#insertion

[fandom-gt]

FANDOM: MCU

REQUESTED SUMMARY: ”Another continuation of the adventures of Steve in Natasha's panties!”

Previous Installment

CHARACTERS: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Secret Third Male

WARNINGS: Insertion, Unaware

COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page + 1 Add-on

——

To say that the thick intruder breaching Natasha’s lips began to drag itself over Steve would be, frankly, a little too reductive to the whole experience. The reality of it felt far more chaotic and far more slow-motion than all that, and were he in charge of his own retelling, he’d say the enormity of it deserved the greater detail. Let’s back up a few seconds, then, to really appreciate poor Cap’s experience.

The world around him is dim, and it’s only due to the serum in his blood that he can see anything at all. What he can make out is basked in flesh-obstructed red lighting, painting everything in intimate and organically surreal color. As an artist, maybe he could appreciate that, if he weren’t… you know, in it.

The entire front of his body is plastered to a bundle of nerves, stuck with sticky sex like thick glue that internittently floods and attempts to drown him. The ridge he’s pressed against throbs with Natasha’s heartbeat, a quick and excited thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud that would bely how turned on she is, if it weren’t already abundantly clear.

And then real, white light breaches again. The closed-up wall of wet, thick, plush flesh that became impenetrable the moment she closed her legs parts effortlessly, with strings of that same slick fluid spanning like spiderwebs across the gap. While he might’ve had a fleeting, two-second nothin of trying to scurry his way out, any such thing was immediately eradicated by the sight of what began to obstruct his exit.

The thick, bulbous head of something phallic. Only the head, that’s all he can see from here; her entrance is too tight, the angle is all wrong, he’s far too small. It braces itself right at that ring of flesh, pausing, waiting, giving Steve plenty of time to feel himself consumed with dread. “No… Nat, come on, man. Don’t do this to me… Nat, don’t fuck while I’m in here, Natasha, please-”

The question about whether or not the member preparing to overtake him is real or artificial answers itself for Steve in the worst way. As though it heard him, as though taunting him or encouraged by his pleading, the shiny round head of the thing pulses once in a distinct, visible throb of lust, of heat, of excitement. He can see the beginnings of pearling precum bead at the slit, and the whole thing nudges forward just a teasing inch or two. Closer, but not yet overtaking him, as Natasha and whoever this is drag the first thrust out to a painfully suspenseful slow-motion.

“Oh, god damn it-” Steve breathes, disbelief and fatigue and bewilderment mounting in him as he stares down Natasha’s pulsing inner muscles at the steady accumulation of new fluids building on the cock below him. As if worrying about not drowning to Natasha’s body wasn’t enough, the amount of fluid this guy’s generating before they’ve even really gotten started is easily a few gallons.

If he comes- when he comes inside her, when she comes around him, Steve’s going to be absolutely drenched, trapped between two desperately clenching and throbbing organs far stronger than he is, overpowering him and virtually eliminating his ability to maneuver himself out of the flow of it all.

Shit, shit, shit- he thinks, renewing his struggle abruptly, desperate to be anywhere but the direct path of that cock, the perfect position on her g-spot where he knows it will focus. If he can get deeper inside her, deeper in her body, maybe he could-

His movements rocket through Natasha so thoroughly, her whole pussy quivers, clenching around the head of the cock at her entrance. Both Natasha and her partner gasp at the sudden spike in lust and pleasure, and the cock plunges deep and hard into her wanton pussy, slamming Steve face-first against Natasha’s bundle of nerves again.

And from that point on, there is no chance for him to crawl deeper to escape. They shift positions, gravity changes so that he’s not against a wall anymore but rather a floor, a downward force, presumably with Natasha face down so her partner can move behind her. The thick length of cock doesn’t let up during the entire transition, with a rigid line throbbing so roughly against Steve’s back, he can feel it pop in a few precarious places. He’s being smothered, crushed, pulsed into the flesh beneath him and the guy isn’t even moving properly yet. That’s just the steady pounding of blood from his still-motionless erection.

And then… and then the real moving starts. That slick cock drags itself backward, running every inch and every vein along Steve’s back, catching him even harder on the rounded and implacable head, but never pulling out enough that he fully lets up off of Steve’s body. He’s he’s just barely given some freedom along his top half to suck down a breath, only to feel another pulse and a fresh, hot wave of wetness spill down his back, along the side of his face.

Then it drives in again, and Natasha’s core tightens in coarse, sweet pleasure, gripping and grinding and milking every sensation she can get out of both the cock that’s filling her, and the unknown, accidental little toy more sweet than a vibrator writhing around on her sweet spot. Neither her nor her partner know what’s so particularly good about this round, only that it is, and those slow back-and-forth drags quickly escalate into something harder, faster, more frantic.

Soon, there are no pauses on this in-and-out. Soon, the rippling of Natasha’s body around him becomes constant, nauseating wave of clenching movement, squeezing the life out of him, grinding him into the cock he’s accidentally adding an inch of thick padding to. Steve loses track of which one of them is flooding him at any given time; hot from his back, hot from above, constantly drenched in new arousal as pleasure spikes in either member of this entanglement over and over and over again, until finally- finally, Natasha swells and clenches so tightly, the cock at his back goes so rigid, that he thinks this must be it. He can’t possibly survive anything more than this, he’s at his very limits-

And a groan so deep and thorough that it vibrates his fucking bones runs through Natasha. The fluttering muscles go into wild fervor, the river becomes Niagra Falls, as both Natasha and her partner come together with Steve crushed in between their organs, accidentally facilitating their pleasure.

At least it’s over, he thinks, as Natasha slumps forward and the cock at Steve’s back begins to soften. At least it’s finally, finally, finally over. This guy’s going to pull out, and he’ll be able to escape this hell that is Natasha’s body when she stands to allow the rush of fluid to leak out of her.

Any minute now.

Any… minute… now.

The cock does not pull out.

[drmonkeysetroscans]

Finger her.

[oh-dear-so-queer]

Irradiation at 300 nm converts the trans cinnamide side chain of structure 2 to the cis isomer of structure 3, while the reverse process occurs at 254 nm.

In this case, however, the orientation of the cis double bond prevents the side chain inserting into the cavity and so in that mode the machine is turned off. By contrast, the trans alkene moiety does allow insertion, and so in this mode the machine is turned on. (...) The photoisomerisation of the trans cinnamide side chain of structure 2 and the cis isomer of structure 3 provides the machine with an on/off switch.

"Chemistry" 2e - Blackman, A., Bottle, S., Schmid, S., Mocerino, M., Wille, U.

[eyeballsdeep]

sometimes i can’t think of literally anything other than the first feeling of sliding in her. it’s my favorite place to be.

[noodles-and-tea]

[knockknockwhosthereartistism]

I was inspired

[acorviart]

not to sound like a boomer, but I need some people to learn how to write emails in a semi-professional (at the very least) format so you're not cold emailing a business/potential employer/any other stranger about formal matters in the exact same way you'd DM a close friend on instagram

the formality/language can loosen up in the email chain once you've established a rapport and you match the other person if they're being less formal, but please don't have the very first email you send a stranger be written in all lowercase ultra-casual sms slang with no greeting or signature and a billion emojis

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

[beepboopappreciation]

Is this anything

[white-poppie]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ Thinking 'bout Older!Toji <33

Older!Toji who very clearly needs reading glasses but refuses to wear them because "he doesn't need it." So he's just squinting his eyes trying to read whatever is written on the newspaper.

Older!Toji who's your biggest hypeman; you'll find him whistling "damn mama" at anything you wear, sweatpants, large ugly t-shirts? He's hyping you up like you're wearing designer clothes, his hands constantly on your butt, smacking whenever he has a chance. And if you whine cutely, he'll just chuckle and do it again!

Older!Toji who just refuses to fight with you even if it's for valid reason. You'd be screaming at him, and he'll wait till you tire out and just look at you with a coy smirk and say, "You done, baby?" ugh, he's so annoying.

Older!Toji, who has this weird thing where he squishes your face and then leans down to kiss your puckered lips with an audible smooch.

Older!Toji who's super clingy in the morning (contrary to popular belief) and just sags half of his body weight on you, and you can barely move. " 'jus five more mins ma," he'd whisper in his hoary voice and you'd have no choice but to relent.

Older!Toji who doesn't have the energy he used to have in his younger years, so after particularly tiring days, he just wants to lay his head on your lap and have you run your fingers through his hair and he's out like a baby...except the fact his snores could wake up the entire neighbourhood.

Older!Toji who loves wearing the black compression shirt and grey sweatpants combo just to see you salivate over him. He pats his thighs and gestures for you to sit on his lap before burying his nose in your neck and pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

Older!Toji fell in love with you all over again when he let you shave his face after you insisted. He just looks up at you with his intense eyes, being so silent you can't even tell if you accidentally hurt him or something, and after you're done, he grabs your hand and whispers out, "I swear to god, I am gonna marry you again."

[zerosocialskillz]

Let me try this

So let the wheel decide your Japanese first-person pronoun

Note: descriptions may be inaccurate.

[magical-reid]

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[geraldvernay-blog]

Défis de l'insertion professionnelle: Stratégies gagnantes

L’insertion professionnelle des publics éloignés de l’emploi constitue un défi majeur pour les conseillers en insertion professionnelle . Ce public regroupe des personnes confrontées à des obstacles multiples tels que l’absence de qualifications, les discriminations, des problèmes de santé ou encore des situations sociales précaires. Ces obstacles peuvent sembler insurmontables pour les individus…

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[1000fingers]

Bitches will find a fictional man attractive and then immediately imagine him in situations where he is losing alarming amounts of blood