#the healthy mind platter

[s1ld3n4f1l]

i could deal with girl dinner i could deal with im just a girl but i cannot deal with demure it makes me want to pull my hair out

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Wrong Turn ||

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

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

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

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

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

Inspo-ish: This post.

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

MASTERLIST

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes you suspect he even enjoys it.

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

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

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

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

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

You get it.

That was the deal, after all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've also learnt that ignorance is bliss here. 

Especially for someone like you.

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

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

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

He is reminding you of your place. 

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

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

It appears as though the sentence has changed. 

It is now Steve, or Steve.

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

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

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

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

Indifference has never been among your strong suits.

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

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

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

Steve knows it all too well.

And he loves it.

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

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

It always gets better after that. 

For him, at least. 

You don't choke him out so much then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your insatiable is far from done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, no. 

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

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

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

He is too much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder they are best mates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing less, nothing more.

Just this. 

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

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

Addictive.

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

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

Quite literally. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 2

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5.1K

Author's Note: This is the second part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Morning did not come quickly. You kept the blankets tucked to your chin, desperate for a barrier between yourself and the outside world. Your eyes stayed locked on the window as the dark blues faded into lighter shades until finally, a soft pink glow filled the room. Throughout the night, the only sounds were the male in the room next door shifting in his bed, occasionally letting out soft sighs. It seemed he wasn’t sleeping much either, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your screaming had woken him enough to stir his mind awake for good.

When the first birds began their calls and the room was barely lit by the morning sun, you finally pulled back the blankets. Every bone in your body ached, and your head still pounded from the incessant headache, now mixed with lack of sleep. You ran your hands over your face, smoothing them over the back of your head before clasping them behind your neck. You took a deep breath in through your nose. Now what?

You sniffled slightly, wiping your nose before letting your feet finally hit the floor. The bed creaked softly. You made your way to the adjoining door, peering through the crack to see the male lying in his bed, facing the wall, his wings spread out behind him as his shoulders gently rose and fell. At least he was able to sleep. You pressed your hands against the door, willing it shut as silently as possible. How are you going to get through this? You can’t hide from sleep forever, and you certainly can’t keep going without rest. You shook your head. You’d figure it out, somehow.

You moved through your morning, treading lightly as the inn’s old floors creaked and groaned under your weight. You dressed, pulling the leather jacket back over your shoulders, your nose crinkling at the scent of spruce and sage. He was everywhere, even now.

You closed the door to your room, boots in hand, fearing the noise they might cause if you wore them inside. You tiptoed past the closed door of your strange companion from the night before. Sneaking down the steps, you threw a smile to the waitress, who nodded at you as she wiped down platters before her morning began.

The air outside was crisp, with dew still clinging to the grass. The morning sunlight cast a pale glow around the clearing where the tavern sat. You paused to slide your feet into your boots, lacing them as you looked at the purple hyacinths blooming in the fields. The dotted purples brought you back to when you were a child, wandering the streets of Velaris with your family. Your mother would buy a bouquet of flowers from a vendor and tuck one of the soft-stemmed flowers behind your ear. You always loved the purples the best. You smiled to yourself, shaking away the memory, as you did with all of them. But you let yourself stop as you crossed the clearing, plucking a single purple flower from the group, which stood slightly shorter than the rest. Given its stature, it wouldn’t be missed. You tucked it behind your ear. Silly, you thought, to take such precious time picking flowers, but you did it anyway as you entered the woods again, not looking back at the tavern where that strange male, who was so gentle, so attentive, still lay asleep in bed.

Your only plan was to head south, away from the mountains and deeper into the country. You weren’t sure how long it would take to cross the border into the neighboring court, or if you would even make it that far, but south was the only clear option to put as much distance as possible between you and him. You’d considered trying to make your way to Velaris, but it seemed too close, too obvious. You feared it would be the first place he would look for you, the place where you felt most at home, where he could easily come and take you back. If you cleared the Illyrian mountains, it would be farther than you had made it in past attempts just a decade ago, and perhaps that would be enough. 

You had planned this escape months ago, setting aside coins left out on tables and scattered on the floor during his moments of rage, when it seemed the blinding red overtook all his senses. You had packed and repacked your bag, changing out clothing and supplies for each season, hoping for the day when you might finally have had enough and decide to leave. You were always ready, waiting for the right moment.

It was foolish, you thought to yourself as you wandered through the dense woods, that just a few weeks ago you believed things were getting better. He had brought you fresh berries from a farm a few miles away, kissed you on the forehead, his hands still holding the berries as he wrapped himself around you, and you pressed your nose to his chest. He had promised things would get better after he shattered that window, where you ducked as he raged and threw a pan through the glass, leaving shards in your hair. He had promised he would stop. You were a fool to think that the nights you spent tucked into his side, his hands gently stroking your forearm as the night passed quietly, were a glimpse of a peaceful life that the Mother and the mating bond had promised you.

You couldn’t even recall what had shattered that illusion. He had come home from the forest in a rage, already flying off the handle as you stood, pressed into the corner counter while he slammed around the cabin searching for the absinthe you had poured out into the grass behind the house a few days before. He nearly tore the doors off their hinges as he screamed for it, his hair growing wilder with each yell, demanding to know where you had hidden it. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your knuckles bone white as you gripped the lip of the counter until he finally came over to you, pressing his body into yours as you whimpered and tried to shrink away. 

He grabbed your face, his large hands nearly covering the entirety of your chin, forcing you to look at him. His breath, already laced with alcohol, assaulted your nostrils as he leaned in close and through clenched teeth asked, “What the fuck did you do, you witch?” When you closed your eyes tightly, he squeezed your jaw, the pain forcing them back open. “Why do you fucking hate me?” he had asked, moving his hand to your throat, his large, callused fingers tightening around it. “I do everything for you. Every godsdamned thing, and you—” he stuttered as you wrapped your own hand around his fingers, begging for release or even a bit of air as your windpipe was squeezed shut. “You bitch, all you do is fuck with things. You fuck with my head, and you lead me on, and you do this shit.” As your eyes widened and you sputtered for breath, he finally released you. You hadn’t even realized he had lifted you off the floor until your feet hit the wood again. You grabbed at your own neck, gasping in ragged breaths as he continued to scream at you, calling you every possible wretched thing as you doubled over, still coughing life back into your lungs. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward from the corner cabinet, the jerk causing you to fall to your knees before he yanked you back up.

You cried out in pain as he hissed at you to shut your mouth. He led you to the counters, already ripped apart in his frantic search. “Find it. You better fucking find it.”

Hot tears filled your eyes, threatening to spill over. You began hopelessly searching for the bottle you knew wasn’t there. You cursed yourself for not just emptying the bottle and putting it back in the cabinet, claiming he had finished it during his last bender. Instead, you had buried it deep in the woods, foolishly hoping he would give it up completely. Panic rose in your chest as you rifled through the cabinets, trying to think of something to say to stop what you knew was coming. He stood next to you, arms crossed, a scowl plastered on his face. He knew there was no bottle. This was purely to torment you.

When you finally turned to him, you whispered, “I don’t know where it is.”

His hand rose, and he slapped you across the cheek, yelling, “Liar!”

The blow threw your head to the side. Instinctively, you brought your hand to your cheek, the sting radiating through your face. “You’re a liar and a fucking witch!” he raged. You took a step back, hand still pressed to your cheek, as he barreled toward you again. He ripped your hand away from your face, took both your wrists in his hands, and stared at you with hollow green eyes. “You better fucking find it, or you’re dead,” he howled, his voice echoing with a chilling finality.

“I don’t know where it is,” you pleaded, tears finally cascading down your cheeks.

His anger deepened as he gripped your wrists tighter, causing your fingers to curl into claws. He shook you violently, screaming, “What the fuck did you do with it?”

A sob escaped your lips as he slammed your body into the counter. Your hip screamed in pain, and your legs gave out from under you. Sliding down to the floor, his hands still grasped your wrists, holding you upright. You turned your face away from him as he continued to yell, spittle spraying your cheeks. When your body finally hit the floor, he released you from his grip. You curled into yourself as he reeled his leg back, sending a kick to your abdomen that knocked the air out of you. An unnatural gurgle erupted from your lips as he kicked again and again. Your head knocked against the sharp edge of the cabinet corner with each assault. The searing pain spread through your body as you curled in, trying to protect the soft parts of yourself.

You sobbed as he, with reckless abandon, continued his assault. His boot, splattered with your blood and spit, struck you repeatedly until you had nothing left and stopped making noise. Your vision blackened as your head hit the counter again, your body knowing nothing but the fire of pain as every part of you willed to let go. Your eyes shut, tears still streaming down your face.

Suddenly, without warning, the kicking stopped. You felt air rush back into your lungs, the taste of iron filling your mouth. You winced and recoiled from the pain, feeling the bones in your ribs cracking, already beginning to mend, but the spasms of your muscles fighting to stay intact caused you to wince. Above you, without looking, you heard his quiet sob. Too weak to lift your head, you felt him drop to his knees beside you, burying his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your broken body as he sobbed.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he cried between sobs, his voice breaking.

Your face remained expressionless, save for the pain etched in every feature. He pulled you into him, his tears dampening your hair and shoulders. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he kept repeating, the heat of his tears burning into you as he held you close. 

You had no words, and even if you did, the air had been forced out of your body, and your throat was raw from screaming. Anything that would come out would have been as broken as you felt. What felt like an hour passed, but you were sure it was only minutes before he stood up, muttering again how he wasn’t sure what was happening. He ran his hands frantically through his hair, pacing about the kitchen of the cabin. The tea kettle you had put on whistled a scream, echoing your own pain. 

He sniffled, his breathing ragged, before he finally stopped pacing and looked towards you, still curled into the corner of the counter, blood streaming from your eyebrow, eyes hollow and empty. He started to speak but paused, then turned and walked out of the cabin and back into the woods, muttering and yelling indistinctly.

When you finally managed to stand, you hoisted yourself up by the counter, your legs weak, almost giving out on you. You dragged yourself, one hand cupping your side where pain still shot pins and needles through you. You grabbed the kettle from the stove, barely registering that the hot metal handle burned your flesh, and threw it into the washbasin.

Somehow, you made it to the bedroom. Uncaring if the blood slowly drying on your forehead stained the sheets, you willed yourself into the bed, the pain of your body hitting the mattress causing you to cry out. The window above the bed, slightly open, let in the sounds of him yelling outside, muttering things you couldn’t make out as you heard him assaulting the forest with his fists, screaming out. The background noise of his torment was the last thing you remembered before blacking out into nothingness.

In those moments, which happened more frequently than you would like to admit, you sometimes wished one of his blows had caused an organ to split or your head to hit the floor with such force it would have knocked the life out of you, ending the hell you were living. You often questioned why you didn’t leave sooner, why you wouldn’t fight back to escape, or why, in moments of excruciating pain, you didn’t scream back at him. Why did you feel compelled to stay silent as blow after blow landed? You pushed those thoughts from your mind. They were of no use to you now. You would keep moving forward, away from that place.

You had lost all track of time as you continued through the forest. The familiarity of the woods around the mountain and cabin was lost as new trees and boulders surrounded you. The sun hit its peak overhead, and you allowed yourself a short moment of rest, unwrapping a roll you had packed in a linen napkin. You ate it greedily, hunger pangs gnawing at your stomach as you scarfed it down. Its slightly stale flavor and hardened exterior were no bother as you finally quelled the growling from your core. As you chewed, you took in your surroundings. The trees here were taller and fuller, as if summer had already arrived, and the leaves had fully regrown. The canopy above cast long shadows on the lush green forest floor, and the boulder you sat on was slightly damp.

You folded the napkin, carefully placing it back into your well-packed bag as you took stock of your remaining food: two more rolls, a few apples, two chicken drumsticks wrapped in beeswax paper, a small bag of granola, and a handful of dried fruits. Enough to get you through a week, though you silently prayed for a town or even a small village where you could rest overnight.

Continuing into the forest, you allowed yourself to breathe freely, even enjoying the light burn of the sun across your cheeks. You went as far as to take your boots off and walk down a stream that babbled happily through the woods. The freezing chill of the water sent a spark up your spine as you searched for brightly colored stones and salamanders. It was silly to waste time doing this, but you hadn’t let yourself explore the world in so long, and for such little joys, it was worth it.

The afternoon waned, and the shadows grew longer before you came to a clearing. A meadow of soft spring ephemerals bloomed, filling the grasses with splashes of white, pink, and orange. As the sun cast orange fire across the sky, you deemed this as good a spot as any for the night. You threw your pack down at the edge of the meadow, unfurled the blanket you had wrapped your food in, and laid it on the meadow floor. You allowed yourself the luxury of one piece of chicken, the skin still crisp from when you had cooked it a few nights before. 

You watched the sun dip behind the treeline, the oranges turning to evening purple, as a mother deer and her fawn approached from the opposite edge of the clearing, feasting on the meadow’s flowers. You watched them carefully, not daring to move an inch. The fawn stayed close to its mother, who ate without fear, while the young one occasionally pricked its ears at the snapping of a branch. The mother seemed content with safety as the fawn locked its eyes on you. You stayed still, the fawn scanning you before turning back to its mother and resuming its evening meal. The tranquility set your mind at ease as the family wandered back into the deep woods, disappearing as night fell.

Your eyelids grew heavy with sleep as you lean against a tree, using a small knife to peel bark away from a branch you had picked up, fighting the urge to lie down. Another day of uncertainty had passed, another day of finding who you were, and another day of tasting the tantalizing flavor of freedom and deciding you wouldn’t live without it.

______________________________________________________________

Your eyes shot open as you heard the nearby crunch of the forest floor. How long had you been asleep? The branch you had been working on lay in your lap, your neck sore from where your head had fallen forward, and the side of your mouth wet from drool. You scrunched your face, shaking your head slightly to wake yourself up more when you heard another crack of a branch and what sounded like calculating footsteps.

Your heartbeat picked up speed as you frantically tried to pack your things. You had gotten too comfortable and unpacked most of what you had. The footsteps, now sounding like multiple pairs, grew closer. Silently, you pushed your items under a nearby bush before getting to your feet. You whipped around in search of a hiding place, but your only options were to run across the meadow, where you would be seen from every side, or run deeper into the woods toward the approaching steps. Instead, you looked up the towering evergreen above you and started climbing, limb after limb, higher and higher, each branch slightly less thick than the last. The ground disappeared below you, and you were panting, perched on a branch at least thirty feet up. You tried to steady your breath, gasping air into burning lungs as you waited and listened.

You heard the beginnings of voices but couldn’t make out what was being said. The voices were deep, male, in an accent you couldn’t place. The footsteps grew louder, and you saw the soft light of a torch through the trees as the group approached. Three males, all in black attire, swords drawn at their waists, and no lack of knives strapped along their legs and torsos, trampled through the undergrowth.

Finally, they were close enough for you to make out some of their conversation. “No, no, he wouldn’t have done that,” one noted.

“You weren’t there,” replied the second, following the leader in front, holding the torch. “He said he gutted him, drove his knife into his stomach, and ripped up through his chest.” You gulped as they continued to approach.

One of the males let out a slight chuckle. “Malek doesn’t have the balls for that.”

“He had enough balls to land you on your ass the other day in the ring,” another chided, causing the initial storyteller to shove him hard in the shoulder. As they continued through, you noticed they, like the odd male from the tavern, had large wings that hung from their backs, though more proudly than the one you had met.

One of them, the shortest, with jet-black hair braided back, trailed behind his two companions, swinging his sword idly. Though he did it without much thought, you could tell he was trained to use it lethally. “Why did we get stuck doing this patrol?”

The other, a few paces ahead, turned his head back over his shoulder, his shorter-cropped black hair glinting in the torchlight. You could make out the slight scar across his cheek, slashed into his lips. “Maybe because you couldn’t keep your fat mouth shut.”

The smaller one groaned, dropping his sword to his side. “That was months ago. He can’t keep shitting on us just because of that.”

The one in front, the tallest, with long cascading black locks pulled into a half bun, responded without turning back, “Well, apparently he can.”

You held your breath as the males continued their approach, now just under the tree you were perched in. Suddenly, the leader stopped, holding his hand up to signal their immediate halt. “Shut up,” he said.

The male behind him quickly brought his hand to the hilt of his sword, preparing to draw it, while the short one behind raised his sword in a ready stance. The leader then whispered, “Someone’s here.”

Your heart sank as you pressed your hand to your mouth, hoping the sound of your heart trying to escape through your ribcage wasn’t audible from below. The leader glanced around in a slow circle, his ears pricked, trying to pick up any noises. The two others did the same, silently scanning the area.

Finally, the second male crouched down where your blanket had been laid. “The grass is pushed down,” he whispered, moving forward slightly to where your body had been. “And it’s warm.”

The smallest one took a few silent steps forward, crouching next to his companion and gazing around. He reached forward and from under the bush pulled out your pack. “They heard us coming.”

The leader, still scanning the surrounding area, said, “They can’t be far.”

“We would have seen them in the meadow,” one responded. The other chimed in, “And they would have had to come toward us if they ran into the woods.”

The leader slowly and carefully turned his head to scan the trees above. Your stomach dropped as he locked eyes on you. You begged it be dark enough that he couldn’t see you, but the smile that crept onto his lips told you otherwise. He pointed one long, tanned finger upwards. “Found it,” he whispered. His companions turned their heads skyward, and your eyes widened in fear.

With a grim laugh, the one with braided hair stood, cupping his hands around his eyes to look up at you.

The leader called out in a sing-song tone, “Come on down, we don’t bite.” But you didn’t believe that for a second.

The small one chimed in the same tone, “Just come down.”

The second then followed, “You’re trespassing. Get your ass down here.”

You weighed your options. The large wings on their backs and toned bodies made you believe they would outrun you and take you down the second you stepped foot on the ground. But the tightness of the branches made you consider if you could climb higher, hoping they couldn’t reach you. You barely had time to consider before they called out again, “Just come down.” You stifled a whimper. There were no good intentions within these three males, not like the one you had met just the night before. These males had smirks on their faces that made you recoil, your insides gurgling. You opted not to move.

The leader finally called out, “If you don’t come down, we will bring you down. It’s your choice.”

Your knees locked, sore from crouching and balancing. Your only chance was to stay here and hope they couldn’t get to you. When you didn’t respond, the little one let out a chilling laugh and rubbed his hands together. “May I?” he asked.

The two others looked at each other, nodding in agreement before the leader noted, “Go ahead.”

With that, the smallest one chuckled with excitement before shedding his harness with his sword and knives, giving you a better look at his lean, muscular body. He was toned and fit for battle. Placing a steadying boot on the trunk of the tree, he hoisted himself up onto the first branch and made his approach to you, moving fast. 

As he continued his ascent, you pressed yourself closer into the trunk of the tree, blending into the darkness. When he was about ten feet off the ground, he finally made out your general shape. Looking down to the other two, he called out in a voice like a hungry predator, “We got a fae female on our hands, boys.” He turned back to you, licking his lips before singing out, “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” Bile rose in your throat as you watched him inch closer. You looked up to see another twenty feet of branches, each getting smaller but tighter together. In this moment of life or death—or something worse—you decided you might have to climb higher. The male below continued his climb as his two companions hollered encouragement. When he was merely ten feet from you, you made your choice and scrambled to the next set of branches.

He called back down to his friends, “And she’s quick. And fit.” He let out a small growl of desire, and you didn’t dare look back to see how much he had gained on you. “A tight ass,” he called out again, prompting his companions to laugh and groan with lust.

Your hands were bleeding, cut by the tiny twigs, but it didn’t stop you from pulling yourself up through the branches, away from the approaching danger. When you finally turned your head back, the male was at the branch you had just left. He took a moment to inhale deeply, “And she smells delicious.” He continued after you, faster than you could climb. You must have been ten feet higher when the males below you disappeared from view, obscured by the tree branches. The one with the braid was hot on your trail, struggling as the branches grew closer together. He let out a frustrated huff as he pulled his wing through a particularly tight spot. “Bitch,” he grumbled, “just come here.” His voice sounded as if it were directly below you. When you dared to glance down, he was a mere arm’s length away. He moved faster than you thought possible, and you let out a slight yelp, which made him smile, his toothy grin lit by the moonlight.

He reached forward, his hand clasping around your booted ankle and yanking you down. A scream left your lips as you clung to the branch above you, your fingers screaming in pain. Without thinking, you used your other leg to stomp downwards, your boot making swift contact with his face. He cried out in pain, yelling, “Fucking bitch!”

The two below shouted, “What happened?”

“She fucking kicked me in the face,” he replied.

The two below laughed amongst themselves, and the one in the tree yelled down at them to shut their mouths. You scrambled higher, finally reaching the last row of branches that could hold your weight. You pulled yourself through three separate crisscrosses before steadying yourself, clinging to the trunk like a bear. The midsection was thin enough that you could almost wrap your arms around it. You looked down, and a few feet below, the male wiped the mud from his face and spat blood from his lips. He looked up at you with a new sense of anger bubbling. “You bitch,” he cried, continuing his ascent. “You’re going to pay for that,” he growled.

You whimpered, pulling yourself tighter as he continued up. Finally, when he reached the crisscrossed branches, he tried to push through, but his broad shoulders halted him. He groaned and grumbled, looking up at you with a sneer. “You bitch,” he whispered. He called back down to the two below, “She’s too high. I can’t get to her through the branches.”

The second called back, “You’re telling me your ass is too fat to fit through there to get her?”

The small one peered over his shoulder, “No,” he called back, “my dick is too big to make the clearing, dumbass.” He peered back up at you, considering his options.

The leader called up from below, “Just come back down, Darian. She has to get down at some point, or fall.”

Darian let out a growl, looking up at you. “I’ll be waiting down there when you’re ready. And when you come down, just know, I have big plans for you.” With that, he slunk back down, cat-like, almost sliding down the length of the tree. Below, you could hear them speaking. The second chided, “Your dick is not that big.”

Darian laughed back, pushing the other slightly, “My dick is huge, and you fucking know it.”

The second let out a noise of uncertainty. “I’ve seen it, and it’s nothing to get excited about.”

Darian jumped on the back of the second, his forearm wrapping around his neck as the second laughed, pushing himself back against the tree. The air in Darian’s lungs knocked out of him before the leader finally said, “Knock it the fuck off.”

That was enough for Darian to drop from the second’s back. “Thoren, head back to camp and tell them we found a trespasser who we’re going to wait out.”

The second let out a groan, “Why do I have to go back? Send the cock-master instead.”

The leader shot Thoren a glare, “That’s an order, Thoren.”

Thoren shook his head, taking a step back, arms raised. “Okay, okay, fuck.” With that, Thoren made his way into the meadow, his giant wings spreading before he took a bounding leap and jumped into the sky. He flew up past the tree you were perched in, peering in at you from the thick branches with a criminally vicious smile. “See you soon, little squirrel,” he said before flapping off into the night, back toward the woods.

The leader ordered Darian to build a fire as he rifled through your pack, pulling out the food and taking a hungry bite of a roll. Looking up at you, where you knew he couldn’t see you, he gave a slow wave. “Goodnight, sleep well” he called up, before a sinister laugh escaped his lips. You gulped once more.

_____________________________________________________________

Special thanks to the following readers of Part 1 who have encouraged me to continue writing this, it's truly wonderful to have such phenomenal support while I continue to craft these works!

Tagged accounts:

@annabethgranger123, @nickishadow139, @thatacotargirl, @depressedreader209

[n0tamused]

A/n: Not a one-shot but crack hcs! Hope you enjoy. I don't often write crack stuff but it is really fun when I get to it :)

Content: Dr. Ratio x Reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, no pronouns used, just crack overall, short and sweet

-While Ratio can have lots of patience for people of all walks of life, he has found a challenge within you and your form of intellect.. It would be arguably the first time Ratio has found himself in some form of a stumped state due to some of your questionable actions or phrases. He just has to sit back and wait for a moment until his brain sets itself back in place and he can think straight again

-He often scolds you, but no matter what he says it's like your brain translates it to something completely different, and even if his words are harsh you take it as if he complimented you and praised you to no end?

-Man is confused. To say the least

-Once he caught you losing nearly all your money against Aventurine, stating “third time's the charm”. YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW POKER?! Even Aventurine was laughing along in all the confusion one can show without being odd, and he had to say he wouldn’t have taken the money,  this was just a ‘friendly-fire’ sort of thing, he says. Well that’s lucky for you, considering you had rent and food to pay for!

-He drags you away while you jest about it and also apologize too, because he looks like he’ll explode

-Ratio may or may have not hit the top of your head with his codex..once or twice, but it’s all in good spirits - trust

-He really does mean well, especially if he seriously sees you struggling with something. He won’t hand you the answers on a silver platter unless it's a last resort sort of thing, but he would prefer to guide you to the answer, basically making you think outside the box and such until you arrive at the answer yourself. He is always open to advice and keeps an open mind, and with that he could entertain an idea you may have, yes.. even the more... silly ones. But also be ready to be shut down immediately for the absurd ideas you may bring up. He doesn't waste time nor does he like or plan to.

-Dr. Ratio is the voice of reason in your life, and he's there to reel you back to the ground when you may be getting ideas for something that would not benefit you, or god forbid - if you plan to do something risky that could harm you or your reputation.

-He often goes out of his way to make sure you’re doing things on schedule, so waking you up, sending you a message to eat (no crisps, go eat something good, something healthy), he’d send you articles about things he remembers interest you, papers on your favored topics

-A more tender thing he does is do your hair. It’s a simple thing yet it means a lot to him and you. Just a few minutes of quiet as his fingers thread or comb through your hair, brushing through it with meticulous moves, making sure he doesn’t pull or yank. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[takusan-no-ai]

Let’s take a break

PAIRING: Lycaon x Female Reader (Romantic) (Angst)

SUMMARY: (Y/N) is a workaholic; and while Lycaon can relate to always having work to do, he also understands the importance of rest.

Lycaon loves his job dearly, always going above and beyond to achieve the best. And just as much as he loves his job, he loves his girlfriend. (Y/N), she’s a proxy of few words; not out of shyness, but simply a lack of time to speak. She works so much her inter-knot level maxed out in a month.

It was on one such days that Lycaon was lucky enough to have the day off. While the couple often worked together, actually spending quality time wasn’t as often as Lycaon would like. So anytime he could, he made it a goal to perfect every opportunity.

“Clean environment? Check. Flowers? Check. Favorite snacks? Check.” He mulled over every last detail. “She should be here soon,” he said while fixing his tie and brushing his fur. He sat on the couch, looking at the clock as time ticked by.

An hour late. Lycaon had already discussed with (Y/N) the meetup time. “She’s always been hard working, but it seems that has long gone past a healthy amount.” With his mind set in stone, Lycaon made his way to (Y/N)’s home.

“The number you are trying to reach is either turned off or in a hollow.” Lycaon tried to call (Y/N) for the fifth time; at first he thought she might’ve been away from her phone, but now his worry was growing stronger. He finally made it to her door and knocked multiple times, only to get no reply.

Lycaon leaned on the door and listened for anything. A sudden thud rung in his ears as he kicked in the door. “(Y/N)!” He screamed out.

The room was dark, windows covered with no light seeping through. Electronic equipment, takeout, and paperwork dirtied the living space. Lycaon sighed deeply, understanding the situation. He looked around until he found (Y/N), on the floor, having passed out and falling off her chair.

He moved her to the bed so she could sleep and proceeded to clean the entire house. Everything was spotless by the time he was done, and it was at that point he heard the floorboards creaking from the bedroom.

(Y/N) opened her door, having just woken up. There was a small bruise on her forehead from the bang, but it wasn’t anything permanent. She looked around aimlessly, noticing the clean interior (and probably exterior) of her home. She immediately knew what had happened. Her head hung low as she walked towards her couch and sat down.

Lycaon placed a platter of sliced fruits, veggies, and whole grains on the table. “They help relieve stress,” he said. (Y/N) covered her face.

“I’m so sorry–”

“It’s okay.”

“If I had finished the work faster–”

“That wouldn’t have fixed anything.” He quickly shuts her down. (Y/N) grabbed an apple slice and ate it. Lycaon sat next to her, placing his tail in her lap. “You can pet it if you wish.”

(Y/N) petted his tail, the stress evaporating from her, but it was still too much. She began to cry, no amount of strength to hold back her tears. Lycaon pet her hair as she leaned on him.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?”

(Y/N) didn’t say anything for a while, not until she stopped crying.

“Ever since I was little, I grew up in a house where if you couldn’t do everything yourself after being taught once, you weren’t good enough. It was like a war zone, a never ending one.” Lycaon’s ears began to droop as she continued on.

“I was ostracized in my family, but the teachers, and my employers always praised me. So I guess I clung to that feeling. And sometimes…,” she started tearing up again.

“What is it?” Lycaon asked her.

“Sometimes…I feel like maybe I don’t really love you. Like maybe I’m self consciously clinging to you because of your praise, just like everyone else. And it hurts! Because I really do love you, but I’m afraid that I’ve just convinced myself to believe that.”

Lycaon caressed (Y/N)’s cheek, making eye contact with her. “If you know that you love me, then you love me. The way your heart beats, mine is in sync with. I feel your pain and you feel mine. That’s not fake. And it never will be. I love you too, (Y/N).”

She smiled, hugging him so tight it will likely bruise. “For starters, I’m going to cut back on the workload.”

“And I will be of service to you, my love. As always and forever.”

- Fin

[moonsaver]

hihi!! could I req some platonic aventurine hcs with a teen!reader?

Fun !

--

He's, in possibly no better words, your ride or die best friend.

I can just imagine him coming to pick you up wherever you live with a Regina George attitude like, "get in loser we're going shopping" (affectionate)

He's very fond of you! Loves having just a buddy around, even tries teaching you some card and coin tricks, giggles sneakily with you in huge casinos as he places bets and shamelessly shows you how he's cheating and turning the game to his favor. He's not sure whether or not he wants you to help him cheat, though. That could spell trouble for you..

Such a Annoying Big Brother vibe, but he's so annoyingly affectionate too. Even platonically, he's literally all over you. Sometimes to embarass you, he acts like some kind of a mother hen, or says embarassing things out loud like "mom said get back before 8 PM for bedtime!" In front of all your friends.

As I said, Aventurine is annoying, even while platonically affectionate. If you're shorter than him, he uses you as an elbow rest, and smugly smiles at you. If you're taller than him, tells you that you're growing too fast and need to slow down, and that you can't have any more milk. Constantly ruffles your hair for fun, pinches your cheeks like an asian aunt, kisses your forehead sloppily and enjoys the cringe on your face when you wipe your forehead.

As I mentioned, he's an absolute asian aunt to you. Makes you sit down and feeds you too much, tells you "kids like you need a balanced diet", obviously quoting someone, as he shoves another platter of whatever he thought was healthy towards you. If you ever find him at a bar, he's the one scolding you as if he wasn't making bets on his life in there. If he can't leave, makes you sit near him and tells the bartender you can't have anything alcoholic, and maybe you should have a glass of milk like all the other kiddos drink. The bartender gives you soda and Aventurine probably drinks half of it anyway.

If anyone's picking on you.. it's alright! Just fun and games, this is how things work in friendships. He'll scare them enough to keep them silent, though! Probably looms around you threateningly with hired bodyguards just to scare them into silence. If you get physically bullied, he's not having it at all. When he finds out,his smug smile drops for a moment, and returns again, but you can tell something's off. He suggests paying back tenfold. Whatever happens next? They had it coming, he tells you.

Loves shopping with you. Purposefully picks out ugly clothing and tells you "you'd look GREAT in this!" And snickers. You have to pick out something equally ugly and take pictures. Half of your shopping is general clothing and the other half are just horrendous clothing you both decided to buy as momentos. Sometimes, when both of you have sleepovers, you put on a diy fashion show and act like divas in these ugly clothes, dying laughing from just how clashing and horrid it looks.

Gets matching sunglasses with you! Maybe he'll customize the shade to match your complexion, but it's definitely matching with his.

Worried that people might come after you. Deep down he's afraid of losing you. After some time you become like family to him. He doesn't have a lot to his name, and could afford to lose everything. But now that you're there, he worries about it. Sometimes, overthinking leads to other worries that you might leave him, cut him off, or not find him "fun" anymore. But all that ends up being pushed to the back of his mind, and he smiles again at you, deciding it's not the time to worry about something like that.

[dirtyvulture]

MILF!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!CEO!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by anon: i just..i - i need a hc of beefy ceo!reader going back to her hometown after years of being away to visit her family (and Nat). And at dinner tiny mil!Nat just turn the big bad ceo!r into a stuttering and shy mess. Later that night Natasha is laying in bed and touching herself htinking about how R's muscle and body felt under her hands, and R spots her through the window and eventually make her way over and fucks Natasha. With a hint of powerbottom!nat and a shameful amount of dirty talk. All love to you mate.

AN: This has nothing to do with Valentine’s day, but it’s been in my drafts for a while so it’s time for it to see the light of day. Enjoy, my sinners. See you all soon. ❤️

You knock on the door twice, stepping back and bouncing the tray of cookies in your arms nervously. It had been years since you had seen your parents, and while you talked to them almost every week, you knew it was a big deal to see them in person.

Work had kept you away longer than you would have liked--but a promotion to CEO was not something you took lightly. However, once you settled into your role, you decided to take some time off and visit home.

The door suddenly opens, and your mom bursts out, jumping into your arms and you almost drop the cookies. After a few minutes of tearful hugging, your mom drags you into the house to greet your dad.

Your blissful family reunion is interrupted when you hear a familiar voice, and you look up and see Natasha Romanoff standing in the kitchen, wearing a skimpy black dress that normally you wouldn’t have allowed given that your mother was in the same room, but since it’s your first time seeing her in years too, you give her a pass.

Her curves are fuller, and she’s covered the wrinkles on her face with a heavy layer of makeup, but you think she looks even more beautiful than she was before.

“What...What are you doing here?” you ask, pushing away from your parents to approach her in the kitchen.

“Your mom invited me,” Natasha says with a shrug. “She said she didn’t feel comfortable with me being alone during the holidays.”

“Alone?” The last you had heard, she had married some wannabe actor from a popular comedy show and had a child with him. 

“Yeah.” Natasha subtly shows off her left hand, which is now absent of a wedding ring.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be.” She waves you off. You don’t miss her glance over your body and bite her lip in appreciation. With your promotion, you had less time to focus on yourself, but you still always made an effort to eat healthy and workout when you could. While you felt the results could be better, you were happy and judging from the way Natasha nodded her head as she looked away from you, she was happy too.

You help Natasha finish prepping dinner in the kitchen. You don’t miss the way she rubs her front against your back, just trying to "squeeze by” with the honey baked ham, and then her arm is almost pressed against yours when you stand side-by-side to chop the vegetables for the appetizer platter.

At the dinner table, Natasha fills your plate with a little bit of everything. You think it’s sweet that she remembers the kind of appetite you have, and the food--all of it home-cooked--is absolutely delicious. Natasha is sitting next to you, and gradually her hand finds its place on your muscular thigh, squeezing it teasingly throughout the meal.

You almost choke on a slice of ham, and Natasha pats your back to help you clear your throat. You look at her, a little nervous at her boldness, but she winks and you and turns back to her plate.

After dessert, Natasha retires to the spare bedroom on the first floor. You offer her your old bedroom, but she politely declines and disappears into the bathroom to shower. Your parents head upstairs to unwind, and you’re stuck with a mountain of dishes to clean.

But the tedious work takes your mind off Natasha, at least for a little bit. The touches against you during dinner, the way she kept bringing up her loneliness from the divorce. You know she’s desperate for you, but you don’t know if it’s right to reciprocate. After all, you had just reconnected, and it seemed a little rash to go after her again after how things ended the last time.

You tie up the full trash bag and carry it outside to throw directly into the bin. The window to Natasha’s room is near the garbage bins, and it’s open just enough for you to hear her inside.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N. Yes, right there, baby. Harder. I need more of you.”

You drop the trash bag on the ground in shock, sneaking up closer to the window to peer inside.

Natasha is lying naked on the bed, her legs spread wide open with her fingers knuckle-deep into her core, pumping frantically. Her eyes are closed as she imagines replacing her fingers with your bigger ones, and how she would dig her nails into your flexing forearm while begging you to move faster. She remembers the way you would take her to bed, all passion and intensity, only needing minutes to have her squirming underneath you. And then when she would return the favor, she loved having your powerful thighs wrapped around her head or grinding on your abs until she came all over your stomach.

You’re not sure how long you stand there watching Natasha pleasure herself, but suddenly, your feet are taking you back into the house and you barge into her room. Natasha smiles at you and beckons you forward with a crook of her finger.

“Come fuck me, baby,” she says, and you’re tearing off your clothes as fast as you can leaping into bed with her. You don’t care that your parents are upstairs, and this reminds you of your high school days when you would try and sneak girls home to have sex with while your parents were down the hall. Needless to say, you were caught more than once, but this time, you’ll try to keep Natasha quiet.

You lay on top of Natasha, careful not to lower all of your weight onto her, and wrap your arms around her, kissing her and tasting her cherry lipstick. She smears it along your cheek and down your neck, lightly biting on your trapezius muscle. You shift to the side, moaning when you feel her lips wrap around one of your nipples, then biting your lip and trying to silence yourself. Natasha looks up at you, her fingers trailing down your abs, but you stop her before she can reach between your legs.

“You asked me to fuck you,” you whisper, panting as her lips pull away from your chest. “But you have to promise to be quiet.”

“How can I be quiet when you’re the one fucking me?” she says, and you feel your stomach clench at the praise.

“You’re gonna have to try or I won’t do it,” you reply, although you think it’ll take an impossible amount of willpower to resist Natasha Romanoff in bed.

“Fine, fine,” she relents. You lay next to her, slipping your hand down to her center and rubbing your finger through her wetness. You pinch her clit and she gasps, but you lean over and cover your mouth with hers.

“You promised,” you whisper, sliding your fingers into her with ease and she bucks into your hand. As you thrust into her, your thumb circles her clit, spreading her wetness everywhere between her thighs. Natasha pants into your mouth, her nails clawing at your shoulder and bicep, her hips rocking wildly.

“Fuck, fuck, no one can make me cum as fast as you,” she says.

“Not even your ex-husband?” you ask, thrusting so fast your forearm is on fire.

“He never made me cum,” she pouts, and you push your fingers into her hard enough for her to whimper.

“Then it looks like I have a lot to make up for,” you respond. Her walls start clenching around your fingers and her stomach tightens. “Go ahead, Nat. Go ahead and make a mess for me.”

She pulls down on the back of your neck to bring your shoulder close to her mouth to bite on so she doesn’t throw her head back and scream loud enough to alert your parents. Cum gushes down your hand, and you’re pretty sure you’re bleeding from where Natasha bit you. But she releases you as you pull out, kissing your skin softly and you wince. 

“Don’t leave me, baby,” Natasha murmurs against your chest.

“I made that mistake once,” you say, scooping her up in your arms and cuddling her close. “I won’t do it again.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[blues824]

Hello! I love your TWST work and thought of dropping a request. May I see headcanons of our charming Azul, sweet Kalim, sleepy Silver, darling Vil, and handsome Jamil with a female s/o who eats LOADS of food (both healthy and unhealthy) yet will NEVER. EVER. Get fat? I feel like this would upset Vil the most. TYSM! Keep up the good work and stay awesome!

Azul Ashengrotto

Definitely very jealous when he sees you order one of the largest platters that the Lounge has to offer and you don't have to worry about gaining weight. 

However, now he knows how to spoil you

He will gift you your favorite foods, both healthy and unhealthy

But he knows that even though you have a faster metabolism, you need healthier foods to remain healthy

So he makes sure that your meals are well-balanced

Kalim Al-Asim

He also has a high metabolism, I think. I picture him at the dinner table eating like Luffy from One Piece, just gobbling food up

But he also maintains a somewhat healthier diet because of Jamil

You are always welcome to dine with him, as the food is always delicious!

Your place at the Scarabia table is always right next to him, and he doesn’t mind sharing the food on his plate either because he loves sharing with people he loves

Gives you plenty of snacks, by the way

Jamil Viper

Even though he doesn’t like cooking for Kalim, he does like cooking for you

Because he needs to make sure that all of Scarabia eats healthy, he has a few of the underclassman helping him, and you can as well

Is surprised at your high metabolism, but he has it as well since he moves around and exercises constantly 

Likes to spoil you with your favorite meals from time to time, when he has the opportunity

Makes sure that your meals are well-balanced as well

Vil Schoenheit

I picture him with high metabolism as well, considering all the things I learned about him on the Wiki. His diets are mostly based on concerns of breaking out in acne

However, when he sees how much unhealthy things you eat, he lets out a loud shriek

Man pulls out a chart about how unhealthy foods are a ‘sometime food’ (Elmo reference lol) and that your meals need to be balanced

He understands your high metabolism, but just because you don’t gain weight doesn’t mean your body is not being harmed from the unhealthy foods

Thus, he makes sure you get actually good nutrients that help you

Silver

He has to eat a lot to maintain energy for training, but you cleared off a plate from his father and now he’s worried you’re going to be terminally ill

That incident aside, he also makes sure that your meals are balanced and won’t make you sick (AKA the food is not from Lilia)

With how much you are constantly doing for Crowley and NRC as a whole, Silver is not surprised that you have a higher metabolism

It concerns him how many people think that their healthy just because they don’t gain weight after eating a lot 

But because of his knowledge about nutrition, he knows better

[shini--chan]

Hello! ✨

How would germany, prussia, france, russia and austria (all of them are 1p) deal with a lover who have genophobia? (genophobia is a serious fear of sexual intimacy)

Hello charming stranger

Yandere Hetalia - Genophobia

Trigger warnings: substance abuse, forced therapy, dub-con, non-con, murder, lobotomisation, deliberate triggering of phobias 

Austria

Roderich would be incredulous about it. First, he would doubt your condition, see it just as you dishing up fibs to avoid a normal relationship. There would be snide remarks and very mean teasing. He would calm down over time, at least a bit, and decide to test the waters to see if you're telling the truth. And to determine the severity of your condition, should you turn out to be honest.

There would be hands on your waist, wandering higher or lower than appropriate. A lot of lewd jokes would fall, and when kissing you, he would pull you closer than usual or even light bite your lip. Maybe he'll make you read some raunchy novels, or go as far as to touch you in a sexual manner while you're asleep. 

Once he'd set up the diagnosis, he'll delve straight into giving you treatment. Since he is the man that outright enjoys playing psychiatrist, you'd be subjected to the full program. A pleasant side-effect in his eyes would be that he'd get to know you so well. Furthermore, you'd be indebted to him for curing you. 

That being said, your willingness to engage in therapy, with him no less, wouldn't play a significant role in his mind. The doctor knows what's best, better than the patient does, after all. Although, should conventional methods not work, then he'll gradually become more frustrated. The more frustrated he is, the more unconventional and unorthodox his methods would become. Brainwashing isn't off the table. 

France

Francis would be aghast and irate. What happened to you that you're so scared of baring yourself to another person? Should there be a culprit, then he would tear open their throat and serve their heart to you on a silver platter, quite literally in this case. France would aim on demonstrating his dedication to you through this, that he would avenge you and hunt those that harm you to the ends of the earth. Radical and off putting? He wouldn't see it that way. 

Retributions and crimes of passion aside, he would be frustrated with your genophobia. When it comes to closer interactions, he would live in constant fear of triggering your phobia. That is something that would kill the romance for him, so he would seek ways to alleviate your fears. One of those would include romancing you so thoroughly and hard (love-bombing) that you would forget the past. At least, that would be his idea. Another would be alcohol, another carbon monoxide, and yet another making you watch pornography. 

While he does claim to be a master of romance, he is a bit too bloodthirsty and controlling to really be becoming of that title. He would yearn for the picture perfect romance with you, and your genophobia would throw a spanner in the works. So it would have to be eradicated, even if it would involve vile means. Depending on the time period, it might end up with you being lobotomized. 

Germany

Ludwig would really be a wild card in regards to this. He could be awkward, recognising you as a victim of a heinous crime and handling you as if you're made of glass. At first that is - the sentiment would wear off as time passes. 

In that state, he would be at a loss with what he should do with you. There would be fearful attempts of broaching the subject more in depth, of communicating like healthy couples should. But this isn't a healthy relationship and Ludwig is far too emotionally constipated for something like that. Perhaps the two of you would wind up going in circles around each other. Germany's attempts to help you would be downright insensitive at times, like handing you a dildo and telling you to mastrubate until you are ready for real sex. 

Or, he would go in the opposite way of trying to help you in his considerate, awkward fashion. Then, he would view you as inferior to himself, a lowly creature that has to be hammered into shape. He'd roll his eyes, snap at you to pull yourself together, even make fun of you. In war, it would even be worse than that - coercion and threats and use of force. 

Either way, in most of the cases he would end up being so frustrated and wooden and out of sorts. He would sing your praises to the heavens and condemn you to hell. To relieve some of his frustration, he'd sometimes lock himself in his office with a photo or a personal effect of yours and take care of himself. 

Prussia

Gilbert, being his frugal and monastic self, even to the modern day, wouldn't realise that you have genophobia until far into the relationship. At first, he would be relieved since that wouldn't mean he would have to put out anytime soon. However, as the relationship would progress, he would find himself becoming frisky and mulling over sleeping with you. 

Here it should be remarked that Gilbert is no psychologist and he has little tact or finesse when it comes to human interactions. This would be evident in your relationship as well. Thus, he wouldn't know how to approach the issue at first. His first approaches would be downright hilarious - if it weren't such a serious topic and if he wouldn't be yandere. 

Finally though, he would take a military approach to the matter and gradually acclimate you to being intimate with regular "exercises", where you would both gradually expand your comfort zone. If it would make you comfortable, then he'd give up all control and let you ride him like a warhorse. 

Beware though - if he'd get the feeling that you're being difficult on purpose, to be spiteful or petty or due to whatever reason, then he'll let you feel it. Prussia wouldn't coerce you into sex, however your life would become harsher and harder if you make him endure a Josephite marriage. 

Russia

Oh, when it comes to the grand picture, he would be elated at your fear of intimacy. It would mean that you aren't able to cheat on him, after all. During the beginning of your relationship he would even encourage it, and even try to use it as a springboard to make you isolate yourself even further and rely only on him. Perhaps he'd even orchestrate some incidents to induce social anxiety in you. 

That aside, you having genophobia probably means somebody hurt you in some fashion. It would be a matter that he simply couldn't leave be, and Ivan would take it upon himself to avenge you. Of course, while he would ensure that the news of that bastard's brutal demise reaches your ears, he wouldn't confess to the gruesome deep until much later. You'd have to be firmly bound to him for him to truly be open with you. 

Speaking of that, once your social life consists only of him and the company he approves of, he'd be determined to solve your problems. His approach would be that your phobia is still such a fixture in your life because you haven't found closure yet. New surroundings and a new lifestyle could help with that, or him finally coming clean in lynching the persons who harmed you. 

Though, should his initial hypothesis' bear no fruit, then he'd try more radical methods. In essence he would define the problem as your inability to relax during intimacy and that you would need help in doing so. Alcohol and opioids would be his solution here, maybe hypnosis as well. 

[tomboy014]

The Prince's

So, I hadn’t originally planned on doing anything for Dani, but this post from @aziraphale-is-a-cats-a-cat got me thinking about things, and I ended up writing this.

So, while the men of the Justice League are trying to figure out who Dani is a clone of, Wonder Woman takes one look at the black haired, blue eyed, mischievous girl and can’t help but see herself in her and claim, “Mine.”

The rest of the League try, but there’s no arguing with Diana now that she’s set her mind on something, but Bruce and Clark have kids and know it’s not as easy as it looks to take care of them.  She’s only ever been the “fun aunt;” she’s never had to get into the dirty, exhausting parts of parenthood before.  It escalates to a full-blown argument, but if Dani has any say in it, she’d rather chill at Wonder Woman’s place for a while.  It sounds better than staying in some gross cave or ice castle, and space isn’t her thing (the same way it’s Danny’s), so she’d rather not stay in the Watchtower.

Arguments about clones and custody continue over the next few weeks, not helped by the fact that Dani is still pretty unconcerned about the whole situation.  Or, she was unconcerned until Vlad showed up.  He’d decided enough was enough and it was long past time he collect his property.

It only takes a single scream.

Diana bursts into the room, fist connecting with Vlad’s jaw, and he’s knocked across the room.

“Don’t.  Touch.  My child.”

She proceeds to hand his ass to him on a bronze platter before he flees into the night, bruised and bloody.

Now it’s Dani’s turn to latch onto Diana’s leg, shouting “Mine!”  This is her new, kick-ass mommy and no one else can have her.  Dibs!  No take backs!  Well, it’s settled, now.  Diana is officially Dani’s mom, and no member of the JLA can stop it.  She scoops Dani up in her arms, and before she’s even out the door, she’s already telling the other Amazon’s the good news and making plans to take Dani to Themyscira to meet her γιαγιά Hippolyta. 

The two work on figuring out family life, and all’s good for a while.  Dani’s got a (relatively) stable home life and is quickly adapting to life as “Danielle Prince.”  She likes that the name sounds similar to Diana’s, like it was on purposeful choice rather than a cheap knockoff of her original’s name, and she’s getting a lot more comfortable with it.  Bruce, thoroughly defeated and resigned to put away the adoption papers, helps her enroll is a good school and finds tutors to catch her up on the years of schooling she didn’t live through.  (This includes Jason Todd, who has volunteered himself as an excuse to hang out with Wonder Woman more.)  Louis helps her get legal paperwork and documents for Dani (something she helped do for Kon).  She makes friends with Damian and Jon.  And she’s just as skilled as Danny with language, so she’s picking up Greek rapidly.

Since Diana’s adopted her and she’s gained an army of superpowered babysitters, Dani is finally starting to feel comfortable enough to share some information with the League.  It’s not much, but she lets them know Plasmius is the one who cloned her, and her last name used to be Fenton.

Oh, no.  Between those colors and facial features, Clark has a pretty good guess at which Fenton family she came from.  Still, the family is enormous, so he doesn’t know which Fenton exactly was cloned, but the family reunion is this year, and wouldn’t hurt to give Dani a bigger support system.  Would she and Diana like to come?

Vlad, meanwhile, has recovered and is pissed.  After shadowing Wonder Woman from a healthy distance, he finds out she’s supermodel Diana Prince.  Plasmius may not have been a match for Wonder Woman, but billionaire Vlad Masters is more than capable of taking some supermodel down a peg or two.

So, he approaches Diana at work, telling her he knows who she is and that he wants his “daughter” back.  His “minion” might not have been a match for her, but if she refuses to comply, he’ll ruin her career.

And she laughs.  Laughs right in his face.  Loudly.  Because she knows he’s bluffing.  A billionaire and supermodel isn’t anything new as far as the media is concerned; it’s a cliché.  But a deadbeat billionaire dad threatening to steal back an illegitimate child from an abandoned single mother?  After years of not paying any child support?  The media would eat something like that right up.  Something that could drop stock prices and ruin political careers.  That’s something anyone would be desperate to keep hushed up and out of the media spotlight, and she’ll drag him kicking and screaming into said spotlight if he comes anywhere near her daughter.  Or maybe the media would prefer to know the real story about his illegal cloning?  After all, that went over so well for Lex Luthor. 

Vlad leaves, and Diana makes a few calls.  First, she makes sure Clark heard everything in that conversation and sets him on the warpath against DalvCo if need be.  She gets Bruce up to speed, and if there’s one thing he’s in the best position to do, it’s to hit Vlad where it really hurts: his wallet.  Vlad was already a pretty scummy businessman.  Wayne Enterprises didn’t need much of an excuse to cancel or back out of business deals with him.

But Diana is still shaken up by the event, even if she’s not going to let it show.  Right now, she wants to send Dani away to Themyscira behind a wall of Amazons where she knows no one will be able to touch her, but Bruce and Louis talk her down.  Dani’s finally settling into a normal-ish life, and uprooting her now will not help her, and if push comes to shove, trying to whisk her away will not look good to the courts.  Louis knows a great lawyer, and Bruce is willing to foot the bill.

For Vlad, that did not go as expected at all.  He hadn’t expected her to know Danielle was a clone, and he doesn’t want Danielle to be public knowledge.  However, he has no intention of getting lawyers involved; she’d be expecting that.  No, he has something far more insidious planned.  It’s been decades since he’s attended one, but the Fenton Family Reunion should be coming up soon, and as far at that family is concerned, once a Fenton, always a Fenton.  She’s prepared to fight lawyers?  Well, Let’s see how she fares against an army of angry grandparents and disapproving aunts demanding that his poor child be returned to him once he sets the family on the warpath.

[kerwynlar]

Good Man

A Belly Kink Fic by Kerwynlar

The aristocratic author Lord Woolsey has found that he thinks best on a full stomach. A very full stomach. His butler is only all too happy to help out.

Tags: Explicit, Belly Kink, Burping, Overeating, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Enthusiastic consent but problematic power dynamic, implied/referenced sexual content

Note: This work was inspired by the excellent At His Service by pizza_my_heart. In that story the author does a beautiful job of putting the employer and the butler on equal footing. That's not what is going on here. While enthusiastic consent is given in this story, the power dynamic here makes the consent, at least the initial consent, dubious at best. In the real world this would be very fucked up. If you agree that it's hot in fiction, please read on. Basically all of my fics are built around very loving healthy relationships. This is not that.

1,163 words. Read it below or on AO3.

~*~

Reginald Montcrieff was not sitting idly fantasizing about his employer eating. Reginald Montcrieff was very busy balancing the household accounts. He had certainly not been staring blankly at the page for nearly half an hour, stirring at every half-sound that might be the bell summoning him to the dining room. 

Reginald was not picturing the plates heaped with eggs, bacon, toast, sausage, beans, and tomatoes that he had served to his employer, Lord Peter Halberd Woolsey. He was certainly not picturing forkful after heaping forkful passing Lord Woolsey’s lips. And by no means was Reginald’s mouth watering at the thought of all that food heaped into his employer’s already rounded belly, stretching it and weighing it down, expanding it within the increasingly tight confines of his clothing. 

The bell from the dining room finally rang and Reginald stood so fast, he nearly knocked over his chair.

---

Lord Woolsey was, at least according to the press, one of the greatest minds of his generation. His first two treatises on political philosophy were considered required reading for anyone seriously concerned with public affairs and were discussed and quoted from the coffee shops of the intelligentsia, to university classrooms, to the great halls of Parliament. He was currently penning his third, widely anticipated, treatise. 

While he was writing his second book, Lord Woolsey discovered that he thought best on a full stomach. A very full stomach. 

Reginald had been a footman during the writing of that second book and had marveled at the sight of the platters that had been taken into the dining room and equally marveled at the fact that they were all empty when returned to the kitchen. 

But only the butler, whose duties included being the lord’s personal attendant, was permitted to interact with Lord Woolsey when he was writing. His lordship said that he needed to keep his mind clear of extraneous voices when writing. 

Following the publication of the second book, when Reginald was once again permitted in a much more corpulent Lord Woolsey’s presence, the lord had begun to notice him. The notice turned to interest and conversation. Eventually Reginald had been invited to Woolsey’s bed. He had been assured that it was an invitation, not an order, and he had been more than happy to accept. 

“Would you like a promotion, dear Reg?” Woolsey had asked him one night as he watched Reginald dress after an encounter that had been pleasurable for both of them. 

“I wish to serve you, sir,” Reginald had replied easily. “However you see fit.” 

“I’ll be writing again soon.” Woolsey ran a hand over his soft belly. Reginald didn’t bother to hide his appreciative look. Woolsey saw it and grinned. “You know about my… eccentricities when I’m writing?” 

Reginald swallowed. “Yes, sir. As much as I can from the outside.” 

“You’d be prepared to cater to them?” 

Woolsey liked it when he was bold on occasion. Reginald climbed back on the bed and crawled up to him. He leaned over and kissed Woolsey’s plush belly. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly. “Whatever you need. Anything you want.” 

The other butler had been fired the next day and Reginald had taken his place. 

——— 

When Reginald entered the dining room, Woolsey was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, and both hands rubbing his belly. Reginald felt his mouth go dry. Woolsey’s belly was straining against his waistcoat and trousers. 

“Was everything to your liking, sir?” Reginald asked as he began clearing the empty plates. 

“Oh ye- UUUUUURRRRRP! Oh my, excuse me, Reg. Uurrp!” 

Heaven help him, Reginald was getting excited by his employer belching. 

“Nothing to worry about, sir,” Reginald replied more smoothly than he felt. 

“And yes, tell Cook that I’ll want the same again tomorrow. Buuurrrp! With perhaps a few more sausages and a bit more toast.” 

More? Reginald could scarcely believe it, but all that was left on the plates he was clearing was crumbs. 

“Shall- shall I bring you anything else now sir?” 

Woolsey smiled at him. “Good man. But no, I’m quite satisfied for now.” He frowned suddenly and rubbed a particular area of his belly, then pushed on it and immediately let loose a thunderous belch. “Mm, pardon me, dear Reg,” he breathed. “I hope I don’t offend you.” 

“Not in the slightest, sir.” 

Not in the slightest. Did Woolsey have any idea? He certainly knew how Reginald worshipped his belly in bed, how he loved the round shape of it, its soft plushness. But this? Woolsey’s overindulgence and the evidence of it? Well, if Woolsey knew he likely wouldn’t mind. There was no doubt he enjoyed when Reginald was aroused. 

Woolsey belched again and gave a quiet groan, his hands roaming his large belly. “Ah, that’s good,” he sighed. Woolsey gave his belly another pat then sat up. “Come, dear Reg,” he said. “Give me a hand up. I’m positively weighed down by that lovely meal.” 

Reginald quickly put down the plate he was about to take to the dumbwaiter and hurried over to help Woolsey out of his chair. As he heaved Woolsey to his feet, he felt his employer’s eyes on his face. 

“You’re looking a little flushed, Reg,” Woolsey said, reaching up to stroke his cheek. Woolsey chuckled and Reginald tried not to notice the movement of his belly. Though that was more difficult when Woolsey took Reginald’s hand and placed it on the curve of his belly. “You like this, don’t you?” Woolsey asked quietly. “You like to see me plumped up with a meal. You always do like my belly. Can you imagine how fat I’ll get writing this book? I’m only on the second chapter, and I have lots more to say.” 

Reginald gasped. He was painfully hard. 

Woolsey glanced down and chuckled again. “Now what shall we do about that, hmm?” 

“S-sir…” Reginald stuttered. 

“I need to go write my book, dear Reg,” Woolsey said quietly, moving forward so his belly was inches from Reginald’s groin. “And I suggest you take a few minutes to compose yourself. But think how big I’ll be tonight after a nice big lunch of roast chicken and then beef and potatoes for dinner, hmm? I’ll be swollen and sluggish. Too full of food to really fuck you. You’ll need to ride my cock. But you’ll do that, won’t you dear Reg?” 

“Y-yes, sir!” Reginald couldn’t have controlled his breathing if his life depended on it. 

“That’s my good man.” Woolsey reached up to stroke Reginald’s cheek again. “You’ll look so pretty straddling my lap, your hands on my stuffed gut. You’ll be ready for me tonight, won’t you Reg?” 

“Yes, sir,” Reginald gasped out. 

Woolsey pressed Reginald’s hand to his belly and gave two quick strokes to the outline of Reginald’s cock clearly visible through his trousers. 

“See that you are,” Woolsey said, and stepped back, surveying Reginald with a smile. He chuckled and left the room. 

Reginald barely got his fly open fast enough. 

~*~

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, I appreciate you letting me know. I have another chapter partially written, and I'm more likely to finish and post if I know it will get readers.

[daisynik7]

hruuuu! <3 for your y2k karaoke party,

"SOS" by Rhianna with getou suguru - smut+fluff?

ughh i love him so much tyyy

SOS

Pairing: vampire!Geto x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.5k

cw: vampire au, fluff, smut – PIV sex (missionary), cunnilingus, fingering, cum-eating, dirty talk

Author’s Notes: Thank you for sending in this request @idkks4m! LOVE this song, a classic hit for the y2k karaoke party! Wanted to try my hand at something a little bit different from my usual; I’ve seen the idea of vampire!Geto floating around here before, and I think it’s brilliant! Here’s my take on it. Hope you enjoy! MDNI banner created by @/cafekitsune. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading!

It wasn’t supposed to go this far. 

That’s what you think as his fangs trail your neck, enough pressure to feel it scratch the surface, not enough to pierce the skin. His fingers glide down your arms, cold and lifeless, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your burning body. How have you never noticed the differences before? The pale complexion, the bleakness in his eyes, the tight smirk on his lips, posing as human. How he only visits the café you work at right before closing, ordering his typical coffee, black.

Just your presence and I second guess my sanity.

You did notice the oddities but ignored them. Because no matter how uneasy he makes you, how many red flags you see, your carnal desires overtake everything else. After all, you were the one to invite him to your own home after your shift ended. It didn’t even cross your mind that this was an unsafe, reckless decision. All you could think of was the thrill of being alone with this mysterious, sexy stranger.

I should have never let him in. 

You had a choice. He asked you the question, standing outside your front door, baring his pointed canines at you, a warning sign. “May I come in?” And all you had to do was say no. You’re not sure what possessed you in that moment. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was lust. Whatever it was, it made you say yes. And now, you’re absolutely terrified, undoubtedly nervous. Completely aroused.

Please someone help me. It’s not healthy for me to feel this.

His hands slide around your waist, pulling you in closer, lips joined together into a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue swirls around yours, and you can’t help yourself. You lick into his mouth, feeling for the tips of those fangs. The vibration from his voice as he chuckles sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re a curious one,” he says, eyes studying your face. “Aren’t you scared?”

You swallow hard, throat dense with saliva, shaking your head meekly, unable to get a word out. 

He laughs again, tipping your chin up with his finger to inspect you more thoroughly. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you believe me?”

More confidently this time, you nod, managing a stuttering, “Yes.”

He swipes his tongue across his teeth, smiling. “Good girl.”

You lead him further inside, straight into your bedroom, common sense nonexistent at this point. There’s no reason for you to trust him; you know nothing about him. And yet, here you are, laid out and legs spread like a silver platter for him to feast on. Totally willing to submit to whatever he chooses to do with you. And for the first time since you met him a few weeks ago, there’s a flash of emotion in his eyes. 

It’s hunger. 

“Strip for me,” he demands, towering over you at the end of the bed, scanning your figure up and down. You obey, sliding out of your pants, hoisting off your shirt, leaving only your underwear on.

“Everything,” he growls, following suit. You marvel at his chiseled abs, salivating as he slides his sweatpants and boxers off, revealing his stiff cock sprung against his abdomen. Soon, you’re both completely naked, inspecting each other’s bare bodies, craving for a touch.

He smiles, more genuine than you’ve ever seen before. “You’re beautiful.” 

You gulp down the spit collecting on your tongue to respond, “So are you,” scooting up the bed to lean against the pillows. 

Crawling on top, he brushes your cheek with his thumb, whispering, “You’re going to be my little plaything tonight.”

You pull him down, kissing him sloppily, unable to contain your arousal any longer. He moans into your mouth, hands squeezing at your breasts, relishing the plump flesh between his cold fingers. He pinches your nipples, flicking over them with the pads of his thumbs, enjoying the way you whine at his touch. You reach for his cock, stroking it in your fist feverishly, impressed by the size. There are a million different questions running through your mind, but you save them for later, wanting nothing else except to be consumed by him. 

Not literally, of course. Though the possibility of that isn’t completely off the table just yet. And maybe that’s what makes this so exciting.

“Fuck me.” It slips from your lips, desperate and needy. Pussy aching to be filled with whatever he’s willing to offer you. 

“Not yet,” he breathes out, kissing you on the forehead. “I need to taste you first.” Suddenly, the fear returns, about ready to shove him off and run for your life. He laughs, scattering gentle kisses down your body, positioning his head between your thighs. “Not like that. Like this.” He flicks his tongue across your clit, slurping and sucking at your swelling bud until you’re bucking your hips against him, greedy for more. 

“Just as I thought,” he hums, spreading his tongue along your folds, collecting your slick. “You taste incredible.” He slips his middle finger inside you, curving at the tip to stimulate your G-spot. “Come for me. Give me your orgasm. Want to drink it up.”

You grip his hair between your fingers, climaxing on his face. He doesn’t let up, pressing himself deeper into your sopping cunt, slobbering all over you. When he pulls out, he sticks his cum coated finger into his mouth, sucking off your cum. Biting his lip, he wraps a fist around his shaft, tapping the tip on your sensitive clit. “You’re being such an obedient slut right now. Are you ready to take this cock?”

You’re in a daze, eyes half-lidded from your intense orgasm, still aching for him inside you. All you can do is nod dumbly, watching him guide his entire length inside you easily until he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he grunts, nestling himself comfortably inside you. “You’re eating this dick up, aren’t you sweetheart?”

“Please,” you whine. “Give it to me.”

He chuckles, amused by your adorable reaction. “Okay, beautiful. Since you asked so nicely.” He grips your waist, holding you steady as he fucks you, hips thrusting wildly into your cunt. It’s even better than you imagined, his thick cock filling you up like nothing ever has before. He’s relentless, pace only increasing as your quiet moans become louder, your legs wrapping around him tighter. 

“This is what you want, huh? To be fucked like this.” His grip on you becomes firmer, nails digging into your flesh, imprinting on your skin. “You don’t even know me, and still, you let me in. What a stupid girl you are.”

You should be scared with the way he speaks to you, voice low and frigid, as if he can’t believe a human would be so foolish to let someone like him into their home, into their body. This is absolutely crazy, you admit it. But how can something that’s bad for you feel so fucking good?

Palms pressed to his cheeks, you pull his face close to yours, foreheads touching. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” you whisper to him. “I trust you.”

His eyes flash, seeming human for a split second. “Silly girl,” he mutters, kissing you on the lips. You stay like this until he unravels, spurting his seed inside you. Your legs are still coiled around him, holding him close to you as he comes down from his high.

“Wow,” he huffs, collapsing beside you. He’s pristine, like a marble sculpture, no trace of sweat or hint of blush on any inch of his body. You reach for him, tracing the outline of his lips, then his sharp jawline, noticing how cool he is against your fingertips.  

He smiles, letting you study him. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me.”

You do, and you’re tempted to ask all of them. However, in this moment, you’re not sure if you’re ready to know just yet. Instead, you ask the most vital one. A question that you should have known the answer to right from the start, human or not. “What’s your name?”

He laughs, nuzzling his nose to yours. “Geto. Suguru Geto.”

~~~

In the morning, he’s gone. You don’t expect him to stay, assuming what they say about vampires and daytime is true. Still, you’re saddened that he doesn’t. He never mentioned if he’d come in contact with you again. You assume he won’t, probably destined to move to another town where he can seduce a different woman, living in peace without his secret revealed.

So, it’s to your complete surprise when Geto does return later that night, smiling at you on your front doorstep, saying your name. “May I come in?”

[vidavalor]

Can you share another horny homophone? Count me obsessed with Ineffable Husbands Speak.

Same, obviously. I can do that. Since "ma tante"/"my tente" was Aziraphale, here are a couple from Crowley this time:

To be bored/board and wrath/wroth

We know that when Aziraphale is hungry for sex, he ironically busts out this word below that means that one could go for a little snack:

And we also know that Crowley sees this as the most Aziraphale word that has ever Aziraphale worded because he was all oh babe really this one? in response to it in 1793:

His attitude is a bit: We're doing this now? We're calling it "peckish"? I mean, it meets the food-related criteria for a sexual euphemism in our wordplay and it's also funny as hell, since you have never eaten just a little bit of food once in all your days, and it's even got this weird, bird-like bit of hilarity to it but I can't do it. It's fine for you but there is no way on this Earth that I am ever going to tell you I feel like sex by saying that I'm feeling "peckish"...

This is not a Crowley-ish word.

So, what does he say then? What's the Crowley version of "peckish"? It's a homophone and it's...

To be "bored/board" (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). The Crowley version of "peckish", which is a word that is fine for Aziraphale but which Crowley is never going to use in all his days.

To be bored is to lament the fact that you are lacking in stimuli and activity and to be stuck in a temporary dearth of anything interesting happening. A homophone for "bored" in English is "board", which has several different meanings that are amusing in an Ineffable Husbands-y way-- much like "wily", "thwart", "smitten", "explode", etc..

A board in one bit of common usage today is a plank of wood-- as in, "honey, I'm going to Lowe's to grab some more boards for our home improvement project" but, inevitably, since you're all such wonderfully dirty-minded little skamps, your minds also went to the sexual euphemism for having an erection. As such, Crowley can speak aloud one sound-- like Aziraphale did with "tante"/"tente"-- and have it mean two different words at once and "board" has additional meanings that meet the criteria for being a word in Ineffable Husbands Speak... like its food-related one.

One of the original meanings of "board" is a table that is set for a meal. As in, "he was ravenously hungry when he returned to the house and sighed with pleasure at the board before him." The board, in this case, would be a table laid with food that was ready to eat. A more modern version of this kind of usage is less the whole table set up for a meal but more if I were to go fill a plank of wood or a stone slab or a platter with various deli meats, cheeses, olives, breads/crackers, etc., what have I made? A charcuterie board.

Additionally, a "board" can be used to mean those working as a small collective to make decisions and direct an organization-- as in, "she sits on the board of directors of the company"-- and is then a nod towards their healthy sexual power balance. More euphemistically, as a verb, you "board" modes of transportation-- like planes, buses, trains, ships... the latter two of which we've already seen Crowley and Aziraphale turn into sexual innuendo.

Ships are related to the sea and feature into Aziraphale's drunk innuendo around The Kraken and his more detailed Biblically-inspired dirty talk in the "seeds of destruction" scene. Trains are what Crowley parries back with after Aziraphale turned The Bentley and the bookshop into a sexual metaphor for Crowley and himself when teasing control freak Crowley about how he has been letting Aziraphale drive his car for centuries but is having a whole meltdown about letting him drive the actual, literal car.

While you "sail on" a ship and "fly" on a plane, in the cases of most other forms of transportation-- including the two Crowley and Aziraphale are flirting about in S2, cars and trains-- you, of course, "board" one to ride it to a destination. If you wish to board a mode of transportation, you wish to go somewhere-- you're bored and need to board. And you've a whole board of delicious-sounding meal options circling around in your mind lol.

So, Crowley can make one sound and it encapsulates two words with collective meanings of lacking in stimuli while being hard up/horny and fantasizing about a whole damn charcuterie board of sexual options.

Crowley can tell what Aziraphale means by his tone of voice and the reasons Aziraphale calls Crowley, according to Crowley in 2.01, are that there's a "something's wrong" emergency (which is what this scene in 2.01 is), that he has to tell him about something clever he did and can't wait the short amount of time until he sees Crowley next to tell him (which is so married and is also what happens when Aziraphale can't wait to tell Crowley how good a job he's doing managing his trauma in Edinburgh by having gone to the spot by the Gabriel statue), or that he's "bored"/"board"-- he's restless, lacking in stimuli, very peckish and wants to mess around (which is Good Omens: Lockdown).

Aziraphale: I just called to see how you were doing during lockdown.

Crowley: I'm bored... so *very, very*... *board*. *Transcendentally* (homophone) bored/board...

Maggie and Nina partner scene, in which they are locked down together, and Nina's a bit of a bitch but also kinda not wrong about physical media shops as unlikely targets for robbery:

Aziraphale: ...except for the other night, when (salacious tone of voice) *a few young lads* broke in and (faux-innocent tone of voice) tried to steal the cashbox! (mischievous, innuendo-laden tone of voice) But they soon saw the error of their ways.

Crowley: Did you smite them with your (homophone) wrath/wroth?

Wrath: righteous fury; of an angel, in Biblical terms. Pronounced by people with a moneyed English accent like Crowley's as "wroth", for some weird fluke of language/reasons no one is really sure on, probably because it sounds posh. *shrug* However, 'wroth' is a word itself...

Wroth: like 'wrath', means extreme anger... but is also the past tense of 'writhe'

To writhe: to make continuous twisting movements of the body; to thrash; to flail; to twist and turn. Frequently used to describe the movements of a body experiencing sexual pleasure or an orgasm.

[See also, other kinds of writhe-related wordplay: to founder vs. to flounder ("Seeds of Destruction" scene) and to get a wiggle on vs. to get a wriggle on (Discorporated!Aziraphale scene), when I finish metas on Fish and Seeds.]

Crowley: Did you smite them with your *wroth*?

Meaning: Did you discipline your imaginary burglars, angel-- is that where this one's going? Did they become smitten with you from your smiting-- all three young, strapping, muscled, cash-starved members of the local university crew team, I'd imagine?

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Characterization and OS2 x The Eclipse

I have been having many conversations with the clowns and it seems that we are all generally of the same mind re: complaints about characterization in Our Skyy 2 x The Eclipse. We’ve had very brilliant words and reflections from @bengiyo and @shortpplfedup. My words will not be brilliant but they will be. 

So I am going to start by saying, bluntly, that P’Golf is beating us over the head with the messages they want us to take from these episodes. In fact I would have maybe critiqued the in-your-face, unsubtle nature of their messaging if I hadn’t seen such terrible takes on at least Episode 1 if not some about “green flag Ayan” for Episode 2. Clearly the message needs to be this straightforward in order for some of you to get it.

So at this point: 

If you are choosing to complain about the characterizations of Akk and Ayan especially, but any of the characters, you are doing so in bad faith. 

Why am I claiming it’s in bad faith? Because Akk and Ayan are completely in character the entire time and Golf hands us the central conflicts on a silver platter. 

So what are the central conflicts of these Our Skyy 2 Episodes? 

“What’s wrong with you, Golden Eagle?”

“There’s no need for me to answer your question, Red Eagle,” 

Central Conflict One: Communication 

Akk is not open about what is bothering him. This is extremely in character for Akk. Akk is a master of repression, and he will and has consistently, emphatically, and blatantly lied about his feelings at every given opportunity. Akk is excited about spending his birthday with his boyfriend, and he is upset that Aye seems to not remember his birthday. Does he say anything about it at all? No. He goes and retreats and sulks, but he refuses to bring up the thing that is bothering him. 

Having Aye in this fantasy ask what is wrong is extremely in character and gives us a direct, explicit sentence of what Aye has been constantly trying to do, which is to have Akk communicate his needs. Aye is incredibly direct and explicit in checking in with people all the time. (As examples: “Can you tell me the truth, Akk?” from the beach scene in Episode 6, “How would you feel if Akk and I were more than friends?” to Akk’s parents in Episode 12, checking in with Kan and Thua, etc. etc.). 

Having Akk in the fantasy respond that there is no need is extremely in character and gives us a direct, explicit sentence of what Akk’s potential conflict point will be, which is Akks refusal to communicate his needs. (As examples: *gestures wildly to the entirety of The Eclipse*) 

__

And we are shown explicitly, time and time again throughout all of The Eclipse and throughout both Our Skyy 2 Episodes what happens when Akk does communicate. 

We get a healthy and balanced relationship where our favorite war criminal and his rat bastard boyfriend get to be happy, dopey, in love, and frolic.

Frolic, I tell you!!

And we get declarations of love

And does it take Ayan a second to get there? Does he delay and tease, and annoy Akk by not saying it at first? Yes. Does he make Akk turn away and say “I don’t want to annoy you?” Yes. But Akk does get Aye’s love confession, and Akk similarly plays with Ayan, pretending like he isn’t going to say he loves him back…calling them friends in the first part of Episode 2. But ultimately he relents as well.

__

But what does Akk not do? Tell Aye that he is upset that Ayan seems to have forgotten his birthday. I’m not going to victim blame here and say that all of Akk’s upset, annoyance, despair, heartbreak, etc. is his fault. Ayan is very intentionally toying with Akk’s emotions, feigning ignorance, and hurting Akk here. Ayan’s idea of pretending not to remember his birthday is the spark that lights up this conflict between them. But it is not solely Ayan’s fault either. If Akk was open and honest and communicative about the ways in which he felt hurt by this. If he did what Ayan has been trying to get him to do throughout their entire relationship (and by relationship here I mean connection to one another from their first meeting until now and not exclusively their romantic relationship) which is to be honest about his feelings. 

Ayan is not perfect, and honestly if I do have one actual criticism of this episode it is that I wish there had been less of a positive response from Akk after Aye’s surprise, just so that there was more of an opportunity for Akk to actually talk about how upset he had felt. But honestly, thinking about characterization, I am not sure if that would have been in character for these two either because their entire dynamic is built on the foundation and enjoyment of getting a rise out of each other. 

To say that Akk and Ayan are not in character here is in bad faith. Their entire relationship in The Eclipse starts with them being antagonistic forces to one another. That competition, that light teasing and soft bullying that Aye does to Akk throughout The Eclipse is what usually gets Akk to break out of that repression and to admit his actual feelings. But Ayan constantly has to work to get there. Ayan knows why Akk is upset, and he isn’t pushing Akk on it too hard because he doesn’t need Akk to be honest with him. But Akk, similarly to what he did when he told Aye that he wasn’t thinking naughty thoughts when he wanted to make Aye sleep on the floor, or when he kept covering for Chadok and placing the blame solely on himself, has still not gotten comfortable expressing his needs. 

And whoever said it earlier said it best, that when Akk tells Ayan that he’s changed, they are fairly certain Akk means that Aye has changed only over the last couple days/weeks while he has been planning this surprise party for Akk. Accurate. 

So why is this communication conflict coming into play at all? 

Because of who Akk and Ayan are as people. 

Central Conflict Two: Perspectives

Akk believes that Ayan should care about other people more, and Ayan believes that Akk should care about other people less. These are two fundamentally different approaches and views of the world and what is important. Their conflict around communication comes from this same perspective, Aye is too busy thinking about how much fun he is having with these fights with Akk and how much he thinks Akk will eventually love the surprise to understand that he is currently really and sincerely hurting Akk’s feelings. Akk is too busy worrying about whether or not bringing up his own feelings about Aye not remembering his birthday will further strain their relationship or make Aye feel bad, that he never says anything about it. Akk doesn’t want his friends to feel bad for him or responsible for his emotional state so he lies to them about Ayan having wished him a happy birthday. He wants to make sure that Ayan isn’t stressed out so he encourages Ayan to go deal with the errands for his mother, regardless of the hurt it is causing Akk to let him go. 

Because these perspectives are literally why and how Akk and Ayan work as a couple. 

Akk was killing himself for Suppalo and for Chadok. Akk is so blinded by his concern for others that he is unable to understand the harm he has done to others, and the harm others have done to him until Ayan, who is fueled by his own personal vendetta, is able to remind Akk that he is a person who has been manipulated. Ayan’s narrow view of the situation at Suppalo, and his hatred of Chadok allows him to help Akk understand how deeply and badly he is being used. Ayan was able to get Akk to shed some of his responsibilities and focus on himself and the people he loves, one of the bigger examples being Akk going with Ayan on a coffee date instead of going to the protest to record names. 

Ayan was killing himself for Dika. He was so blinded by his grief, that he was unable to see the ways in which he was neglecting Dika’s memory and harming the people Dika loved. Ayan wasn’t taking care of himself, and Ayan wasn’t even aware of the fear he was causing his mother that he might leave her too, and he was acting as an antagonistic force to Chadok who was also grieving the man he loved. And then Akk came along, and Ayan had another person to care about, and had someone that cared about him. Akk threw Ayan a life line when he was drowning in his own pain and sorrow, Ayan was constantly surprised by the fact that despite Akk’s antagonism towards him, Akk was also willing to step in to protect Ayan (interrupting Aye’s fight about uniforms with Teacher Waree to say he agreed with her). Eventually, Akk was able to care enough for Ayan, that Ayan was able to look around and see and care for other people over his own feelings. The biggest examples being telling his mother she wouldn’t lose him too, and offering Akk Dika’s necklace after he breaks the news to Akk about Dika’s suicide. 

Ayan shouldered Akk’s pain and Akk shouldered Ayan’s, and Akk was allowed to be selfish and self-centered around Ayan and Ayan was allowed to care about Dika and care about Akk when he was around Akk. 

Akk’s care for others harmed many people, The World Remembers especially and Ayan’s care for himself and the people he loves also harmed many people, The World Remembers especially. And all the hot takes I was seeing about why Thua is a bad person? Wrong. Sure Thua outed Akk and Ayan, but Ayan outed Thua first. But besides that Thua is the one to call out the fact that Ayan is being hypocritical, knowing that harm is being caused by Akk and allowing Akk to continue to hide away from taking responsibility because he cares about Akk’s feelings. This ultimately ends up hurting Akk further because of where and how the information is revealed. 

— 

Anyway, going back to Our Skyy 2, these perspectives are not something that Akk and Ayan are really able to change. Nor do we want them to. It is why they work as a couple and it is why the hug scene is so important. 

Akk fundamentally is a person who will continue to value others above himself

Ayan is a person who will continue to value himself above others. 

Individually these mentalities can cause harm to one another. As I previously mentioned, Akk not voicing his feelings about having his birthday forgotten and Ayan being too excited by the prospect of the surprise to really think critically about how bad Akk may actually be feeling. This strains their relationship. 

But when they come together? 

That’s where the magic happens. You need both a selfless and selfish perspective in life to find the proper balance. This extends politically as well, you have to consider both the needs of the collective and the needs of the individual. 

Anyway, I know that @shortpplfedup has 5000 words coming about the hug so I will stop there. All this post really was was a way to say that Akk and Ayan are perfectly in character throughout the entirety of the show and their personal struggles are reflected in the very obvious messaging Golf gives us. Hopefully this was helpful in illuminating both the themes and how they related to consistent characterization of Suppalo’s Most Wanted, Akk and Ayan. 

I loved the episodes and I will be watching them more than is a.) strictly necessary and b.) entirely healthy. 

(tagging rest of clown server: @waitmyturtles, @lurkingshan, @ginnymoonbeam)

[natashasnoodle]

Championships | Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Reader

Masterlist | N.R Masterlist

Words: 1.5k

Summary: Natasha is just your biggest supporter in the whole wide world.

Age: 14

Accidentally let this rot in my drafts for months which is a big whoopsies

✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

One thing that Natasha had always made clear with you, was that she wanted you to have everything that she couldn't. The whole nine yards. She tried her absolute best to make sure that you had meals you loved on your plate every day, provided you with all the resources you could need to pursue whatever hobby you wanted and made sure that you were well-socialised with those your own age, and your family.

She wanted you to want for nothing.

Some may say that Natasha had spoiled you, but anyone who knew Natasha would know that this was not the case. Yes, she kept you stocked up on things you wanted, and yes, she tried to wrap you up in a little bubble so that you would never have to see the horrors of the world, but you were not spoiled. She made sure that you earned things that were not a necessity, except for the occasional gift when she wanted to surprise you.

Another thing that Natasha had always made clear with you is that you have to work to achieve. The world will not hand you everything on a grand silver platter.

The world could also be cruel. She hated that it was a guarantee that it would be cruel to you at some point in your life. If it were up to her she would make sure that it never happens, but that was impossible, so she gave you the tools that you needed to survive and thrive.

She taught you to be strong mentally, but to not make the mistake of shutting people out as she often did. She taught you how to run fast and to hit hard. On paper, you were all prepared for the real world, even at your young age. But in Natasha's mind, she would never be ready to send you out, but another thing that she wanted for you was your freedom.

Natasha was always complimented for the way that you had turned out so far. Having raised you to be a well-rounded and experienced child, you got on with most people who entered your life. Making Natasha a very proud mother whenever she watched you interact with those around you or your environment in general.

Powered by ambition you always sought out ways to put your best foot forward just like your Mom.

Being fast and athletic, at school you gravitated towards being on the track team, which is something that your Mom always encouraged, seeing the way your eyes lit up when you talked about how various practices went.

Having never gotten the opportunity to attend school, and therefore teams and clubs, seeing you get that experience always put a smile on Natasha's face. She wanted the experience to be perfect for you.

So, she sold her sports car to buy a classic Mom Minivan to be able to take you and your friends to various inter-school track meets and competitions, always making sure the pockets and doors were full of water bottles and healthy snacks for the journeys. She learnt how to sew so that she could fix your uniform if you ever ripped it, which happened often because you were somewhat of a clutz.

That was the main difference between you and Natasha, every movement of hers was calculated and precise, whereas you moved around as though you had eight limbs. You were always grateful for the fact that your Mom's reflexes were out of this world, as it meant that she always appeared out of nowhere just as you were about to injure yourself.

Mothering you was a double full-time job. But it was one that Natasha wouldn't give up for the world.

You were well aware of Natasha's past, she liked to be transparent with you. So, when most of your friends got embarrassed when they thought their moms were being too enthusiastic about their lives and achievements, you couldn't relate.

Seeing the smile and pure joy on your Mom's face when you told her about your day, what you had been up to, or when she saw you in action on the track, that was enough for pride to beam through your own chest.

Life had given her so many battles, but she had overcome them all.

Every single one.

She fought for her life on the daily and came out on top, and now she is living the very life that she had always wanted since her youth.

So, when you had gotten through to the track finals, where you alone represented your school against the other schools in the state, it was not a surprise when Natasha was acting more frantic than normal that morning to get you to the school on time. She just simply wouldn't be able to forgive herself if you missed out on something that you had worked so hard for just because she was late.

Even though she was on track to get you there forty minutes early.

"Mom, you can slow down a bit you know, you're gonna pull a muscle", you spoke before taking a hefty bite out of an apple. Natasha gave you a pointed look at first as she triple checked that your bag had everything, but her face softened after a few seconds.

"I know, I know, but it's your big day! I don't want anything to ruin it for you".

Chuckling lightly, you moved around the kitchen island and towards Nat who promptly pulled you into a side hug. "Nothing's gonna ruin it, Mom, promise", you grinned up at her, receiving an identical grin in return.

---

Whilst completing your pre-race stretches, you looked up to the stands after hearing your friends yelling your name in support, after all, you were the only one competing for your school's glory. You smiled and waved at them, and spotted your Mom behind them. She was animatedly talking to the other Moms of your school. Not being able to help it, you shook your head lightly with a chuckle.

She was like this at every track competition, but it's nothing that you would want to ever change.

Not before long, you and the other runners were being called up to the track. Exhaling a deep breath you slowly walked over with the others, before placing yourself in position.

Focus.

Taking deep breaths, you looked ahead. Your jaw clenched in anticipation, waiting for the horn to sound to signal your sprint. It was always torture having to wait, the adrenaline always made you want to lurch forward before you heard the signal, but that would mean immediate disqualification. It was a lot of pressure.

When the sound of the blaring horn rang through the air, you started immediately at a quick speed, settling into second place.

Your legs moved as fast as they could as your chest rhythmically fell up and down as your subconscious kept your body in the right posture, after years of training you didn't have to think about it anymore.

What you did have to think about was moving your legs faster, you would not settle for second.

As you reached halfway you were neck and neck with the person who was previously in front of you. She was fast.

Your legs hurt from the exertion but hearing the people in the stands cheering you all on powered you through, especially knowing that a certain someone was watching you. So, with all of the power that your muscles could muster, you picked up the pace in the last quarter, sprinting forward at an unfathomable speed, very quickly putting great distance between you and your opponents.

Your strides lengthened as you reached the last few steps, trying to ensure that you would be the first to pass the line.

The whistle blew, and the crowd cheered.

You did it.

As you collapsed onto your knees in your lane, your chest heaving to get in the oxygen and rid your muscles of the lactic acid, you could hear a very familiar cheer from a very familiar person, a breathless grin erupting on your face.

The few moments that you had to catch your breath were soon ended when your teammates hoisted you up off of the floor and into a group hug. Oxygen was once again not a luxury that you could afford as they started jumping up and down with you in their hold, your brain being jostled about all over the place in the process.

But you couldn't help but laugh, you had done it. Years and years of training and hard work had led to this moment.

And you had done it.

The crowd soon dissipated to make their way over to the main area where the awards would be held, leaving you space to move again. Within seconds you spotted your Mom walking up to you, a smirk on her face as she opened her arms for you to move into. You didn't hesitate to run forward into her hold, even with your legs that felt like jelly.

"I did it!", you spoke against her shoulder, where your face was smushed against.

"Hell yeah you did! I'm so proud of you sweetheart", Natasha lightly moved you away from her so that she could cup your cheeks and press a kiss against your forehead, "So proud", she grinned down at you, her eyes shining the usual way they do whenever they look at you.

Full of love, and full of pride. 

✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist <3

Taglist:@fxckmiup @itsdoni @rob1nbuckl3ys

Natasha Romanoff Taglist:@diaryoflife @unlady-like-12-25-36 @doveromanoff

[ghostlyaerobics1984]

What If YOU were the killer…?

Summary: Being Ethan Landry’s sibling, you were also dragged into your father’s psychotic plan. But it was too late for you to repent for your sins. You have caused a lot of damage, fatal wounds, and the Carpenter sisters were pissed off at your entire family.

Word Count: 2,445

Parings: Tara Carpenter x Gn!Reader, Tara Carpenter x Male!Reader

Author’s note: I guess ghostface!reader isn’t exactly a new idea, but I wanted to write Reader as morally gray instead of the hero of the story.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, murder, and cussing.

You ran after witnessing your older brother, Ethan, choking on a knife.

It wasn’t intentional on his part. Tara Carpenter had shoved the sharp edge of the weapon through the roof of his mouth.

Honestly, she was torturing him. It was not suitable for the weak-minded to watch.

You weren’t weak per say. You were just the youngest of the family.

Hence, you basically got everything handed to you on a silver platter.

You were most similar to Ethan in the shy, reserved, and introverted aspect.

Quinn and Richie were the more outspoken siblings. They weren’t afraid to try new ideas outside of their comfort zone.

Richie was the favorite child, but ever since he was murdered, your father made an effort to pay more attention to you.

Although, killing people was not a healthy, bonding activity for any type of relationship.

You didn’t need to learn that from a therapist because, unlike your family, you were sane.

You really didn’t belong here. The irony of it all? You applied to colleges in New York to pursue your own dreams, months before Wayne Bailey contacted you.

And here you were.

In the past, you spoke about your passion for helping others, and the “Core Four” took the bait.

They thought you were less likely to snap and murder people if you didn’t have a preexisting mental illness.

Try having a dad who’s present, but not really—because he’s neglectful to you and your siblings.

And it’s like none of his other children mattered to him because his son died.

It was all Bailey’s fault. He admitted to encouraging Richie’s obsession for gory, slasher films.

He could be honest about that, but in the same breath, he accused Sam and Tara of being the villains behind it all.

Which was even more ironic.

He was the reason your family split apart.

Richie replaced his family with film bros. He left home to create his own projects and never left a second glance.

During his absence, your family became dysfunctional. When the news of his death circulated, you were further estranged from your family members.

So, why were you here?

Truthfully, you couldn’t muster up the courage stand up to your father. You didn’t hold a delusion-based grudge against Sam and Tara.

Prior to the time you stabbed your first victim in New York, your friendship with Tara had begun to blossom, and you felt a genuine connection to her.

It was real to you.

She was heartbroken beyond belief when you revealed yourself as one of the Ghostface killers.

Considering that, after the big reveal, Tara’s vengeful attitude was directed specifically towards you, the friendship was probably real for her as well.

Okay, you had a hand in murdering Chad. But, in your defense, you were coerced into the act. And… he did get annoying at times.

Like your brother said, he was an egotistical jock literally named Chad.

You hid yourself in a corner far away from all the fighting and killing. Hoping, if you made yourself as small as possible, no one would find you.

No one. Not Kirby, Sam, or Tara. Including your family—if any of them somehow survived, that is.

You hugged your knees to your chest and waited it out.

There was an ear-shattering crash. Then, the theater was filled with silence for a while.

During that period of stillness, your heart beat loudly against your rib cage. If you didn’t know any better, you would think your heartbeat was exposing you.

But if you did get busted, it would be because you hid in plain sight.

Maybe, if you told them the truth about your situation, they would understand. Maybe you would be spared.

Wait, that’s not a bad idea. You could spin the story to work in your favor.

You heard muffled speaking, and what sounded like distant footsteps.

You didn’t catch much of what was going on. It was hard to differentiate the noises when they were all one big jumble.

You recognized the pained cries from your father, and the all-too-familiar sound that came from stabbing someone in the flesh.

He was facing the brunt of the sisters’ wrath now.

You didn’t want to be next.

A gunshot was fired, nearly startling you out of your position because of how unexpected and loud it was. Wayne Bailey had gone quiet.

Sam and Tara were having a conversation. They spoke a little louder, so you were able to eavesdrop.

“We survived.” Sam said.

“I’m sorry…” Tara was apologizing. “I haven’t been nice to you lately.”

“No, it’s okay. I know I haven’t been giving you the space you need. But that’s going to change.”

A laugh from Tara. “We are getting a lot of therapy after this.”

“Yeah.” Sam agreed.

There was a beat of silence.

You held your breath, desperately wishing they forgot about you. Your heartbeat was racing because of how anxious you were.

Then, Tara asked the question you dreaded most.

“Where’s y/n?”

“I don’t know.” Confusion was laced in Sam’s tone. “We didn’t kill them?”

They were on the hunt, searching for you.

“No, I would’ve remembered if I did. Y/n betrayed my fucking trust. I’m going to show them how much it hurts.” Tara uttered that statement with complete seriousness, your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach.

“I won’t get in the way. Y/n is all yours.”

You pressed yourself further into the wall, but there wasn’t much you could do to hide at this point.

Unless.

Based on the volume of their ongoing conversation, Sam and Tara still seemed nowhere near you.

So. It was a long shot, but you pushed yourself up into a crouching position, and tiptoed your way toward a more concealed hiding place.

You thought the universe was shining down upon you, that you were destined to escape from the ending your family suffered through.

Oh, how wrong you were.

You wanted to avoid crossing paths with Sam and Tara, and yet, you almost collided into them.

“Don’t you dare touch us.”

Tara brandished a knife covered in dried blood. It gleamed in the light.

She was not in the mood to be tested.

You let out a surprised yell, stumbled backwards, and raised your hands in surrender. “Please don’t kill me!”

Tara was glaring at you. She refused to lower her guard, and the knife.

There was a snarl on her lips. The same unhinged look you had seen when she ruthlessly stabbed Ethan.

Sam crossed her arms. “Why shouldn’t we?”

Like Tara, she was just as skeptical, but at least she pretended to give you the benefit of the doubt.

Your eyes darted from Tara to Sam.

Figured you were living on borrowed time, so you spilled what they didn’t learn from your dad’s revenge monologue. “Detective Bailey, my father, he was manipulative.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling a hot flash of anger surge through your body. “He didn’t care about us. It was always, ‘Richie this, Richie that.’ I was the baby in my family, do you know how much that affected me?”

Neither of them were interrupting you, so you continued on, “I know, there’s no excuse for teaming up with my selfish father. But he threatened to carve me up if I didn’t help avenge Richie. They kept telling me that I would be the family’s disappointment.”

Part of your sob story was a lie. Bailey never threatened to kill you, but to get out of this alive, you had to sell the act.

You were more cunning than you gave yourself credit for.

Tara’s posture relaxed, and she no longer pointed the knife at you. Instead, she let it relax by her side.

As for Sam, her expression changed from pure cynicism to sadness. It seemed like your story hit close to home.

“Please understand. My dad and siblings, they made me kill.”

Taking several steps back, your hands remained where they could be seen.

The knife was hidden in your sleeve, anyway.

Sam and Tara followed your every move. They weren’t allowing you to run from them.

“Your dad was an asshole.” Tara tilted her head, observing you curiously. “Ethan, too.”

The sisters shared a look as if they knew something you didn’t.

“Quinn was a bitch.” Sam added to her sister’s previous comment.

For some reason, you got a vague sense that they were deliberately provoking you.

“Ethan boasted about killing Chad, and it felt so goddamn cathartic to get rid of his fucking mouth.”

Tara laughed, but there was a lack of emotion. No remorse. Nothing.

She wasn’t sorry at all.

You couldn’t help but grow uneasy. Sam and Tara’s insults about your family shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did.

But they struck a nerve. Especially Tara’s offhand remark about deriving enjoyment from your brother’s murder.

The words slipped out faster than you could stop them. “Fuck you.”

“Funny, Ethan said the same thing.” Tara replied coldly. Whatever sympathy she had left just dissipated.

“Hate to break it you, but you aren’t the first Ghostface to fake a sob story.” Sam smiled.

It wasn’t a kind smile.

It was the malicious and calculating type. A smile that conveyed the message: Your ass is dead.

“What do you mean? I’m telling you the truth!” You tempted to shout, but decided it was best for your sake to keep an even tone.

“How do we know? Like Richie and Ethan, you’re a fucking traitor and a pathological liar.” Tara spat.

The aggression was clear in her voice.

Lowering your hand, the knife’s handle slid right into your palm. You gripped it discreetly.

If the opportunity presented itself—and it would—You were going to be ready.

You really should’ve been paying attention to where you were walking, though.

The heels of your feet bumped into something hard.

You swayed backwards, arms flailing around as you tried to control your balance.

Unlucky for you, Tara didn’t hesitate to take advantage of that split second where you were preoccupied.

She took a fistful of your shirt collar and yanked you forward with surprising momentum; You nearly choked.

If you were brought any closer to her, the two of you would be kissing.

Tara’s free hand slid to the nape of your neck, keeping you rooted to the spot without any leeway to escape.

Tara leaned in, lips moving as she said, “Now die like your fucking family.”

Your face felt hot from an influx of anger and shame.

Ashamed that you were defeated so easily.

Furious at your siblings and father for putting you in this situation.

Still wielding your knife, you cocked your arm and thrust rapidly. You intended to stab her before she did it to you.

An unpleasant squelching filled your ears.

Your knife slipped out of your hand and bounced onto the floor.

A maniacal grin spread on Tara's face; She forced the knife deeper into you, and the hilt of it pressed against your skin.

Intense, grueling pain flared in your stomach. It coursed throughout your body, causing your limbs to weaken.

Your mouth had fallen open. The only reason you were still upright was because of Tara.

Then, your legs gave out once the knife was withdrawn. You were sent into a kneeling position, hitting the hard floor.

Tara craned her neck to address her sister, who was just standing aside and watching you suffer. "This part brings back memories."

After those words left her mouth, Tara faced you, lifted her foot, and she kicked you down.

You cried out in pain as you fell on your back.

You tried to curl into a fetal position, but Tara situated herself on top of you, purposefully placing all of her weight on the deep cut in your stomach.

You moaned begrudgingly at the pressure, feeling more of your blood ooze out.

Raising the knife above her head, Tara glanced over her shoulder at Sam.

You knew why.

She was asking if murdering you was really worth it.

Would she be willing to face the psychological consequences if she sent herself over the edge and released all of her unbridled rage on you?

Her hesitance almost refilled you with hope.

Sam must’ve given her the answer she needed because—at lightning speed—Tara was plunging the knife into your torso once, then twice.

And she didn’t show any signs of stopping.

You shrieked in agony, yelped, and flinched each time the knife pierced your flesh.

Blocking off her attacks with your arms, you whimpered, “Stop, please!”

As if granting you one last act of mercy, Tara faltered.

Your breathing was shaky. Multiple stab wounds were littered across your chest and stomach.

Blood from these wounds seeped through the holes made in your shirt.

“I’m…” It was hard to speak because of how much pain you were in. “I’m sorry that I hurt you and made you feel like I deserve this.”

Droplets of tears flowed from your eyes and you whined like a baby, “I don’t want to die!”

Tara peered down at you with a glossy look in her eyes. “I know you don’t.”

You continued to cry; You felt miserable, cold, and your body was damp and shivering from blood loss.

She lifted your head.

You were really losing your mind, because for a second, you thought the gesture was meant to be comforting.

Well, that lasted until Tara spoke again. “Chad also didn’t want to die, but you killed him.”

You were struck with the realization that, in spite of your efforts to tug on her heartstrings, she was still as pissed off as ever.

Your eyes widened, and you blurted out a random motive that came to mind, “Crime of passion? I am madly in love with y—”

“No, stop.” She shook her head, brows furrowed in confusion.

Your hopes of surviving diminished like hot air from a popped balloon. You sighed, wincing as sharp pain shot through your stomach, and lolled your head to the side.

“It’s over.” Tara interjected, before you had a chance to come up with another dumb excuse.

You didn’t understand what she meant.

It’s over?

Was she letting you off the hook? Or, were you going to be thrown in prison?

Turns out, it was neither of those options.

The knife was held to your larynx.

And without another word, Tara sliced your throat open.

Your vision went black after that.

Sam and Tara Carpenter overlooked two factors when they left the old theater that was reinvented into a Ghostface shrine.

1. Chad survived.

2. They forgot to shoot you in the head.