Gip nat x fem r
So nat came early to see r naked in bed cuz r is comfy naked. So nat got hard and drooling over r, she makes way to r and starts licking her up until r awakes and brings nat into a hug and kiss. Heated kiss and started fcking hard to each other.
Is it ok?
Asleep |N. Romanoff
Summary: Natasha comes home to find her girlfriend quite irresistible.
Pairing: g!p dom!natasha x fem!reader
Warnings: smut, fluff, g!p Natasha(she has a penis), unprotected sex, somnophilia, cunnilingus, fingering, masturbation, daddy kink, spanking, slight choking, breeding kink, slight overstimulation, pet names (baby)
Word count: 1356
I tapped on the steering wheel as I made my way home. It was late at night so there wasn’t much traffic, only a few cars that passed by me. I was pretty exhausted and couldn’t wait to get home to my girlfriend. I parked the car outside and walked up the steps to our house before heading inside. I let my bag fall onto the floor before making my way up the stairs and into our bedroom.
I stopped in my tracks once I saw my girlfriend in our bed, lying on her side, sheets barely covering her and leaving everything for me to see. I bit my bottom lip and groaned as I reached out to palm myself through my pants. I stepped closer before opening my zipper and sliding my hand into my underwear.
I grabbed my cock and pulled it out before slowly jerking myself off. I got rid of my shirt and pants before sliding off my underwear completely and climbing into bed. I moved her onto her back and threw the sheets onto the floor, smirking as I looked at her naked body. I laid down on my stomach and spread her legs, placing kisses on the insides of her thighs.
She stirred a little but didn't wake up so I leaned forward and licked a stripe up her pussy. I let out a small moan at her taste, finally being able to be buried between her legs again. I swirled my tongue around her clit and smirked at the low moan she let out.
She started to move her hips a little so I wrapped my arms around them to keep them down. I gave small kitten licks to her clit before wrapping my lips around it and sucking gently. Her back arched a little as she kept letting out moans but still not waking up.
I decided to go a little further and brought two fingers up to her hole before pushing them in. My cock got even harder at the noises she let out and I started to grind my hips into the bed in a desperate need for friction. I curled my fingers inside of her while sucking a little harder, letting up a few times to lightly lick her. She might be asleep but she’s still getting a little teasing.
Her thighs started to shake a little and I knew she was about to cum. I nibbled a little on her clit before sucking hard, swirling my tongue around it simultaneously. I curled my fingers in her again, pressing onto her g-spot and watched her arch her back as she came under me.
“Fuck~” she moaned out and I chuckled before kissing both of her thighs.
I sat up and she stared at me while trying to slow down her breathing. I crawled up to her and laid down on top of her as she wrapped her arms around my shoulder. I slid my arms under her back and held onto her tightly before kissing her neck.
“That’s a nice way to wake up.” she giggled.
“I couldn’t help myself.” I gave her a grin back.
She shrugged her shoulders with a smile. “Not complaining at all.”
I lifted my head a little before leaning in to kiss her. Her lips moved against mine in a slow kiss, her still coming back from her high. Her fingers laced themselves into my hair and she tugged a little, making me let out a groan against her lips. She tilted her head a little to deepen the kiss and dragged her tongue against mine.
The kiss quickly grew desperate and messy as she kept tugging on my hair before her hand slid down my side and down to my cock, her fingers gently wrapping around it. I sighed into the kiss and ran my hands up her sides and to her boobs, squeezing them before kissing down her neck.
“Fuck, I want you so badly…” I muttered against her skin.
“Then take me.” she breathed out as she slowly jerked me off.
I moved up on my forearms and looked down at her face, her hair messy and with reddened lips from my kisses. She moved my cock against her hole and I thrusted into her. I stayed still for a few seconds while looking at her face to make sure she was alright.
“Don’t go easy on me, fuck me hard, Tasha~”
I nearly came just from her words but shut my eyes and concentrated on not letting that happen. I started to move my hips into her and moaned at how tight she was.
“Such a good pussy…” I hid my face in her neck as I quickened my thrusts.
“Oh daddy~” she moaned into my ear.
Hearing her call me that awakened something in me and I sat up a little. I held myself up on my forearm and wrapped my other hand around her neck. I slammed my cock into her and watched her eyes roll back into her head.
“Baby wants it rough, huh?” I whispered against her cheek.
She nodded quickly. “Please, do whatever you want with me.”
I chuckled darkly before biting her bottom lip, dragging it out before letting it go. I sat up and leaned back on my heels before pulling out of her, harshly moving her onto her stomach and pushing her ass up. I entered her once more and closed my eyes at the loud moans she let out.
I gripped her waist and fucked her back onto my cock, hitting the right spots inside of her.
“Fuck yes, use me daddy~”
“Such a good girl, your pussy is taking me so fucking well.” I said in a low tone.
“Oh my god~” she buried her head into the pillows as I thrusted into her.
Her ass looked so good as I fucked her that I couldn’t help but reach out and grab it, slapping it and smirking at the redness that appeared. I repeated the motion as she moaned in response, clearly enjoying it.
I leaned over her, pushing my chest into her back and lacing my fingers through hers in front of her head. I placed my mouth next to her ear and kissed behind it, knowing her spots. “Think you can cum for me?”
I kissed her neck, sucking marks into it because I was feeling possessive. “Come one then, show me how well you can cum for me.”
Her breath kept hitching and she let out tiny gasps as she neared her orgasm. I was panting against her neck as I slammed my hips into her ass, reaching deep inside of her. “You’re so close, baby.”
“Shit- you’re gonna make me-” she said in a high pitched moan.
“I can’t hold on much longer, please cum for me.” I begged against her hair.
“Yes, yes…fuck- holy shit!~” she clenched hard onto me as she came, pulsing around me and making me lose all self control.
“God, baby, I’m gonna cum in you! Fill you up so fucking good, I swear~” I moaned and desperately thrusted into her to chase my own orgasm.
“Cum in me, daddy, fill me up till I’m leaking~” I came crashing down as she said those words, cumming harder than I ever had. I fucked my cum into her until she was whining from being too sensitive, her thighs shaking a little. I let out a deep breath and stopped, pulling out slowly and watching my cum drip out of her and onto the bed.
She slumped down onto the bed and I chuckled a little before moving her onto her back and kissing her nose. She smiled tiredly up at me and I put my arms around her waist to pull her up and she wrapped her legs around me as I carried her to the bathroom. I started to fill up the bathtub and sat her down into it before running my fingers through her hair.
“That was really good.” she smiled while biting her bottom lip.
“It absolutely was.” I smiled back.
To Serve a King
Sequel to To Bend the Knee
Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, abuse of power, mentions of violence, blood kink, crying kink/dacriphylia, humiliation, oral. My tags are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your brother is killed by rebels and you’re forced to flee the realm, but is your escape any better than staying? (Medieval AU)
Characters: king!Peter Parker
Note: Have a happy weekend <3
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Prince Charming loves mirrors. Take care. 💖
Peter fixes his jacket as you lean against the end of the bed, holding closed the ruin of your bodice. His boots scuff on the floor as he rolls his shoulders and sighs, pushing straight the circlet around his brow. You mop your nose with the back of your hand as you watch him through puffy eyes. Your body is fiery with shame and agony.
“Don’t be unhappy, my queen,” he nears and bends to look you in the face, “I have conceded to your safekeeping. All you have to do is wear a crown and smile for the people.”
You avert your gaze and bite your lip as you tamp down another sob.
He chuckles and tickles your cheek, “I must go make arrangements for our marriage. The joining of two kingdoms is much ado.” He pulls his hand back and holds it before you, “princess.”
You shakily take his fingers and lean forward to kiss his rings. Pleased, he draws away and you hang your head as you listen to his steps.
“I’ll have your maid come and–”
“N-no,” you say abruptly, “please, your majesty, I will…” you hold back a whimper as you get your feet under you and use the bedpost to get yourself up, “see to myself.”
“Good girl,” he taunts as he nears the door, “tomorrow, you will present yourself to sign the formal betrothal, yes?”
“Yes, your majesty,” you keep your arm across your chest as the silk droops.
He grins and leaves you at last. You stagger back and your bottom hits the bed, sending torment through your muscles. You slump forward and slip your hand between your legs and groan. You don’t know if the physical pain is worse than that in your soul.
As old as you are, you were naive to think that you would receive any favour without cost. You are a princess without a kingdom, so you are vulnerable to the whims of the world. A victim to the callousness of your own kind.
His savagery is hard to fathom. How rough he was. All those years, you knew him as a sweet boy, as a young man with beaming eyes, not another spoiled and spiteful fiend like your brother. The way he held you down, the force behind each mean thrust, his scornful words.
Then you recall his reports of your brother’s fate. Without his head, or innards, and his skin, his body was left to be picked apart by scavengers. You think of what should happen to you; of the same attack you just withstood tenfold over, by strange dirty, angry men, with a worser end.
You stand, shakily and go to the looking glass. Before, you noticed how the road left you looking weary and worn, a few lines beside your eyes and around your mouth, a shallow wrinkle in your forehead, now, all more noticeable in that moment. You should be thankful that a king is still willing to marry the decrepit princess.
Your blood stains your cheek and down your neck, some droplets dried on the canary silk and your shift. You cannot let Callista see, she is too young, she’s survived too much. When she returns, you will be as you were, with good news to share. That she will be safe.
You strip away the shorn layers and wash yourself from the basin with cold water. As you wipe your cunt, you bite your hand to keep from crying out. Your bones hurt as much as your flesh. You can feel him then, ramming into you without relent. Your legs tremble and you grasp the wall to keep from keeling over.
The bleeding subsides though the bite mark is inflamed and tender. You add a linen square beneath the fresh shift and pull a robe around you, tying the belt tight. You bundle the stained clothing and hide it away in the chest of drawers. You will have it burned by a servant when you can.
You pace, restless, knowing you cannot sleep though you are tired. You stop and stare down at the stringy seed still across the floor. You take another rag and wipe it up, scrubbing until the cloth begins to tear, until your fingers are raw. You stop yourself and toss the linen in the hearth.
You sit at the table, the smell of the food sickening. You cover the plates and brace the table. Silent but for the crackle of the fire and the nightbirds winging outside. You stare at the front of your robe.
Could he have truly put a child in you? Are you not too old? And if you do not quicken, what then? What if you have nothing to offer him but yourself? Should he tire of you, what would become of you? Queen or not, kings have never found much trouble in disposing of worthless women.
Callista helps you into the gown of red. You figure it’s best to wear Peter’s colours for your next encounter, a formal one. She’s happy since you told her you would remain in Arache and that the king even offered himself as suitor. Her relief was enough to keep your despair beneath the surface.
“I knew the king would love you, your highness,” Callista trills, “how could he not love a princess?”
“Cal, please,” you chide softly, “today, I shall only sign the betrothal, there are as many dissolved betrothals as fruitful marriages.”
“Oh, but your highness, every servant already knows of it, they all gossip and say the king is in a rare mood, most joyful,” she explains as she fetches you a belt of painted leather, “they say, while he is a man of good humour, he often falls into pensiveness. That he thinks overly much.”
“You should not repeat gossip,” you say, “it is not always true.”
A knock interrupts her girlish protests and she goes to answer the door. A servant offers a wooden box carved with the spiderwebs of Arache. Callista takes it graciously and returns to you.
“It is from the king,” she says, fingering the wax seal on the curled parchment attached to the box, “he is so sweet, your highness, yet you insist he does not love you.”
“We hardly know each other,” you detach the scroll and sit before the looking glass.
You break the seal, the eight-legged creature stamped into it distorting. You uncurl the small scrap and read quietly, grateful that Callista hasn’t her letters.
‘Princess, while I prefer you in nothing but this gift, you might present yourself decently this day in proper attire. Your king.’
His implications are clear and you hide away the scroll in the drawer. Callista teeters eagerly on her feet, fingers wiggling as she longs to unveil the contents of the box.
“What does the king say?” she asks.
“He looks forward to our meeting today,” you lie easily and turn to the table.
You twist the clasp and open the lid slowly. Within, a diadem of silver and amethyst, wrought in a familiar pattern. You stare at it, unmoving.
“It’s so beautiful,” Callista sings but you remain speechless, “your highness?”
“I…” you blink, “I once had an ornament like this before, when I was younger but… it was lost during travel.”
“The king must remember,” she chimes, “so he had it crafted for you.”
“Must,” you reach for it and lift it daintily. You turn it and see behind the biggest stone, the mark of your father’s smith. Was it that very journey to Arache that you lost it? You can’t recall. “Here.”
You hand over the diadem and she moves behind you to palace it on your head, the teardrop amethyst resting above your brow.
In that moment, you see the girl you were those years ago. You wonder what your life would’ve been if you had said yes then. Would Peter have been a kinder lover? Perhaps, it is your doing that he has grown so vicious.
“Your highness,” Callista says breathily, “you look so wonderful.”
You smile, but it’s not true. “We mustn’t let our hopes precede us, I am a deal older than the king and he must consider that. He will have time to reverse his decision.”
“You doubt yourself but you are a princess and your looks are still intact,” she assures you, “how can the prince not be entirely consumed by you?”
You mean, how can he not consume me entirely? You think but do not say it. Let her have her innocence, let her cling to all that you’ve lost, what was taken from you so violently.
“My slippers,” you request, “I would not keep the king waiting, it would be most unseemly.”
You sit at the long table, faced by Peter and his lords; Marquess Stark, Duke Osborn, Earl Leeds, and Earl Morales. Those four men were the same that rode into the yard with the king the day before. They sit, stoic, men of business as you have no other representation but yourself. You wonder how they can justify a betrothal to a princess without a realm.
“Your highness,” Stark addresses you after the reading of the contract, “do you understand the terms as laid out in this bond?”
He is the eldest and the most prestigious among the lords. His dark hair is shocked with grey at his temples and some silver strands in his trimmed beard. His voice betrays a figure of stature and stricture.
“I do, my lord,” you reply, “I understand that once the turmoil in my lands is quelled, that they will be ceded to Arache as a secondary seat.”
“And do you agree to these conditions?” he prompts.
“I do, my lord,” you respond as your eyes move with another’s; it’s not the first time you’ve noticed Osborn’s attention on Callista, the small girl against the wall behind you.
“And your majesty,” the Marquess declares to the king, “do you accept this compact as lawful and sanctified by the Lord?”
“I do,” Peter’s cheek twitches in satisfaction.
“Very well, as we have come to an agreement, we ask now that the parties conclude this contract by applying their signature and seal to the record.”
The document is first presented to Peter. You watch Lord Harry as his brilliant eyes gleam over your head and he grins. You squint at him until he sees your observation and resumes his distant detachment. You do not trust any of these men but him least of all.
Peter sprinkles sand over his signature then takes the stamp handed to him as a servant approaches with a warmed pot of wax in crimson. He presses his mark into the cooling liquid and resigns the stamp. The contact is then turned to you as the same tools are brought to your side of the table, though your seal is set in the bold cerulean of your homeland.
You surprise yourself by keeping your composure. You hand over the stamp and fold your hands on the oaken table top. The king rises, as his lords do the same, and you last. They bow their heads as the contract is swept away by the marquess.
“Lords, I will not keep you any longer, the travel ahead of us will require rest and preparation,” the king says, “so you may disperse and prepare for our imminent departure.”
“Your majesty,” the lords utter almost in unison.
You wait as they leave. It is only the king’s groom and Callista left behind. The council chamber is airy and quiet. Peter watches you as he stands across from you. He plants his hands on the table as he smirks.
“Marlon, take the maid to the princess’s room to ready for the morrow’s journey,” Peter orders, “and send in the soldier.”
You gesture to Callista as the groom moves around the table, she pauses and comes close. You whisper to her, “lock the door.”
She nods and you let her go. You hope she doesn’t forget as you worry for Osborn lingering in expectation of her retreat. Peter sits and motions for you to do the same.
It is a moment before another enters and the king bids for the doors to be closed behind Dunstan.
“Your majesty,” he greets Peter but seems bothered by your presence, hesitating to address you with, “your highness.”
“Sir Duncan,” Peter rises and nears Dunstan, clapping his shoulder. He is not corrected in his misspoken address. “Please, sit, we have much to discuss.”
“I… yes, your majesty,” he looks at you then quickly averts his eyes guiltily.
“The betrothal is set,” Peter crosses his arms as he leans against the table, close to Dunstan, “and I have you to thank for it. You delivered the princess safely, spared her a bitter fate, and so it is to you that a great debt is owed.”
“I only served as I swore to,” Dunstan shifts and clears his throat.
“Ah, but you do require a price as any would, yes?” Peter suggests, “tell me what you want and you will have it.”
Dunstan is silent. He likely didn’t expect you to be present for the negotiation of your own worth. Nor did you. The barter of a princess like a sack of grain. All his good deeds bared before you as selfish labours.
“Come,” Peter pushes himself away from the table, taking long strides around Dunstan’s seat, his hand on his belt, “tell me; perhaps some gold, some land… perhaps a title. Wouldn’t you agree that are princess is worth quite a fee?”
Dunstan rubs his freshly-shaved chin. His eyes spark and his mouth slants. The king comes to stand behind his chair, ringed fingers resting on the high back.
“I wouldn’t complain for–” the soldier begins but sputters as his words are muted by the sudden flash of silver sinking into his neck.
You scream as the king twists the dagger and rips it out, a flood of blood pouring from the gaping hole. Dunstan covers the wound with his hand and chokes as he spits up more red and falls forward against the table, the strength seeping from him as he spasm and the sickly gurgle underline your shrieking.
Peter laughs as he pulls back the chair and Dunstan’s body falls to the floor heavily, leaving a puddle of blood on the table, dripping over the edge. You clasp your hands over your mouth as you hold back another shout. Peter admires the blade, red with death, before his eyes narrow on you.
“You don’t think I have to buy you, princess?” he goads, “you’re already mine.”
You grip the arms of the chair as your lips quivers. You stand as you gape at the blood on the table, “how– why would you do that?”
“Why? For you, princess. Do you think I should let some lowly mercenary insult you? To think there is any price in gold which could meet your worth,” he turns the dagger in his hand, blood on his knuckles as he nears you.
You stand still, focusing on the sharp point of the knife. You wince as he presses it your cheek. He runs it lightly down to your chin and angles your back against the table.
He grabs your throat with his other hand and you wriggle until he squeezes. He pushes you down over the table as he bends over you, pressing his forehead to yours, the knife hovering just above his fingers.
“I don’t get a thank you? That I defended your honour? That I avenged that fool’s deceit?” he snarls and pulls the knife away as you lightly touch his sleeve, trembling as his grip has you wheezing.
He raises the knife and you cry out, closing your eyes as you ready for the descent. He plunges it into the wood beside your head and you sob, body constricting beneath his as he laughs. He lets the blade stand as you open your eyes and glance over at the golden spider wrapped around the handle.
He pushes his bloodied hand over your lips and forces his fingers into your mouth. You nearly gang at the taste as his grasp moves to frame your jaw. He shoves his fingers in and out, as if he’s fucking your mouth as his eyes bore into yours.
“So,” he pushes his knee against your skirt and then his other, parting your legs around him as he withdraws his fingers, “princess, how grateful are you for my valiant favour?”
“V-very,” you stammer, “thank you, your majesty, I–”
“Shhh,” he pulls you away from the table and your feet hit the floor hard. He spins you and grabs the back of your neck, shoving your face to the wood. “I don’t ask for your flowery words, only for a similar gesture.”
He yanks at your skirts and heaps them above your ass, slapping you hard you squeak. You spread your fingers across the oak. You aren’t even disgusted with him, only that you are so weak. He pushes the front of his trousers against you and wiggles his hips.
“I don’t know how I made it through that ridiculous conference,” he growls, “when all I could think of was this.”
You take a deep breath and bow your head against the table. His hand tickles you as he feels along his breeches and plucks them open. You shiver as he frees himself, rubbing between your cheeks as he groans. He kneads your ass as he rocks, teasing himself as he bunches the back of your skirts in his fist.
He guides his tip down to your cunt, prodding at you tauntingly as you twitch, tensing as you try to brace for his intrusion. He laughs as he senses your fear. He pokes against your entrance and inches in, just a little. Your nails dig into the carved wood as he bends over you, hooking his arm around your middle.
He pulls you up and sinks to his hilt. You gasp as you stand on tiptoes and he nuzzles the crook of your neck. He reaches to dislodge the knife from the table and brings the edge to your throat, forcing your head up as he thrust his hips. You grab his wrist, unthinkingly, fearing the bite of the silver.
“I can feel you quaking around me,” he snarls as he lifts his head and nibbles your ear, “is that fear or desire?”
You whine as your eyes well, teardrops spilling in hot beads and landing on his hand as he holds the knife firm to your neck. He grunts as he tilts into you, hitting your hips against the table as another snicker rattles in his throat.
“I think you like this, princess,” he sneers, “hm?” He turns the knife and you wince as he pokes it down to your bodice, slipping it between your cleavage. “You like to bleed for me, don’t you?”
He cuts between your breasts, not deep, but enough to split the skin. The blood rises hotly as he drags the knife from beneath the fabric.
His other hand latches onto your shoulder and forces your back down so your chest hits the table. He hums as your cheek chafes on the wood and you see him lick the length of the blade from the corner of your eye. He snaps his hips so you yelp and traces the dagger over your laces.
“It’s all you, princess,” he spins the point of the dagger on the small of your back, “show me you’re grateful.”
You close your eyes and turn your face down. You pull your hands back to brace the table and push back into him. He lets the knife drift away from you and slaps your ass as he groans. You lean forward and push yourself back again, sliding along his length. He pinches your ass and smacks it again.
“Oh, princess,” he rasps, “look at you.”
You clamp your lips together as your tears trickle onto the table. You just want it to be over, to do whatever you need to, to end it. His hand wraps around your hip and he leads your motion, slamming you back harder as you find a rhythm. His other hand rests on your back, the blade flat to your dress as he urges you on.
His voice rises as you murmur into the wood. You pant as you work at keeping your body moving, muscles burning with the effort. He growls and throws the knife to bounce over the table. He stills you as he squeezes your hip and bends over you once more. His other hand delves beneath your pelvis and along your folds.
You exclaim as a tingle turns to a zing and lights your core. You gulp as he rubs your bud, rolling his fingertips as he rocks into you from behind. His hot breath crawls over your scalp as he puffs into your short hair, flesh clapping as fabric brushes together.
“See, princess, I can be benevolent,” he purrs as his fingers flick quickly along your cunt, “isn’t that nice? Aren’t I nice?”
You gurgle, speechless. The sensation brewing in your loins is unlike anything you’ve felt before. The fullness of him inside of you and the frantic swirling of his fingertips mingle and flow over you like a tide. You shudder and gasp, letting out an inhuman whine as it peaks in a vibrant bloom of pleasure.
Your body spasms against his and you slap the table, reaching back with one hand to cling to his jacket. Senseless, you long for him to be deeper in you, to devour you whole. Your hand falls away limp as the spark dissipates, leaving you breathless and wilting.
Quickly, the shame adds to the heat of your delight and chases it away. Peter keeps on, fucking you against the wood so the wood knocks against you harshly. He keeps his finger flush to your bud as he bucks eagerly, his voice droning until he meets his climax. He crashes into you as hard as he can and holds himself deep as he twitches and spills his seed into you.
He groans as he stills, purring into your hair as he cloyingly rolls his hips, “another fine gift for you, my princess.”
You inhale and let it out slowly, “thank… you…” you eke out.
He laughs and jerks against you hard, “it is entirely my pleasure, princess.”
The road to Spinne, the capital, is only a few days by horse. You’re afforded the first day in a carriage just ahead of the luggage train, then Peter insists you dress in the lilac silk tailored for you and the amethyst diadem for your arrival in the city.
The welcome of the people surprises you as you expected little as an exile. The king rides at your side, dressed in the colour of your kingdom, a rich blue, and gold at his brow. He sits straight and bids you do the same. He makes a show of reining close and kissing your hand as you near the gates of the castle.
You give a smile, a display of your own. It will not do to show your true emotion. You must uphold Peter’s facade for your own good, for that of Callista, and even your realm. Arachne may be the only ally that remains to you.
“Princess,” Peter comes to you as a groom helps you dismount, “I must say farewell until the end of your seclusion, as tradition requires.”
“Seclusion?” you wonder.
“It is a custom of all queens who marry into the royal bloodline, that you retreat until the altar,” he explains, “but you needn’t fear, it will only be some days as the occasion is nearly arranged and you may have your maid.”
You don’t show the relief that swells in your chest. Some time without him, without the threat of him, merely, is enough to hearten you. You keep your face placid.
“Some days? How long precisely, your majesty?” you ask.
He smirks, “are you so keen to have me as your husband?”
You swallow and look down, “I am only curious for how long I need to hide away, your majesty.”
“Three days,” he answers, “but I might… find a way to secret us a rendezvous.”
“Three days is not very long,” you assure him and reach for his hand. You bend and kiss his rings, “your majesty.”
His brows twitch as you straighten. He seems almost pleased. You fight to keep your mask in place. He takes your hand and puts it to his chest as he steps close.
“Find your maid and go,” he says quietly, “or I might not be able to resist for longer.”
You acquiesce and search for Callista in the rush. She’s been quite taken with the whole affair, dreamy but devoted to her tasks. Her optimism keeps your cynicism from casting you into despair. She will be good company for those days of waiting, the last before your vows are said, before your life is truly and utterly his.
The days are fleeting, like sand they slip between your fingers, as if they never even happened. The whirlwind of the capital sweeps away any respite and so you sit beside your new husband before your new people at a feast of celebration. Though for you, it is a day of mourning.
The lords, Norman and Harry Osborn, Anthony Stark, Miles Morales, Ned Leeds, and Otto Octavius make a show of presenting you and the king with rich gifts. For fertility, for peace, for victory, for love… They make their declaration as they present the meaningless trinkets. And their, wives, their daughters, cousins, siblings fill the hall with gaiety and drunkenness.
“Wife,” Peter relishes the title, as he says it often, “let us dance and celebrate our union… a lifetime ahead of us.”
You glance at him. There’s a tint in his eye, an angle in his jaw, you know it is not a request. And you are a bride, you should at least act joyful. You take his hand as he stands.
He guides you down from the royal dais decorated in azure and scarlet for the joining of your houses, and those already entwined in dancing, move aside to let you through. The pairs around you wait with unabashed gazes as the king guides you into step with the music.
You hold your head high, as your old madam bid you as a child, when she put a book on your head and kept her cane ready to rap on your knees.
You turn with him as the music lulls your audience back to their partners. Peter is graceful but you feel out of discipline, some years since your last feast. A pattern that is ingrained in your head despite that life drifting further and further by the day. What remains is the question, how did it come to this?
“My beautiful wife,” Peter intones, “I cannot help but praise you. How delightful you are. Immaculate, elegant, divine. I find it hard to contain myself. All those years of longing and I have you at last. All those lonely days.”
You hold back your spite, you twirl with him, keep in time with his movement. His sweet words do not align with the man you truly know him to be. The depravity of his desires. Is this a show for you or those around you?
“See how my people welcome you, how they cherish you, and how my kingdom shall recover your own, that we should bleed for you, my queen,” he draws you close with those last words, “all that I’ve given you, that I will give for you. My dearest, you do not understand all that I’ve done and will do to have you.
“Your majesty,” you breathe, “I am ever grateful for all you’ve gifted me. Every favour… I stand here, your queen, beholden entirely to you–”
“That you do speak such sweet words,” he purrs, “that I almost believe but I know that it will not be long before you see how you need me. How you’ve always needed me. That no other can ever be worthy of you but I.”
His eyes rove down your figure and he gives a lewd squeeze to your bottom as he pulls you flush to him, “how I should wish to strip you bare and have you at this very moment among all these people, watching.”
“Your majesty,” you protest gently, “I am flattered–”
“Come,” he ignores you and tugs on your hand, “any longer and I might make ruin of you upon this very spot.”
He drags you past those spinning and stomping to the music, themselves hypnotised by the flutes and drumming. The tumult rises with their laughter and singing, their clapping and leaping. Their figures smear in colours around you. The heat of the crowd pricks at your neck and draws sweat over your brow as your feet fall clumsily in Peter’s stead.
The cool air of the corridor soothes you as he leads you out of the hall. The hubbub of celebration roars as he quickly smothers your mouth and traps you against the stone wall. You grasp his shoulders as he gropes you through your skirt, kneading your thigh hungrily.
“Peter,” you say and hold your breath, recalling the last time you used his name. He does nothing as his lips peck at your cheek, “not here, please–”
“Shhhh,” hushes you and claps a hand over your mouth, “be a good wife.”
He leans down and grabs your leg, hiking it up over his hip as he yanks your skirt up. You murmur into his palm as he pushes your head against the wall. His hand sneaks below your shift and rubs between your folds, rousing you as he rolls over your clit. You hiss as he slides further, spreading the slickness around as he nips at your neck.
He rescinds his hand and snakes it between you. He shoves his breeches down with a grunt, lip curling at the struggle. He presses against you, pinning you as he spreads your lips with two fingers and tilts up against your cunt. He impales you slowly as the tension drains from his face.
His hand slips from your mouth and he clutches your head between his palms. He cradles your skull as he bottoms out and sighs. He ruts as your leg bends around him, your other foot arched to keep from slipping. He runs his thumbs down your temple as he tremors.
“Look at me, my queen,” he snarls, “look at me.”
Your eyes meet his and he grunts. His dark eyes flare and he drops his hand to grab your knee and hold it close. He bends slightly and pulls your other up, lifting you against the stone as he thrusts harder.
You squeal and cling to his shoulders as he pushes your legs further up, hooking his elbows beneath them.
“Touch yourself,” he demands as your lips part, “now.”
You moan but obey. You let your hand drift down and nestle between your legs. His cock brushes against your fingertips as you toy with yourself, shyly at first, but as the pressure builds, you can’t help but speed up.
You dig your nails into the brocade of Peter’s jacket as he buries his head against your shoulder. His hot breath seeps down your chest and he growls as he rocks quicker and quicker. Your legs quake against him as you cum, all noise muted by that from within the feast hall.
He bites you as he chases his peak, spasming as he empties into your cunt, fucking it into you deeper, until its pasted all around your cunt and dripping down him. He stops only as you slip down the wall.
He puts you back on your feet, your legs ready to collapse, and holds you up as he falls out of you. He lets your skirts fall around your sweaty and sticky legs as he admires your breathless afterglow.
He runs his teeth over his lower lip and grabs you suddenly, his hand around the back of your neck. He jerks you away from the wall so you stumble to your knees.
“Clean me up, wife,” he commands, “what a mess you’ve made.”
You peer up at him, your eyes glossy. You knew there would always be a cost, whatever he gave you, whatever he wanted from you, would come with a debt. You think of the voices buzzing from the hall; what if someone should discover you? Best have it done with.
You take him and put him in your mouth. He flinches, oversensitive still, as you tighten your lips around him and sick clean his length in a single stroke. Before you can pull off of him, he forces you back down. You gag as he twitches in your throat and clutches your head.
“Well, you’ve got me wanting again,” he chuckles and thrusts. You claw at his breeches as you choke and he does it again, “come on, wife, we must seal this marriage well.”
He fucks your face meanly as your knees ache on the hard stone, even through the layers of fabric. He rams as deep as he can and stays impaled in your throat, keeping you there as your head throbs. He brings his leg up over your shoulder and forces himself to his base, standing almost over you as he uses your mouth.
He carries on mercilessly, not stopping until his body tenses and he cums down your throat. His cum floods your mouth and bubbles around your lips with your spit. He eases out of you and shudders as he’s left bobbing in the open air.
You fall back on the heel of your hand and use your other to wipe your mouth and hide your strangled coughing.
“Get on your feet,” he grabs your wrist and urges you up, “you should not be on your knees, my queen.” He grips your chin and forces your head up, “you should walk proudly with my seed in your stomach and your womb.”
𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭. || 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐦!𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 @thats-a-yikes3
Peter’s exhausted sigh was the first thing out of his mouth as he dropped the keys in the bowl by the front door. He kicked his shoes off, exhausted hands running through sandy hair.
“Long day?” You stood from the couch, abandoning your novel on top of the blanket thrown over the cushions.
Peter nodded, walking across the foyer to embrace you, needing to feel the security of his lover in his arms. The day had been full of panic and danger, and he needed to feel that you were safe. His face buried in your hair, nosing at your forehead and leaving little kisses along your hairline as he absorbed the comfort you offered.
"Did something happen?"
"No, just tired," he hummed in the soft voice you loved.
"I need a shower," you apologized, slipping from the young hero's arms. As much as you wanted to stay in his embrace in the foyer, you were tired and needed to get ready for bed.
"I'll join you."
Peter followed you to the bathroom, watching as you slipped out of your jeans, waiting for the water to heat up. He got in first, his body relaxing as your hands slid over his bare chest, feeling the toned muscles beneath your fingertips. Your chest pressed against his back, water running over your skin as your cheek rested between his shoulders.
"Miss me today?" He laughed softly, reaching behind him and squeezing your hip.
"You've been gone since five, left me all alone, and I was so needy all day," your confession tumbled from your lips, a suggestion to touch you that you prayed he took.
"Is that right?" he turned, backing you against the cold wall of tile, watching goosebumps erupt across your skin.
You nodded shyly, leaning into his hand as Peter's thumb stroked your cheek.
"I think you need to earn it. I've been working hard all day, and like you said, you've been lying around like a princess. I wouldn't want you to end up spoiled," he teased with a grin, watching your teeth gently sink into your bottom lip.
You lowered down to your knees, fingernails scratching lightly at his thighs. Long fingers threaded into your hair, guiding your gorgeous mouth up to his dick.
"Going to suck me off, love?"
"Please," you begged for it, eyes shining, your cunt soaking from the sight of his body dripping with water.
He slowly filled your mouth, pushing deep enough to have your eyes watering, his hand leading your head to bob gently on him. You hollowed your cheeks, one hand stroking what wouldn't fit in your mouth.
"You're fucking divine, look so pretty like this," Peter hissed, his cock twitching in your mouth.
He pulled your hair just hard enough to ache, the porcelain shower floor bruising your knees. The pain had warmth swirling through the base of your belly, tightening the knot between your hips.
"Fuck, I'm going-" Peter stuttered, jacking his hips roughly before coming down your throat, falling apart so fast he wasn't able to give you any warning.
You swallowed as best you could, leaning back on your heels as you caught your breath. His chest heaved, his thumb wiping away the extra that seeped from your lips, his load bigger than you were capable of swallowing.
"Did my best," you murmured, and he grinned, helping you to your feet.
"You did perfectly."
He pulled you into a kiss, his tongue slotting against yours, breaching the seal your lips. Peter's hands found every dip and curve of your body, savoring your form as he kissed you into heaven, silently loving you as the shower washed everything away.
"I want to make you scream," he whispered against your lips, turning you over so you faced away from him.
Peter pulled you backwards, impaling you onto his cock, swiftly splitting you open without resistance. Your fingers splayed across the tile, a loud cry escaping at the friction as he fucked you open.
"You were so ready for me, hm?" he teased lightly, giving a few thrusts to watch your thighs tense, his hands squeezing your waist.
Your palms flattened against the tile wall in front of you, bracing yourself as he fucked you deep and slow. Within seconds you were begging for him, begging for more, burning from the inside out with need.
"Please," you pleaded, gasping as his hand slid up the valley between your breasts to wrap around your throat.
"So needy today, though, I know you've earned it," his teasing was gentle, lips curving into a smile against your shoulder.
Peter pulled the detachable shower head from its place on the wall, bringing it between your thighs. The stream of water focused directly on your clit, the sensation nearly as powerful as that of the expensive toys hidden in your dresser drawer.
Your knees were weak, your body sinking back against Peter's, your cry getting lost under the sound of running water. Your fingers pulled at his that were around your throat, an orgasm exploding through you as he fucked you hard and tortured your nerves.
"Peter-" your voice was weak as your muscles finally gave out, your legs completely buckling under you.
"Woah," he laughed gently, shutting off the water and balancing your weight.
"We've been together so long, and I'm still able to bring you to your knees," Peter teased, wrapping you up in a towel once you were sat carefully on the counter.
"You're not so funny," you giggled tiredly, letting him help you dry off.
He kissed your cheek, pulling your hair on top of your head for you, smiling as you tilted your chin up to meet his lips. His hands slipped beneath your thighs, carrying you to the warm bed that had been waiting all day.
fleeting moments : m.s / s.g
marc knew he couldn't avoid the inevitable forever. there was always going to be a point where you would want to meet steven, even if it wasn't in the most conventional way. (1.5k)
all the fluff in this one, cause i'm a sucker for soft steven and marc
masterlist // taglist // requests: OPEN
The silence between the two of you was too loud. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and he dreaded this day.
“So,” You start, “it’s always going to be like this, huh?” Lifting your gaze upward, you hear him hum in response.
“He’s not ready to know, baby.” His arm tightens around your waist, causing goosebumps to once more erupt on your skin and a smirk to form on his lips.
Sadly, this doesn’t bring you much comfort as you slink out from his embrace, something Marc didn’t anticipate. “You’ve been saying that for months, Marc.” The short tone in your voice makes him wince internally.
The truth is, Marc believes you deserve better. He doesn’t want to involve you further into his life, into his situation because he knows one day, you’ll just get up and leave. But of course, he’ll never express this aloud. So instead, he just pushes it away.
“It’s the truth, Y/n.” Marc retorts. “He’s still coming to terms with,” He pauses, unable to say the name as it burns on the tip of his tongue.
Steven's sleep pattern has become significantly worse and Marc's control has been transient. He knows it won't be long until he clocks on, but until then, he has these moments with you.
Noticing the hesitance, you reach out and take his hand into yours, placing it on your lap. “I know.” You mumble, tracing patterns in his palm, avoiding his focus. “But I don’t want us to always be like this, spending fleeting moments and only late nights together.”
"What if," Marc begins a suggestion, noticing your eyes focusing on him solely and your lips turning upward. "okay, I've got an idea."
You don't respond immediately, and Marc curses himself for a stupid thought.
"Go for it, Spector." Taking his hand, you bring it to your lips, kissing his torn knuckles, smelling the copper from them.
It was a good idea, in Marc's defence. But being here in front of the entrance, you started to second guess yourself and whether you were ready for this, despite wanting it for so long.
"Come on, we haven't got all day!" A woman calls out from behind you, quickly followed by a group of school children who rush inside the Museum with wide eyes of awe.
Following the class of students into the Museum, you too share the same sense of wonder for the interior and history lining the walls. "No wonder he loves the place." You think aloud, passing the children as you head toward the Egyptian exhibition, knowing that it's a good starting point as any.
Through your wander, you can't help but think back to Marc when you last saw him. He too was nervous about you meeting his alter, knowing it'll be strange for you, whereas Steven will be oblivious to the deep meaning of it.
"Just be yourself, okay babe?" Marc asks of you, now sitting in your flat rather than on the rooftop.
Sipping your drink, you resist the urge to roll your eyes. "And why would I be anything else? He'll love me, I think." You second guess jokingly, catching a concerned expression in the corner of your eye.
Clearly lost in your thoughts, a child bumps into you and falls over consequently. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" Immediately bending down, you help the little girl to her feet. "Are you alright?"
The child in question nods hesitantly, her lower lip quivering. "I lost my class." She sadly admits.
"Oh dear," You sigh softly, looking around to see no other children in the same coloured jumper. "well, let's find a member of staff, okay? I'm Y/n." Introducing yourself, you walk alongside the young girl in the direction of the reception, only for her to gasp in awe at the sight of stuffed cuddly toys.
"A crocodile!" She yells, running into the gift shop without giving you a chance to react.
Blindly following the child, your ears perk at a chuckle. "Gotta be careful with that one," A Londoner comments, and as you lift your gaze up, your heart almost stops in your chest.
His curls part differently, somehow his face softens as he wears a gentle grin and slouches his shoulders but those dark eyes are always the same.
"Steven." You mumble, noticing his lopsided name tag.
"Why? It's just a crocodile." The child shrugs, noticing you approaching whereas Steven keeps his attention on the stuffed toy and the child's interest.
"Well, you might think that, but it is actually the Goddess Ammit," Steven's hands begin to join the conversation and you watch his face light up.
Marc always told you about how expressionate Steven is and once you got him started on Egyptian history, well, there was no stopping him.
Entering the gift shop, you catch the frustrated look of a blonde woman storming toward Steven and the young girl. "Stevie!" She barks. Noting the name tag, it clicks in your head who she is. "What have I told you 'bout pestering the visitors?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she huffs loudly leaving Steven to stammer a response.
"Sorry," You interrupt, apologetically smiling at Steven whilst trying to control your heart beating at the sight of him.
Yet, as your attention averts to Donna, you miss the way Steven's eyes widen and his lips part. 'She's beautiful.' He thinks to himself, unaware that Marc is thinking the exact same thing.
"I ran into this little one, pretty sure she's been split up from her class and I was just trying to find someone to help." You explain.
"Right," Donna sighs again, evidently unimpressed as the little girl sways her school bag in front of her. "let's find your teacher then." She begins to walk away with the girl who waves back to you and Steven.
"I er," Steven speaks up almost immediately, knowing someone like you doesn't frequent these sort of places often, and by these sort of places, he means in a room with him.
"Thanks for that." You motion to the child trying to match Donna's quick march. "She's a bit much, right?" You chuckle, noticing a breathless laugh leave his lips.
"Yeah." Steven comments. "No matter how many times I say, it's Steven with a V." He points to the name tag. "That's me, by the way. Steven, with a V."
Your stomach flips and your head aches with the difference between him and Marc. Yet, your heart warms for Steven, knowing how much he means to Marc.
"It's lovely to meet you, Steven with a V. My name's Y/n." You introduce yourself, now walking further into the gift shop whilst Steven mumbles your name under his breath, hoping he never forgets it.
"Y/n, it's well, welcome to the gift shop." He rambles, unsure of the words forming and leaving his lips. "Not much of great value, and I wouldn't bother with the sweets, they're a bit naff."
Chuckling, you approach the counter to find the sweets in question, shaped like beetles. "I'll have you know, gift shops are always my favourite part of any place." You playfully admit, hearing Steven rush from behind to stand at the counter, resting his elbows on the ledge.
"Really?" Steven can't help but ask, surprised as you nod.
"I like getting souvenirs of significant places." Picking up a postcard with the Pharaohs on it, you place it on the counter along with a bag of beetle sweets. "And this seems pretty significant to me." You add, smiling up at Steven whose cheeks begin to burn at your comment.
Unsure what to say, Steven rings up the items. "I, I s'pose so." That toothy grin makes an appearance, causing your knees to almost buckle. "Thanks for stopping by, Y/n." He places your receipt on the counter, sliding it toward you.
"Thanks for the help, Steven. I'm sure you'll see me around." You wave, taking the sweets and postcard in hand.
Once out of sight, Steven chuckles to himself in disbelief. "Y/n." He repeats your name under his breath, hoping that you're true to your word and come back sometime.
Taking your phone, you begin to text Marc, knowing when he takes over he'll want to know if and how it went.
"Kids," Donna barges past you, muttering under her breath, not giving you any recognition as she makes her way to the gift shop.
'I think it went well. :) see you soon.' You can't stop the smile on your lips as you wander further into the museum, hoping to visit Steven again soon.
"Stevie! It's time for your break." Donna enters, snapping him from his thoughts.
Nodding, Steven walks out of the gift shop and into the inventory room, knowing it's the one place he will have some peace. With you still fresh on his mind, he takes out his phone and dials her number.
As it normally does, he ends up listening to the voicemail message. "Hi Mum, I think I might've met someone," He starts and begins to explain wistfully whilst Marc watches from the framed photo of the Gods with pride.
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Ready or Not....Here I Come (Yandere!Wanda Maximoff/Yandere!Scarlet Witch x Reader) (GIF contains potential MoM spoilers? IDK)
*Not my GIF, but damn.
Summary: This isn’t what you expected when she said she wanted to play with you....and now the stakes are higher than ever before.
(CW: Stalking, chasing, hypnosis, as is to be expected of a yandere witch)
Author’s Note: I randomly thought of this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x__N-31SpIk and decided “Hey, let’s do a fic based on this song.”
It’s also based on a fic I briefly saw where the reader is running through a hospital while Wanda’s chasing them. I forgot who the author is.
I know you can hear me
Open up the door
I only wanna play a little...”
You’re running on pure adrenaline and fear in this labyrinth that your stalker’s set up. Why did you agree to this?! It was as though something had possessed you, made you believe you could beat her, when you two made the deal.
“Make it out of this labyrinth before I find and trap you, and I’ll let you go.....fail, and you’re mine for all eternity....deal?”
What a tangled web you’ve woven for yourself....
Of course you have some chance, but is it remotely close to possible?
“Only one way to find out....” you pant.
You can't keep me waiting
It's already too late
For you to try and run away”
You narrowly dodge a spider web trap, scarlet threaded within the sticky silk. You have no clue where she is, but you fear she could pop out at any moment, giving you no chance to run anymore. But screw it, this is your freedom at stake. You’re not going down without at least trying.
She wasn’t always like this; she was sweet and adoring, affectionate and doting. But her obsession with you brought her out more and more....until she’s practically taken over.
“I see you through the window
Our eyes are locked together
I can sense your horror
Though I'd like to see it closer.”
Your ankle hits against a beam that shot out from the wall and you trip onto the labyrinth floor. The pain reverberates against your jaw, but you bite down on your tongue to keep yourself from crying out. You refuse to give her even the smallest hint of your location.
Here I come to find you
Hurry up and run
Let's play a little game and have fun.”
Your ankle throbs with searing pain, but you’re not giving up. With trembling arms, you push yourself back up as the beam retracts and continue on. The adrenaline actually mitigates the pain a bit, so you feel some strength. But every single sound is louder than normal.
“One over the other, I guess,” you pant.
Where is it you've gone to?
Do you think you've won?
Our game of hide and seek has just begun.”
A blast of scarlet narrowly grazes your shoulder and the adrenaline pumps up big-time; she’s hot on your trail. You pick up the pace, hoping to find a way to throw her off.
“There’s always a chance....there’s always a chance....”
But are you only deluding yourself?
“I hear your footsteps
Thumping loudly through the hallways
I can hear your sharp breaths
You're not very good at hiding.”
You duck down to avoid another wall beam, this one at neck height. Though she’s promised that it’s not a deadly labyrinth, it sure as hell feels like one. Maybe there’s somewhere you can hide until she passes? No, she’d probably find you. You decide to store that as a last resort option.
“Just wait, you can't hide from me
You leap over another scarlet web.
“Just wait, you can't hide from me
You slide underneath a closing vertical door.
“Just wait, you can't hide from me
You only just miss the puddle of pitch, colored scarlet of course, her signature color; you might even say it’s her calling card.
“Just wait, you can't hide from me.”
You feel as though you’ve lost all sense of direction, that you’re just running on autopilot. But if it gets you out, you’re not gonna complain.
I am at your door now
I am coming in
No need for me to ask permission.”
All of a sudden, you feel a breeze to your left; the breeze of the outside world! You’re so close to freedom, freedom from this delusional witch, freedom from being stalked constantly, freedom from her mind games.
I'm inside your room now
Where is it you've hid?
Our game of hide and seek's about to end.”
You sense her getting closer. Now’s your chance to make a break for it! You dash to your left, your strength pouring in in spades and you practically tearing up in relief.
“I'm coming closer
Looking underneath your bed but”
The breeze is getting stronger. You’re so close, you can almost taste it! Turning the corner, you see the forest in the night and the breeze is now devouring you. And you are more than willing to let it.
“I’ve done it....I’m free....I’m free!”
“You're not there, I wonder
Could you be inside the closet?“
Your face smacks against something hard and you stumble backwards. You lean against the wall to regain your balance. The breeze has stopped. Stunned you reach out and feel in front of you....it’s a wall.
You were tricked.
“Oh my beloved (y/n)....”
You can feel her voice on your neck.
I have found you.”
You whirl around in horror to spy the one you’ve been so desperate to escape, the one you used to love so dearly, who became someone else; someone obsessive and possessive of those she adores.
The Scarlet Witch.
You were hiding here
Now you're it.”
She backs you against the wall, smiling in a twisted loving way.
“Your innocence is so endearing to me....”
“Y-you tricked me...” you stammer out, trembling.
“I’m sorry, (y/n),” she tells you. “But I can’t bear to let you go.”
Finally found you, dear
Now you're it.”
She reaches out a hand and gently strokes the side of your face, treating you as though you’re a precious doll made of fragile porcelain. And you might as well be to her.
“You have no idea as to how much I adore you, how much I love you, how much I worship you; you are the light that keeps me from slipping deep into the darkness, from letting the evil inside of me take over. If I let you go.....if I let you go....no, I don’t even want to imagine it.”
Looks like I have won
Now you're it.”
You feel your eyes well up with tears before they pour on your face. Her smile drops and she reaches out, wiping them away softly.
“Please don’t cry, my little dove....” she whispers. “It hurts me immensely to see tears on that pretty face of yours. I promise I will treat you like the delicate and precious flower you are. My delicate and precious flower. I’ll protect you from anyone and anything that tries to hurt you or take you from me.”
Pay the consequence.”
You see a red glow from her hands, and you know what’s coming.
“It’s time to sleep, my beloved only.....”
She blows on her hand and the wisp snakes into your ear, dancing around your mind, completely opening it to her words. Eyes fluttering, you drop into her arms. She picks you up bridal style before whispering into your ear.
“Tomorrow begins a life of devotion and adoration for us both....you’ll feel affection for me just as deeply as I feel for you, my little dove....now and forever...”
As those words sink into your mind, she gives you a gentle kiss on your head, as if to seal them within. As your eyes flutter shut, a sweet smile appears on your face as love for the Scarlet Witch blossoms like a vibrant rose.
Your fate is sealed for all of eternity.
Looks like I have won
Now you're it
Pay the consequence.”