#fic: chirality

[cypanache]

okay darling. for the wip ask game that you tagged me in. I know it's been a minute since you posted it, so feel free to ignore, but i'd like to know more about either 'date my wife' or 'raised a sith'– you pick! since I know all about the obidala stuff, and very little about those, i'm curious.

Ugh, I've been so heads down on Countdown, I'm finally getting around to going through my ask box so apologies for the insanely late reply on this.

I talked about the 'date my wife' wip here. So let's do the raised a sith au, because I'm insanely excited about this one, and it even has a title now "Chirality".

So after repeatedly and painstakingly walking back sexual tension in like every draft of every obidala fic I have ever written, because they're just so damn good and they wouldn't, not yet ... I really just wanted to let Obi-Wan and Padme be unrepentantly hot for each. So I asked myself what would it take for them to stop worrying so much about it all and the answer as you so eloquently put it, is 'they could be evil, as a treat'

That's it, that's the fic.

No really. Imagine a world where Obi-Wan got left on Bandomeer by Qui-Gon and then eventually rescued by Dooku and taken as his apprentice and later left the order with him. Meanwhile imagine a Padme who never left Coruscant after her appeal to the Senate in TPM and instead stayed under house arrest while she watched her world ravaged by the Trade Federation with Palpatine stoking her outrage and anger into something truly spectacular. But to the galaxy she still presents as Padme Amidala as we know here during AotC. So drop poor baby Anakin into the events of AotC and The Clone Wars between these two opposing dark proteges who are sort of allies and sort of adversaries, but are definitely obsessed with each other, watch them ruin him.

I honestly feel a little bad tagging this obianidala because its me, so its definitely very obidala focused and Anakin is in way way over his head being manipulated and gaslit at every turn, but it is there at least as an implied future state so there you go. Also its a SithAU so while I don't write terribly explicit or kinky sex, all the warnings for mind games, manipulation, violence, unnegotiated everything, and basically terrible people who should absolutely be kept away from Anakin Skywalker at all costs, but won't be. Sexy, though not explicit, excerpt below the cut:

He’s waiting for her when she gets back to her apartments.  Lounging on the bed like he owns the place. Utterly unconcerned with the fact that in less than a day’s time all of the Senate will be calling for his head along with his Master’s. 

One of her handmaidens comes over to assist her and Padme grits her teeth in irritation as she takes in the blank expression, the clumsy movements.  Oh, she despises when he does this.  True, it was amusing the first time or two.  And she has always had a weak spot for power in all its flavors.  But these days she just finds it tiresome.  They’re utterly useless for anything more complicated than the most basic of tasks for hours after he does this.

Dismissing Eirtae with a wave of her hand she rounds on him in a huff.

“I wish you would stop doing that.  You know you don’t have anything to worry about.  They’re all completely loyal.  I’ve made sure of it.”

Obi-Wan grins, vulpine and vicious and absolutely unrepentant.  “To you.  They’re all completely loyal to you.  I doubt there’s a single one among them who would spare me a second thought.”

“That’s not true, there’s at least three who would strangle their own mother for the opportunity to put a blaster to your temple and pull the trigger.”  Turning, she holds out her arms and then looks back over her shoulder, imperious and expectant.  “Well?  You can hardly expect me to get out of this on my own.”

He doesn’t.  That’s the entire point of this petty little show of his.  He likes the opportunity to undo her, deconstruct the facade she presents to the galaxy layer by careful layer.  Until she’s laid bare in more ways than one.

Coming up behind her, he trails his fingertips up the length of each arm before he settles his hands against the line of the high collar in a way that from anyone else would be a threat.  But he could force choke her from halfway across the room and they both know it.  And they both know Palpatine would make him regret it for the rest of his very long and very painful life if he ever tried.  

She smiles at him in the mirror and presses back a little into the joints of his fingers calling his bluff.  “You know we debated putting a bounty on your head this afternoon.”

He tsks.  “How very uncivilized.”

“Yes, well, attempting to exterminate the entire Jedi Council does tend to provoke people’s ire.”

“Oh, is that the version they’re selling to the Senate?”

She spins in grasp, indignant now, “Don’t be insulting.  You know better than anyone how useless the Jedi are at politics.  It’s the version I’m selling to the Senate.  Very effectively I might add.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he says, skimming a kiss once against her mouth.  Then deepening it as his hands come up to her headdress and she feels him begin to remove the hairpins holding it in place one by one.  It’s not precisely what she had in mind when she told him to undress her, but Obi-Wan wouldn’t be Obi-Wan if he wasn’t always looking for the loophole and Padme allows it.  It’s been months since she’s been kissed well.  Whatever Anakin’s potential, both as a lover and a darksider, and it is glorious, it’s all raw and unrealized, it will take her years to mold him to her liking.  Pleasurable work perhaps but work to be sure.  Sometimes a lady just wishes to rest on laurels.

Particularly when her laurels are so very, very appealing.

Obi-Wan frowns against her mouth, “Your shields are down.”

“Are they?” She asks innocently, biting at his bottom lip with just a little too much force in punishment for both starting and stopping without permission.  “And did you like what you heard?”

He pulls back.  “You know I didn’t.”

She turns away with a huff, and removes the last few pins herself, running her fingers through her hair to free it and denying him the pleasure.  “Oh yes, you’ve made your feelings on the matter quite clear.  His arm, Obi-Wan?  Was that really necessary?”

“Maybe not, but it was fun.”

Padme scowls at him over her shoulder.

He just laughs.  A cocky, contemptuous sound that sets her teeth on edge and her blood on fire, “Oh dear, are you upset I scratched up your pretty plaything?  And here I thought you were a fan of my work.  I even signed this one for you.”

“And if I thought it had anything to do with me, rather than breaking the boy Qui-Gon Jinn actually wanted enough to take as an apprentice, I might be flattered.  Besides–” she gives him her most petulant pout, “I didn’t even get to watch.  You know that’s my favorite part.”

[cringesatan]

thinking about madarame watching towa sleep after they hooked up, and it was usual for them to hook up now, but this time towa curls in on himself while he sleeps, he makes small sounds and twitches and it reminds madarame of a kitten, towa looks so vulnerable like this. then he starts groaning in pain, the slight twitching turns into thrashing, but madarame doesn't wake him up. he watches attentively as towa mumbles 'no' repeatedly, watches as he grips the sheets with white knuckles, watches as he calls out for his mom, once.

he told towa he fell in love at first sight, and it is indeed true, but it was at that moment that madarame decided towa would be his pet. towa needed him, he couldn't take care of himself not even in his own dreams. he was beautiful, intelligent, strong. like a house cat. what to do if towa's own instinct wasn't enough to keep him safe?

madarame would. madarame would feed him, pet him, keep him. madarame would take care of him.

[periwingreen]

wondering what arimura's reaction to takutowa dating would be. his boss (who I assume he respects) and his coworker that he dislikes start dating all of a sudden. would he be surprised? would he care? would he accidentally walk in on them having sex during work hours and then try to go about his day not thinking about what he just witnessed?

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Carlos moves to Night Vale and finds himself slowly falling in love with Cecil. There's just one problem: Carlos' ex… …Kevin. But then Strexcorp comes to town. Then Kevin comes to town. And if the battle for Night Vale looks set to be difficult, it will be nothing compared to the battle for the heart of its favourite scientist.

Author: Shadow_Side

Submitter: @dandelioncasey

Note from submitter: Warnings for blood and gore, especially in later parts of the series (and ESPECIALLY in the AU fic Believer by the same author)

[gayleafpool]

Varian ran to Quirin hysterically sobbing and trying not to throw up while explaining that Dr. Quack is gonna get removed from Webkinz because he cured every disease and Quirin was like "is that... good?" And Varian was like "NO"

varian hates universal healthcare we need to cancel him

[stellar-solar-flare]

Volatile | Chapter 2/3 | Steve Rogers x Reader

Explicit - 18+ only - Minors DNI.

Steve Rogers returns from a mission only to be immediately alerted about a medical emergency: you, the Avengers Initiative's leading science expert, have been hit by a potent, unknown aphrodisiac on your own mission. Pressed for time and out of options, he has to, together with the AI's medical department, figure out a solution.

Mutual pining, smut with feelings, eventual happy ending.

Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, sex pollen, non-consensual exposal to sex pollen, dubious consent because Reader is under the influence of an aphrodisiac (but all sex is very much mutually wanted), protective & possessive Steve Rogers, Captain kink, praise kink, very light dom/sub elements, dirty talk, pet names, thigh riding, finger sucking, mention of non-con.

Reader specifics: She/her. Works as a science specialist in AI under codename Dr. Chiral for her chemistry proficiency. Six times PhD, an Avenger. Late twenties, no description of appearance given.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AI) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption, with Steve as the Head Strategist and Tony as the Director. The Avengers are living together in the Tower - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

FIC MASTERLIST | AUTHOR MASTERLIST | AO3

<< Previous chapter

Chapter 2: Flammable

Chapter notes: This is just smut with some feelings thrown in. Read the content warnings before divign in, please, and do not proceed if any of that isn't for you.

6,198 words.

As Steve stepped through the airlock into the dim-lit containment room, you untangled yourself from the tangled sheets on the king size bed. The air condition was blasting but despite that, the only thing you had on was a white, thin t-shirt type hospital gown that was not doing a damn thing to hide your peaking nipples. It fell onto your mid-thigh, and while under some other circumstances, it might’ve been reasonably modest, right now it clung onto your damp skin tighter than a bathing suit as you moved to sit on your knees on the bed. There was a feverish glaze clouding your eyes as Steve locked the airlock door behind himself. Other than the bed and a small desk with a chair, there was a table loaded with water bottles and some fruit and protein bars you had obviously not even touched. The muted color scheme – a neutral combination of blues, greys and whites made the room feel like a hotel room or a set in a movie. The bed you sat on was a small ocean of tangled satin sheets, and the thought of you rolling in those in feverish wanton need…

“Steve,” you said, your throat dry.

His eyes raked over you, ever so slowly, and as he did, he saw your breath quicken. You didn’t seem to really believe that he was there. Maybe you had fantasized about this before he had stepped in. Maybe you had fantasized about him. Even with everything you’d said on the tape, all the things you wanted him to do to you that were now playing on repeat in his head, he just wasn’t quite sure he could believe that it wasn’t just the aphrodisiac talking.

But whether you wanted him for anything beyond this room or for just this moment, it was clear you trusted him. You trusted him to help you out in this situation, with something this incredibly intimate and volatile and vulnerable, and there was no force in the universe that would’ve made him deny you. Especially when that meant that he could touch you. There was no other reasonable solution to this. That choice had been taken away from him, and that meant he could let go. And maybe… Just maybe…

I was too much of a coward to tell you in Verona. That made two of you. And this certainly wasn’t the way he had envisioned this going down but he would be lying if he said that whatever that was coming was a task he was reluctant to take on. His eyes stayed on your naked, glistening thighs like he’d been possessed. The room reeked of you, the pheromones of your arousal whispering sweet invitation to him, and Steve gathered every last shred of his self-control as he reached for a water bottle on the table with one hand and put the shield down to lean against the wall with the other.

“Hey, Ace,” Steve whispered. “You asked for me.”

You blinked at the sound of his voice and scooted to the edge of the bed, standing up. It could’ve been a hallucination conjured up by your feverish brain. And you could’ve hallucinated a lot worse than Steve stepping through the airlock of the room in the stealth suit of all things. But his voice sounded familiar – it echoed through your hazed state like a beacon in the night. You had been aching for him, for his touch, every last bit of your soul and body calling out for him. And he had heard. He had come to you.

“Are you here?” you whispered back, trying to make sense of it.

He hadn’t been there in the lab. There had been only Bucky, and Sam, and both had smelled wrong. Both had been wrong. You wanted just Steve; you had always wanted just him. Verona. Moonlight. Words that seemed to have no bearing to anything that was happening now when the only thing your throbbing blood was saying was Steve. You weren’t sure if you had been waiting for him for hours or for days or for centuries or for seconds, lying on the bed and floating in the half-delusional myriad of fantasies, touching yourself to the images of him but feeling no relief to the burning.

“I am, doll,” Steve said. “I’m yours if you want me. And only if you want me. The second you tell me to stop, I will.”

No. You absolutely weren’t going to do that. No chance in hell, when you finally had him.

Even in the small room, walking up to him seemed to take an eternity. His scent was faintly of musk and leather, mixed with something and something that might’ve been blood. It blended seamlessly into the deep, masculine note of the sandalwood-based cologne he always wore, blended with cedar and cypress and rosewood; a fresh forest smell that made your mouth water. In stealth suit, fresh from a mission. Shoulders accentuated by the uniform cut, wide chest above a flat stomach, strong thighs, large hands. He was the epitome of the masculine V shape, and he was yours. In the stealth suit.

By the time you reached him, you were barely able to hold yourself upright on your shaking legs. But Steve would’ve never let you fall. Before your legs could give underneath you, his free arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you close to rest against his body. The pleasantly cool, smooth Kevlar-like material of his suit felt like heaven against your body as you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck. He was looking at you, studying the fever burning in your eyes as you shivered upon the contact. Without letting go of you, he opened the water bottle.

“I need you to drink,” he murmured. “Your vitals said you’re dehydrated. You’ll need your strength.”

Obediently, you turned your head to the side and allowed him to lift the bottle to your lips. You hadn’t felt thirsty until you actually tasted the cool water Steve carefully held for you, but after the first sip, you greedily chugged the whole bottle. Steve’s eyes stayed fixated on your lips as you did, and he didn’t turn his gaze even as he put the empty bottle on the table and grabbed another.

“Still thirsty?” he asked.

The whole length of your body was pressed against his, and his thigh had slipped between yours to stabilize you further. Even through the fabric, he could feel against his palm how hot your skin was. You had come to him, out of your free will – as free as it could be under the influence of the aphrodisiac – and you were there, now, rising to your tiptoes and pressing your face against the crook of his neck before drawing a deep breath in. Just the scent and the presence of him seemed to calm you down, and maybe that meant he shouldn’t –

Your tongue licked a long, languid stripe over the side of Steve’s neck, tasting the salt of his skin and the musk that was simply Steve. As you did, your hips – the bare, soaking wet, burning apex of your thighs – rolled against his thigh, and the high whimper that left your mouth made every single thought empty from his head. He barely registered the drizzle of cool water that hit his cheek as the water bottle he had been holding had exploded in his flexing hand. As you lifted your head to look at him, not even noticing the water that had also hit you, Steve dropped the crushed remnants of the bottle and raised his hand to cup your cheek. Every single cell in his body was alight, painfully aware that you were still rocking yourself against his thigh, slight graceful movements of your hips chasing that delicious friction.

“Tell me you want me,” Steve whispered, looking into your eyes. “I need to hear it one more time. Tell me you want this.”

You looked into his eyes, and for a second, Steve felt like you saw everything, every single last fantasy he’d conjured in the darkness of his bedroom over the last few months, every thought of his that screamed how much he wanted this. But then, as his name left your lips in a desperate whimper that came combined with you pressing even tighter against his body, he realized that was all your lust. Heightened by the aphrodisiac but yours.

“Steve. I want you. I need you. Steve, please.”

His lips came down on yours, rough, greedy, claiming, and your body caught fire with that taste of his, that control and command that laced the kiss. Lust so violent that nothing you had felt during previous hours or ever in your life could compare slammed into you, crumbling into beautiful, empty whiteness everything except Steve. Your hands clawed on the suit, desperately trying to figure out how to get the damn thing off and have all that warm, masculine skin against yours. With his every single brain cell consumed by the kiss, Steve’s hand moved on muscle memory as he released the suit’s cleverly hidden clasps, the arm draped across your back never leaving its position. It was you, just you, your taste and your warmth and the delicious, tiny sounds you were breathing into the kiss as his mouth pressed against yours and his tongue ran over the pout lower lip he had stared more than he should’ve during all the meetings, his head running off with fantasies of just bending you over the damn briefing table and having his way.

His. You were his.

As the clasps opened, you yanked the suit almost violently down to bundle around Steve’s trim waist, and then finally, finally you could get your hands on all that muscle covered by silky skin. Had your lust-shorting brain had any remnant of control, you would’ve thought that it was almost ridiculous how he looked like a Greek god, how it was not possible for a human to be this chiseled artwork but frankly, you weren’t too concerned by that. He broke the kiss only to look at you, a large palm grabbing hold of your gown and yanking, and as the fabric gave like butter, he tossed it aside. It was his turn to get his hands everywhere, running over every curve of yours as you arched in his touch. Your hips rocked back and forth against the strong thigh between yours, and as he tensed the muscles, you whimpered. The fabric, smooth as it was, was almost too much in your overwired state and yet, you couldn’t imagine moving an inch as Steve’s dark gaze was fixed on your face.

“That’s my thigh, honey. Does that feel good?” he rasped, his hands moving to cup your butt for added stability as your own thighs trembled.

In response, you yanked his mouth down back on yours, delirious for the taste of him.  Steve’s skin was warm and you had an inkling it should’ve been feeling like it was overheating you even more but instead it seemed to help you concentrate onto something other than your burning. Every thought was emptying from your head as the coil was tightening in your belly, heat pooling down down down and sizzling with a promise of a climax that might finally bring at least a drop of relief. God, he smelled gorgeous. He was still fresh home from a mission, and there was that hint of pure peak of man in his scent that made you whine as you chased the peak.

“Steve… Feels so good…” you moaned to his lips.

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss onto your jawline and ghosting his lips down to whisper straight into your ear. “I’m going to make you come for me until it’s all out. I’ve got you now, honey. Let me take care of you. Let me see you come undone.”

Coming on his thigh, with those words falling into your ear like dark warm sugar, had sometime in the past felt like a filthy fantasy, and it was filthy, but it was exactly the right kind of filthy. The climax, coaxed further by his words, struck like a lightning, finally giving you a hint of shade when you had been lying on the desert sand. It was nowhere near enough, and the moment you stopped trembling and opened your eyes, the heat was already creeping back up. You needed more.

Good thing that Steve was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

I’m yours if you want me.

Keeping your eyes in his, still panting for air, you pressed your palm flat against the washboard of his stomach and slid your hand down, past the bundled suit on his waist, past the waistline of his boxers. Your fingers brushed tentatively over the base of his cock and then wrapped around it as you swallowed at the sensation of the size of him. He was burning hot in your hand and despite all his self-control that bordered on superhuman, he was breathing in ragged pants as your hand slowly caressed him.

“I need you,” you whispered.

And oh, he would give. The next thing you knew, you were being backed against the wall of the room as he tore the suit completely off and kicked his boots away, and then yes, all of him slamming you against the wall, all that glorious godlike physique yours to…

keep?

The thought circled somewhere around the edges of your scattered brain that was more concerned by the fact that you were being hauled up to the wall and his fingers were brushing up your thighs and –

“Oh fuck, honey,” he groaned as his calloused hand slid over your soaking wet core. “Oh jesus.”

All those times he’d fantasized about you. All those pictures he’d conjured in the darkness of his bedroom, all those ways he had imagined he would make you sing. All within his grasp. His lips were ghosting your ear, a gentle tug of teeth here and there and you both never wanted this to stop and needed it to stop because you wanted more, more, more, everything he could and wanted to give you. Steve’s voice was low and strained as he carefully slid a finger inside you:

“So wet for me,” he whispered. “So greedy.”

He was easily holding you up on the wall by one arm slipped under your butt as his other hand worked your core, the heel of his palm rubbing gently against your clit. Even as you were sensitive from the drug, it was a different kind of sensitive, something that made you whine and wither on his touch not out of discomfort but out of pleasure you hadn’t quite imagined possible. The chase for that primal satisfaction had you shameless; coming for him just minutes before had been a sip of cooling water but what raged inside you was a wildfire that had evaporated the relief almost as soon as the last wave had washed over you.

You needed more than his fingers. You needed to be full of him.

“Steve… Just fuck me, please.”

Steve Rogers was a strong man, but there was no possibility that he could’ve resisted the feverish plea that fell from your lips, you calling out to him, you asking to…  He wasn’t even thinking about resisting, no, the second the words had left your mouth he was shifting your weight in his hands.

“Don’t worry, doll, I said I’m yours,” he said, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I will. That’s what you asked me to do, didn’t you? To fuck you against the wall like this, with my cock deep inside you?”

You barely recalled the words, the message you had sent, and it mattered fuck all now that he was here, lining up to finally, finally, finally give you what you wanted.

“That was a question, doll,” he rasped, his forehead pressed against yours and sweat sprinkling on it from the effort of trying to maintain at least an inkling of composure.

“Yes. Yes. I need you. I need you to fuck me and I need you to come for me; I need you to come inside me.”

You were so needy for him that he slid inside the second he pushed against you but despite the wetness, despite the burning, it was still a sensation that made your head drop back against the wall as you adjusted to his size. God, yes. This sensation of being full of him, precisely him and not just anyone, had been something you had craved from the second the sweet vapor had floated into your system.

The feeling of you wrapped around his cock slammed into Steve’s brain, the force of the impact pushing out anything and everything except for the feral, primal animalistic need to keep doing precisely what he was doing. You were helplessly pressed between him and the wall, squeezing him, and with his hands full of your body and his ears full of your sweet moans, he was certain he was approaching some sort of ascension.

“Good girl,” his low, hoarse voice filled your ears like warm syrup. “You’re being so good for me.”

The feeling of your walls clenching even harder around his cock made him chuckle against the skin of your neck. He was throbbing inside you at the feeling, wanting this to last and wanting to chase the release he knew would be out of this world. You were burning hot in his hand, clawing at his back, incoherent at the feeling of him pressed against you and sheathed to the hilt inside you, his hips rocking with torturously slow pace that was pushing you towards the edge again.

“You like that, don’t you? You like me telling you how perfect you are for me, how well you’re taking my cock, doll?”

You were so close, so so so close again, and this time, it was going to be even better than it had been coming on his thigh. He had you, just like he always had you back on the field, that’s what you loved about him among many other things, the control, the command… And he had asked you a question. Before you could think, the words fell out of your mouth:

“Yes, Captain.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. In that second, someone poured a gallon of gasoline over Steve and threw a lit match to follow. Your words scorched every last cell in his body, the way his title rolled off your tongue making his head spin. His eyes flared into a blue inferno and his body slammed tighter against you as he lost his rhythm for a moment before stalling. You met his eyes and swallowed, because something had changed. Steve Rogers had dipped into Captain America, and you had seen that gaze of a hunting predator in his eyes on the field but had never imagined it in a context like this.

Truth be told, you had. But you had never imagined it would one day stare at you in the eye, his cock deep inside you. He had stopped, and you were barely coherent, swaying right there on the edge for him.

“Is that so, doll?” he chuckled, smiling like a shark that had smelled blood. “You want your captain to take the reins? You want to just focus on being a good girl and doing what you’re told?”

Your brain ways beyond being able to form anything resembling a sentence, you faced his gaze and nodded. You did trust him, from the bottom of your heart – you had known the moment you had started succumbing to this that if there was one person you trusted to get you out of this, it was Steve Rogers.

Your Captain.

The second your head moved in agreement, he slammed his mouth on yours, his hips moving to retreat almost completely out of you and then right back in with force that told you he had been holding back. And you wanted, needed, had to have everything of his. You buried your nails to his back as he ravaged you, his pace almost inhumanly fast but not for a second hurting. He would never. The climax that had been building itself up by coiling your entire body tighter and tighter was almost on the edge of snapping, almost almost almost –

“So fucking wet for me. So perfect for your captain. Come on my cock, honey. Let me have it.”

“STEVE!”

The fire that washed over you rivaled a supernova and you could feel your muscles clamp down on Steve’s cock almost desperately, and the combination of that and his name ripping from your throat in a desperate sob was too much for Steve, too. With one final thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as he could and came, your core fluttering around him in a way that awakened some deep, deep hunger inside him. He knew how you felt now, he knew how his name sounded dripping from your lust-crazed lips, he knew how wet you were for him.

He was so utterly, utterly ruined.

During the momentary lapse back to reason, he ran a hand over your hot cheek, looking into your eyes. You both were breathing in gulps of air as Steve slowly slid you down the wall, sliding out of you and pulling you to him. His hands landed possessively over your hips, and you hummed in pleasure, positively drunk over the feeling of being his, completely unashamed of anything as he kissed you.

“You did so well, honey. So good for me. I’ve got you; we’ll get through this,” he murmured against your mouth.

He wasn’t done with you – not for himself, and not for you. Not by a long shot. He could feel the burning on your skin, and when he mouthed the pulse point on your neck, he could still tell that your heart was beating like a hummingbird. And the second your hand dived between your bodies and wrapped around his cock again, he was hard for you.

God bless the serum and the heightened testosterone that followed. Even as his plans for you sat firmly in the realm of unholy.

The second you touched him, his palm covered the nape of your neck, grabbing it firmly to make you look up to his eyes. The climax wasn’t the relief you had been hoping for, not yet, it was something worse and something better, a tease, a promise of eventual one but not yet, not before you would come for Steve again and again and again. As of now, you were burning, burning still. Burning for him.

“The bed. On your hands and knees,” he growled, and you obeyed.

Of course you did. When he said it like that, just like he did on missions, it was a sign that he had the control and you could trust him. It was alright. You could let go. You could forget everything and let him lead, and there was freedom in that. The surrender was a cherry on the top of the lust boiling in your body, and when you felt him kneel on the bed behind you, his large palms caressing over your thighs and hips, you shivered. He leaned over you, above you, and you could more sense than feel his broad shoulders shadowing you as he kissed the back of your neck. You were trembling in anticipation as you felt him position himself against you, almost pushing into you but not quite. Not yet.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, his voice a dark whisper on your neck. “So good at following orders.”

“Yes, Captain. Please, I need… Please.”

Steve chuckled, and his teeth carefully nibbed your shoulder before he talked again:

“Good girls get rewarded.”

Any chance of you forming a reply to the words was gone the second he pushed himself back inside you, and the angle had him brushing against every single perfect spot inside you. He was so deep, even deeper than he had been and you threw your head back in crazed whimper. He was still draped over your back, and his left hand slipped under your body, pulling you tighter against him.

“Up, honey,” he rasped into your ear.

It was more a warning than an order, because in the next second, he had shifted on the bed to sit on his heels, pulling you flush against his chest as you straddled his thighs. He was all hard muscle and musky masculinity behind and underneath you. He positioned an arm between your breasts so that you were almost caged in his grip, his palm spreading possessively over your collarbone as his breath tickled your ear. Instinctively, you moved in his lap, arching back and grabbing the back of his neck for support even as his arm held you in place with ease. His bicep felt impossibly wide as it pressed against your side but you were far more focused on the fact that he was deep enough in you that he was hitting places you weren’t aware had existed. You flexed your thighs to cradle his in between, and god, those thighs were like two tree-trunks. The curve of your butt was pressed against the washboard of his stomach, and you felt his free hand caress the side of your hip before it roamed to your inner thigh. He still wasn’t moving, even as you were slightly rocking yourself back and forth, his patience almost impossible.

“Easy, doll. We’ve got all night,” he said, but contrary to his words, he pressed two fingers to draw small circles over your clit as he finally, finally moved. “We’ve got as long as you need.”

“Steve…” you whined as he rolled his hips.

He moved his hips and your entire body with such ease that you could feel electricity crackling on your skin. It was this apex of a man buried deep inside you, this impossible demigod that was so under your spell that he was already panting against your neck.

“I’m right here, honey. Fuck, you’re so tight,” he said. “Squeezing me so good.”

His far too teasing fingers brushed over your clit in time of his rubbing thrusts, and you were being wound tighter and tighter, another climax already building inside you and the peak was building higher than you had ever felt it, preparing for the collapse that was as inevitable as it had been to end up right here.

“I’m yours.”

“Oh yes you are, doll. All mine. Looking so pretty on my cock.”

Steve was mouthing the side of your neck, grazing with his teeth until he found a spot that made you whimper and latched onto that, sucking firm enough to leave a mark. You pushed your hips forward against his fingers, trying to get more pressure, trying to get him to move faster. The second you did, he pulled you back tighter against himself, preventing you from moving on your own but continuing to move both of your bodies himself.

“You’re going to let me, doll,” he growled. “You wanted to let go. So let go. Relax. Let your captain take care of you.”

He brought his fingers up from between your legs to your lips and you let your jaw drop open without a thought at all to taste the salty, tangy combination of you and him. As your mouth closed around his fingers in wet, warm softness, Steve moaned a strained curse against the your shoulder and picked up the pace.

You were gone. You were floating somewhere beyond all reality, somewhere where the only thing that existed was the man behind you and inside you and the burning in your veins that craved. Him, this, anything he could and would give you.

The feeling of you sucking on his fingers and your soaked core trying to desperately keep him from retreating as he moved his hips, your muscles clenching around his cock, was beyond Steve’s wildest fantasies. He was beyond any conscious thought whatsoever, his brain focused only on thought of spending the rest of his life buried deep inside you, pulling a peak after peak after peak from you until you were all spent and all his. With a lewd, wet sound, he pulled his fingers out of your mouth despite your whiny protest and pressed them again at your core to continue touching you in sync with his movements. You were almost there, strung tight with desire in his lap, your core slick and burning around his cock. He mouthed a path from your neck to your earlobe and teased it with his teeth, his breath hot and filthy and dripping with sin in your ear as you whimpered.

“You’re going to come for me, love. You’re going to come for your captain,” he rasped, the authority unquestionable. “That’s an order.”

His words pushed you right over the edge, collapsing the mountain that had been rising from the sea within you and the earthquake that came did Steve in, too. You could hear him moan your name into your ear as he came, the feeling of you irresistible as you came undone for him. It was an explosion that scorched through you, a heat that consumed the previous burn that had been in you, swallowed it whole like an exploding supernova swallowed a galaxy. Whole, and without mercy. It sent you falling back into what felt like a cooling pool of water after you had been catching fire, after a whole day spent in the scorching sun.

The whiteness that came after was still and absolute for a second or two and then you felt Steve’s chest rumble behind your limp body, his cock still buried deep inside you and his hands holding you so close.

“Better?” he chuckled, leaning over your shoulder to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Yes,” you whispered.

It was. You were starting to feel like you weren’t going to spontaneously combust but even as it was the case, you were far from exhausted, and Steve chuckled again as he felt your core flutter around him.

“Not done?”

You shook your head and he retreated back, kissing your temple and then whispering into your ear:

“Good. Cause I’m far from being done with you, too.”

In the late night, you descended back into your body from somewhere between fever dream and consciousness to find yourself comfortable in bed. A shape like a warm rock wall was pressed against your back, and you were being held in strong arms: safe. So safe. At some point during the night, when you had been finally feeling like you could sleep, Steve had carried you to the shower and spent long minutes washing your body. And of course, you had returned the favor, and gotten a taste of him. And of course, Steve had been able to take only so much of you kneeling on the shower floor with his cock in between your plush lips before he had had to haul you up and slowly, almost languorously have you against the tiled wall. And of course, you had come for him one more time even as you had been forced to consider that the next climax might be the one to shut your brain off completely.

There were worse ways to go.

In the dark room, wrapped in satin sheets that would probably have to be burned after this, you stirred once more. A gentle breath tickled the back of your neck, and even half asleep, you felt your lust wake, heat pooling into the bottom of your stomach and tingling all over your skin. The past few hours seemed like a pleasant, hazy dream that still caressed your body.

More. More more more more.

The greediness of your hindbrain coaxed you back to life. You rocked your hips back against the man that was spooning you, and drowsily whispered his name, still unsure which part of you actually knew it was him.

“Steve.”

The answer to your whimper was a dark chuckle and a slightly sleepy kiss onto your earlobe.

“Right here, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Do you need me again?”

“Need you. Want you,” you whined, rocking your hips again, satisfied to feel that he was already hard.

Wanting you as much as you wanted him. One of the hands that held you slid down to grab your hips and roll you onto your back, and in the next second, he leaned over you to kiss you even as his hand slid down your stomach. Your renewed desire had you already wet for him again, and he groaned as he parted your folds to feel it.

“God, doll, how do you ever expect me to get enough of you when you feel like this?”

He positioned himself over you again, trailing slow, teasing kisses down your stomach as you tried to rock up to coax him on. His hands were roaming up and down your body, caressing your skin with the lightest of touches and stopping to squeeze every now and then.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered. “I’m yours.”

That lit a fire. Steve let out a harsh, ragged breath and moved down to sink his face in between your legs. There was no tentativeness to it this time, not after he’d spent the last twelve or so hours thoroughly exploring you, making note of every way you reacted to his touch. He knew what to do, and a proud shiver, like a predator shaking its fur dry, shot down his spine.

His. You were his.

He was absolutely merciless, his tongue never letting up even as your whimpers of his name grew louder with every movement. He was holding you down by your hipbones, your thighs resting on his shoulders, not letting you move an inch. The burning blue flames of his eyes looked at you as you writhed and whined and moaned his name for him, and a reminder of his eidetic memory crossed your mind. He would remember this, and the way he was looking at you, he was making sure that he would get every single detail. As he gently buried two fingers inside you, you were certain that you would’ve jumped on the bed had his arm not been firmly resting on top of your hips.

“I want to wake you up like this every day,” he whispered hoarsely, his head still in between your thighs. “I want the first thing you feel in the morning to be coming apart on my tongue, and I want to go out into the world with your sweet voice moaning my name echoing in my ears.”

Yes. Yes. Yes, please.

“Fuck, Steve…”

He cursed at the sensation of you clamping down on his fingers, desperate for the sensation of being full again because you were ruined, ruined, utterly ruined by him. There would not be going back from this, not after being loved and worshipped and fucked like this by someone who was closer to a god than a man.  

“Come for me, love,” he whispered against you, command and a plea at the same time.

What was there to do but obey as his fingers curled up, brushing against a sensitive spot inside you, and the endearment fell from Steve’s lips like a confession you had been waiting for?

The minute you returned to your senses, the self-satisfied chuckle that rumbled from between your legs gave you no other option than to beg for him to fill you? And with how wrapped around your finger he had already been for months, you could’ve asked Steve to fetch you the moon and the stars, and he would’ve obeyed without question. To sheathe himself inside you was certainly not a tall order, especially not with how you wrapped your limbs around him, trying to get him as close as possible.

It was love. It had to be, wrapped into the scarlet-red silks of lust as it now was.

When it finally settled down again, your voice hoarse from screaming his name into the dim room that was luckily very well soundproofed, he still wanted to hold you close. His fingers traced lazy patterns over your back.

“God, I should’ve said something in Verona,” he rasped into your hair as your warm weight rested against his chest. “About how much of an embarrassing crush I had on you.”

You shifted closer, soaking in the comfort of being cherished and wanted and protected like this, and when you smiled against his skin, you were already halfway back in a dream. It certainly was an unconventional beginning, and as the aphrodisiac was almost out of you, one sardonic part of your brain was wondering how you’d spin the beginning of this love story for the press. Which would certainly be foaming at the mouth when it found out two Avengers were dating.

“Maybe you should say that tomorrow, then,” you whispered.   

And that was exactly what he intended to do.

Next Chapter >>

[prophecydungeon]

fic: chirality

fandom: one piece relationship: zoro/sanji, sanji & luffy rating: E words: 8,100

The fallout of an inopportune bodyswap in an inopportune moment, from the other side of the looking glass.

B-side to the bodyswap!

-> read on AO3

[nightskyfoxyy]

Quick rendition of a scene from @niobiumao3 s' wonderful fic Chirality.

They have very selective hearing. A dangerous little duo!

Highly recommend reading the fic! Its a wonderful read, and its doing so much justice to Tech and Phee especially. I love it very much and am so honored that the girls have their place in it too! >v<

[serenityhime1]

Reflections Chapter 10 is up! It's bittersweet for me to be wrapping up this project, but I am so incredibly grateful that everyone has been so supportive of my writing experiment and I've truly enjoyed reading everyone's feedback. It's also encouraged me to do more experimental stuff in the future, so you can look forward to that :)

I'm thinking about doing a Q&A on this fic. You can absolutely ask questions in the comments, but if you have burning questions about the story, things that weren't explicitly shared, things you'd like to see answered, or want to know more about the process/how the sausage was made on this one, feel free to send them to me!

If there's interest I'll put up a post maybe mid-week answering questions (with things hidden behind a cut to avoid spoilers for anyone who hasn't read the whole story yet, of course.

Thanks again for taking these journeys with me, friends.

[bronte-deserves-better]

*wrestling announcer voice* New fic posted!

Title: Chiral

Wordcount: 8277

Summary:

adjective: chiral of or relating to a molecule that is not superimposable on its mirror image - Sophie tugs nervously at her eyelashes with one hand, reminding Tiergan painfully that however brave and brilliant she is, she’s still an anxious teenager trying to find her place in this world. “I- I wasn’t sure about this, but I figured that you would get it.”

Before Tiergan can ask what ‘it’ is, she pulls out a necklace from under her tunic.

Grief sticks like a knife in his throat.

The gold-and-ruby phoenix gleams proudly in the light from the window, and Tiergan- Tiergan can’t do this. - Or, Sophie reveals a secret that forces Tiergan to confront griefs that he thought he'd left in his past. Bronte helps.

(sequel to Avowal, and part of the Ancillary series)

AO3 Link

[gastlygallows]

Just saw a video on twt making fun of some woman in a bookstore picking up novels and saying "oh the main character fucks her uncle in this", "this author used to write KyloRey fic" and I have to ask how are fanfic authors comfortable exposing their professional lives to their fandom followers?

With as miserable and rabid as cancel culture has been re: creatives are you allowed to just say "yeah I write problematic stuff but I'm sorry for being white and I promise I'm a Good Person (TM) here's some pron for the female gaze"?

Does this only apply to erotica? I have a whole backlog of fanfic I've been meaning to reupload and I have three semi-active AO3 accounts, I wouldn't mind the extra eyes on my professional work but I've been very very reluctant to combine my fandom identities and my professional one because of cancel culture and also I don't think the ages of fictional characters matter I write a lot of Pokemon stuff lol

I'm also not sorry for anything I've written or said ever so there's that, there's no "oh I wrote this ten years ago I'm sorry it doesn't reflect my current values" my current values still include Pinecest

I'd rather have my legs cut off than ever bend the knee and it doesn't matter too much since my bf will be pulling in enough money in a few years that even if I got "cancelled" it'd be inconsequential but for now I am trying to make money

I just don't get how some fanfic authors are like "anyway here's my original stuff" and don't separate their identities like at all

Is it insanity or bravery? Am I just schizophrenic? I've got more victim points than anyone who would try to "cancel" me I just actively choose not to play retarded games since imo the only thing to be won are retarded prizes

Anyway the people making fun of those women in the video are mean however I think there's a good faith argument to be made that if you defend erotica and porn for women you shouldn't have a problem with l0li or ecchi anime content either--I would die for the right of a basement dweller to get off to his 5000 year old dragon l0li idgaf my principles are applied FAIRLY and EQUALLY to everyone the way that you should objectively apply your princples and opinions I would also take a bullet for you to consume reader inserts with uh whatever is the most mainstream thing about normie women these days lol

No I will not shame you for reading 50 shades of grey but I will also not shame some ugly fat 4channer for his doujinshi collection at the end of the day none of you are hurting anyone for what you get off to and the dating economy is garbage even if you're bisexual (like me)

It's all fictional and I think a lot of women especially on this website need to get off their high horse--Touhou yuri is primarily for dudes the same way Nitro Chiral is primarily for girls get over it

[cypanache]

So… Chirality is a multi chapter? Or a one shot?

That’s a good question. I’m pretty sure it’s longer than a one shot. Unless I choose to just limit it this to one scene, which probably could work as a sort of porny excerpt where you imagine for yourself what happens next. But I do have at least four very distinct scenes in mind I’d like to bring to life, so then as I try to connect them it starts to feel like a story that merits more than one chapter. But it’s definitely not a multi chapter the way Trap or even Unintended are. Whatever it is it’s like 80% sex and vibes.

What I could see it being is structured as a 3 chapter fic: Setup scenes immediately post Geonosis through the wedding night on Naboo (which yes Obi-Wan is definitely around for). Then a chapter that runs through bits of the “seduction/gaslighting” of Anakin which would be during the clone wars told mostly through their conspiring. Then close out with the Anakin’s fall and the revelation/claiming scenes. I’m still putting flesh on the bones so to say Bhutto I think that the most likely scenario

[tech-aficionado]

I need everyone to stop what they are doing and join me in my latest fixation.

I’m seriously considering a AO3 book club and making a discord server dedicated to reading and sharing fic. I’m already on a few TBB servers (and I know there are many amazing ones out there too!), so maybe one more would be overkill? Idk.

Anyway, @niobiumao3 has crafted something ASTONISHING and yall need to come with me into this CX-2 Tech rabbit hole because my gods it’s incredible.

[niobiumao3]

In which three people are nowhere near as sneaky as they think they are.

~*~

I like to think of this song as a closer for this fic:

The Beauty of the Unhidden Heart, The Glitch Mob

Some lovely art of older Tech and Phee:

MrSnailDood Lornaka gingerpines cloned-eyes

And of course, the chaos children, Helena and Djoura by @nightskyfoxyy.

Thank you all so much for reading, kudoing, and commenting. I encourage everyone to keep making art, fics, gifs, edits, and whatever else strikes you for Tech, to keep him and his story ever expanding. Phee as well; there was nowhere near enough of her in the show.

This fic owes its existence to all of the CX-Tech theorists, the CX-Tech HCs and art, and the TechPhees of the fandom. I wasn’t enamored of CX-Tech as a theory, but everyone convinced me of ways to do it so it could be satisfying and interesting. Thank you all for inspiring me to write this, and in doing so keeping Tech and Phee’s story moving ever onward. Here’s hoping this isn’t the last we’ve seen of them.

[the-bloody-sadist]

Hello... Do you mind if I ask your top favorite fanfics that you've written or top favorite arts that you've drawn? Why are they're special to you? Do you have specific inspiration when you wrote or drew them? Thanks if you want to answer.....

Ah!! It's so nice of you to ask! I'll list my favorite fanfics I've done (there aren't many) since the artworks are a bit harder to define as a favorite or as something I just enjoyed working on that didn't give me much trouble.

Sinner (Bungou Stray Dogs | Fyodor x Dazai) : I'm sure it comes as NO surprise that my most popular fanfic is the top favorite I've ever written, but I'm glad it turned out that way. Whenever I finish turning it into an original work, I hope it rings just as true to all the fans who read it for Fyodor and Dazai as a standalone fiction. This one is special to me because it's based very closely on my real-life experience with an abuser who was my first partner. There's a handful of other influences on the story as well, including some Killing Stalking and Nitro + Chiral games (Togainu no Chi, Shiki route, if you're curious), but I explain this in far more detail in my author's note at the end of the fanfic! I won't beat a dead horse!

The Unpredictable Structure of Control (Bungou Stray Dogs | Fyodor x Dazai) : Fyozai is my top favorite ship for self-reflection, and since all of my writings are clearly about me (help) and the things I've felt or have wanted to feel over the course of my life, this one centered on my thoughts about asexuality and the hatred of pain along with the need to self-destruct. It's overly flowery and poetic, but the alien nature of the way I get to write when in Fyodor's perspective is one of my FAVORITE styles to play with. I'm very happy with how it came out! I don't believe there was a specific inspiration for this one other than myself and probably whatever fanfics I was reading at the time. Usually when I write, I have a basic theme in mind to build off of, and the one for this work was "second-hand self-harm".

Worth, as Determined by a Lover (Trigun Stampede | Wolfwood x Vash) : This one was inspired by one of my favorite Vashwood fics I've read multiple times by intimatopia called careful fear and dead devotion . I adore the fic and was left with a craving to do something of the same vein ever since I'd first read it! It felt so accurate to their characters and relationship, and I felt like I'd done a good job at what I wanted to do when I finished mine! There's always a little bit of me in every work, but there was definitely a LOT of current events and friends who'd inspired that one, particularly, and I still hold dear what it meant to me and them at the time. Even though one or two relationships have soured since then (not because of it LMAO), I hope if I update this work, that person will see and possibly read and feel heard. I don't know if I'm capable of that, but we'll just have to see! (Sorry for the cryptic talk on this one, it's late.)

There you go! I didn't want to do more than a top 3, otherwise I'd ramble about several others even though they're not exactly my favorites to this day. These are the few that even I'll go back and read when I'm feeling lonely, and they've somehow managed to avoid my self-disgust reaction.

Thanks again for asking! <3

[sparatus]

Plssss, the world needs more Sentiment & Reason, no matter what stage it's at

wip game

see what's funny is i actually started writing the first chapter in my head last night but it was like 4am and i HAD to go to bed lol

sentiment and reason is the sort-of prequel to to catch a rabbit, aka kryterius murder mystery, just in the sense that it takes place prior to rabbit. not super connected otherwise. this time, instead of saren and nihlus, we're covering avitus and macen and how they get together - specifically, via a spectre mission wherein they pose as a married couple moving into a neighborhood in order to investigate a murder.

so far i have the outline up to day 2 of the investigation, i'm working on getting at least to a workable skeleton outline before i start divvying up into chapters, but i do have the setting, the victim, the murder method, and the 3 primary suspects + actual killer worked out :3c and also a subplot about saren's great-grandfather dying of cancer and saren getting The Call sometime before the climax. that'll hurt like a bitch i already cried just thinking of him and des discussing the inevitable last night i'm fine but also it's important to avi and macen in that avi encouraging saren to go be with his dying parsaepat instead of seeing the mission through is a breakthrough moment for the two of them, proving that avi does have empathy and emotional intelligence he just keeps them under lock and key, especially once he admits to macen that part of his motivation for telling saren to go was that he (avi) didn't get to say goodbye to his own mother when she was killed when he was 12 and he doesn't want his brother-friend to have to live with that very unique kind of pain

i don't really have any snippets worth sharing so here's some Fun Facts instead:

title is derived from a poirot quote, because that is apparently my naming scheme for this series, specifically The Mysterious Affair at Styles: "'Every murderer is probably somebody’s old friend', observed Poirot philosophically. 'You cannot mix up sentiment and reason.'"

fic takes place on the turian world thracia, which is another one of the ones with no canon from the scavenger hunt me1 mission and i'm kinda just bullshitting as i go but currently i have it as a world on the part of the turian-human border that used to be (unpopulated, just claimed) turian-salarian, pleasant climate, mostly a retirement planet for older turians looking for somewhere peaceful and warm to spend their twilight years, but with the advent of humanity there's been an increase of alien immigrants and with them younger turians moving in to make the old people feel more secure. there's tension there as a lot of turians don't want humans to feel entitled to a turian planet while humans and some other species feel the turians are being reactionary.

the victim is lieutenant general tagetis agonian, a very old drake (147yo at TOD) with an illustrious career including supporting desolas arterius's rise to power/fame and being one of the commanding generals at shanxi

because we all know i love my meaningful names, agonian's first name comes from the genus name for marigolds Tagetes, because he's killed with a marigold crushed into his tea to trigger his severe levo allergy

macen also has a severe levo allergy. coming into contact with a mixed-chirality bouquet and explaining his sudden hives to avi is what gives avi the idea for what killed the general when his autopsy comes back negative for known poisons but his tea had an earth plant in it.

one of the suspects, myrenth "myra" d'saana, is an asari resident in their waning matron stage who works as an accountant in the city. they moved to thracia with their bondmate several decades ago, and while their bondmate has passed on they'd grown fond of the neighborhood and their neighbors and chose to stay there to raise the child she had with said bondmate. said child is currently in their early 30s, asari equivalent of about 8 or 9, and was conceived shortly before the bondmate passed as "something to remember her by."

myrenth is very proud of their garden and regularly went back and forth with tagetis for first place in the annual competition. their garden is mixed-chirality, but they politely kept the levo plants away from the fence bordering tagetis's yard so he wouldn't accidentally come in contact with them.