#Reverse Waterfall | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eccentricallygothic · 2 months ago

Text

|| Wrong Turn ||

Pairing: Mountain Man Silver Fox Nomad!Steve Rogers | You.

Trope: Neat and clean ‘civilized’ Princess-like young trophy wife X Filthy beast of a wild and scary man who only got her because he has the power.

Description: In a desperate attempt to save your life from the wrath of the mountain people that your friends and you stumbled upon and accidentally killed on a hike gone wrong, you had to offer yourself up to their Leader to use as a ‘resource’. But little did your ‘husband’ know, you had been actively getting rid of his seed to avoid actually getting pregnant. Naturally, when he does find out, he is very unhappy… And also very determined to make sure you don't make it out of your punishment without a child, or two.

Warning(s): Dubcon, barbaric!Steve, breeding kink (gone wild), unprotected p-in-v, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, missionary, he has a wife bod kink (but it is inclusive), misogyny, smut with perhaps too much plot, fear kink, size kink, exhibitionism, possessiveness, jealousy, age gap, hair pulling, spanking, biting, allusions to painal and Steve being a teasing sicko about it but he doesn't actually penetrate, overstimulation, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, boob play, squirting, Lloyd makes an appearance with his own young bride, dacryphilia (it's me), self degradation, Stevie is a perverted old meanie, infantilization, mind break.

Disclaimer: Very loosely based off of the movie that I do not own. You don't need to know it to read this piece but do note that it takes place in a fictional setting. Minors do not interact.

Inspo-ish: This post.

Note: For someone who was on their period, I should not have been this horny. But I need this marriage, now. Ps, though this rotted in my drafts for a long time… in honor of Chris growing out his beard again, ig.

MASTERLIST

. . .

You have no idea how long it has been since that fateful twilight when everything changed in your life, leaving you to a lifestyle you could never have even imagined for yourself.

“Eat up, woman” but as your barbarian of a husband commands you in his rough and animalistically deep voice, you cannot help but break out of your reverie and shudder at the sight of the barely cooked meat piled high on the platter in front of the two of you. “So you can bear me healthy children” although you're the one who was made to prepare his beastly dinner -that never fails to leave you aghast when it's gorged down- as you're his wife, you cannot help but gag under your breath and feel disgust for the loaves that sit before you in the company of a tall stone carved jug that brims full of the foul smelling mead that your husband is ardently fond of.

You muster up your best coy smile. Keeping up the appearance of a happily mated pair is important. Or people stare. And then the old man becomes unpleasant. “I had quite a lot while I was cooking, dear” your lies sting your tongue out of the fear you feel of getting caught, but the mere hope of not doing so is better than eating this. “Y- You go ahead” you slowly turn in his muscle hardened lap, that you are always to sit on, to give him a small smile but your expression almost transforms into one of horror because of how wildly your heart jumps at the sight of his stern, predator-like face. You are quick to recover though, as it is a usual occurrence.

“You need it. You work so hard—” there is just something about his rough looks that never fails to send a chill down your spine. You have never seen anything, let alone an actual human man like him before.

A beard as thick as the very forest his people populate and as dark as the nights can get here in the absence of lanterns due to the heavy trees, age that streaks some of his gold locks with its silver has not marred the sternness of his jaw that remains firmly set under the heavy mane of his facial hair. His shoulders seem akin to the mountains that surround his village and his piercing dark eyes the mysterious waterfall that flows some way down south from the entrance of the settlement. The frightening mass of his shoulders is so toned that if the barely noticeable wrinkles that sometimes appear under the dark of his eyebrows and next to the crow-feather like lashes that frame his eyes, he can easily be mistaken for a man in his primeful late twenties and no older. His unrelenting strength and wolfish stamina would only further serve to bear testament to the misconception.

Your strict husband bluntly catches your shaky hand that you extend in his direction to feed him some of the meat, the force that he uses coupled with the coarseness of his skin making you jump. You bite back a yelp and whimper when you look up at his dark blue eyes from where you were watching his bearded mouth to carefully place the food in.

“I don't care” Steve does not care much for being polite -unless it is you who disregards it in your behavior-, especially when it comes to you denying or diverting his ‘care’ for you. “You eat more” you bite back the scowl that threatens to break onto your face from how he turns your hand around in your direction instead. “Wives always need to eat more. They do so much at home for husband and children” he probably feels proud of these ‘values’ that have been transmitted to him by his elders. But all they make you want to do is to crack him across the jaw for being a misogynistic and backward shithead. Especially with you.

Your ‘husband’ believes that everyone has a role to play; a contribution to make to their people and home. That is how this archaic village of theirs has survived in these mountains hidden away from the rest of the world for so long.

The greasy piece of a disturbing excuse of a rare steak touches your lips and you've been here long enough to know better than to argue or worse yet, fight. So you smile and lean into his arm that cases your form against his through the embrace he holds you in from behind, his fingers playing with one of the many flowered braids your attending ladies had put in your hair a bit before his arrival at ‘home’.

“O- Of course” you reluctantly open your open and grip your flowy dressing gown for a semblance of support for your sanity, taking the smallest bite you can -which is still a lot as the man pushes nearly the whole piece into your mouth the moment you open up- as you keep your eyes trained on his to avoid looking down. Your mind always becomes more aware of the taste when you look. “Thank you, dear” you focus on swallowing it without gagging and feel your smile split in places because of how uncomfortable you are.

He probably notices it because he slightly raises one eyebrow and snorts before hugging your smaller form -that is tiny compared to his- closer and puts the rest of the piece in his own mouth. If there is one thing you have learnt in your time with him, it's that you can never fool him. Not really. No matter how well you may think you have lied or pretended, he always sees through it.

Sometimes you suspect he even enjoys it.

Steve finally begins to eat himself, silently offering you another piece that you politely reject by shaking your head and then quickly pressing an apologetic kiss to his scruffy cheek to lighten the blow. Apparently, a wife can never be polite enough to her husband. And though the change in his expression begins with an unhappy frown, your show of ‘affection’ seems to suffice him and he relaxes in satisfaction, now looking down the long table and at his clansmen and maidens that sit enjoying their dinner, their chatter and laughter a dull roar in the large eating hall of the Leader's dwelling. You pick up the heavy jug of mead with both your hands and obediently hold it to his lips to sip from. Steve looks away from what one of his main men are saying and gulps down a mouthful, rubbing your back as a gesture for thanks before moving his hand quickly down to squeeze your ass to heighten the effect of his expression of gratitude.

His form shakes in mirth when you yelp and blush. He knows how embarrassing you find being openly ‘affectionate’ in front of people and that is one of the reasons why he enjoys it so much besides showing off that a thing of such beauty and youth like you is all his. You rest the jug between your boobs that he has fucked and squeezed into increasing in size and use your other hand to gently finger and stroke his golden locks that he keeps pushed away from his face outside the bedroom. Though he says nothing, you feel his usually vigilant and always firm stature slowly soften and you cannot help but smile, though what he says next quickly deflates it.

“Do you feel any change in you, wife?” You know what it means and now it's you who becomes tense. He only uses that name for you when he speaks to you as a husband inquiring about your marital matters. “Has my seed attached to your womb yet? Does it grow there?” You gulp and feign shyness, moving closer to his hair and nuzzling yourself in him. “Hm?” He closes his hugging arm around you and reaches for your stomach, fingers groping your covered skin as gently as he can -which isn't much- to feel it. “Answer me” he demands when you refuse to speak.

“I… I don't know, husband” you always promise yourself that you'll demand more rights for yourself; ask him to treat you like the other husbands treat their wives, only to fail the minute he enters your vicinity.

“What does that mean?” His tone turns blunt and you whimper at the tightness that snaps back in place between his shoulders.

You get it.

That was the deal, after all.

Healthy children in exchange for your life that was required by their judicial laws for bearing false witness to your friend accidentally killing one of their people in mistaken defense. Steve had promised you before accepting you as a citizen that if you failed to fulfill your task you'd walk the darkness in the dungeons. He had shown you how it would be before declaring you a member of their tribe and the sight you had seen was something that had given you nightmares for days.

But that did not mean you actually wanted to have your old captor's children.

You doubted it would ever be something you'd look forward to.

“I- I mean” regret shoots up your spine in the form of fear and you lose your speech to it momentarily. But then two of your main attending ladies -by that you mean Steve's top agents when it comes to you- enter the horizon of your sight and you hurriedly blubber out the first thing that comes to your mind. “I've n- never been pregnant before, s-o I d- don't know how to…” Your husband turns to look at you, his handsome features twisting into a rogue scowl but before he can scold you, one of the two ladies, Kaira, speaks in their language to Steve.

Not everyone here can speak English and those who do speak it do so a rather odd version of it. Naturally, you don't speak their language and so they give you the full experience of an outsider when they need to discuss the business they want to keep private from you. The thought makes you want to laugh, like you'd be able to do something with whatever informations they withhold.

But it doesn't really bother you, because you don't care.

You've also learnt that ignorance is bliss here.

Especially for someone like you.

Better to be the doe eyed trophy wife of an angel who can't tell her head from her ass.

“Is that so?” Your heart jumps when Steve chooses to speak English. That means that this definitely concerns you. You place the mead down and wrap one arm around his broad shoulders before nervously combing his thick beard with your other hand. Since you have no interest in or desire to learn their language, the only word you manage to pick up on when you focus really hard is ‘baby’ and that is solely because of the annoying amount of times it comes up for you.

“Is not this strange?” He speaks once the women step back after finally ending the nerve wracking conversation that seems to go on forever. “Do you hear what they say about you, little one?” Fuck, you're definitely in trouble.

He is reminding you of your place.

You put on your best charming smile but you're painfully aware that your nervousness gives it away. You can feel it. “W- What do they say, dear?” They were such bitches. They knew how to speak English, that's why they were your attendants, but yet they chose not to. And now they were glaring at you like you weren't above them— oh no, not these thoughts again. You will never become like them! No, no!

Steve pushes his plate away now. Your head spins from the realization. It's only half finished. Your husband never wastes his food. It is a near sin for them to do so. “They tell me the most odd things” oh just fucking tell me! You mentally scream but outwardly tilt your head to the side in confusion, your chest vibrating with the rising beats of your heart. “And now that I think about it myself…” His fingers wrap around the mead before he raises it to his lips. “I see the—”

“What did they say, Steve?” Your mouth works faster than your better sense and he pauses mid sip, dark blue eyes flickering up from the stone jug to look at you. Your face flushes a noticeable hot and your ears get sweaty from the awareness.

Fuck.

“They say you've been getting rid of my seed” he feels played and thus angry at the both of you. Perhaps more so towards himself than you; his silly little child-wife. How could he let a thing as tender and small as you fool him so? “... Do you?” It is obvious you are guilty. Besides, he is confident that his people would never lie to him unlike one young and beautiful girl that he had found kneeling in front of him in his court while bawling her eyes out one fateful night, fear stricken as his people surrounded him like a doe trapped.

And of course, your expressions and reactions don't help your case, as always. “W- What? No…” Your mind becomes erratic.

“No?” He himself knows not what kind of a chance he offers you with that. But typical to your nature, you make it easy for him by refusing it.

“N- No! Of course not! W- Why would I ever do such a thing to m- my husb- hubby and my b- babies?!” Steve has to clench down his scoff.

“You wouldn't, would you?” Your naivete never fails to amuse him.

“No! I- I don't know why they accuse me so—” you mend your speech from the archaic form that tries to leech to it everyday. “I don't know why they would accuse me of that but they must be mistaken! This is a misunderstanding!”

He hums. “I see…” His scarred fingers begin to toy with your braids again. “So you remain devoted to me and faithful to our family, don't you?”

“Of course!” You nuzzle closer to him, your heart thundering into his chest. “I don't know why they still treat me like an outsider” you purr as you nervously stroke his hair, playing a card of your own and making an absolute fool of yourself by doing so. “I try my best… like I promised.”

“Yes, your promise” his distant eyes -they get like that when you disappoint him and you hate the sight because it never fares well for you- travel down to your empty stomach. His gaze makes it wrench. Your fear skyrockets at the same rate as your anger. If only there was a way for you to get back at those bitches without having to give birth!

“I- It takes time sometimes, dear…” You hug his shoulders with one arm. “But it will happen. I know it…” Your other hand reaches for his fingers that rest on your abdomen now.

“Oh?” Steve raises one dark eyebrow at you. His hair is the most fascinating combination of blonde and dark brown. “Is that what your modern day sciences say?” His people were not always like this, he had told you. They did not originate from here. Rather, some families had abandoned ‘civilization’ when it was going to hell -in his words- by killing each other for meaningless constructs such as caste, creed and color differences and migrated up here to establish a system of their own; one free from such nonsense.

Apparently.

You take a deep breath. “Stevie—” you only call him that when you find yourself dangerously close to the dungeons.

“If that is what you believe in, wife,” he never cuts you off. Usually, that is. His age that streaks his blonde strands with its silver ones has granted him enough patience. Normally, he waits for the other person -who is most often you- to mess up themselves. But whatever the ladies have told him seems to agitate him into rebelling against his own nature today. “I'll do it your way. After all, happy wife happy life, is that not what you tell me often?” Okay, you might have said that during a particularly cocky moment in bed once.

But the intention behind that had not been nearly whatever he is moving towards now.

“Y- You don't have to, l- love…” You nervously giggle. “You're perfect the way you are” you run your nails that he insists you keep trimmed for hygienic -as if- and practical purposes through his silver-blonde hair.

“Oh no…” Now he pushes his food farther away. “I will indulge you, little one” he moves your other leg over his laps so now you face the people down the table with both of your legs on either sides of his, ass to his… fuck. “Time conspires against us, and so we must make haste.”

Your eyes widen and your heart leaps up in your throat. “M- My love?!”

Steve moves your flowy gown out of his way, keeping a firm hold on one of your thighs even though he doesn't really have to. Your fear of him would never let you attempt an escape. “Yes, my stars” the name is so full of sarcasm it nearly pierces you open. “Let us leave time to its devices, and us ours” your husband is usually a very possessive and private man when it comes to you, but his ire seems to get the better of him today. You hear the buckle of his own clothes come undone. The table goes silent and heads turn in your direction once they realize what's going on. Oh no… Your stomach drops. Not in front of everyone. Not when Steve makes you so vulnerable in that condition. Not in front of these lowlifes!

“Husb—” blood bubbles hot under your cheeks as you feel him align himself against you.

Holy shit.

You feel one of his coarse hands wrap around your throat and he pulls you closer to his mouth so he can whisper in your ear. “You will contribute, my stubborn little wife,” you whimper from the menace his words hold, your well trained cunt obediently squelching open against his thick hard tip as he lowers you on his cock with the hold he has on your thigh. “Whether you like it, or not” sometimes, deep down, you fear that the dungeons are not an option anymore.

He keeps you in the horizons of his sight too much for them to be.

It appears as though the sentence has changed.

It is now Steve, or Steve.

You cry out from the strain his log-like girth puts on the narrow band of your entrance. God. You will never get used to his size regardless of how many times and ways he tames your pussy in. Yes, it does not refuse him or rip around him now as it used to in the beginning -and it did that for a long time- but the size to which his cock makes it expand is like a mini-birth. Feels like it, looks like it. Only, it feels way too good. And that's why you don't mind it—

No. You don't know what that was or meant. But you don't take responsibility for that thought!

“Oh!” The balmy velvet of your cavern grazes down the bulging veins and hard skin of the brute's cock until your petals squish against his heavy and very eager balls. Your head spins when you feel his tip tickle your cervix. It never takes his dick long to find it.

His hands are pushing you back up almost instantly so he can slide you back down. You look anywhere but at the tens of faces in front of you, instead choosing to look at the wall on the opposite side of the table. You never thought these people were capable of being this quiet until now when your pussy makes an embarrassingly loud squelching noise as Steve tugs you back to his leaking tip and then allows gravity to suck you back down. You desperately bite your lips and try to focus on ignoring the way your insides are beginning to thrum with the excitement and stimulation; to show these brutes that you're better than them and aren't some animal of nature. But to no avail. His slimy precum mixes too well with yours, the rough skin of his hands digs into your thighs too well and the manner in which your petals rub against his cock when he lifts you yet again -now forming a momentum- before letting you slide in again is too much for you mask with nonchalance.

Indifference has never been among your strong suits.

“Tell me, my pretty” Steve begins again, his dark eyes now finding the young and hormonal pack of unsuspecting boys who clearly do not know better. “Have you ever had a cock like mine?” He says it in their own language so the foolish miscreants see, understand and learn the fact that you’re only his. You belong to him and he will go to war for you, not that a pack of rug rats will ever be a cause of worry for him. “Has anyone ever fucked you as good as I do?” He switches back to the language you understand, roughly fumbling for your jaw before he grabs it and bounces his hips into yours at the same time.

Your traitorous legs have begun to do what they always do; fuck yourself against him -if he hasn’t bound you, which he hasn’t- in whatever position he has you. You only realize that your breathing has become heavier when you open your mouth to answer. “Only you, my husband! Only you!” Your brain is running too fast for reason or reflection to catch up so you leave wondering why you answer him with the only words he has been able to teach you in his language to later. Your words are muffled as his fingers that grip the lower half of your face nearly slip in your mouth from the disordered urgency of the both of your actions.

“That's right” your mouth falls open and you begin to softly pant in that animalistic way that you detest when he makes you watch yourself in a mirror while fucking you sometimes. In your defense, it is always unintentional on your part; you barely even notice it while taking his fucking. And yet, it is inevitable due to the force he does it with. “Look at you; dutifully fucking yourself up and down your husband's cock like a bitch in heat” a twinge forms in your knuckles from how your fingers hold the edges of the table to aid the gliding of your fuck hole that now slams up and down his cock in a rhythm you're all too familiar with, the smacks of your bare ass slapping against his naked abdomen making appalling noises that you're too worked up to dread over right now. “And you're a bitch in heat for me, aren't you?” His fingers move down from your jaw to your throat. “Wanting to be bred over and over again until you're so full of my children that your little belly is round and heavy to the brim, hm?” In these moments, you tell him anything and everything that he wants to hear.

Steve knows it all too well.

And he loves it.

“Yes!” Your voice disappears midway from how he squeezes your windpipe. His hips meet yours midway now, the wetness of your cunt and the force of his thrusts causing for his balls to try and push past the tight boundary of your sexual cavern. “Yes! Yes! I am! Please!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when his free hand finds your petals to play with. “Ohhh!”

“You want to be bred, don't you?” He rubs your drenched pussy lips while his hard cock pistons in and out of your sopping cunt. “Want to contribute…?” He chokes you once more and this time his fingers pinch one of your pussy lips punishingly at the same time and you cry out. “Provide your husband with a house full of heirs?” The oxygen in your mind depletes and your eyes flutter as a result, cheeks turning red and nerves becoming prominent on your glistening temples. Your horny yet defensive pussy finally relaxes around him a bit so it doesn't hurt his dick and he savours the moment by holding you by the curve between your legs and fucking into your form that gets limp by the moment to push you towards your first orgasm.

It always gets better after that.

For him, at least.

You don't choke him out so much then.

“Y- Yes!” When Steve finally lets go of your throat to let you breathe, you blubber out an an answer obediently once the light returns to your eyes. Your walls stiffen around him once more. But by then he has already worked himself closer to your womb. “Yes! Yes!” It is all your mind can muster.

“Good” he makes a point of taking both of your boobs in his hands and thoroughly massaging them to show off his ownership over you. “Now ask me to breed you” the fence of heat that has formed around your loins becomes tighter when his hands that previously fondled your clothed breasts slip under your gown -for Steve is too possessive to actually expose you to the eyes of others- and he softly rubs your tense sides a couple times before his fingers form pinches around your hard nubs.

“Please breed me!” Your voice is so loud and strained that its quality is nearly blood curdling. “Please breed me and s- stuff me full your children!” Your hands fly to grip his from over the dress as you throw your head back and slip from the edge of your anticipation, parrotting all the words he has taught you over the course of your marriage. “Oh GOD! Please!” Your back arches from the coming undone of the hot belt of expectation and scorching gratification spills from it, seeping down your legs in the form of a nearly unbearable electric feeling that transforms into a subzero energy when it reaches your toes that curl, causing them to feel as though they are freezing. “I need your b- babies so bad, hubby!”

Steve's own ears blush from the heat that courses through them in the form of adrenaline as he snorts, some of his blonde strands coming loose from the push and tug that he plays with your cunt. “Tell them” his balls ache from the strength it takes him not to fill you up right then. “Tell everyone that you want me to fill you up with my babies” since your sensitive body tries to curl and move away from the overstimulation, the older man wraps both of his hands around your thighs to keep you going. “Say it!” And he makes you say the words that he desires in the language of your spectators that look embarrassed for the first time since you got here.

Save for your husband's best men who look equal parts aroused and proud.

You want to cringe and be disgusted but your sensitive pussy is being pounded too hard for you to attempt a conjuring up of any dignity.

“Need hubby babies bad!” You cry out again from memory when Steve's thick seed begins to fill you up at last. “Oh, my God!” The feeling of his hot cum filling you up and painting every inch of your sensitive walls penetrates your already hazy mind and the warmth that steams out of the pearly liquid steams its way up to your womb, making you shudder at the feeling. Your opening tightens around him in protest of the overstimulation and it instead causes for a barrage of bitter-sweet electric sparks to explode through your abdomen in the form of a half post-climax orgasm. Your body grows tired.

But your insatiable is far from done.

“Flattering, but no” Steve pushes you against the table before standing up when he is done fucking his orgasm as deep as he can reach into you. “The father of your children will suffice” your eyebrows furrow at his words but the older man does not give you a chance to ponder over them because now he is hooking his hands under your thighs that your rapid and messy fucking has covered in both of your juices.

“W- What?!” Your vision is hazy and your mind dazed as you incoherently tap about. “What's— oh!” You wince from how much easier it is for him to move inside your worked open and much lubricated but torturously overstimulated walls now. “Oh! Oh…” Your hands blindly feel behind you to try and get him to stop. “Oh, no! No, please!” You cry out weakly, your upper body hanging low in the opposite direction from the exhaustion.

“No?” The older man darkly chuckles, paying no mind to your flailing. “You think you can say that to me?” One of his hands desert their post on your thighs to roughly grab at your hair. He hasn't forgotten what started all this. “You think you have the same rights as everyone else around here, wife?”

But you're scowling from the burning pain in your walls, mind hazy and unwise. “Stop! Stop!” Your puffy folds ache from how his stiff skin rubs against them as he moves in and out of you at a normal pace… for now. “It hurts, stop!”

“That is the part and parcel of having children” your body curves outwards as he pulls you further back and closer to himself by your hair. “And is that not why you're here?” His cocky tone along with the hungry and wondering eyes of the wildlings make you angry. “What you were spared for in the first place?” A twinkle in the eye of a man pisses you off and…

“It hurts, you old bastard!” Your young blood gets the better of you and your mouth runs before sense can catch up. “Stop, stop, stop it!” Since your hair holds you closer to him you manage to land a few smacks to his rock hard arms before you try to snake your fingers under his to pry off the hand that he coils around your thigh in a weak attempt to move away.

Steve only chuckles, clearly unfazed by your fighting as he bounces your smaller form up in the air with each thrust. “Did your mother not teach you anything, wife?” He lets go of your hair only to restrain both your arms on the small of your back. “Good girls never tell their husbands no” your body flops forward again and you've no choice but to face the long table full of people. “They lay down pretty with their legs spread and let their husbands fill them with their children and then they express their gratitude for being granted a family.” Though your mind is confused and rather disoriented from the influx of sensation, you can make out new additions to the crowd of your humiliation from the corners of your vision.

“Ugh!” You grunt from the rapid jabs he gives to your sore pussy, his firm hold nearly searing into your wrists. “I don't wanna have your stupid blonde babies!” Steve breathlessly lets out a real laugh at that. “Let go!”

“There” he can swear he will never tired of you breaking the little character of the obedient wife that you so naively think you have mastered only to break it when he has you all riled up like this. “Right there, easy now” his other hand leaves your lap and he pushes your head down and against the table in the most condescending manner imaginable. Steve has got you to expose yourself for the brat you are, no need for play anymore. “Now I make a bunny out of you” his dark eyes now meet with those of the boys sitting at the other end of the table and his use of their language is a silent message. The Leader knows how his wife is desired. And he doesn't appreciate it in the least. The young males all panic and look away, gulping to themselves and praying for their lives.

You try to struggle again, your lip curling in disdain and protest as you feel him fuck his cum right up your cervix. The bitter pleasure you get from it makes your head spin and your fingers and toes flex defensively. “Ooof!” Your cheek rubs against the table and you puff out your face to express how tense you feel down there.

“Brat” Steve shakes in silent mirth as he reaches for your ass with the hand that he was holding your face down with. “Don't you move a muscle.” You're too busy rocking over the table and being held down to try.

“Hubby, please!” You whine when one of his veins twitch deep up your walls and your knees shiver from the sensation. “Please!” Maybe if his cock wasn't so comically huge, it would have been easier to move past the rough friction of your raw, orgasm worn skins. But it is and so you are ready to abandon the dam that begins to form in your abdomen again if it means to avoid this pain. “Owwwiee!”

“Aw” Steve cooes as he now moves to a pace that falters your vision and causes for the great table to shake with each thrust that he gives you. “So small and sore, aren't we?” The spank he lands on your unsuspecting ass right after is the stark opposite of his tone. “Maybe we shouldn't act out so much when we are so weak and pathetic, huh, wife?”

“Oooof!” One of the shyer ladies get up before she carries her young son who stood next to the group of the young ones away and the realization of the fact that your spectators are all real people who see you everyday and will continue to do after this drips down your limbs like ice cold water. Your hips cannot help but clench from the embarrassment that you dully feel in some part of your mind way far at the back. “Hubby, please!” The spanks increase with each snap of his hips and though the turmoil between your legs takes up most of your sensory powers, your cheeks now begin to noticeably sting from the pain that builds from how the swings of his hand against your poor ass increase with each thrust.

“Please?” Steve muses like he isn't balls deep into you and fucking the literal daylights out of you like a crazed heathen. “Oh, but I thought I was a mean old bastard” of course, your pleas always only mean that you want more, according to the brute you are married to. They cannot mean anything else, apparently. “And you didn't want my stupid blonde babies” you grunt from the frustration and land a helpless fist on the table. You are in an uncomfortable tug of war between the mutilation of your sensory glands and the tall barrage of tight hot anticipation that cannot help but form in the base of your stomach again because of how hard and rough he fucks you.

Your husband's main man, Lloyd, laughs in a comically daft voice to tease you and be the insufferable asshole that he is. “You've got yourself a feisty little pup there, Steve” he is the only one who can refer to the blonde haired man by his name. Or maybe, he doesn't care to use the honorific and his usefulness backs him up. You wouldn't be surprised if the latter really is the case. “Don't you agree, my sweet?” He side hugs his own young bride who ironically is one of the sweetest and perhaps the only nice person in this entire village and Lloyd grins down at the girl whom you now notice is blushing furiously.

Before you can let the humiliation swallow you whole, Steve spreads your burning cheeks and chuckles at the sight he finds glistening and blinking up at him, the madenned hammering of his cock unceasing. “Look at this adorable little button of yours, darling” you are not personally familiar with any of the faces that witness you trying to pathetically crawl away when your devil of a husband begins to tickle your pucker so you realize it was actually not quite hitting you as bad as it does now when you become hyperaware of Rainie's gaze. If it weren't for how your eyes roll because of Steve's hot seed shooting deep up your cavern again and nearly searing into your very flesh this time around from the brutality of it all, you reckon you would have tried to hide. But now all you do is let out choked blubbers as your wide eyes sting from tears due to the sensory overload. “I think it's time we deflowered it, what do you think?”

Oh, no.

His cock is not something that you can handle in your ass without splitting all over the place!

“No answer? No?” It feels as though you are the one who is cumming and not Steve because of how good he is at wearing the mask of nonchalance. “Hm,” he roughly pulls you backwards by your hair before hooking an arm around your waist to keep you from trying to get away from how he toys with your trembling pucker. “Maybe we should let sweet Rainie decide for you, hm—?”

“OH, GOD!” You cannot help but scream over him.

He is too much.

Steve ignores your exclamation, thrusts delayed -more jab like- but so strong that his tip spears into your cervix with each thrust, thus causing for your head to spin from how he chooses to fuck out his orgasm. “She's your friend, isn't she?” Steve's beard gently stings the sweaty and teary skin of your jaw from how his mouth presses into your ear. “Aren't you, Rainie dear?”

Yep, you are never looking her in the eye ever again.

“Answer him, sunshine” Lloyd eggs his wife on and you notice through your cloudy vision that he is making her palm his own bulge. You nearly cringe back into Steve's chest from the obscenity of it all.

The girl, a new bride herself, is shy and small next to her own flesh boulder of a husband as she meekly peeks up at you through her lashes. “Y- Yes, sir. We are friends” her voice is barely audible and both your husbands chuckle.

If it weren't from how a dull orgasm rips itself apart somewhere deep between your loins, you would have felt angry.

It is like the assholes know that you're friends, and they're having their fun with it.

No wonder they are best mates.

“Good, good” you can feel Steve's cum splattering your thighs with each brutal jab, the sound and sprays of his shaft making a mess of your juices underneath your dress ample in its audibility. “So, do you think it's time your girlfriend's dirty little button was opened up, hm?” He keeps one hand on your pucker and reaches for your boob to grope with the other.

Rainie blushes again and furiously lowers her head the moment her eyes connect with yours. Though you don't know it, her own has been deflowered not too long ago and she isn't sure what response would be favourable by you, so that and the embarrassment of the Leader questioning her for something like that about his wife when she is on amiable terms with the girl makes her choose silence for as long as allowed. And her own husband cockily leaning into her and mansplaining into her ear how it would work for you by comparing it with what he did to her pretty ass only makes her curl further.

“Shy little thing, isn't she, my precious?” So your husband turns his unwelcome attention back to you, bending the both of your bodies forwards so he can smack your asshole with the back of his hand easier, the impact making you rock violently forward. “Maybe you should learn some manners from her, huh?” The howls you let out from getting your pucker pinched and hit is something you would rather not narrate. All you choose to disclose of that ordeal is that sobs echo in the hall, another orgasm rips out of you and you are sure your body releases more liquid than normal for an average orgasm. “Look at how polite and nice she is, hm? While all you want to do is to curse your husband and be an ungrateful little sloth” it sounds as though a newfound annoyance causes him to grit his teeth towards the end and the tip of his fingers finds recourse in seeking for itself a passage past the tight barrier of your unwilling button as a result.

And so your mouth begins to run in the desperate way he loves. “N- No, no, no hubby! No!” You vehemently shake your head as you feel your knees start to buckle from the exhaustion. “I- I didn't mean it!” The bearded corners of his mouth pull into a deep smirk. He knows its coming, and he loves it.

“You didn't?” How can he not when he is the one who trained you to it and taught you the words to say during.

“No! No!” Your voice comes out child-like from your mind's succumbing to its defeat. For the day, at least. “I d- didn't!”

Steve is a jackhammer in how he fucks his children into you and works towards giving you more. “Oh, I see” now he speaks to you like an elder speaking to a young one, like you are no older than five winters. “Then, will you tell me why you said such naughty words to your husband who does so much for you?” He knows you're small now and so he chooses his words accordingly.

After all, it is Steve's meticulous tailoring of your mind and body which brings you to act out this specific sequence.

Nothing less, nothing more.

Just this.

A shrew tamed into a compliant wife equipped with the mind of a babe.

He may never admit it outright simply because it goes against his very code of life but Steve knows in his heart of hearts that it is this very push and pull you put up in your own passive little way that keeps him alert and your marriage interesting.

Addictive.

“Is ’cause— hnnng, cause—!” He pulls both of your bodies back up with the intention of turning you to face him but he chooses not to do it just yet. He wants you, those silly boys and everyone else who suspects that his judgement grows soft because of his fancy for your youthful beauty and adorable personality, to hear it. Steve can always pull you right back down if wants. Your reins will always be in a hand's reach to him. Just because he lets you sneak in your foolish ways sometimes doesn't mean you've conquered his nature-gifted better sense.

“Because, what?” Everything in life calls for balance and so each time your misbehavior that you think you hide so well from him begins to rise above a level he deems no longer amusing, he is there to hammer it down.

Quite literally.

“Because I am j- just an i- impudent,” Steve grunts and moans, feeling his cock twitch from how you always mispronounce imprudent when you are in this state. He taught you that word and true to your little baby self and mind, you can never get yourself to say it right. “Little wife and I am a d- dumby—”

“Fuck…” Steve feels a drop of cold sweat trickle down his back from your little vocabulary. He feels himself pant from how hard he fucks you, his windpipe alight from the friction caused by the air he heaves in with each desperate inhale.

You are a proper trouble; something he has never had before, and he loves it.

“— D- Dumby sloth who dunno any real worries besides e- eating and b- being spoilt b- by my lovu hubbsy—” your tongue is kinetic jelly between your teeth and Steve has begun to moan from how fucked stupid you sound. “So I get shtoopid and u- ungateful” Steve cannot contain it anymore. In a fevered and desperate confusion of how to express the thunderstorm you cause in his head, he slaps your hair away, causing for some of the flowers to go flying about, and sinks his teeth into your flesh, growling so deep into your skin that you feel the vibrations cause ripples in your blood. Perhaps that is what Steve yearns to taste. “B- But husby always fixes” your head goes limp against his as he sucks your skin like a crazed animal for you lose a track of how long. Your vision and hearing bolts away from your comprehensive faculties like a bullet train and your body gets sucked into the vacuum of your husband's beastly grip. You are just a lifeless doll rocking in whichever direction and manner he pleases.

Next time your brain catches on with your reality, your body has been placed under his with your back against the table. You faintly notice when your dress begins to get wet that splashes of mead cover it due to your brutish husband's depraved madness.

“Look at me, hey” he pats your incoherent face until your wandering gaze settles on him, teary eyes distant. “This is the face that you will see in those of your children, and children you shall have until this residence cannot contain any more” his promise echoes in your buzzing ears like the bestowing of an ultimate truth upon you by some powerful deity. “This is the face you will look up at as you spread your legs,” his tip is so swollen, raw and hot against your worn skin that you can feel it even in this state. Your features scrunch from the discomfort. “This is the face you will kiss and cherish” his fingers find your throat again and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he puts pressure on your windpipe. “And this is the face that you will look at until you breathe your last” he holds you until you are on the verge of losing consciousness, though letting go only to stifle the gasp you let out to resume your breathing with a hot sealing kiss.

Your muscles twitch and your body spasms in the position he has you in. Laxness washes over your limbs and you begin to violently shake from the dull and yet stinging quakes of sensation that bloom through your whole form.

For some dark, twisted and depraved reason, you cum from the helplessness of your situation and it is present in Steve's amused and proud smirk that the knowledge is not lost on him. Swiping an arm around you from behind with an air of satisfaction, he collects your limp body closer to his and walks off to your chambers with your drenched sexes still connected, leaving a crowd of embarrassed, curious, satisfied as well as tamed spectators in his wake.

You surrender yourself to him and close your eyes as your body collapses on top of his. Your mind barely works but you know one thing— fact as clear as day; you are not making it out of this without at least one child on the way.

And there isn't a single thing you can do about it.

. . .

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teastyun · 11 months ago

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✧.* Abby and her strap headcanons

a/n: daydreaming about a buff woman and her strap reversing women's rights ❤️ masterlist ; pt. 2

-> Abby who loves to fuck you slow and deep when you need the exact opposite, "you want me to go faster? huh, what a whore. beg for it then."

-> Abby who fucks you senseless when you're being a brat, "where did all that attitude from a few minutes go all of a sudden, huh?" ; "cat caught your tongue?" ; "you wanna be a good girl for me? my good girl..."

-> Abby who would always make you sit on her lap at parties and gatherings while her clothed strap beneath you drives you into agony, resulting in you pretending to be sick and get home early to fuck until sunrise (please, I'm on all fours begging)

-> Abby who always wants you to cockwarm her like it's her real dick, "stop moving, princess," ; "if you clench like that we'll never be able to rest," ; "fuck, I can't take it anymore."

-> Abby who always puts her strap on when you guys go on dates and bends you over whenever you're in private, plunging her dick deep into you while pressing her hand on your mouth to suppress your screams (one time somebody called the police because of your noises)

-> Abby who swears your pussy was made for only her to fuck, watching her dick slip in and out so easily

-> Abby who's in heaven when you blow her while she drives, your stifled moans and wet noises making her almost come on the spot, not caring about anyone catching you

-> Abby who manspreads when you're sitting across her and smirks when your eyes would catch several glimpses of her packed crotch, knowing you'll both get no sleep today

-> Abby who is railing you deep into the mattress when you bought her a breeding strap for her birthday, forgetting about any plans you two had with y'all's friends for the day

-> Abby who is by your two's first time using it extremely fascinated by it and can't stop filling you to the brim, watching the fake semen combined with your cum gush out of your pussy like a waterfall in repeat

-> Abby who takes polaroid pictures anytime you squirt and collects them in her wallet (her friends are making fun of her thick wallet, not knowing that in there are actually slutty pictures of you, not cash)

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blindmagdalena · 4 days ago

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Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter eight)

18+ 5.5k. homelander x f!reader. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, abuse, forced relationship, slow burn, suicidal ideation/close call, dubcon, oral sex, penetrative sex. fic directory | AO3

It isn’t love like they tell it in fairy tales. It’s love the way the poets write it. It’s blood and tears, a gnawing hunger that eats you from the inside out, leaves you empty and clawing to cram something into yourself as replacement. It’s love like an infection, a fever that never fades. It’s devotion and yearning that runs so deep it turns into violence.

For the next several mornings, you make breakfast as usual.

The heat of the gas range and the hissing sizzle of the eggs are always slightly muffled. Time itself moves strangely around you, like you’re standing under a waterfall flowing in reverse. Minutes tick on like hours, but the hours go by without you noticing them at all.

As the days–they could be weeks, you’ve stopped keeping track–pass, that night of intimacy with Homelander feels more and more like a fever dream than a memory. If you really try, however, the details of it are simple enough to recall, if not a touch hazy.

The part of it that’s a struggle is believing any of it actually happened. When you do put your mind to remembering it, it’s as though it happened to someone else. You were an outsider to your body, and now that you’re yourself again, you’re left to ponder the actions of that stranger.

It’s your body that holds onto the reality of it for you. Your stomach still feels faintly tender from the nausea and vertigo of flying. The penthouse air feels stale in your lungs compared to the winds whipping above the city. Your heart pounds whenever your jaw feels tight with the memory of his hand clamped over your mouth, but perhaps the most vexing aspect of it all is the way the throb of your pulse now echoes loudest between your legs.

How your fear now comes laced with an unwanted tinge of arousal.

You’d been left alone that night while Homelander attended a Vought function. He hadn’t been gone long; just long enough for you to bathe. You hadn’t felt up to eating, but he didn’t notice. He’d only cared about coming home, about taking you back into his arms, about breathing in the shower fresh smell of you and exhaling mine into the crook of your neck.

Never before have you felt more like a toy, a possession, a belonging than you did in that moment.

He hasn't touched you like that again since, though you think he aches to. You feel it in the way he squeezes your thigh when you watch movies together, how his hand drifts gradually higher, but it never progresses further than that. Sometimes he’ll press against you in bed, but so long as you lay very still, he eventually drifts to sleep.

When he’s gone, you touch yourself. The ache is there, the pleasure faint, but it’s never quite enough to put you over the edge. It’s never enough to give you the kind of relief–the kind of escape–you felt with him. Your body feels like kindling without a spark, the sensations empty.

You wonder what it would take to prompt him back into that kind of frenzy, that single-minded drive to pleasure you. Would he do it again if he saw you crying?

I’m doing this for you. For us. I’m doing this because you don’t know how to let yourself be happy.

Could he have been right? Have you ever really known how to make yourself happy?

A touch to your waist snaps you from your introspection, startles you into jerking. The pan in your grip would have gone flying if not for Homelander’s hand on your elbow, steadying you.

You completely forgot you were cooking breakfast.

“Eggs are burning,” he tells you, reducing the gas to nothing. They’re far from black, but it doesn’t take much to turn eggs from edible to rancid, the sulphuric smell burning your nose. You can only imagine the havoc it’s wreaking on him.

It isn’t the first time you’ve burned a meal since that night. His tone indicates he’s come to expect it.

“Oh,” you say noncommittally, staring at the curled dark edges, the solid yellow yolk.

His hand slides absently from your hip to your waist. He’s become so familiar in these casual touches, they don’t even make your heart lurch in your chest anymore.

“It’s fine,” he says, clearly reading disappointment in your indifference. The timbre of his voice is ambiguous, but somehow you don’t really think it’s fine. He must be losing his patience with you. His arms slip around your waist like two coiling serpents. “Plenty of time for you to start over.”

Still, he wants you to fix it. Burned eggs don’t suit this idyllic fantasy.

Why bother? you wonder. He peppers light kisses on your neck, lips brushing over a kiss-bruised patch of skin. The heat of his mouth makes you shiver, makes your belly feel tight and hot. You can’t tell anymore whether the heat is anger or arousal. You’re not even going to eat it.

Nevertheless, you scrape out the botched eggs and start over, keenly aware of your pulse echoing faintly between your thighs, and the weight of Homelander’s gaze on you.

Predictably, you eat, and he toys with his food like it’s all a silly game of make-believe. Plastic eggs, foam toast, pretend girlfriend. Homelander’s obsession exists not in what’s real, but in the performance of domesticity. Every day, the idea of what’s real becomes a little more subjective. A little more abstract.

When he goes to leave, he kisses your cheek.

“Thank god it’s Friday,” he says, your chin pinched between his bare thumb and middle forefinger knuckle. He’s taken to touching you more and more without his gloves on. “I made sure I don’t have any weekend obligations, which means you–lucky lady–finally get me all to yourself.”

That’s new. Normally his weekends are even busier than his week.

Sensing his anticipation for your positive reaction, you smile faintly. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

His eyes widen just a fraction, as does his smile. It’s something of an experiment, a deviation from your automatic daily “Have a good day,” and you see the excitement of it written plainly in his expression.

“I won’t,” he says, softer, grip flexing minutely on your chin. He tarries just long enough that you begin to think he may not leave after all. Instead, he takes in a breath and drops his hand to the door panel, using his print to disengage the lock.

“This will be good for us,” he says quietly, lingering in the doorway for just a moment longer than usual.

The door closes behind him. The green circle turns blue, and the locking mechanism re-engaging is the last bit of noise you hear. The door is thick enough that you don’t even hear his steps echo down the hallway.

Crossing your arms, you stand there for a while, staring at the door. The number pad is shiny from disuse, the buttons a gleaming silver. You’ve never seen him bother to input the code. Testing them without pressing, they’re cool to the touch under your finger, and after a beat, you input a code.

0476. America’s birthday.

The blue circle flashes red, and you sigh. You would have been angry with yourself if it’d been that easy anyways.

For another day, you whittle your hours away on nothing, distant from yourself and your feelings. Music drones in your ears like static. Television feels alien and incomprehensible. The whole world is upside down, but it’s as though you’re the only one who’s noticed, who’s being forced to adapt.

Terrible as it is to think, the days are better when Homelander’s here.

You walk the penthouse in familiar patterns like a zoo animal in a too-small enclosure, bereft of enrichment. Knowing what you know about him, it feels like giving him too much credit to think the deprivation is intentional, that he’s putting in an effort to make you miss him in the time he’s gone. It seems more likely that he really is just incredibly ignorant of the basic needs a person has.

You’re not an animal. You’re more like a doll that he puts on the shelf until he’s ready to play with you again.

Coming to the balcony, you pull open the door and step outside, hand tight on the door frame. The wind lashes at you, stealing your breath for a split second in the way it always does before you adjust. It’s bright out today, the sky a crisp blue. It’s the kind of rich blue you’d never normally see through the smog on ground level, which always leaves it desaturated.

The clouds look near enough to touch, were you brave enough. Even standing just outside the doorway, your bare feet against the ice cold cement, is enough to make you weak in the knees. Your heart knocks against your ribs like it means to escape, but the feeling has grown so familiar, you don’t back away.

The fear, you realize, is the only thing that makes you feel present in your own body.

Living with Homelander has forced you to swallow back your instincts so frequently, it comes more naturally now to take a step forward than to run away, your hand slipping from the doorway.

Your heart is in your throat as you near the middle point of the balcony, more and more of the city below coming into view. Your breaths grow shallow, and despite how calm you think you are, your stomach launches into a series of violent somersaults, your eyes glued to the thinning edge of the balcony.

No matter how tattered your thoughts and feelings are, your body reacts. It knows how to keep you safe. It screams and screams and screams as you press on.

There’s nothing around you to steady or brace yourself on. You feel imbalanced, top-heavy in a way that makes you sway, your poor heart lurching with it. You’re too scared to blink, unwilling to risk even a split second of darkness for the fear you might pitch forward.

Closing your eyes only makes it worse, reminds Homelander, his voice unbidden in your mind.

It’ll pass.

It’s worth it.

Trust me.

“Why?” you snap aloud, startling yourself. Why, even now, is he with you?

What’s your alternative?

The air is thin out here. Your eyes water, buffeted by the winds. Your chest feels tighter now, and every breath you take is more hard fought than the last, your lungs constricted. Tears start to roll down your cheeks, though the wind is quick to wick them away.

Your whole body sings with your fear. The adrenaline feels like an extra layer of skin beneath yours, filling your veins with tension and strength. The longer you endure it, the more aware of yourself and that change you become. You take another step towards the edge. Your mouth is sandpaper dry, pins and needles prickling your skin all over.

Don’t look down. Look out.

You lift your gaze to the horizon, exhaling a shaky breath. You take another tentative step forward, relieved when your foot hits solid ground. You can’t see exactly where the ledge ends anymore. Another step, and then another. There’s nothing to hold you back. Nothing to keep you from walking.

Finally, you close your eyes, and move to step forward.

You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you?

You gasp, eyes snapping open. Your balance waivers, and as your gaze drops, you see the empty space where your foot was about to fall.

If not for yourself, you’ll do that for me, yeah?

You pitch yourself backwards so hard that you fall, landing on your ass with a pained noise. You choke on the tension in your throat, your whole body shaking as you haul yourself backwards, bare feet scratching against the pavement. You flip onto your hands and knees and clamber back inside, hastily slamming the door shut behind you before you let go a gut wrenching sob, the sound of it strained, agonized, barely enough breath in your lungs to birth it.

You put your back to the door and you cry until your voice runs hoarse, until all the muscles in your stomach hurt and your tears run dry. It’s an ugly, visceral cry that leaves you dizzy and weak-limbed, the space behind your eyes throbbing in a dull headache.

There is an alternative. You’re going to find it.

Eventually you manage to drag yourself up from the floor and to the bedroom. The exhaustion that hits in the wake of your–what, lapse in judgment? Temporary insanity? Whatever you call it, it’s left you so worn out that all you can do is collapse on the bed, your muscles aching.

From the ceiling, your reflection stares back at you. You hardly recognize that face as yours anymore. Time and time again she makes choices that aren’t yours and experiences the world in a way you never could have imagined.

Homelander may have convinced you to look at yourself, but only now do you think you’re starting to see yourself as you are. As you must be.

You close your eyes, exhaling a slow breath. You begin to forget the balcony, the steps forward, the fall. It slots into a distant place somewhere in the back of your mind–where all things like it go–and after a time you’re left with nothing but the thrumming of your own body.

The echo of fear and thrill. The memory of adrenaline coursing through you like fuel, like poison, like divinity. Never before have you felt the kind of power you did when you took those steps. Fear has no control over you. It wasn’t even what stopped you.

You stopped yourself. You took control.

It leaves you electrified. You touch your tingling fingertips to your lips, where the numbness of them makes them feel like someone else’s. You trail them down your chin, your jaw, your throat. Instead of fighting it, you lean into the idea of this other you.

Hand drifting lower, you close your eyes. Instantly that haunting night comes back to you: Homelander’s mouth on your neck, your chest, your lips, his fingers curling inside you while you–that stranger behind your eyes–gasped in pleasure and kissed him back.

You try to replicate his touch. Slow, firm, full of desire and intent. Your stomach flips at the memory of it. How he kissed you like he meant to devour you, how enraptured he became with your pleasure.

I’ll make you happy if you’d just let me.

Swallowing, you skirt your fingers along the waistband of your pants, teasing the exposed skin there. He had taken your fear, your anguish, and twisted it into something with teeth.

Something inside you that hungered.

You have no idea how fucking good I can make you feel.

Slipping under the fabric, you push your fingers into your underwear and touch yourself in every way you remember him touching you.

The chill of your fingers–still cold from the balcony–is stark against the heat between your legs. Your pussy feels velvety under your fingers, soft and slick with arousal.

Look who’s all wet.

You let out a shuddering breath. Trying to replicate his touch only drives home how wholly inhuman he really felt. The unyielding strength in him, how his fingers felt like anchors inside you, grounding you, keeping you so entirely at his mercy that you had no choice but to let go, to give in.

There’s no such plausible deniability here. He’s gone, and yet here you are envisioning him, imitating him, allowing the version of him in your mind to have what you’d been sure he would always have to take. You screw your eyes shut tighter, exhaling a throaty noise as you push your fingers sharply in.

Your hips rock steadily. The harder you try, the less right it feels. You attempt to relax, to let yourself focus on what it feels like now instead of what it felt like then, what it felt like with him. How relentless he was, peppering insistent kisses everywhere he could reach. You touch your neck, press into the tender mark he sucked there. Your pussy clenches at the sensation, and finally you feel as though you’re on the right track.

Something electric begins to crackle inside you. A low, dull pressure that builds gradually. You deepen your breaths, finding a rhythm, losing yourself piece by piece to the dozens of hands pulling at you in your mind. Tearing your clothes, sinking into you, holding you pinned, all of it impossibly happening at once while you’re simultaneously ravaged by lips, tongue and teeth.

Your eyes snap open when a grip like steel snatches your wrist, shocking you out of your fantasy.

Homelander stands over you.

His vibrant blue eyes are dark and glazed over, his lips parted. He’s not looking at you, but instead at your glistening fingers. He tilts your hand, enraptured by how the wetness of them catches the light.

A visceral rush moves through you, heat and shame and excitement and outrage all in dizzying measure. You move to yank your hand back, but despite the looseness of his grip, the curl of his fingers is unyielding. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

With his other hand braced on the headboard, he leans in at the same time he pulls you closer, his eyes falling shut as he sucks two of your fingers into his mouth.

The heat of it shocks you all over, makes your stomach drop in a hot and sudden broil. His tongue slides up the seam between your fingers, pushing between them, licking away every single trace of slickness from them.

“Homelander,” you rasp, tone ambiguous in the flux of your inner turmoil.

His eyes open part way, landing on you heavy and hungry. He pulls your fingers from his mouth with an obscene, wet noise. His tongue moves over his top lip in a slow slide, dipping around his sharp canines. His breaths are shallow, nostrils flaring on every heavy inhale. He’s barely tasted you and yet he looks drunk on it, cheeks flushed red.

“What were you thinking about?” he asks, his voice guttural, raw with open and eager desire.

For once, the truth and what you know he wants to hear are one in the same. It sits on your tongue with the weight of an anchor, his expectant gaze a bottomless ocean.

If you give it to him, are you prepared to sink?

What’s your alternative?

“You.”

Homelander groans.

He releases your hand and takes hold of your hips instead, yanking you to the edge of the bed with such ease of force it makes you gasp. He yanks your pants off with a sharp pull, though he manages not to tear them this time.

The feverishness that he touches you with makes your whole body sing, instantly sparking the ember you’d been tending into a blazing fire. Your blood races with adrenaline, desire surging alongside instinctual fear, the two intermingling to the point where you can no longer discern one from the other.

“I was thinking about yesterday,” you say, breath hitching for the way he kisses his way down your stomach, fingers biting into your hips. “The way you touched me.”

Like gasoline splashed over a flame, your words intensify the ravenous fire of him. He sinks to his knees, your legs hitched over his shoulders, peppering kisses along your inner thigh, hands cupped under your ass, which he’s pulled completely off the bed.

Your heart thunders in your chest while his hot huffs of breath so close to where you’re wet and wanting make you shiver. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, the thrum of his restraint an effortless reminder of all that he is, all that he’s capable of. The awareness of how easily he could tear you apart is no longer frightening. Instead, it’s the understanding that he won’t that thrills you.

In the same way you couldn’t stop him when he wanted to please you, if Homelander wanted to hurt you, you couldn’t stop him. There is a surreal freedom in that, a permission to let go of the weight of fear and responsibility for yourself, for your actions.

Reap the reward.

He kisses all the way to the core of you, where his mouth closes over your clit, hot and wet and devouring. His tongue slides around and over, the rolling pull of his lips coaxing a deeper pleasure.

All the while he holds you firmly in place, trapping you in relentless euphoria. His mouth is just as merciless as the rest of him, never needing to pause or take a breath. He’s machine-like in his rigor, but the fervor of his consumption is decidedly animalistic.

You can hardly catch your breath in the onslaught. Reaching down, you thread your fingers into his hair–it’s softer than it has any right to be–and pull hard. That earns you a throaty moan from him, the vibrations of it adding an entirely new element of sensation.

Your grip on his hair tightens sporadically, sharp little tugs that match the staccato cadence of your breaths. His tongue moves down, focusing instead on fucking you in shallow but powerful thrusts. The strength of it, the underlying hum of barely contained power that courses through him, and the sheer relentlessness of his stamina drives you wild against his mouth.

Between plunging his tongue into you and sucking on your clit, he drinks you down noisily, a parched man gulping from an oasis. You use what little leeway his grip allows to grind against his tongue, riding the tidal wave of your building release all the way to the top.

His hand slides inward, fingers splayed to support your weight while his thumb dips deep enough to slip into you, finally giving your pussy something solid to squeeze. It’s enough to tip you over the edge. You push your other hand into his hair and hold on for dear life, arching your back with a cry that fills the entire penthouse as pleasure overtakes you, crashing down on you like a tsunami.

Like before, Homelander doesn’t take your climax alone as an invitation to stop. A man possessed, he licks, sucks and kisses your throbbing clit through every single aftershock of your orgasm. Pleasure eventually trails into discomfort, a slight tingling burn that finally gives you the strength to push him away.

He doesn’t relent right away, too lost in you to feel the meager protest. You push harder, making a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, overstimulated, and he finally withdraws, giving one last noisy slurp before setting you back on the bed and rising. He’s painting, face is shiny and wet with your slick, his pupils blown completely black.

In your euphoria addled delirium, the look of him makes you want to run far away as much as it makes you want to kiss him.

Licking his lips, he crawls up your body, his gaze still predator hungry. You catch his face between your palms, your breaths still shallow, and marvel at how raw he looks.

For all your fears about what he could be hiding from you, Homelander has never been anything but brutishly upfront. He told you who and what he was the moment you woke up in his bed. You can understand his logic now–why bother muddying the waters with needless lies? He never deceived you because he wanted you to know who he was, and who he expected you to be.

Even now, he is an open book to you. Your pleasure is mine, his expression declares. The claim is in his eyes, shining on his lips, in the heady scent of it on his breath. You are mine.

And he is, without a shadow of a doubt, yours.

You trace his bottom lip with your thumb, transfixed by the way he followed it, pressing wet kisses to the pad. You tilt your thumb forward, grazing his teeth. His bottom canines are sharp, and when you press your thumb down on one of them, he closes his lips around it, sucking on it with a needy little noise that lances heat straight through you.

Despite the immensity of his power, he’s malleable in your hands. You pull, he follows, huffing out shallow little breaths. You pull your thumb away and he looks at you with cloudy eyes, brows tightly pinched. Between your bodies, he fusses with his belt until it clicks loose.

“Stop,” you breathe, pressing a hand to his chest.

His expression twists, damn near wounded. “Wha–why? I thought–”

You kiss him before he can put himself in another rejection induced spiral, licking the words right out of his mouth before you say, “Take the suit off.”

Another soft groan from him before he’s lifting off of you, unfastening his suit. You take the opportunity to shed the last of your layers, your heart racing. You half expected him to rush, to fumble in his hurriedness, but despite his obvious excitement, he’s methodical in removing his suit, placing it on the rack in the way he always does.

It’s almost long enough to give you time to think about what you’re doing, about whether the pounding in your chest is thrill or not. That same primal part of you is shouting to run, and you are running, just not away. You’re tired of running away. This time, you’re running headlong into Homelander.

And he catches you.

He’s upon you before you can examine it any further, bare skin hot against yours. He kisses the column of your throat, breathing you in.

At the first nudge of his cock, a breathy little noise escapes you. He savors grinding the head of it tantalizingly against your clit, moving through the mess he’s made of you. You’re soaking wet, thighs coated in saliva and slick. He presses his chest down against yours and the heat of him makes you shiver.

He isn’t putting his full weight down on you, but the sheer force of him over you is suffocating. Breathing makes you feel as though you’re pressed against a brick wall, stifling you. Trapping you. You start to shake your head.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” you say, fighting the welling panic in your throat. “Roll over. On your back.”

Confused but not opposed, he does as he’s told, moving off of you and onto his back. You swing your leg over him, and he instantly understands, grasping your hips to help gather you into position over him. His lips split into a wide grin, dark eyes glinting wickedly.

“Fuck yes,” he breathes, squeezing your hips. There’s a giddiness to him, like part of him didn’t believe that this would happen, much less that you would ever be the one leading it.

Straddling his thighs, sitting just behind his cock, you can feel the tension of his excitement thrumming throughout his body. With control on your side, you move forward, reaching between your legs to angle him into the right position.

His grip on you flexes as he fights with himself to stay still while you descend slowly, the swell of him splitting you open in one slow, hot slide.

Gravity brings you down most of the way, but a jerk of his hips that he pulls you into bottoms him out, and you both gasp with the suddenness of it, your body locking up around his throbbing cock.

“Sorry, sorry,” he pants, but his grip doesn’t ease. Like he’s lost control of himself, he holds you firmly in place while he fucks you, watching you through heavily lidded eyes, lips parted. “S’good, s’fuckin’–so fucking good,” he moans, expression twisting in pleasure.

It’s too much all at once–Homelander always is–but you take it, gripping his wrists. He fucks like a machine, each thrust a shock to your system, momentum building into quicker, harder thrusts.

“S-slow down,” you half moan, practically choking on the overwhelming fullness of him inside you. He isn’t thrusting in and out so much as he’s grinding into you in shallow bursts, carving out the shape of himself within you like he intends never to leave.

“Take me so good,” he murmurs, and if not for the slight slow down of his thrusts, you’d think he didn’t hear you. He sits up, the ease with which he moves even with you on top of him still throwing you for a loop. “Knew you would, knew you’d be mine, all mine. Made just for me.”

His hands slide up your body, one arm moving around your waist while his hand slides up to cup the back of your head. He kisses you, pins your chest to his, ensures you feel every ounce of his desperation to be with you, near you, inside you.

It’s more than being fucked–it’s like being taken apart so that you can be put back together around him. A permanent emptiness in his perfect image.

You were not made for him. You have been remade.

The next thing you know, Homelander is standing up, your legs hitched around his waist, ankles locked behind him. You wrap your arms around his neck and gasp for the way the position brings him in deeper yet, every bounce on his cock heavier now.

“Look at me,” he rasps. You don’t remember closing your eyes, but you open them at his prompt, looking at him through the delirium of heat and pleasure. His dark eyes are glassy, and he’s looking at you with such raw, vulnerable love that it makes your heart twist in agony. “I love you.”

You take a breath, your own eyes welling with tears, and you kiss him.

I believe you, you think, tears rolling down your cheeks while the pressure of climax builds steadily back up.

It’s love like an infection, a fever that never fades. It’s devotion and yearning that runs so deep it turns into violence. It’s desperation and the all consuming desire to be accepted for what you are, no matter the ugliness of it. It’s the most raw form of need a person is capable of.

It’s survival.

The kiss breaks and he presses his forehead to yours, your shallow breaths mingling hot and wet in the narrow space between your mouths.

The rest of the world falls away in jagged pieces–circumstance, fear, pity, hatred, pain–and narrows only to the two of you; your bodies joined, your gazes fixed on one another, and the electric pleasure of the friction between you.

“I–” you gasp, choking on your own words as he fucks you to the razors edge of release. “I love you, too.”

Maybe he’s broken you, or maybe it’s impossible to live in madness without going a little mad yourself.

He makes a noise like you’ve gutted him, eyes screwed shut. He slams in once, twice, thrice more and you lose yourself to the heat of it all, breath stolen from your lungs by the crash of release that overwhelms your every sense.

You lose track of time, of the hammer of his body against yours. He comes shortly after, stilling deep inside you with a rush so hot that it makes you gasp into the crook of his neck, where you let yourself collapse. You’re dead weight in his arms, but you may as well weigh nothing at all for the toll it takes on him.

Sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed, he embraces you like that for a long while. Your euphoria keeps you on a cloud somewhere high above, serving as cushioning between how you feel and what you know. Just like yesterday, mindless pleasure is an intoxicating reprieve from reality, and you’re thoroughly drunk on it.

He rubs your back in slow familiar patterns. You idly toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, which prompts him to pepper you in languid kisses. Touching you like this comes to him as naturally as breathing. Your bodies slot together like two pieces of a puzzle that were long lost from each other.

“See?” he whispers, easing your bodies down onto the bed, under the covers. “I didn’t break you.”

You offer a dazed smile, not quite as certain that he didn’t. Your pelvis aches slightly, an overall tenderness to you akin to the pain you’d feel the day after a particularly hard fall.

That isn’t the ache you’re concerned about, though. It’s the one in your chest that gives you pause.

“There’s still time.”

His brows furrow while he processes the words, but after a beat, he smiles, taking it as a playful challenge.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?”

Yes, you think, settling your head on his chest, listening to the steady pound of his heart. I certainly am.

Exhaling a deep breath, you close your eyes, content to allow yourself this respite, however brief.

In hindsight, you will always remember this moment as the quiet just before the storm.

#homelander x reader #homelander #homelander x you #x reader #homelander fanfiction #my writing #center stage in a gilded cage

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casper-spills · 4 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

ᴘɪʟᴇ 1 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 2 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 3

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Discaimer: Tarot reading is for entertainment purposes only and should never take the place of professional therapy or professional legal, medicinal or financial advice.

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☁︎ ᴘɪʟᴇ 1 ☁︎

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉

The Hermit Reversed

Keywords & Signs: Venus, scorpio, 3rd house, gemini, mercury, 9, torch, snow, corn field, black, lamp post, green, new moon in taurus, mintaken, mermaid, ocean, cave, retreat, hillwalking, belonging, lightworkers

Messages: 'Prosperity lies ahead' 'Longing for home'

This month will be focused on your social life and learning how you can come out of your shell. You might have spent a long time withdrawn from the world and perhaps you'll be looking for a change this month or you could be resistant to this change. There was a time where solitude was helpful for you but now is the time to get back out there and get back in touch with the people around you.

If you have been very social and this is not the case, then alternatively, it could mean that you've been avoiding self reflection because you're afraid of what you might find. Or it could mean you are too rigid with how you think and tend to get tunnel visioned on certain things which might be hindering your ability to see a something from another perspective. Take a step back, reassess the situation and reflect.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆

Three of Cups Upright

Keywords & Signs: Pisces, moon, 10th house, capricorn, saturn, 3, water, waterfall, purple, waxing moon, portal, snake, passage, party, drinks, bar, lightning, anklet

Messages: 'The energy is gaining momentum' 'You're crossing the threshold'

Traits of your current or potential partner: Positive: Dreamy, soft round face, large eyes, sensual lips, good dancer, consistant, secure, loyal, nurturing, feminine Negative: Distracted, day dreamer, emotional, sensitive

If you are in a relationship, it could be that, together, you have plans to celebrate with family and friends. You might be throwing an anniversary or engagement party or it could be getting closer to your wedding day! Alternatively, you may be going to someone else's party together and it will be a great party where you get to be with everyone.

If youre not in a relationship, someone from your past might reappear in your life who could be a potential romantic partner. You may meet them in a social gathering or a party with friends or family that you were invited to go to this month. Lately you might have been thinking about getting back into the dating scene again so this could be the perfect time!

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔

Ace of Wands Reversed

Keywords & Signs: Capricorn, mercury, 2nd house, taurus, venus, 1, fire, new moon in capricorn, broken mirror, workshop, construction, yellow, gold, sun rays

Messages: 'What is not aligned or needs to chnage?' 'Your hard work is paying off'

You may struggle this month in your finances. You could be losing money on investments or be hit by unexpected costs or bills. In your career, you might receive dissapointing news such as not getting the job you applied for. You will find yourself being more careful with how you spend your money this month.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉

Five of Wands Reversed

Keywords & Signs: Virgo, north node, rahu, 8th house, scorpio, pluto, fire, 5, starseed, full moon in scorpio, blue, sport centre, game, saturn, neptune, orange

Messages: 'What lights you up?' 'It's time to release negativity'

This month you are being asked to pay attention to matters related to your abdomen, intestines, gallbladder, pancreas and liver.

You could be struggling to fight off an illness and you might be more sensitive to food than usual. You might find that eating more foods that are better for your gut could ease your struggle a bit more. Stress could also be a factor, so make sure you are doing things to help with stress or anxiety.

If you play any kind of sport, especially an agressive sport, then you are being asked to be extra careuful while you play this month as you could receive a serious injury.

☁︎ ᴘɪʟᴇ 2 ☁︎

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉

Nine of Wands Reversed

Keywords & Signs: Taurus, mercury, 3rd house, gemini, communication, dig, stairs, climb, new moon in sagittarius, priestess, magenta, sphinx gate, fire, the neverending story, wings, barrier, wall, 9

Messages: 'Luck is on your side' 'How are you being called to step up and lead?'

This month will be focused on how you lead others and the way you communicate. There might be some unexpected trouble this month regarding your connections, friends or acquaintances. This may be work related.

You might be a person who feels that your way of doing things is the right way or the most efficient and perhaps you're a person who is known as stubborn or rigid. However, this month, you may reflect on yourself and start to wonder. You will enter a stalemate. You might feel like giving up and start to lack perseverance as you struggle to learn past mistakes.

You could be faced with a situation that forces you to reflect on yourself such as being rejected/abandoned by your team or the people around you. You might see yourself as the last one standing or the only one playing the game but that couldn't be further from the truth. It may be that you need to start seeing eye to eye with your team and try to understand their concerns. You might start to feel defensive or overwhealmed as you are being criticised by others but do your best to hear them out.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆

The Hierophant Reversed

Keywords & Signs: Scorpio, saturn, 2nd house, taurus, venus, south node, ketu, green, 5, temple, church, stained glass window, waterfall, pandora's box, freedom

Messages: 'Answer the call; what is your soul calling you to do?' 'Don't let your past hold you back'

Traits of your current or potential partner: Positive: Sharp features, hypnotic eyes, strudy build, hourglass figure, committed, responsible, good boundaries, ambitious, hardworking, diligent, patient, stable, reliable Negative: Restricitve, stingy, depressed, stressed, too serious, traditional

If you are in a relationship, you could be in an unconventional relationship. You could be breaking tradition by not getting married, being the same sex, reversing gender roles, etc. It might come to your attention, this month, that you and your partner may not on the same page when it comes to your values and goals which could be causing conflict or insecurity in the relationship. Try to compromise and meet the other person half way and listen to each others' needs. Ask yourself, will you be able to fulfill each others' needs?

If you are not in a relationship, you could be someone who is not interested in a marriage or a traditional partnership. Perhaps, this month, you will come to a conclusion that you do not want a partner and you are completely happy living a single life.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔

King of Cups Upright

Keywords & Signs: Rahu, north node, taurus, 8th house, scorpio, pluto, water, blue, new moon in gemini, play, margarita, magic carpet, holiday, ocean, beach, lake, sun, 14

Messages: 'Communication is key' 'Have fun. Celebrate. Don't be so serious'

In your finances, you will be very stable this month. However, you could be struggling to find a balance between financial security and your material wealth meaning that you are neglecting other areas in your life. You could deny certain activities even if you can afford to do it or you could be refusing to replace that one item in your home (because technically it still works) even though everyone is telling you to get rid of it. This month you are being asked to accept change and welcome new experiences and memories.

Career wise, remember not to give your career your undivided attention. Keep the balance in all areas of your life. This month, you could be offered support or guidance in work. You will discover new ways to create a pleasnt working environment for yourself and you will be well liked and respected by your colleagues.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉

Ace of Cups Upright

Keywords & Signs: Gemini, mars, 7th house, 1, water, full moon in aries, red, cave, birdbath, birds, lake, pond

Messages: 'Share your voice' 'A fiery climax approaches'

This month you are being asked to pay attention to matters related to your hands, lungs and nervous system.

If you have been having problems with health, you will find that your health is improving this month and you are blessed with luck! It might be that this issue has been affecting your mental health but upon hearing this news and being presented this fresh start, you will be full of energy.

Alternatively, if you are trying for a baby, you are in luck! Make sure you are checking in with your doctor because they may have good news for you.

☁︎ ᴘɪʟᴇ 3 ☁︎

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉

Queen of Swords Reversed

Keywords & Signs: Libra, jupiter, 3rd house, gemini, mercury, air, 13, boundary, spikes, star, icicle, unbinding, chains, unfinished business, new moon in sagittarius, magenta, generational trauma

Messages: 'Release soul patterns' 'Luck is on your side'

This month will be focused on how you process trauma and learning how to set boundaries. There is a warning for you in this reading. It could be that you have a negative relationship with your mother or mother figure. This person might be be trying to drag you down by spreading malicious gossip or being overly critical of you.

The Queen of Swords reversed is a bitter and cruel woman. She is cold and spiteful. She is a woman who uses trauma as a justification to drag others down. She is someone who is obsessive and controling. Do not think for a moment that she is capable of empathy. You cannot trust her.

This generational trauma may be affecting your ability to move on from the past and be the best version of yourself. Perhaps you fear turning into that cold and bitter person. This is your reminder to reflect and gain a new perspective. This month will be about how you are going to end the cycle.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆

Queen of Cups Upright

Keywords & Signs: Cancer, neptune, 2nd house, taurus, venus, water, 13, new moon in sagittarius, cave, magenta, expression, bath, candles, skinny dipping, swimming

Messages: 'Luck in love' 'Express your feelings'

Traits of your current or potential partner: Positive: Intuitive, imaginative, dreamy, innocent, kind, forgiving, compassionate, empathetic, optimistic, ambitious, soft features, expressive, gentle demeanor, broad/large chest Negative: Delusional, naive, sensitive, childish, unrealistic

If you are in a relationship, you are being reminded that you have the emotional support that you might be craving. Perhaps you're afraid that your partner might not be able to fulfill your needs but this is your sign to open up about your feelings and seek emotional support from them. They will make sure you get the support you deserve.

If you're not in a relationship, this is your sign to get out there and meet new people! Romance is coming your way! If you already have someone in mind then this is your sign to shoot your shot. This person could be a quiet and shy person so they might not tell you their feelings until you make it very obvious that you like them back so this is your time to express your feelings!

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔

Eight of Wands Reversed

Keywords & Signs: Moon, virgo, 7th house, libra, venus, gold, yellow, sun, glow, new moon in leo, 8, roadtrip, rose, wings, highway, fast travel, fire

Messages: 'Confidence is your key to sucess' 'You are in your element'

This month could be a frustrating time in your finances and your career. It might be that the progress in these areas of your life is slowing down or you keep experiencing setbacks, cutbacks, lack of opportunities or promotions. You may be waiting for some feedback or you keep scheduling for meetings which keep getting resqueduled or cancelled. You might make money very slowly this month and you might struggle to reach the financial security that you desire.

Stay patient and spend money carefully. Don't be impulsive. It will all pay off in the end. Once you get over this bump in the road, you will be hit with sudden abundance in money and opportunities! Luck is coming in quickly!

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉

Ten of Swords Upright

Keywords & Signs: pisces, saturn, 12th house, neptune, acupuncture clinic, 10, air, denists, surgery room, purple, flowers, waxing crescent moon, chakra, nature, chandelier, grounding

Messages: 'Have faith in your dreams' 'Connect with nature'

This month you are being asked to pay attention to matters related to your feet, toes, lymphatic system and your mental health.

This month, your health may decline to the point you are forced to stop and prioritise your health. You might experience some chronic fatigue, exhaustion, collapse and nervous breakdowns.

If you are struggling with mental health, you might find that taking time off could benefit you. Do some shadow work and pay attention to any addictions or bad habits you may have developed during this time.

☁︎ Thank you for your support! ☁︎

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