#rendering it impossible for us to go to work

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

Today’s GOP controlled Supreme Court is nothing more than an arm of the Republican Party focused on imposing their right-wing agenda upon us--from ending fundamental rights like abortion and marriage equality to undermining voting rights and more.  That is why we must work to win control of the Supreme Court the same way we work to win control of the House, Senate and White House. That means going forward every Democratic presidential candidate must commit to “winning the court” (aka “reform of the Supreme Court”) or we should not support that person. The latest example of this grotesquely partisan court came Thursday in the oral argument of Donald Trump’s appeal that he has absolute immunity to commit all the crimes he wants as President. The six GOP Justices—who were all active in Republican politics or administrations before being picked by GOP presidents to serve—showed zero concern that Trump was charged with crimes for attempting to wage a coup to remain in power despite losing.  Instead, it was clear that the Republican justices are focused on protecting Trump by delaying his Jan 6 trial beyond Election Day.

If these justices were truly concerned with protecting our Republic, they would have agreed to hear this case in December 2023 when Special Counsel Jack Smith asked the court to fast track Trump’s appeal of the trial judge’s decision denying him immunity in the Jan 6 case.  But that was rejected by the GOP controlled court to help Trump delay his trial. And in the end, the Republican justices may render a decision that makes it all but impossible to prosecute Trump for his crimes in the Jan 6 case. In reality, no one should be surprised that the Republican justices would protect the presidential nominee of their party in an election year. That is especially true given that three of those justices were appointed by Trump. [...]

And the GOP Supreme Court is helping Republicans impose these women killing abortion bans. We saw this on Wednesday when the court considered a challenge from Idaho Republicans to a federal law that mandates doctors to provide an abortion to a woman who is faced with an medical emergency.  It’s clear from the oral argument that GOP justices support the Idaho state law that makes it illegal for doctor to perform an abortion--even if a woman is suffering horribly or could suffer permanent injuries. Only if a woman is literally on the doorstep of death after suffering extensively and begging for help would these Republican justices allow an abortion. This is barbarism—and it’s also the mainstream GOP position. The GOP controlled court has also repeatedly chipped away at the wall between church and state to pave the way for a theocracy consistent with their right-wing religious views. For example, in 2023, the GOP justices rolled back anti-discrimination protections for the LGBTQ community in the name of “religious freedom.”

In addition, these same GOP justices weakened the Voting Rights Act and greatly restricted the ability of the EPA to address climate change. And in a case that will literally result in more Americans being killed by gun violence, these same six Justices struck down in 2022 a century old New York state law that limited who can carry a concealed weapon.  Justice Thomas—in between lavish gifts from his billionaire benefactor—wrote in that case that modern gun control laws must be “consistent with the Second Amendment’s text and historical understanding.” This decision has resulted in courts striking down a wide range of modern gun laws—including prohibitions on guns in mass transit, guns in post offices, guns with obliterated serial numbers and gun possession by certain felons. Whatever the GOP wants, this court will deliver. That means—as Justice Thomas has vowed—the court will, when given a chance, limit access to forms of birth control that right wing theocrats oppose, roll back marriage equality and more. The reason the GOP Supreme Court is so acutely dangerous to our freedoms and rights is that there are no checks on their power. These justices don’t answer to the voters. There is no way to directly defeat them in an election. (We can’t even force Thomas to recuse himself from Jan 6 cases despite his obvious conflict of interest!)

[...] That is why Democrats going forward must make reforming this court a priority. That could mean—by way of a federal law--expanding the court to say 13 justices to match the number of federal court of appeals. It could mean rotating judges from Supreme Court to lower federal courts after a set number of years. Reform can also mean “term limits” for justices—which polls show is supported by 67 percent of Americans. There is no greater threat to our freedoms, rights and democratic Republic than today’s corruptly partisan Supreme Court. That is why every Democratic presidential candidate and those seeking a House or Senate seat must make “reforming the court” a priority. It’s time to transform the US Supreme Court from an arm of the GOP back to a real a court!

Dean Obeidallah nails it: The Supreme Court must be expanded and reformed to counter the ill-gotten GOP edge on the court.

#SCOTUS #SCOTUS Is Compromised #SCOTUS Expansion #Expand The Court #Courts #Court Reform #Trump v. United States

[roseykat]

TITLE: How they are when they eat you out

SUMMARY: OT8 blurb version of the title.

MASTERLIST

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with these posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

TAGS: mentions of orgasms, sex positions, again nothing too major.

TAGLIST: @xhakumeix

A/N: here is another spicy blurb/work of mine! Thank you everyone for engaging with my posts, messaging and following! I really appreciate y’all 😭💗 also side note again, I’ll spellcheck this when I get home!

BANG CHAN

Deliberately goes slow. He likes foreplay but also teasing you. Thrives off of feeling your legs shake around his head as he goes down on you. If you can’t handle the overbearing intensity of pleasure, he’ll snake his arms around your thighs, gripping and holding you there to ensure that you will take everything he gives you.

However, Chan is a firm reinforcer of edging and uses his mouth to achieve that. He’ll have you squirming and trembling every single time he brings you to the edge. Whenever you try and inch closer towards his tongue, he’ll pull away, leaving you frustrated and angry. But edging has a high purpose, and that’s to make you cum ten times harder than you usually would.

“I know how much you want to cum right now,” Chan says. “So lie back and let me get you there.”

-

MINHO

Eats pussy for sport and will make you cum as hard and as fast as possible and as many times as you’ll let him. He’ll tease when he wants but for the most part, he wants to watch you writhe and shake. Hearing you scream out his name is a phenomenon that he can never get over. Minho also likes eating you out in positions that will have you screaming and where you’re bound to cum - literally.

He will have your legs bent at your sides, tied up so you can’t move, and will eat you out for an hour or two, otherwise until you’re crying from how much pleasure you’re in. In those positions, there’s nowhere for you to go or move other than the surface of his hot tongue.

“Like cumming on my mouth don’t you?” Minho asks. “I’ll make you cum again, and again, and again - until you start to forget your name.”

-

CHANGBIN

Eats it like he means it. Will make you cum more than once with his mouth and won’t settle for anything less. He will have you in tears from how intense the orgasms are that he gives you. It’s a real contrast to how tender and nurturing he is when it comes to taking care of you afterwards. Nonetheless, Changbin will eat you out like it’s the last thing he’ll do.

He doesn’t stop unless you want him to. Sometimes you give him free rein which, in all honesty, is a terrible idea sometimes because Changbin will cease at nothing to make you cum so hard that you start seeing stars. What’s even better is because of his strength, it’s near to impossible to squirm away from his mouth, rendering you to cum hard regardless.

“Look how pretty you are when you cum,” Changbin sigh’s exasperatedly.

-

HYUNJIN

Is very attentive. Studies every reaction that he brings out of you as soon as his mouth is buried in between your legs. Hyunjin also has the tendency to overstimulate the shit out of you. Half of the time he doesn’t actually mean to. He just gets off on the change in pitch of your moans, how you sometimes go silent when you cum, or when you grip onto his hair as tight as you can.

His method of making you orgasm multiple times ensures that your legs will be shaking and your moans will fill the space around him. The only unfortunate thing for him when it comes to eating you out is that he can’t see your entire body, especially when you cum.

“You’re shaking baby,” Hyunjin points out. “Feels that good, huh?”

-

JISUNG

Is sloppy, but in the best way possible. He’s unfazed about how wet you are, how much of it gets on his face, if it’s on the bed, the floor, the kitchen counter - whatever. That’s applicable to every situation where he’s eating you out, even when Jisung feels lazy. In saying that, there are two sides to him, and he can go either way; he’ll either eat you out like he’s been deprived of it for months, or if he’s feeling lazy but still wants to go down on you, he’ll eat slowly.

If that’s the case, he will ask you to just sit on his face. It’s convenient for him to lie back and eat you out that way. Hell - he’ll even let you use his face to make yourself cum however many times you want. Jisung will say it so casually that it sometimes turns you on more. Despite him feeling lazy, that doesn’t mean to say that he isn’t into it - he is definitely into it.

“I’m horny as fuck,” Jisung says before smiling. “Sit on my face?”

-

FELIX

Going down on you is already a task that’s intimate enough as it is, but Felix’s entire aura seems to enhance that even further, to the point where you feel so good that it’s emotional. Almost every time - guaranteed - Felix will interlock his fingers with yours when his head is buried between your legs. He’ll kiss your inner thighs, softly on your clit, delicately sucking and licking to slowly build you up to a peak.

He analyses what you like so well that every time he goes down on you, he makes sure to follow that routine to achieve the same results if not better. It’s almost like one of his games to him, except the rewards are better in every aspect. Lix just wants to make sure you feel good.

“Can never get enough of you,” Felix says. “Wanna make you cum as much as you’ll let me.”

-

SEUNGMIN

Is a tease. Even during foreplay he’ll edge you with his mouth. He’ll never give you exactly what you want when you want it. If he’s going down on you, and you’re ready to cum, Seungmin will stop right before you start tipping over the edge just so he can fuck you in order to make you cum on his cock instead. Then again, if he feels generous, it’ll be his mouth that makes you cum, especially as a form of reward if you can go a day or two without being an absolute brat.

But that’s the side of Seungmin who likes to be dominant. There’s the other face of the coin where he can be very tender. In those instances when he is going down on you, expect to see a lot more affection from him. He won’t just focus solely on your clit, he’ll go slow, check in on you, and make you cum more than once because he’s also a gentleman.

“I’m the only one who can make you feel this good,” says Seungmin. “Nobody else can make you cum the way I do.”

-

JEONGIN

Knows exactly what he’s doing when it comes to eating you out. Jeongin chooses to go slow whenever he does because of how attentive he is. He wants to make sure that each second his face is buried in between your legs that your body feels good. Every now and then it’s a bit frustrating because all you want to do is just cum as quickly as you can, so as you squirm or grip his hair to try and make him go faster, that’s when he’ll decide to intentionally tease you and go slow.

He likes to hold around your thighs, gently squeezing them to hold you firm around his head. The struggles you have when it comes to putting up with his tongue is next level. He has the technique to make you cum in under a minute minimum. He’s unassuming but he’s just that good at it.

“Can feel your legs shaking,” Jeongin says. “I want to feel them shake even more.”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #rosiewritesskz #hyunjin smut #han jisung smut #i.n x reader #i.n smut #bang chan smut #felix smut #seungmin smut #changbin smut #hyunjin x reader #bang chan x reader #felix x reader #lee know x reader #seungmin x reader #han jisung x reader

[finalgirllx]

thought you hated me | mattheo riddle entry 1 of a little anthology series i am starting with mattheo. as a way to practice writing without committing to a long series, i'll be writing a few blurbs for him based on the 'enemies to lovers' trope. 1.1k words | nsfw | minors dni | f!reader this is also a thank you for 2000 followers, like holy cow. that's insane. thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has supported my nonsense.

"Hey, hey! Watch it! The recipe calls for a scoop of rose petals, not the entire bloody jar," you scold the curly-haired prick. He abided by your warning, much to your surprise, but not without tilting the jar above the cauldron a few extra times just to savor your irritation. You can't help but wonder what past mistakes led you to be doomed by fate to be partnered with Mattheo Riddle for potions class.

The whole school was aware of your mutual hatred, and neither of you made any effort to conceal it. It had been this way for so long that you couldn't even pinpoint why you hated him. Well, besides his utterly insufferable personality and a pisspoor attitude that not even his stellar good looks could redeem.

"He's an arrogant prick." "What a wretched tart." "A hotheaded muppet." "An absolute menace to civil society."

These were just a few recent jabs exchanged between you, either spoken directly or whispered through the grapevine. As long as everyone knows how much you despise each other, it suffices.

After your taunt over the rose petals, Mattheo's gaze bore into you beneath impossibly full eyelashes before he released a huff of pure disdain at your rigidity.

"You can piss off with that attitude. I say the one of us who didn't cause an explosion in class last week gets the bigger say over our potion-making," Mattheo countered, to which you promptly stood at attention and turned to face him, hands planted firmly on your hips.

"If that's the qualification, then I've had the upper hand practically every week this entire term! I cause one explosion, and you think you're all that," you argued back, to which Mattheo responded with a tired eye roll before he fixed his spiteful gaze fully on you.

"Well, I do have the right. Especially when you caused the explosion by staring at Cormac fucking McLaggen while biting your lip like an idiot," he grumbled, his voice lowered but the intensity still sending a shiver down your spine. You knew the implications of his words and that the facade could crumble under the man's temper in moments if you didn't tread forward lightly.

"Yeah, well, I don't see why you'd care, but I'll keep my eyes off of him," you begrudgingly relented with a shrug. You would have given him an earful with just about any other provocation, but what he could risk revealing over this wasn't worth continuing to bicker over.

"Good girl," Mattheo purrs the next time he leans closer to grab an ingredient, quiet enough so only you could hear, causing the heat rising between you to stay put. "Guess I'll need to find another reason to cave the bloke's face in," he adds, much to your dismay. You wanted to say something then, but the professor's perfectly timed interjection to order you both to focus on your work momentarily set the matter aside. -----------------

"Are you really going to make an arse of yourself and beat up Cormac if he and I so much as exchange a glance?" You questioned Mattheo incredulously as he hastily pulled you into a nearby empty broom closet with little resistance from yourself. The door had barely clicked shut before he tore off his robe and moved on to remove yours.

"You want to fucking try something? See how that works out for you, I'll make your ass red for weeks," Mattheo growled into your ear as his hands roamed your still-clothed torso, finding purchase on your breasts as he began to knead them, growing desperate for skin-to-skin contact. Your insolence had gotten him painfully turned on, urging him to handle your attitude with touches he knew would render you pliant. The whimpers his groping solicited from you had become the answer to his prayers.

This little arrangement had become second nature to you by now. You give Mattheo lip, which gets him riled up, so you both seek a release for your pent-up frustrations by way of you taking his dick. Each time, without fail, you two agree that this would be the last time. But having 'hated' each other for so long, you know just how to test the other's patience, him becoming as weak to your taunts as you are to his touch.

"Care so much about who I'm looking at, huh?" you mocked Mattheo as he attempted to undo the buttons on your top, his thought capacity overridden by lust. "I thought you hated me," you continued to bait him with a hint of amusement to mask the genuine curiosity for what he might say. A gasp escaped you when Mattheo removed one hand from your chest to take your chin in between two fingers, lifting your head to meet his eyes that were already ruining you in his mind. He pressed his body against yours, letting you feel his hardness through his trousers.

"You know I fucking hate you," Mattheo replied through gritted teeth, his ferocity laced with arousal. "Doesn't mean anyone gets a glimpse of what's mine."

Your lips pulled into a smirk contentedly in response, not the least bit intimidated by him. In fact, you were pretty proud to have evoked such a reaction out of him. Sure, maybe you felt afraid for Cormac, but after witnessing Mattheo Riddle get on his knees to beg for your pussy, it had become difficult to take his threats seriously. The man was down bad, and you relished in the way you could reduce him to a needy mess, though he probably felt similar when you turned into a babbling slut every time he made you cum on his cock. If anything, the rage made you just as greedy for him as he was for you.

You took the lead in removing the rest of your top, freeing Mattheo so he could bury his face in your neck, latching on and sucking the skin to leave noticeable, possessive marks. He proceeded to cover you with hot kisses that trailed further down your chest, with each unclasped button giving him more space to work with until your top was fully removed and strewn on the floor with abandon. He sunk to his knees before you, letting you ensnare one hand in his hair to brace yourself as he took the peak of one of your breasts in his mouth, which brought a moan from your lips. Forgetting the animosity and allowing pleasure to take over, you've all but given up on believing that this time would be the last.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #slytherin #slytherin boys

[transvampireboyfriend]

"Can I kiss you?" Steve asks, eyes glued to the side of Eddie's face.

Eddie is sitting on his couch and Steve is hanging out across from him, lounging on Wayne's recliner.

He gets to use it whenever Wayne's at work, with his explicit permission and now priority, since Eddie was jealous enough to start a mock argument and Wayne took Steve's side just to tease his nephew.

So now Eddie has to give that place up whenever Steve's over. Which, he almost always is, these days.

They're watching some horror movie Steve's not paying attention to because Eddie keeps laughing delightedly and the sound is starting to feel like coming home for Steve.

Not to mention, Eddie's wearing a crop-top again today, and the hair on his stomach renders Steve absolutely useless and unable to pay attention to anything else around them.

Not that his attention is too far from Eddie most days, at most times.

Eddie was saying the movie's killer was an idiot for getting the girl before he wasted her asshole boyfriend and Steve laughed at that, and suddenly, noticing how content he was here made him brave enough to ask for more.

"What?" Eddie asks in response, his eyes wide as he turns to look at Steve

"I asked if I can kiss you" Steve repeats, not one to back down, not when he's caught Eddie staring at him all starry-eyed before, not when Eddie goes out of his way all the time to make Steve's days so much better.

Eddie blinks "No, I heard you, I just- I just meant-" he splutters "um, I'm not really sure what I meant"

Steve watches the red spread across Eddie's cheek and smiles.

"So. Can I?" Steve presses

"I mean-" Eddie says, out of breath "yeah. Yeah, you sure can." he says.

Steve feels butterflies flutter in his chest. He gets up from Wayne's chair and goes to sit beside Eddie on the couch.

Eddie watches him like a deer in headlights, all the way through.

When he sits, Steve presses a kiss against Eddie's cheek. The warmth of his blush feels like early morning sunshine on Steve's lips.

"Oh," Eddie murmurs, almost sounding disappointed,

"No, I meant on your lips," Steve confirms, "but you look a little stunned"

That startles a soft laugh from Eddie.

"I guess I wasn't prepared to-"

"You don't have to do anything, I can take care of it" Steve interrupts jokingly, making Eddie laugh again, louder this time, joyous, the kind Steve keeps hoping for and never gets tired of.

"Smartass," Eddie accuses, softly pushing Steve's face away with his hand,

Steve laughs, enjoying the contact. Once their laughter dies down he says, honestly,

"You just have to want it too"

Eddie moves his hand to cradle Steve's face and bring him closer again, "Of course I want it." he says, his eyes trailing down Steve's face and focusing on his lips "I want it so much. Can we just stop talking about it and can you just-?"

Before Eddie can finish asking, Steve nods, says "Okay," and leans in to join their lips.

Eddie's lips are soft and he melts against Steve, his hands finding Steve's waist and resting there, sending a comforting warmth spreading up Steve's sides.

Steve buries his hands in Eddie's hair like he's wanted to do for months now, drawing him impossibly closer and holding him there with as much care as he can muster when they draw apart.

He can't resist going back in to gently kiss Eddie once, twice. Three, four times.

Eddie giggles, moves to lock Steve inside his hold, his arms crossing behind Steve's back and drawing him into his lap.

Steve goes easily, with a smile on his face and his heart hammering in his chest.

"I love this t-shirt" Steve confesses, running his hands down the soft material, until he gets to the cut off point, just on Eddie's ribs, and traces his fingers on bare skin.

Eddie presses a loud kiss to the joint of Steve's jaw,

" 've you been ogling me, Harrington?" Eddie teases him. Steve giggles, giddy with their closeness and how easy this is.

"Maybe," Steve says, finally getting to touch that happy trail, softly running his fingers over it. He watches as he does it too, feeling hypnotized.

He doesn't know how much time passes before he looks up again and finds Eddie looking at him like that again, like Steve hung the moon or something.

"You're beautiful" Eddie tells him, sounding out of breath.

Steve gasps dramatically, "Have you been ogling me, Munson?" he asks in his best gossipy tone,

It startles a loud laugh out of Eddie, one that shows his dimples, crinkles his eyes and throws his head back. Steve can't wipe the grin off his face, watching him.

"Oh!" Eddie gasps between laughs "ALL the time," he answers "just. 24/7. nonstop"

Steve giggles again. He adores this boy.

He cradles Eddie's face and traces the wrinkles around his eyes with his thumbs. Presses them to Eddie's dimples, traces the smile on his lips. Such a pretty smile, Steve tells him so.

Eddie draws up to place a kiss to the side of Steve's nose, right where Steve knows he has one of two marks from wearing his reading glasses earlier.

It's weird, surprising and oddly sweet, so much sweeter because Steve adores that Eddie surprises him all the time.

Steve chases after Eddie to kiss him again, trails his hands down Eddie's face and neck, one hand gently toying with Eddie's necklace and the other placed on top of the soft material of his t-shirt.

Eddie gives him so many kisses, long kisses and short ones, big and small ones, desperate and unhurried ones, so many sweet ones.

Steve gets lost in it, smiles against them and categorizes them as best he can, sighs against them and as the movie finishes unwatched and Eddie trails his fingers under Steve's shirt, Steve promises himself he'll collect as many kisses from Eddie Munson as he possibly can.

#steddie #steddie headcanon #steve x eddie #have this <3 #i SWEAR im working on the lake fic but i needed to get this out there #cause i just want them to kiss kiss kiss and I don't wanna rush em into it in that other fic lol #. #also as always this might be #ooc #I'll update the lake fic some time this upcoming week okay? okay. love u 🫶🏽 #stranger things

[draconic-desire]

Ad Experimentum

Yandere Dr. Ratio x Reader

Veritas catches you reading one of your dirty books.

Warnings: Implied kidnapping and forced imprisonment, NSFW scenes being read aloud, Dr. Ratio being a dick as always

Within the confines of Veritas’s home, you feel like a mouse in a maze, reduced to a caged animal, always under scrutiny and experimentation.

Escape is impossible. Dr. Ratio has ensured that you’re never out of his reach, even though he acts as if you are the burden and he didn’t kidnap you and imprison you in his home. Sometimes you wonder why he even keeps you; surely he has better things to do than to quip at your inadequacy or lack of genius. But alas, the pretentious prick seems keen on pushing every one of your buttons to see how you tick. You might even call it intimacy if he wasn’t so clinical and judgmental about it all.

Because physical escape is impossible, you’ve turned to escaping within the confines of your own mind.

Books provided the perfect retreat. You’ve since abandoned any non-fiction to focus on fantasy, to worlds that effortlessly whisk you away. Novels that depict true, romantic love, not the twisted ownership you’ve grown used to. Like you’re some pet to be controlled and prodded at, like Pavlov’s dog, waiting and drooling for its master’s hand at the ring of a bell.

So, in your hopes to feel something real, you’ve started to delve into stories that are a bit…spicier.

With the latest read in your hand, your eyes skim hungrily over the pages as the tension between the protagonists builds. The lovers begin to undress each other, the one spreading his partner’s pussy as she grinds into his hand—

Veritas effortlessly plucks the book from your hands, earning a cry of protest. You try to snatch it back, but, with the help of his towering height, he dangles it just out of reach. “What in the heavens is this?”

The way he holds the book between his thumb and pointer finger, as if merely touching it would taint his self-proclaimed perfect set of knowledge, was almost comedic. You would laugh if he wasn’t such a condescending asshole.

Instead, you scowl. “Give it back.”

He merely hums and turns the novel in his hands, inspecting the cover. Licking his thumb, he flips to your bookmarked page and begins reading aloud. “My hand caressed her core as I speared her with two, thick fingers. She moaned and arched into my palm in response, causing my cock to twitch in anticipation. God, I wanted to taste her arousal. Her pussy was perfect, so wet and tight and ready for me to claim, to fuck.”

Embarrassment rages across your cheeks like a burn. You fling yourself at him, pounding your fists against his chest when he lifts the book out of your reach easily. “Stop, just stop.”

Amused, Dr. Ratio continues to narrate the scene in painstaking detail. “I lowered my head, letting my tongue swirl around her clit and rendering her voice to nothing but pitiful mewls. She tasted like heaven, like my own personal feast. I buried my tongue in her, then, and held her hips as she bucked into my mouth, begging for release—”

“I will do anything,” you beg, face in your palms, “just please stop.”

Finally, mercifully, Veritas closes the book and lowers it down enough for you to snatch it back. You cradle it against your chest, heart pounding and palms sweaty with a chaotic blend of shame, anger, and relief that it was over.

“This is what you indulge in while I’m working? Though you are hardly an intellectual exception, I believed you to be above this brain-rotting nonsense, (Y/n).”

In spite of your embarrassment, you boldly meet his golden eyes. “And what do you care? I enjoy it, and it’s not meant for you. Go stick your nose in a dictionary for all I care.”

“At least I’d be learning something,” he sneers in return, looking down his nose at you. He sniffs, tilting his chin up. “What do those books have that I can’t offer you?”

You still, observing his features. Now that the fun of teasing you has worn off, his eyes flare with loathing. With a jolt, you realize it is not aimed at you but at…the book?

Wordlessly, you glance between Dr. Ratio and your novel. Then, a stilted laugh escapes your lips. “Wait.. Are you seriously jealous of a book?”

“Don’t be preposterous,” he scoffs, though you notice his white-knuckled grip against the back of the armchair you were previously lounging in. “I would never stoop so low as to associate myself with that plebeian filth. I simply wanted to ascertain your reaction to it being read aloud.”

You resist the desperate urge to roll your eyes. “Fine, then. Please leave me to my uneducated filth.” You spin around, intent on finding a new place to finish your reading.

“Not so fast.” Veritas is on you quicker than a cobra, large hands gripping both your shoulders. “Perhaps all is not lost. We may yet transform this circumstance into an educational opportunity for you.”

A chill runs down your spine at the heavy touch, and a sudden sense of foreboding warns you to run. You’re all too aware you’re the mouse being fed to the snake in this moment.

Veritas spins you to face him, eyes slowly trailing down your form, as if taking you in with a new perspective. “I believe an experiment is due.”

You go rigid. “I’m sorry?”

“If you’re so intent on reading about all those fantasies in your books, let’s go ahead and put them to the test, shall we?”

At his clear implication, you yelp and make a run for it. In that moment Veritas strikes, fisting your hair with one hand and cupping your chin with the other as he presses your body flush against his own. You can already feel his hard desire digging into your back.

“Here’s my hypothesis,” he purrs in your ear. “I predict that by the end of tonight, you too will be begging for my cum, whether you want to or not.”

His theory, as always, was proven to be correct.

#yandere dr ratio #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere #honaki star rail #hsr dr ratio #hsr drabbles #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio #hsr veritas #veritas x reader #yandere veritas ratio

[sillylotrpolls]

(Relevant text below the poll)

Inspired by this post by @roselightfairy and replies by @herrhasen, @enide-s-dear, @unnamedelement, @dragonfirez, and @carlandrea.

If you'd like to refresh your memory of the Fellowship at its bitchiest (and Boromir at his best), the relevant text is below the cut.

Excerpted from The Fellowship of the Ring, Book II, Chapter 3: The Ring Goes South

Gimli looked up and shook his head. 'Caradhras has not forgiven us.' he said. 'He has more snow yet to fling at us, if we go on. The sooner we go back and down the better.'

To this all agreed, but their retreat was now difficult. It might well prove impossible. Only a few paces from the ashes of their fire the snow lay many feet deep, higher than the heads of the hobbits; in places it had been scooped and piled by the wind into great drifts against the cliff.

'If Gandalf would go before us with a bright flame, he might melt a path for you,' said Legolas. The storm had troubled him little, and he alone of the Company remained still light of heart.

'If Elves could fly over mountains, they might fetch the Sun to save us,' answered Gandalf. 'But I must have something to work on. I cannot burn snow.'

'Well,' said Boromir, 'when heads are at a loss bodies must serve, as we say in my country. The strongest of us must seek a way. See! Though all is now snow-clad, our path, as we came up, turned about that shoulder of rock down yonder. It was there that the snow first began to burden us. If we could reach that point, maybe it would prove easier beyond. It is no more than a furlong off, I guess.'

'Then let us force a path thither, you and I!' said Aragorn.

Aragorn was the tallest of the Company, but Boromir, little less in height, was broader and heavier in build. He led the way, and Aragorn followed him. Slowly they moved off, and were soon toiling heavily. In places the snow was breast-high, and often Boromir seemed to be swimming or burrowing with his great arms rather than walking.

Legolas watched them for a while with a smile upon his lips, and then he turned to the others. 'The strongest must seek a way, say you? But I say: let a ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass and leaf or over snow-an Elf.'

With that he sprang forth nimbly, and then Frodo noticed as if for the first time, though he had long known it, that the Elf had no boots, but wore only light shoes, as he always did, and his feet made little imprint in the snow.

'Farewell!' he said to Gandalf. 'I go to find the Sun!' Then swift as a runner over firm sand he shot away, and quickly overtaking the toiling men, with a wave of his hand he passed them, and sped into the distance, and vanished round the rocky turn.

The others waited huddled together, watching until Boromir and Aragorn dwindled into black specks in the whiteness. At length they too passed from sight. The time dragged on. The clouds lowered, and now a few flakes of snow came curling down again.

An hour, maybe, went by, though it seemed far longer, and then at last they saw Legolas coming back. At the same time Boromir and Aragorn reappeared round the bend far behind him and came labouring up the slope.

'Well,' cried Legolas as he ran up, 'I have not brought the Sun. She is walking in the blue fields of the South, and a little wreath of snow on this Redhorn hillock troubles her not at all. But I have brought back a gleam of good hope for those who are doomed to go on feet. There is the greatest winddrift of all just beyond the turn, and there our Strong Men were almost buried. They despaired, until I returned and told them that the drift was little wider than a wall. And on the other side the snow suddenly grows less, while further down it is no more than a white coverlet to cool a hobbit's toes.'

'Ah, it is as I said,' growled Gimli. 'It was no ordinary storm. It is the ill will of Caradhras. He does not love Elves and Dwarves, and that drift was laid to cut off our escape.'

'But happily your Caradhras has forgotten that you have Men with you,' said Boromir, who came up at that moment. 'And doughty Men too, if I may say it; though lesser men with spades might have served you better. Still, we have thrust a lane through the drift; and for that all here may be grateful who cannot run as light as Elves.'

'But how are we to get down there, even if you have cut through the drift?' said Pippin, voicing the thought of all the hobbits.

'Have hope!' said Boromir. 'I am weary, but I still have some strength left, and Aragorn too. We will bear the little folk. The others no doubt will make shift to tread the path behind us. Come, Master Peregrin! I will begin with you.'

He lifted up the hobbit. 'Cling to my back! I shall need my arms' he said and strode forward. Aragorn with Merry came behind. Pippin marvelled at his strength, seeing the passage that he had already forced with no other tool than his great limbs. Even now, burdened as he was, he was widening the track for those who followed, thrusting the snow aside as he went.

They came at length to the great drift. It was flung across the mountainpath like a sheer and sudden wall, and its crest, sharp as if shaped with knives, reared up more than twice the height of Boromir; but through the middle a passage had been beaten, rising and falling like a bridge. On the far side Merry and Pippin were set down, and there they waited with Legolas for the rest of the Company to arrive.

After a while Boromir returned carrying Sam. Behind in the narrow but now well-trodden track came Gandalf, leading Bill with Gimli perched among the baggage. Last came Aragorn carrying Frodo. They passed through the lane; but hardly had Frodo touched the ground when with a deep rumble there rolled down a fall of stones and slithering snow. The spray of it half blinded the Company as they crouched against the cliff, and when the air cleared again they saw that the path was blocked behind them.

'Enough, enough!' cried Gimli. 'We are departing as quickly as we may!'

And indeed with that last stroke the malice of the mountain seemed to be expended, as if Caradhras was satisfied that the invaders had been beaten off and would not dare to return. The threat of snow lifted; the clouds began to break and the light grew broader.

As Legolas had reported, they found that the snow became steadily more shallow as they went down, so that even the hobbits could trudge along. Soon they all stood once more on the flat shelf at the head of the steep slope where they had felt the first flakes of snow the night before.

#lotr #lord of the rings #poll #polls #legolas #it came from tumblr

[juuuulez]

📰 | first times.

you make lip work for it, and the first time you have sex he’s surprised by the intimacy.

like, lip is a fast and rough kinda guy. tammy said it herself: jabby (LOL!). when you first go out, like on an actual date, he’s confused when you won’t fuck him. why? you had fun, right? but you tell him not yet, you don’t wanna rush this, and it’s weird… lip spends the night debating whether or not a bone is really worth it, but eventually decides yeah: he wants this.

so the first time it actually happens, you’re slow with it, kissing over his face and neck while lip’s hands are pawing at your clothes. his rough hands pull at your buttons, your jeans, quickly trying to remove whatever fabric separates you. it ends with you, naked, on his lap. when you undress him, it’s slow, kissing a path over each inch of skin exposed.

“th’fuck taking you so long?” he’ll rasp, but doesn’t make a move to hurry you, despite how long he’s been waiting for this.

and you’ll smile against his skin, licking a long stripe up his sternum, lips sucking at the tattoo on his chest. he’ll grunt, hands squeezing your hips, but your gentle assault on his body continues.

“just wanna enjoy it,” you mumble, rewarding him with a firm grind against his clothed cock, “don’t you?”

he won’t respond, hands urging your movements into a steady rock, moving with lazy fever atop him. lip doesn’t have it in him to rush you, but you can feel his need under you, hard and strained in his jeans.

“you’re very pretty.” you’ll whisper into his neck, trailing kisses back up his neck, to his face. it renders him speechless, because what? pretty? instinctually, he wants to say that’s weird, he’s not pretty. but your cunt is bare and hot against the tent in his pants, and your lips are warm on his skin, plush and soft.

you pay his nose extra attention, gently licking the curve of it, before following the path of his cheek. your kisses trail back down, lingering just over his lips, and he feels just about breathless. his eyes are closed under the sheer pressure of intimacy, lashes casting a shadow on his face, so he can’t see your grin.

so you ride him slow and deep, hands wrapped around the back of his neck, lip’s forehead resting against your chest. his mouth is perpetually open in quiet grunts, his hands faltering at your hips, feeling that incessant need to go faster, harder, but knowing that’s not what you want. suddenly, he wants nothing more than to please you.

it’s different to anything he’s ever felt before, and you eventually relent, allowing lip to roll over and push you into the mattress. he’s gotten the hint by now, fallen into a soft rhythm, slow and steady and impossibly deep.

you know it’s a lot. that it’s different, that lip isn’t used to love like this. so you take it slow. well, as slow as you can, because you just want to show him all of the love you have, let him learn that it’s completely overflowing.

#wow wow wow i need him so bad #lip gallagher smut #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x you

[furiousgoldfish]

If you've found yourself in that childhood hell with a narcissistic parent, where every year you gain you get treated worse, and the older you get, the more unworthy and unlovable you are, this is why it's going on.

Narcissists are unwilling to be parents, but they're ready to take advantage of every possible benefit they think parenthood has. The perceived benefit is how the world sees them, someone feeling sympathetic or engaged with them, getting popularity based on your kid's talents, abilities and successes, people having compassion for their 'parenthood struggles', and of course, the idea of unconditional love. For them, not for the kid. They also then go on and take extra stuff, like having their personal emotional caretaker, or a target for all of their anger, someone to feel superior to, someone they can violate, insult, touch, beat, and blend with, without any kind of consequences from the outside world. There's very few scenarios that would allow them such power over another person, and parenthood happens to be one of them.

So, why do they prefer small toddlers rather than grown-up children? Because toddlers gain them attention. They can go with a toddler in public, and have people gush and admire the cuteness. They can sometimes teach toddlers to do little dances or sing for the audience. They can do pretty much anything to small children, and children won't complain or understand what is going on. They can neglect their toddlers and nobody will know. They can punish small children for crying. They can convince small children that they exist only for to make the narcissist's life easier.

Once children start developing boundaries, start saying no, and no longer gather the attention of the crowd, that is where narcissists are no longer getting as many benefits from parenthood and start emotionally abandoning the child, and shaming the child for 'growing up' and 'not being as easy to control and manipulate'. And this is not how normally things work, you don't stop loving your kid when they're growing up, you don't value them according to how much attention you can get using them. Sometimes, if a kid has a special talent and is able to get them attention via child contests or tournaments, this kid will not be obviously immediately abandoned. But it will be clear to this child that the 'love' is completely dependent on how well they do and how far they succeed. The second they stop, they know that the parental love will be withdrawn and they'll be rendered a failure.

Narcissists will ask you to go not just out of your comfort zone in order to give them what they want, they will ask the downright impossible, and when you inevitably can't give it to them, you will be discarded, and possibly punished. You will degraded from 'special' and 'important because you can do this one thing for your parent', to nothing but a target for rage, forced to feel like you deserve it because you couldn't do what no child can - make a narcissist act like a normal parent. They convince children that they would be loving and thoughtful parents, if only the child was not so x, and y, and z, and the list is endless. Endless excuses not to love their child, because withdrawing that love will make the child absolutely desperate in their attempt to please the parent, and be good enough to deserve love.

This is not what would normally happen to a child. We're meant to be celebrated for growth. Our progress into adulthood should be about us, about what we can do now, how much new experiences and excitement it brings to have a bigger body, how much more capable and safer we are, what new skills we can develop, new games we can play, better connections and understanding with others we can now achieve. It's not supposed to be about whether we are of a benefit to someone, our growth is about us becoming a happy adult! Appropriating this entire process and reducing it to 'grovel endless to deserve love, and feel guilty for growing because you're of less use now' is absolute torture to a child, who doesn't understand that it's not meant to be this way, that they were never supposed to be a tool to use.

As we mature with the narcissist continually building this narrative of us not being good enough to deserve love, we end up having no other narrative, and believe that we're fundamentally, intrinsically lacking in something, and this makes us unlovable. It has nothing to do with the truth, and everything to do with a continuous lie that someone made up about us when we were still small, that we exist as a tool and a resource, and every hint of free will and desire and personal goals and boundaries is us failing to live up to that use. We were never meant to be exist for them, there was no achievable goal, us even trying to 'deserve their love' was nothing but a waste of our time and energy. We're not unlovable. We just don't a parent. We had someone leeching off of us, taking instead of giving, convincing us we don't deserve attention, care or resources, unlike them, who deserve to take it all.

For any normal parent, everything about you would have been good enough, you would have been a source of joy and celebration without ever even trying to deserve it. Nobody has to deserve parental love, it's either given by default, or there is nobody willing to be a parent to you. Being unwilling to parent you, they have no right to expect anything from you. You did not break the parent-child bond, because there never was such a thing in the first place, they betrayed you from the start.

#narcissistic abuse #narcissistic parents #child abuse #abusive parents #toxic parents #parentification #using children as tools #using children for attention #victim blaming #darvo #convincing children they'll be loved if they become your tools willingly #then just using them and never loving them #pretending like there will be time when you will love them but you're lying #gross exploitative behaviour #exploitation of children #making children feel unworthy of love #future faking #tactics of abuse

[tyrantisterror]

A couple months ago, one of the kids at the daycare brought in a D&D starter set and asked me to DM a game for him and some of the other kids in my class. Now, I had considered doing this in the past, but written it off for a variety of reasons, mainly asusming it'd be a couple days of chaos before the kids get sick of all the math involved and lose interest. But if a kid broaches an idea and others seem on board, I feel it's kind of my duty to at least try it.

So far my assumptions have been... mostly correct? Like, 70% of my predictions have come true, it is chaos, ten-years olds are the most murder-happy murder hobo PCs you could possibly imagine, and they've really been pushing my improv skills to their absolute limits with the choices they've made (and the constrictions I have on me as a daycare teacher). But they haven't gotten bored with the math, and they absolutely love playing the game still, which is nice. I like it when my students are passionate about something.

Anyway, I bring this up because seeing how children play with D&D canon has made me realize one critical fact:

D&D needs a Mons Game spinoff.

Kids love monsters. This is not my bias, it is something that has been categorically proven to me in my four years of working at a daycare. Every kid loves the idea of weird, impossible creatures, and they love the idea of befriending a whole horde of those creatures even more so. One of my kids in the daycare D&D campaign is making it his goal to find and tame every monster he can find in the kid-friendly monster manuals I bought for the class. He wants a Tarasque and a Bullete and an Owlbear and on and on and on, and keeps proposing tactics for capturing them based on his time playing Ark: Survival Evolved, a game where you can tame dinosaurs and mythic beasts while trying to survive a wild world full of danger and obstacles.

And it turns out that, while the mechanics of D&D don't support this, the philosophy of how its settings are structured according to those mechanics does. D&D is filled with hundreds of wild and imaginative monsters, all with distinct appearances, habits, adaptations, and environmental needs. The need to make the "dungeons" part of D&D interesting has required it to build really interesting monster ecosystems, and, much like mons games, the need to keep players buying new content has resulted in them building a vast library of creatures, because selling $50 books containing a slew of new monsters is a pretty guaranteed way to get money. D&D may not be a mons game, but it's accidentally made its setting perfectly suited to be one.

And what a money-maker that would be! Skew it more towards a child audience in tone, use simpler mechanics so kids can hop into it without spending, say, three solid weeks of afterschool daycare time crafting character sheets more or less one on one, and you'd have a game that would easily hook a younger audience while planting seeds of interest into the bigger game.

Of course, there are already indie TTRPG mons games, and I imagine some of them are actually good, but unfortunately they're not exactly easily obtainable on a daycare teacher's budget. And, you know, they wouldn't let you make a team of a bulette, an otyugh, a gray render, and an owlbear.

But then again, Wizards of the Coast continues to be absolute bastards, so maybe this idea is too good for them. Which makes it a good thing they're never going to read this blog post.

[bits-and-babs]

☁️ - #20 with Javier Peña

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞.”

pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

warnings: jealous Javier, mentions of alcohol, exhibitionism, p in v sex, angst if you squint

javi masterlist I| main masterlist |I follower celebration I| ask |I

The whiskey Javi had been sipping on all evening spills over the desk and wets the sheets branded with his ink. He shoves the sodden paper aside, pushing you over the table with a growl of your name.

“‘m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole.”

The amber liquid melts into the crisp fabric of your white linen shirt, bleeding through the fibres and rendering it opaque. It cools your skin, burning hot, thanks to Javi’s aggressive affections.

You hadn’t meant to mention him, your ex. It just slipped out with the tear that streamed from your eyes — you’d quickly wiped it with the back of your sleeve, but he saw. Your colleague saw, and he was going to make sure you didn’t mention him again.

Your fitted trousers are discarded somewhere in the office, pooled on the floor where anyone could waltz in and see them. But they’d see you first, bent over Javier Peña’s desk with him pushing your panties to the side and pulling his cock from his impossibly tight jeans.

Javi kicks your feet apart with the side of his shoe, his chest leaning over your back and pressing into it as he wraps his arm around your waist. He pulls you onto his length, groaning out something incoherent as you whine at the stretch. It stings like whisky itself. It burns but eases at the same time and tastes divine.

“Fuck,” Javier huffs beside your ear, hooking his hand at the junction of your neck and shoulder. He uses that grip and pulls your body backwards to meet the blinding pace he sets the moment you’re comfortable with the intrusion.

It’s loud. It’s messy. The secretaries in the building no doubt hear this every night, have been the girl that Javier makes scream so that the whole office knows why the hookers he works with divulge their information. You don’t mind- he keeps his promise. You don’t remember your ex, and you don’t remember the office clerks; hell, you don’t remember your own name.

He reminds you of it with a heavy breath when he cums.

#javier peña #javier peña x you #javier peña smut #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x y/n #javier pena smut #javier pena x you #javier pena x female reader #narcos fanfic #narcos #narcos smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal #જ⁀➴ mail: received #✩‧₊˚ 6k follower celebration ˚₊‧✩

[paperlunamoth]

Is anyone else just entirely enraged by how blatantly sexist 99% of anime is? Like, some of the best stories I've ever come across, the most beautiful visuals I've ever seen in storytelling, the most brilliant examples of raw creativity I've ever encountered, have come from anime. There are some anime that will forever be near and dear to my heart, because they are just so well made and impactful as stories and works of art.

But darn near every anime is RIDDLED with a dozen different sexist tropes and constant examples of blatant sexism. The women are generally significantly less competent and significantly more annoying than the men. Every female character who isn't an old woman is sexualized, even minors are sexualized, just in a "cutesy" way. You got 14yo girls with tits large enough to cause serious medical problems. There's regular fanservice (which unsurprisingly rarely services hetero women), panty shots, butt shots, girls practically thrusting their boobs into people's face. Sexual assault is regularly played for laughs and treated as perfectly acceptable behavior as long as the victim gets to smack her assailant and look annoyed afterwards, which has the added bonus of diminishing the impact of sexual violence by equating its severity with that of physical violence. Access to women's bodies is used to motivate male characters, and it's treated as though it is perfectly healthy for a man to pursue such access in the absence of genuine interest on the woman's part, or for a woman to be comfortable objectifying herself and using access to her body as currency. Sometimes women are portrayed as using access to their bodies to "coerce" men, as though women's bodies are something that men need, and women wanting something from men first in order to access them is a form of bullying or humiliation akin to making a starving person dance for their supper. I could go on. There are probably a lot of other things I missed because this is just an off the cuff rant and not meant to be comprehensive.

Point is, I hate this shit. I hate how just being aware of and caring about the issue of misogyny renders it damn near impossible to enjoy otherwise enjoyable things, and I hate that otherwise enjoyable things are sexist in the first place. And you never hear anybody talk about this, either, which is just the rage-cherry on top. Whenever an anime is being critiqued or reviewed or just generally discussed, all but the most egregiously sexist series being talked about by the most militantly liberal people will be spared even a passing, casual mention of how sexist they are. A character who seems vaguely racist or homophobic? Of course people will mention that (as they should). But constant sexism baked into the very bones of the series? Not worth bringing up, apparently.

#rant #venting #anime #feminism #radical feminism #radblr #luna's

[liveyun]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑 ; TEASER

pairing. kim taehyung x female oc/reader

genre. fantasy carnival AU, smut in the full fic

rating. 18+

warnings for the teaser. NSFW , ‘ tarot card readings which are totally made up by me, and the possibilities are probably inaccurate , tae gets an er3ction (1) , he's confused

word count. 727 (12-13k for the full fic)

est. release date : mid-february(?)

main masterlist

The shadows surrender to reveal the deck of cards beneath the flickering glow of a dying candle.

A soft sigh escapes his lips.

It wasn't uncommon for Taehyung to feel an initiative connection towards the deck he handles, or organizes, but what makes him intensely inquisitive is that once again, he feels the meticulous change about his surroundings. The sudden rise in temperature causes perspiration to gather around his temple, his throat cracking up with thirst, brain clogging up with an exhilarating energy which renders his mind empty.

The deck of cards resonate around his nimble fingers, and the glow of his jacquard fabric on his shawl glimmering a brilliant shine in his dim chamber. Taehyung’s hazel eyes concentrate on the message which they are trying to communicate; but something tells him that they're not messages, but rather, a signal. For him, to him.

Initially confused, he's not unfamiliar to any of the emotions he's going through, though. If anything, his heart palpitations grow as each whisper grows deeper in the depths of the night, and the stirring of his cock within his robes tells him that the message is solely for him; something which is a cue to be the querent.

With an anxious heart and an innate desire to understand what's the interpretation, he's quite relieved that the Arcana still resonates through their apprentices.

Lust.

His usually cold and eerily quiet chamber now tingles with the melody of the herb bottles crinkling against each other, notifying him of a possible augury. Whether it was a good one, or a bad one, was totally now upto what his fate had in for him.

His mind drifts over to the time when he used to work for his Master, and how his master especially warned him of the introspection sometimes the existential wisdom can lead him through the magical realm. A longing press vibrates against his chest at the remainder, something he admittedly made himself forget. A deep yearn for something, something.

Melancholy.

Shifting uncomfortably in his mat, Taehyung spreads out the deck of cards grasped within his hands on the table, each one carrying the weight of a story yet to unfold. His pupils dilate, threatening to shallow the thin, tawny ring surrounding them as his own energy intertwined with the symbolism of the cards, something Taehyung knew was necessary for proper response.

His hands, shuffling down the two decks to feel which card, frenzied their energies to reach out to him; his calculating gaze locked with the cards spread out and the energy between them pulsed with intensity. It was a representation of the unseen forces at play—a dance of hearts, an exploration of desire, suppression of feelings and congested desires.

His eyes widen when his brain tries to examine the possibility of two voices together in the realm; and when his hands sort out the two cards together to place them on the velvety rug, his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, hiding underneath the black shawl he draped himself in.

The bubbling confusion dies in this throat. Impossible.

The Lovers card, now revealed, depicted two figures entwined in a dance; and right beside it stays the Five of Cups, unveiled in its melancholic vicinity, portrayed a solitary figure standing amidst spilled cups.

His palms feel sweaty by the time his lips part to withdraw an exasperated sigh, equally puzzled and frustrated about the peculiar and out of the box combination; but his heart throbbed at the confirmation of what he had surmised already.

So did his cock.

Even in the realms of clandestine destiny, there was no answer to which face of the conjuncture was for him— he wasn't bothered about any, but he was for the fact that the realm chose him. Arcana chose this odd combination for him. Ever since he's been told to never ever doubt Arcana and Their choices, Taehyung couldn't help but feel uncanny when he felt the tapestry of emotions inside him swirl like crazy— melancholy poking his heart with a potential to Destroy—and his body burning with the ache to touch himself, to please himself.

Yet none exceeded the excitement he felt at that moment, the dim illumination of the chamber making the glimmer of his eyes stand out with a grin stretched on his ridiculously pretty face.

Afterall, he was chosen for the fortune hour.

a/n : this idea of fortune reader!tae has been on my mind rent free ever since the season greetings 2022 has been out 😫 though this genre is totally new and difficult for me to write, i’ve had fun writing it so far! i’m currently at 7k words and wanted to share it with readers to know your opinion.

hence, feedbacks are very much appreciated !

i’ve made an anonymous feedback box for all those readers who don't want to interact openly. it's just a feedback box, not even e-mail is collected, so please go ahead and consider dropping in a feedback if possible :-) i’ve been feeling burnt out since a long time and your feedback would mean a lot to me.

are you intrested to read the full fic/to be included in the taglist ? fill out this form ! thank you 💜🎀

→ taglist form (for this fic)

→ anonymous feedback box

#illuminated ocean.net #bts smut #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fics #bts au #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #bts fanfic #bts x female reader #taehyung x female reader #bts fantasy au #taehyung fantasy au #taehyung imagines #kim taehyung smut #sdq : somebody does queue

[ravenstargames]

✦ Lost in Limbo Devlog #9 | 02.29.24

What is this?! Two devlogs in one month?! More likely than you think! This February has been very productive for me and the team, so let's dive right into it!

Ooooh boy, Raquel keeps knocking it out of the park! She managed to get done every expression for every LI, and I coded them all! Now we have our wonderful characters ready for their debut. We have been using the wonderful Image Tools for Ren'py made by the talented and hard-working Feniks, whose tutorials and resources save a lot of dev's lives every day! This tool has made everything a bit easier for newbies like me, hehe.

Here's a taste of our edgelord's expressions! 💜 They're kind of a cutie when they put some effort into it!

We also had our second valentine's day celebration art piece thanks to Kayden! Sadly with the reworked version of the demo, you won't meet Vycar yet, so we thought we could ask for his forgiveness by giving him a beautiful bouquet and reminding him how much of a sweetheart he is! 💜

Also, Raeya got a hair update!

So, we weren't completely satisfied with the way we portrayed Raeya's hair, so this has been a rework we were sure we wanted to make. At first we were just going to render it again, but we ended up working on it from scratch to better represent what we envisioned for her. We hope you like it as much as we do! ; v ;💜

As always, we are open to any critique or advice; we are white people who have the luck to be able to ask POC friends for their advice as we work, but the more the merrier! Don't hesitate to send us your opinion to our ask box or even our email, [email protected]!

When it comes to the background department, we have been making great progress thanks to Airyn, who is honestly leaving us with our mouths hanging open every time! Thanks to her, another background has been finished and another one is in the making, leaving only two backgrounds to be revised and approved!

I personally can't stop looking at this WIP! She understood perfectly what we wanted to portray just by looking at an old WIP we had, and this is what we have so far—and it's already amazing!

Allie has been OBLITERATING the script. As of today, I think we have almost gone through everything that needed to be corrected and discussing, and lord if the script doesn't look a 100% better after we put it in Allie's hands. The way she writes, the way she understands everything I want to say even when sometimes I don't even know myself—what a talented, inspiring and amazing writer they are. I know I may sound annoying at this point singing her praises endlessly, but if the script is in the state where it is now, it's thanks to her!

My programming adventure of the month has been a success, if I say so myself! I've coded the characters with aaaaall their layers, their expressions, the blinking animations, made some videos, and started coding the script. Step by step as they say; I've coded 18 pages, and there's, uh...142 more to go. Haha! *sobs*

BUT WE ARE GETTING THERE! We can see the light at the end of the tunnel! I can finally click 'new game' and read the script and see the stuff going on! YAY!

Some extras of the month—we are preparing a Casting Call to choose the voice acting talent that will hopefully give voice to our characters. The demo won't be fully voiced (it's impossible with the funds we have, which are...zero), but if we are lucky we'll use some of our personal savings to pay for at least a few lines for each character so you can get an idea of how they'll sound if we get funded! Raquel is preparing an art piece for the announcement, and I'm getting the document ready and asking fellow VA friends for advice :3.

Also, we have a new member here at Ravenstar Games! Some weeks ago Astro and I formally adopted our first kitty, 8 month old Riki, fulfilling one of our dreams. We got him from a feline association that works with volunteers and fosters cats who have been abandoned, cats they find on the street, and so on. Riki has been living with me since January, and he's a happy, long big boy who loves playing, cuddles, and sitting on my desk while I try to work!

Say hi to the Ravenstar family, Riki! 💜

A productive month full of accomplished milestones, excitement and new challenges! The team has worked so hard, and I've done my part too! We still don't want to get ahead of ourselves, but we have done a lot of stuff we were sure we wouldn't finish yet, and look at that! We are doing so well!

As you can probably tell, my batteries are starting to run low, so I'm going to leave this devlog here. Thank you all like always for cheering us on, for being here in this journey with us, and for all the love you send our way. Let's hope March is as amazing as February has been, for us and for all of you! 💜

#lost in limbo #visual novel #otome #indiedev #devlog

[foli-vora]

Congrats on 3k, lovely!!!!

Can I have “you know where to find me.” with Dave York?

Pls turn my pelvis into dust. Your Dave is AMAZING.

My love. Thank you for your never ending support and love. I am honoured you enjoy my Dave! I apologise for the delay, and I hope you enjoy! ❤️

A sidenote: Yes, I'm slowly making my way through these requests. Yes, they are incredibly late. Yes, we're ignoring the fact I'm well over 3k now LMAO.

your taste i crave

dave york x f!reader

word count: 1.3k warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY. semi public sex/workplace sex, rough unprotected p in v, brief talk of choking, vague descriptions of toy use, use of tie as a gag, creampie, oral sex (f), cum eating, a brief thigh nibble, dave's messy idc

The edge of the copier is harsh where it digs into your stomach, but you can’t find it in you to care—not when he’s moving like this, not when his hands are locked on your hips, keeping you at his complete mercy as he takes what he wants.

He’s so fucking rough, and if you didn’t have the tight pull of his work tie around your mouth and making words practically impossible, you’re absolutely positive you’d be begging him for more.

You don’t think it will ever be enough.

Instead, all that falls from your parted, restrained lips are muffled whines and broken moans when he hits that spot that’s almost too far. It sends a jolt of pain through your system, rocketing up your spine and bringing your body harder against the machine in an effort to escape the intense sensation, but it’s quickly replaced with more heat, more need.

He merely drags you back against him each and every time, his neatly trimmed nails pressing indents into the fleshy skin of your waist as he moves behind you with tightly restrained grunts, the slap of his hips meeting your ass echoing in the small copy room.

Despite the time of day, with most of the office having enough and retreating home, there’s not much time left.

Beyond the dizzying, overwhelming feel of him rutting into you without abandon; cock so fucking solid, so goddamn thick; and bringing a flood of tears to your lash line, you know it can’t last—not like it usually does.

He’d still want to go back to work—most likely for the rest of the evening, the strict borderline obsession with his career rendering him unable to leave the mountains of work flooding his desk.

So there’s no room for build up here. No time for teasing. No long, blissful drawn out torture of him bringing you to the edge only to stop at its peak again and again.

This is about release. This is about working and relieving the tension that had been slowly building across his broad shoulders with every bullshit thing that had happened today and granting him a clearer head for the hours left at the office. This is about him, and you’re only too happy to oblige.

“Might—fuck… might have to–to make this a regular work thing,” he grits out, hand curling around the back of your blouse and tugging roughly at it until your back is pressing against his chest.

The silk collar of it cuts into the soft flesh of your throat, and you want to ask for more.

Maybe his hand? His long thick fingers curling around the width of it and giving it that perfect squeeze that borders on too much but is always just enough.

Maybe his belt? The worn, cared for leather smooth against your skin as it tightens and tightens, slowly pushing your lungs to the max until you’re weeping from the irresistible assault of sensations.

The gag wound tight around your mouth makes it impossible to get the words out, and his mouth latches onto the curve of your shoulder, nipping and biting at the skin until it feels raw. You stretch out for more, his lips soon running hungrily along the expanse of your throat.

Close.

He’s getting close.

You know it, you can feel it.

You can feel it in the way his already bruising grip tightens just that little more. You can feel it in the way his breath starts to catch where it ghosts your skin, sticking in his throat and coming out in shorter pants as he chases the promise of that sweet, sweet high.

You can’t speak, can’t utter a single fucking word to coax him along. You can’t beg for him to keep going, to finish right where he is and fill you to the fucking brim so you can take a part of him home.

He goes wild for your shaky home videos, the smooth finish of your vibrator glistening with the remnants of his cum sliding down the silicon as you fuck yourself with his name on your lips in the cosy comfort of your bedroom.

A mantra of his name fills your mind.

Dave, Dave, Dave.

You want him to hear it, you want him to know that it’s only him that could do this, only him that could use you like this. You love it, crave it.

That familiar tingle runs along your spine in anticipation, your body aching for just that little bit more, your clit throbbing in need of desperate attention to get you just over that line right alongside him—

The groan that falls from his throat is utter filth, hoarse and throaty, and one of your favourite fucking sounds he makes. He slams his hips upwards one more time, forcing the head of his cock right up against your soft cervix as he starts to cum, and you’re left to do nothing but whine into the now damp material of his tie, barely aware of the tear that leaks from the corner of your eye.

He takes a long moment to recover, sweat slicked face hidden in your shoulder as his chest heaves against your back. The tie loosens from around your mouth and falls to rest at the base of your throat, leaving a mess of saliva coating your lips and chin which you try to wipe away as cleanly as possible with the back of your hand.

Too soon, he starts to pull away, guiding his softening cock from your tender, weeping cunt with a low hiss of ‘fuck’ before you hear the rustle of his slacks and the smooth pull of his zipper.

You take that as your silent cue, twisting and bending as well as you could on shaky legs to retrieve the damp panties still tangled around your ankles and attempt to drag them back up into place.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks gruffly, tugging the thin lace out from your fingers and letting them drop to your feet once more. “Who said I was finished with you?”

“But—”

There’s no time to argue.

He works quickly, dropping to his knees and gripping the underside of your ass enough to spread you open before pressing forward eagerly. The thick, firm feel of his tongue swipes through the mess he had made, forcing its way along your wet folds before pushing into your throbbing cunt.

You manage to smother the yelp of surprise with a quick slap of your hand over your mouth, half wishing he had left the gag in place if he wasn’t done with you. Maybe he’s trying to test you, or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit about being quiet anymore.

God, it’s risky.

It’s so fucking risky, it’s so fucking good—

He holds you tightly, winding an arm around the front of you to pull you harder against his face as he practically devours you from behind, eagerly coaxing more of his cum and your arousal into his mouth with feral curls and flicks of his tongue.

Your knees threaten to give out when he finally moves away from your entrance and finds your clit, smoothing over the swollen nerve with alternating quick, light flutters and firm, wide rolls. He falls into his pace easily, rekindling the heat in the pit of your stomach in a way only he knows how and you’re desperate to find something to anchor yourself with.

“Y-yeah,” you breathe brokenly, hands clutching the machine for life and eyes rolling with the fresh waves of pleasure as you can’t help but start to rock back against his face, focusing on the feel of his slick tongue sliding back and forward over your previously neglected clit, “maybe we could make this a… a r-regular work thing.”

He hums into you, breaking away with an obscene wet smack of his lips before nipping at the inside of your thigh playfully.

“You know where to find me, pretty girl. Bend over, give it to me.”

-

tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

#foli's 3k #dave york x reader #dave york x f!reader #dave york x you #dave york #pedro pascal x reader

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 4.2

Part 4 - Setback 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 12600

Chapter summary:  In which you're hurt - but at least you're not alone.

Series masterlist

Warnings: pain and descriptions of pain, blood, gunshot wounds, canon-typical violence, mentions of death and dying (Steve and 'reader'), very questionable medical treatment, comic book science, unholy amount of swearing, brief raised voice by a man, selfworth issues, crying, and believe it or not, fluff

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: As you might have noticed, this is… another long chapter. I could split it, but I like how it works now. If you do wish to split it, I suppose I can recommend do to so at the divider (about one third of the chapter).

Breaking through the darkness usually felt like swimming in molasses, thick and sticky substance surrounding you, heavy limps slowly forcing their way through; the progress was achingly slow despite your muscles burning with effort, dampened senses gradually clearing up as the layers of thickness grew thinner and thinner.

Pushing through this white darkness felt strikingly different. It was but a split second, the moment of breaking through the water surface; all your senses were assaulted at once, lips hungrily drinking every molecule of air after seemingly endless hours under water. Except it wasn’t your lungs that burned; it was everything. Cacophony of images, sensations, sounds and pain consuming your very being.

As you tasted and smelled nothing but blood, both of which you knew too well, as your vision drowned in tears, the one other familiar sensation became prominent: the burning in your legs. That and the sound of Steve’s shouts and rattles of chains, the violent noise swallowing the barely-there sneer of the man who had shot you.

“Stay down,” the fuzzy figure dressed in all black ordered, as if you weren’t curled on your side, clutching at your wounds and rendered motionless bar the rapid rises and falls of your chest.

Steve’s voice, distant and yet so close, was growing clearer by the minute despite the ringing in your ears.

“Leave her alone! Don’t hurt her! Spectre?!” he shouted, insistently tugging at his bounds if the brutal cry of metal was anything to go by, followed by a heavy thud and a clank. The last sound was followed lovechild of a groan and a gasp; then, a somewhat frustrated growl.

“It’s not your time yet,” the man uttered, almost floating out of the room in your hazy vision.

You squeezed your eyes closed as the door clicked shut, feeling your face damp with both the sweat gathering in your hairline and the tears staining your cheeks. It was nearly impossible to swallow your sobs with every gasp for air, but god were you determined not to give them the satisfaction of letting them hear. Because they could hear, there was no doubt now.

Fuck Hydra.

The sound of your name, your actual name, spoken softly at first, with an edge of what could only read as desperation, had you blink your eyes open; then, twice more, called out in almost a plea to be answered.

You licked your lips before biting your tongue, recognizing that whatever would leave out now would be a deafening scream. Steve didn’t need to hear that; you didn’t need your direct superior to hear that.

There were other, much more pressing things at hand, in your hands. In your hands, shaking violently as your gaze fell on the awfully real red blood staining them with no chance to escape it. You were no stranger to injuries, not at all, but in the past months, you had gone soft. You got used to knowing that while your spectre’s injuries hurt like son of a bitch, while you bled from them, while the pain of them lingered, you couldn’t bleed out from them; you’d snap back, unconscious due to the contradiction in your mind and the shock to your body.

But there was no coming back from this and the pain was no lesser; the pain was more if possible.

Two fundamental instincts raged in a battle inside you as you tried to will your hands to press against your wounds – the survival instinct and the instinct to not cause yourself more pain. You knew, by logic, that the former should always win; but your muscles didn’t seem to listen, until you gritted your teeth to not release a single whimper and finally applied enough pressure to stop the bleeding effectively. A pitiful sound fought its way out anyway as the pain struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Okay, fuck that hurt.

Over the deafening thump-thump-thump in your temples, you heard your name again, in frantic whisper.

“Say something. Anything,” Steve’s voice demanded, a strange husky quality to it you couldn’t remember hearing before. Any other day, it might pique your curiosity, but you had genuinely no capacity, too focused on keeping silent; besides, you and Steve didn’t talk that much. Not to mention that the loud thud you had heard before could have been him doing something very unwise and reckless, resulting in whatever you were hearing in his voice. “Please, just let me hear that you’re-- just make a sound.”

Well since he said please, you snarked in the back of your mind, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks nevertheless. Ever the gentleman, wasn’t he?

You eased the pressure on your thighs – and wasn’t it funny, you must have looked like some kind of a fucked-up bride of the underworld, with torn gown in the colours of approaching night and crimson pouring down your skin, through your fingers, making the fabric dark as the night itself – and you allowed yourself to utter a single word.

“Captain.”

“Oh thank god,” he responded in kind immediately, his breath of relief so loud it was almost comical. The way his voice seemed to crack a bit less so. He must have hurt himself trying to fight his bounds; you had no doubt he’d tear a muscle trying, hearing the gunshots. Fighting to rush to the rescue, like the proper hero he was. “What-“

“Thighs. Both,” you reported dutifully, hearing his sharp inhale and a curse on his lips – one you echoed with your own, forcing your eyes to stay open as you tried to tell yourself that the pain was fading and it was time to stop being a baby. To act like an agent, to focus on survival, yours and Steve’s, on your Captain’s survival, on the vital member of the Avengers. You just needed to press against the- “Holy fuck that hurts-”

“Spectre. I know it hurts, but put pressure on that. Right now,” Steve barked, and it was like a switch had been flipped. Mission alert, goal-oriented – the Captain indeed. Too bad; maybe you had liked the Steve better. Then again, maybe the Captain was what you needed to get your head straight. The gala, whatever pretence it involved, was long over after all; this was a mission. You were an agent. “That’s an order, you understand?”

“Yeah, I’m trying.”

“Try harder!”

Your head snapped back with a frustrated growl, a flare of anger igniting your body – you really, really wanted to snap at him to try it himself, to fucking try to at least imagine what it was like to be in your skin now; but he actually had been there before. He had probably fought off pain like this more than once, and he had done so as if it was but a minor inconvenience. He knew exactly what it was like. Andhe must have known that you realized that and that you couldn’t throw it back to his face and he was truly getting on your nerves.

“Always so damn--- bossy,” you hissed, but obeyed, dark spots dancing in front of your eyes as you did so.

“Sorry.” What? “Talk to me. Tell me what to do. How can I make it better?”

The switch had flipped again; his tone urgent, but less commanding indeed. And yet, what was more interesting was his words. He was chained – and without his strength which you had stolen, he couldn’t do a single thing. His offer, however sweet, made no damn sense.

Not that all the things he had ever done did make sense; it was often the opposite, but you supposed you were one to talk.

A chuckle escaped you, bitter but no less amused at the situation. After all, what he said might have just been the funniest thing ever. You couldn’t afford to cry anymore and break down – so you fought to take one of the opposite routes. As usual. Grasping at whatever straw you were offered, even if it was a suggestion as tempting as hilarious.

“Me tell you what to do? Well, damn, that’s a first,” you chuckled again, realizing that the pain had changed; the pulsing seemed to slow. Cold sweat of horror covered your back, but you refused. You refused to even consider that it might be a bad thing. It would be with this kind of injury in an ordinary human, but this could have just been some protective reaction of the serum. It had to be. “Is that my Make-A-Wish foundation gift?”

“Shut up. Don’t you dare to even-- don’t.”

The temperature in the room dropped at least twenty degrees with how frost-covered Steve’s words were despite their white-hot edge and even as you scoffed, you felt guilt gnaw at your gut.

He was right; the last thing either of you needed was your attitude. Then again, his own wasn’t exactly stellar, so at least it was fair.

“Talk to me. Shut up. Make up your damn mind, Rogers,” you spitted out, rolling over. Pressing harder to the wounds sent a brutal tug of pain through your whole body, but you bit down on your cheek to stifle the cry; that wouldn’t help anyone.

“Why are you always so-” Steve lamented, but cut himself off, his weary sigh washing over you. For some absurd reason, the sound brought a ghost of a smile on your face for a split second. “Okay. If—if you somehow have my abilities, there’s a big chance you’re going to start healing soon. Not instantly, but soon. Did the bullets go through or stayed lodged in?”

There was something in his voice, something very familiar, something that usually brought comfort along.

A plan was forming in his head, you could almost hear the gears in his brain frantically spinning.

The problem was that you had a slight inkling as to what the plan was and the mere idea had your stomach. But you had no reason to lie – as much as you hated it. As much as you hated even inspecting the signals of your body i you a very clear answer to that question.

“In.”

“Okay. That’s both good and bad. Only one point of entry means less bleeding.”

Really Captain Obvious?

Also, you weren’t quite looking to increase the suffocating feeling squeezing your chest, but there seemed to quite enough of blood, alright. You wished he could see it to reconsider his words, since he sounded like Mr. Expert himself. Maybe he had a medical degree he had forgotten to mention.

“But it also means that with the bullets still in… I know it hurts like a son of bitch, but you need to dig them out.”

The shudder than ran down your back was everything but tender; it seemed to rattle your very spine.

You knew he was right.

Deep down you knew, because it made sense with everything that was happening, but you snapped anyway because there was no chance in hell you’d dig around in your leg for a bullet. Twice. You were in enough agony as it was, thank you very damn much.

“No fucking way. They tell you to never do that because the bullet works as a stopper if it’s lodged.”

Ominous silence.

It felt like Steve counted to three at least before he answered; when he did, his voice was absurdly soft, as if coaxing a baby deer from under his tires and you were having none of it. If you were the deer, you’d rather have him run you over, because there was absolutely no way that what he was suggesting was happening.

Ever.

“Yeah, it does,” he said, the regret lacing his voice only adding to your desperate need to shut him up. “But, well, I’m an exception-”

“I know, aren’t you fucking always-”

“Oh for fuck’s-! Forget about hating me for a second!” he snapped at last, starling you when he actually raised his voice. “Forget that you think I’m--- the arrogant Captain Perfect who doesn’t deserve an ounce of his fame, that I’m just a glorified science experiment or whatever you think and listen to me! I’m—” He took a shaky breath, swallowing heavily and when he spoke again, the urgency remained – but the volume did not. “I’m an exception because the tissue can start healing over the bullet and it might cause it to start moving and do more damage as it does and-“

“I know,Steve!” you cried out.

As you finally pushed to prop up on your hands and sit up, the world swayed with the sudden movement. However, you didn’t pass out, so you’d count your blessings. That was if you could call the opportunity to play doctor without proper tools or medication with your own body a blessing.

“I mean… I know.”

The silence that settled over the room – both his and yours – was only interrupted by your own harsh breaths. Steve’s own must have caught in his throat; but the figurative sound of the neurons in his brain firing had turned high-pitched as he was probably trying to decipher if you were saying what you were saying.

With a sigh and shaky hands, you pushed away the fabric of your dress from your legs, instantly averting your gaze at the sight of the blood still oozing from the gunshot wounds, nausea swinging your stomach.

Against your better judgement – and grateful for any distraction – you went to confirm Steve’s suspicions.

“I’m sure you’re aware that all agents go through first aid courses on the regular. I… asked. If there are any specifics.”

“You… asked about specifics about me?” he asked reluctantly.

He sounded much timider than you had ever imagined he could, let alone when speaking to you. If you had any energy to do so, you’d smile; because the image of his face when he spoke so softly, even as you had never seen him like that so it was only a figment of your imagination, was endearing, sending a flutter through your pounding heart.

Too bad you only found energy to sigh, risking another glance to your injuries. That was not a good idea, but it sure as hell made you press against them to reduce the bleeding further. The flow was weaker now; which was both a good thing and a bad thing, as Steve had pointed out. The healing process was slowly starting. You had no time to waste.

You’d love to have some.

“Yeah, well, as you so aptly pointed out, Captain, you too feel pain and get hurt and get shot sometimes. I know to get the bullets out to kickstart the healing and ensure it heals correctly.”

Doesn’t mean I want to do the same for my body right now.

“…thank you,” he said.

He sounded so stunned you wanted to laugh; so stunned it was almost insulting. Did he really think you were such a monster that you didn’t care how to save his life specifically, when you had learned how to save everyone else’s? Maybe you should take it as flattery – you had kept your distance so well he would have never guessed you cared, or how much. You should consider going undercover.

“Now get the bullets out.”

Your hands automatically covered the wounds as if to protect them from his hands, sending a throbbing pain all the way down your feet. Yeah, that was not happening. You were not about to dig into that. Fuck everything. Let it kill you. At least you’d go out in what used to be a pretty dress with and Steve’s voice in your ear; you imagined there were worse ways to die.

“No way in hell. You weren’t kidding about the pain.”

You could almost hearthe ‘Yeah, no shit’ screaming from his mind despite your own starting to buzz with thousands of whispers, but he clearly swallowed the remark. His voice was like a steel when he spoke up again; strict and uncompromising.

“Spectre. Do it. Now.”

A lump grew in your throat, the instinct to follow his orders – because he really was just trying to save your life for god’s sake, you knew that – forcing you to press your index finger of your dominant hand into the pulsing tender flesh.

The fresh tsunami of white-hot agony slammed into you, goosebumps erupting all over your body as you swiftly retreated your shaking hand; tears sprang from your eyes, rapid breaths giving way to a choked sob. And then another one.

And another one.

“No. Can’t.”

The countless memories of feeling almost as helpless and weak and incapable of standing up after being kicked down flooded your brain, wrapping you in a fog and making it harder to breathe, your own voice a distant pathetic echo. Begging never help, it only brought laughter or profound disappointment, from others, from yourself – but you couldn’t, couldn’t---

“Please, please don’t make me.”

“Hey, hey! Okay, easy,” Steve called out gently, his tone only making you squeeze your eyes shut. How did he not sound condescending, but genuinely compassionate and alarmed at once? You were being a fucking baby, but god, did it hurt- “Easy, doll.”

Another sob fought its way out before you could hope to stifle it, the endearment like a caress you knew you didn’t deserve and never saw coming.

Pathetic.

You were being pathetic and you needed to do better and you could work with pain, you worked through so much pain before, so why was this one instance so damn hard? Why were you scared like never before? Why were you shaking so bad? Why did the red on your hands felt so much more violent than all the time before combined?

“I know it hurts and I know--- I probably can’t imagine how much, but you have to do it so we can get out of here. And I know you can do it too, even if it seems impossible now. You… you’ve done amazing things and barely broke a sweat. You’ve pushed through a lot. You can push through this too.”

How? you wanted to ask, but couldn’t catch your breath.

You could hear his words, you would agree with some of them, hell, you’d revel in him saying that, preening at the praise, especially from the barely human person he was, but you weren’t him. You weren’t perfect. You bled, you hurt, you felt fear, you failed, and you… you felt really cold.

You were, despite Steve’s words, drenched in sweat despite the goosebumps raised all over your skin; and yet, you were shivering, feeling not only your hands having grown cold, but you whole body too. Cold that came from within.

That was not good. That was not good and the brain fog was growing thicker, with no way of fighting it. Your adrenalin must have been wearing off. You licked your lips, a bitter salty taste on your tongue, your eyes fluttering open. Heavy eyelids. You were crashing out; and you wouldn’t bet a single penny on waking up from that.

“I’m… I think I’m cold now,” you admitted shakily, only to be met with a resolute protest, contrasting sharply with Steve’s previous comforting words.

“No. No, you are not.”

“Don’t fucking gaslight me, Rogers,” you hissed in return, feeling a rise of spite in your gut. What the hell did he know? “I know what I feel.”

The frustrated noise from behind the wall might have as well been a wolf’s growl. “Okay. Okay. If you won’t do it, coach me through astral projection and I’ll do it for you.”

That had you sit up straighter, like a lightning bolt striking mere feet from you and raising instant alert.

“…what?”

“Think about it. We still don’t know what exactly happened, but there were two parts of the artifact. We both felt the jolt upon touch. If you feel the effects of the serum, if you became a supersoldier, and at the same time, if you couldn’t project before, maybe I have acquired your abilities.”

You blinked, allowing yourself the luxury of pondering his words.

He thought that you didn’t… steal his powers? You exchanged them? It was almost embarrassing you haven’t thought of that, because as he said it, it made the perfect sense. If you ignored the fact that it sounded completely insane, it was, in fact, an entirely plausible scenario. Yes, your and Steve’s mutations were very different, came from different sources, but it would explain why you couldn’t project and felt so detached from your spectre; you no longer had it. Steve did.

Still. It was completely crazy that the Kree would create an artifact that could cause that. Sure, they had created an Inhuman who could control all of the other Inhumans, but power swap?

The blue idiot alien race had to be joking.

“What, like some kind of a supernatural Freaky Friday?” you breathed out, still doubtful – and feeling like an idiot yourself since you made a reference Steve was very unlikely to understand.

Then again, the man lived not only to irritate you, but to surprise too.

There was a smile in his voice, even if brief. “Yeah, a bit like a supernatural Freaky Friday. Maybe. It would be worth a try.”

Would it really?

“Steve, I-“

“Tell me how to use your powers,” he coaxed, the undertone of urgency still present, causing the lump in your throat grow – and another essential issue arise in our mind as your gaze flickered to the fluorescent lamp and the small device attached to it.

“They’re listening,” you said lowly, hoping he’d hear. “If we-“

“I honestly don’t give a damn at this point,” he said matter-of-factly. “We can deal with that once I know you’re not bleeding out.”

Gulping, you eased the pressure on your wounds, for the first time grateful you had something to focus on besides the conviction in Steve’s voice when he basically said your life took precedence to Hydra finding out Avengers’ secrets and the feeling it stirred in your belly.

“So, would you please let me help? Tell me how it works. Can you do that, doll? Can you describe how big the room is, what’s in it and most importantly, can you tell me what to do to get to you?”

The soft deep commanding timbre felt like a warm hug, the irrational certainty of everything working out just fine in the end because he’d make it so with your help choking you when you tried to resist one more time.

“Steve, even if you’re right about this whole… power switching, it took me months of hard work to perfect it and it’s still not… perfect.”

He sighed.

“I know it did and you did perfect it. But we don’t need perfect now,” he pressed before making a pause and when he spoke up, it was an unyielding power of a gentle command. “The choice is yours. Remove those bullets yourself or tell me what to do.”

You huffed. You had to say, one of those things sounded a lot better. You could just really do without the former following the latter either way.

And maybe you could.

You blinked through the fog as the realization hit you. Gritting your teeth, you sat up straighter and moved your legs to have better access despite the sharp pain it elicited. You could do this. You could do this. You had been through worse. And now you had – at least to some extent – the power of a supersoldier. You had start acting like it.

If Steve damn Rogers could work through pain like this, you could too – even in a much more pathetic tear-stained way. He was here with you. Which meant that not only you weren’t alone in this mess, but you also weren’t alone in this mess. Captain Rogers didn’t have his usual powers, meaning he couldn’t get out on his own and he was left dangerously vulnerable.

You’d be fucking damned if you’d be the reason the world lost its most inspiring hero.

You could do better.

“Spectre? Are you-“

“I can do you one better,” you announced flatly, almost laughing at your stupidity, at not suggesting it before.

“…how?”

You weren’t sure if the bewilderment you could hear in his voice was caused by the sudden clarity of your own or by your words.

There were at least two other options if Steve was right.

God, you really had the blood loss short-circuit your brain, didn’t you?

“If your hands and arms were free, would you be able to break out from the chains?” you demanded, the fog in your mind dispersing as fresh adrenalin, fresh hope flooded your veins.

“I don’t think so. Not without… my usual strength?”

You hummed. That was the worse option; then again, if had he been able to project himself just outside of his bounds and attempted to free himself, he might accidentally touch himself and, much like you had done the first time it happened, proceed to pass out at the contradiction of simultaneously initiating and receiving the same touch.

The other option it was then. Still far from useless.

“Alright then…”

“What are you thinking?” he asked cautiously and the wary tone almost made you smile. Almost. If it only wasn’t for what you had to do while his spectre could explore wherever you were being held, hopefully able to send some kind of signal to the team.

You had no doubt he would find a way; he was crafty like that when he wanted to be.

In fact, projecting to the hallway might be the better option of the two after all; if it was only his projection sneaking around, his physical form would remain mostly unharmed if he ran into trouble.

“I’m thinking that… I’ll try to the extremely insane thing you suggested I do, that being digging into my own quadriceps, Jesus Christ--- and to distract myself form it, I’ll tell you how to appear outside of my cell. And yours too. I got a good glimpse when-” they shot me, Hail fucking Hydra, “the door opened.” 

Two beats of silence; two beats of silence in which Steve Rogers probably wondered if you had finally lost your mind completely and frankly, you were doing the same as you hiked up your skirt properly, taking a deep breath though the fresh wave of nausea rising up your throat.

You could still back out. You could still tell Steve to project to you, to do this instead, and then you’d have a perfectly good excuse to have complicated feelings about him. Hell, maybe you’d convince him to knock you out, provide you with the oldest form of anaesthesia.

Maybe-

“…okay,” he said at last, halting your absurd thoughts and maybe, just maybe you tried to steal some of the determination in his voice for yourself. “Okay. Tell me.”

Breathe.

In. And out. You bit your cheek hard enough to draw blood as you forced two of your fingers slide into the wound on your left thigh, the wrench of pain strong enough to blind you for a moment; but the pain was soon but a dull echo of the sharpness that had come with the hit. That or you were already too close to death to actually feel anything.

In and out. Breathe.

Nice and slow.

“Okay. Okay, Steve. Have you ever tried meditation?”

Of course he had managed to project.

You should have known.

Within minutes, he figured out what had taken you days to achieve. Sure, that was the goal – to have him create his spectre so he could inspect the hallway for any possible escape routes or anything else remotely helpful – but that didn’t make it any less irritating that while you struggled with his powers, he took yours as his own as if they had always been exactly that.

Steven damn Rogers projected into another room like it was the easiest thing in the world, while you had to will yourself to do every minuscule movement, near hyperventilating by the time he had tried to open the door to your cell – to no avail, of course.

In fact, the whole projection turned out to be a dead end. The hallway was as plain as your cells, bare walls bar the lights and cameras and three doors lining one of them – one door to his cell, one to yours, one to what you assumed was another cell, all locked without a key in sight. And at the end of the corridor, one large heavy door opening in Steve’s direction, locked as well, and so completely unyielding that neither you nor Steve thought it would be a good idea to try the same stunt you had attempted to pull with yours.

But there was one positive outcome, you supposed – or two, if worked really hard to look at the bright side.

One of them was that your theory was confirmed now – you had clearly exchanged your abilities when you had touched the artifact, as improbable as it sounded even to you, a person who received her original powers though a transition initiated by an ancient alien artifact.

The other was that next to your shaking thighs now lied two blood-stained pieces of what you assumed was lead-aluminium alloy; two bullets dripping blood. Your vision zeroed on them with sick awe as you couldn’t quite believe you had pulled that out of your body with your bare hands, the fact giving the ordinary pieces of metal almost a supernatural glow. The rest of world was a blur, shaking due to your own exertion; you had returned to lying on the floor a long time ago, your muscles having given out as your body tried to save the last remnants of energy to actually stay awake. 

You knew that in theory, removing the bullets should have helped. But having trouble keeping your eyes open, with your head spinning at the mere idea of as much as propping up on your elbows, you weren’t so sure it worked the same way for you as it usually had for Steve.

Steve. That gorgeous talented bastard. He could probably project and bring something back with him when he snapped back, so fast to learn that he could probably break the limits of your powers with his left pinky alone, and achieve the one thing you had never achieved yourself.

He was simply perfect at everything.

You wished you had enough strength to despise him for it.

“Okay, so… I’ve never made it work so far, but… try the Tower. You’re clearly a natural,” you drawled, not sure if he could actually hear you, let alone understand you.

Were you talking quietly or screaming? Were you genuinely suggesting he did that or just talking, having gathered a little bit of spite to sass him? It was getting harder and harder to tell.

Scoff came from the other cell; Steve apparently had not only heard you, but disagreed.

“Don’t oversell it. I had you to coach me through it, knowing exactly how it works, getting step by step instructions. And still, I barely made it a few metres. I don’t have a tenth the level of your skill,” he said, frustration bleeding into his voice.

You supposed you couldn’t blame him – despite the fact he had outdone himself, again, it was no use in the end and here you were, still asking more of him.

It didn’t help that some of the dread that had gathered in your stomach resided in him too; you were getting out of options and the clock was ticking, for you more than him.  He might not care that much for you personally, but you weren’t that much of an idiot to think he didn’t care if someone, let alone someone on his team, bled out on his watch; or in this case, in his earshot. You tried to ignore the ice-cold feeling creeping up your spine as it became clear that it was likely with every passing moment.

Physically, you were beyond drained. But mentally, you were growing tired too; of helplessness, of waiting for a miracle. You didn’t see anything you could do to make for a miracle of your own.

Maybe Steve could. He could do fucking everything, even if he might be grumbling as he did so.

“Even if I was half as good, even if I could reach the Tower, I’m not leaving you here. Not without any chance of knowing what’s happening while I’m out, I’m not leaving you here just hoping for the best,” he said, growing more agitated by the minute. “There’s no place I could lead the team, since we still don’t know where we are and I wouldn’t be able to bring anything back, nothing that would track or location, so how on Earth would projecting to the Tower even help?”

One, two, three… four frantic beats of your heart, spent in stunned silence.

Then, a sudden roar of rage growling inside that you took you by surprise – and so did its potency.

Your fist hit the floor hard, sending dust and smashed concrete flying before you even knew you had raised a hand. You sure felt the bite of pain as the impact broke your skin though – but you didn’t care.

Because seriously?

Seriously?!  

“I don’t know, Steve, okay?!! Just because I have your abilities it doesn’t mean I have all the answers like you always do!” you exploded.

Your own voice came back to you in a dull echo, blood buzzing in your ears. The sudden movement of your upper body had your head spin violently, nausea pulling at your insides and causing you to heave; it only fed the vertigo as one of the statements repeated in the biannual first aid courses filled your head with panic and stuffed your ears with cotton.

In case of approaching critical blood loss, the bloodstream redistributes blood from non-essential organs such as extremities and digestive system to support the vital organs, which might cause intense nausea and vomiting.

A whimper fought its way through your lips even before you even allowed the thought to take root.

“Spectre?! What’s happening?”

Nothing, you wanted to snap back, realizing you didn’t seem able to form a single word.

When had your tongue started to feel so heavy?

When had your lips turned so numb?

When had the pain became but a slight nudge in the back of your mind? Even as that was something you had trained for, to get the pain you often felt to exactly the stage where it moved to the background so you could function and just keep going, you didn’t think it was a good thing now.

This wasn’t your will. This was your body shutting down.

“I… I think I’m going to pass-“

“No! No, you aren’t! That’s an order!” Steve spat like a child demanding his toy back with a stubbornness that would make a mule seem like a pleasant opponent in discussion. “You stay awake, goddammit!”

Perhaps your brain wasn’t a vital organ either, because it illogically supplied you with an image of Captain Rogers closer to throwing a tantrum that you had ever seen. An image of Steve long before he became the hero the whole world knew; a hundred-pound short man, a ball of righteous rage, swinging around his bony fists to protect those who didn’t have the strength to do so themselves and spewing countless colourful curses around in the process. You heard he had been like that; the image was almost endearing.

And it wasn’t that you never heard Steve Rogers curse at things these days; you had just never heard him swear as much as today.   

“Wow… another swearword… how many is that… in the past hour?”

“Oh for god’s--- Spectre. Do not close your eyes,” he ordered again, a funny edge to his voice you couldn’t be bothered to decipher.

Instead, you closed your eyes despite his command, eyelids as if made of lead.

What was the point? It wasn’t like you could see anything nice in the empty room, not like you needed to have a visual. You could stare into the void with your eyes closed just the same.

And yet. The faintest ghost of a smile tugged at your lips as Steve’s words didn’t make any sense.

“It’s a myth, you know,” you muttered, words getting harder to form with every shallow breath. “If your body… decides to crash, you--- no amount of yelling… helps… to stay conscious.”

The sigh that reached your ears carried exhaustion of a hundred-year-old man who actually looked and felt his biological age; one who was worn to a bone and sure as hell did not look as good in a suit as the Steve you knew did.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve replied, voice having turned much softer; but still with the undertone of that something you were too tired to investigate. “I know first aid too.”

Who would have thought Steve Rogers could sass you back in a situation like this? Who would have thought he would agree with you as he did so?

You might feel cold still, but the insistent tug on the corner of your lips felt warm. Like reconciliation and absolution at once.

“So why bark orders?” you asked half-heartedly.

“I don’t know. I… I need you to talk back, okay?” he whispered sincerely, and this time it was not your lips that felt warm; it was your very being. Warmth you’d normally shield yourself against, no matter whom it came from, because it was not safe to let it in. But you were tired of fighting; and it felt so good to let it wash over you, felt so good to let the illusion pull you in. To allow yourself to think, for a moment, that he genuinely cared for you. “Need you awake and snarky. I’d miss that.”

“Hm… such flattery.”

And it was.

I’d miss that that didn’t sound like I’d miss your abilities on the team.

I’d miss that that sounded like I’d miss you.

And the forbidden fruit tasted damn sweet against the bitter tang of long-lost adrenalin on your tongue. Maybe, just maybe, you’d allow yourself to believe that that was what he was saying: I’d miss you.

That was a sweet thought, wasn’t it? That anyone would miss you for you in the first place.

“Just… keep talking to me, alright? Tell me… everything about the room you’re in.”

Your felt your features twist a bit at his request, the faintest confusion. “It’s plain… told ya’.”

“I don’t care. Tell me again. Everything,” he demanded with sudden urgency and you huffed, opening your eyes with effort, squinting against the ever-present annoying fluorescent light.

The illusion could have lasted longer, you thought bitterly; you could have rested while willingly in its clutches. Apparently, there was no rest for the wicked anymore.

“Bossy…”

Despite the single uttered word, the instinct to obey was stronger; and your heart did flutter a bit as you realized why Steve had asked you to do that. Why he pressed you for every detail, the dimensions of the room, the colour of the walls, where in the room you were lying curled up.

You knew it was a trick to keep your eyes open despite the fact you had both stated that it wouldn’t have helped you to fight off unconsciousness, but you accepted the game anyway. If you kept your mind focused, if you talked, Steve knew in every moment that you were still conscious.

You could grant him that much of a professional courtesy.

It really was nice, you thought distantly, to see he truly cared about the well-being of his team, about bringing everyone home, no matter how he felt about them. It was nice to feel it too, even as it was barely any news; it had always been in his every gesture, in his careful planning of missions, in his observant gaze in training, in everyday life, especially in his care for his friends – always watching, always seeing, always doing his best to fix the situation, to fight demons that weren’t his to fight, but he felt like they were, because they bothered someone he cared for, someone he felt responsible for.

He always stood in the light; and where there was no light, he fought to bring it himself. Despite your differences, there was no denying that even merely basking in that light felt like a privilege; that despite feeling the pressure, the unshakable drive to be at least half as good, to measure up, to be better than you thought you could ever be, the light his presence emitted was a pleasant one. Obtrusive at times, but kind and warm.

Not like the lamp.

The lamp, dammit. You didn’t realize your eyes had slid shut again until you heard a whisper of your name, horrified almost as if he could see you cheating.

It was funny, truly; because when you opened your eyes again, there he was, in all his glory as your mind had conjured him, kneeling by your huddled form, his perfectly fitting three-piece still on even if dusty, scruffy and torn, the annoying light shining from behind him making him look like every bit of an angel who was sheepishly hiding his wings to blend and yet standing out among the crowds anyway; large, magnificent and ready to protect.

It was no wonder you would have hallucinated him like this, down to the suit. He had looked so damn handsome the night of the auction – it felt like forever had passed since then – although you had been reluctant to say it even under the veil of a common courtesy. He had smiled when you had done so, a little crinkle in the corner of his eye, adding to his glow.

Now, his handsome features were twisted into the mask of concern and damn near horror. He spoke your name again, gently touching your ankle.

And you felt the touch.

A very, very realtouch that made you jump and scramble away even as you elbows gave out and you nearly cracked your head open as you fell back down; except the back of your head never hit the ground, Steve’s hands quick to catch you, brows furrowing further at your breathless cry of pain.

“Careful-“

In an instant, you felt like you had never been more alert in your whole damn life, eyes wide open, vision clearing – and mind as well.

Your body had really had to decide brain wasn’t important if you hadn’t used it to figure out why Steve had wanted to know about the room. You should have known it had had nothing to do with you staying awake; it was about projecting to you. A feat which he, naturally, managed without a single issue, this time without any further instruction on how to do it.

God, that crazy, infuriating bastard, with his firm grip on your shoulders and entirely believable concern. You couldn’t believe him.

What the hell did he think he was doing? And why were you so happy to see him anyw- no.

This was a cardinally idiotic idea.

“Steve… get the hell out. This isn’t helping us get out and you’re left unprotected-“

“I’m chained in there, there’s literally no difference,” he hushed you, eyes roaming your body, his Adam’s apple bobbing, face gaining an ashen undertone at the sight you made. “I can take care of you at least. Come on.”

You really wanted to be pissed – you wanted to scream because this was exactly the kind of thing you knew Steven damn Rogers would do. He’d get the perfect handle on your damn superpowers mere minutes after gaining them, because of course he would, he was perfect at everything, ready to walk en pointe with few grands jetés en tournant thrown in when in your shoes; and he’d be a hypocrite again, leaving himself even more vulnerable than before.

But it was so so hard to be truly mad at him when he did all that to treat your wounds, to make sure you were as alright as the situation allowed.

When he touched you so damn carefully, gingerly sliding one arm under your knees, the other under your arms.

When he gritted his teeth to lift you, but made no comment, no sound, not besides a breathy apology for causing you more pain as he did so.

When you hummed it was alright, more of an instinct than anything else, and it occurred to you through the fresh wave of pulsing pain that he was used to putting in much less effort, now missing his strength – but he didn’t complain.

You could tell due to the slight tremble to his muscles that it was a strain for him; you could tell because he had carried you countless times before, even if you had been barely conscious and thus barely aware of it. But this you remembered. You remembered because it haunted some of your dreams; much like the combination of his cologne, musk and something distinctly him.

The loss of the warm solid muscle as he manoeuvred you to rest your back against the wall almost hurt more than the process of putting you down; but if you’d ever get a chance to dream again, you were certain your subconscious would recall it with startling clarity. 

You still winced unwittingly at the pull at your thighs as he stretched your legs with utmost care, staying on his knees by your side.

“There we go,” he hummed soothingly, meeting your gaze, eyes serious and sincere with a promise. “I’m going to take a look at the wounds, alright? I promise to be as quick and as careful as possible.”

A barely-there nod was the only confirmation he needed if he had been looking for one in the first place.

He dropped his gaze and moved his hands to your skirts, hiking it up again as it had slid back, tearing your already destroyed thigh-highs for better access.

The pulse of heat in your abdomen as his fingers slipped under the thin fabric and ripped was all kinds of inappropriate and indecent; but despite the scolding in your mind, you had to regretfully admit you were only human and the memory of another dream, where he had done this in completely different circumstances, with his lips at the shell of your ear whispering filthy praise and with his deft fingers teasingly sliding considerably higher than they were now, snuck up on you before you could fight it off.

You distracted yourself by watching his face instead, the wrinkle between his brows as he frowned, lips in this line with their corners turned slightly down. A bruise was forming on his cheek under his right eye, a small cut above his brow – small injuries that would have normally been long healed had he still had his powers.

Your hazy mind still had trouble processing this was real, the scene so absurd and surreal that it was hard to believe this wasn’t just another figment of your imagination; on the other hand, this was the kind of shit Steve would pull.

And the pain shooting up all the way up your spine as he tugged at something that reached deep into your flesh felt terribly real and had you release a pitiful whine you had no chance stifle since you hadn’t seen it coming – because you were too busy staring at Steve Rogers’ goddamn pretty face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I have to do this,” he whispered frantically, a true apology in his tense voice.

You couldn’t see his expression now, eyes squeezed shut as whatever he had done happened again, causing you to recoil and try to push his hands away as you bit down the hiss this time. His hand, sticky with blood, caught yours instead, pressing something very thin and relatively small – a piece of thread? – into your palm.

You blinked your eyes open, morbid curiosity getting the best of you; it was indeed a blood-soaked thread, probably from your dress, that must have caught in the wound. One that had probably begun to grow into the tissue as the healing had started.

You stared at it mutely, the throbbing pain in your left leg pulsing in sync with your heartbeat, dark spots in your peripheral vision. In your head, you admitted you understood why would that have to be done; but you truly didn’t want to say thank you for that even as you felt you should have.

You winced when Steve’s fingers moved to your right leg, as gentle as his touch to the flesh was, your eyes snapping shut again, lips pressed into a thin line.

For a brief second, you wondered if in some twisted sense Steve took sadistic pleasure in digging into your wounds with the excuse of treating you, but you dismissed the thought as soon as it nudged your mind.   

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, it’s all done now,” he whispered, the regret lacing his voice only confirming the absurdity of your fleeting thought, offering you a whole new surreal thing to ponder.

Did he just-

“The other shot seems clean,” he added, as if he hadn’t just confused the hell out of you.

You should have probably focused on the good news of him not planning to poke in your flesh anymore, but your brain zeroed on a completely different word he had said before that.

For all the swearwords he had graced you with today, this was the second term of endearment, even sweeter than the last one.

You had heard Barnes call women dolls before, a slip of a tongue in most instances, a glimpse of the flirt he had used to be in his time if the stories you had heard were at least half truthful; nothing but a dated word they had used daily back in the late thirties and forties.

But never Steve.

And definitely not like this.

“Sweetheart?” you questioned lowly as his touch disappeared at last, his gaze snapping to yours half-lidded.

Unless your eyes were deceiving you, there seemed to be a tinge on pink in his cheek; a hazy memory of the same image flashed through your mind, a memory of him complimenting the dress you had chosen.

Except this time, something mildly teasing twinkled in his eye even as his small smile appeared sad.

“Would you prefer sourheart?”

Your own huff of laughter took you by surprise, but it was certainly worth it since the corners of Steve’s lips rose slightly higher.

“Feels more accurate,” you hummed, your heart skipping a beat as he began to shrug off his suit jacket, revealing the white shirt and vest underneath.

If you weren’t mistaken, his shirts normally barely stretched over his wide shoulders and large biceps; the muscles now seemed less defined, the little trick the artifact had done having actually taken a toll. Not that you had spent a lot of time observing Steve Rogers’ arms. It was simply… a vague observation made in order to further analyse the artifact.

But you were probably focusing on the wrong details; you had no idea why Steve was taking off his clothes.

“Maybe it would have, if you hadn’t told me you didn’t mean at least half of the things you said,” he said, lips curling up in a brief smirk as he shook the jacket before dropping it next to him. “No takebacks.”

Your eyebrows jumped, another chuckle – mildly insulted – bubbling in your chest.

Anyone ever told you you’re a little shit? you almost asked, biting your tongue last second.

He was being friendly, joking even, to distract you from the pain; the same way you had thought he had wanted to keep you talking before. He was being his perfect self again – but for once, you could forgive him for that. You were grateful. Because god knew you needed that, even as you shouldn’t have, even as you should have handled this just fine on your own and shouldn’t have needed a knight in a three-piece suit to come to your rescue.

You nearly sprang forward to stop him as the reached for the fabric of his left sleeve covering his bicep and tugged roughly, an irrational don’t ruin the expensive shirt scolding on your tongue; but you bit down again, settling for frowning. It was a real shame to tear such fine piece of clothing, almost as much as ruining your dress; the shirt, even with the stains of the blood and ash, still looked superb on him.

He managed to tear off the sleeve at last, ripping it further at the seams to create a long strip – an improvised bandage, you finally realized. He repeated the action with his other sleeve, revealing a few cuts on his arm.

He had shielded you when you had hit the glass display; and he paid for it dearly, his cuts never getting a chance to heal. Regret coiled in your gut along with anger; he had told you he wasn’t hurt. Of course he fucking had. As long as he wasn’t bleeding out from at least three separate gunshot wounds, he was all breezy, wasn’t he? That stubborn piece of-

Damn him. Damn him and how handsome he was despite all that, even with cuts and bruises and torn off sleeves, once again seeking your gaze to tell you what he was about to do.

“I don’t exactly have a tourniquet on me to stop the bleeding but it would probably be counterproductive at this point anyway. This will keep the tissue edges near each other to mend easier,” he informed you, adding a half-hearted smile.

Not knowing what to say, you made a non-committal sound and braced yourself for more pain, even as it was evident that he was doing everything he could to minimize your suffering. As he began to wrap the fabric around your thigh, he was so careful about moving you as little as possible it was almost laughable given your situation.

Except you weren’t laughing; tears gathered in your eyes as you watched his face instead, your gut clenching, a suffocating weight settling on your chest. Now that he wasn’t talking to you, the traces of worry were clear in his features again; he seemed laser-focused on his task, only taking a glance on your face every now and then to check you weren’t giving into the exhaustion you had felt earlier.

You weren’t. You tried to keep as awake as possible even as the sleepiness slowly returned with your nerves calming and firing at once.

Worn to a bone and probably looking like hell, you still felt alert, even as you had leaned back to the wall, your head lulling a bit, eternally grateful Steve had propped you so you could relax without lying on the floor. Your gaze remained sharp despite the tears – and full of him.

He was painstakingly beautiful from such proximity when he wasn’t yelling; and if it were possible, kindness shone from his eyes more than ever.

You knew he was good – irritatingly, untouchably so – just like you knew he wouldn’t do what he could have. Yet, it still stunned you.

He could have taken sick pleasure in your agony indeed, because you weren’t friends; if anything, you resembled frenemies, reluctant colleagues at best, ones who had clashed more than once.

He could have got quite a few kicks out of seeing you like this, could have punished you for your incompetence, displays of weakness or insubordination – could have easily made you hurt.

But he didn’t.

Like the angel he had appeared when you first saw him materialize in your cell, he would never.

He did the exact opposite; his large hands, bar the moments he had tugged at his shirt sleeves until they tore, were almost delicate in his touch. A touch of an artist.

A ghost of a smile settled your lips, two tears running down your cheeks as you recalled the times you had caught a glimpse of him with a sketchbook. Those moments made you smile too; it was the most gorgeous way of passing his downtime. You wished you could see his sketches, even if you might find out he was only drawing people as stick figures, which you knew he didn’t – he was no doubt talented.

He was gifted in everything; it truly was annoying.

But god, he was so profoundly good, breathtakingly handsome and unbelievably tender as he wrapped the fabric around each of your thighs, wary of touching you higher up your legs than was strictly necessary, because of course he would be so damn respectful even in a situation like this.

There was only one person in the room who had indecent thoughts about the other before, because even if Steve Rogers ever had indecent thoughts, they certainly didn’t concern you.

He didn’t seem to mind your staring, glancing up once he was done with a soft smile on his lips, carefully laying your leg down again.

“There you go. You should feel occasional tug in the wounds, but that only means the healing process started,” he explained lowly, speaking slow, making sure you registered every syllable as your eyes closed again, a soundless thank you on your lips. “You’re welcome. You did a really good job, you know? Not many people would have been be able to do even half of what you just did.”

The weight on your chest only grew, heart quivering – and briefly, so did your lower lip, the sincere praise breaking something deep within you. You felt like you had done everything but a good job. You had needed handholding through survival. That was the opposite of a really good job since survival and saving other people was literally what you had been trained for.

But then there was the fact this was Steve Rogers. Steve, who rarely said things he didn’t mean; Steve, who was practically perfection personified; and he told you that you had done well. One did not dismiss that and scoff over it. When someone like him praised you, you couldn’t but feel the words sink into your very bones, a whole another part of you than your legs healing a fraction.

“Hey…”

A soft sound of your name, a painfully gentle touch to your forehead, a strand of hair, sticky with sweat and blood as you had tried to push it away earlier, moved to side; another touch, this time to your jaw, pushing your chin slightly up to sit straighter, calloused thumb pressing against the tear rolling down your cheek.

You blinked your eyes open, this time certain you were dreaming. But he was still there, as real as you, cradling your face and watching you with intent gaze, a tight-lipped concerned smile.

You needed to pull yourself together. He had already crossed almost every boundary there was, pushing himself lightyears out of his comfort zone just to support you in any way he thought you needed; both verbal and physical. And technically, spiritual too, even as his astral projection was more tangible than he himself had ever felt.

“You’re being very brave, doll. But stay awake. You’re doing great.”

“So why am I bleeding?” you questioned breathlessly with a slightly arched eyebrow.

It felt ungrateful on your part; but handling so many kind words at once was becoming unbearable, a suffocating feeling in your ribcage.

He grimaced at your question, retreating his touch hesitantly as if he was worried you’d collapse entirely if he stopped supporting your head for even a few seconds.

It wasn’t a completely invalid concern; and perhaps it was the blood loss speaking, but you’d consider doing just that if it only brought you a few more seconds of this treatment.

Alright, you really, really needed to get a grip.

Mentally, you patted your cheeks harshly, forcing your eyes wide open – it was time to stop daydreaming about things that were to never come again.

“Are you still cold?” Steve asked, already reaching for the suit jacket he had discarded before you could answer, the action bordering on mother-henning.

You couldn’t stop the quirking of your lips despite the tug at your heartstrings.

“You gonna cuddle me if I say yes, Rogers?”

It was meant to sound like a tease, putting distance between his seemingly genuine care and your heart, but the sarcasm got lost in translation, the words sounding more like a plea.

Luckily, Steve let it slide. He simply shook his head, something akin to a proud smile adorning his face at your attempt at spite.

“Not sure, Spectre. You’re the one who goes through first aid courses on the regular. You tell me whether sharing body heat helps…”

Your lips twitched further. Sassy bag. It was honestly difficult to keep your head straight when he was like this. Too good to be true and yet so painfully solid.

He really was the most infuriating man, wasn’t he? Helping you slide into his jacket, the scent of everything that was him replacing the ever-present smell of blood and sweat. Smoothening the sleeves, a small smile still playing on his lips despite the crinkle of worry returning, bringing the word cute at the forefront of your mind.

He indeed was scandalously, unfairly pretty.

No one should look so charming with blood and smudges of ash on their face, hair messy, dressed in a now-sleeveless dirty shirt with and an unbuttoned vest. No one should be able to convey such warmth in their gaze; especially not when it had to be a lie if they were looking at you, not when you knew this was him and he probably considered all this a common courtesy, the jerk, just so casually, irritatingly kind-

“Better now?”

The same warmth that shone in his eyes, the same warmth his jacket offered, was in his voice. His hands were warm too, a sheen of sweat glistening in his hairline, so you supposed he wasn’t cold and would indeed be willing to share some of his body heat.

Jokes aside, a cuddle sounded most lovely; definitely crossing a line, entirely inappropriate, in the worst possible place and probably with the worst possible person, but still heavenly. Against your better judgement, you’d trust him; you always trusted him. You trusted him with your life and you had a distant feeling you could trust him with anything; the problem was you couldn’t afford to take such leap, not when every time you had taken a leap of faith, there was no one there to catch you in the end, the landing breaking what you thought couldn’t be broken further.

Protect your heart. Protect yourself. Especially from men like him, a voice whispered in the very back of your mind, pushing through the sea of musing to be heard.

A man like him wouldn’t want anything less than perfect. He’d deserve nothing less either.

And yet, when his hand brushed over yours, the rapid beats of your heart could not only be blamed on the blood loss, nor could the way your pulse thundered in your ears. The cold of your skin might have though and it clearly bothered your companion; Steve moved to cover your bare legs with your skirts as much as he could before taking off his vest as well, spreading it over your shins and feet.

“You’re going to be alri-”

The sound of footsteps reached your little bubble of surreal reality too late – barely a second before the key rattled in the lock and the door was swinging open just as the startled cry erupted from your lips.

“Steve-!”

He only managed to whip his head around, moving but a fraction.

As the time seemed to slow for a long moment and you became a mere observer of the scene, you noticed, much to your irritation, that Steve’s minuscule movement was towards you. To shield you again.

He never got that far when the sound of a gunshot tore through your very soul, his body thrown backwards at the impact.

A single bullet to his chest.

You choked on the scream of his name, tears springing from your eyes as you tried to launch forward – but his body never hit the ground.

It disappeared into thin air.

You panted, violent shudder shaking your body, your eyes squeezed shut as you failed to get the scene you had just witnessed from where it got burned into your retinas.

The only thing you achieved was that it was now replaying behind your closed eyelids, claws of terror digging into your flesh, tearing at your heart.

The shock of the pain must have made Steve snap back into his body. That was all, that had to be what happened.

It had to.

You knew, rationally, that Steve was likely fine, because such was your experience with the powers: his physical body remained unharmed bar the pain, as unpleasant and exhausting as it was. He was alright, because you would have been.

But fuck.

The horror of seeing him shot in the chest right in front of you. Steve Rogers, who – except for the past few minutes – had only ever been in his physical body, tangible and real, to whom getting shot in the chest meant real damn consequences which could and would equal death.

And what if it doesn’t work for him the same way it does for you? a tiny but very loud voice screamed in your head, causing your hands to shake harder, the dried blood on them now a pleasant sight in comparison of imagining Steve’s own blood oozing out of his chest.

You hadn’t taken all of Steve’s enhancement – you hadn’t grown two feet taller or gained a hundred pounds of muscle and he hadn’t changed back into the state before given the serum. What if your abilities in his body worked differently? What if he managed to project and now snap back, but the injury stayed with him, transferring back to his actual body?

What if he was bleeding to death?

What if he was dead?

You swallowed the sob fighting its way out over the lump in your throat, desperate to grasp at any resemblance of rationality instead of panic. Gritting your teeth, you willed yourself to focus on the sounds on the other side of the wall with all your might, hearing nothing but the rapid thump-thump-thump-thump-thump of your own terrified heart.

Breathe, breathe, breathe, dammit.

Breathe, Rogers, or I’m going to kill you myself!

Could you hear his ragged breaths of was it just your wishful thinking?

He had to be still breathing. There was no time for his spectre to lose blood – the most likely outcome was that Steve’s chest hurt like hell, but hopefully he was still alive and conscious. And more importantly, he wasn’t bleeding to death.

Right?

Right?!

“In case you still need it,” a rough voice hummed from the doorway, causing your eyes to snap open.

You caught a glimpse of an object flying your direction from the corner of your eye, a dark one, then a transparent one. One landed with soft thud, the other with a hard one; a small first aid kit and a bottle of water.

You didn’t give a damn, even if water – or anything to drink really – sounded like salvation. Instead, your glare snapped to the man. The first proper look at the bastard who had the fucking audacity to shoot Steve.

For someone being so daring and such a pain in the ass, he was desperately boring. Average height, dark hair, dark eyes, no expression at all on his face; dressed all in black, the Hydra emblem sitting proudly on his biceps, as if that was the only thing that could have separated him from the pain of being so awfully ordinary.

Someone should really tell him that joining Hydra to achieve being extraordinary had been a step in the wrong direction, because ethe only thing it had made him was an extraordinary dick.

He glanced at you without as much as mild interest, already moving backwards; eyes still on you.

But you didn’t give a damn. Let him see you as you gritted your teeth and pushed up on your arms, Steve’s vest sliding down your legs as you tried to get to your feet despite the sharp protest of your damaged muscles.

Sometimes people just needed the right motivation to outdo themselves; and the desire to snap the asshole’s neck was plenty motivating.

You still couldn’t tell if the echo of Steve’s harsh breaths was your own imagination or a real thing. You’d deal with that later.

The Hydra man arched his eyebrow, stopping mid-step, something akin to faint amusement on his face.

“I wouldn’t do that. You’re hurt. Lost a lot of blood,” he reminded you as if the smell of copper didn’t tickle your nostrils with every breath, as if you couldn’t feel muscles shaking with exertion when you as much as tried to fold your legs under you to stand up. The surge of adrenalin was potent, but not almighty. He tilted his head a you managed to rise up. “Not to mention that one word and the Captain won’t live long enough to say as much as a goodbye. If you stay down, we’ll just make sure that he’s not… able to jump around this compound. Maybe.”

Your breath hitched, relief flooding your veins.

He was alive. Steve was alive.

This excuse of a human being had plenty of reason to lie to keep you obedient; but you didn’t think he did. If they hadn’t killed Steve until now, they had no reason to--

“Mitch?” the man called out, giving you precisely one second to wonder who the hell he was talking to or what kind of a signal that was and then it became terrifyingly clear.

Another gunshot rang in the air, this time from the other room.

The helpless cry of NO erupted from your throat, your blood turning into ice, heart stunned. You didn’t realize your hand flew up to cover your mouth until you tasted the dried blood on your lips.

All but a hiss of pain from behind the wall.

One second ticked by. Two.

And then you were urging forward, a pathetic but wholehearted attempt to charge after the bastard despite the blinding pain and weakness.

You were back on the ground before you could take a single step, pain exploding in your nerves in burning circles heading straight into your open wounds. Your head pounded, a soundless scream on your lips, the figure once again disappearing from sight, at the very same angle like the last time; with you on the floor, shaking and unable to get up.

But this time, you lied closer to the wall; and were terrified for your Captain. For Steve. Kind idiotic Steve who had insisted on taking care of you and had caught two bullets for his trouble; one to his chest and the other… you had no idea.

Unsure how to control your movements, hands and feet twitching in the aftershock of the taser shot, you managed to all but creak Steve’s name.

You weren’t sure if it was him or the heavens above who heard you. But when he responded, you thanked the latter.

“Yeah. I’m… I’m here,” he choked out in between heavy breaths.

You could hear it clearly now, every ragged breath; you prayed his troubles was caused only by the lingering pain in his chest and not the other gun--- you swallowed, blinking away tears, guilt twisting your stomach.

They hurt him. They hurt him because he had been trying to help you. How was that fair? Hydra didn’t play fair, people like them rarely did, but they had really crossed a line there. 

“Steve? What-”

“Just a shoulder. I’m fine,” he assured you swiftly.

You truly wanted to be mad at him and yell the fuck you are, you the relief and guilt bulldozed the anger quite effectively.

They shot him because of me.

You hoped he couldn’t hear your absolutely embarrassing sniffle even as that was the smallest of your concerns right now.

Just a shoulder. Just a shoulder. Not the chest. The injury didn’t transfer back to his actual body.

“They--- I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault. In fact,” he panted, a breathy chuckle escaping him and you didn’t know whether to hysterically laugh or scream, “you warned me. Feel free to tell me I told you so. Are you-“

“Just a taser,” you mimicked his words, hearing his sharp inhale. Propping on your elbows, you tried to shuffle closer to the wall so you could sit up again. With his jacket still on, you could feel fresh sweat trickling down your back. But at least his scent was comforting in certain way. “Definitely not cold anymore. Not feeling peachy enough to say I told you so. Is there a way you can put pressure on that?”

Please say yes. In fact, but a pressure on that right now. That’s an order, you wanted to throw back, managing to only groan as you pushed up and let your back hit the wall again with a blissful relief.

Steve sighed in between his gasps. “Not really, no. But I think it’s just a graze. And it serves its purpose. I’m don’t think I can project again.”

You couldn’t exactly say you blamed him. It was unfortunate though, projecting now would work well for him – if he projected to the room he was in, he might still not be able to free himself, but he might be able to put pressure on that wound. Maybe. Unless he’d pass out.

Jesus fucking Christ, how had you gotten into this mess again?

Don’t say it-

“That’s okay,” you said instead, taking a deep calming breath, realizing your roles were reversed now. As strange as it was, he needed your support now. Or maybe he didn’t need it, but you’d be damned if he wasn’t going to get it. “Just hang on, okay? I know it hurts like son of a bitch…” and you didn’t only mean his actual gunshot wound, “but I know you’ve pushed through worse.”

“Yeah, sure.”

His chuckle, no matter the scoff that followed it, made you smile a bit and eased your nerves. He’d be fine. He had fought off worse.

The question was, how long he could hold on without the serum?

Stuck now more than before, you prayed to every god you knew, including the Asgardian ones, for the Avengers to somehow be on their way even without your trackers at hand.

Because the scary reality was your body might be healing, but Steve was only about to lose more blood. And you had no idea if he wasn’t downplaying his injuries in his very own Steve Rogers fashion – after all, you had seen it happen just five minutes ago.

And lastly, despite having too many theories circling through your head, you were terrified at the fact that you no idea what the Hydra’s real plan was; what was it they were wating for, why the only thing they had done so far was hurt you both and observe.

You had no idea how much time you had before they changed their mind about letting you idly sit in a cell and chat and bleed, and moved on to something considerably more deadly.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Hurt and comfort let's goooo.

Not going to lie, as much as I enjoy their bickering, I was very very much looking forward to some more soft&protective!Steve🥰

Also, some of you guessed the plot-twist (some of you shared it too). Now I can finally admit that the initial title of the fic was meant to be “Walk a Mile (in My Shoes)” but that would have been just too revealing right away, wouldn’t it? 😁

(I can also disclose where the inspiration came from (except for the obvious one Freaky Friday and it being a trope) – from this ancient TV series called Charmed, where Piper and Leo just fight and fight, until the Elders have them switch their roles/abilities for them to find more understanding for each other again. In another earlier episode, the three sisters accidently switch powers, and one of them actually calls is a Supernatural Freaky Friday. Just for reference.)

Thank you for reading and potential feedback💕

And please, let me know if you feel like I missed a warning, I'll add it :)

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #agent reader #shield agent reader #avenger reader #inhuman reader #back and forth #anika ann

[moumouton4]

Orochimaru "punishing" reader for cumming while being edged by overstimulating them until there a blabbering and begging mess?

PS: ideally reader would have a penis but that's up to you really, just keep the language gender neutral as always:)

Please and thank you!

Overstimulation || Orochimaru x male!reader

A/n : Okay first time writing for a mal!reader but I think I've had enough experience to do so. Hopefully you'll like it my dear !

Warnings : mention of edging, overstimulation, use of slut once ( I don't know why I've been dirty talking a lot recently ahah ), cum lots of it, handjob reader!receiver, anal fingering, oral reader!receiver, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 1262

You knew very well your damn place, he has been making sure you did. But yet seconds ago broke one of the most important rules he had set for you : no cumming without permission. How couldn't you though, it has been at least an hour his hands continually rubbed, stroked and edged all those sensitive parts of your lower body, without forgetting the way he used to twist your nipples, making the pressure build even faster, and this stare, his eyes were attuned and scrutinizing each one of your reactions, this alone had the gift of making you squirm.

You couldn't hold it in, you didn’t manage to, not when his eyes screamed for you to cum despite the absence of the verbal permission. Your stomach was soaked in white sticky cum, just like his hands. You could not bear to look him in the eyes, not anymore when you know you have overstepped the rule. But his voice pulled your gaze towards his face.

“Tss tss tss” he smirked “What have you done Little One” he purred in your ear, his hand ceasing its languid motion for an instant, to slap your spent cock with the back of his hand, making a moan escape from your lips as it bounced back against your stomach.

“That’s such a nasty boy I have in front of me. A nasty boy who couldn't even keep his cum inside” he mused, his hand now dangerously close to the tip of your still erect length, it seemed that you had more to give. And it didn’t escape Orochimaru who decided to have a little fun with it. You wanted to cum, well you’re not going to stop any time soon now.

The bed, a witness of all your nights of shared passions, was now becoming a prison of pleasure impossible to escape from you as the older man kept you pinned down, once more displaying his strength. He enjoyed moments like this, when it was clear that he had the ascendent over you, but seeing you like this, all sweaty, your length glistening with your juices and still throbbing with each beat of your heart, made it so hard for him not to fuck you right here and there.

“Let’s see how much this stupid body of yours can take” he snarled, his own arousal pulsing in his attire. But he couldn't let you see how worked up he was, and for that he had to render you even more turned on than he was. Bringing his already soaked fingers to his mouth, appreciating your taste on them, he wetted them enough - or maybe he just wanted an excuse to taste you ahah - and dragged them down your body.

You shivered at the added stimulation as two of his fingers made their way towards your puckered entrance, circling it slowly. You bite your lips in anticipation, a soft sigh finally escaping them when they gently slided in your tight warmth. His other hand that had been diligently stroking your cock up and down went further down, his thumb now massaging the bone just under your balls making your head loll back.

“Ghn… p-plea-please” you moaned, as you tried to beg him to stop his luxurious torture. The pressure inside you built with each thrust of his fingers, and before you knew it, your legs shook with the force of another powerful orgasm, spurts of cum shoot from the flushed head of your length. A single drop ended up on his cheek, but not for too long, because his tongue poked out of his mouth to gather the sweet essence he didn’t want go to waste.

“See ?” he pointed out the obvious “If you can still climax there is no point in stopping your punishment soon, now isn’t it Little One ?”

You shook your head, the words lacking as the hand that was teasing your balls went back to your shaft. Hand gripping the head of it, thumb pressing down on your slit “N-no m-more… st-stop I c-can’t mmh” you groaned, voice breaking with pleasure as his fingers reached that special spot.

A strangled cry escaped your throat as you gave in once more, tears streaming down your cheeks due to the overstimulation you were experiencing. Orochimaru’s hand moved with an increasing ease now, because with each new wave of fresh cum, it got more slippery, losing a bit of its sticky aspect. It looked like even your dick was shedding its own kind of tears now. 

His gaze alternated between your pathetically wet cock to your fucked out face, at this point not a single word was articulated when it come out of your mouth. You were a mess, but it was one of his favorite shows to attend to. He smirked when he felt your hold tightening around his fingers.

“Are you close again ? Should I rename you my Little Slut instead of my Little One ?” he chuckled darkly, before licking your neck up to your cheek. A whimper was the only answer you could give him, and he loved it. Gosh he wanted to get up and shove his dick down your throat some much more now. And if you weren’t so worked up you could have seen the stain of precum that appeared just above his growing erection.

Now he could stop this at any moment, he just needed you to tell him, tell him that you’ve understood and that you were not ever going to come again without having his permission beforehand. But seeing the state you were in, he wouldn’t get one word out of you any time soon. As he kept thinking, his fingers never stopped their rhythmic motions. His hair started to stick to his forehead due to the effort of keeping you down and still for so long.

Your hips started to buck uncontrollably, seemingly fucking yourself into his loose fist as he chuckled “I’ll let you go after you give me one last more okay ?” he said, though it was more an affirmation than a question, as his hands increased their speed.

“Ah ! O-oro- ghn.. oh f-fuck- mpff” you whimpered as he effectively made you come. Licking the cum - your cum - off his fingers. Then he crawled back in the bed towards your face, kissed your teary cheeks, you looked so cute, but for now he was way to horny to comment about it. Your tired arms tried to wrap around him but he pushed them away. Getting comfortable on the bed, his back against the headboard, he gently placed your head on his lap.

“Would you mind giving Daddy a little threat now ?” he purred as he tousled your hair on the side “Let’s say it’s your reward after handling your punishment so good mmh ?” his fingers worked deftly to get his hardened member out.

Meanwhile, lying peaceful on his lap you caught your breath. Your body shivered from the lack of stimulation that stopped bringing you the warmth that made you forget your were naked all this time, not for too long though, because Orochimaru, ever attentive - even in his state of arousal - pulled the plush cover on top of you. Poking your lips with the head of his cock, he waited for you to open your mouth, beads of precum were already leaking out of you. Sticking your tongue out you licked his head clean, making your partner shiver deliciously. His hand came to rest on your head as he groaned “That’s it. Just like that Little Boy. Suck it like I’ve shown you”

~

~

Taglist : @dreamcastgirl99

#naruto #naruto imagine #naruto smut #naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden imagine #naruto shippuden smut #orochimaru #orochimaru imagine #orochimaru x reader #orochimaru smut #naruto x male reader #naruto shippuden x male reader #orochimaru x male reader #request #smut #miri-writes