the radiation had come again. However, because of the previous wave, the gene in Emma’s body had been ready and had absorbed the gamma, metabolizing it yet again. However, the metabolization had taken the form of… Telepathy, apparently.

And Emma wasn’t alone.

All across the globe, people were gaining superpowers and mutations. A high-forehead English lad had developed organic, feathery wings that sprouted from his back. A large Russian man’s skin turned to unbreakable steel. A rough-and-rowdy American mercenary woman- whom Emma had the displeasure of commonly interacting with- had grown incredibly strong and durable. One Canadian man had even grown bones from his knuckles!

Emma shuddered as she imagined sharp bones tearing her skin but quickly refocused her mind- ever since her mutation, Emma’s mind had a tendency to wander, sometimes literally as a nearby agent itched his knuckles uncomfortably- and she didn’t at all give a toss for it. 

She wanted, so bad, to know more about Thanos, her mutation or how it came to be, but all the information she wanted was being kept out of her unexpectedly long reach. Emma shook her head out of her thoughts and refocused her cool seafoam eyes on Maria, who was now standing alongside the tall-headed man as another man, this one in an out-of-uniform black trenchcoat, faced his back to Emma, likely giving orders to the two. What, she couldn’t discern, but the man was clearly important as both Maria and her partner’s- All of Emma’s bets were on them getting together if she didn’t avenge herself, she could feel it- were stiff and attentive. The man nodded and moved to exit, his voice reaching Emma as he spoke with the door open,

“And get those transcripts checked, sum’bitches couldn’t’a gotten far,” His voice was deep, baritone, commanding and really damn familiar as a dark skinned, one-eyed man- the man’s left eye was under a pirate-like eyepatch with white veins peeking out from underneath- entered Emma’s line of sight. The collar of his coat was up, giving him the appearance of an old-timey lord. He looked Emma right in the eyes for but a moment before he turned to leave, his hands together at the small of his back. His boots were powerful and echoing, giving his presence such an overwhelming aura of authority Emma felt her stance straighten a little. 

She shook off the shiver that shot up her curvaceous body’s delicate spine as her heart rate and temper flared. Maria Hill smiled to her partner unassumingly as they retook their seats from within her office. Emma’s humiliating plan formed in her mind for the millionth time that day and a cold smile spread her lips apart in a devilishly plotting manner. Emma was going to project all of the burning mortification, flooding humiliation (a bit too accurate) and unadulterated shame that she had experienced the day prior onto this woman without her knowledge or forewarning serving it as only a warning to the universe.

You do not cross Emily Grace Frost and walk away alive, let alone unscathed. But, murder wasn’t on her mind today, only death. Death of this woman’s social standing and dignity as an eye-for-an-eye (seemed a theme around this office) revenge for the dignity Emma nearly lost herself.

Emma leaned on a thin wall as casually as she could, fortifying her body as not to collapse when she retracted her telepathic powers. As The White Queen’s hellishly cold glare pierced the window, Maria’s thoughts, emotions and, in honesty, being entered Emma’s mind. Her grip on her own wrists tightened with her shiny nails digging into her gentle, unfettered flesh ever so harder. Sensations, a whole woman’s history, actually, rushed through Emma’s head, causing an almost immediate pain at the base of the Queen’s skull.

Concepts and flashes of romance, love, dignity, pride, joviality and loyalty flooded Emma’s mind as she assimilated Maria’s mind to be more cohesive to her own. Emma’s world faded to dark, surrounded by images and memories of aliens, robots, explosions, soldiers, dust and a cacophony of roars, gunfire, booms and  metallic tearing and twanging. 

Bloody Hell- noisy mind, yours is,’ Emma thought to herself. In the office, Maria whispered a damn near inaudible,

“Noisy mind…” Her partner looked up to her, and Emma heard the voice as if she were in Maria’s place. “What?” The voice was even, calm if a little high in pitch. Maria looked up to her partner, finally allowing Emma a comprehensive view of the man. His head was rather oval-shaped with a high forehead and a far hairline, perhaps caused by age, stress or both. His light brown, glittering eyes radiated warmth and care yet seriousness and a dutiful aura. His ears were somewhat large and his face looked more stern than Emma expected. He had a name tag tucked under the lapel of his taut S.W.O.R.D. uniform, though Emma could only make out ‘-lson’.

But Emma couldn’t care less about what Maria was sensing in the meaning of her sight and took a deep breath, allowing her powers to influence the entirety of Maria’s being. Sensations suddenly shot through Emma’s body; she felt the slightly-too-hard chair underneath her, she felt her arms on the desk before her, she felt papers in her left hand and a pen in the right and she felt her hair tug slightly in a low yet uptight bun.

Emma felt her mind adjust to the new perspective, taking studious and slow breaths to steady herself, though any outsider simply saw a woman in white against a wall with her eyes closed. Her eyes flicked open, now fully inside Maria’s mind, though the woman remained foolishly and blissfully unaware of the invasion. Emma felt Maria laugh as her partner cracked a small joke Emma couldn’t give half a toss about as she filed through Maria’s mind, on a quest for just a few things. First, her nerve center. Emma felt her way through Maria’s head until she found her target. 

Emma was meticulous as she replicated the feeling of Maria’s lower half; her pelvis, legs and feet, keeping it constant and unchanging. Maria adjusted how she was seated, but she didn’t notice the slight change in sensation. The White Queen smiled. 

Finally, it was about damn time for the execution. Execution of not only her plan but also Maria Hill’s standing.

Emma took a quick liberty in the name of testing and caused a slightly painful twitch in Maria’s thigh, though she kept her replicated feeling flowing into Maria’s head. The brunette didn’t even flinch as her trained eyes flicked over the papers in her hands.

Not a damn clue.’

She felt for it, the organ of which her entire plan was dependent on. Emma snaked her powers through Maria’s body, sensing every organ until she dropped below the woman’s stomach. About two-thirds full was Maria’s bladder, tight and ready for The Queen’s revenge.

Emma breathed a deep, careful breath as she prepared herself, as she had to be careful. Too careless a twist of her mind’s wrist and it could be disastrous for Maria, yes, but herself as well and she would not have a repeat of the day previous, come hell or high bloody water. Emma steeled her own mind as she twisted a small valve in Maria’s. Emma, despite the tension that had rested on her neck now spreading to her scalp, kept the feeling of unchanging in Maria’s legs, allowing her plan to fully realize. Emma’s breath stopped flowing, her concentration so many layers deep in Maria’s mind she very nearly forgot her own.

Emma allowed herself a bit of gratification and listened through Maria’s ears- though she had the sudden thought to block out this certain… disaster from the woman’s mind- 

Wait, no. Before she truly began, Emma wanted to test again. Call her overcautious and what-have-you, she always preferred… pragmatic. Emma carefully, oh so carefully relaxed Maria’s bladder just a touch, allowing just a barely conscious ghostly leak of urine to spill from between the woman’s legs. Not much, but enough that she surely would have felt it had she control of her legs. Nothing?

Maria stretched her neck, massaging it with one hand, but no. Nothing.

Emma smiled with confidence, her plan finally reinforced with the knowledge that Maria wouldn’t  know of her situation. A shiver of excitement went up Emma’s back as the reality that this was happening broke through her mind. She breathed a sigh of preparation… 

There was subtle silence before it began. Carefully at first as Emma tested, literally, the waters. There was the gentlest of sss-ing as Emma basked in the sound, finally tying even with her previous tormentor. The sss carefully grew into a hsss, the difference menial but distinguishable enough to attract her partner’s attention. The man looked to the brunette with an odd almost disbelieving glance. Maria was painfully unaware, and had Emma not been concentrating so hard on maintaining her illusion, she would have burst out laughing at the woman’s lack of acknowledgement.

After a few moments of the constant, quiet sound, it was joined by a soft sound, a sound Emma could only describe as a pattering. Still, Maria remained unaware. Her partner’s eyes looked to the papers, though he was clearly in sheer disbelief.  

Though he suspected what was happening, his usual curiosity demanded confirmation. With a quick brush of one of the papers, he sent it to the floor. With an equally quick drift of his body, he warranted himself a look under the table. The sight he caught was… Well, it was damn near unbelievable.

Maria Hill was a standup woman. Always the first to act, always the first to follow orders, but also the first to know what orders not to follow. But, what the man saw honestly shocked him, and that wasn’t easy to do. Maria Hill’s legs were spread wide open, and the meeting of her thighs was dark. And shiny. And judging by the way there was a small pool between her legs, how there were discernible streams rushing to the floor and how it was clearly spilling from Maria… The man knew Maria was… Well, she was wetting herself. 

The man quickly rose from his investigation with the sheet in hand, doing his absolute best to keep his voice straight and his head level. Maria’s steel-blue eyes looked to her partner with an odd smile. 

“Are you okay? Y’look a little… pale,” she commented with a smile, completely and utterly unaware of her accident, which was still ongoing as judged by the constant, soft splashing under her desk. Her partner swallowed thickly and nodded, not daring to speak, as he could sense that whatever he said would be far higher in pitch than usual. “Phil, what’s wrong?”

Phil,’ Emma memorized.

Phil said nothing, but his eyes motioned down. Maria scoffed- Phil wasn’t ever this quiet or cryptic- but when Maria indulged her partner and looked down, she nearly had a heart attack, despite being only thirty-eight.

Her crotch was soaked, there was a puddle between her legs and a growing wet mark on the carpeted floor beneath her. Although, much to her panic, she couldn’t feel the wetness, or the warmth. In fact, despite the flooding chair, she tried to move her legs only to find out that she couldn’t.

She couldn’t move her fucking legs

As the panicked thought rushed through Emma’s own mind, she knew she’d have to relent control soon. Maria had found out, and she had wet herself a fair amount already. Though, before she retreated, Emma made sure to fervently weaken Maria’s bladder and the muscles controlling it, ensuring a full and complete accident. Emma carefully began pulling her mind from Maria’s, hissing as the pain in the back of her head grew even more strenuous. 

Maria’s eyes couldn’t be torn away from her flooding crotch, but her legs were tingling now. All of a sudden, Maria shot out of her seat to a right stand, urine spilling down her legs for a split second before she collapsed onto the floor. Phil rose to help her, but the sight he caught was enough to freeze him in his tracks, even if for just a moment.

Maria Hill, one of S.W.O.R.D.’s- and previously, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s- strongest agents, was collapsed on the floor, her eyes wide open with confusion and muted disgust, her mouth agape in shock and shame and her legs shaking with numbness and, as much as she would hate him to point out, what seemed like… relief. But, the most obvious thing was the darkened fabric between the woman’s strong thighs. It was a dark blue, even darker than the uniform usually was, and the fabric in a thinning trickle down to her knees was shiny as the quiet cascade streamed from her vagina created a puddle that was to flower out from under the curve of Maria’s butt.

And flower the puddle did. As the subtle almost-cute-sounding hsss that permeated the room pulled a harsh red shade over Maria’s features, a transparent puddle suddenly began around her, soaking in and dying the carpet from a light grey to a wet, swamp-like darker shade. The woman tried to turn- either to hide her accident from Phil or her face from the shame she felt setting her cheeks ablaze- the carpet squshed with a very soaked squelch, and Maria winced herself into a whole new shade of red, her body shamefully freezing her to the spot.

They both remained still as rock, the small hsss filling almost too much of what space was between them. Phil watched as the flowing, shiny patch on Maria’s crotch leaked out from under her and into the carpet, the wet patch of her urine creeping further from under her as the seconds passed. Maria’s breathing was short and flurrious, almost like she was panicking. Her steely eyes were wide, pupils small and her breath was quick, sharp and rushed. Her legs were trembling, her hands were tight fists, and the rims of her eyes were sparkling with what seemed to be… 

The beginnings of tears.

Something that had always somewhat bothered Phil was that Maria never cried. Ever. Everyone cried, even him on occasion, but never Maria. She could shoot a man dead, she could pull glass from her own foot, she could stare death in the face with nothing but iron-spirited bravery and come out viciously on top… But this?

The hsssing that had to have been printed on Phil’s brain stem by now was slowly, too slowly beginning to die. The sheen on Maria’s ever so slowly began to fade, and the puddle carefully ceased to grow. After a few seconds of dull, faint whispers of urine breaching from the woman on the ground, silence overtaking the room. Though, unlike the silence from just a minute ago, this one was horrible. For Phil, it brought the uncomfortable question of, ‘what the fuck do I do?’, which he was toxically unaccustomed to. After twenty-four years working at both S.W.O.R.D. and S.H.I.E.L.D., there was a protocol for every situation- Rogue Hulks, Winter Soldier assaults, Thor and Loki having a weekly sibling spat- and a procedure he could follow to the letter. 

But Maria Hill? She was scary enough when she wanted to be. She could step on almost any toes she wanted to and manage to get an apology from them, but when she was on the ground, in a puddle of urine on the verge of tears? There was no protocol. No procedure. Hell, there probably wasn’t even a universe where he came out of this room with all of his remaining limbs and body parts intact.

His throat was suddenly dry and painted with damp cotton, like he had tried to eat a sheep whole. Maria was still looking away from him, but this time… there were thin tracks down her cheeks that watery tears had clearly just run. As if telepathically, Maria whispered,

“Don’t look at me.” The words didn’t seem to reach him. Well, they reached him. He heard them clearer than anything else he had ever heard. He was so hyper-focused on his surroundings that he could’ve heard a pin drop from India. But, the words didn’t seem to process. They seemed to pass into his mind but then get garbled into unrecognizability by the sight in front of him. Her steel eyes flicked to him, and the look he was giving her was one of pity, she felt it burning in her chest- even though it was already burning with the most intense shame she had ever felt in years. Anger didn’t bubble like it usually would when an order was disobeyed, only a growing sense of dreading desperation. “Turn around, please…” Maria’s eyes tightened further when her shaking voice cracked in her plead, a gasp entering her lungs to despondently stop a sob. 

The second whisper hit Phil as a suddenly sobering command. He turned on his heel and brought his hands before him, though his face was still in solid, unexpressive and damn well harrowed shock from the sight that had just taken place before him. 

Maria’s breath stuttered again when she tried to move her tired, suddenly aching legs, like she had blocks of concrete tied to them. There was another disgustingly wet stchkk from under her, and the horrifying noise was… just too much.

A breathy gasp, almost a choked sob left Maria’s throat, followed by whimper as she tried to silence it. Her mind was on fire almost just as much as the rest of her body with shame as recollections ran through it, beating her down even more as she truly came to realize what had just occurred. ‘I… Oh my god, this can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. This is a nightmare.’ She glued her eyes shut, fiercely trying to bend reality to her despondent wish. A wish to turn back time, a wish to make herself disappear, a wish to just make this not real. But, sure enough, Maria still felt wetness underneath her, she till felt a harrowing warmth in her crotch and she still felt absolutely disgusted with herself, and so fucking sorry for doing this to Coulson.

She… God, she couldn’t help it anymore.

A sob, a true, genuine cry came from her throat, and Maria felt the uncomfortably vulnerable feeling of tears, too familiarly warm to be any kind of okay. Coulson’s head turned in her direction, though he didn’t face her. At this point, Maria wasn’t sure if she wanted him to face her, if she wanted him to leave and never come back or if she wanted him to take his gun and shoot her in the fucking head. What she did know was that she would never live this down, ever. Not from Coulson, he’d most likely never mention it again, but from herself. It would always be in the back of her mind, torturing her with fractals and blurry snapshots of her soaked uniform, the darkened carpet floor and the look on Coulson’s face when it had started. 

With the last tattered shed remaining in her, Maria tried to stand, doing her best to block out the squelching sounds from underneath her. How could she have not heard the beginning of… this? How could she not feel her bottom getting wet, why couldn’t she feel her legs? Why the fuck couldn’t she hold it once it started

Maria felt her legs try to give out, but she caught herself on her desk, though she tossed herself in a corner along the same wall as the window that led to the bullpen outside, trying her best to stay hidden from the other agents. Phil couldn’t restrain himself at the somewhat violent noise, turning to Maria with a concerned glaze in his eyes.

“Don’t fucking look at me!” Maria shouted, though with her voice cracking and her desperate tone, as well as her soaked and quivering thighs, it was more of a futile beg that burst from her lips than one of her usually cold and surefire commands she often gave out. Phil’s eyes averted from her again but when Maria’s legs gave out and she fell to her knees in the corner, he fully turned to her, no longer able to be deterred.

Maria’s eyes were turned down with shame and sadness, staring at the thin, faint dribbling line that dotted the carpet following her into the corner, disappearing under her thighs. Her knees were turned in to themselves and her boots facing away from her. Her hands were on the wall looking for anything secure to disappear into. Phil took a step closer, expecting another broken shout or even a swing in his direction, but what happened next just… broke him.

Maria flinched at his approach and turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shuts and raking her nails along the wall into tight fists. The words that tore out of Maria’s lips confused Coulson as much as they shocked him.

“I’m sorry!”

Sorry?

“What are you sorry for? This isn’t your fault,” Coulson didn’t even realize he had said anything until Maria looked to him, her eyes shining with unfallen tears and… shock?

Maria looked down to the carpet again, her lips coming together in what could only possibly be described as a fear-laden, apologetic stare. Silently this time she whispered, fainter than she looked, ‘I’m sorry.’ She closed her eyes and her head bowed, her lips splitting to release a gasping cry. The warmth against her crotch was growing cooler, and the wet fabric of her underwear was clinging to her clammy skin uncomfortably, not to mention how itchy her thighs were getting with the rough material of her S.W.O.R.D. uniform that was also clinging to her flesh. The reason for the irritation only brought somehow more shame to Maria’s mind and she sighed in equal parts vicious shame and violent affliction. 

Coulson gently sighed in Maria’s silence and kneeled down to her level. Maria flinched again and her eyes were suddenly crack-wide, piercing his with the most haunting gaze of…

Fear, Fear and sorrow. Fearful was another thing Maria was not. She could be fighting aliens. An airborne hamlet could be falling to the ocean at five-hundred feet a second. A sentient robot could kamikaze itself through a window and crawl toward her like a zombie. She could face down with every Avenger and still have nothing but a straight face. She was never scared- why did she look scared now? There was nothing wrong with fear, even for her, but she was just never scared.

“Are you okay?” He asked warily, careful not to spook her in her current state.

“I… I-I’m sorry…” She repeated, this time stuttering. Coulson shook his head again, moving his hand up to Maria. Her eyes shot to his hand, quickly whipped away and squeezed shut again, this time with her also pressing herself as far against the wall as her body allowed, like she was…

like she was preparing to be hit, but Coulson quickly disregarded that- Maria would never let herself be hit by anyone without immediately dealing double back

“Maria...” He breathed, entirely confused why she would be at all displaying this kind of reaction at something so inconsequential. “Maria?” He asked, louder this time though not so loud as to scare her any further. He had gotten his memories back five years ago- September eighteenth, 2021- and not once did he remember ever, ever hitting Maria, or ever seeing her get hit- at least, not without ripping out whoever hit her’s spine through their eye sockets (true story, he’d seen it once on a particularly long Thor-related mission in New Mexico, and that had been a lot of paperwork), but this… Was she being abused by someone? Had she been abused by someone in the past and just never bothered to tell him?

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” He whispered, holding out his hands in surrender as Maria’s eyes prodded him very warily, lined with tears and a look of sheer distrust. It was then, as she blinked repeatedly, she seemed to be brought down from whatever hellish high she had just been in and crashed down into the real world, as tears suddenly rolled out of her eyes and she sighed in a heavy, emotional gasp. 

“Oh god…” She sighed, staring down at the slightly faded urine mark on her crotch. She looked to Coulson again, her eyes filled with a distinctly different kind of sorry. She opened her mouth, as if trying to speak, but nothing could even come forth. Her shaking began to settle, though it didn’t entirely cease and she settled down and out of the corner a small bit. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don- I…” She sighed, taking Coulson’s hand suddenly. If he hadn’t been trained by Nick Fury himself, he probably would have jumped back. “I’m sorry that I… That that happened, and I… it just…” She stuttered, trying to answer all of his questions in one faint breath but only using up her air. Coulson rubbed her palm and muttered,

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.” She sighed, sounding relieved and oddly tired- not oddly, actually, but at least she seemed calm now. He kept rubbing her palm, massaging what he felt to be tired and strained muscles. He tugged her closer, and to his surprise she readily followed. Their faces were only inches apart, but it was Maria who moved herself into Coulson’s lap, curling up against like a giant cat. He knew she liked being close to him, but Maria was never much for cuddling. Not privately- unless it was hellishly cold- and certainly not publicly. In fact, he was usually the one to start most of their physical contact, and it was usually just hugs around her waist or gentle brushes. But, he stayed silent, acknowledging that she was in a particularly fragile state and he never wanted to be the one to push her- either into the murdering state or into another breakdown, especially not now.

He felt the considerable dampness from her rear rub onto his lap, but he couldn’t care less. He did want to get her dry, though, so he gently ushered her off of him. 

“We should get you dry, huh?” He asked, consoling her as he helped her stand. An embarrassed, sad look passed her face, but she looked away and nodded, crossing her arms and hugging herself like she was cold. Her breath shuddered with nervousness, and what seemed to be a massive amount of remaining shame.

“Phil…” She breathed, stepping closer to him, her arms still wrapped around herself. She looked him in the eyes, hers saddened and wary. I’m… Please don’t…” She struggled, sighing in frustration. Her thighs tried to turn in on themselves, ruthlessly shaking as they tried to hide the wet stain that came to Maria’s knees.

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise, Maria.” It had been so long since he had called her Maria, not ‘Agent Hill’, just ‘Hill’ or something else. Just ‘Maria’ seemed uncharacteristically civilian of them, but the current situation certainly called for something much less… well, something civilian, he supposed.. 

“No, I- Yes, thank…” She stuttered again. “Please don’t laugh…” She whispered, looking to the stained carpet. She felt so infantile. She had just… humiliated herself and now, off all things, she was cuddling herself in the corner of her office, begging her partner of twenty-two years not to laugh at her while her eyes were locked on the source of her shame. She felt ridiculous, she felt like a schoolgirl…

She felt unabashedly ashamed, and there was a growing hole in the pit of her stomach when she suddenly felt Coulson’s left hand feather around her arm. She felt a pull on the back of her mind telling her to escape his touch, but every other part of her being told her to get closer, to embrace it like she did before. There may have been a moment, perhaps not even long enough to even be measured by human resources, where Maria resisted Coulson’s brush. Where she backed up, still afraid of his judgement, still afraid to be mocked for this again. The small piece of a moment was almost a full minute in Maria’s eyes as she took in the man before her. 

His face was carved with worry. His brown eyes, only barely obscured by wrinkles of experience and age, twinkled with what could only be defined as adoration. But, only a particle of a moment did she hold herself back. For only a particle of a moment did she allow the grip of shame, humiliation, fear and disgust to dig into her flesh before she allowed the stronger force emanating from the man opposite her to overpower them all. He carefully allowed Coulson to embrace her, never minding the gag-inducing squlch she heard and felt when her thighs met.

And, instead of scorn and mockery, Maria felt her chest bloom with… warmth, pure and unadulterated. It was… she wouldn’t admit that- not again. But, the hole that had fissured in her stomach a particle of a second ago suddenly sealed as if sucked back together by a momentary black hole. Coulson muttered something into an earpiece- she couldn’t discern, but something about ‘Director Fury’, and she silently prayed. While most people saw Nick J. Fury as an imposing and scary-as-hell man one would not be able to safely share anything with, Phil, Maria, Natasha and Clint’s family knew him as a humble, if somewhat paranoid man with a heart that kept very close the very few it cared for.

Phil held Maria tighter, slowly beginning to sway side to side. Maria felt herself begin to rebut, but the motion was undeniably calming on her as of now fragile psyche (it was rarely this) and it made her breathing just a little more even. From outside the room, which no one was looking into, thank god, there was the sound of heavy boots approaching the door, and a baritone, agitated voice speaking to another agent. The other agent quickly buggered off when Fury shooed him away. 

The Director of S.W.O.R.D., Nicholas Joseph Fury, entered the room with his trenchcoat barely making it inside in time and a thick black briefcase in his left hand. He briskly closed the door behind him and his angry expression quickly morphed to one of sympathy and understanding as he turned to the two agents, with Coulson’s back to him. The man absentmindedly stuck a disk to the window’s sill, playing a hologram of another situation with the three entirely.

“How bad is it?” Coulson began to turn, but Fury put a hand up and closed his eye. “Just…” Maria’s now-slightly teary eyes just looked to Nick from Coulson’s shoulder, telling the Director all he needed to know.

“Director, I-” Maria began, suddenly unable to look Fury in the eye. She knew she was safe with Coulson and Fury, but her mind just… didn’t allow her to fully surrender.

“Maria, Nick. Been back for a while, now haven’t I?” Maria shook her head and nodded along with a quiet whisper of ‘Nick’. Phil allowed his arms to fall back to his sides, though he stayed close to the brunette woman. 

Fury placed the briefcase on Maria’s desk with a loud thump before motioning Coulson to follow. Phil looked to Maria and brushed her hand, receiving a small smile in return. Fury placed his hands behind his back as he spoke.

“Once you’re ready, go home Maria. We’ll see you tomorrow,” Phil came to Fury’s side as he finished before promptly following as the Director left the room, Phil closing the door behind them to leave Maria in privacy.

“You probably have questions.” Fury assumed. Phil swallowed and nodded, his neutral and unaffected expression absolutely contradicting the hundreds of questions shuttling through his mind. ‘Why was Maria scared? Why was she crying? Why did she apologize!?’ But he kept his tone flat as he responded,

“Yeah, a few,” Fury nodded in expectancy and motioned Coulson to follow him as he made his way to an elevator. The elevator was rather large and sported a window to the outside, with a view of New York City. In the distance, among all the other skyscrapers, Phil caught eye of the majestic Avengers Tower with the ‘A’ glinting proudly in the sunlight. They both stepped into the elevator, with Fury selecting the level three stories above. As he did, he spoke.

“Blackout.” At his word, the glass of the elevator tinted to a near black, though light still flourished in the lift from four overhead lights casting an industrial white light. Phil adjusted his stance with his hands clasped in front of him, his bare hand overtop his gloved. Fury stood with his hands behind his back as he faced the door. A few moments passed filled with nothing but silence- Coulson noticed that the elevator also wasn’t moving- before Fury began with, “How much do you actually know about Maria Hill?” Coulson was silent for a moment as he considered his superior’s words.

“I’m not sure. I’ve worked with her… Twenty-two years, I’d like to think I know a lot. How much is there?” Fury huffed a small smile at Coulson’s words, nodding.

“Well, you know most of it. An agent for most of her life, joined at sixteen. One of our best, ‘side from you, Romanoff and Barton. But, you might not know about her upbringing.” It was true- Maria seldom spoke of her family apart from aggressive hatred and muddled memories she looked back at less than fondly, but he never prodded too far into it. “Thing is… ” The Director hesitated for a moment, as if choosing the right words. “Her father and mother had her too young- seventeen- and divorced too young, her dad didn’t stand a chance in the court- had a past of small crime.” Phil nodded along.

“Her mother won full custody with a motherly exterior, but she wasn’t at all capable of raising a kid. Court case happened when she was… Five.” Coulson felt a pang of sorrow for his partner. While he knew she had come from bad beginnings, he never really knew exactly how hard it had been for her. “Her mother had a phobia, a bad one. Urophobia,” Fury exhaled sharply, looking to the blackened widow behind him for a moment. “Whenever she saw it, she freaked. Got violent.” 

The pieces suddenly clicked in Coulson’s head and both his heart and stomach dropped, though he stayed silent.

But what Fury said next simply hurt.

“When he was eight, she had a bad nightmare. She had… well, y’know. Her mother came in to her screaming, but when she saw the mess… Maria didn’t stand a chance, ended up verbally and physically injured. Two cracked ribs, a black eye, even broken fingers, but the mental scars...” He trailed off, allowing silence to blanket them again. 

As silence engulfed him, Phil’s head suddenly began spinning. His breathing stopped altogether and he fell against the wall of the elevator in an attempt to stay standing. He sighed heavily and looked to his Director.

“She…” Was all he could produce. His head was struggling to keep up. No, this couldn’t be right. Fury just nodded, and another sigh of, “Enlighten,” brought back the sun’s warmth. Phil looked to the floor in shock. He knew, for security reasons, he could never know everything. But… this was… ‘My God.’

“Sorry y’had to hear it like that, but it’s a strict need-to-know.” Fury commented as the elevator carefully began moving upwards. Coulson shakily regained his footing, but his face was still shocked. 

“I… Yes, sir, I understand.” He whispered. He wasn’t angry… No, that’s exactly what he was. But not at being excluded from the secret, but from… learning it. Maria… All this time and she had that weighing on her conscience. His fists tightened as he imagined Maria now, fully strong and adult with wounds like the ones her mother gave her. This was… Not okay. He felt an uncharacteristic anger bubble in his chest and before he could stop himself or even think about what he said, the words spilled into the small room.

“Is she dead?” Fury looked to him, but not with surprise or worry, but solace. A small smirk crossed his face as the doors opened to the floor Fury had selected what felt like hours ago. They began to move to another objective, one that could be completed in Maria’s absence as Fury half-admitted.

“I’m not saying it was Barnes, but…”

Phil nodded in understanding, his fists relaxing once again. For a particle of a moment, he imagined Maria, dressed like the Winter Soldier and holding a bloody knife, standing above a cruel-faced lifeless woman in her fifties. In a dying bout of anger, he lowly commented…

“Good.”

And for that fragment of a moment, that small part, that particle... Coulson felt a sense of… Justification. Remember it or not, Coulson put it in his mind that, next time they met, he would have to thank Barnes for that particular assassination.

Fury nodded along, but another thought filled his head. 'What caused this? No way Maria did this herself- the woman. Woman in white.' The poke he knew he had felt when their eyes met felt too oddly familiar. He had first felt it when he met Wanda Maximoff.

Telepath. Psychic. She was behind this.

Fury scowled inwardly as he acknowledged that she was long goddamn gone from the building. But her face was engraved in his mind- he never, never forgot a face...

That woman was in some deep shit. Nobody fucks with Nick fucking Fury' family and survives. For his own sliver, chip and particle of a moment, Fury smiled wide and genuine.

Y'know what, I have no excuses. These gaps are getting longer and longer and I feel horrible about it, and my only excuse is burnout. I swear I try, even if it doesn't show. Regardless, here's the second part of your request @desperation_fan. With this piece, I wanted to try delving into the un-fetishized, hated side of wetting. Did I succeed? No, probably not. But I tried. 

For future requests, for the sake of pleasing requesters, I think I need more detailed suggestions, unless you're okay with the possibility that your requested character, situation or prompt has liberties taken with it. So, if you have a more detailed request, please leave not only the character, but a simple plotline, maybe even their reaction if you wish. Of course, if you don't care what liberties are taken, you can just suggest a character, situation or basic prompt. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this piece, and the next ones, should no requests come in, would most likely be Ava Starr, Mantis or Nebula, though it's yet to be decided. Anyway, have a good day, all.

Best regards,

NothingLeft

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Hello, all. No, this isn't another chapter already, but it is impactful. Since this game has begun, these pieces have all been feeding into a larger overarching- if slight- "narrative" past all of the accidents. I intend to keep this up until the 'Line-Up' piece, but it's there that I falter. 

I admit that I somewhat need a narrative to write connected pieces like the MCU Stories, but past the 'Line-Up', I wonder; Should I continue injecting such a storyline into these pieces or should they simply be brief fetish stories. Admittedly, this is personal preference to a large degree, but if given these two choices, which would you choose?

One: A piece that's shorter overall, even though it contains slightly more detailed wettings and such, though it doesn't take as long as a usual piece does, or,

Two: A piece that's longer overall with a continuing storyline, though it takes longer to release. I'm at a crossroads simply because of the way I write, but I leave it to the people. So, feedback is welcomed and encouraged as it will define the future of these pieces- if nothing is said, the pieces will remain with a line of narrative and this post will be null.

Regardless, please let me know which of the two you'd like to see. Relating to the pieces themselves, as of now I'm working on a piece with Nebula, and it is decently underway- it should be noted that the Gamora piece, this piece and all other Guardian of The Galaxy pieces contain their own narrative that's separate from the Avengers and such- though Lord only knows how long it'll take. 

Best regards,

NothingLeft

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Nebula

 

Just For Now?

The Benetar, On The Way to Earth

Holy.

Shit.

That was the only phrase going through Nebula’s machine mind as the door to the main room opened to her, revealing her team; the prestigious Guardians Of The Galaxy, ever ready to defend innocents and fight the evils of space and galaxies beyond.

They all looked like shit.

Peter Quill, their leader, was propped up by his two strong arms, heavy bags under tired bloodshot eyes. His shirt was on the table beside him as his torso was covered in light-but-bleeding wounds. Gamora pulled the needle away from his back, finishing stitching a particularly bad slash he had received. His jeans were muddy, bloody and torn, and his face had the odd bruise and cut decorating his features. His hair was ruffled and messy, even singed in some places.

Gamora was no better. Her eyes were barely open, her face was dropping with tiredness and outfit torn and bloody. Her hands were subtly shaking and she could barely stand, often having to adjust her stance to stay upright.

Mantis and Drax were already asleep, with Mantis laid along Drax’s lap. Drax’s snoring was impossibly loud, as always, but it would hardly keep them up at all. Rocket was trying to work on a piece of machinery, though he wasn’t getting anywhere as he had to pause and yawn almost every thirty seconds. Groot was nearby, his head falling with his eyelids before jerking awake, the process repeating every minute or so.

The fight,’ Nebula thought with hazy disdain.

The fight had been agonizingly arduous. Nearly thirteen hours of a mission involving climbing, running, fisticuff combat, hiding, running, climbing, running… Never mind the blaze of the planet’s two suns that had nearly put Groot, Rocket and Mantis into early graves.

“Guardians…” Quill stifled a yawn with his hand, though the sight brought a yawn to both Nebula and her sister. “Fuck it, time to... sleep.” He finished unceremoniously, smiling almost deliriously at the word ‘sleep’. Gamora gave a half-hearted ‘woo’ and a slow, careful fist in the air, while Rocket limpy dropped his hopefully-inexplosive workings onto the floor. Groot smiled and finally let his eyes close, which brought a careful smile to Nebula’s face as well. She leaned herself against the door, tiredness overtaking her conscience for a brief moment. She quickly snapped herself up with nearly the last of her resolve and shook her head, though it did nothing to clear the fog in her head. The fog was heavy and it carried a whisper she couldn’t discern in English or any other language, though her body interpreted it for her.

‘Rest. Sleep. Shit, just lie down- something.’ She was in no position, physically or willingly, to deny her body its call. With the most limp, pathetic wave she’d ever seen, much less given, Nebula turned on her heel, exiting the center room of the Benetar. A door to her left carried a matching whisper to the one in her head and her body, summoned by the whisper, immediately went into an autopilot. Her hand, disconnected from her mind, waved the door open and she entered, her vision bobbing unfamiliarly. 

Nebula’s eyes closed before she could even land them on her bed, though she knew her room very well enough to know where it was. Across from the door, behind her desk. Her feet, suddenly heavier than the ship she was within, never left the ground as she kicked off her boots, her brain never even remembering to bother with the rest of her battle-scarred uniform. She narrowly missed the corner of her desk and her arms just caught the edge of her mattress. 

With the trembling last wisp of her strength, Nebula lifted herself onto her bed, laughing tiredly despite her back hitting the wall. Her head on a pillow, she curled up in a fetal ball as usual, but then she remembered nothing.

But, as her mind slipped into the deepest sleep she had felt in practically her entire life, Nebula’s body resumed functioning. Despite her father’s cruelty, her body still retained a complete anatomy, despite its mechanical pieces. She still had a stomach, intestines, liver, heart. And especially critical as of her current, she still had a bladder. Quite a capacious one, granted, though it still had limits. And the mission that had exhausted them all so thoroughly had done such through all the fighting, running and climbing they had to do to save their own lives and that of the people native, but it had also been damn well lethally hot.

Nebula hated heat of any kind. The room in which her father had replaced so much of her body with machine had been hot. The blade he had used to cut her up had been hot. The metal had been hot. The pain itself had been so hot, when she recalled the memories of her recreation, it burned so bad she wish she had died.

To fend off the ravenous, all-consuming swelter, Nebula had consumed nearly as much water as Groot. So much that she had peed nearly twenty times in the thirteen hours she had been en mission. But, when the adrenaline and pain had worn off, it was quickly and wholly replaced with an excruciating exhaustion, leaving any bodily function peacefully unacknowledged. 

As Nebula curled up, her muscles sore and tired, she didn’t even notice the dull ache of her churning bladder shoot up from underneath her robotic stomach. It was perhaps half-full, and if she rested for a normal- for her, at least, she still had night terrors of her father’s eyes- five or six hours, she would be able to brush it off and just go. 

Easy.

Eleven Hours Later

Groot felt a warmth on his face and couldn’t help but lean toward it. As he opened his eyes, the harsh glare of a close star was coming in through a large porthole. The tree smiled and allowed the warmth to help him awaken. The light and warmth in the fight however long ago had been pleasant for the first three or four hours, but after that it had just been overly drying for the foliage resting on his hard wooden body, and he had absorbed a lot of water to make it up. This smaller amount of sun felt very nice, and he had no worry of running out of water, as Peter always said he functioned kind of like a Terran cactus; he consumed water and then contained it for later absorption. 

Groot sighed and began to loosen his joints from their rest. They gave some resistance, but the water inside of him and the gentle glaze of sun helped them wake up similarly to his mind. He carefully stepped forward, though through the serene peace of mind he had awoken in, his mind had allowed him to forget the pipe running along the ceiling. His wooden crest bumped into it with a quiet tunk and a brief groan of irritation from him.

It truly felt like nearly yesterday that he, Rocket and the pirate-angel had taken off from Nidavellir, him just a ‘teenaged sproutling’. He was now at his- at least, what he believed to be- full size- due in no small part to the odd, rapid growth his systems had gone through when he had returned from the purgatory of the Snap. That and Terra, or Earth, was so rich in minerals and good soil that just a week planted within “New Asgard”, he had grown exponentially.

The porthole with sun was coming through was rather small, and as Groot moved into a small kitchen room, a larger window bathed even more of his hard body in the warm glow of the star. He moaned in a low, happy tone and smiled as greenery on his shoulders rejoiced at more of the gentle light and warm, especially compared to that of ten hours ago.

Groot was nearly still for almost ten minutes before the quiet shuffling of a single pair of feet swayed him from his serenity. He turned with a gentle smile to see Nebula, barefoot though still in her battle garb, rubbing her left eye with one hand and stifling a yawn with the other. She clumsily pulled out a chair and hastily seated herself, nearly missing the seat altogether. Groot smiled as the woman, still clearly enraptured in tiredness, tried to wake her body.

“I am Groot,” He greeted, facing the sun again.

“Mmm...” Nebula attempted, her mind not fully adept enough yet to actually respond in full. “G’morn-” Her speech was ended by a long, large yawn that surely stretched her mouth to the absolute largest it could be. Groot just chuckled, absentmindedly pressing a red button on a machine beside him. It was a small, black box with a glass pot with a handle within. It was a ‘coffee machine’ Quill had in his ship since Groot had known him. He never favoured the bitter taste over simple water- even with copious sugar- but the smell was pleasant for him.

“Mm, thanks,” Nebula mumbled, her head resting in her palm as her elbow rested on the table. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow and Groot could help but smile when a light, gentle snoring began leaving Nebula’s nose.

But, beneath Nebula’s sleepiness, her body was at war with itself, and it was one almost as brutal as the one that had put it there in the first place. On one side, Nebula’s artificial muscles were purely aching, barely able to carry her. But, on the other side, an alarm was blaring that just didn’t reach Nebula’s mind through her haze. Her bladder, which had already been cradling an adequate amount of liquid, was now brimming full with it- so full, in fact, that it was even creating the slightest of bulges under her tummy. The warnings, the alarms, the bad of her full bladder was all being blocked out by the cloud of not-quite-awake-yet in her head. The good, how little there may have been- like the feeling of utter fullness, the large ball of warmth in her belly and the tautness of her uniform felt very… relaxing- was even further teasing her mind with just another brisk period more of shut-eye.

One that Nebula didn’t deny. 

Groot quietly moved next to Nebula, smiling as he loomed over her. She, opposed to the disposition she always gave off, looked almost cute- like a sleeping animal- as her chest rose and fell gently with deep, relaxed breaths. This is how he liked seeing his team, he had no trouble admitting, but seeing Nebula in such serenity was oddly gratifying in particular, as she had such a hard, unfair life that she deserved peace, maybe more than anyone else he knew- except perhaps Rocket, but even then he thought them equals.

Groot moved his hand, which he softened with a gentle layer of plush, green moss onto Nebula’s back, smiling even wider when he felt nearly no tension. Nebula was constantly tense from all kinds of stress- physical, mental and emotional- and it was so rare for her body to be so slack.

It was another few minutes, perhaps fifteen, until Nebula’s brief nap was interrupted by a shrill-but-quiet beep. Nebula started awake, though she still wasn’t fully awake. Groot quickly stole his hand away, though when the cyborg woman’s deep, entrancing, half-lidded black eyes met his, it was clear that she had felt his hand on her back. 

There was a gentle, peaceful silence as they simply looked at each other. Nebula gave a careful smile and a gentle nod, though her gaze turned down to the face of the table. Groot turned to the machine that had emitted the noise, seeing the glass pot now nearly filled with a rich dark brown liquid with a thin layer of light froth and bubbles around the rim of the glass pot.

The eponymous coffee.

A blue metal mug with ‘Nebula’ inscribed on the side in blocky, grey paint was beside the machine among four others similar in shape, and another smaller mug. They all had names on them in differing colours and hands; A chestnut-brown mug, and ‘Captain Star-Lord’ was written in quick, large but clean strokes of an orange-yellow. A dark green mug, emblazoned with a precise, careful ‘Gamora’ in cursive black. A larger grey mug with ‘Drax’ in messy all-capitalized black. A white mug with ‘Mantis’, in a messy handquite similar to Drax's- Mantis didn’t know how to write much, though she was doing her best to learn Ego apparently hadn't deemed it necessary for her- and Rocket’s smaller mug, though his had no name, instead sporting a general schematic for an explosive.

Groot grasped Nebula’s cup and brought it before him, also taking told of the handle of the coffee pot. The pot was heavy as the hot, steaming coffee sloshed about inside, though he managed quite easily. He slowly began to allow the liquid to plummet from the pot into Nebula’s mug, the kitchen then being filled by a quiet, thick splashing. The splashing became duller the more filled the cup became and Groot eased the pot from its tilt as waves of hot coffee licked the top edge of the mug. Among the sound, Nebula sighed heavily, enjoying the wafted scent of the coffee.

But, when he stopped pouring, the splashing of the coffee was replaced by another sound, one that wasn’t there when he began. The best way he could describe it was a hissing. It was quiet, and at first Groot thought that there was a pipe leaking. It continued on for a few seconds, nearly silent though somewhat satisfying to listen to in its consistency. Then, it was joined by another subtle sound, though this one was slightly more pronounced. A dull, quiet pattering, like liquid dripping onto the floor cascaded into the air, the faint hissing still continuing and even growing a bit more violent. The hsss became a hkkk, like it was hitting fabric with a decent amount of force. He stood, confused, as the sound perforated the corners of his mind, almost becoming background noise as he held both the coffee pot and Nebula’s full mug. 

The sound continued as Groot shook his head, prioritizing the tired girl at the table. He placed the coffee pot within the machine’s compartment and moved to Nebula’s seat, placing the coffee before her. The noise got louder, leading Groot to believe that, yes, a pipe in the main room may have burst and is now leaking. He grunted to the sleeping girl kindly before making his way past her.

Barely missing the puddle underneath Nebula’s seat.

Nebula shifted in her seat, unaware of the splish of her thighs in the well of liquid beneath her that caused a wave of her warm, recently-expelled pee to be sent to the ground into a slightly golden puddle. Her butt was soaking wet, her crotch was hot and still noisily squirting urine that splashed down her legs and readily fell to the floor over the edges of the chair, pattering a bit louder than before. The pressure of the lava-like urine was increasing, hitting the fabric of her uniform with such power that it made Groot halt.

No, the sound was getting quieter the further he got from the room. Couldn’t be anything beyond. Groot turned back around, though this time he found what was causing the noises, which were all getting louder and more intense, even if it was just slightly so. He was… completely stunned by what he saw.

Nebula’s mind perked up at the scent of coffee, though it was still fuzzy and most of it wasn’t awake. Her visibly machine left arm hit the table, hazily trying to find the base of her cup. A few waves of her hand, she found the cup with a dull metal-on-metal tunk. She found the handle, gripping it lazily. She didn’t yet have the strength to lift it, but her body slowly began coming to. The first thing she sensed was the sudden cacophony of noises even though they blended into the background of her mind. There was violent hissing, splashing and spraying piercing her ears, though she paid next to no mind to it. Her fingers tightened around the metal handle of the mug, letting her know she was now capable. With a shaky wrist she brought the mug to her lips, almost drunkenly taking in the nostalgic, comforting bitter taste. She sighed with comfort, the sounds still probing at her mind constantly.

'What the hell is that noise,

“Groot… ” She mumbled, suddenly recalling his presence from earlier. He softly grunted in response from behind her, not much like himself. Nebula took her face off of her palm and sat straight, her ears picking up a loud splash with her moves. She groaned again, knowing she would be one of the first called to fix what seemed to be a leaking pipe.

But, as Nebula awoke in her seat, more of her body began to communicate with more of her mind. Her stomach- was it her stomach? No, no it was just below that- was aching, almost like it was in relief. Her thighs were trembling and the muscles within felt sore, like she had just been running. Her legs, thighs, butt and crotch felt hot, wet and squishy, and Nebula had to look at her coffee to ensure she hadn't spilt anything already.

Nope, still full. So why…?

Nebula sat still for a moment, pondering just what she was soaked with. When her mind gave no conclusive answer, the woman glanced down under the table. Flooding her seat, staining her uniform with dark, coagulating on the floor beneath her and still actively spurting unevenly from her vagina was very warm, glistening urine, slightly tinted a lovely gold. She felt the bottom curve of her thighs tingle with the liquid brimming around them, watching as it quickly evacuated from inside her an into her seat, then further onto the floor, sending golden splash droplets onto the chair's- and her own- legs as the puddle that enveloped her chair ballooned uncontrollably. 

Hm.’ She looked back up and took a calm sip of her coffee, careful to not tip the mug back too far. She rested the mug on the table again, sighing as her body procedurally came to. She sighed, the decreasing pressure in her belly bringing a quiet peace to her inner systems.

Wait.

Nebula’s black eyes went wide and she almost threw herself out of her chair, though her legs gave out from underneath her as they quivered like weak branches in a storm from holding so much liquid back for so long without her even knowing. She looked, almost angrily, at her legs as they shivered, shimmering with a soaked golden glimmer in the star’s light. The puddle underneath her chair- and the one that was beginning to bloom from the sporadic hkkkkk-ing of urine spurting from between her trembling legs- caught the light almost beautifully, though Nebula was too appalled and angry with herself to admire.

Again… No, not this again...’ Nebula thought, fending off her thoughts. Though, as much as she tried, she just could not look away from the spritzing yellow liquid dying her maroon outfit’s crotch even darker, streaks of shine injecting into the disgustingly huge patch by the flowing liquid. She tried to stop it, she tightened every muscle in her body, but the flow was barely stunted, only fizzling slightly before Nebula had to give in from the suddenly onset weakness. Her muscles felt too damn weak to hold anything that was escaping her, despite her best efforts.

The sounds only made her stomach turn inside out more horribly. The violent sound as it gushed out of her and against the rough red material of her uniform. The splashing and pattering as her piss settled into the puddle around her. The staggered, stifled gasps escaping her as she realized that all hope was lost.

She sat for another fifteen seconds as her bladder confidently emptied onto the floor, accentuated vomit-inducingly by a powerful, hellish squirting. The stream, luckily enough for her psyche, was dying, the violating hkkk slowly reducing to a quiet hsss, and slower further as the stream now lacked the power and pressure to even reach her uniform, now simply leaking along the gentle curve of her ass to reach the floor. The organ once keeping all of the urine that now coated the floor was aching with a painful relief as her urine finally began to cease with an eternal trickle of burning urine.

She sat, shuddering and breathing sharply and harshly for an amount of time her mind absolutely couldn't fucking care to quantify, her vagina leaking like a hose with a hole in it at a pace almost matching her breathing. With a crackling gasp exiting her lungs parallel, her trickle slowed to a stop, searing drops rolling down the most intimate curves of her thighs on occasion.

Nebula's chest rose fully up and down with her humiliated breathing, but when she heard a soft, long groan, her entire consciousness nearly cut itself from existence out of pure and unabashed shame. Her head turned certainly too fast and her eyes crossed with Groot’s, whose jaw was slack with surprise and eyes wide with surprise and subtle something, Nebula was too on fire from embarrassment to care- at a glance, it looked like mortification.

Nebula tore her gaze away from Groot’s, though it just landed on her puddle again. She could see the steam rising from it die to the light streaming against her, and the sight of haze and vapour made her just want to fucking puke- almost as much as the sheer wetness she felt on her ass, in her crotch and down her thighs and calves. She couldn’t bear the sight, and placed her eyes back to Groot, closing her jaw apprehensively. She shook her head marginally, deeply afraid to fully move lest more burst forth from her, though she knew she was empty as the corner of her eye kept a golden shimmer bright and evident..

She wanted to leave. She wanted to jettison herself out of the ship and into the vast expanse of space. She wanted to die, then and there, because this was all too much. The last time had been a dare, but this… This was not okay. Groot was staring, she was still sitting in it, and this… Just, no.

Groot carefully stepped towards Nebula, acknowledging how much her eyes were darting and how her entire body was shaking. But, just one step was enough to attract her attention. Her jaw was clenched tight, her hands were in trembling fists and her eyes were trained and hard. Groot closed his mouth, anticipating yelling, violence or literally something to be thrown his way, but he was only met with a hoarse grunt and Nebula's quiet voice whisper, 

“Go away.” It wasn’t a request nor a demand, it was in fact a command, but not one Groot was poised to obey. He shook his head, though his expression stayed soft. But, both his and Nebula’s faces broke into panic when they heard Peter and Gamora's shared room door hiss open. Groot suddenly felt ethereal instincts bite into his inner being, his very core, his absolute center and there was no combat as they took him over.

Not a thought passed through his head as he stepped into the warm, steaming golden liquid glazing the floor- sympathetic to Nebula’s shaky cringe at the unapologetic splshh- before he began absorbing it, the puddle slowly thinning and shrinking quickly yet soundlessly. Nebula’s eyes met his, to which he could only offer a quick smile.

The puddle, much to the woman's simultaneous shock, disbelief, mortification, joy and morbid surprise was disappearing quickly, almost like she was… wetting... herself in reverse. The conjoined puddle under the chair- and, indeed, in the seat, which she hadn’t noticed prior- were disappearing parallel thanks to Groot’s arm-branches. They both heard Quill and Gamora mumbling incoherently just around the corner, and again Groot’s instincts kicked in without any forethought.

He quickly scooped Nebula into his arms, smiling ever so at the small grunt mixed with a light gasp of surprise. He turned, making sure that the admittedly huge, soaking mark on Nebula’s uniform was as hidden as it could be. He then used his very monstrous height to quickly sidestep Star-Lord and Gamora, though they barely noticed due to their tiredness. Groot nearly clocked his head again as he ducked into Nebula’s room, laying her on her bed gently.

He turned to the closed door, vines erupting from his shoulders and his back as they gripped the door, warping it out of shape so Nebula could process her accident and change in undisturbed peace. However, in his instinctual eruption, Groot failed to remember one very critical fact;

He had trapped himself within as well, defeating the entire point of “in peace”. As the rush of his actions began to wear off nearly as fast as it had come, the shuffling of fabric made his stance straighten like steel. He dared not look behind him, knowing what lay in store would- certainly this time- be Nebula’s staff across his face. So, he stayed facing the twisted door wrapped in his shedded wooden tendrils, the shuffling of clothes being far too noisy to be simple movement anymore. 

“Don’t turn around...” Nebula’s voice was harshly, almost painfully quiet and nearly drowned out by a monotonous ziiiiip as the cyborg woman dragged the front zipper down her body. The tone in her voice was painful to him, especially as it was one she rarely spoke through. Even when she spoke of her father, the same one who had tortured and mutilated her, she spoke only with resentment and a blazing hatred far more bitter than any coffee. But this? Her voice was meek, disdained and humiliated. That was the only term that fit.

Humiliated.

Nevertheless, Groot didn’t move at all, wincing slightly as a moist, waterlogged stchkkk peeled off of Nebula’s thighs. He heard her groan and quite possibly stagnate a gag, though he said nothing. There was a lighter, more subdued sthck as the wet fabric hit the floor. There was a dull, matted, thick flap, like a dense towel was shaken, and the sound of rough-fabric on flesh. Nebula accentuated the sounds with groans and disappointed sighs. The towel hit the ground, though lighter than that of her uniform. It was followed by airy fluttering, like a loose flag set in a warm breeze.

There was a few more moments of fluttering and awkward, thought calm silence. After what seemed like too long of studying his own work in the destroyed panel before him, Groot was summoned by the quietest whisper.

“Okay…” He hesitated. He didn't want to make things impossibly more awkward between them, but he felt as if eye contact right now would do just that, his resistance already shaky. But, when the gentle brush of her thin, skilled finger feathered along his arm, he couldn’t help but turn to her.

She stood uncharacteristically meekly, her head bowed down to her feet, which were pointed only noticeably inward. He was a tall being, and she was by no means short, but her unusually embarrassed figure made her appear much smaller than he was used to. Her blue skin was covered by loose, baggy dark blue fabric- which made her seem even smaller- looking soft to the touch. It was clearly too large for her as the hem of the sleeves came to her first knuckle and the hem of her bottoms almost entirely covered her feet. Her jaw was still clenched and her fists were tight, and her face read that she was still heavily berating herself for her… accident.

“I…” She tried to speak, but it barely came out a murmur. “Don’t tell anyone-” her voice gained its usual strength- or as close to it as she could muster with her current headspace- for a moment “- about this, or I will kill you again.” Her black, gleaming eyes stared up at him, threatening as possible. But, with her current dress and what he had just seen, he barely believed it. But, he nodded solemnly nonetheless. He turned to tear away the tendrils blocking the door, but his large hand was caught in hers, though hers was far smaller.

“No…” She begged quickly, her voice staying as straight as possible. “I… I don’t want anyone… I don’t want anyone else to know…” She trailed off her voice trembling despite being nearly inaudible. She also quickly tacked on a docile “- about this...” Her left arm gripped her right elbow gently. “You can’t tell them about this, Groot,”

“I am Groot,” he assured readily. He would never break a secret so humiliating for her, even if she did first. She nodded, her jaw relaxing for what seemed like the first time that morning. There was a break of silence between them, with Groot caringly looking down on Nebula, like a mother hen to its peeping chick.

Groot, almost too easily, allowed Nebula to nestle into his arms, pressing against the hard wood that made up his chest. Though, he padded himself as light, plush moss- the same he had padded his hand with earlier- cushioned his body for the woman in his arms. He allowed the both to rest against the bent and dented door, slowly sliding to the floor. Nebula, as if they were thinking in the same beat, rested her legs along Groot’s, curling up in his gentle hold.

“This isn’t… anything, this is just…” She muttered, almost as an afterthought.

“I am Groot,”

There was a few harmonious beats of silence. “Yes. Just…”

“I am Groot.”

“Just for now. And soon, I’ll purge this entire morning from my memories.” Nebula chided with a hint of sadness. But, as she ran her hands along the soft, pillow-like moss she rested against, she carefully corrected.

“The bad parts. You're coffee's better than Quill,” she tried to joke, a half-smile lifting a corner of her mouth.

“I am Groot,” he agreed softly, rubbing her back in a slow, comforting motion.

“Yes. Just for now,”

Though, unbeknownst to the both of them, the “for now” of their agreement extended long into their time, until Star-Lord came knocking on their door an apparent five hours later. They had remained awake, though in silence. Calm, hospitable, regenerative silence.

Just for now.

I surely didn't expect to get another piece out so fast, but I have to, again, thank @Dynamic for his incredible words of wisdom. I can't actually express how much his words have helped me to get past the roadblock that's, admittedly, been plaguing me since my first piece with The Scarlet Witch.

I see Omo.org as a community, as do most. And, as a community, we have guidelines, rules and, more personally, unique normalities (what we perceive as normal and acceptable) that form us. However, what we sometimes fail to make note of is that normality, the most malleable rulebook we live by in a community, often stagnates content. I'm glad to say that the vast variety of content here on Omo.org is far from stagnant, though I will admit, I have recently been feeling like my content has been growing such. As I said, the guidelines and hard rules are unbreakable without punishment, and therefore we only have normality to break from holding us back. But, one devastating thing that comes with normality, especially as esoteric as the normalities embedded within each and every one of the people in a community in such a diverse content ecosystem as this website, is fear. Personal fear.

Fear is what holds all humans back, sometimes to benefit and other times to deficit. As a writer, the largest fear I personally cradled was fear of imperfection and fear of displeasing those who indulged in my work- either leaving them dissatisfied, empty or simply unhappy. But, as @Dynamic so beautifully enlightened to me, you truly can't please everyone. But, if you please even one likeminded person, you've succeeded in your medium. 

Fear is what holds people back, and personal normality generates personal fear. To break the cycle, you have to realize- with the help of those around you, in your community- that your normality, your content's normality, may be generating a stunting aura of fear of evolution. But, to conquer personal fear, you have to be unafraid- unfortunately paradoxically- to evolve your normality to, in fact, out-evolve your fear. In essence and less proseful saying; You have to be able to recognize your fears, your normalities, your rules and your guidelines to determine what you can do if you push to the limits. And, ever critically, you have to be able to recognize that personal fear only exists to hold you back. 

Fear always holds us back. To push beyond, to grow and to evolve past it, you have to bow not to fear nor to evolution, but you have to keep your head high and innovate through it. You have to reach outside your comfort zone with anything you do once you feel you've grown stagnant as I feel I have. You have to use human's uncanny superpower of ingenuity, whether or not you see it in yourself, to innovate, to evolve past your personal fear.

In summary; You have to evolve your normalities through your fear to recognize what you're capable of, to recognize what you're happy doing. Only you can break your fear and create new normality that will not bow to fear.

Nor can you. Fear, and the normality that generates it, exist to hold you back, to keep you in place and to grow you stale. Bow to neither and innovate yourself and your medium, your work, to a place that breaks stagnation. And then, from the ashes of you fear like a phoenix from its own, create your best work.

Apologies for the painfully long speech, It needed to be said and I couldn't write it except for here. With all that said, I will be damning myself to create my best work, and if you have constructive criticism it's greatly appreciated. As an aside, feel fell to request any character from the list of twenty-three, alongside scenarios, settings and causes. With all that said, take these words and the words of @Dynamic (Seriously, I cannot than you enough for what you said) under advisement going forward- Lord knows I will- and I hope you all have the best of days.

Best regards,

NothingLeft

Fear, normality and convention exist to bind. Break the binds. Innovate. Push. Create. Bow to none.

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On 9/25/2020 at 6:55 AM, blegh said:

@NothingLeft is it possible you could add characters that have not appeared in the MCU yet, but are very prevalent comic characters? Like Spider-Gwen, Illyana Rasputin, etc?

It has been something I've considered, I somewhat have with Laura Kinney and- arguably since she was in the 'X-Men' films- Emma Frost, but I could. As I've discussed prior, once I have one piece for all current characters, I have seven more I wish to introduce into the roster- bringing the overall count to thirty, instead of the rather meager twenty-three, though they've all been prevalent film characters at one point or another.

However, this is labelled as stories about the MCU, so I would have to be careful not to confuse people looking for MCU content and, instead, find comic content. But, in less than more words, I could do it with perhaps two or three more characters. If you- or anyone else- have a female character they'd like to see from the comics, let me know, and I'll consider adding them after the Line-Up Piece.

Best regards, 

NothingLeft

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@desperation_fan

Seeing as I have Red She-Hulk and some X-Men, I think I can make both Mystique and She-Hulk happen- and since Jennifer is a lawyer and Mystique is a spy, I can already think of some good scenarios for both- however, I personally don't like the Fantastic Four (both of the comics and of the films- though, I can think of some good situations for the Invisible woman involving some mysteriously appearing puddles) and Tandy, or Dagger, breaks one of the rules of my pieces, falling under the eighteen-year hard limit, and I feel odd about having an underage character, even if aged up by myself.

And before she's brought up, Shuri is at least eighteen by Infinity War, and since she lived in trade of M'Baku in this story line, she's twenty-three now, though she was already of age prior to my own storyline.

To summarize; Due to personal feelings, Jennifer Walters and Mystique will be considered. If anyone else has recommendations- that adhere to the rules in the genesis of this string- they will be added to a consideration list. It should also be said that any or all characters my not even make it simply due to the amount of characters already under my pen. And, if you have an idea or request for an existing character, don't hesitate to let me know. I may not respond immediately- as Omo.org's notifications seem to rarely ping for me, or not at all, for whatever reason- but I will eventually find it.

Best regards, 

NothingLeft

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  • 2 months later...

Valkyrie

 

Ticklish

 

New Asgard, Queens Quarters

The Queen of New Asgard, the prodigious Avenger and a happily newly-wed bride, Valkyrie giggled with a clear note of haughtiness as she and her king, lover and now finally husband embraced against the wall. The heat between them was visible as Valkyrie placed her knee next to Loki’s hip. The God of Mischief, without even thinking, readily took hold of the supple, thick bottom curve of her thigh, hiking up the hem of her royal Aesir dress as his hand quickly moved for her ass. Valkyrie moaned and giggled simultaneously when Loki’s firm hand squeezed her flesh- half of his hand was on her heated, lustful flesh, but the other half’s touch was muzzled by the fabric of her underwear, which she felt so unanimously pleased and begrudged at that she couldn’t honestly tell if she was about to moan in pleasure or groan in disappointment.

But when Loki pulled Valkyrie’s pelvis into his and gently ground his firm, thick cock against a divet between the plump caramel lips that lay underneath the tight, red cloth of his queen’s thin-but-still-too-thick underwear, she wholeheartedly picked her former option. Loki grinned with a breathy laugh when Valkyrie’s throat let flow a harmonious, low moan that seemed to blow up the very room they were set in like a balloon. Valkyrie now had only one foot on the floor, the ten-inch height difference they both eternally lusted for made slightly more bearable by her tall, elaborately crafted Aesir heels.

Loki’s hands desperately grabbed at Valkyrie’s back, searching for the neck of her dress, a zipper, some buttons- just anything to get to more of her skin open to his hungry grasp. In tandem, he slid down from his lover’s hot, open mouth onto the curve of her jaw and further onto her throat kissing and sucking on the clear, unfettered light skin. Valkyrie sucked her luscious, shiny lips in as she moaned, allowing her eyes to flutter closed- had they even been open to begin with?- her thigh still pressed hard against Loki’s hip.

“My love… I think it time to remove-” as he spoke, he fanned the fancy material of her white, flowy dress in mild, building irritation “- this, hmm?” The hand he still had clasped to her butt massaged with a squeeze, teasing the heat that ached just inches from the tips of his fingers. She knew he felt it when she saw his eyes somehow dilate even further. The heat between them had, some time ago, melted her vocal cords, leaving her unable to say much aside from moans and gasps. 

Wordless they both were as Valkyrie strode quickly and shakily through the large hall, thanking the Gods that all of the citizens had departed to their homes again, as she could barely walk with the heat between her legs and she was confident there was a physical, inviscid boiling drip of her heat running down the silky surface of her thigh as her heels clicked against the dark wooden floor and bounced off of the tall stone walls. Through an ornate dark wooden door that was slammed loudly and hurriedly behind them and once again the lovers were caught in a hurricane of heat, passion and growing despondency as Loki took a fiercer hold of his Queen’s jugular, ripping a fuller, lower moan that rumbled her chest as it escaped.

Loki’s hands found their way to her ass again, though this time they were blocked by the fabric of her dress. He growled in irritation as did Valkyrie when her small, skinny hand found the bulge of her lover’s penis, still restricted by the black dress pants he wore. And a belt. And underwear- fuck, why were either of them dressed, this was infuriating! She was getting mad now, and the deafening cacophony of feelings around her and inside her were blurring her vision and thought, only furthering her madness in identical parallel with her vivacious appetite for the man she was now uncontrollably, almost violently grating against. 

The searing heat between her legs and inside her belly. The restlessness in her hands. The not-quite-enough groping on her ass. The varying suckling on her throat. The thick fabric on her body. The aching in her breasts as her nipples, sensitized by the desperate ache of need surging through her body, rubbed against the suddenly coarse fabric of her dress. The disembodied moans of both her and her lover. The sudden loss of control she felt as her hips ground against Loki with a passion so strong it could only be fuelled by the one deeper within her. Her voice was broken and incomplete as she begged,

“Just take off- I- please-” Even she didn’t know what she was trying to say at this point, but Loki seemed to as he fumbled to undo the belt that was around his thin waist, somehow managing to do it with his mouth never leaving the sensitive, throbbing tube that ran through her throat. There was a metal clinking and thick leather shifting before Loki sighed against her very bloodstream, sending the cruelest of rolls throughout her entire body. Valkyrie pulled back from Loki’s maw as she tried to see his manhood, smiling lust-drunkenly when it twitched under her gaze. It was still restricted under a layer of dark grey underwear, but a small, dark dot on the fabric eluded to Loki’s own true hunger.

Valkyrie’s smooth hands immediately pulled down the black waistband, and the large, veiny, reddening cock that twitched under her hot, ravenous gaze caused a manic flick of the Queen’s tongue to poke the edges of her shiny, inviting lips. Her brown eyes, heated with a most romantic lust, peered up from under her sleek, sensually heavy eyelids to the steely-green pair her lover looked down on her so lovingly with. A curt yet nearly wicked smile rested on him. The emotion she felt when his deft tongue ran across his lip caused her heart to all-too readily begin skipping more beats than it hit, hammering her ribcage irregularly but with the force of an iron-ball hammer.

“My dear… “ He began quaintly, though her ears did indeed pick up a decently weighty quiver- a quiver of excitement, and perhaps even a little bit of playful fear- and when she heard her byname, she thought her irises would overtake her scleras. She looked into his eyes, her lust evolving into a primal, insatiable hunger, slowly but surely the longer they stalled. 

Valkyrie slipped her slim, silk fingers into the waistband of her lover’s underwear, caressing the pale skin she found. His smile grew only more coy and excited, coaxing her further. She moved her hands to his front, and as her fingers brushed against his godhood she easily allowed her palms to curl around it. A green hue passed over Loki’s eyes, almost magically.

She’d been had.

Loki, the true Loki, suddenly materialized behind her, a very prominent erection also suddenly pressed against the soft, pronounced curve of her butt. The one before vanished with a haze of green light that trapped her against the wall. The sudden stimulation of his erection pressed against her caused a low, rumbling groan of unsatisfied need to quake Valkyrie’s body.

“Bullshit, that’s not fair,” She complained, her hands tense against the wall, nails scraping with desperation, desperation to quell the beating, burning need broiling within her guts. It was tightening with each and every of his thunderous groans.

“You didn’t listen- I asked you to remove it and you didn’t- you just… had to drag it out-” the way he held his ‘h’ with a hot, long sighing growl caused her heart to discernibly stop, her core running and very nearly overflowing with magmatic juices “- I had no choice, Val…” The woman underneath sighed in agitation. She was going to, but she had priorities, dammit. Though, as Loki’s hand caressed her side, she was struck with a sudden fear. Her throat suddenly caught up and she released a breathy, low gasp. She heard Loki chuckle and felt his hand again, this time closer to her side than before. 

“I… Don’t,” She threatened, but the sheer sexual desperation in her face forced all of the bite she wanted to inject to remain in the ball in her throat. Loki leaned in closer, pressing himself against her sleek body. His erection was laid between the curves of her butt, but the sensation was muffled by the poofy fabric in between. Now both hands were teasing her soft sides, threatening her with something she viciously hated.

The Queen of New Asgard was very ticklish, especially when she was aroused, as every sense in her body felt dialed up past anything she usually felt.

“Hm. And what if I do…” He paused and ran his hands with a feather touch down to clutch her hips. “My dear?” The tone was salacious and positively filthy, certainly unfit for the ears of the New Asgardian rulers, yet Queen Valkyrie felt her mouth grow somehow warmer and her pussy impossibly more inflamed. Without thinking she responded,

“Neither of us walk for a week.” The statement was final and definitive, yet her tone and a hunger-laden whine near the end when Loki ground his cock against her made it seem more a prophecy than a threat.

“No... That sounds fun, and you know fun tempts me... almost as much as this does,” he moaned, his left hand moving from her hip to her tummy, stroking it carefully. He slowly moved down and brought the mountainous fabric with him as he pushed against his queen’s heated entrance.

“Please,” Now she begged, her sexual desire regrowing in her tone. He sighed with a smile, but devilishly slipped his hands up her ribs, creating a spasm in the Queen’s abdomen and a girlish giggle that was quite out of her character.

“Loki!” She yelled through an involuntary smile, her voice strained and angry, but the rest of her body traitorously quite opposed in a slew of ways. This wasn’t going to end well for either of them, Valkyrie silently swore.

Though, if she knew what was about to happen, she would easily take that back. But for then, for that night, she did not- especially when she managed to turn the tides on her tricky husband- despite his salacious and confident promises of vengeance.

The Next Day

God, her thighs were sore. Not horribly, but the inner muscles felt an amount weak and strained from last night’s events. She wasn’t arguing in the slightest- the warmth that still held deep in her tummy, the glow that clung to her exposed skin, the smile that was constantly on her face, the dark purple and lightly throbbing blotch on the curve of her jugular and the wobble that had been in her walk earlier that morning told everything without a single word.

There was sex, it was rough, she was pleased. The sun beamed down on her, her people and their land gloriously, signifying their grace, their resilience and their might. Granted, they weren’t as mighty as Asgard may once have been, but they remained, refusing to ebb in the face of time or any brutal, bloody hardship.

Valkyrie wore distinctly civilian clothing- a black, longsleeve shirt with a yellow sleeveless waterproof vest, black slacks and knee-high rubber boots- which helped her not only integrate herself with her people- she believed that to be a good leader, she must know the struggles of her people, and she was damn intent on being the best leader she could be- but also be as helpful as possible in the dockwork her people did so diligently. 

Now, she stood amongst her people on the docks as they reeled in their fishing nets- made out of thick but biodegradable rope- hauled in traded goods, wheeled out the hauls on carts to the people in the city square of New Asgard and whatever else the people needed done. She helped where she could, wherever there was room to help, and she had been since early that morning. It was now just past noon- with the sun shining down blissfully, fueling their efforts- and the Queen felt… Good, productive, helpful, all she wished to be when she took on the role of Valkyrie so many centuries ago. She breathed a deep sigh, the unique aroma of her home of over six years now deeply familiar and comforting.

The salty scent of the sea. The somewhat rancid smell of fish. The crisp smell of evergreen trees far leeward. The refreshing scent of cool glaciers far, far away but brought by swirling ocean currents. Norway. It was beautiful, in some ways far more than Asgard could ever hope to be.

“My Queen, a beast’s come in from the boat lure! Deep sea, my Queen- it’s a fighter!” One of the fishermen called to her from a group, handling one of the large nets that were cast into the vast ocean before them. The net seemed to withhold something quite strong- so strong, three Asgardians couldn’t reel it forth. Valkyrie smiled as she jogged to the net, taking one of the leather handholds in either of her skilled, calloused hands. With a nod to what seemed to be the impromptu leader of the group, there was a countdown from three to one before they all gave a hard, collaborated pull. The extra manpower pulled the net in and the four used the momentum to continue. Through her exertion, Valkyrie shouted to some others,

“Hooks!” Three others, wielding thick metal hooks tied to long, half-foot-thick rope began twirling the hooks to build up speed. A few moments later, the three sharp hooks were sailing overhead before landing squarely into the lattice of the net, catching and holding taut. The Queen straightened her stance and tightened her grip for the strain to come. 

“Heave!” One of the hookmen shouted. All seven- four on the net and three manning the hooks- began pulling as hard as they could to reel in the mass within the net. Valkyrie couldn’t yet tell what was within, but it was something big. Perhaps a large school, or even a single, very large creature. The Queen, as well as her people, began to grit their teeth from the effort. The net, slowly, began to come closer to shore, but whatever was within was not coming in at all easily. But it was near enough to the shore now that something could be done to ease the struggle.

“Tranks!” The net-leader shouted. Finally, another Asgardian came, wielding what seemed to be a harpoon launcher loaded with what seemed to be a large needle. There was a pressurized blast of air when suddenly the struggle of the beast beneath the surface increased tenfold. Valkyrie and the other three netmen shouted as they were nearly yanked off their feet. Were it not for the Queen’s quick thinking and swordsmanship- as her invincible Dragonfang plunged into the sturdy, immovable dirt- the net would have flown away with the beast.

But now, the Queen felt like her shoulders were to be ripped from her body. Her face was twisted in pain and effort, one hand gripping the rope and the other handling the Dragonfang’s hilt. Her face hardened further as she bore the effort with a combined cry of pain and exertion.

“Ropes!” The leader shouted. Valkyrie heard wild shuffling before her effort suddenly became much easier to manage. The three others manning the net retook their leather holds, easing the load the Queen had to bear. She dug her heels into the dirt and sheathed her blade before retaking her right-hand grip on the net. The leader announced another heave, for which Valkyrie stood again. The seven men and women gave one last, torrential pull. Suddenly, the beast stopped moving, much to the thankfulness of the Queen and her six netmen. However, they were still pulling with all of their combined might, which accidentally yanked the beast entirely onto the dock. A giant, fish-like creature- black, slimy skin covering the main body with a white underbelly and a white portion over the eyes that made them seem far larger- slammed onto the wooden dock like a slab of mud. The creature had the harpoon-needle just plunging the flesh behind the dorsal fin atop its body, barely piercing the layer of blubber and therefore hardly fatal. Within the needle was an incredibly potent tranquilizer to make reeling in large catches, such as this beast, easier.

The Queen panted lightly as she dropped her grips of the net alongside her other netmen. She knew this creature, it was an uncommon but recurring pull from their deep-sea lures. Among torrents of herring and the occasional minke or humpback whale, these “killer” whales were sometimes the largest- this one seemed above average, perhaps the length of nearly four grown men- and its species were some of the most bountiful catches they could secure on their ports.

The beast lay there, salty water spilling onto the dock as the Queen brushed rogue locks of shiny chocolate hair from her face with raw hands. Her people looked to her for confirmation; would they keep this, or throw it back to the ocean and hunt for something else?

“Good. Keep it- shit- and, y’know… Harvest it,” Her brain failed to think of the proper words as something else, something a little more pressing came to the front of her mind and her priorities. All that heaving, all that effort and all that strain brought up a necessary function of her life.

Her bladder. 

The people set to work on the beast as the queen turned to a path that led to New Asgard’s main square. Her need was manageable, certainly, but the exertion of the beast’s resistance had an unusually powerful effect on her control. Valkyrie breathed a shallow, tight-lipped sigh as she began back. She waved as her people sparsely moved to and from the dock under their agendas. The ones headed to carried rods, others paddles, some groups even hauling boats and canoes to help the fishing effort, while the ones moving away wheeled shallow carts of fresh herring, trade goods and lumps of fresh whale meat from other catches for refrigeration or packaging.

The Queen paused for a moment and looked over the dock, full of working Asgardians. She felt a swell of pride in her chest as she truly digested the fact that, among everything else, she had helped these people rebuild, she and her King Loki had rebuilt, with the people of Asgard as unbreakable walls, a great nation that was destroyed by unpreventable forces set in motion millennia before they could even be realized into something that not only existed for the sake of existence, but existed in spite of every antagonistic force ever plied to them. She was proud. Proud of herself, proud of her king, but most proud of her people.

Oh god,’ she thought to herself, her bladder swelling against her tummy and pressing against her organs with a pinch, ‘How did I get so full?’ Another swell coursed through her being as her bladder pulsed under her belly. Valkyrie bent at her knees, her feet turned in as she rested her palms on her thighs. Oh, it was getting worse, she couldn’t be staring at water right now, not with her bladder aching like it was. She turned on her heel to move to the square, but as if fate hated her…

The path to the square was a hill. Not a brutal one at all, but it was a sure slope that would affect her gait. The queen felt her throat bob unconsciously with a slight disquiet, but she furrowed her brow. Her need wasn’t that bad, and even if it was she would not be defeated by a measly hill, not after the crime ring after-party, not after everything that had happened over her life. 

She began her trek, doing her best to not pay any mind to the large ocean to the left of her view. But, every second that she tried her best to not see the bobbing, calm, flowing ocean right next to her, the more it seemed to rise and overtake the horizon. The sky and ocean were very different colours- the sky a clear and serene light blue that brought her peace and calm, but the ocean dark, hazy dark indigo that seemed to be bottomless which brought her deep feelings of worry, light distress, but also… Flow. The ocean bobbed against the skyline, waving and dipping as the waters moved with the swishes of fish deep, deep within and winds from distant, distant air currents, ocean currents and breezes. Flow… 

The Queen, only a piddly- no, no that sounded like puddle which is a thought Valkyrie couldn’t bear to think- halfway up the hill, had to stop in her tracks, again bending at the knees and pointing her feet, her hands inching closer and closer to the point she so hoped stayed dry the more she desperately- oh god- tried not to think of the… churning, swirling… flowing ocean next to her-

She groaned through her teeth as a hand actually moved to her slack-censored crotch, squeezing herself to add pressure her urethra refused to offer. All of her mind was making her need so much worse when it really shouldn't have been all that bad. She stood there- thankfully, the traffic of the hill had ceased for now- clasping herself so shamelessly and trying not to let her mind overcome her will not to… fail. 

Minutes passed as the Queen struggled to stay upright, groaning to herself. The flare was slowly, slowly subsiding, but the pulsing against her intestines that pushed up and against her stomach was disorienting, painful, catastrophically familiar. No, this would not happen again, she wouldn’t allow it. She grit her teeth- similarly to how she did holding the rope that had enabled all of this in the first place- and stood, powering through her wobbles and cramping spasms. It was getting worse, and she knew the more she stood around the worse it would get. She had to move.

She had to go.

She willed herself, moving all of the strength it didn’t take to walk into her bladder, hopefully fortifying it thoroughly  enough that she could make it… Somewhere. Hel, if she got into the square, at least there she could peek behind a building, find a dense shrub or even dart into the forest, but on the trail, where everyone could see her Not an option. So, struggling to regain her mind, she placed one of her feet in front of the other while also keeping her thighs painfully clenched, for she felt if she didn’t there would be… evidence, if not a disaster. Another sturdying puff of air and Valkyrie managed another, more confident step forward, still barely able to separate her thighs- remarkably, her thighs aching and clamping from last night seemed beneficial instead of detrimental now, how the tides- oh goddamnit!- turn sometimes. She smiled through the aching, throbbing sense of her filling bladder at her little revelation before she tightened her thighs, willing her bladder to recede for just five damn minutes. Just enough time to make it up the hill, please.

She managed another step, breathing hard with the effort it suddenly took. Then another, the pressure equalizing and becoming more supportable, just… very slowly. Another, another, another and another until, this time, the step she took was daring; a larger, longer  one that required her thighs to separate more cohesively, seemingly a test. Luckily, the pressure had backed down to a point where she could walk almost normally, even if she had to bite her lip harder than what felt comfortable. She smiled and laughed deprecatingly when she felt a slick, hot bead of sweat roll down the back of her soft, strained thigh and into the cave of the back of her knee. This, this- walking, something so simple as bloody walking- was making her sweat? At first, it sounded ridiculous. But, when she considered just how much… cargo she carried, it seemed to reason itself out. Another deep sigh, and with tears of effort barely lining her vision, Valkyrie hardened herself. She was just over halfway now, she was so close.

Breathing heavily and fists clenched so tight her knuckles were going between caramel, yellow, pink and white within seconds of each other, Valkyrie pushed her clenched, locking, tired, aching and straining thighs to push her, she pushed her feet off of the dirt ground, she pushed every muscle in her leg up and forward. Still no one passed her as she did, thank the gods. She dully heard her small feet podding against the dirt compacted so thoroughly by use as blood rushed through her ears and heated her chest with conflicting determination, anxiety, worry, self-assurance and pure will to make it. She nearly fainted when her foot hit the solid, flat ground of the square. She had to bite her lip nearly severingly to keep from laughing to herself. She was going to make it dammit- despite the forces that worked against her! She just needed somewhere private, unpopulated and discrete.

Fast.

The Queen crossed her legs tightly and put her hands on her hips, dedicating almost all of her energy to resist the primal urge to bounce, dance and fidget against the need to… Go. Even with all her efforts, though, she felt her right leg jiggle against the left as surges of desperation and need surged through it from the tight, coiled ball of boiling magma just under her stomach. A blast of panic from the swelling balloon surged through her, causing her legs to lock up further, forcing her to bend at the knees and push her butt out. The surge also caused her hands to tense up and grab the rough fabric of her slacks in a throttlehold sheerly to resist jamming them into her warm, vain and so-far-dry thighs.

This needed to happen now.

Valkyrie didn’t even bother to right her stance- she was confident that, at this point, she really couldn’t- and began panickedly searching the square for something- anything- that had a bathroom that wasn’t someone’s house. Her options were slim- the general store, the meat market and a fishing shop. Nothing that advertised a bathroom and she wasn’t sure she would be able to check to see just to find out there wasn’t one. What had once been a small calling was now true desperation; sweat was beading down her precious, shaking thighs and ever so gently down her forehead, rolling down like the liquid just inside her precious opening so longed to do with a bitterly forceful pressure. Her hands still held her slacks tightly in their iron grip, refusing to let go as if her hands would keep her bladder from erupting. Her teeth were clenched tightest of all, painfully grinding her teeth back into her head.

Nothing, nothing, nothing! Holy shit- fuck it!

With all the speed, power and control the Queen of New Asgard had left in her shaking, desperate and near-collapse body to dart from where she stood to the closest houses. When New Asgard had been built, the first thing that was considered was compactness, so the houses were built rather close to each other, with enough space for fences between properties, allowing- albeit somewhat limited-  privacy. The houses she darted between were somehow, magically empty- the right house contained no one, as the previous owners had been wedded and moved to another home, and the left house’s inhabitants were down on the docks. 

As she almost collapsed against the house, Valkyrie finally allowed herself to crumble. He hands released her slacks and took a vicious, violent hold on her crotch, clamping down hard on the only exit her bladder had short of exploding outright- which felt very possible now. She let out a garbled mess of sounds; part moan, part groan, part laugh, part sob, part gasp as she did, her thighs trembling helplessly as they resisted the flood she held so passionately within her.

Her hands crept up from her clothed vagina- though a desperate, warning beat of her bladder drew a sorry, sob-like pleading mess of a noise at their absence- to the button of her slacks as they desperately tried to flip the damn button out of the suddenly-far-too-tight slit. She moaned in worry as her thighs shook, her leg bouncing just to try to ward off the flood that was coming, it was so fucking close, just please, let her get her pants off first!

As she struggled, she failed to hear light and plotted footsteps creeping up beside her bouncing, desperate figure. In a fit of sudden rage, Valkyrie peeled herself off the wall and unwittingly turned her back on whoever approached. She moaned again but this was fused with a desperate gasp of success as the button finally popped out of its hole. Her hands shot to her hips and into her slacks and the hem of her dark underwear before madly trying to ruff them down.

Suddenly, two pale and thin hands latched onto Valkyrie’s sides, causing her to gasp and squeak in surprise, jerk her hands out of her pants so hard they almost slapped her in the face- the waistband of her jeans and panties only on the breach of her hipbones, her lusciously dark hair peering from over the band with a tease of the soft, serene lips were buried beneath her healthy patch of thick hair- and, devastatingly, a healthy leak to eject from her with an inaudible jet into her clothes, dying the lap of her slacks an even darker shade, sheening where the liquid trickled further down her thighs. With every ounce of strength she had left- which wasn’t much, rest assured- she halted the spurt, but the damage was done; there was a dark

But, the hands didn’t retract. With a hellish, accented and deep laugh, the hands suddenly tensed and began spasming against Valkyrie’s soft, smooth sides. She squealed loudly, followed by a cacophony of giggles, harsh gasps and desperately sad moans.

Before Valkyrie could turn around and murder whoever was doing this, before she could move- before she could even process her next rapid, laughing breath- all the sounds now encircling her spasming figure were joined and trumped by one that, had she not been laughing uncontrollably, would have petrified her. A steady, violent hkkk, like running water against hard fabric.

 Oh no.

Through her giggling and against the tickling that was still assaulting her, Valkyrie managed to look down to her crotch, tears flooding the bottom of her vision. 

Her vagina, exposed to open air thanks to her squirming, was hellishly funnelling hot- what seemed to be steaming- urine into her panties and the slacks that contained them. She felt her thighs grow hot, she felt searing drops, rivulets and rivers burning her flesh away as they flew down her calves, tickling her ankles before pooling both in and around her boots. Had she not been under a vicious attack that kept her laughing, fitting and squirming, she would have been mortified. Horrified. The tears in her eyes would be genuine, not forced from laughter she had no reign over. Her sides were electric, sending unpreventable signals dancing through the rest of her body- and they seemed to all be designated to both empty her bladder as soon, hard and loud as possible as well as short-circuit her diaphragm, making any rational breath impossible. 

Finally, Valkyrie managed to wrench out of whoever’s grasp she had found herself damningly caught in, turning towards whoever it was but still giggling and shaking from the laughter. Her stream didn’t stop, it didn’t even stutter, it just continued flowing down her legs and onto the ground around her. Her panties were entirely dark with hot liquid and soaked through, her boots flooding already- hell, even the shirt she wore had caught some of the splash from her violent jerking. The hkkk didn’t relent any more than its source did- which, was to say, not at all- and the Queen couldn’t help but laugh and shiver at what was happening. Through her gasps, she managed,

“Oh- oh god, fuck!” Her knees caved inwards and her feet turned in, but the flow only followed her legs, sometimes arching from one fold in her slacks to another. But, despite the giggles and the pain and mortification under it, Valkyrie felt her eyelids flutter closed for but a moment, accompanied by a satisfied moan.

The pressure that had been compacting her tummy so intensely was quickly flooding out of her and into her clothes, amidst her noises and conflicted emotion. It was quickly leaving, quickly allowing her organs to relax. The feeling that grew in her torso as her bladder was squeezed dry could only be akin to a soft, gentle orgasm. Another moan left her lips, followed by giggles, and Queen Valkyrie couldn’t help but embrace the feeling, running her hands through her hair and tangling them, allowing them to rest there. Her head tilted back with a soft, long moan as she pushed hard, just wanting to get this travesty over with so she could kill her attacker with a slight shred of dignity. The hkkk, as violent as it was, grew harder, into a sound that lacked description. It was loud, almost as loud as the Queen herself. It was beyond violent, to the point she thought her slacks would have a hole in them. But, much to her shock, the sound was so intense, so hard, that it aroused her. She opened her eyes, her breathing erratic as she finally got out her last few giggles. Though, as the surprise from the tickling ended, she was overtaken by the shame. Her neck erupted into flame as she looked to her crotch. It was still flooding, fresh piss bubbling in the valley of her clenched, tight, shivering thighs, but the pressure was beginning to die, slowly. The pressure was almost fully gone from her organs, and her bladder was beginning to get a different ache, this one purely of emptiness. It hurt, but not in a bad way. It hurt good

God, she couldn’t stop it. 

Another moan left her, this one almost inaudible as she bent her head back. The shame was harsh, but the pleasure she felt from the fast-enclosing empty and the relief she got from her bladder draining overpowered it. She mewled as she fell against the wall, the now moderately-pressured stream rushing down her left thigh, wrapping around the hot skin in fiery brooks and into her boot, which splashed as it overflowed, warm urine rolling down from the lip of the boot.

Loki was stunned. Truly rooted to the spot. This was not what he meant to do. He thought he’d get the revenge he swore so sweetly the night prior by forcing her to become complete putty in his hands, but this… He couldn’t stop staring as the hot, hot liquid ran down his Queen’s soft thighs before pouring into her slacks and funnelling down her pant legs before bubbling over the lips of her boots and streaming down to the dirt she stood shakily upon. Despite what he wanted to hope to think, he did notice that Valkyrie seemed to… she seemed to be enjoying it. Perhaps not the...accident, but she was enjoying some part of this- if the hazy smile that breached her face and the blissfully closed eyes she sported told him anything.

Valkyrie couldn’t stop another light sigh escaping her. The pressure disappearing was so enticing, so erotic, so vastly different; the liquid and pressure flooding from her body as opposed to the embarrassment flooding into her. Both were so warm- not just warm, hot. The embarrassment was burning her spine, like a string of pure flame was running up and down her gentle, electrified spine, searing her bones with its everlasting imprint.

But the urine that was still gushing out of her with wet, bubbling gurgles against her folded and shaking flesh, running down her leg and setting her skin on fire, was boiling. Heated past any temperature that was attainable through any other means, now rushing from her tired, aching, weakened and so arousingly empty bladder to where it shouldn’t ever have been.

They were both silent- Valkyrie with a soft, absentminded half-smile and Loki with stunned, wide eyes- for the long, noisy seconds that were filled to the brim not with speaking, but rather two sets of intoxicating, deafening pattering; one set was the pee spraying directly into the taut fabric of the queen’s pants and panties while the other was the warm streams running down every fold, every dip and bump in the wet, dark fabric. Every stream glittered a light clear-gold in the soft, rare light that managed to seep into the passageway the king and queen were tucked within. The stream was slowly dying now, the flood that once was, now a decently-pressured rush pouring from her soft, shiny pink lips, bordered by the dark, meaty flesh of her crotch and the shiny, curly thicket of hair.

Valkyrie rolled again the wall when the stream waving from her opening sputtered as she tried to clench her thighs, but they were too weak and almost gave out. She finally, feeling her thighs ache with tire, allowed her muscles to relax. Her shielded pussy emerged from the tight ‘v’ her muscles tautness had created, allowing the weakening flow to spread out over both of her legs. The narrow rivers of hot pee ran down her, passing through the overly waterlogged fabrics of her panties and slacks and into her boots, which already contained their own warm lakes of pee. What ever rolled over the edge of her boots just cascaded down into the slim muddy puddle that was growing around her. The hkkk was now a gurgling, messy hscch as it smacked the wet fabric below the soaked, dripping lips its liquid raunchily spurted out of.

Loki watched intensely as the stream grew thinner and thinner, staring shamelessly as it dribbled small orbs of glittering urine down wet tracks on his Queen’s thighs, catching glimpses of light in artistically perfect ways, like a painting created by a most watchful eye that caught every detail, every glitter, every dripping, steaming, thin stream of pee rolling down the soft, meaty caramel thighs that were still lightly shaking from the exertion that had gone through- first the fishing ropes, then the sheer will of holding back her flood and finally, the effort to limit her battering loss of control.

Slowly, the two stood as the flow became silent. Only the gentle trickling babble of small, thin streams dripping down her thick and well-muscled thighs and calves, with barely noticeable glitters of fresh-running pee peeking through her slacks. It was years, solid, dense, silent and tumultuous years before the stream, already thin, weak and bare, became soft, boiling drops rolling down, barely affecting the dark and water-dense fabrics or the pools in her boots.

The silence rang in Valkyrie’s ears almost as much as the ensuing shame did as the ache, deep and thick in her bladder caused the pleasure seeping into her tummy created a light and airy sense in her head, making her almost dizzy. She pried her eyes open, her vision blurry with tears of relief.

Loki’s steel-green eyes met her wet and earthy eyes, his filled with surprise, worry and  a slight bit of curiosity. After all he had just seen- caused, by accident- he had… just so many damn questions. Valkyrie’s lungs felt empty, breath stolen by the shame, pleasure and relief of her bladder’s unintentional release. As she looked to Loki, her mind’s airiness slowly began fading, allowing her mind to function through the mud her mix of emotions had created. The first thing that created a spark in her mind;

Rage. 

She cried out, her voice rough and tainted by a fading sigh of relief, and tried to dash forward in a tackle. But her legs were shaking, weak and fluttery, too tired to fully support her weight. She began to collapse, her boots sliding in the warm mud that was beneath her. Loki, sensing his wife’s sudden anger, dashed to her form and caught her, easing her in a careful, supporting grip. But, as both his arms were underneath her, she couldn’t do anything to repel a limp-wristed slap against his pale, sharp-boned cheek.

“You son of a…” She breathed out, her eyes hazy and clouded. She made a few more noises that sounded like they were trying to be more insults, but died on her relieved breathlessness. A few moments of her chest rising and falling passed, with Valkyrie’s butt dropping to the cool, solid dirt as she laid her tired body on her husband’s lap.

“Why…” She sighed, her eyes growing a little more angry with her question. Loki grinned sheepishly and moved a hand to caress his queen’s cheek. He wanted the surprise attack to be his sworn vengeance, but he hadn’t foreseen her bursting to pee. But, despite it all, despite her wrath he knew was well incoming, he felt… calm. From her moans and sighs, she had been desperate, and despite the somewhat rushed manner in which she released her balloon full of liquid tension, she seemed… Not happy about it, but blissfully relieved. Loki’s smile grew as he held his wife, his queen, his lover and his beautifully tired woman closer, thinking of just what to retort her with. He placed a gentle, feather-light kiss across her lips and, without any more thinking, whispered;

“Revenge, love. My beautiful, desperate revenge. I swore it, and I keep promises.”

“Dick.”

“Mm, that could be arranged.”

“You’re mean.”

“Oh, it’s not my fault you’re ticklish…”

Wow, it's been a while. Apologies, I'm working through a lot of stuff; my burnout, some personal stuff, procrastination and everything else that every writer ever has experienced. Regardless, off all of the negative shit that 2020's grand coronavirus dealt to the world, I can say that I myself have vastly improved in my writing, so... Nothing major in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, I promise I am working at this "series", just... At a sad pace. 

If you have a character you'd like to see have an accident, please feel free to request them- even if they've already been written for. If you have scenarios or something similar, you can also suggest those- or both if you so wish (as long as they adhere to the rules listed in the first post of this forum). If you have any characters that aren't already in the list of requestable characters, feel free to suggest them, and once I complete at least one piece for all current characters, they may be added to the roster.

Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed. This one was a messy production- I wrote sixty-five percent of it in about a single night- but the ending product is pretty decent, at least I think. But. regardless, thank you for reading and for hopefully enjoying. I probably won't be able to make another one of these for a while, so I'll say this now; Happy holidays, whichever you celebrate (and if you don't... I don't know, have a good day), happy New Year's, and here's hoping that 2021 is a bit easier.

Happy Holidays, All.

Best regards, bow to none, 

NothingLeft

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Since Vanessa was in the superhero-maker-chamber-thing and is Copycat in the comics, I like to think that offscreen she was also given some of that drug cocktail to see what happens much as was done with Pepper and might gain powers at some point. So, if you're still up for suggestions, what about Copycat's first day as a superhero (maybe even adjusting to having comic-accurate blue skin, white hair, and pointy ears - though I'd hate to see that in an actual movie, 'cause anything that makes you look less like Morena Baccarin is a bad thing!), with only Deadpool to show her the ropes, and she ends up wetting her costume due to some silly circumstance?

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  • 4 months later...

Jane Foster

 

I Don't Care!

 

Saskatchewan, Canada

“Jane, why does everywhere in Canada have something named after royalty?” Darcy asked from the backseat of the quiet van. She was lying across the seats on her back, throwing and catching a small remote for a device. “Is it because they were part of England?” Jane Foster, acclaimed meteorologist, expert consultant for the government agency, S.W.O.R.D and ex-girlfriend of God Of Thunder, Thor, sat in her van’s front seat, driving down a dusty, empty road in Saskatchewan after conducting a series of experiments around a lake in Prince Albert. Darcy Lewis, who was Jane’s assistant, colleague, best friend and recently-graduated astrophysicist doctor was bored out of her damn mind as she laid across the back seat of Foster’s van.

Jane was quiet for a moment in the driver’s seat, processing what Darcy had asked her. She looked into the rearview mirror to the other woman with a questioning stare. As if she sensed it, Darcy met eyes with her through the mirror. After a moment of staring passed, Darcy threw and caught the remote again before asking,

“What?”

“Darcy, America came from the British, just like Canada.” Jane’s eyes returned to the road, but it wasn’t like there was any substantial threat she would have missed- except for perhaps an animal, there had been several run-ins with those. They had just left Saskatoon, Saskatchewan from their two-way trip to Prince Albert, and were now headed to Moose Jaw, then to Regina to catch a plane back to New York. Needless to say, the Canadian roads were sparse- if not entirely empty. Out one window was a field of maize and out the other was a field filled with rolls of hay, freshly baled. If there was a “middle of nowhere”, this was certainly it.

“Well, yeah I know that, but at least we got our own independence. Doesn’t Canada still have to answer to the Queen, or something?” The woman responded, resuming her tossing of her remote. Jane mulled over the girl’s words, but didn’t get a chance to speak. “‘N, don’t answer that, that was rhetorical.” Jane just scoffed when Darcy sat up with another question.

“And how Canadian is it to name a place frickin’ ‘Moose Jaw’?” Jane smiled as she quickly thought of an answer to that.

“Probably about as American as it is to name a state ‘New Mexico’.” Darcy chuckled at that before flopping back down onto the leather seat of the van. “Where are we?” She asked, craning her neck, but not getting up, to look out Jane’s window despite the fact that the scenery outside hadn’t changed for over twenty minutes. Just the same rolling fields. Jane puffed a breath out.

“Uh…” To tell the entire truth, Jane only knew where they were going, but their current location? A road between two fields, but in a province like Saskatchewan that description was practically useless. “Saskatchewan? We’re on the road, but it’ll probably be another… I don’t know, two hours?” The meteorologist guessed. They had left the town of Saskatoon barely twenty minutes ago after a pit stop for a bite to eat and a bathroom break- of which Jane had to skip because her GPS had started freaking out for some reason- and now it was a long, long drive ahead of them.

“Two hours?” Darcy cried, the remote in the air loosing from her grasp and bouncing on her clothed, substantial chest before clattering to the floor. Her hands moved to her face, running down it as she groaned melodramatically. “Good god… Are we close to another rest stop, or a highway or anything?” Jane looked back to her GPS, but the machine was growing less and less reliable. Sometimes, the dot indicating their location decided to stop moving, to zip ahead or to the side or just move improperly. Jane smacked it somewhat softly with an open hand.

Now that did it, Foster.’

Just after her slap, the screen blacked. Jane's eyes went wide, not leaving the screen for a solid thirty seconds. Darcy, perked up from the sound, sat up, putting her weight on her palms behind her as she craned her neck. Her eyes took on a heavy glaze of disbelief when she saw what Jane had done.

“Jane… Did you just kill the gee-pee-ess?” The older woman shook her head, repeatedly opening and closing her mouth as if she had an explanation. Over Jane’s sputtering, Darcy answered her own question. “You killed our GPS. Jane, you-”

“Yes, okay, I didn’t mean to!” Jane sighed, tightening her grip on the wheel before her and resettling her eyes on the dusty Canadian road. “‘N besides, I know our way. Not like there’s many other roads to distract us.” Darcy, releasing another overly theatrical, overly sarcastic groan that held itself for several seconds, collapsed back onto the seat. 

“W’ll thank god there was a rest stop!” The woman cried, scouring the floor of the van for the remote she had dropped. Jane looked to the woman through her mirror, her brow knitting.

“What d’you mean?”

Darcy looked up from the floor, meeting Jane’s eyes in the mirror. “I mean that I wouldn’t have been able to hold it for two hours in that state I was in then- I was, like, on the verge there. Wha’did you think?”

Jane was once again speechless at Darcy’s question, indeed not quite sure what she had expected. She broke their gaze, subconsciously rubbing her thighs together. The break of contact allowed Darcy to find the remote she was looking for. Jane had an answer to Darcy's previous question, just not one she felt overly comfortable sharing. She had known Darcy a long time, she loved her dearly, but there were personal things even she didn’t need to know. Jane had a reputation with Darcy to uphold, as between the two of them, she was the more responsible one. The more logical to Darcy’s emotional. The straightforward to Darcy’s sarcastic and veiled. But, an encroaching realization threw much of what Jane thought divided the two of them out the window.

Unlike Darcy, apparently, Jane felt a dull pulse below her beltline. Not a throb, nothing much stronger than a light poke, really, but something that made Jane’s throat dry for a moment. Eventually, she would have to pee, and the sudden dense pull she felt between her hips noted it as something that may happen in the next two hours. Behind Jane, and unaware to her sudden blight, Darcy exclaimed in confidence as she grasped the remote she had dropped- it had tumbled under Jane’s seat- and pulled herself back up. She laid on her back, boredom suddenly growing in her mind.

Jesus, two hours. She really was grateful she had gone at the rest stop, because even then her need had been pretty damn bad. But another two hours? No, not possible, but thanks for asking. Her mind, on the topic of close calls, dredged up a story, and storytelling always murdered her boredom. And besides, Jane had to have gone at that rest stop when she hadn’t been looking, so this would be fine to describe.

“Hey Jane, did I ever tell you about a time I nearly pissed myself?”

Jane nearly swerved off the road, as even the barest mention of… an accident was enough to send her mind off the deep end. Her need was hardly bad enough to warrant worrying about an accident too fruitfully, but mentioning sure wasn’t going to put it to rest.

“Woah! What the hell was that, Jane?” Jane, however, was preoccupied in an attempt to regain her breathing. Her thighs had clamped together, despite her desperation being only moderately noticeable. Jane, thinking quickly of something, anything to explain her swerve, shakily replied,

“Oh, I, uh… squirrel, in the… in the road. She was taken aback by her sudden need, worried and now anxious if they’d make it to Moose Jaw in time for her… need.. “And no, Darcy, I-I don’t think so, but-”

“Oh, w’ll it’s a good one.” Damn you, Darcy. Jane sighed when she acknowledged that there was no stopping Darcy when she wanted to tell a story, it was something she had long become accustomed to. So, she settled for moving a hand from the wheel to just grasping her inner thigh, hoping the story didn’t revolve too much around needing to pee.

“Okay, so, S.W.O.R.D. called for me and this eff-bee-eye guy- who was older than me, but still really cute? Like, he could do this cool magic trick, where he flipped his eye-dee out, that was cool. Anyway, so we had to investigate this weird energy signature in the New York ruins, right? I thought it was just residual Infinity Energy. But, it turns out, when Wanda nearly, y’know, won the whole freakin’ thing, she imbued the ruins with a lot of her red magic stuff.” Darcy leaned back in her seat, playing around almost cluelessly with her remote. Jane steadily breathed a sigh of, perhaps not relief, but something in that vein as Darcy continued on with this rather vanilla story… So far.

“So we collect samples ‘n everything, but then we have to go back and tell them what all our notes mean, cause they’re a bunch ‘a idiots. But, the road back, was way longer than I thought!” 

Oh no.

“So before we leave, he goes off to take a leak. I didn’t think the drive would be that long, so I, y’know, didn’t- and besides, I kindah wanted to stick it to the tiny-bladdered -eff-bee-eye guy.” From the backseat Darcy clasped her hands together and leaned forward, tucking the remote against her stomach. “Right, so we’re on the road, just making’ small talk an’ everything, when I feel, this… Like a wave come from my stomach, right?” As if on command, Jane’s bladder pulsed against her belt. She just sucked her lips in and nodded. “And I think ‘Oh, I, er, it can’t be that bad,’' Darcy paused, raising her hands to her temples. “I should’ve known I had to go, because my bladder-” she clenched her fists and spoke through her teeth, despite a laugh coming through her “- is really frickin’ small!" She whined a little bit with her words. "I don’t know what it is, but I just…” She sighed, collecting the proper words. Meanwhile, Jane felt her bladder worm against her belly, tapping against her conscience every so often, just to let her know that this was eventually going to be a problem. Of course, the GPS didn’t work anymore, so she could no longer find out where another rest stop was. Though, there had to be another, right?

Right?

Darcy found her words. 

Oh no.

“Doesn’t matter how little I drink, I swear to God it goes right through me! Like, I drink water, and it just drips right into my bladder, y’know?” Jane swallowed, looking into the rearview mirror to Darcy, praying the girl was finished, or would be soon. Jane’s thighs were clenched together, her urethra burning as the constant talk and thought of peeing and sweet release was making Jane so much more desperate so much faster than normal. But, to Jane’s despair, Darcy wasn’t done. Jane knew she wasn’t; Darcy, when she was bored, was a real chatterbox. And she seldom liked to drop topics before she well and deeply conversed most of it.

“What was I… Right- So I feel a wave from my bladder, but I felt so dumb for not going at the site- even though there wasn’t anywhere to go, I am a lady-” 'Yeah, sure, the most ladylike woman I have ever met'.”- so I don’t bring it up. I don’t wanna look like a douche in front of the eff-bee-eye, especially when I’m the one who wasted a chance to whiz.”

It then dawned on Jane, in a case of cosmically bullying irony, that Darcy’s tale and her own predicament seemed to be the same line. Like Darcy, Jane had passed up going at the rest stop, now finding herself in need of another. Underneath the heavy building mass between her thighs, Jane felt a hot streak of shame singe across the back of her neck. Jane wasn’t usually regarded as a shy woman, but she did have some ladylike standards, and she felt foolish for not considering her bladder earlier. How had she even ended up here?

Well… A bottle… No, two… Three? The hours had been a blur, she wasn’t actually sure how much water she had consumed during their little trip for research. But, when the van rocked from a thick stone rolling under the front driver-side tire, the heave and drop of her cautious bladder told her it had been enough to take up considerable space between her legs. 

“So,” Darcy continued, looking out the front passenger side window, “I sit in my seat. The road back to the big facility was quiet, we didn’t really talk much after I realized, so I just… sat there, and God, I could only focus on how bad every minute made it. Like, every pothole and rock, I thought I would just… burst, I thought I would just drench the seat!” Oh God. Jane’s jaw tightened, as did her thighs- as tight as they could with her foot on the pedal- at the mention of drench, at the torturous way Darcy dragged it out between her lips. For a moment, Jane swore against whoever the Hell invented the word. Drench. The squelch-y sound it had made her think all too readily of the squelch of wet fabric- which was a thought very, very unconducive to her objective right now.

Don’t drench the seat.’ She thought evocatively, though the mind’s pronunciation of the word created a dull, bubbling pang below her stomach. Snapping back to the present, Jane could only bate her breath, nodding to Darcy’s words. She didn’t want to cut Darcy off, she felt she had been snappy enough at the lake as it had been. But, she had been too nonverbal for Darcy not to notice something- for how often she seemed to be unobservant, she often proved the opposite quite a bit more.

“Mm-hm.” Jane mumbled with taut lips. “So, how did you… make it?” She chose her wording carefully, feeling her free leg jiggle in a twitch of building need. Her palm clutched her thigh a little tighter.

“Mm? Well, when we were getting close, it was getting really hard to hold it-” 'Oh god, don’t say that! That’s the worst thing you could say! Don’t say that again!' “- so I was getting really bouncy,” Darcy bounced in her seat, likely for emphasis. “Oh, but it was hurting by then. There was one rock, actually, where I felt a little leak out- oh God, I felt so embarrassed! He couldn’t see it, but just the thought of ‘oh crap, I just peed myself a little!’”

Jane’s eyes shot open, her knuckles cracking when they gripped the steering wheel. Her world slowed down, like the ultimate clock was being pulled back. The van was silent, Darcy had disappeared, Saskatchewan was a distant thought. Jane felt her pulse against her temples. In her chest. Behind her eyes. In her fingers. In her toes. In her tongue. In her hips, her bladder and her urethra. She felt her tongue suddenly suck every possible atom of moisture from her mouth and her throat. But, on top of all the senses she had blasting through her body, they were deafened by one silent sensation;

A spider-like tickle wrapped down her thigh, scalding wetness soaking into her panties as it pooled in the crease between her butt and the meat of her thigh. It hardly blotted her panties, never in a thousand years visible on her jeans, but Darcy’s words, the words that had so damningly sparked the trickle, rang true through the meteorologist’s mind:

Oh my god, I just pissed myself a little.’

Jane was suddenly slingshot back into her seat. Darcy’s voice reappeared. The whispering sound of her van’s tires on cracked, rough concrete. The sensation of moisture in her mouth, the seat on her back…

The liquid ever so lightly moistening her crotch.

“From there, I swear to God, my body tried to give up. Every bump after that, it was like being stabbed,” she spoke through her teeth, “and I’m pretty sure I leaked every other stab. Luckily, none made it through… In the van, at least.”

‘Darcy, please, I love you, but stop, please!’

“Finally, after feeling my lady bits heat up like a furnace, he stops the truck. He hops out, but I’m there another thirty seconds. Y’know, I’d open my thighs, and then Niagara. Game over, man. I get myself together, and slowly get out. I just… Couldn’t anymore.”

BAD DARCY, DON’T SAY IT.’ 

“I stood there, in the middle of a government-owned parking lot, my hands in my crotch as I try not to explode. I couldn’t move, I felt like it was right there, I felt like I was screwed!” Jane felt her bladder throb, Darcy’s vivid explanation only intensifying her need. “But, there were these big metal crates, real close together, but big enough to fit between,” ‘Oh God, Darcy, stop fucking talking.’ “I was barely holding it just standing there, no way in Hell I was getting to a bathroom.” Jane’s heart sunk at the words, hoping her eventuality would end differently from Darcy’s tale.

“So, I pretty much booked it.” Darcy popped her lips, folding her hands before her and suddenly becoming very fascinated by the remote in her lap once more, though she didn’t touch it. “Big mistake. The entire time, there was leak after leak. It felt like pouring boiling water on my lady bits, it sucked.” Oh, Jane only knew too well how much it sucked, as she barely stifled a whine when another leak sprouted from her slowly tiring lips. “By the time I got there, it already looked like I hadn’t made it.” The girl moved her hands, running them on the insides of her thighs to illustrate her words. “It was aaaaall down my thighs- and it was so freakin’ warm, my butt was on fire, and I swear my kidneys were drowning. By then, I couldn’t stop leaking.” Jane hissed, almost inaudibly, when a leak- longer and hotter than the others- pierced through her quivering defenses. Darcy was making her situation worse and worse, and if this kept up, soon there wouldn’t be a bladder situation for her to escalate.

“Y’know when you were a kid, and you would try and stop the faucet with your hand?” Jane cringed at the comparison, nodding through the constriction in her tummy. Darcy hissed through her teeth before whispering, “yeah, it was like that. So, pretty much already… y’know, flooding, I just shoved my pants down, and…” 

The moan that left Darcy, filled with relief as she flopped against the back of her seat. Her head fell back, her eyes closed in the sheer euphoria of remembrance. Her lips, shiny and red, parted, her tongue resting nearly dead still at the edge of her mouth. Her hands fell to her thighs, gripping the substantial meat with raking nails. “And god, the sound,” she emphasized, her eyes staying closed. With her mouth, Darcy reenacted a violent, rupturing hiss; wet, hard and relieving. Jane couldn’t stop it.

There was a violent push from her bladder, all too eager to mimic the sound. It was hellish, beyond all description except esoteric. Darcy didn’t hear it, but it was all Jane could hear. A thick, sultry, fervid squirt of molten urine splattered into the seat of Jane’s panties. But it was just a little too much. With wide eyes, Jane stared in boiling mortification as a dark spot, highlighted by an incandescent glow of light, suddenly soaked into the crotch of her jeans, widely seeping deeper and darkening her butt. A clench, harder than any she had ever naturally had to muster in her goddamn life, stopped what- perhaps once, could have been a manageable load- was now a writhing, searing, angry balloon of magmatic urine, spreading her hips apart like a god’s most intense force, with the intention of escaping her whether she was in the right place for it or not.

“Oh, god, I didn’ care that, like, half of it got on my pants.” She snorted before correcting herself. “In my pants, because I didn’t actually squat down or anything. I just… stood there, with everything out in the open as this lava-hot pee just… flew down my legs. The feeling of my bladder getting smaller and smaller as everything drained out, it was like…” The girl stopped herself with a blissed groan, pausing her words for a moment, as if she had almost said something she’d regret. “It felt really, really damn good.”

Jane couldn’t stop herself, her propriety collapsing around her as another leak threatened the cracking dam that was her exhausting urethra- which itself ached, tired of holding back what was now compressing all her organs. Her bladder was pulsing every minute, the sheer amount within it forcing her kidneys into her stomach, her stomach into her lungs, and her lungs against the back of her throat. Her left hand fell from the steering wheel to clasp itself against her crotch. She squeezed herself, no longer giving even a fraction of a damn about what Darcy thought. The pressure her hand gave her dampened gates was relieving, but the feeling of her palm growing hot and wet was vomit-inducing. Just as fast as it fell, her hand wrapped around the bottom of the wheel again, ripping away to fortification she felt her urethra burn without.

Darcy’s brow furrowed when Jane squeaked in desperation. “Are you okay, Jane?” The meteorologist couldn’t help herself anymore. She snapped.

“No, Darcy! Your… goddamn story is about to make me piss myself!” There was a quiver in her voice that stole all bite and prowess from her words, but the venom remained toxic. Darcy’s eyes widened and her frame seemed to shrink against the seat.

“I- what? What d’you mean?”

“I mean that I’m on the verge of soaking the… fucking van, Darcy!” The girl’s mouth opened with a question.

“Wha, already? Did you go at the rest stop?” The embarrassment of admittance crept back up on her, but Jane was too far gone to care.

“I… No, Darcy, I had to fix the damn-” she slapped the GPS “- thing! I-” A pulse came from her bladder, trying to usher out more of her boiling, turbulent piss “- mmm! No, no I didn’t!”

“W’ll Jesus Jane, don’t get snappy with me just because you didn’t go! Jesus- do you know where another stop is?”

“No, no I don’t! Oh, God…” She squeezed harder, her hands as tense as they could be against both the steering wheel and her throbbing, breaking floodgate. “Oh, god, oh god, oh god!” She sucked her lips in, her eyes burning as tears of pain began to build in the corners of her eyes. Jane did her best to keep her eyes on the road, but the pressure below her tummy was getting so distracting. Luckily, even though it was slow, Jane felt that, without Darcy’s inducing storytelling, her desperation was beginning to chip off of itself, slowly returning to a lesser sensation. Even with that, it was… Well... slow

Jane’s breathing was hard, nearly as hard as her grip. Said grip was one of such ferocity that it threatened to tear not only her clothes, but also the flesh- the same flesh that was growing hotter and hotter as the vociferous bubbling inside her thrashed and whipped at her bladder’s walls to escape. Her thighs, clamped like an oyster’s shell around her hand, were barely able to keep steady, the muscles shivering with a failing focus to keep steady. Her left was clutched to the seat while her right was painfully extended to keep the van moving. The sensation inside her was hard to define, even harder to describe. It was tense, but tense couldn’t quite describe it. It was hard, tight. Her muscles, the walls of her gradually diminishing bladder, her grip, her breathing, it was all hard. It was all tight, like all the muscles in her body had to focus solely on keeping her writhing urine from waterlogging the seat beneath her. It felt like her entire body, every atom that made it up, was in its own vice, squeezing every part of her to try and keep what was turmoiling within her just that; 

Within her.

But slowly, the magmatically heated piss broiling in the dense stone that was her bladder was slowly coming down from it’s boil, slowly backing away from its throbbing exit. The bubbling that once felt as if it were frothing against the backs of her eyes was lowering back down her body, but still weighed against her tummy. The line of her jeans was pressing perfectly against the hard surface of her bladder, in a way that pierced her flesh with a twinge of pain whenever she moved. Jane was quietly relieved when her desperation began turning down, but she hissed through her teeth when her bladder pushed against her organs again. Her muscles did their best, but the slightest string of pee surged out, teasing Jane’s clenched thighs with what seems to be a promised fate.

Darcy knows, there’s no point in hiding it.’ Her mind whispered, and her body agreeing all too fast. Her left hand- which she noticed, in some nebulous void of her mind, had never left her darkened jeans- clenched harder, as if trying to use the heat of her desperation to fuse her lips together.
though, a sensation now readily making itself known. She felt the burning, tearing claws digging in her bladder soften, but still wrack her taut urethra for escape. She still had to pee, and sooner rather than later was preferable, but for now, she could manage.

Hopefully.

Apparently, during her struggling, Darcy had been speaking.

 “Okay, okay. Just pull over, Jane!” Jane’s face lost an amount of colour at the suggestion that was pronounced more like a command. Sure, there were no cars passing on the road, but what if one were to pass? She was an acclaimed meteorologist that proves wormholes through time and space existed, she would not have some sordid fourteen-second of her releasing her bladder besmirch her reputation, Even if that didn’t happen, Jane admittedly had little practice urinating anywhere that wasn’t a toilet- ‘Excusing a few certain situations…' Jane shuddered as she reminded herself- and she knew with a solemn stab from her bladder that, if she tried, her jeans we would surely come out of it looking like she hadn’t even tried to save them at all. And, on top of this all, she had nothing to wipe herself with, even if she could avoid all other disaster. Simply put, there was just no way to just pull over, even though the idea of release was helplessly tantalizing.

Spch, another small splash of liquid heat rolling along the meat of her core. Damn.

To distract herself, Jane began squeezing her pulsing, tiring opening rhythmically, like a slowed heartbeat. Eventually, after a few moments of awkwardness, when Jane could feel Darcy’s eyes boring into her skull, Jane’s breathing fell in sync with her repetitious grabbing. In, squeeze. Out, let go. In, squeeze. Out, let go. It felt like it was working, like the rock that was gradually gaining weight from being trapped on the verge of escape was being lifted ever so slightly. A few minutes of her steady gripping slowly began to edge her desperation back, thank God. But, the more she did it, the more she ground away the constant ache of her rock-hard tummy, the more a horrifying feeling in the pit of her stomach took its place.

It has started with one of the strokes, and it was growing with every subsequent. Her belly was growing a second kind of warm, one she was mortified she was even experiencing. Her crotch, despite the warmth that seemed eternally radiating and the heat from what had unfortunately escaped her strained muscles, was growing warm. A deft stroke that she was sure she hadn’t performed made Jane suck in her bottom lip just a bit. Another, more daring stroke just to be sure the pressure inside her wasn’t driving her crazy, and she knew.

‘I think I’m getting horny.’ It nearly devastated her, but not enough as much as it baffled her. She then recalled a certain line of text she had read in many a smutty magazine when she had been younger, more uninformed of her own pleasure.

‘A full bladder during sex makes your orgasm so much better!’ She would have laughed to herself had she not remembered the line almost right after as well;

Just don’t wet the bed when you do!’

Jane swallowed a lump in her throat as the realization settled. She was slowly but surely getting turned on by the pressure of her steaming urine pressing against her clitoris, she was rubbing herself- only making it worse, no doubt about that- but she knew that if she stopped, her desperation would return. Perhaps stronger. Perhaps… Unstoppable, and that… Well, that just couldn’t happen. Not here. Not when driving, not in the van.

Not in front of Darcy.

Weighing her options with her neck inflamed with embarrassment, Jane quickly found her answer. She couldn’t stop, she couldn’t afford that. But, she had to pace herself better. She couldn’t allow her mind to dip too far into perversion and pool deeper into arousal- she didn’t want to know what would happen were she to accidentally climax from rubbing herself just a little too enthusiastically.

So, there Jane Foster sat, a small marsh of her own urine slowly cooling as it squished under her every move, slowly clenching her vagina to quell a raging sea of fire that bubbled and frothed within a stone in her tummy; and, to top it off, she was beginning to get off on it. In the face of pure shame, Jane stopped gripping herself, placing her now slightly shaking hand on her thigh. Slowly, the arousal that had come to bleed into her nether’s lips faded, leaving only the natural heat and the dying heat of piss. Slowly, slowly.

Immediately.

Immediately, Jane was whacked with it. Her legs clamped with a muffled clap- when did they part?- her eyes widened, her grips on the wheel and her thigh turned haggard and strangling, and the most devastating…

An audible, visible, sensible spurt.

The slight stain grew just a bit, the edges of her jeans’ urine-bridled creases shining, glowing in the Canadian sunlight as fresh, blistering piss seared her flesh, easily passing through her underwear as if it hadn’t been there at all- ‘No doubt now waterlogged, that might be why,’-.and the meteorologist’s only reaction was to reach back between her legs, grip her vagina with a vengeance and squeeze as hard as possible.

The sound that raptured out of her throat was an abomination, a melted, illegally-bred hybrid of so many different things; Pain, her bladder was getting to the point where the desperation wasn’t fake anymore, she actually needed to pee now, and holding it in was starting to hurt. Pleasure, the pressure on her clitoris was twisting her mind, reminding her just how good it felt to grab and stroke the sensitive, inflamed lips that were her only safeguard. Disappointment, as messed up as it was, the release- that brief, devastating little squirt of lava- felt so good, it was almost regrettable to stop. Mortification, almost the heaviest. She sat, in her van, in a back road in fucking Canada, in a growing puddle of her own fresh and cooling urine whilst her best friend watched, uncomfortable and disturbed.

“Fuh- Oh, god!” Her words were half strained, half moaned as she clenched her hands and her thighs as hard as she could, looking through crinkled and teary vision to keep the van on the road. Who she was speaking to was unclear, but Darcy was at least one of them. “I’m- fuck, ohhhmygod, I’m sorry Darcy!”

There was still wide-eyed silence from Darcy. She blinked, slowly and multiple times- as if she didn’t have half the brilliant mind she did. Finally, she heard her name, and that was enough to warrant an almost drunken response.

“Uh-huh.”

What? 

She was… So confused. And worried. She had… kind of caused this- though, with how bad it seemed, maybe this was gonna be inevitable. Whatever the outcome… Darcy was just… shocked. Shocked that a lady as uptight as Jane freakin’ Foster was clearly bursting at the seams with pee. It was weird, like she had fallen into the Twilight Zone. Was she asleep? Was she dreaming? Was this all some simulation- what the hell was going on? ‘I’m sorry Darcy,’ Still, nothing seemed to want to process. There was a wall in her brain at the moment. She blinked a few more times- four, to be exact. How did she know so exactly? Well, her realization came in just as many stages.

The first was that this was reality. This was actually happening, and Jane was actually, in real life, about to completely wet herself, about to have a serious accident. Okay, noted. Two; She, Darcy Lewis, had caused that, with a story how she had also, totally wet herself- though, not directly sooo… Three; They were in the middle of practically nowhere, meaning a toilet just… had to appear for her… Maybe? And four, the final layer of her reality; The accident was coming, soon, and she was just… watching. Morbid curiosity. Within her, Darcy was fighting a battle. A battle of her empathy versus her carnivorous curiosity. She wanted Jane to make it, she did. But, on the other hand… 

What would her reaction be? If she didn’t make it? Would she cry? Would she get mad? Would she straight-up pass out? The curiosity was killing her, slowly, and she was legitimately torn on which option she favoured more- she didn’t have a piss kink (she was… ninety-five percent sure, she was just really curious... and a little cruel, but a little's okay, right?) but… she just wanted to know. It was a curse.

“For what?” Her subconscious just barely managed to autopilot, despite the inner war.

“I- just, this! I… Oh, fuh- Jesus!” She was panting and breathing heavily, her hand tensing and relaxing around her crotch in a rapid and seemingly random manner. For a moment, Darcy allowed herself to wonder if Jane was doing that to quell the desperation or to quell a ‘lil somethin else. Jane moaned though sucked lips, bouncing herself in her seat. 

Like a robot, Darcy’s eyes unfocused, before honing in on something in the distance. Still with a blank stare, she grabbed the two seat heads in front of her and pulled herself forward, doing her best to get a better look. A small smile. 

“Mm- oh fuck, no, I hav’to pull over-!”

“Wait, waitwaitwait! Jane, there’s a stop, there!” Darcy’s small hand pierced through the van, nearly prodding the windshield as she pointed to a small,  wooden building blanched from the sunlight. She had seen an aluminum can wedged between the ruts of the rusted tin roof glint in the sun. Through her blur, Jane could spot, indeed, bathrooms.

Oh, thank God!’ She gasped in her head, squeezing her core in thankfulness. The tinge of arousal began to creep up again, filling her chest with uneasy and uncomfortable butterflies. ‘Release,’ was her mind’s only thought.

A bit too early, as a sizeable spatter of piss blew out of her throbbing, aching, sore, tired urethra. It lasted longer than what was conducive, growing the dark patch under her fist that Darcy suddenly watched with saucer plate eyes. The feeling of hot piss coating her hand was disgusting, but she was so close that she could deal with it, she could take the minor loss in return for an overall victory over her goddamn GPS.

Darcy didn’t return to her seat, staring at Jane’s pelvis with a twisted obsession. The closer she looked, the more she noticed fine, subtle details of Jane’s pure desperation; Her fist was obvious, as was the constant jiggling and bouncing. The dark spot was even more obvious, but Darcy noticed, under the brown leather jacket and the navy blue shirt that was tucked into her jeans- ‘oh shit, that might be wet too...’- Jane wore, and along the beltline of her jeans, there was the slightest bulge against her toned stomach. A very, very small distention, an itty-bitty rounding.

Holy shit, she must be so fucking FULL.’ Darcy mused, her mind’s voice sounding almost haughty at the thought. A particularly pained moan threw Darcy back, her neck fleshing red from below her own jacket and shirt. What the hell was wrong with her right now? From her position, Darcy felt the need to fuel Jane’s motivation, as if to convince Jane that she was cheering a victory, not a failure.

Which am I actually cheering for, though?’ She thought uncomfortably.

“C’mon Jane, just hold it a little longer. Y’can do this!” Jane laughed brokenly, halfway between crying and moaning in pain and pleasure. Sweat was beading up on her forehead from the sheer heat she was generating. Surely, the piss that was bubbling, foaming and sheerly seething within her could be palpable. Could she muster the muscle power to turn around, Darcy would be sweating as well. Her legs, the thighs were beginning to tire as the building that was her salvation inched closer. She could make out doors, doors on opposite sides of the same wall in a construction that could only be one thing. Her thighs were starting to tremble- and whether it was from anticipation of fully-fledged fatigue, she was close. So. Fucking. Close. The bathrooms couldn’t be more than two-hundred metres now.

Darcy, in a suddenly heroic leap, lunged forward from her seat and unclicked Jane’s seat belt. Without even thinking, Jane dipped and weaved her arms to allow the entrapping cable to fly at lethal speeds into its holster. Not a hundred now. She was so close!

Jane’s foot flew from the gas to the brake, causing the van to lurch and screech, leaving thick black marks behind them. Darcy had to brace herself, clutching onto the backs of both seats to stop from soaring through the glass before her. Jane gasped, moaned and choked simultaneously when a thick squirt Darcy could hear, throwing open her door with the hand that was on the wheel. She turned, but didn’t leap out. She breathed heavily, psyching herself and her bladder up. Slowly, she descended, tantalizingly revealing what Darcy had been so noxiously obsessed with.

Jane’s round, shapely butt- while Darcy was unanimously interested, sexually, in men, she couldn’t help but admit that Jane certainly had a body to be proud of- was stained dark and shiny, as was the seat below. Darcy felt the inherent need to look away, but couldn’t bring herself to. The darkness was like a swirling portal, and as Jane stepped down, Darcy saw another glimmer of motion light up Jane’s thighs.

She’s still leaking!’

Jane felt her boots hit concrete and her mind rushed with determination, euphoria and power. She could do it! She could make it, despite the darkness she already had warming her lap seeping into her soul. One shaking step after another, with a fist tacked to hard into her loins she could feel her knuckles leaving their imprint in her bladder itself, she moved. One foot, another. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right, left right, left, right, lef-

Sppchh.

Fuck it.’

Like a marathon’s first place racer, Jane began sprinting at levels worthy of Olympic gold. Her strides nearly as long as her whole body, covering so much distance she was sure to make it.

All the while, a dark trail dripped and dribbled behind her.

Jane collided with the building at speeds that nearly caused her to lose control then and there. With no shred of care left within her withering patience and time, Jane thrusted both her hands into her lap, clutching herself as hard as she could through her tight jeans. Her mind flashing with an idea she couldn’t resist in her failing mental state. She pressed as hard as she could and ran her hand up her core, harshing a moan from her throat. The pleasure shocked her system, her clitoris nearly short-circuiting from all the stimulus as she pressed singularly on the button of nerves that had to be glowing red. 

And soaking wet.

Jane threw her body to the left, towards the women’s room. She collapsed against a swinging door, but it didn’t budge. She pressed and pressed, but it just didn't fucking move. Through teary-eyed confusion, she managed to look up at a nailed wooden notice sign.

‘BURST PIPE,

OUT OF ORDER

-Apologies, mgmt’

No.

No, she didn’t battle pissing her fucking pants to be denied so easily. So, with the will of the sun itself, Jane heaved her weakening body off of the door, turning to the other. Her legs were shivering, bound to collapse in the slightest moment of errance. But, using the wall to keep upright, she moved, feeling another fiery splurt cascade down her thighs, her calves and into her boots.

“Jane, what the Hell are you doing? You can’t go in there!”

Jane suddenly bubbled with rage.

“I don’t care, Darcy!”

The push of her yelling.

Oh, god…

You can’t go in there!’

She felt dizzy.

Can’t go in there!’

Her head was spinning.

Go!’

Go.

Go...

Oh... Oh no...

Oh...

Oh, god...

Oh yes...

Oh GOD yes...

“I, ffffuck...”

It was hellacious. Jane collapsed, her knees tight together as the muscles in her legs finally gave out. She fell against the wall, resting her head as her eyes rolled back, the entire system being bathed in a concoction of ambiguous intoxicating sensations- almost all of them novel.

The first she found was the sharp pains, almost like her monthly cramps. But, the more she considered, the lesser they became. Alongside, there was a tickle, like a feather being rubbed along her most intimate parts. The cramp suddenly disappeared, as did the tickle…

Only to be replaced by scalding. Hot. Wet. Loud. Like a cup of water poured onto the floor, but more… Fleshy. Hissing. Brutal. She hazarded a look down. Spouting, flooding in her lap was dark. Her jeans’ fair shade of blade was rapidly turning something more akin to the deep ocean, with shining highlights bringing an angelic beauty.

Hkkkkkkkk. It went on. And on. Jane’s eyes fluttered, her head began filling with air again. Her breathing got heavier and heavier, like there was iron building in her lungs. Eventually, there were more sensations.

The hotness soaring and soaking everything in proximity to her legs- God, it felt so warm, so fucking hot- coating her calves, pooling around her with a symphony of distractingly beautiful noises. Already, her panties and jeans were beyond saturated, allowing the harshly steaming urine to just run through all fabric, collecting immediately into the puddle that was quickly enveloping her. The sheer volume of the liquid draining out of her widened, relieved urethra was drowning the red button that had helped prevent it in the first place. A button that just demanded to be pressed.

Still heavily pissing straight into her pants, Jane clumsily unbuttoned them- so clumsily that the button flew off into the void of nothing around her, Jane’s hand- the same she had plastered to her vagina, already soaked with desperately held urine- dove straight into her panties, stroking through the hellishly overflooding torrent of piss and directly onto the sensitive, swollen bundle of nerves. Jane opened her eyes to see it, hazily curious just how red it was.

Oh, it was red. Very red. And shiny. And the way that the urine, so shiny in the sunlight, glittered as it waterfall from her pussy was so pretty that she couldn’t help but giggle to herself as if she were drunk. But the redness of her clitoris- it was so desperate for touch, she could feel her heartbeat in it, which was fucking frantic- was too tantalizing to be distracted for long. Jane raked, slowly, her fingers through the boiling deluge, her head falling back, her eyes squeezing shut and her tongue lolling out just a bit with a relieved, horny moan as the piss splattered and sputtered noisily, not stopping its intensity though. Without a care, Jane ran rabid, fervent circles over the button with two fingers. The combination of her bladder deflating with such force, the absolute heat she had between her legs, the feeling of such euphoria and relief and now the spastic friction on her most sensitive nub drove her over the edge of the fucking cliff. 

Jane sobbed as she gripped her bare pussy, hindering the spray with an unholy sound that sent even more shivers up and down her spine. Her vagina’s tightening did next to nothing to stop the flow that still burned from her. Her lungs heaving, their weight draining out of her bladder with conviction, Jane felt every muscle she had weaken. Her head collapsed against the wall, her hand went limp in her jeans, still being doused with what blurrily felt like a slightly fading spurting, and her eyes repeatedly tried to flutter closed. Jane sighed in relief, her brain too fuzzy to actually comprehend.

The last thing her mind deciphered before she blacked out was a small creep of shame and Darcy calling her name.

She honestly didn't care.

Here you are, @LifeIsStrange, your requested Jane Foster piece. I'm sorry it took so long, I am legitimately trying to get help getting over my paralytic fear. If you're wondering why Darcy wasn't also included, I have a list of MCU women- and a few requested characters- that I'm considering adding after the fabled Line-Up piece is published. In the meantime, you can expect the requested Vanessa Carysle piece sometime before 2024- though I wouldn't hold out hope- to help get us closer to that goal. From there, I'm considering either Ava Starr or Emma Frost for personal projects- given no other requests come in. As always, feel free to request any character on the list, even if they've been done before, and any parameters you wish as long as they adhere to the rules. Regardless, I'm sorry for the wait LifeIsStrange, but I hope this pleases the readership. Anyway, I have some issues to sort, so have a good day or night all.

Best regards, bow to none, 

NothingLeft

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