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henneseyhoe · 1 month ago

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A Lieutenant's Daughter and a Soldier's Heart

Terry Richmond x BLACK!FEM!reader

Order: Tea (Angst), Coffee (Smut), Smores (Virginity), Red Velvet Cake (Romantic style(at first)), Chocolate Wafer (Forbidden Love)

SUMMARY: You’ve been getting close with a new friend lately, a little too close for Terry’s liking, someone who shouldn’t have even known of your existence in the first place.

🍰 ˚～Henny’s Bakery!

✮✮✮✮

If there was something you knew how to do, it was to attract what you needed to keep away the most, the latest secret from your father being one of his officers. As a lieutenant, your fathers job was to protect and keep things in line. It was a dangerous job regardless if he was in contact with the danger directly or not and because of that, people barely knew you existed.

The stone cold lieutenant with a daughter? No, surely not! He could never love anything; This is what he liked everyone to think.

It wasn’t until you were caught in his office by Terry that the cat was out of the bag (for him at least).

You were no assistant! Not sitting there looking exactly like lieutenant's wife with a younger face, And you definitely weren’t the same party girl he saw at the club last night, not in that uniform.

You two spent half that day bickering, the other half with you begging him not to tell anyone who you were, not to let your father know that you slipped up and told someone, and absolutely not where he first knew you from. The white flag you raised along with a handshake in solidarity and agreement that he scratch your back and you scratch his (blackmail, really) sprouted an unlikely and unruly friendship…And something more you couldn’t yet explain.

I mean, it wasn’t like you two were fucking…you just hung out, kept company. Maybe kissed a little here and there, but Terry was too emotionally unavailable for you to go any further. You wanted to be with him, to give yourself to him, but he was stubborn as a mule, so why force and beg for what you knew you couldn’t have?

So, you tried to move on. Key word: try.

You hadn’t even known Terry was the jealous type until the recent incident.

When he saw you with someone else, going the places you two went, making the jokes you two made together, it ticked something off in him. The way he made you laugh alone had him salty.

“nigga is not that damn funny..” He’d think as he heard your laugh across the room.

He wished he could get away from the both of yall, but unfortunately for Terry, the guy was a private, small fish, and the man who adored you the most was his boss.

Was he better than Terry? Did he make you feel the way Terry knew he made you feel? All different questions that went through Terry’s mind that had him spinning, practically wishing death on a man he didn’t know from a can of paint, to his grandmother's dismay if she knew.

Terry was sick. Even sicker when flowers started to show up.

It led him to start with you all the time, it felt like you two weren’t even friends anymore, if you could even call y’all’s relationship that.

“Why do you care who I hang out with?” You squint at the man, Terry rolling his eyes in response.

“I don’t. I'm just saying. You don’t know this nigga, yall just met and you drinking with him and shit. Since when you start doing all that?”

You stare at him, patience wearing thin. Did he invite himself over just to piss you off? He didn’t care, he was gonna plant whatever seed he could to get you away from him, unfortunately it was just making you hate him a little more.

“It’s illegal to get drinks with a friend? Where was this energy when I didn’t know you and we was chilling?”

“Exactly though! That just shows how irresponsible you are, we shouldn’t even be friends right now! I could have been crazy or some shit”

It was a bit humorous to you, but you couldn’t even crack a smile or else he’d think you weren’t serious.

Licking the inside of your cheek, you huff. “You are crazy. Now move from in front of the door so I can go! You making me late nigga!”

“No. I said no” He repeated.

“What is your issue? Since when did you give a fuck about who I hang around? Since when did I become a top priority to look after? I’m grown”

“I know you are, I never said you couldn’t hold your own-“

“Then MOOOVE!” You nearly sounded like an irritated cow, but you were over the antics. If you had to fight to get out, you would at this point.

“No!”

“Why?!”

“Cause I don’t trust him! I don’t like you being with him or around him, he’s bad for you”

“Oh please, spare me from the lecture, *dad*. You’re just jealous”

He scoffed “Of what? He’s not better than me-“

You smirk bitterly. “See? You can’t even admit it, yet you wanna make a point that you’re better than him... You have a really sick attachment to me, but don’t wanna do shit about it. I’m not about to sit around and wait for you to make the moves I want you to, Terry, find somebody else to do it. Get help, and cope”

Adding salt to injury is all you did. Nothing you said made what he felt better, but it wasn’t like you were trying to comfort him either.

Your expression made Terry move to deflect as a defensive mechanism, but he couldn’t even do that. He didn’t have the heart to gaslight or fight about it, you were damn right.

“I don’t want you to wait, I never asked you to postpone anything for my own personal reasons”

“Then what the fuck do you want from me, Terry? You’re standing in front of the door like you got something to say but shit is coming out of your mouth. You wanna say something? Say it and leave the ego behind”

Thick silence fell upon the room as you gave him the ultimatum of the night, but as he stared with those eyes you admired on nights it was just you two, it only heated you even more. He didn’t care about the ultimatum. He didn’t care to have you stuck, he was too stuck in his own ways.

He stood his ground, quiet like you expected. You chuckle with no humor and shake your head.

“Right. Move so I can go”

“I told you already, you ain’t going”

He took authority like it was already his, and it wasn’t.

“You told me??? Move out the fucking way”

“No”

“Move!”

He shook his head like a bad kid refusing to eat broccoli, a childish gesture that had you halfway ready to use the army knife in your chanel purse.

You squint. “I’m finna move you myself in a minute…”

“Move me? You?” He looks you up and down, kissing his teeth. “You couldn’t move something with wheels”

“You’ll need two pairs of wheels when I'm done. Let’s see if I can move the chair with them by yourself when you get out the hospital”

Terry’s eyes darkened, his face reading an expression you didn’t expect from your threat.

“And this is the part where I’m supposed to be scared?”

You stepped closer with no fear, determined to make it out that door without folding, one of your hands flying up to push him before he caught it in his large hands.

Holding tight, he yanked you closer to him, so close you could feel each others breath.

“Let go of me, Terry” Your voice shook.

“Back up out my face and sit down before I sit you down”

“Sit me down, I don’t care!”

You said that with the initial plan to get back up, but Terry had already cemented in his mind that he’d leave your legs shaking before you could.

✮✮✮✮

Lord knows how many times you wondered how fucking would feel. As vulgar and nasty as you felt thinking about it sometimes, nothing you thought amounted up to how you were feeling right now.

You could only stare blankly into the distance as Terry pinned you down to your own bed and slid into you from the back. You had already been wet from the borderline torturing he did on your clit before hand, strumming the little pearl until your thighs shut around his hand and your sheets got soaked.

You couldn’t even hold a proper arch for him, hips flat on the bed because of leg exhaustion thanks to all the shaking, but that didn’t stop Terry. That just made it easier to keep you from running as he rolled his hips into you slowly, kissing up your neck as if he had loved you for years.

Your moans fell softly from your lips, lipgloss long gone and wiped off somewhere on your good linens. He even talked sweet to you and held your hands while he was in it.

It was like he forgot you were about to go out with someone else before this. He didn’t.

“Could you imagine him doing this to you? Fucking you this good? Cause I can’t” Even now his obsession and jealousy shines through like a jewel in dirt, one pound following each sentence. Your lungs were deprived of oxygen every single time.

��He couldn’t fuck you like this, baby. Say it!”

“He ca-can’t—Ouuu fuck!”

What he was doing to you was straight voodoo, the type dick you could feel deep in your stomach, the type that had you looking stupid in the face, and that you did look.

You felt the tip of him reach the deepest part inside you, pushing further and further until he physically couldn’t go any further. Your poor walls knew nothing better than to hold his big dick tighter inside of you, milking him for all he had.

“Fuck! Don’t wanna let me go, do you? Tight ass pussy” He grunted, expecting no response from you, and none he got as you drooled all on your sheets.

Was this a dream? This was too good. You had no time to think about how your father would kill you if he knew what was going on in your bedroom at this very moment. His best man on the field digging his beloved daughter out like a slut. That’s what was going on.

He left you heaving, begging to be shown mercy after all that shit talking.

“Uhhh! Fuck! you gonna make me cum, Terry!”

“That’s all I want, baby. I wanna see it, give it to me” He spread your cheeks open and watched himself dip in and out of you, your cream sticking to the base of him and coating his trimmed pubic hairs.

“Yes, yes, yesss!” White flashed behind your eyes as you squeezed them shut harshly, your toes curling as you came around him again, flooding your thighs.

“Give it to me!” His hips jackhammer into yours as he pulled your tired hips back up to force an arch and leaned into you, the force of his thrusts sending you up toward the headboard with small nudges until you clutched onto the fitted sheet below you, the fabric slowly being pulled from the edges of the bed.

The sounds you made heightened and your head spun like blue birds were chirping around you to show you had not a thought left.

You could barely hear the string of “I love you”s above your head as he came, shooting ribbons of milky white cum on your back.

✮✮✮✮

💌~AND WE BACK, AND WE BACK! 🙂‍↕️ idk if i got these rankings right, nor do i care either tbh ngl 💀 i hope anon enjoyed tho, sorry for the wait, boo 🩷 and sorry for any mistakes too it’s late lmao <3

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imliterallyf7ckin9crazy · 3 months ago

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꧁⋆°𝓢𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓭 𝓖𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓒𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼°⋆꧂

Squid game Season 2 men saving you when you almost die in the game

Characters: player 001, 230, 124

Warnings: canon violence, near death experience, toxic relationships, drug use, mention of suicide, romantic tension, f! Reader

A/N: this is no diss to anyone bc I respect the grind, I truly do, but everything I see of squid game is nsfw. I have to HUNT for sfw shit. I just gave up and just read everything anyways. So I’m trying to balance the scales a bit for rn. Again no diss bc yall nsfw writers COOK.

________

ᏢᏝᎯᎽᎬᏒ 001

(Weird ppl attacking you in game)

- ok so for this one I’ll say that you are just a average player in the games he happened upon. You two met because you were on the ‘X’ team, and more specifically in gi- Huns group.

- he normally is pretty resistant to the ‘worthless sob stories of the poor’ as he puts it. But for some odd reason, yours got to him

- thrown out of home, forced to survive and fend for yourself out in the streets, hopping from job to job because you can’t pay rent on time 8/10 and you get evicted. Pulling loan after loan to keep yourself afloat, and even that is starting to fail you. You are at the very end of the road and if you can’t manage to leave here without some money you are 100% fucked. You genuinely think the only way out of the hole you’ve dug is either a miracle in here or checking out of life manually.

- in-ho LOVES sad wet cat type people, he can’t help it. And even though he’s heard basically the same stories from hundreds of people yet somehow you stuck with him

- life was unfair to you, you were cast out. If that didn’t happen, you wouldn’t have to be living “like garbage”. Almost everyone else put themselves in their financial hole, you started in one. Not fair, see? He’s doing so much mental gymnastics and logistical jumping to validate himself. You’re different, you don’t count.

- you really weren’t a extremely strong individual , you didn’t draw attention to yourself like many of the others, you didn’t argue much or ask many questions. You came with a goal. And he respected that.

- after game two though, the marathon, you and many others decided it was time to call it quits. So you voted ‘X’ with gi-hun and everyone else. And surprisingly in-ho, or young-il as he named himself, also picked ‘X’

- you both didn’t really talk much besides maybe a few sentences to each other about how your group was meant to survive. But after the second vote, having a X on your shirt also meant having a target on your back. And being the “minding my own business” type it doubled that factor.

- a group of three people, two guys and one girl approached you. Sorrounding you and pestering you on your vote. It turned to raised voices and getting in your face, to shoving from all three people as you just stood there and took it, unwilling to change votes. Though you might not fight like some others that doesn’t mean you aren’t brave.

- though as soon as young-il (for simplicity) saw those men put hands on you he was already trudging his way cross room, leaving gi-hun mid conversation to aid you.

- you were backed against the bed frame of the stacked sleeping quarters, these three lunatics yelling and shoving you, telling you that you have to vote ‘O’ “or else”. You assumed it implied you leaving this place in a box.

- that’s when young-il made it to you. “That’s quite enough” he says, eyes cold as ice and facial expression locked in stone. His posture was straight and his head was held high. Very intimidating, it’s almost like he had a military commander type vide (hahaha- odd right??)

- the girl was quick to scamper off, giving you a glare as she informs the boys she’ll be waiting by their group. The men however puff their chests out and square up a bit, and you get second hand embarrassment because young-il doesn’t even flinch or break the deadly eye contact. “Are you sure.” Is all he said. It didn’t sound like an actual question, more of a “are you sure you wanna get your ass beat in front of all these people” threat.

- they got the memo from his venomous words and slowly creeped off back to wherever they came from, looking like puppies with their tails tucked as they walked away.

- “thank you so much” you say, bowing slightly in gratitude for his kindness. He gives you a nice chuckle before lifting your shoulders back up.

- “oh no no, it’s nothing. Those boys should know better, I bet their mothers would chew their ears off if they saw their lack of manners” he jokes, earning a giggle from you.

- it makes him feel kinda fuzzy, but he compartmentalizes that feeling for when he’s alone and can process it. In the mean time he just places his hand on your lower back, guiding you back to the group where you will be safe (and in arms reach)

- this just opened a Pandora’s box of possessiveness and lies, and he doesn’t even know how it will end

ᏢᏝᎯᎽᎬᏒ 230

(Mingle)

- for this let’s just say that you met up with thanos for the second game, the marathon one, and yall clicked a bit, leading him to tell you that “you should stay with me and my crew, for safety”

- and so you do. What could be the harm? He’s clearly deranged and a loose cannon, wouldn’t it be better to just go along before he kills you?

- is what you originally thought. Turns out after that conversation and you joined, he really isn’t that bad to be around. When he’s high he always makes you laugh, constantly cracking jokes and making fun of people at their expense to make you smack his shoulder a bit, saying “be nice!”

- you noticed he thrives on attention, and you give it to him freely. It’s hard not to when he’s got bright purple hair, hand tattoos WITH rainbow painted nails, and he’s rapping and dancing like he was in the comfort of his own home. Plus nam gyu, the guy who lowkey bullied the shit out of you the first few days was now told to “chill out man”

- now, you were all standing on a spinning circular floor, a cute little cheery jingle being played from over the speakers. Thanos and nam gyu danced together to the music, high in ways you didn’t even know you could get. It was pretty silly though, acting like kids.

- then the music dropped, and a number was said. You had to run with that number of people into a room to live. Those left behind will die

- the first few rounds were easy, the numbers were quite high and you held onto thanos’ jacket to stay with the group. The sounds of people begging to be let in followed by being punctured with bullets rang in your mind and the number for people in groups got lower and lower, until the number was two.

- you, thanos, nam gyu and min-su all stared at each other for a moment, frozen on who to pick before thanos started throwing his head from side to side before turning and gripping your arm and nam gyus, running full speed and pulling you along, forcing you to leave min-su. Though you felt horrible once you saw his shocked little face, you just kept going. Choosing to save your life instead of feeling bad and dying there.

- thanos shoved nam gyu towards the door next to the one you were about to be tossed in, luckily he saw someone was waiting by themselves in the room, so he was safe with two. Nam gyu gave him a small nod to let him know he was safe and set to survive.

- thanos rushed you in, slamming the door behind him and peering out. This was the last round, you made it. The door beeped behind you and locked, ensuring your victory of the game.

- adrenaline was still pumping through your veins as you gazed up at him from your spot cowering against the wall as gun shots rang. You didn’t even hear the people screaming or the poor souls who were locked from the room right behind you and thanos, damming you to hell for getting to the room first as they die. “Holy shit” you say as you look at him as he smiled back. “We did it.”

- “yup” he says confidently “now let’s see how much money we earned” thanos says as he pulled open the door for the final time. Before he can step out you grab his sleeve “hey- uh thank you” you mumbled

- he could have just left you like min-su and went with nam gyu, but he chose to save you.

- “what? Nah it’s nothing. Don’t worry” he says, patting you on the head and steering you out of the room

ᏢᏝᎯᎽᎬᏒ 124

(Lights out fight)

- there was a obvious tension in the air, one that nearly suffocated you as you sat with nam gyu on a bed… thanos’ bed.

- the vote ended in a tie, meaning the vote was to be redone the following day. After that was announced, your friends thanos and nam gyu went to the bathroom to ‘help even out the votes’. Specifically to talk to that poor min-su they’ve been harassing non stop. Only just nam gyu came back out. Eyes blown wide and covered head to toe in thick splashes of blood. Your heart nearly died when you saw him stumbling dazed out of the bathroom. You knew SOMETHING had happened when no thanos returned safely to you.

- after that, he tried convincing you they didn’t start the fight, which you saw right through. Eventually he dropped that act and told you straight up what went down. How your friend was murdered. Nam gyu tried covering his pain up by insulting thanos and taking two of his pills from the cross he stole from him. Calling him an asshole and an idiot. Again, you saw right through.

- you brought your hand up to his face to wife some blood off with your sleeve. And he leaned right into it, sighing very very deeply as he crushed the drugs between his teeth. He held your hand to his face, which you thought was just him being cute until he started talking about how there needed to be a total blood bath that night. To ensure team ‘O’ wins and you both could keep going. You tried to pull away but his grip kept you like in your spot next to him.

- “no nam gyu, we can’t just kill these people. They are just like us they just need money-“

- “yes! That’s the fucking point. We need that danm money, can’t you see? We won’t fucking win with all those stupid fucking cockroaches leeching our money” he hisses, harsh words contrasting with his hands tracing patterns gently on yours. “We won’t win this vote with them alive, we won’t get more money with them all alive. This is the only way”

- he just kept going and going until you agreed, saying you’d at least let him go out and kill and you’d be his little look out. Only nothing can go smoothly for anyone ever here.

- while there’s lights flashing and people screaming, blood and gore being sprayed from the alive and leaking from the dead, you are trying to make out what is going on around you. You can (faintly) see nam gyu out in the room, grabbing people and ripping them to shreds with his fork, the very fork that killed thanos to be exact.

- while you were looking around for nam gyu, someone had come up behind you, grabbing you by the neck and trying to choke you out. You screamed out nam gyus name as loud as you could as the attackers grip tightened and tightened to the point where you thought your neck was bound to snap. Your vision going out slowly as all you can recognize becomes the sound of the chaos. Until suddenly you were freed, and your assaulter was ripped off you and pinned to the ground by nam gyu.

- he started repeatingly stabbing the person, blood flying onto you and him as he slit the person open. When he stopped you basically flung yourself at him, crying “thank you! Thank you!”. He just saved your life, though You could barely recognize him, he was lost completely in drug fueled blood lust and rage.

- maybe not completely you figured, as he rushed to you and scooped you up. He returned you to a bunk, telling you to hide there and wait for him. Promising you he’ll come back, that he will keep you safe. And he did, as the lights came on and the gun shots rung out, he was alive and on his way back to you

______

Bet yall can’t guess who my favorite is >:3

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unboundprompts · 5 months ago

Note

do you have any tips for writing mermaids? i love your work ^-^

How to Write Mermaids

-> Things to Think About and Consider When Writing Merpeople and Mer Fiction

-> How to Write a Mermaid (anc writing resources)

These are just some suggestions! Feel free to pick and choose based on what best fits your story.

Physical Appearance

Tail Variations: Instead of a uniform tail type, consider different adaptations: sleek, dolphin-like tails for fast swimmers; large, strong tails with iridescent scales for deep-sea mermaids; or frilled, flowing fins like a lionfish for camouflage. Some might have tails resembling eels or sharks, giving them a menacing or streamlined look.

Scales and Coloration: In deep-sea areas, mermaids might have dark, bioluminescent scales with patterns that mimic the stars or the sea floor. Shallow-water mermaids might have brighter, coral-like colors to blend in.

Scars and Symbols: Scars from battles with sea creatures, markings from coral, or even bioluminescent tattoos could add depth.

Eyes Adapted to the Ocean: Mermaids’ eyes might be unusually large, with reflective layers to enhance night vision. They could have vertical pupils like a cat’s or even multiple layers of eyelids, including a transparent one to protect them from salt and silt.

Webbed Hands and Clawed Fingers: Webbed hands would enhance their swimming ability, and clawed fingers might be used for self-defense or hunting. Some might have retractable claws or spines to protect themselves from predators.

Culture

Language and Communication: Consider how sound works underwater; it travels faster and farther but differently. Maybe they use gestures, a sign language, or even musical calls to communicate. Their language might be melodic or full of trills and hums that are difficult for land creatures to understand.

Beliefs and Myths: Mermaids would likely have their own stories, rituals, and superstitions. Maybe they worship ocean gods, the moon, or view shipwrecks as holy places. They might believe in omens from ocean currents, the arrival of rare sea creatures, or changes in the tides.

Social Structure: Decide if they live in schools, pods, or solitary. A royal family, councils of elders, or a group of shamans could govern them. Do they form alliances or rivalries with other sea creatures or even human sailors?

Hierarchy and Elders: Older mermaids or those with powerful magical abilities may hold significant respect and authority. These elders could be responsible for rituals, storytelling, and maintaining the balance of magic within their community.

Seasonal Gatherings and Ceremonies: The ocean has its own rhythms—tides, moon phases, migrations—and mermaids might gather for ceremonies tied to these events. For instance, they could honor the arrival of certain fish schools or perform rituals under a full moon for strength and unity.

Jewelry and Artifacts: Mermaids might decorate themselves with jewelry made of shells, coral, pearls, and items retrieved from shipwrecks. Certain pieces may symbolize rank, magical prowess, or family lineage, with specific stones or materials believed to channel energy.

Tattooing and Body Art: Many mermaids may tattoo themselves with ink made from squid or octopus, using markings that indicate status, clan, or achievements. Bioluminescent tattoos or body paint could glow at night or during important rituals.

Magical Abilities

Special Senses: Consider heightened senses, like echolocation, the ability to detect changes in water temperature, or a heightened sense of smell for tracking prey or sensing danger. These would add to their unique oceanic identity and give them a slight advantage over surface dwellers.

Control over Water and Weather: Some mermaids can call storms, manipulate tides, or create currents. This might be a rare gift, often feared for its destructive potential. Using such magic could leave them physically or mentally drained.

Healing and Transformation: Certain mermaids could have powers to heal wounds or diseases with seawater, or transform sea creatures into protective spirits. However, each healing might weaken them temporarily or require offerings to the ocean in return.

Song and Illusion: Siren song is a classic power; mermaids could enchant, hypnotize, or create illusions through melody. Overuse might leave them voiceless or mentally scarred, with some even risking losing themselves to the song forever.

Shape-Shifting: For those able to take human form, transformation might come at a great personal cost. Perhaps they can only transform for a limited time, or their time on land drains their magic, forcing them to return to the water to recover.

Physical Depletion: Magic use might be physically taxing, aging a mermaid slightly or sapping their strength. Frequent magic use could make them appear older or leave permanent marks on their body, like scars or discolored scales.

Price of Blood or Offering: Magic might demand a price—whether in the form of a personal sacrifice or a blood offering to the ocean. For powerful spells, mermaids may even need to leave behind something they value, such as memories, emotions, or treasured artifacts.

Risk of Transformation: High-level magic could alter a mermaid’s physical form temporarily or permanently. They might grow extra fins, become partially transparent, or even lose their voice after certain spells.

Mental Toll and "Ocean Madness": Overuse of magic could lead to a condition known as "Ocean Madness," a state in which mermaids lose touch with reality, becoming isolated or forgetting their own identity. This is particularly feared among mermaids, as it might mean permanent exile or being lost to the ocean.

Forbidden or Dark Magic: Some magic forms might be considered taboo or forbidden due to their dangerous nature. Practicing dark magic, like curses or soul-binding, could bring severe consequences, both in physical tolls and social exile.

Character Motivation and Conflict

Relationship with Humans: Decide whether mermaids are fascinated by or wary of humans. Some might be drawn to them out of curiosity or romantic allure, while others might distrust them due to pollution, fishing, or old tales of betrayal. Their interactions with humans can reveal a lot about their personality and worldview.

Desire for Land or Home: Consider what might tempt a mermaid to leave their watery home. Do they long to experience human life, seek revenge for an oceanic wrong, or retrieve a lost artifact from a shipwreck? This longing could add depth to their character.

Struggles with Transformation: If your mermaids can shift between human and mermaid forms, consider how this affects their identity and relationships. Transformation could be painful, rare, or come at a high price, adding dramatic tension and giving their character arc extra weight.

Quest for Authority: In a hierarchical society, some mermaids might crave power or authority, seeking to rise through the ranks or challenge an elder. Such ambition could lead them to take risks, learn forbidden magic, or ally with powerful sea creatures.

Personal Pride or Legacy: Some mermaids might want to establish themselves as legends, known for feats of bravery or wisdom. This could involve dangerous quests to recover lost artifacts, hunt rare sea creatures, or explore dangerous parts of the ocean. Their pursuit of legacy might set them at odds with their peers, especially if it leads to recklessness.

Torn Between Worlds: A mermaid who can transform and walk on land might struggle with a dual identity. If spending time on land slowly diminishes their powers, they could grapple with the desire to stay connected to both worlds, fearing losing either part of themselves.

Conflict Between Duty and Desire: Many mermaids might feel a sense of duty to their family, tribe, or ocean gods, conflicting with their personal desires. They could be pressured to fulfill a prophecy, protect a magical artifact, or avoid contact with humans, even if it clashes with their true passions.

Past Mistakes or Betrayals: A mermaid who has broken societal rules—whether by consorting with humans, using dark magic, or violating clan boundaries—might feel guilt or face exile. Redemption could become a strong motivator, pushing them to right their wrongs, often at great risk or personal cost.

Haunted by Family Legacy: If a mermaid comes from a family of notorious outcasts, warriors, or traitors, they might struggle with the burden of redeeming their family’s name or rising above that legacy. This could lead them into difficult choices about loyalty and personal integrity.

Hunters and Captors: Humans might hunt mermaids for their scales, powers, or knowledge, forcing mermaids into hiding or guerrilla-like resistance. A character driven by a desire for vengeance against humans could lead to morally complex actions and choices.

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bitethedevil · 7 months ago

Note

What do you like about the character of Raphael ?

A Feral Love Letter to the Devil We Know

Oh boy. Here’s my list of why Raphael is like catnip to me (it’s not short and it is possibly a bit extra deranged because I am currently sick).

Purely physical things that convince me that this man was made for me in a lab:

Brown eyes and dark hair has always been my type

The slight stubble and those cheekbones (generally just his whole facial structure is beautiful)

The fucking n o s e <3 <3

Those thick thighs (perfectly sittable and bitable). He is just perfectly shaped.

Those hands he waves in your face all the time and those long fingers (does things to me)

His clothes. Yes, even in cambion form and even the silly clown boots, I love them. It is just all too extra, and I live for it

Everything about his cambion form

I have this crazy theory. There has been made these studies that depending on hormone levels, women are attracted to different kinds of men. At one end of their cycle, they prefer more ‘feminine’ looking men, and on the other end they prefer more traditionally ‘masculine’ looking men. If I get tired of his human form, I get more attracted to his cambion form and the cycle repeats. I think that is why I just do not get tired of staring at this stupid man every day. I know I’m not crazy. It’s science (and we all know I’m a trusted scientist).

Non-physical things that intrigue me:

How expressive he is. I love how his face changes constantly and dramatically with each sentence he speaks. It’s mostly an act but he is so charismatic. He has ‘rizz’ like the kids would say.

I can’t fix him. I don’t want to. His mind games intrigue me. I want to study him like a bug and play mind games with him too (I’m not delusional enough to think I’d win). Let it be toxic as fuck on both parts.

This man is just chucking stones from his glass house like there is no tomorrow. He plays such a big bad devil, but he is really just a little wet cat with a god complex and daddy issues. Not to mention his little hissy fits if any of his perceived weaknesses are pointed out. I find it endearing (unfortunately).

His voice and his eloquence. I love it. Even his shitty poetry. I could listen to it for eternity.

He is so smart. I have been shouting it from the roof tops: he is not stupid. He is always ten steps ahead.

He’s honest. He doesn’t lie and you know where you’ve got him (if you know how to keep up with him).

Genuinely everyone thinks he sucks, both devils and mortals, and yet he thinks he is the shit, either genuinely or as a coping mechanism.

He just such a nuances character if you really dig into it.

Things I relate to:

The scheming and overthinking. Everything is meticulously thought out to the point of obsession. He is playing 4D chess but doesn’t even consider that the other players might just eat the pieces to win. He strikes me as someone who completely overcomplicates things for no reason, and I felt that.

His idea of order is very different from what’s actually orderly. It just has to make sense to him, like ‘what do you mean it’s not orderly to have dead people lying around, trash everywhere, and debtors running around aimlessly in my house? Completely intentional. What’s not clicking?”. I felt that too. There is order to my chaos, and you don’t have to understand it. I get it.

He’s a cringy theater kid with a love for poetry too.

I too find it annoying when other people don’t follow the script I had in mind for the conversation.

Just human enough to understand how human interactions works, but either doesn’t give a shit or genuinely thinks that just spouting vaguely threatening poetry to strangers is a completely normal thing to do.

The obsession and ambition that just completely makes him lose the plot of everything else.

He is just so obsessed with everything being perfect to a point where it almost seems silly.

Acts like he doesn’t care, but actually cares A LOT about how other people perceive him.

I could honestly keep going but you get the picture.

(Thank you for the ask <3)

#raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael

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bonefall · 4 months ago

Text

Glitch Warrior: Stonewing

FUNFACT turns out that Stonewing in ShadowClan actually had a beta name. He was called Stonetooth, and was going to be mates with an obscure background cat called Wasptail.

Since I'm scrounging up ShadowClan cats here I'm absolutely doing something with this. But, there's already a Stonetooth. So we're looking at a conflict rename, lads!

Before getting to the poll, here's some deets about this guy;

Based on how the timeline shakes out, they're likely to end up as the child of Spindleclaw-- another Glitch Warrior, the brown sister of Ivytail.

This would make them Blackstar's grand-nespring.

If so, they might also be siblings with Shrewfoot.

Wherever they end up on the tree, this cat will be a sibling of Stonewing. Probably a littermate.

BB!Stonewing is actually deaf from birth. It works especially well if they have a sibling, because the home signs they develop to communicate can become part of the sign language that's going to evolve after SkyClan's arrival lmao.

The two can split the roles Canon!Stonewing has occupied. (Bonus, this can also fix an error that was in ASC: Star where Stonewing was a prisoner in the camp and the island at the same time lmao)

Stone"tooth" will probably be mates with Wasptail for a while, but I don't know if kittens will result. Stonewing's kittens with Grassheart are unchanged.

I am not committed to any particular gender for this cat yet. I'm leaning towards molly or gib.

For new names, I have three thoughts;

Option 1: StoneCHAT-tooth

A bird with a song like two stones being clicked. I feel like this could be a really cute reference to the idea that Stonewing was born deaf and doesn't speak, and so Stonechat-tooth helps interpret for him.

Since Stonechat-tooth is a bit long, I might make it Chat-tooth. Or just give them the Squilf treatment with their nickname-- Stoot.

Option 2: Bonetooth

A rhyme, but also ShadowClan sense of humor at work. Stonewing is pure white with dark blue eyes, and his sibling Bonetooth would be stony-gray. Mismatching colors chosen for the kits, to confuse their enemies.

Plus, Bone is a cool prefix. I say with absolutely no bias whatsoever.

Option 3: Different Kind of Rock-tooth

There's actually lots of types of neat rocks to use here. Fossils are not uncommon, fairy coins mean that both Fairy and Coin are valid, conglomerate rocks mean that "Cobbletooth" could be a totally valid name here.

Or even just Rocktooth, of course. Simplest alternate name.

EXACT details to be hammered out, so the precise name is chosen later; which BROAD CATEGORY should this rename go into?

#better bones au #BB!Stonewing

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janitorhutcherson · 1 year ago

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Need more stoner mike content. Ily and thank you 💞😚❤️😚💞💖💞😘

stoner!mike headcanons bc why not i’m in the mood :p nsfw warning for the last one

stoner!mike would be so silly. he’d be the type of guy to have everything under the sun, bongs, edibles, pipes, rolls… you name it. he had it. he was always so excited to show you something new he had for his collection. if you’re a baby stoner, there’s nothing he loved more than teaching you about the different strains, the different ways to get high. he loved nothing more than holding a pipe to your lips, helping you light the front since he was afraid you’d burn yourself. he was always so careful. he loved holding a joint in his hands for you to hit or to blow smoke into your mouth, tilting your head back.

stoner!mike was also extremely careful since abby lived with him. he had a safe in his room protected by a code (your birthday, actually) that only you two could get into you. he typically only smoked late at night, when abby’s eyes were tightly closed. he’d sit outside on the back porch with you, careful not to let any smoke or smell into the house. his favorite were the weekends when abby was away. you two would hot box the fuck out of his bathroom, closing the door and stuffing towels underneath the crack in between the bottom and the floor. you’d both sit on the floor that had been cleaned for the occasion, the entire room covered in pillows, blankets, pizza boxes, and other goodies, taking rips and hits.

stoner!mike gets the munchies, since we’re on the topic of food. he LOVES to eat as is, but especially when he’s high. the two of you would either order a shit ton of chinese or a shit ton of pizza. there would be wings, breadsticks, garlic knots, cheesy bread, different kinds of pizzas, pastas. he’s also a sandwich guy, always making of intricate sandwiches with you, much like shaggy and scooby. all while munchin’ and smokin’ with you, he’d love to have the TV on in the background, playing vibrate horror movies with gory scenes. sometimes he’d opt for the sound of heavy music in the background, enjoying the vibrations in his body.

stoner!mike would be extremely touchy while high. he’s the type of guy to get all cuddly, his entire body buzzing with desperation, wanting to feel your touch. he’d rub up against you like a cat, hold you in his arms, even stroke your cheek. he’d take advantage of every moment he could with you, touching your thighs softly or hand feeding you chips, holding your drink up to your lips. things you were perfectly capable of doing yourself, but you loved when he did them for you. he loved nothing more than pressing his nose against yours, both of your eyes glazed and bloodshot as the earthy smell filled the room. he’d press a soft kiss to your lips, which on occasion would leave to something different.

**NSFW WARNING**

stoner!mike is so incredibly horny. he turns into a hormone monster once his brain gets all fuzzy. his handsy, cuddly attitude turns into one much different. suddenly he’s got you on his thigh, guiding your hips back and forth against his, using your leg that’s tucked between his own legs to grind against. he’s kissing your neck, tugging at your underwear, biting every inch of skin he can get to. he’ll take hits from off your chest, kiss you after taking a hit, put a joint in your mouth while you ride him. he loves a good lazy fuck when you’re both stoned out of your mind. there’s certainly nothing he loves more than filling you up, keeping himself tucked deep inside of you as the two of you cuddle up, finishing the last of the joint.

#josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson imagine #mike schmidt smut

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spicycinnabun · 5 months ago

Text

your little rebel 1/2

@tommykinardweek for brat/brat tamer ♡ rated e ♡ read on ao3 ♡ tags: sex toys, sexting at work, d/s, daddy kink, brat!buck, sugaring (more tags tba for pt. 2)

Tommy had finished performing routine maintenance on his bird and was sitting down for a quick lunch break in the hangar. He was just about to bite into his sandwich—pastrami on rye, nothing fancy—when his phone chimed. He dug it out of the pocket of his jumpsuit.

Tommy’s lips quirked when he saw the notification was from Evan. He had the day off. He’d said he was going to go grocery shopping, hit the gym, and then run a few errands. They were planning on seeing each other that night.

Evan had a key to Tommy’s place. Though they hadn’t moved in together and still spent time at Evan’s loft, Evan seemed to prefer it at Tommy’s.

Tommy didn’t mind. More than not minded, actually. It made his chest ache to come home to the lights on, warm homey smells, lively chitter-chatter, and someone who’d missed him and was happy to see him. He was trying not to get too used to it.

Evan was going to cook dinner: chicken parmesan, a recipe of Bobby’s he’d made his own creative tweaks to.

“I’m calling it chicken plantmesan. You’ll be amazed at how good it tastes,” he’d told Tommy. “You won’t even be able to tell the difference.”

Tommy had mentioned wanting to cut dairy from his diet for a while to see if it’d help with some bloating, and Evan had said he would do it with him. It was sweet, especially since Tommy knew Evan liked dairy products even more than he did. Evan was the guy who told the waiter to keep going when he came by the table with the cheese grater.

“Bet it won’t taste as good as you,” Tommy had flirted, pitching his voice low on purpose just to see the blush light up Evan’s cheeks.

Smiling a bit wider at the memory, Tommy put his sandwich down and opened the text.

Finished my errands early.

Beneath that was an image. Usually, Evan sent him random pictures. Stupid memes, a photo of a stray cat he’d seen during his jog, his breakfast smoothie, Eddie, the rest of the 118 and their daily hijinks. This wasn’t any of those things.

Tommy stared, a little dizzy, as all the blood in his upper body immediately rushed south.

It was his bedroom. The shot was taken from a distance, probably from his dresser. Evan was naked on the bed on all fours, long legs spread wide on the mattress. He was down on his elbows, ass up on full display. He was glancing over his shoulder at the camera, heavy-lidded eyes drowsy with pleasure, lips red like he’d been biting them and parted like he was panting. Evidence of how turned on he was hung heavy and visible between his thighs.

But what really caught Tommy’s gaze was what was sitting snugly inside Evan. The flared base of a toy. It was red. The shape of a heart.

Tommy quickly zoomed out (when had he zoomed in?), saved the image to his photos and then deleted it from their conversation, just in case some busybody snuck up behind him without warning. He'd almost forgotten where he was.

He typed out a message with fingers that shook only slightly, heart pounding, mouth dry.

Evan. You know I’m at work.

Evan had never been so bold as to send him something like that while he was on shift. They’d sent dirty texts before; that was nothing new, but this was.

Couldn’t wait to show you what I bought.

Sorry, Daddy ❤️

Tommy’s arm slipped, and like an idiot, he knocked over his steaming hot coffee. “Shit!”

He grabbed the napkins from his lunch pail and quickly mopped up the mess before it reached his keyboard or monitor. He recovered swiftly when one of the other pilots walking by gave him the stink eye.

“You okay, Kinard?”

Tommy nodded, stone-faced. “Fantastic.”

He squeezed the damp napkins in his fist and took a bite of his sandwich to occupy his mouth and seem normal. He obviously wasn’t thinking about the food anymore.

The pilot shrugged, accepting it.

Tommy’s phone buzzed again. He waited until the pilot was gone before picking it back up. “Christ, he’s going to be the death of me,” he muttered.

You like it though? It has a remote. Thought you might enjoy controlling it.

And now it was time to get out of plain sight before he completely embarrassed himself. Tommy dropped his garbage in the trashcan and walked briskly to the washroom, locking the door behind himself. He leaned against it and tried to maintain his cool before he replied. But he was starting to sweat.

I was wondering what that charge on my card was, he answered.

He was lying. He hadn’t actually checked his statement, but upon looking now, there was one purchase of $59.74 from Cupid’s Closet.

It had taken some cajoling for Evan to let Tommy buy things for him—little treats, clothes he wanted, toys—especially since he’d been a bit pushy about Evan paying for things at the start of their relationship—but eventually, Evan had given in. He’d even started buying for himself without needing to ask. Evan acted like he didn't deserve any of it, of course, that he didn't need any of it, but Tommy could tell the attention was doing it for him.

Tommy never thought it’d be his thing, but he loved sugaring Evan. It felt nice. Cliché, sure—the whole ‘go ahead, baby, go wild with Daddy’s credit card’ thing—but who cared? Turned out it gave them both joy. Tommy liked spoiling him. Marie Kondo would be proud of Tommy for not throwing that shit away.

Haha, yeah

Tommy could hear the faltering, uncertain gears turning in Evan’s head, so he quickly sent another message.

I love it. Pretty. Keep it in. But you know the rules, honey. Hands off. Wait for me.

The bubbles started and then stopped. Started and then stopped again.

I’ll try to…

Evan.

Fine. But you better make it worth my while.

Tommy smirked. What a brat.

Keep talking like that, and I’ll leave you all on your lonesome tonight.

This time, Tommy received a selfie of Evan’s exaggerated pout. His cheeks were flushed strawberry pink, his blond curls looking soft and tousled against one of Tommy’s dark green pillows.

Mean.

Oh, Evan had no idea how mean Tommy was capable of being.

You have to behave if you want my attention.

Evan’s reply was lightning-fast. Smug.

That’s not how I remember it.

Tommy chuckled as he thought of what had gotten them to this point. Touché.

And I already said I will! Evan continued. …But it feels kind of amazing.

Tommy sighed, wishing he was home already.

I bet it does.

♡

A little while later, Tommy received a new text. He made another escape to the washroom with the excuse that he’d drunk too much coffee, feeling like a teenager and not almost forty as he hid from his crew.

This time, it was only a photo of Evan’s naked torso. A close-up of his abs and pecs in all their glory, painted with streaks of translucent white that dripped down muscled valleys. He’d come all over himself.

All the accompanying text said was Oops.

Tommy exhaled a noisy breath. “Do not get hard at work, jackass.”

Honestly, he never thought he’d have to scold himself regarding that.

Tommy put his phone on the edge of the sink, turning on the taps to give his face a quick splash of water. He wiped off with a paper towel, willing his body to cooperate and calm before he texted back.

Guess you don’t need me now, huh, hotshot? I was going to have fun playing with you, but maybe I’ll catch the game on TV instead.

Evan's bubbles started bubbling. They seemed to be moving wilder than usual, somehow.

It's not like I can’t get it up again. I’m not an old man like someone I know.

Tommy’s brows rose sharply. He almost barked a laugh, but that was just what he needed: people outside thinking he’d lost his fucking marbles.

There was silence for a few more moments and then a series of dings, each coming quicker than the last.

Wait

I didn’t really mean it about the old thing

I want to be with you tonight

And your refractory period is remarkable for a man your age!

Tommy snorted.

Wow, thanks.

I was thinking about you the entire time and how sexy you are and what I want you to do to me when you get here. I just couldn’t control myself.

Next time, I promise I won’t come until you're here and you say so.

Tommy?

Tommy grinned to himself. He needed to make Evan sweat for a bit. It was all part of the game.

Tommy knew it. He’d played it before with other men, but…

None of them had excited him like this. Not at this level. Not like Evan did. Evan was a little (well, big, muscular, and adorable) firecracker. He was impulsive, curious as hell, and wanted to dive headfirst into all sorts of new situations. He was exploring his kinks and surprising them both with what he was learning he liked.

Tommy was learning a few things, too. Funny because he thought he’d figured out all there was to know about himself years ago. He guessed even old dogs could learn new tricks.

Evan let Tommy drive and followed every safety precaution—for the most part. Sometimes, he tried to push too hard, too fast. Sometimes, he tried hiding his discomfort to gain Tommy’s approval and wouldn’t yellow or red light. That people pleasing, low self-worth, and fear of rejection clear as day in his every action.

They’d learned that bratting was a tangible way to break out of that mindset, at least a little. Something Evan had never let himself do. Stop trying to be good all the time. A cathartic release to say no, go against the rules, be bad, and take what he wanted. In a healthier way than maiming his best friend, of course.

But Tommy didn’t push too far in his punishments. There was only so much Evan could handle. Tommy was careful with his limits.

And… well, he felt too much goddamn affection for the kid to be as cold as he had been with previous partners. That side of him just wasn’t meant for Evan.

You’re still in trouble.

Tommy let that sit for a minute before sending a final message.

I’ll be home soon, sweetheart. You can make it up to me.

He chuckled at the litany of heart emojis he received approximately five seconds later. Oh, cute.

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riboism · 2 years ago

Text

so good

》 pairing: j.yh x f!reader

》 genre: smut

》 wc: 1.2k

》 content: use of sex toys, dom! yunho, perv! yunho, cum eating, pet names (doll), teasing, impact play. yunho and reader just started dating, yunho has a christian grey style fuck room lol.

a/n: thank you for the request! it’s kind of short but I hope you like it! @staytinyinmybpack

There was no way this was the same man who greeted you with a shy smile before holding the door open for you at the fancy restaurant you two had eaten earlier; the same man who pulled a chair out for you before taking his own seat; the same man who hung on to every word that came out of your mouth; the same man who’s eyes would twinkle when he caught you staring at him; the same man who blushed when he made you laugh; the same man who insisted on sharing dessert because he thought it would be romantic; the same man who would stutter when he felt your fingers brush against his as you two walked alongside each other to the neighboring park; the same man who was too shy to reach out and hold your hand even though he really wanted to. No, this guy was completely different.

You felt Yunho’s warm and fuzzy breath hitting the side of your face, his lips tickling your ear lobe and sending shivers down your spine. “I didn’t take you as an inquisitive person…you like snooping around where you’re not supposed to be?”

It wasn’t your intention at all, in fact, it was an accident. You really needed to use the restroom, and since Yunho’s house was just a block away, he was nice enough to let you use his bathroom before your long bus ride home. You didn’t anticipate how big his home was, and when you went upstairs, you couldn’t remember if he said it was the first door on the left or the right. Shrugging, you thought you’d try the door on the right.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you were about to see. You thought you stumbled into his bedroom, but it was far from it. You gasped, eyes widening at the large collection of sex toys proudly displayed all around the room. It took a while to absorb everything, from the dildos, pocket pussy, and vibrators sitting on the shelves to the ball gags and chains hanging on the walls behind the large bed. There was no way. He had a…playroom?

No, there was no way, you told yourself. Yunho was nice. He wasn’t the type of person that would give into his fantasies like this. You don’t know why you didn’t leave the room right away. Maybe you were still in a state of shock, I mean, it was a lot to take in. Or maybe it was because you couldn’t take your eyes off a certain blue dildo that was displayed on one of the shelves; It was ridiculously long, bent in a slight curve with a rather fat tip on the end. Was that for him? Or did he like using it on other girls?

Your thoughts were disrupted after hearing a deep sigh coming from behind you. “You weren’t supposed to see all this.” You whipped around to see an annoyed Yunho leaning at the doorway with his hands stuffed inside his pockets. He looked so different now; his once warm and sparkling eyes were now stone-cold and intimidating.

Everything after that was hazy and you couldn’t remember all the details or how you even ended up on his couch in this position, but you were way passed it now. Yunho dragged the very blue dildo he caught you looking at earlier over your throbbing wet center before stopping at your clit. “Hmm? What happened? Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled into your hair, tapping the tip on your clit to elicit a response from you.

Your hips jerked at the feeling. You bit back a moan, too shy and embarrassed to give him the reaction he was searching for. He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Oh come on doll…you know this isn’t fun if you stay quiet like this.” You felt the thick tip start to push into you, and this time you weren’t able to hold back.

“Fuck, fuck, please! I wasn’t snooping, it was an accident!” You cried out. Yunho stayed stagnant, letting you adjust to the tip.

“An accident? You sure this wasn’t your plan all along?” He teased. When you took too long to answer, Yunho started twisting the dildo around, making you stutter as you answered him again.

“N-No! I-”

“I mean, just look how easily you agreed to this. You act like a good girl, but you’re really just a needy little slut.”

You were starting to feel sore down there, but strangely you didn’t want him to stop. You had never taken something this big before, but something about Yunho being in control of it made you want more.

“A-and you?” You sputtered, “You act like a nice guy, but you’re really just a pervert.”

You could feel him smiling into your neck as if you just gave him a nice compliment. “You think so? A little slut and a pervert…sounds like a match made in hell.”

Yunho removed the dildo from you and leaned over your shoulder to get a good look at your sopping cunt. He spits onto your core for good measure before inserting the dildo back into you. You braced for impact, tears spiking in your eyes from the stretch. Your legs fell inward, making Yunho force them apart rather harshly with his free hand. “Keep them open for me doll, I wanna see you take it all.” He smacked your thigh before grasping onto it tightly as he pushed another inch into you.

“Fuck, Yunho!” You whimpered, “I-It’s too big!”

He grinned. “You know I’m a lot bigger than this, right?”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but the long thrusts made you forget all about it. You were holding onto his arm tightly, but with every pump, your grip loosened as you slowly reached your peak. You were a drooling mess, just another doll for him to play with, but you didn’t care. It felt so good to have someone take control of you like this. You didn’t know how badly you needed it.

He continued working you open, his eyes transfixed over your weeping cunt. He thought it was so pretty, how swollen and red your lips got as you tried your best to take the toy. He licked his lips while watching a few drips of your essence slip down your thighs.

You were able to take a good portion of it now, the curved length reaching your g-spot perfectly until your knees went weak and you felt yourself melting back into the couch with a shaky whine leaving your lips. Satisfied, Yunho pulled the dildo out from you, licking his lips again at the strings of your release coated all over the tip. You gazed up at him from your spot on the couch, waiting to see what he wanted to try out on you next. But before he could give you any instruction, he brought the dildo up to his lips and suckled at the tip.

“What are you-”

He moaned as he licked it clean of your juices, basking in your flavor with bliss. You were right. He was a pervert. As much as he tried to respect you and throw you off with those sweet innocent puppy eyes, he couldn’t help but fantasize about how good you’d taste and how well your puffy lips could take his cock while you sat across from him at the dinner table, unaware of his horny fantasies. “Needed a taste,” he answered hungrily, “you taste so good.”

🎧 so good- omar apollo

#yunho smut #yunho x reader #ateez smut #yunho scenarios #yunho fanfic #requests

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illustrationist-of-the-stars · 2 months ago

Note

Question for your • TWST X HSR YUU!CHARACTERS AU •

What do you think the characters' reaction would be if they met a tsum version of themselves (from the tsum event in TWST), and what type of personalities would the tsums have?

Just like in a previous post for one of the Twst events like this, their reactions would be different for each HSR!Yuu character which would be expected due to differing personalities, perspectives and all....

As for what I think what each character's reaction would be to meeting and finding out they have an identical Tsum version of themselves and along with the Tsum's persoanilities:

Yuu!Jing Yuan would be confused at first, but would relatively accept the new revelation with stride since it somewhat makes sense for a another universe to have a constant somewhere, no matter the strange implication it has.

He'd treat the little thing like he'd treat Snowmoon and Mimi, with great care and attentiveness whilst making sure it doesn't wander off to far and make him worry. He's lucky that Tsum's are particularly durable and can take almost any manhandling so long as it doesn't somehow hurt them too much which applies alot to Yuu!Jing Yuan's Tsum counterpart.

As for the Tsum!Jing Yuan, while it still has the typical spoiled cat of a personality, he's surpringly quite adventerous and is always eager to take off from his human's side in any given time to explore to his heart's content and make sure no stone is left unturned which is much to Yuu!Jing Yuan's chagrin.

Yuu!Jing Yuan isn't really that worried for his Tsum's safety, oh no- far from it actually, he's more so worried of what trouble and colletral damage the Tsum itself will cause in it's wake to satiate it's need to venture to the unknown and that comes with it's carelessness of everyone that stand in it's way. That little guy can pack a super mean headbutt that can cause a concusion if one is not careful...

Perhaps the Tsum creature is merely satisfying what his human part cannot; for he was born to Trailblaze into the skies and beyond, but is now unfortunately forced into the role of the General Xianshou, forever to stay stagnant in place for the sake of his people and for the promises he made from the past...but who really knows at this point?

Yuu!Aventurine, at first, would be freaked out- I mean seeing a version of yourself in the size of an overgrown marshmellow with stubby appendages and a dopey look could catch anyone off guard but he would just be reminded of his darling cat cakes and figured he'd seen weirder looking creatures at this point, this is only just a new development he has to adapt too, and adapt he will.

He'd overall treat it with a bit of more respect than most creatures since it certainly has it's own sentience and feelings, and with it looking exactly like him but just smaller? Yeah, he'd be super uncomfortable but would just push on through it and treat it like a little toddler that tails him around like a duckling through the halls...don't worry, he'd relent and let the guy chill on his shoulder when he gets the 'okay' from the Tsum.

As for Tsum!Aventurine, it's somehow both a constant trouble magnet but his own luckiness balances it all out in the end so you can think about alot of funny shenanigans he'd get into either by his own making or unwillingly. It's also Yuu!Aventurine's number one supporter and enabler but will forcefully drag the guy somehow away from danger and bad deals or just weaponize the puppy dog eyes to get his way.

The Tsum sticks to Yuu!Aventurine for the most part, like a clingy little brother, so anyone can always be glad and trust it's there for awhile to monitor him and always has his safety in mind...

But really in the end, it's still little Kakavasha at heart...

Yuu!Argenti would be surprised at the new arrival of a mini plush version of him that could move and has it's own sentience, but would be overall flattered that another universe would model a version of him and his visage onto such a gorgeus and complimentary creature! Such beauty truly cannot be replicated so perfectly and he is so ever grateful to be gifted such a fascinating sight and rare chance!

He'd treat it with such reverance and constant care and words of affirmation that could be borderline over 50 pages long, and the Tsum can't help but preen even more and more at such a devoted display. He'd bring it everywhere with his so that it everyone can bask in it's beautiful glory and also just to spend time with it since this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, y'know!

As for the Tsum!Argenti itself, it mostly has the same personality with his human counterpart but he unfortunately has no way to voice his appreciation of the beauty of the world so he makes up for it by meeting everyone and gifting them either a tiny rose or a bouqet in extreme cases to show it's sincere appreaciation of their existence. It likes to wander around alot but always comes back to it's human when it was done his perusal of this large world that's abit identical to it's old one.

The little guy is still somewhat feral itself so it may or may not be a little trigger happy by headbutting at anyone it sees, either this is how it shows appreciation or a threat is left unnadressed...

Yuu!Dan Heng would also be a little weirded out at first but would just be resigned to the situation since it doesn't seem that dangerous...quite harmless actually, it just looks like him for whatever reason and it's somewhat cute, he supposes. March would've definitely squish the living daylights out of the poor thing due to sheer cute aggresion, he thinks distantly as he observes the Tsum naturally gravitates towards him and looks up to Yuu!Dan Heng whilst also observing him back in kind.

He wouldn't really know how to treat it at first, but he would just let it do it's own thing for awhile since it doesn't seem too much of a handful besides just being super curious of everything.

As for Tsum!Dan Heng, it's typically really reserved and keeps to it itself most of the time so it clings to it's human counterpart more so for the familiarity. The little thing is always eager to learn more and document stuff to itself so it also likes to chill in the library even though I have no clue if Tsum Tsum's have reading comprehension or not-

The tsum can be it's own flavor of protective aswell but it mostly likes to chill for the time being...

Yuu!Silver Wolf would be taken aback at the first appearence of it but would just shrug it off and ask if it wants to be the player 4 in a multiplayer game while it's still here since she needs another member to beat the Shroud brothers at a recent game their all playing together. The answer was a resounding 'YES' if the sparkling eager eyes and wiggling of it's body and stubby arms wasn't an indicator enough...

She'd treat it as both like an overgrown walking plushie she could hug and squeeze to destress and treat it as like a companion to help her do tasks and play games even though it can't really help much but ram into things or button mash the controller that somehow helps sometimes.

As for the Tsum!Silver Wolf, it's an absolute gaming hog that Idia had no choice but to give it's own tiny console with of course, child friendly games cause we don't need some bad influences bleeding out into the Tsum world when they go back-

It would be an ipad kid aswell and total sore loser if it doesn't get it's so the little thing would give out the world's silent temper tantrum ever...also a major couch potato if their bored and too tired to even bother to get any enrichment for itself. It's not really that energetic but it's own type of thing ,to be honest...

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notjustjavierpena · 2 years ago

Note

Siggy, the real question is pls get some more pregnancy joel…..bc tempers has me feeling some type of way 😮‍💨🥹

The Making of Ellie - Part IV: Libido

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Ask and you shall receive, anon ❤️ Hope it is worth the wait.

Summary: Your libido has increased since getting pregnant. Joel doesn’t have a problem with indulging you.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut (mdni!), teasing, fingering, dirty talk, squirting, pregnancy sex, bit of fluff, intense orgasms, handjob, come-eating, desperate and whimpering joel is a warning in itself, the tiniest use of daddy.

Word count: 2.4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49183051/chapters/124097539

Libido

Since entering your third trimester, your libido has increased significantly. It is to the point where you feel painfully hot and bothered throughout the day, having described it as an itch that simply won’t go away no matter how much you scratch it. You’ll cross your legs, bite your lip, flush pink and be short of breath just by catching a glimpse of Joel, and he’ll be on you as soon as humanly possible. In short: You just want to, and you do, fuck all the damn time. Bed, bathroom, kitchen, in the hallway, once on the staircase, car.

Joel is happy to oblige, at least inside the four walls of your shared home. Sarah has completely fled the house at this point; despite it starting with your temper tantrums, her distaste for being home was really set in stone when she walked in on the two of you in a compromising position.

“Dad, I’m really happy for you and all, but Jesus Christ, I’ll be home again tomorrow,” she’d said, and now, she comes home for dinner and to pack her soccer bag. He lets her. She’s practically grown at this point, and he’ll see her when she needs him, he knows this. He has made it a habit to text her goodnight too, and she always responds quickly with a heart emoji.

You on the other hand are a whole different story. You are always in close proximity to him, circling him like a goddamn cat who does not want to admit its attachment to you and waiting to strike for the right moment to get attention.

Joel is emptying the dishwasher, a thing that he has made clear is his job after the incident, when he spots you out of the corner of his eye. He smiles to himself and pretends not to see you, continuing his work on getting all the mugs into the cabinet above him without crushing any of the million amounts of snacks you have hidden in the back.

You move closer. He watches still, catches the way your skirt flows as you walk to stand on his right side. You grip the edge of the kitchen counter, leaning against it and eyeing him up.

“Hey babe,” you say, tapping a finger on the front of the kitchen cabinet.

“Hi honey,” he replies nonchalantly to make you work for it. He starts filling up the dishwasher too, causing a microexpression of frustration and confusion on your face.

“Do you wanna do something together?” You suggest.

“Sure, when ’m done here.”

“How about now? Skip the cleaning up thing?”

“Is there anythin’, in particular, ya wanna do?” He acts oblivious. He goes to wash his hands, “Somethin’ that can’t wait?”

“Well,” you say with confidence, “Wouldn’t you rather get with—“

You push your hands down onto the counter to lift yourself up onto the kitchen table, but the act is hardly successful; you’ve become too stiff to do it, and it ends up a lot less sexy than Joel assumes is your intention. You try again, but you can’t get your ass onto the table, round belly in the way of being flexible enough to be seductive.

“Hold up,” you furrow your brows, trying your act again and using your legs to kickstart the jump off the floor but yet again to no avail, “I can do this.”

“Sweetheart,” Joel says, one hand resting on his chin as he hides the urge to laugh out loud. He clears his throat to cover up a chuckle.

“Stop,” you snap at him as you catch him actually laughing at you. He tries to suppress it, but when it bubbles up in his chest without his control, you become stubborn, “No, no, just wait.”

You struggle for a few moments more whilst Joel bites his cheek to keep you from getting upset. Eventually, you groan, “A little help here?”

“Sure,” Joel stands in front of you. He pushes on the soles of your feet the next time you try jumping, giving you the boost you need to perch yourself on the surface.

“Now,” you brush non-existent dust off your skirt, gesturing to yourself afterward. Joel thinks you’re adorable, “Wouldn’t you rather get with this than clean the kitchen?”

Joel sends you a smirk, “After that whole display, I’m actually not sure. Can you jump down and do it again so I’m certain?”

“Joel,” you bite, crossing your arms over your chest. He doesn’t know if you purposely squeeze your fuller breasts together or if he is just a dog, but he cannot help himself from staring. You catch him doing it, “Great. So you can stare at my cleavage, but you can’t touch me?”

Joel says your name. You ignore him.

“Have I not been paying ‘nough attention to ya?” Joel tuts in the softest voice, closing the distance between you to stand in between your legs, “Is that why you’re actin’ up?”

You pout at him so prettily, arms still underneath your tits and fingers tapping on your elbows. It turns more fun when you don’t reply, gaze dropping after it becomes too intense to stare back at him. Joel loves this little game, can feel his cock twitch in his jeans and threaten to strain against the zipper. You look past his shoulder, chewing on your bottom lip with a sort of pained restlessness.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Joel continues. He reaches out to place his palm on your round belly, rubbing soothingly as you continue to ignore him in your attempt to repress a tantrum. He knows you get angry and frustrated when you don’t eat, but after getting you pregnant, he has discovered that you react the same to not getting fucked on the regular too, “‘S not right for me to tease ya like that.”

“No, it’s not,” you agree, placing your hand on top of his in a gesture of reconciliation, “Think you should make it up to your baby mama. She’s going insane, you know. Only you help.”

Joel can feel his cock start to harden already. It is so easy for you to rile him up these days, hearing you talk about how he has ruined anything else for you. He is the only one to save you from this torment, and luckily, Joel likes to be useful.

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Joel’s hand on your stomach slips down and then up under your skirt. He glides his fingertips along your inner thigh, watches you struggle to find the words as his digits go further north until they rest right by the fabric of your underwear. He can feel the warmth radiating from your core.

“Uhh,” you say as your mind fogs. Your legs automatically spread for him.

“This?” He hooks his thumb underneath the damp fabric right at your center, “Jesus, you’re so wet, baby. I’m so sorry. If you’d just told me, I would’ve—“

“Just touch me, stop talking, and—” you whine, scooting a little further towards the edge to give him more access, “Don’t have to worry now.”

Joel’s thumb settles on your clit and presses down lightly. It causes you to say his name desperately, the back of your head knocking against the kitchen cabinet when you crane your neck back.

“Shit, are you okay?” Joel asks. He stops temporarily while you reach up to touch the back of your head. Though instead of wincing, you start giggling and Joel cannot suppress his own laughter.

“Keep going,” you egg him on, “I’ll be more careful.”

Joel decides to pull your underwear to the side instead, so he can sink two fingers into you. You let out a shaky breath, “Oh, fuck. That’s just what I needed.”

Joel’s thumb is on your clit again. He fucks you on his digits slowly, searches for your g-spot for only a second before rubbing it with the pads of his fingers. God, the way your face goes slack. You absolutely love it.

The wet squelches of your cunt are obscene enough to get him painfully hard in mere seconds too, combined with the feeling of your walls fluttering with your climax building.

“How the fuck are you so soaked?” He asks in disbelief.

“May have pregamed,” you admit in your blissful state.

“What?” Joel doesn’t stop what he is doing, but he slows down until he has almost come to a halt.

You find his gaze with a frown, “Don’t stop.”

“I haven’t… pregamed?”

You squirm a little and try to move, but Joel places his free hand on your belly to stop you, “Tried to take care of it myself. Didn’t fucking work, okay? The angle is all wrong.”

Joel cannot believe his ears. He lets his hand go up to grab your chin and then starts fucking your cunt with his fingers in earnest. You cry out softly, holding his gaze intensely.

“You find me, okay?” He puts on the voice that always makes you shut up and nod, “I don’t care what the fuck I’m doing. Say you wanna come and I’ll be there.”

Just like he predicted, you simply nod at his words. Your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and he marvels at how you are barely able to connect your fingertips when your hand is in a fist around it. He loves you. Sweetest little thing he has ever known.

“Gonna be a good girl and come f’me?” He smiles devilishly when your breathing indicates that you are close. He lets go of your chin and splays the palm on your chest to feel your rapid heartbeat, “Make those legs tremble f’me?”

He curls his fingers upwards to torture his favorite spot inside of you, and then you are coming around them with fast pulses of your walls. He watches your thighs twitch once and then twice before actually shaking violently, making him wonder how long you’ve involuntarily edged yourself before finding him.

“Fuck, Joel, Joel,” you gasp in a very particular way, and Joel quickly removes his fingers from your cunt to see how a wet patch forms on your skirt from how you gush repeatedly as your climax reaches its peak.

It doesn’t even matter that it’s in the fucking kitchen, because the pride that he feels at making you squirt knows no bounds, and he cannot help the boyishness in his chuckle, “You’re fucking amazing.”

“Holy fuck,” you groan as you come down from your high. You rest your head against the kitchen cabinet again, this time without knocking it roughly into it.

“Good?” He asks.

“Fantastic,” you sigh contentedly, “Just gimme a sec. Take your pants off. I wanna do something nice for you before I go take this stupid skirt off.”

“Baby, you don’t have to,” he reassures despite how his dick hurts by now.

“Pants off, Miller,” you commandeer.

Joel follows through without further hesitation. He makes quick work of undoing his jeans and shoving them down with his underwear, grunting at the friction along his hard cock.

“Look at you,” you say with a pout, “Poor baby daddy.”

You reach out to grab a hold of his cock, watching the bead of precome that threatens to drip down from the tip. Running the pads of your fingers up and down the shaft teasingly, Joel lets out a relieved moan at finally being touched but it only lasts for a moment because nothing escalates.

“You said something nice. This ain’t nice, sweetheart,” he tells you with a groan, squeezing himself further in between your legs to get closer to your smug expression. You swear the precome over the sensitive head and both of Joel’s hands fly to the kitchen counter. He places them flat against the surface, “Really not gonna say anythin?’

You bite your bottom lip and shake your head, eyes still glazed over with your post-orgasmic bliss but now also sporting an innocence that drives him mad. You start stroking his dick, fist tightening around his girth and he can feel himself pulse in your hand.

It feels fucking great as you drag your palm over the skin again and again, but something clicks in Joel’s head when desperation hits. Fuck, he wants to come.

It would be impossible to make his body listen to him right now as it feels disconnected from reality and control. He tilts his hips, looks down at where you’re touching him so expertly, and then fucks himself into your tight grip.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say in disbelief but never falter. If anything, you manage to squeeze enough to make it a tighter fit without hurting him, “Fuck, you’re so hot like this.”

“Fuck,” he swears loudly and speeds up his hips. One of the hands on the kitchen table comes up to grab a cabinet handle, knuckles turning white as he strains to chase his orgasm.

When the rubber band at the base of his spine snaps, Joel stills his hips. Your hand hesitates for a second, but then the first rope of come spills over your hand and you milk him for every drop he has in him.

Joel hasn’t come like this in a while; always empties himself sheathed inside your soft cunt, but when you praise him absentmindedly as he comes, he finds that he might become partial to it. He pants through the almost painful clenches of his lower stomach and balls.

When he whimpers at the over-sensitivity, your hand stills completely. Your free hand strokes his cheek with the back of your fingers, “You good? Talk to me.”

It takes a beat to find his bearings once more. His hand plops down onto the counter again. He mumbles with exhaustion coating his voice, “Alright. ‘M back.”

He thinks you’re as spent as him, but with your remaining energy, you lift your hand from his cock to lick his come off the back of it with the flat of your tongue. He groans, “Dirty girl.”

“What? It has vitamins,” you tease, giving your hand another kitten lick, “Unfortunately not D. Should’ve been vitamin D.”

Joel rolls his eyes. He struggles a little with his balance as he gets dressed again, blood still not having fully returned to his brain. He gets the paper towels and helps you clean up, but you just look at him with a dazed smile.

“What?” He questions.

“You better fuck me like that tonight,” you muse.

“You know what to say, and I’ll be there. No pregaming,” he replies simply and helps you onto the ground again, “Now go change, momma.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#joel miller smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x you #my writing #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel x reader #joel x you #joel miller imagine #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal #dilf!joel

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crappy-writings · 7 months ago

Text

The Run and Go

Natasha RomanoffxEx-Widow!Reader // Enemies to Lovers(Ish), Angst, Series (?)

*Images are not mine, credit to its sources and creators

Prompt: You, an ex-Red Room graduate turned mercenary, take up an assignment to retrieve some sensitive information from the Triskelion. You run into Natasha as you escape, much to your anger. You can’t seem to escape her after this first encounter as different circumstances force you to work together.

Summary: The Triskelion’s infiltration was going so well. That was until a certain redhead makes an appearance, leading to a long-awaited confrontation.

Trigger Warning: Poorly researched hacking concepts and lingo, bad spy/escape sequence, guns, google-translated Russian, swearing, canon-typical violence, implied/mentioned physical and emotional child abuse, the Red Room, bad fight scene, minor injury, let me know if I need to add more.

Word Count: 3,858

A/N: Did I watch Iron Man 2, Captain America and the Winter Soldier and Black Widow, analyzing Nat’s and other Widows’ fight styles? Yes, yes I did. Was I successful in writing an interesting fight scene in line with what I saw? Probably not, no, but here we are.

Let me know if anything needs to be fixed!

Part 2 ->

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist | Recced Fics

Breaking into the Triskelion had been almost effortless. It was easy to slip into its walls without raising suspicion, to become invisible once inside. No one expects a mouse to simply walk into the cat’s den. Then again, you were not a mouse, and the cat thought itself untouchable.

There was no air of importance to your stride, no urgency in your steps. Your clothes showed little rank, most agents barely sparing you a first glance as you walked through the hallways alongside them, not realizing you were most definitely not one of them. Pride was always the downfall of man, you thought.

The hallways and floors all seemed the same to you. The absence of windows was glaring in the lower levels, being only lit up by white, fluorescent lights, basking the stone walls in a similar hue. The floors were a familiar, polished, gray color, reflecting the light upwards. Despite the unoriginality of the corridors, you’re able to find the control room rather quickly, having already memorized the interior layout of the building before even dreaming of stepping inside. It was somewhat dark inside the control room, mainly lit up by the several rows of screen monitors and a few of the same fluorescent lights that decorated the hallways.

There was a singular agent in there when you stepped inside. He barely looks up from his screen, unbothered by your sudden intrusion. You pick a desk and sit down, beginning your search for the files your employer had asked for.

There was a vulnerability in one of the system's firewalls, one you quickly exploited. It took you longer than you wanted to admit, but you were able to completely break through it, making it easier to find the necessary files. A cough interrupted your concentration, causing you to turn to look at the agent sharing the space with you. His eyes never strayed from his own monitor, raising a cup to his lips as he continued to type away on his keyboard. After confirming you were still in the clear, you returned to your work.

It took you a few extra minutes to find the ones you were looking for but were able to download all of them onto the pendrive given to you by your employer. Once you had everything, you deleted all the information you took from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s servers. You even deployed a nasty virus that will keep them occupied for a few days for good measure.

There is a small part of you that feels satisfaction at having been able to take something from the organization as easily as you had. You stand nonchalantly from the seat you had claimed as yours, approaching the communal pot of coffee hidden away in one of the room’s corners. The singular agent hidden behind his monitor just barely acknowledges you, his eyes leaving his monitor for a few seconds before returning to his work. You serve yourself some coffee in a paper cup, taking a few sips before slipping out of the room.

The problem had never been getting in. No, it was about getting out.

The walk to the elevator was relatively short, the hallway empty as you made your way towards it. It was almost eerie, the way things were going, given that it was typically around this part where you would walk into some form of trouble. You knew that downloading that information was going to tip off some server moderators, adding an extra layer of difficulty to your escape. Even so, the invisibility you have managed to maintain is still your greatest weapon.

Two agents stepped out of the elevator once it had reached your floor. One of them acknowledged you with a singular nod while the other barely spared you a glance.

You step into the now empty space, the computer screen showcasing your face, along with a fake alias and a serial ID number. The creation and uploading of the fake S.H.I.E.L.D. agent profile had taken you weeks to accomplish, but its completion was the key to slipping in and out of the building mostly undetected. Having some of the organization’s face-changing technology would have made the infiltration a lot easier, but that technology is too safely guarded for you to have been able to get your hands on it.

The doors had not shut closed yet, waiting for you to state your destination. “Lobby,” a voice that is not your own rings out from your vocal cords. The voice moderator that you had nicked from one of your past jobs had come quite in handy, especially for this mission. The piece of technology was hidden away under the collar of your stolen uniform, its detection nearly impossible.

“Confirmed,” the automated voice of the computer rang out into the enclosed space, and finally began its descent. Breathing was becoming an easier task as you were one step closer out the Triskelion’s door.

The elevator stopped a few times as it continued to go down, letting agents in and out on different floors. Most of their trips were short, some engaging in small talk before exiting the confined space.

“Controls,” an older man dressed in a blue suit commanded, followed by the computer’s robotic voice, “Confirmed.” He had a kind face, dark brown eyes aged with crow’s feet and his hair white and thinning.

“Working hard or hardly working?” the man asked, his tone light and jovial, as the elevator continued its descent. You sent him a friendly smile, adding a small chuckle for good measure.

“Not sure yet,” you replied, not dropping the smile, “Every day is unpredictable in S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The man replied with a chuckle of his own, “That, it is.” The elevator opened into another level, allowing the man to step out. He sends you a friendly smile as he departs, leaving you alone in the confined space once more.

You reach the lobby shortly after. The space was wide, a glass canopy overhead, allowing the warm glow of sunlight to stream in. The walls were decorated with a mixture of off-white stone, dark tile and stained wood, the floor a dark gray that complemented the space nicely. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s emblem was showcased proudly in the very center of the room, reminding everyone who walked inside of where they stood.

The lobby was full of people, some dressed in nice, neutral-colored suits, while others were dressed in tactical gear. Security hung around the entrances and exits, eyes sharp as they overlooked the crowd.

There was purpose in your stride now. The longer you took to get out, the larger the possibility of getting caught. It was only a matter of minutes before someone noticed the missing information that burned in your uniform pocket, if they did not know already.

You made your way across the lobby unperceived. The sense of satisfaction from a successful mission had begun to bloom in your chest as you easily blended into the large group of agents that zipped in and out of the building. That was until you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, the sensation of a pair of eyes staring you down from somewhere behind you making you come to a stop.

Your eyes scanned the room methodically, until you spotted a set of familiar green eyes and fiery red hair, ones you thought you would never see again. There was a flicker of recognition in her features, but it lasted for less than a second, slipping on her perfectly crafted mask of indifference, her expression unreadable as neither of you break eye contact. A wave of burning hot emotion overcomes you, before you stamp it out. Emotion is a weakness. Emotion is for children. Emotion gets you killed.

Neither one of you had looked away from each other, as if a silent conversation was being held between the both of you. You subtly raise your head, your eyes narrowed and daring. It was a silent challenge, and invitation to your long-awaited encounter. It was a dangerous game to play while in the confines of hundreds, if not thousands, of highly trained agents, especially when one of those agents was Natasha Romanoff, but it was one you would play, nonetheless.

You’re the first one to break eye contact with her, quickly becoming invisible within the crowd of agents. A cat has spotted you and was about to give chase.

It would almost be thrilling to be running from the Black Widow turned Avenger, were it not for the blazing resentment snaking its way through your chest. It had been years since you last saw her, her defection to the very organization you just stole from had left you filled with a sense of bitterness and betrayal.

The rest of your journey towards the garage went uninterrupted, but you know she was somewhere nearby, following your moves closely as you weaved through the lower levels. Spotting the redhead had suddenly made you itch for a fight, adrenaline fueling your body.

Your bike comes into view as you reach the final garage level. The vehicle was hidden away in a secluded part of the parking space, far away from the other cars. The keys jingled in your hand as you pulled them out of your uniform pocket. You would have closed the distance between you and your escape, except that you felt her ghost-like presence lurking from behind you, finally making herself known.

With a singular deep breath, you stick your hand out to the side, showcasing your keys to her before tossing them forwards, the sound of metal clattering against the smooth asphalt a few feet from your motorcycle.

“I didn’t expect to ever see you again, Romanoff,” your modified voice echoed in the vastness of the garage. Your hand instinctively reaches for your concealed gun, pulling it out in one swift movement as you turn to face her.

“I would say the same to you,” she stood a few feet away from you, her stance paralleling yours, guns raised and aimed at each other’s heads. Her eyes had a hard edge to them as she stared you down, “Why are you here?”

“Just seeing the sights of Washington, D.C. There’re so many museums here, you know?” there is vexation in your tone despite your sarcastic words, “Plus, how could I skip out on admiring the Triskelion’s architecture? Bet the engineers had fun building it.”

The both of you had stepped closer to each other without realizing it, her firearm about a foot away from your own. She ignores your quip, instead choosing to make a go for your gun. You mirror her movements, both of you trading guns before aiming them at one another once more.

Neither of you said anything as you continued to stare each other down, the tension thick enough to be cut by the edge of a knife. Her eyes were studying yours, searching for something and you’re not quite sure what it is. There was a subtle change in her stance shortly after as she dared you to make the first move. So, you did. You went for her gun again, this time flinging it across the empty garage, the piece of metal skidding across the asphalt. She does the same, the Red Room’s training being activated on pure instinct.

The beginning of your fight was not a fight at all, though. You were both following a basic combat sequence of simple parries and blows taught to you in the confines of the Red Room. The drill was the one that was taught to the youngest of girls, set to provide them with the basics. It was more of a dance for the both of you, perfectly choreographed and in sync with the others' familiar response. It was child’s play.

For a brief moment, you felt like you were back in the Red Room, the both of you locked in the familiar dance as your handlers watched you engage in a sparring match. The parries and blows you sent each other’s way were predictable, neither of you having the heart to truly fight and hurt the other. Your punishments for your defiance would vary, the ones you remember most being obligated to practice the same ballet move until your feet bled. The other usual punishment was to be made to fight an older Widow, one that would not hesitate to hurt you, to teach you a lesson for holding back. Eventually, your sparring sessions no longer started with the predictable routine of parries and blows, replaced by hard tackles to the ground, bruising kicks and skin-breaking hits.

Old habits die hard, it seems.

Your mind snaps out of it as she grabs hold of your arm mid-swing before securing a hold over your shoulder, allowing her to throw you onto the ground. The wind is knocked out of your lungs, and it takes you a few seconds too long for you to recover.

“What did you do?” She asks as she manages to hold you in place, her legs straddling your waist while her arms have you pinned down against the ground.

“That’s not your concern, dorogoy,” you smirk up at her as you smash your forehead against her mouth. The distraction allows you enough time to securely grab her by her forearms, your freed legs find her stomach, flipping her over you. She lands roughly a few inches over your own head, the force of the flip enough to leave her stunned for a few moments, allowing you to quickly get to your feet.

“I have to go,” the voice moderator that had been hidden under your collar was knocked loose, your voice sounding strange as you taunt her, “It was nice seeing you.” You were scooping your bike’s keys from the ground before she pushed you into the vehicle, knocking you both onto the ground.

In hindsight, it was dumb of you to believe she would stay down.

The back of your head hits against the floor, stars filling your vision for a few moments, your bike tangled under your feet. You feel her grab the fabric of your stolen trainee uniform, dragging you away from your bike and towards one of the garage's walls.

You struggle against her, managing to break free from her hold. Once back on your feet, you send a few firm punches her way, and she is unable to dodge a few of them.

You were sloppy in your attack though, as she gets a firm grasp on your arm once more. Her other hand gets a hold of your shoulder and pushes you back up against the building, slamming you against the wall once, twice, three times. A string of coughs escapes you, air not reaching your lungs. You feel the fight begin to leave your body and hate that she was able to incapacitate you. In a last-ditch effort, you press your hands against her face, forcefully pushing against her with all your might. This somewhat works, placing a bit more space between you, enough for you to raise your leg, and knee her in the stomach. This sends her back a few inches and you send another swift kick to the affected area. Your legs react before your mind does, trying to close the distance between you and your knocked over bike, the keys within your view on the ground.

You were still a few feet away when you felt a sharp and burning sting emanate from your lower back, your body locking up against your will and effectively sending you tumbling to the ground. She threw a fucking Widow Bite at you.

“Cheater!” you yell at her, your body completely unable to move. She catches up to you, one arm cradling her stomach, before grabbing you by the scruff of the stolen uniform and dragging you up against the nearest wall. Your body felt numb, every single one of your nerve endings having been lit on fire mere seconds ago.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, what the fuck are you doing here?” her tone is hard and almost dangerous, her eyes scanning over every single one of your features in search of any telltale signs of a lie. It was only now that you realized that she was bleeding from her slightly swollen lip, a trail of crimson running down her chin. There’s a small, sick sense of pride that settles within you as you watch the blood flow from the split lip you gave her.

“Fuck you, Romanoff, I don’t owe you shit,” the familiar sparks of anger were building up inside your chest.

“Answer the question,” her tone is even and low. It was not until now that you realized she had picked up one of the discarded firearms, the barrel of the gun being pointed directly at your head. Something within you was emboldened by this, leaning forwards as the tip of the gun presses lightly against your forehead.

“You’re not gonna shoot me,” your eyes staring directly into hers in defiance.

“How are you so sure about that?” she asked through narrowed eyes, digging the barrel further into your skin, her finger hugging the trigger but not squeezing it.

“Because you would have shot me the second you saw me if you truly wanted me dead,” you reply, and the words taste bitter in your mouth. There is a visceral hatred in the gaze you level at her, the teasing air that had coated your initial confrontation having completely dissolved.

“Why are you so angry at me?”

The question had been so simple. It made you want to explode.

“Did-did you seriously just ask me that? I have to tell you?” you almost choke on the acidity that coursed through your tongue as you spoke those words. A bitter laugh makes its way past your lips, your head shaking slightly as a sense of indignation floods your chest.

“Tell me Natalia, did you think that everything would be magically solved the day you defected?” The burning sensation of unfiltered anger and overwhelming resentment are spilling out of you, and you do your best to push them away forcefully. Your mask cannot break. Your mask will not break.

Emotion is a weakness. Emotion is for children. Emotion gets you killed.

The words repeated over and over again in your head, a never-ending chant driven into you by your handlers. Emotion had always been the one thing that you struggled with in the program as a child, constantly making you hesitate and clouding your judgment. Your handlers recognized this weakness in you, and they worked you tirelessly, trying to stomp it out of you. Your struggle against emotion is what got you recycled four times before you finally graduated.

Natasha’s face gave away no indication of what she was thinking. Her features were schooled perfectly into a mask of indifference, and that made you all the more angry.

“I had to get out,” she defends herself; the gun being slightly lowered.

“I don’t care,” you want to yell, you want to scream, but you don’t, “You leaving made The Red Room all the more difficult to survive.”

Something about what you just said made a crack in Natasha’s mask. It was nearly imperceivable, but you saw the twitch her brows made at your statement.

“The Red Room doesn’t exist anymore. Dreykov is dead,” she states factually. Her tone was so confident, so sure, you almost believed her. But she was wrong. He may have gone into hiding, never showing his face, but his whispers still rang inside the halls of the Red Room, his fingers choking the life out of every Widow still stuck there. His presence was a stain that would never leave.

You can’t suppress the bitter laugh that escapes you, “Is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. told you?”

The numbing feeling that had spread throughout your body was beginning to wear off. There’s a small twitch in your leg, one that Natasha notices and she knows she is running out of time.

“I was there, we rigged bombs up a five-story building,” Natasha recounts, her eyes taking a similar hard edge from earlier.

“The Red Room still exists, Natasha,” you talk low and slowly, your tone was no longer defensive or angry. She needs to know she is wrong. “Dreykov isn’t dead.”

“It’s impossible, I killed him,” she restated adamantly. Her mask was slowly cracking, but you do not feel victorious about it.

“He’s alive, Romanoff. I’m not fucking with you,” your tone was exasperated, “Why would I lie?”

“Why are you here?”

“Chert poberi,” the curse slips past your lips, your annoyance at the redhead radiating off of you, “I took a job, I’m a mercenary now, that’s all you need to know.” You finally push yourself off the ground, your legs stumbling slightly as the pins and needles continue to prickle under your skin. She allows you to stand, backing away from you with her gun still trained on your head.

“Listen, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Dreykov is not dead, and the Red Room is still alive and well. You don’t need me to tell you what happens in there,” you shook your head gently as the familiar, bitter taste of your words coat your tongue.

You made no effort to move away from her yet, despite desperately wanting to leave. Her gun was still trained on you, and you were beginning to doubt whether or not she would actually shoot you. A single wrong move could mean the difference between life and death, or worse, getting turned in.

But she was no longer focused on you. Her mask had slipped off, and for the first time since you were children, you could read every emotion in her eyes. There was conflict there, torn between the lie she had convinced herself of and the reality of your words. There was wariness in her gaze, but there was something else too, something bigger.

It was guilt.

She believes you.

You begin to move away from the wall she had you pinned against, your bike about ten feet away from you. It’s clear she has no intentions of stopping you, instead lowering her gun slowly, her eyes never leaving yours.

She… she was letting you go.

The gaze you send her is cautious and untrusting, but you continue to move away from her, nonetheless. She eventually breaks the eye contact you had maintained, her eyes dropping down to the ground, her breaths slow, heavy and unsteady. There is enough space between the both of you for you to run. You caution one last look at her, but she has not moved a muscle.

“See you around, Romanoff,” Your tone is not victorious nor teasing, it’s dejected and almost sad.

With that, you run towards your bike, scooping your keys from the ground swiftly before driving away, leaving Natasha behind with her thoughts.

Part 2 ->

#marvel #marvel fanfic #avengers #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader

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feathered-mushrooms · 9 months ago

Text

Scott Summers ahead Cannons

he is my favorite loser boy

Due to growing up on it, Scott tends to throw himself into the danger room whenever he feels an emotion more than fine. He does not know a limit, which his led to “Scott patrol”. Oh Scott hasn’t left the danger room for five hours? Rouge it’s your turn, I pulled him out last time.

Scott can’t handle to much down time, or being bored. He constantly feels like there is something he should be doing, and therefore will constantly find something to do.

Charles has done a number on him. He is the reason Scott is so high strung, why failure isn’t just a lesson to learn from but an entire judgement of his character, why he can’t just breathe. He needs to be the leader and the man everyone can count on, he needs to be everything Charles wants him to be.

This is not a healthy way of thinking.

Scott has a special interest in planes. It started when he was young and then had a pause after the plane crash that killed his parents. However he picked it up again and now can tell you the difference between a commercial flight and a jet. He also knows how to pilot seven different types of aircraft and even got official license for each.

He is Bi.

It took him frighteningly long to figure this out.

Scott has issues with social skills(projecting). He can speak sarcasm just fine and makes many jokes in that medium. However he has a hard time figuring out people are being sarcastic, especially if the joke is around him.

He would wear a dress. Not in public, but if Jean offered he would try one of her dresses on in the safety of a bed room. He would like it.

Game nights were originally hidden from Scott who(due to the professors absurdly high expectations) does not handle losing well. He loves to point out the rules and technicality’s, and will not play Uno with any variations. He’s not a sore loser par say, it just gets depressing for everyone watching.

When he was young he kept only one pair of ruby glasses and one visor. As he has aged(and been influenced by Emma) he know has a collection of ruby glasses in all types and styles.

Star Wars is his comfort show/movie/universe

Pretty equal on cats and dogs but leans towards dogs.

His chances of being a toddler dad had been pretty ruined but he thinks it would be nice to raise a kid alongside a dog. Maybe a golden retriever.

He does not mind cats though.

He often feels weird in his place as a parent. Nathan is his kid but some much time has been lost that Scott can’t help but yearn for the mile stones that were missed and lost to time. He misses everything he was promised as a father. The same is true for Rachel although it is a little weirder. Yes she is his, but from a future that will never happen. He often feels guilty because in the end he has two great kids, but he wishes he could raise a kid in a normal sense.

He just wants to be a father.

When he was their step father, Scott showed the Cuckoos Star Wars. He keeps checking in on them, even after he and Emma are no longer together.

Scott’s type is a person who will be mean to him, and could probably kill him, but have a soft spot.

Even if that soft spot is very hidden.

He can make a really good grilled cheese. There was a week in his teens were there was low x-men activities and not a lot to do in the mansion so he dedicated his days to perfecting the grilled cheese. He makes it anytime he thinks someone needs some comfort.

He’s eyes are brown under the visor.

Never played DnD but very interested in it. Researched it a whole lot and has watched a lot of play throughs. Has even mentioned it to the rest of the squad and most were down to try. However it was forgotten due to the next world ending event. Scott still thinks about it and the character he made.

He is doing his best but often over exerts himself which leads to sick days. On these days he is forced to cuddle up in a blanket and watches either the Star Wars orignal movies or one of the shows. Most times someone will be designated to sit with him so he doesn’t try and get up and do work.

On these days Logan often takes the job.

That all for now!

#marvel #x men #scott summers #cyclops #headcannons #head cannon

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catcas22 · 9 months ago

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Hi Cat!

I was wondering if you have any thoughts on the description of the Lamenter's Mask!

A stone mask twisted into an expression of rapturous grief. Use while disrobed to transform into a lamenter.

The change cannot be undone except by death. Using this mask while already transformed causes the head to swell in size.

This transformation tallies with the state of a denizen of paradise, but the people of the tower denied and hid it from the world. In their foolishness, they viewed true bliss with deep fear.

I think this could have some interesting implications for the Age of the Crucible. It's also rather curious that the Hornsent ("people of the tower") would "deny and hide" the Crucible transformation.

As an aside, what do you make of the Lamenters in general? They have the skin/horns/scars of Omens, but their humanlike proportions are what throws me. With the exception of Morgott and Mohg (who are demigods and therefore probably not good type specimens), Omens have this barrel-chested, stubby, ogrelike physique. The implication that Lamenters are made, not born, and the ways in which their appearance differs from the Omen are super interesting to me.

Hi Bri, thanks for the ask!

This one kept me up all night :P I think I actually found a plausible answer! Let me start by laying out what we know of the Lamenter at face value.

Lamenter's Mask

A stone mask twisted into an expression of rapturous grief. Use while disrobed to transform into a lamenter.

The change cannot be undone except by death. Using this mask while already transformed causes the head to swell in size.

This transformation tallies with the state of a denizen of paradise, but the people of the tower denied and hid it from the world. In their foolishness, they viewed true bliss with deep fear.

Lamenting Visage

A stone lantern carved to resemble a lamenting human head, the eyes vacantly beaming out light. Can be raised up when equipped in the left hand, illuminating more of the surrounding area. The unusual expression somehow imparts a sense of contentment. The languid ease of one who needs not sight.

Prattling Pate "Lamentation"

Twisted clay sculpt in the shape of a human head. Emits a blissful "Lamentation".

The voice resounds, seeping into the brain.

Weeping, weeping, weeping. Ever weeping.

Other important points -- all of these items (and the Lamenter himself) are found in the Lamenter's Gaol, one of three gaols where those who will become jar innards are held and tortured before being processed. Additionally, the Lamenter seems to have horns curling back into both his eye sockets.

I see a common thread between these three descriptions. Despite all evidence, we are told that the grieving individual is actually perfectly content. The grief is "rapturous," the blinded Lamenter is experiencing "true bliss," his expression is actually one of "contentment" because he doesn't really need his eyes. Despite the Pate "weeping, weeping, weeping, ever weeping," we are told that this lamentation is "blissful." I don't buy it... And apparently, neither did the Tower Folk. Instead they viewed their creation with fear.

Let's back up a bit. We know that via the means of chopping people up and packing them in jars, the hornsent hoped to create "saints," specifically via rebirth.

Bonny Village Spirit

For pity's sake, your place is in the jar. Nigh-sainthood itself awaits you within. For shamans like you, this is your lot. Life were you accorded for this alone.

Greatjar

A greatjar which fits comfortably over the head when upturned. Attire of the shamans who perform their worship at gaols. Increases the power of thrown pots of all sizes. They offer their prayers to the innards of the greatjars, such that they might be reborn one day into sainthood. This is the cycle of death and rebirth, taken into the hands of mortal men.

(Note: In the first quote, "shaman" is translated from the Japanese "Miko," which consistently refers to Marika's people and could be better translated as "shrine maiden." In the second quote, "shaman" is translated from the Japanese "kitoushi" and connotes something more along the lines of a priest or an elder.) Thank you @drenched-in-sunlight!

We also know that the hornsent see horns as a symbol of the divine, the bigger the better.

Fine Crucible Feather Talisman

A talisman fashioned from thin feathers that embody the aspects of various creatures. Said to have grown on the human body long ago. Improves backsteps but increases damage taken at all times. Hornsent view the Crucible as sacred for the refinement wrought through its evolutionary gifts. Most prominently, their tangled horns.

Horned Bairn

Doll of a tanglehorn bairn. Uses FP to summon vengeful spirits around the caster that autonomously chase down foes. Tangled horns are a symbol of spirituality, but most young born bearing the oversized horns meet a frightfully early demise. These fetishes are made to memorialize them.

Looking at omen in the base game, their horns seem much more chaotic and impractical than those of the hornsent. Most hornsent have a very manageable little crown of horns on their heads, and even the Horned Warrior's horns don't seem terribly impractical. Whereas omen horns seem like they would be both painful and extremely cumbersome.

(Sourced from BonfireVN on youtube)

While the standard omen enemies from the base game don't match the physique of the Lamenter, we do see a few examples of omen with lankier builds. Morgott is obviously larger than a common omen, but his proportions are that of a tall, rangy human. The Sanguine Nobles also seem to be omen, as they have horns that do not appear as part of their armor set.

(Sourced from Zullie the Witch on youtube)

The more ogre-like omen seem quite similar in build to the bloodfiends from the DLC.

Also, compare Mohg's build to Morgott's (both images sourced from Bonfire VN)

I wonder if the short, broad stature might be a side effect of glutting oneself on the power of the Formless Mother. We know she tends to choose her vassals from among the oppressed, we know that Esgar Priest of Blood was proselytizing in Leyndell's sewers, and we know from the Sacred Bloody Flesh item that the bloodfiends consume her blood as a standard part of their diet. The Sanguine Nobles seem to break the pattern, but they could be newer recruits, or they could be more judicious in their consumption of blood. Either way, we have a few examples (Morgott and the Sanguine Nobles) of omen with a build similar to the Lamenter.

One more point before I start bringing this to a conclusion -- although we only have visual clues to go on with the omen, with the misbegotten we know for a fact that their Crucible mutations come with health complications and cause them a degree of pain. Perfumer Tricia made it her life's work to treat such cases, and in the main game we see many misbegotten in Leyndell who appear to be seeking treatment from other perfumers.

Back to the Lamenter. I proposed in a previous theory (x) that omen might be the product of the hornsents' attempts to produce a "saint." Via the Dungeater's questline, we know it works in concept. By torturing a person in a specific way and doing unspeakable things to their soul, you can cause them to be reincarnated as an omen. I think that's exactly what the Lamenter is -- an early success. A saint.

The problem being, he's in obvious pain. He has horns growing through both of his eyes, and he's constantly wailing. He is everything that a hornsent raised in that culture would aspire to be, and by that same fact he lives a life of constant pain, darkness, and misery.

Of course they reject him. First they try to convince their followers that his weeping is actually an expression of bliss. He's blind because he's too enlightened to need his eyes (think the way the cultists in Midsommar talk about the disabled oracle). When that doesn't catch on, they lock him away and keep trying. It adds yet another twist of tragedy to the atrocities of the Potentates -- sainthood is not a goal just beyond their reach. They've already found it. And after all the innocent lives that they sacrificed to create that saint, they can't stand to look at him.

Thanks for the ask!

#elden ring #answered asks #shadow of the erdtree #the lamenter #theory

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