#or maybe i could get an induction

[solemntitty]

me adding that fucking chili oil in to any soup: how did I grow up with unsalted chicken and boiled vegetables

[themanwhowouldbefruit]

americans who are scared of msg are so fucking funny like. *5 minutes later* "me and the bestie (ranch dressing mix package) (third ingredient monosodium glutamate)"

[embers-burning-bright]

two casually transphobic experiences irl back to back i literally cannot stand this fucking country anymore

[heliobyandere]

Yandere Kinich Profile !

A/N: I don't read Cinnamonest's fanfics, but I was greatly inspired by her Yandere Profile template, even taking many of the NON-NSFW questions. It's my first time doing an Yandere Profile, sorry if any errors.

ㅤㅤ 𓉸ྀི ִ ࣪ㅤ⋆ 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖?ㅤ۫ ❤︎⎯ᛝ𐙚₊˚⊹

You're a new person at Natlan, you came from another region or mayhaps another world like the traveler. You were walking past some trees and then you hear someone arguing in one of the trees and you found a light tan boy with black hair and yellow-green eyes, which by what that strange saurian he is arguing with he is called Kinich.

To catch his attention to he become obsessed with you I believe you should have any ties with Natlan by ancestors or something to do with khaenri'ah that you have anything to do with the Night Kingdom. You have to be really "outside the box", something he never saw.

After that you started having talks with Kinich and that strange saurian, which you discovered that it's name is Ajaw.

He started liking you and was genuinely interested in your ties, he starts being pretty much of a helper to you in this new region you arrive as I believe he is much of acts of service than any other. He is always there to help you in any case.

He doens't how to act sweet so he tries to help you by acts of service.

ㅤㅤ 𓉸ྀི ִ ࣪ㅤ⋆ 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝?ㅤ۫ ❤︎⎯ᛝ𐙚₊˚⊹

When you get badly injuried by any enemy when he says to you stay with him.

He warned you but you didn't listen, you are so naive that you thought you could stay alone in a dangerous region. But maybe you aren't so naive and you're just stupid. I don't know why eould you be at somewhere.

Or maybe if you risk too much for too little. You are just stupid to him, but a stupid where he is obsessed with.

ㅤㅤ 𓉸ྀི ִ ࣪ㅤ⋆ 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎?ㅤ۫ ❤︎⎯ᛝ𐙚₊˚⊹

Manipulative, Overprotective, Loneliness Induction and Stalker. He is somewhat more someone who uses his head to anything. It isolates you from possible "threats" by making them stay away from you.

He pretty much knows how to do everything quickly and easily. For him you don't need anyone else. As I already said, he is much more of an acts of service yandere.

Also he wants you to depend on him. Be it by don't making you do anything by yourself or just breaking your legs.

Also he is pretty of a stalker, it's easy to him to hid in any tree and he thinks you're interesting.

ㅤㅤ 𓉸ྀི ִ ࣪ㅤ⋆ 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎?ㅤ۫ ❤︎⎯ᛝ𐙚₊˚⊹

He is pretty aware that he developed an obsession and that it is unhealthy, but he is pretty much liking this feeling and Ajaw don't stop bothering him about it.

He at first just wanted your friendship, you're interesting, you're pretty, you're someone kind, etc. He just wanted your friendship, until he wanted more and more about you. And when he realized it was already a little too late.

ㅤㅤ 𓉸ྀི ִ ࣪ㅤ⋆ 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚙 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐?ㅤ۫ ❤︎⎯ᛝ𐙚₊˚⊹

After a life or death situation he will make you stay at his house and even when you get better he will still keep telling you that it is better for you to stay at his home. You know nothing about the terrain so everything is easy for him.

And he will always lock you in his house.

You'll be there so long that you won't even realize you've been kidnapped.

ㅤㅤ 𓉸ྀི ִ ࣪ㅤ⋆ 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚖? 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐?ㅤ۫ ❤︎⎯ᛝ𐙚₊˚⊹

Easy at certain times of the year, like when he goes pro Easy at certain times of the year, like when he goes to the tournament and if you're lucky he wins, he goes to war against the abyss, and you'll have more time to plan an escape.

At first he leaves you tied up, for the few first escapes, after much time and consideration he will take off your chains. Everything will be babyproof, and everything will have to at least have thought about how to make everything inescapable.

After that he will just straight up break your legs.

ㅤㅤ 𓉸ྀི ִ ࣪ㅤ⋆ 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚢 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖?ㅤ۫ ❤︎⎯ᛝ𐙚₊˚⊹

He is pretty much aware that you will try to trick him or even manipulate him. It's not that easy, but being not too good not too bad he will think you're being normal and not trying to manipulate him.

If you're either too good or too bad he won't be manipulable. If you're too good he will get it as a way of trying to manipulate him. If you're too bad with him he will be punishing you by breaking your legs or isolation.

ㅤㅤ 𓉸ྀི ִ ࣪ㅤ⋆ 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎? 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚍?ㅤ۫ ❤︎⎯ᛝ𐙚₊˚⊹

You have any privileges, except going out of his home. You can walk if you didn't did anything wrong, you can help him with some unharmful things at home such as do the dishes. It's pretty normal a life with him if it wasn't for hum being yandere.

ㅤㅤ 𓉸ྀི ִ ࣪ㅤ⋆ 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚍? 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎?ㅤ۫ ❤︎⎯ᛝ𐙚₊˚⊹

Silent but aggressive anger. He will just be silent and ignore you, if you continue being a brat he will just smack your head against the wall.

But it's pretty rare his anger and it's not that easy. He's going to have to be in a bad mood and so are you, and you're going to have to be a brat.

ㅤㅤ 𓉸ྀི ִ ࣪ㅤ⋆ 𝙳𝚘 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖?ㅤ۫ ❤︎⎯ᛝ𐙚₊˚⊹

Equal, but sometimes beneath. If you got kidnapped definitely he will see you as a stupid because he need to protect you now.

But he sees you as an equal. Not less, not more. He will treat you like a normal person, but he wants you to depend on him.

[decayedgloria]

sundress szn pt. 2

pt. 2 ft. scaramouche, sandrone, pantalone, and childe

Summer’s finally come, so you decide to wear something that fit the occasion- much to your lover’s excitement.

tags: nsfw under cut, public/semi public sex in almost all of these, I got carried away during pantalone’s, harbingers x afab! Reader (minus signora this time bc I genuinely cannot think of smth for her rn but I can promise in the future that she may be in one of these.), slight ooc maybe? mdni.

word count: ~2.2k, I wrote these half asleep on a nine hour flight these are not going to be proofread

Scaramouche

This was a good idea. Totally. Sumeru’s just much, much more humid than Snezhnaya, which was something you were willing to get used to. You were absolutely fine. 

How you wished you were right.

Even in the shade of the Grand Bazaar you could still feel the light sheen of sweat begin to form on your skin as you hastily fan yourself, occasionally observing your surroundings for your boyfriend. As a newly-inducted Vahumana student, he was bound to get busy, so it left you with a lot of time on your hands. Too much time. But hey, it got you a new dress so who are you to complain?

It reminded you of when you were both in the Fatui, the Harbinger and his loyal partner, who were too busy to really see each other until he whisked you away to Sumeru. You assumed it would be different this time, but it had dawned on you recently that it would take quite a while to get there (not that it wasn’t deserved, he had a lot to atone for after all.)

But it still disheartened you. You would be lying if you said that it didn’t. You missed his hugs and his presence, no matter how much you annoyed each other you always seemed to find a way to touch each other. And on nights he would be up in the Akademiya studying, leaving you alone in your shared bed, your thoughts wandered to those scarce intimate moments you shared- nights where his chest was pressed against yours, with that stupid smirk on his face as he fucked you silly. Just thinking about those nights made a familiar heat rise in between your legs, making you curse as your cheeks reddened. 

Archons, first the heat, and now this? Scaramouche had better hurry, you felt like you were going to be torched alive at this rate.

Thankfully, you did not need to wait long. Looking into the crowd again, your eyes met with a familiar pair of tired purple ones, much to your delight. You hopped off the bench you sat on and beelined your way to the grouchy purple boy, a smile blossoming on your face as you get closer to him. He doesn’t return the same excitement, content to just catch you in his arms like he always does. You don’t seem to mind, though, as you were too preoccupied with burying your face into his chest.

“Scara…” You whined, pouting your lips. “What took you so long? Do you know how hot it is in here? I almost died.” Expecting a smart retort from him, you were thoroughly surprised at the next words that came out of his mouth.

“What on earth are you wearing?”

There was no malice and spite in his voice, just irritated confusion. Which, in turn, confused you, prompting you to release your position against his chest and stare at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Do you not like it? I got it a while ago.” You hesitantly let go of his embrace, spinning once to let him see the whole dress. It was perfect for a hot day- light and airy, revealing as much skin as possible without spilling everything out. When you turned back to him, his face had gotten redder, but his eyes stayed on you- more specifically, your figure. 

“Aw, what’s got you blushing, Scara?” Your teasing tone was met with a glare, and a pathetic attempt to hide his face by looking away. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you don’t like my dress?”

“That’s not the problem.” Suddenly, he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him again, lowering his head so he could murmur into your ear, “I like it too much. Fix it. Now.”

With that, he dragged you to the nearest concealed spot- behind some crates that barely covered the both of you. When you emerged, all that was left of your dress was the tattered skirt that barely hung on to your body as Scaramouche placed his jacket over your top, that same stupid, hot smirk on his face.

Sandrone

Sandrone tried. Really, she did. But she could not help it in the slightest.

The seventh harbinger has a reputation for being a recluse, cooping herself up in her lab toying with her automatons all day. On the rare occasion she did speak to someone, her tone only seemed to indicate annoyance and malice- she didn’t mind since it drove people away. However, things changed the day you were assigned to work under her; suddenly, she didn’t hate the world that much anymore.

Certainly not when you’re dressed like this.

A quick trip to the ruins of Liyue, both as a break and to gather intel, made you a bit… adventurous, with your outfits to say the least. The entire time you had walked around Qiongji Estuary, Sandrone could not help but linger her stare just a little bit longer than usual. Your outfit consisted of a short dress, loosely clinging around your body, but it made you look so alluring in her eyes. A perpetual blush seemed to occupy her face, which you had innocently chalked up to the heat.

As her automatons roam around in search for whatever she had told them to find, Sandrone busied herself under a makeshift tent inspecting what seemed to be an artifact encased in cor lapis, tinkering with the ore as if it were a toy. You were by her side, head on her shoulder, observing your lover with loving eyes. Your subtle touches combined with your warm breathing had already put her on edge, but she continued nonetheless.

However, the last straw came when you stood up a little to grab something on the other side of Sandrone, aptly placing your bosom right in front of her face. So, forgive her for breaking her composure and pulling you back onto the ground, dirtying your dress as she straddles you eagerly while crashing her lips into your own before you could react.

“You’re so fond of distractions…” She said breathlessly, hands all but dying to get your tits out of your dress for her nimble fingers to play with. You moaned in response, a bit taken aback at her suddeness. Looking up at your blushing, desperate girlfriend, you decided to tease her just a little bit.

“I was just trying to help, Sandrone.” Your tone feigned innocence, which only fueled her frustration. She caught your lips with fervor as one hand pinched your nipple, and the other tugged on your hair, all while grinding down on you.

“Shut up and fuck me, please.” 

Pantalone

Pantalone was a man of many talents. One of those talents happens to be spoiling you rotten. Too rotten sometimes. But who were you to complain? The richest man in Teyvat was wrapped around your finger, and you couldn’t help but be a little cheeky and take advantage of that sometimes.

What should’ve been a business trip to Liyue to check the Northland Bank’s activities turned into Pantalone emptying out every boutique in the harbor so you can get a new wardrobe for summer. At one particular store, where there were no other customers besides you and your husband, you had decided to try on some dresses that caught your attention. On one hand, you really did want a few more relaxed additions, but on the other hand, well…

You had emerged from your dressing room not long ago, and yet you were already sat firmly on top of your husband, head in his neck as you try to brace yourself against the waiting room’s couch. Under you, Pantalone only gave you his usual, sly grin as his hands firmly hold you in his lap, keeping you in place as you grind on his ever-growing erection.

“I think this dress looks lovely on you dear.” He whispered, taking in the sight of you writhing on top of him desperately. Chuckling, his hand makes it way all the way to your ass, hiking up the long dress before giving it a smack. You moaned in response, hiding your face in his neck, hands raking over his toned chest.

“You simply look ravishing in it.” He continued his assault on your body, propping you up just a little bit so he had a clear view of your chest, kissing you quickly before delving in between your tits. Archons, he was impatient- he made you impatient. You confess, you did think the dress would get a rise out of him, which was why you picked it first when trying clothes on, but to think he would be this roused by it filled you with a titulating thrill only he was capable of causing.

“Ah- Does the dress make you- ngh… this excited, love?” Despite your teasing words, it was clear that you weren’t the one in control as you rocked your hips to feel even a little bit of relief from the growing ache in between your legs. Pantalone didn’t say anything back, rather he took off his gloves and positioned his fingers over your mouth, commanding you in a husky tone.

“Open up and suck them, darling. I’ll have plenty more for you.”

Childe

“Fuck you mean no?”

“You just aren’t going out like that.” Childe deadpanned, crossing his arms. “It’s a pretty dress for sure though.” The contrasting grin on his freckled face made you want to punch him, though it also illicited some questionable butterflies in your stomach.

Nobody quite knew what you and Childe were. On the surface level, one could assume that you two were just close friends; however, if they took the time to observe how Childe’s touch always lingered for a little too long, or how you stared at him with such bold adoration in your eyes as you smiled at him- it would be quite obvious that there were unspoken feelings for each other somewhere there.

It was quite common for you to visit his office in the Northland Bank like today. You really just wanted to show him the new dress you made for yourself, and figured you could flirt with him a little bit- not that he’d catch the hint. He always did treat you just like a good friend, something that disappointed you a little bit.

Because as it stands, right now, with him towering over you with his arms crossed, a grin on his handsome face- somehow, you’re horny because of this smug bastard. You imagine how good it would be to just smash your lips on his just to shut him up because Archons, is it tempting.

“I’d like to show off what I’ve made for myself,” you huffed at him, pouting. “I’ll go ahead and stroll the streets as I please with or without you then.” You try to turn and leave, expecting him to just laugh and go back to work. However before you could even step towards the door’s direction Childe’s strong hands snaked around your waist, pulling you firmly back.

Without much warning, you fell back into his chest letting out a small yelp. Once you realize the position you were in, you froze- your cheeks heating up an unbearable amount as you try to wriggle away from the (much) stronger man. It only became worse when he placed his lips right on top of your ear, chuckling lowly.

“C’mon… I can’t have all of Liyue see my girl this good.” He remarked lowly, trailing his lips down until they settled on the base of your neck, to which he then placed a gentle kiss. “They might be tempted to steal you away from me, and we can’t have that, can we?.” You’d be lying if you said that didn’t turn you on so fucking much, trying your best to hide it by pulling your legs closer together.

“We aren’t dating though? What do you mean-“ You let out a moan as he started sucking at the same spot, his lips forming a smile as they worked. Your hands flew to his arm on your waist, turning yourself around to meet his gaze. He lifted his head, lips puffy and blue eyes glazed over with lust. 

“Everyone in Liyue knows that we want each other. Why not give in?” He pressed his forehead against yours, lips deliciously close to yours as he placed his hands on your waist. 

“Only if you want to.” Was your sheepish reply, slightly embarassed to be this close to the man you’ve been covering for months. Was it really this easy? Is it just another one of his pranks? You weren’t sure, but at this point you didn’t care much, especially after he launched his lips straight at you in a fervent kiss. His hands lifted you up, haphazardly swiping away everything on his desk and placing you on it while your fingers tangled in his hair.

Both of you fumble with each other’s clothes, but Childe took extra care in taking the sight of your dress halfway off your body, admiring the view. He suddenly brings his hand up to your chest, flicking your nipple. You moan in both surprise and pleasure, burying your face into his bare shoulder.

“Be as loud as you want girlie. I want everyone here to know who’s finally got you.”

pt 2 is finally out yall i can rest

i wrote these on my way to and from london on the plane and i am sick bro i just wanna sleep (jet lag and chugging redbulls prevent me from catching a break tbh)

hope yall enjoy, this did take a little bit longer to make tho so i apologize for that.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Okay so something which I don't think I've ever directly disclosed here before is that my favourite whump ever is intubation whump. I've literally always liked it and I don't know why.

When whumpee's going in for surgery, caretaker- maybe a medic- stands right next to them, holding their hand as the propofol starts to kick in. whumpee goes from being able to speak clearly and coherently to slurring their words, eyelids growing heavier and heavier, until at last they're completely out. limp. as the paralytics kick in too, there are a few seconds where whumpee isn't breathing at all, until the anaesthetist places the tube and watches for the condensation within it.

caretaker can't help feeling a little unnerved. whumpee's usually so talkative, yet now they're so still they may as well be dead, only breathing because a machine is breathing for them.

whumpees in comas, too. they're so sick that it's necessary to keep them on life support, allowing the rest of their body time to recover, but caretaker has to sit by their bedside and hold Whumpee's limp hand, watching closed eyes that they know won't open anytime soon. every so often, a doctor comes in to shine a light into their eyes or ask them to squeeze a hand, but there's nothing except the hiss of the ventilator to let caretaker know that whumpee's even still there in some way. caretaker hopes at least that whumpee is somewhat comfortable, too sedated to feel the discomfort of a tube down their throat or the sticky pads of the tube holder on their cheeks.

or how about whumpees who have been involved in a traumatic accident/have been hurt so badly/are so sick that the paramedics on the scene have to tube them? it's no longer the safe, sterile environment of the hospital, and the paramedics have to lay out all their equipment on sheets beside them, running through a checklist to make sure everything's ready before they start. plus, they no longer have the luxury of time to make sure all the proper medications have been given- the priority is securing whumpee's airway.

that means lots of medications, fast, pushed through IVs while another paramedic preps the tube. while this is happening, whumpee could be deteriorating even more. they might vomit. they might try to get up or hit the paramedics, the injury to their brain meaning they're in distress, not understanding what's going on. all the paramedics can do is clean whumpee up as best as possible, hold whumpee down gently until the paralytic and sedatives kick in, then, when all is quiet, intubate.

this, by the way, isn't your regular old intubation. it's called RSI, which stands for 'rapid sequence induction' and it's done for the most critically ill patients.

maybe do it to one of your whumpees? or just intubate them in general. please. it's very fun to read.

(Partially inspired by @i-eat-worlds post, since you are not alone in enjoying this I promise lmao.)

[freedomfireflies]

Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun pt. 2*

Summary: The sequel to Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun

You find yourself sat next to the Harry Styles on a plane.

And what better way to get to know each other than a quick induction into the Mile High Club?

Word Count: 2.1k

(Thank you for letting me spam you guys for one whole year🥹💞 I love you!!!!!)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*

“Hi, Stranger.”

Harry grins as he pulls the small door shut, secluding the two of you in the world’s smallest bathroom. “Hi.”

“Gonna be honest, I didn’t expect you to show,” you admit.

“Oh?” His arms cross as he takes a step closer, effectively closing the only gap between you. “And what about our earlier conversation suggested I wouldn’t?”

“Well, maybe the fact that you’re all talk and no game,” you retort, eyebrow raised as you look up at him. “Or the fact that you don’t seem like the quick-airplane-bathroom-fuck type.”

“I have a song about eating pussy, is that not enough?” he teases, a smirk dancing across his lips. “I feel like that should solidify my case.”

“Yeah, you’d think…but no.” Your eyes trail across his jaw, drawn to the sharp curve, intrigued by the subtle beauty. “Maybe if this were the first-class bathroom. Which would make a lot more sense for you.”

“What’s wrong with coach?”

“Nothing. When you’re poor. Which you’re not.”

“And that has to do with us fucking…how?”

You hesitate, mouth clamping shut. “I…don’t know.”

Nodding with an amused grin, he reaches out to place his hand on the small sink and lean forward, trapping you to the wall. “I think you’re nervous.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock.”

He hums, kind eyes helping to relax you. “Guess we’re both more talk than game.”

And maybe you are. Maybe this is nothing more than you calling his bluff. Or calling your own. Maybe this was you getting swept up in the idea of Harry Styles. The man, the myth, the legend. Maybe you just wanted to prove to yourself that you could.

Either way, despite the nerves, you’re oddly tantalized by the idea. Wanting to seize the moment, the opportunity that most people would kill for.

So, you surge forward, and press your lips to his.

It’s a hesitant kiss. On both ends. The first few seconds a tad awkward as you work to wrap your heads around how you got here. How you really feel about it.

And then…something changes.

He steps closer, straightening up to deepen the kiss, and you nearly wilt when his large hand slips around the back of your neck to keep you against him.

Things suddenly feel effortless. Practiced yet relaxed. Mouths and tongues moving together like they were always meant to. Molding seamlessly until all of your air belongs to him.

His other hand finds a home on your hip, pushing you against the small bathroom wall while his knee takes its place between your thighs.

And when he finally pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, it feels as though everything makes sense.

“We can go back to our seats,” he whispers, giving you an out.

But you don’t want an out. 

“No,” you murmur, fingers tangling in the shirt on his chest. “No, you promised to make me scream your name. Can’t pussy out on me now.”

The smirk returns as he brushes his thumb along your cheek. “So I did. But I guess it depends on which name you call me by.”

Your breath hitches.

“You can call me Harry,” he begins softly, dipping back down to ghost his lips across yours, “or you can call me Daddy.”

And discovering that Harry Styles has a Daddy kink makes more sense than it should, and you have to grin as you press your mouth to his. 

“Okay, Daddy,” you agree, just to watch him swallow. “Then why don’t you make good on your promise to fuck me?”

You watch the most beautifully dark expression flash across his face before he’s grabbing onto your waist to spin you around.

Your cheek is pressed to the wall while those large hands that have been taunting you for the past half hour begin to tease you again. Crawling up the inside of your thigh until he can grab onto the waistband of your jeans and yank the material down your legs.

“Just so you know,” he grunts in between the rustling of his belt, “I’m normally pro-foreplay. But I figure we don’t exactly have the time right now.”

“I know,” you agree. “It’s fine.”

He reaches around your hip to slide his palm down your cunt, and you sigh when you feel him cup you in his hand. 

“What’s this?” he hums, rather sadistically as his nose brushes against your cheek. “Guess I didn’t need to work you up, anyhow. Seems you’re already dripping for me.”

Your lashes flutter as he kneads your pussy for a moment before he lets go to take hold of his cock. 

“So, what’s it gonna be, angel?” he whispers, dragging the tip through your throbbing folds just to make you whimper. “You gonna be loud for me? Or are you gonna be quiet?”

More of a rhetorical question, you figure, because the answer is given to him when he pushes in, and you moan fervently.

He chuckles from behind you before it melts into some sort of delicious grunt. “That’s it. So fucking tight, darling. Take it, just like that.”

He pulls out, giving you only a second of reprieve before pushing back in. Stretching you a little more as he drives himself deeper into your cunt.

Your lip flies between your teeth as you swallow a string of curses and whines, desperate to feel him in every way possible.

“You all right?” he calls, and you feel his fingers gently squeezing your hip for reassurance.

It makes you smile. “Yeah,” you say back, nails scratching down the wall. “Go. Keep going.”

He obliges, working himself in at a quicker pace, and you see him watching out of your peripheral.

He seems mesmerized by the way his cock disappears into you. Addicted to the sounds now beginning to echo around the small space. Mixing in beautifully with his soft pants and your anguished whimpers.

“S’a good girl,” he murmurs beneath his breath, almost as if it wasn’t meant for you. “Fucking taking me so well, look at you. Pretty pussy just stretching for me. Likes having Daddy’s cock, doesn’t she?”

And maybe you shouldn’t be surprised by the filth coming from his mouth, but you are, and it makes you clench until you’re both gasping.

“Shit, angel,” he groans, burying himself a little deeper as you keen. “Like it when I talk to you like that, hm? Not so vanilla now, yeah?”

You want to thank your lucky stars for that damn book that led you both to this moment, nodding quickly as you squirm back against him. “Yes, Daddy—”

He pushes in to the hilt, overcome by the pleasure your words provide. His chest presses to your back, and instantly, you reach over your shoulder to grab onto his curls. Needing to hold him in some way.

“Fuck,” you sigh, vision hazy as your body works to accommodate him. “Okay go. Go, Harry, go.”

He smiles at the use of his name, and it does something strange to the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. 

“Okay,” he agrees, pulling back and readjusting his grip on your waist to keep you steady. “Be good, yeah?”

The faster pace begins. Hard thrusts that nearly knock the wind from your lungs as your body shakes with each snap of his hips into yours.

It’s oddly satiating. Perfectly full and teasingly relentless. Quick fucks aren’t normally your forte, but this? With Harry? In the world’s tiniest bathroom?

Euphoria.

“Fucking squeezing me, darling, shit,” he exhales, gripping you tight in his hand. “Pretty little pussy looks so good clenching around my cock. Like it, angel, don’t you? Like letting me fuck your sweet cunt the way you’ve been needing?”

And you don’t know how he knows you’ve been so desperate, but he does, and it makes you mewl as you drag your nails down his scalp.

“Oh, I know,” he coos but it’s dark. “Can just tell. So fucking cock drunk. Desperate for anything I’ll give you. Even let a stranger fuck you, hm? Let me take care of you the way you deserve?”

“Yes,” you breathe, mindlessly reaching back for his other hand. Once you find it, you intertwine his fingers with yours and drag his palm up toward your neck. Placing it against your throat until he seems to get the hint.

He says nothing, simply squeezes you in his grip. Until the corners of your vision get fuzzy, and the small bathroom gets smaller.

“That’s it,” he hums, almost as if luring you into the darkness. “Let go for me, baby girl. Just like that. Daddy’s got you.”

Everything is heightened. Every sense, every second. You can feel his facial hair rubbing against your cheek. Can feel the calloused tips of his fingers cementing to your exposed skin. Can taste the drink he had on your tongue.

There’s a knock on the door. A hard tap, and Harry’s pace doesn’t falter for even a moment as he calls, “Fucking occupied,” before slamming back into you.

The noise you make is loud enough to be heard by whoever was on the other side. Perhaps his intention, and it makes your pussy clench once more at the thought.

“Bet you’d look fucking perfect on your knees,” he continues, unrelenting. “With my cock down your throat. Fucking drooling for me. And you’d take me, wouldn’t you? Take my cock like a good girl. Make me proud.”

The suggestion is exciting. The image in your head of you looking up at the glorious stranger from your place on the floor. Getting to feel him on your tongue. Down your throat. Anywhere he’ll have you.

You bet he likes to see his cum painted across a partner’s skin. Likes to run his fingers through it. His tongue. Collect it and taste it before spitting it into their mouths.

Your entire body shudders from the mental picture and even if Harry doesn’t know what garnered this response, he seems pleased with it. Tugging on you tighter until you’re practically sitting on him.

You’re running out of time. Running out of willpower, and he releases your throat to find your clit. The first time he’s truly touched it, and the sensation that follows nearly kills you.

You hadn’t anticipated being so sensitive, but you are, and it’s apparent to you both from the way you jolt when he pinches you.

“Oh?” He’s chuckling again, entertained by your reaction. “S’that all it takes then? Poor little cunt just needs some extra attention?”

He presses into you and begins to rub small, hard circles along the delicate nerves. Ignoring your cries and pleas for more.

Instead, his foot kicks your legs further apart, and his mouth attaches to your neck. Nipping just below your ear as he whispers, “Bet you taste fucking divine, hm? Bet I could write a whole song about the way this pussy tastes.”

He lets go just to bring his hand to his mouth. Sucking on the soaked digits and groaning in your ear.

A shiver rolls down your spine before he drags his saliva coated fingers back to your clit. “So fucking sweet, angel. But you already knew that, didn’t you? S’why you were teasing me all fucking day. Cause you knew I’d get addicted to you.”

You’re so close to release, you can see it. Can actually see the blinding stars barreling toward you like meteors. 

“And what if I am, huh?” He goes faster. Gets sloppier. Needing to get you both there. “What if I’m fucking addicted to you now? What if I can’t go without the taste of you?”

“Have it,” you sough, rolling your hips back against his cock. “Have me, Harry, please—”

“I will,” he growls, and you feel his cock twitch the closer he gets. “Fucking will, angel. Need you to come for me, yeah? Come for Daddy. Let me feel you around me, darling. Right fucking now—”

Everything is a blur. Maybe he comes first, maybe you do. It all melds together until it’s one, long string of orgasms and pleasure. 

He doesn’t let you go for quite some time. Pushing you to the very brink, making sure it goes as far as it can. Even after you’ve come down and are squirming away from the ministrations to your clit.

The sadistic need to make sure you’re ruined is evident, and he only stops when you begin to collapse in his hold.

“Okay, easy, angel, easy,” he whispers, grasping onto your hips to keep you upright. “You’re all right, yeah? You okay?”

You nod weakly as you catch your breath, and he takes this as a good sign. Allowing you to stand on your own when you’re ready.

But he doesn’t go far. He bends down and pulls your jeans back up. Makes sure you’re all right.

You notice he purposefully leaves the mess between your thighs, and when you shoot him a questioning eyebrow, his only response is, “For later.”

Which you don’t mind at all. 

I KNOW, I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER!!!! I'M SO SORRY BUT THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH ME AND BEING SO NICE, ILY ALL 😭💞💞💞

Previous Part:

~ Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282

I'm also tagging you guys from the first part just in case, but if you've already moved on, I can absolutely understand 😭💞: @blackbookwhore @nellylayhoohoo @22fallenangel22 @watercolorskyy @ilovedilfs32 @nicodoesntexist @lelenikki @happypoptart

[unholyhelbig]

Part three of loan shark natty

Title: The Oversight [Part 3/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 3465

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, guns, blood, death, sort of dark nat if you squint, horrible grammar

[A/n: If you guys haven't picked up on it yet, this will be slow-burn. Also, thank you so much for the positive response to this story, it means so much!]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

It had been two weeks since the incident that you had deemed ‘the business proposal’, though, if you were being honest, you knew exactly what it was. The bruising against the side of your face, fading from a deep dark purple to an ugly muddy brown reminded you of the encounter. The faster you healed, the more your nerves started to prickle dangerously.

Each time the brass bell above the diner’s door would ring, your eyes would flick to the entrance. With bated breath, you’d study the tired businessman, the English major running on nothing but burnt coffee, or the single mother just looking for some reprieve. Much like yourself.

Clint Barton was the last person you expected and wanted to see. He was certainly the last person you wanted to see, despite the sheepish smile on his face. There was shame etched into his features and a strange softness to his eyes that starkly contrasted the man who had nearly broken your jaw.

His hair was sprinkled with droplets of water, a sweatshirt dotted from the persistent drizzle that seemed to plague the city. He dutifully wiped his feet on the mat and made his way over to you. Instead of his usual booth, Clint sat on the last stool and scratched the stubble on his chin.

He glanced at the menu as if he were going to order something different than his usual. Maybe he wouldn’t order anything at all. But, you had a feeling you weren’t going to escape the conversation at the tip of his tongue, nor the obscenities at the tip of yours.

You poured him a cup of coffee and set it in front of him without being asked. Clint could swallow down a whole pot of extra caffeinated without a second thought. For now, you urged him to pace himself silently.

“You got a couple of minutes?” He asked behind the rim of his cup.

The diner was mostly empty. It was the middle of the workday and had been a slow four hours thus far. There was only so many times you could wiped down the same table and replace the salt in the shakers.

The cook made eye contact with you as he poured alcohol from his flask into off-brand orange soda. You got a short shrug in response. Otherwise, the place was empty. Clint had timed his arrival perfectly.

“Sure. You’re not going to beat the shit out of me again, are you? Those cameras aren’t hooked up, but this is still a public place.”

“Look, I wanted to apologize for that. Bad information breeds bad reactions. I was doing what I was told. You’ll learn that that’s the only way to get anywhere in this practice.”

He stated it plainly as if you weren’t silently inducted into a criminal ring. You weren’t exactly sure what they did but if it was half as bad as what they’d done to you, it was trouble. Clint could sense your unease. He placed his mug down and lifted a bandaged eyebrow.

“Hold your grudge, y/n. I sure would. Natasha simply told me to collect you after your shift. So, you can sit here and glower at me like a grumpy little monster or you can make conversation and we can become friends.”

You hated how good the second suggestion sounded. He was charming in an annoying type of way. You’d never clicked with anyone in the diner before, certainly not the only other employee that stood behind the grill.

Clint was staring at you like he knew you’d already folded. He covered his smirk with another sip of coffee. You wanted to wipe the cocky grin off his face. He had effectively taken a shot at you, that much was true, but you had crumbled just as easily under Natasha’s wishes.

“Friends is a stretch.” You sounded out.

“Acquaintances, then.”

You conceded with a small nod and Clint smiled in a way that could only be genuine. He swallowed off the rest of his coffee and made small talk with you as you hustled around the restaurant. There was a small rush after classes at the community college let out. But you were able to carry on a conversation, learning a little more about him.

He’d been friends with Natasha for a long time. That much was clear by the way his eyes crinkled along the edges when he’d recall memories that stretched past their current affairs and into childhood.  

“We met when we were twelve. I’d just moved to town and was this scrawny, awkward mess of puberty and acne. An easy target is what I’m saying. A lot of neighborhood boys would target me, but I was faster than them. It usually worked in my favor, but there was one day when it had just snowed and it was impossible for me to get any headway.”

Clint regaled you as you filled up his mug for the third time. You lingered behind the counter, chin on your hand as you listened intently.  

“Six of them cornered me at a construction site. I didn’t even know how to begin to fight back. I was beaten close to death and then I heard Nat. She ran head-first into danger, tried to take on every single one of them. Of course, she got the shit kicked out of her too, she was just a kid there was no way for her to win. But that didn’t’ matter because she got back up every single time. Eventually they got cold, or bored, probably both.”

You didn’t want to admit that you were impressed. “Shit, that’s quite the meeting.”

“She’s tough, y/n. Not someone you want to fuck with.”

“So, this is a warning, then?” You smiled.

He shrugged his shoulders “A cautionary tale.”

He drove a 1970 Dodge challenger that smelled like cherry leather polish. It was the nicest car you had ever seen, that is, until he pulled up the iron-gated mansion on the outskirts of the city. There was a brilliant view of the harbor, the water a deep and dark blue that seemed endless, an orange sun casting delicious shadows against the docks.

The house was brick, built in a southern style with a large wrap around porch and a stone fountain in the center of a circular gravel drive. It was three stories of decadence, surrounded by large oak trees and the deepest green grass. This was the home of a Politian, or of someone who had one under their thumb.

Three black SUVs were parked in tandem outside. An equally pitch Corvette Stingray was parked directly in front of the steps. You struggled to muffle the thoughts of Natasha in the front seat. The vehicle suited her, and while you most certainly were not a car person, you knew the value of a ride like that.

Clint squirmed with pride, that same smile on his face. It was one that often accompanied him, you’d learn. He took the steps two at a time and waited to open the doors until you’d caught up. He removed his jacket and draped it over the coat rack just by entryway. You, however, were preoccupied by the elegance of the home.

The floor was a checkered black and white, stretching all the way down a corridor to open storm doors, letting in a crisp spring warmth. Light danced against art that cost more than your entire apartment building. White stairs clung to the wall and curved to the second floor. To your left, a dining room. To your right, a living area that had the softest white carpet, and a cream grand piano that your fingers twitched to run over.

There was a sour scent of bleach that reached your nose, and it was only then, did you realize the blood. It was distilled, a quiet pink color, that had been diluted by diligent scrubbing. The girl, the one that was often at Clint’s side herself, was on her knees a few feet away.

She held a scrub brush that looked like the ones used to clean the grout at the diner. Her forehead was damp with sweat, a few stray strands of dark hair falling into stormy gray eyes. The front of her shirt was stained in the majority of the blood. You failed to see how she would have much to clean from the floor. Yet, the bucket of water next to her was a frothy mess of red.

“An hour,” Clint tsked, shaking his head “I left you alone for an hour. I specifically said that I was coming back with a guest, and it was imperative not to freak her out.”

“I’m not freaked out.”

You were absolutely freaked out. But you were quick to realize whose home you were in. The scrubbing of a crime scene was startling, and you wanted to turn tail and run. However, you had seen worse before and your life had been spared once. You weren’t going to get squeamish now.

“You sound freaked out.” Clint turned his attention back to the girl “And its bad manners. If I were the police?”

“You wouldn’t have gotten through the gate.” She stood, dropping the brush into the bucket with a defiant splash. She was taller than you thought, the deep red of her collar harsh against her skin. There was a smile on her lips, and she reached out a hand to you. “I’m Kate.”

“This is y/n and she’s not going to shake that.” Clint batted Kate’s hand away “Who was this?”

Kate rolled her eyes. It was an action that you yourself would never do. Clint may be a bit aloof, but you had seen him in action. Namely when he was three seconds from snapping the bones in your face. She had no fear of him, though. There was a cockiness, a charming attention, to her stance. He didn’t’ seem to mind, or he had gotten so used to her attitude that seeped into him instead.

“I don’t know. Yelena brought them in. If you’re so concerned about the mess, maybe you should take it up with her.” There was a grin that mirrored Clints. She knew she’d won. “I can go get her if you want.”

“No need. Where’s Nat?”

“Out back by the pool. It’s a lovely day.” She leaned close to you, smelling of cleaner, of tin and of the slightest bit of chewed mint. “It’s great to meet you, y/n.”

You were careful not to lose your footing on the slick floors. Clint nudged the bucket with his toe as he walked by, sloshing about the soiled water. Kate cut him a look that only you saw, but it was one that was almost playful. She shook her head and went back to her task.

There were two things you had picked up from the conversation; Clint was afraid of Yelena, and there was somewhere soundproof in this house that she had taken someone that had lost a lot of blood. You shoved both thoughts to the back of your mind when you exited onto the back porch.

Natasha was stretched out like a cat in the sun. She wore a black bikini that left very little to the imagination. You could feel the blush against your cheeks as you averted your eyes to anywhere else, though, you swore she arched her back from the chair at the sound of your footsteps.

Her hair, still slightly damp, was cascading down her shoulders. She wore a pair of sunglasses, a book that was marked halfway through rested on the table next to her. She had clearly given up on reading, instead fully devoting herself to the sun.

Clint didn’t acknowledge her current state, nor did he have an adverse reaction to it. Your mouth was dry, and you shoved your hands into your jeans to keep them from trembling. It was a mix of fear and attraction that caught you off guard on a mostly empty stomach.

She moved her glasses down the expanse of her nose as you approached. Her stare was a startling green, raking across your form. She quirked an eyebrow. The specter of a smile on her face. Clint had noticed something you didn’t, his body language changing into something unreadable.

“y/n,” Natasha purred your name. You fought back a shiver. “You’ve healed nicely.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“ma’am? What manners you have. That’s severely lacking around here.”

Clint rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut. You did the same, partly out of fear. But mostly, you were distracted by the scars against her stomach, on her arms and down her back. It wasn’t something you had noticed at first, nor did you permit yourself to stare. Whatever had been done to you when they’d first taken you was nothing compared to what Natasha had been through. Her body told a story, one that you longed to learn.

“Hey sharpshooter,” She turned her attention to Clint “I think Yelena might need your help downstairs. Y/n. Stay.”

It was a clear dismissal, and one that he didn’t’ take lightly. He patted you on the shoulder before entering the house once more. You listened to his footfalls for a few moments, holding your breath until you started to feel your vision falter.

You’d been alone with Natasha before. But this felt different. Heavier. The questions that you’d had these last two weeks were meant to be answered. She gestured for you to sit on the opposite chair, which you did carefully, body tightened to make yourself as small as possible. She removed her glasses entirely, a strand of russet hair falling into her gaze.

“You’re going to quit your job at the diner.” She said.

“I can’t do that,” Your response was automatic.

Natasha sat up, placing her bare feet adjacent to yours. Her knees were pressed against your own. She easily could have pushed your own open and she stared at you as if she contemplated the fact herself. Instead, she lilted her head and peered at you.

“What I mean, ma’am, is that’s my livelihood.”

“Oh, I understand. I wasn’t perfectly clear. You work for me, now. You’re on my payroll. I’m sure it’ll be quite an upgrade.” She leaned closer. “Do you know what I do, y/n?”

You swallowed hard and shook your head. There was an inkling. But it was just speculation. Someone with a home like this had a good handle on business. Natasha certainly conveyed fear, and commanded respect. So did the people who worked for her, willing to take a bullet in moment’s notice.

You weren’t there yet, but you were sure with a little persuasion, you would be. Part of you had felt slighted. They’d pulled you from your life, from your daughter, and threw you into this without any type of explanation.

“The harbor behind you is a center of trade. Whoever controls the harbor controls the city, and for generations my family has had a monopoly when it comes to what comes in and out. There is not a single freight that can dock here without getting past me. Recently, that’s been threatened.”

She sighed and worked a hand through her hair. Her stare flicked past your shoulder, focused on the expanse of water that had been a staple in your life. You’d walk along the docks, chat with the vendors on the way to work. It seemed like a friendly place.

“There are two prominent families in this city, Y/n. The Romanov’s and Danver’s. For the past three years they’ve been pushing back against the real leadership, getting creative. Looking for change. But we simply can’t allow that to happen. Things work as they are.”

You had a feeling that this was the core of her beliefs. Things how they were weren’t so bad. Each person had their own struggles but when it came to integral crime on the streets, in the boroughs, you hadn’t noticed anything and that was the way you liked it. Ignorant, maybe. But it was none of your concern. Not until now.

“A lot of people work for me, but my numbers are dwindling. It’s hard to find good help anymore. You know how it is.”

You didn’t.

“There’s something… in you that I admire. A perseverance to live and protect and you’re going to do exactly that for me.” Natasha stated this plainly. “The Winter Soldier will be predisposed. Not permanently. But I would like you to replace him.” 

There must have been disbelief written across your features because Natasha laughed, actually laughed, as your jaw fell open. It was a lovely sound; you must admit. Bucky was well known in the neighborhood. Even without being knee deep in mafia sludge, you had heard of him. You feared him. And the thought of stirring the same reaction seemed unattainable.

“I… what about Clint?” You asked dumbly. He seemed like the natural choice.

“He’s got his hands full with an heiress who, I’m sure you can tell, is a bit aloof. But extremely valuable. Much like yourself.” She quirked an eyebrow “if it’s experience, you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ll train you myself.”

She stood and tapped your leg with her fingers, arousal shooting straight to your core at the slight contact. Your body almost refused to move, but you were quick to snap out of it when she smiled wolfishly down at you. “Now, have you ever killed anyone?”

Your voice was pinched. “No.”

“We’ll have to change that, darling.” She started to saunter away, grabbing her silk cover-up from the back of a nearby chair. She slid it over her shoulders, and it hugged her form with just enough ferocity as the bathing suit. “Come, dear. I have just the person in mind.”

The basement was significantly cooler than the rest of the house, bathed by the sun. As you descended the stone steps, you fought the urge to smooth your fingers over your skin to quell the frigid air.

Natasha seemed unbothered. She led you into a large room that you assumed was soundproof. It was a fairly empty room, lit with artificial bulbs that reminded you much of the warehouse they’d kept you in for the weekend. This seemed more malicious though. Not something to extract information exactly. A form of punishment.

A man was strung up from a low hanging rafter, his feet barely touching the ground. Rope was tied around his wrists, his hands above his head. Blood dripped like syrup from his lips, from a wound against his side. His left knee looked unnatural and broken.

You fought back a groan at the sight, at the smell of him. One eye was swollen shut, his fingers curling when he noticed Natasha’s presence.

Clint’s back was to you, his fingers dancing over an array of tools. He hummed a Metallica song, stopping at a pair of pliers. Yelena had her arms crossed over her chest, walking a slow, predatory circle around the man.

“No,” Yelena took the pliers from Clint “He will need his teeth to talk.”

Your throat tightened. This was the same woman who had sat next to your daughter in the diner. The one who had complimented her art and your job at raising her. She was easy to have conversations with, charming in the purest sense.

She turned towards both of you. “Natasha, you shouldn’t wear open toed shoes here. It is unsanitary.”

The woman next to you was not admonished in the slightest. Not by the cold or the harsh words of Yelena. Instead, she studied the man in front of you. He was in rough shape. If he hadn’t talked yet, he wasn’t going to. That much was clear.

This felt like the first time you served without following around an older, more experienced waitress. Your fingers were trembling and there was a wild nervousness that was in the pit of your stomach. Eventually, you learned, and it was second nature. You wondered if that’s what Natasha wanted. For you to learn not to cringe away from things like this. Just like the Winter Soldier.

As if to prove your thought process, Natasha said “Which one of you has your gun?”

They both pulled them out of various places at the same time, without hesitation, to the question. It made sense that Natasha didn’t have a weapon on her, not with the outfit that she walked around in. The cover-up was too tight against her skin, too revealing.

Yelena was closer, so Natasha grabbed the weapon from her. “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

“I have.”

Your second foster father was a deputy sheriff in Minnesota. On half-frozen nights, he’d return home from the local bar reeking of sour alcohol and sweat. The door to your bedroom would creak open and he’d drag you from bed, barefoot and in your pajamas.

Most of the time, he had cans set up on an old picnic table that had rotted through. At first, it was your job to set the cans back up and fight off hypothermia. But after three or four sleepless nights, he taught you how to shoot. His body was warm against your back and the first time the gun kicked you had nearly broken your nose.

You considered yourself a good shot when it came to cans, wild turkeys, and even the occasional buck. This was different. This was a human being that was taking in heaving breathes and fighting to pull himself up to give his bad knee a break.

“Do you know how to aim?” Natasha asked.

“It’s been years.”

“Okay,” She breathed.

You flinched when she moved behind you. Her warmth was all encapsulating. She smelled of sunscreen, and vaguely of the salt of the ocean. Natasha’s fingers pressed against your hip, giving you a small squeeze, signaling for you to take a step back.

Her other hand dropped the pistol into yours, heavy and warm. Her hand trailed up your arms, giving you goosebumps, fingers tightening around your own until you held the gun towards the man. The stranger.

Natasha’s chin was on your shoulder, her breathe hot against your cheek. Her voice came out in a whisper. “Right there. When you’re ready.”

She’d aimed the tip of the gun directly between his eyes. You could hear your heartbeat in both ears, vibrating through your body. It wasn’t hesitation, exactly. In this moment, it was his life or yours. Clint and Yelena watched you carefully, with intent.

You took a deep, shaking, breath and clenched your eyes before pulling the trigger. You expected some sort of blow-back. The same throbbing pain that you recalled from shooting at the cans. The scent of gunpowder mixing with cold.

None of those came.

Instead, there was a small click. The safety was on, and though you had squeezed the trigger with the intention to kill, it simply did not fire. You inadvertently slumped back into Natasha and the hand on your hip snaked around your middle, holding you close.

“You won’t have to kill often,” Natasha explained “But it’s good to know you’d do it without question if I tell you to.”

“Oh, Natasha, do not play with her. It is not nice.”

Smoothly, Natasha worked the gun from your hand and switched the safety off before you could blink. She fired two shots in succession, not releasing her hold on you. Your ear was ringing and the man in front of you slumped in his bindings.

“Okay. Very effective. You owe me bullets.” Yelena took her weapon back. “You are cleaning this up.”

“That means I’m cleaning this up.” Clint said.

Natasha hummed in agreement, finally pulling herself away from you. “I think this a job for two, don’t you, y/n?”

There wasn’t room to disagree with her. Not when you could only hear out of one ear, your skin still buzzing from her lingering touch. You could have sworn you felt her own heartbeat against your shoulder blade.

 But you’d never bring that up.

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toocreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos]

[kitsuren]

DEMO // PLAYLIST

Flirting with Death is a 18+ Otome-like action dark romance in the form of an interactive fiction. The game focus will be mostly into character and relationships development, exploring how you interact with the world and the reactions to your decisions.​

Take charge of Eris, a newly (and forcibly) inducted operative of a shadowy organization, as she enters a world way more twisted from what she is already used to. 

The game will be released chapter by chapter and it will be entirely free after completion!

You died. For all your life, you have been making bad decisions after bad decisions and this time your luck ran out. During your years working with the wrong side of the law you had seen the good, the bad, and the ugly. What you never expected was that your choices would take you into a maze of lies and backstabbing capable to bring countries to their knee. Something big is happening and you are not in the small leagues anymore. To bring down titans you will have to ally yourself with the shady HADES Project, a group with dubious objectives and even more dubious reasons. In a race against time you will have to do the unthinkable before it is too late. There is no right or wrong in this game and the stake is your second chance in life. The clock is ticking. Grab your power suit. Gather your allies. And remember: Trust no one.

Play as a female gender locked protagonist;

Customize your Eris: decide on your past, specialization, appearance, and attributes, bringing your character to life;

Romance one of the 3 initial ROs, each of them having their own unique route that explore the story trough different perspectives;

Make  decisions that impact the people around you for the good or the bad;

Use state of the art never-seen-before technology, including your very own power suit so you will never die (again!) during a mission;

Choose between 5 classes that will assist you during the various dangers that will follow you and your team as you try to solve the mystery;

Be a a righteous vigilante or a complete menace to society;

Kick a billionaire in the face (or not)!

This game is rated +18. Not only it will touch on heavy subjects, but it will also contain: 

Graphic depctions of violence; Strong language; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Guns and gun violence; Manipulation tactics; Explicit sex (if chosen); Taboo relationship; Toxic relationship; Mature content; (This list will be updated if and when necessary!)

Yes, the protagonist is gender locked: This is my first time coding an IF and I didn't want to bit off more than I could chew. Not only that, I wanted to mix the otome/josei genre with the interactive format. Maybe it will work, maybe not.

This game is a ROMANCE first and foremost: You will not be able to opt out of it. I am aware that some people are not fond of this type of content and yes, you as a player will have the choice to have (or not!) sexual content/pda, but you will not be able to get out of locking into a romantic route.

Cold, cynical, and incredibly sardonic, Phobos is all objective, giving up on any and all distractions and not being afraid to do whatever it is necessary for the greater good. His no-nonsense attitude and his constant tries to intimidate anyone into submission​ turned him infamous in the organization. His morality is almost black and he doesn’t care about the sacrifices that he needs to do to obtain the desired result. Killing for him is second nature, but most of times he will let Deimos talk him down from his murderous rampage. At least until he decides that the more approachable way is not being efficient anymore.

Friendly, good natured, and helpful. Everyone who knows Deimos has the impression that the man is not fit for this kind of work. He is well regarded by anyone across HADES and normally tries to resolve everything without violence, doing a really good work as a “face” in his Kerberos Unit. But don’t be mistaken, even preferring to not harm innocents, Deimos is a perfect killing machine, honed by his past to be the perfect assassin and torturer. He has an approachable personality, but when working he only focus on the job that needs to be done. Can be quiet work focused and hyper fixate on the mission, which feeds his insomnia.

With zero chills to give and almost always having and anxiety attack due to Phobos and Deimos shenanigans, his boyish appearance masks very well his personality and he constantly runs with the power of coffee and spite. As a handler he is extremely methodical and professional, being proficient with first aid, tech, engineering, and plan making, even if his ADHD tries as hell to hinder his plans. Being a genius, he mostly always lose patience with stupidity and prefer to work by himself. Chaos is the youngest handler in HADES history and by far one of the most respected, at least by name, since he is the only one capable to make Phobos and Deimos to actually shut up with just a glare.​ Can be a tad dramatic and fatalist, but he rarely is wrong. His favorite phrase is “I ain’t paid enough to deal with this shit” (Yes, he is.).

[puppyxprincess]

Training Logs, Entry #2

6/23/24

I’m happy to report that her training has been a continued success.

The subject is eagerly submissive to me, her dedication grows in intensity with every passing day.

Our baseline levels of trust have far exceeded my expectations for her, which I attribute to her sharp judge of character. She has deemed me “safe” and has in turn, handed herself over to me willingly. I’m gaining a strong appreciation for subjects so happy to be trained.

I just concluded a rather impromptu training session, the subject requested I ask her some questions to further my knowledge on hypnosis, utilizing her existing stores of information on the subject. She suggested i drop her, making her incredibly tired and deep in trance before asking these questions, to see if she could recall our conversation in full.

At first I was intimidated, I must be transparent. An impromptu session stripped away my ability to be prepared for anything, to have my goals and path mapped out, my triggers pre-planned, all of it, gone. I almost told her no, I wasn’t feeling up to it, I couldn’t possibly engage in anything successfully. Better to wait than risk damaging progress, damaging her faith in my abilities, is how i reasoned with myself.

But something possessed me. Maybe it was the two drinks i’d just finished, maybe it was my intuition, my unwillingness to let the opportunity slip out of my hands.

I agreed to her request, how could i deny an eager puppy the chance to train?

I set up my equipment and took a deep breath. I began my greetings, already donning that syrupy, lilting tone reserved near exclusively for her, and I hoped inspiration would strike me.

I asked about her favorite inductions, how to decide on one, how to avoid falling into routine and allowing it to become predictable.

She began to explain using some comparison to a math concept I couldn’t really grasp, but I began to understand her point when an idea appeared to me.

Previously, my pet had mentioned to me that the bell jingling on my cat’s collar worked as an “ears perked” sort of effect. Instantly capturing her focus and drawing it to my words.

I removed the cat’s collar and shook gently it a few times near the mic. The puppy immediately lost her words, it was so wonderful to see. I prompted the pet to continue, but only let her get a few words out before i let the bell chime again. She lost her train of thought, immediately becoming focused on the sound of the bell, her thoughts slipping from her mind.

It was hard not to laugh, seeing the composed, intellectual subject immediately reduced to a brainless puppy. The efficacy was truly shocking.

I took the opportunity to wield her focus against her, knowing her predisposition would be to go deeper, to agree with anything i might suggest.

“Do you even remember the point you were trying to make?”

“Can you even answer my questions, pup?” The subject clung to the explanation that she could, but that she was just so focused on me, it was hard to let anything else take precedence.

“Doesn’t it seem like it would be so much nicer to put all that aside and be a Silly Puppy for me instead?”

At this point, her responses consisted only of an eager “mhm!” or two, if she was feeling very excited by the suggestion.

I interspersed the jingling bell over any pauses, increasing her focus on me each time. This began to work so well she stopped being able to respond. At this point, I asked the subject if she’d prefer to remain under and fall asleep, or if I should bring her back up. She requested “Up,” so after a few more moments i began to bring her out of trance.

The subject was still dazed when she began to communicate her amazement at my insecurity, even going as far as to ask if I had been joking, fully aware of my ability to drop her so quickly and effectively.

I laughed, assuring her that the entire session had been unprepared, allowing my ego to swell at the high praise from my far-more-experienced subject.

Over a brief discussion of the session, as my pet spoke to me, I couldn’t resist the urge to use the bell against her again. She slipped back down easily, blindly obedient once more.

After playing with my favorite subject a bit more, I brought her back to herself, and had to force myself to stay quiet. Every time I opened my mouth I pushed her back into that sharp focus and her brain into a state of arousal that rendered her unable to sleep.

One of the last things we talked about before I finally allowed her to rest was how towards the very beginning, when she first lost her train of thought, she found it difficult to grasp what she had been speaking about even once out of trance.

Something of note regarding this pet is that she has often recounted how ineffective memory impacting trances have been for her, likely due to her history of hypervigilance and perceived need to protect herself. Communicating that my spontaneous session may have allowed even a small memory to slip out of her grasp has emboldened me to try again and test my skills with a more overt memory play session with her.

It definitely serves my purposes that she’s so eager to hand over full control to me, not one ounce of doubt or distrust towards me present in her pretty little mind.

My next goal has been set: Make the puppy forget something.

I think it will prove easy enough.

[andmaybegayer]

For a different project I was reading about developments in induction heating technologies and realized I had a small misunderstanding about how induction stoves work.

So, the classic misunderstanding is in why steel works on an induction hob but aluminium doesn't. Most people assume this is because you need a magnetic material in order to induce a current, but if you know your physics you know this isn't true. You can induce a current in any conductor, and indeed inducing currents in aluminium is something that happens in industry all the time.

So then you get to my understanding of why you can't use aluminium and copper, which is that they're too good at conducting electricity. Induction generates a voltage that pushes a current through the material. Aluminium and copper are much better conductors than steel, so the generated potential is lower and the overall current is lower as a result of material interactions with the field, so you don't get nearly as much heat out of induction on aluminium as on steel. This was what I thought. This is also wrong, although it's closer.

The actual answer is one step deeper. Induction hobs have to operate at pretty high frequencies, usually 24-ish kHz, both for audible noise reasons and, crucially, because they rely heavily on the skin effect. Interestingly this makes that first wrong explanation kind of more correct, I'll get to that in a moment.

The skin effect is a thing that happens when you have an alternating current in a bulk material; the AC signal sets up magnetic fields that force current to flow in a thin layer closer to the surface of the solid rather than flowing evenly throughout the material. This increases the effective resistance of the material, since you end up with a reduced effective surface area through which current can flow. The skin effect gets more pronounced at higher frequencies, and it's part of why you'll see bundles of smaller cables used to conduct high power AC: each cable has its own skin that can carry more current than the same quantity of material in one bulk cable.

In the right kinds of steel and iron, 24kHz is enough to generate a current carrying skin only a few tenths of a millimeter thick, which has a high enough resistance to generate the heat needed for cooking. Ferromagnetic materials have very high magnetic permeability, which causes them to experience much stronger skin effects. Copper and aluminium, between their high conductivity and lower magnetic permeability, have much weaker skin effects, their skins at 24kHz are much thicker, and so you just can't kick up enough resistance to the current to generate heat, it just spins around in there getting kind of warm but you'd have a hard time actually cooking with it. Indeed, non-magnetic stainless steel also won't work on induction hobs, because it also has a much thicker skin effect.

So you have the "real answer" being a fun hybrid of the two incorrect explanations.

The main side effects I take away from this are twofold.

1) you can absolutely make an induction hob that will heat copper and aluminum and non-magnetic stainless steels, you just need a high enough frequency to generate a strong enough skin effect to generate heat. Panasonic makes one that uses 60+kHz induction under the brand "Met-all".

2) if you physically constrain the current by having a really thin piece of metal, you can induction heat it anyway. When I read this, I stopped, took out a piece of aluminium foil, and stuck it on my induction cooktop. It almost immediately got incredibly hot and I pulled it away before anything bad happened. Turns out you could definitely melt and maybe even vaporize aluminium this way. So don't do that. Apparently people do this with lightweight titanium cookware too, which would not be able to sustain the necessary currents in a large bulk solid but can if you thin the base of the pan out enough.

[star-ocean-peahen]

The more you think about Jason Grace's life, the more fucked up it gets.

Like, the whole "joined Camp Jupiter as a three year old" thing. We already know Camp Jupiter is fucked up because it places heavy importance on a child army, despite having plenty of demigod adults at hand, but they straight up recruited a three year old into the military. He showed up and got promptly stuck in a barrack for the rest of his childhood.

Like, why?? Why on earth would they do that instead of giving him to someone in New Rome to raise and inducting him into the legion at a respectable twelve??

And who raised him anyway?? A rotating cast of nineteen-year-old demigods?? His bunkmates in the Fifth?? If he was a young teenager I could see that, but he arrived when he was three, was he even potty-trained??? Did he just grow up being educated by bored teenagers and ghosts, watching as demigods arrived and served and retired, being told that he had to be the greatest of them all?? Did he have any other children to grow up with?? Did the legion even consider him different than the other recruits, or did he have to shovel unicorn dung when he forgot his phonics and live with the constant threat of perhaps being sewn into a bag of weasels??

I find it odd that Jason, as a demigod who grew up in a demigod's world, doesn't have his unique perspective explored more. I find it especially odd that the difference between his childhood and everyone else's is ignored. However difficult and varied everyone else's backgrounds are, they've at least attended a school. They had parents, and family, and a home, at least at one point. They had mortal toys and dwellings and communities that weren't merged inextricably with the myths. They knew where they came from. Do you think Jason, with his powerful, kingly father and impending destiny, ever felt like he didn't know who his family was?

I also find it strange that he doesn't seem to have a very wide network of friends from Camp Jupiter? He has Reyna, who he trusts and works with and depends on. He lists Hazel and Frank among his friends, but they look up to him as a role model. He mentions Bobby and Dakota familiarly, but never again. He's familiar and on good terms with basically everyone—but the only person he seems to consider as a close friend is Reyna. And that wouldn't be odd if he hadn't grown up at Camp Jupiter. He doesn't seem to have any constant companion—anyone he considers his family until he meets Leo.

Maybe he and Leo bonded so well because they both knew what it was like to grow up transiently. To have any constant in your life, and know that the day you would move on or they would move on was fast approaching. Maybe the reason he looked at Camp Half-Blood and admired how united and familial they seemed, and wished Camp Jupiter could be similar, was that he could see in them the family he wished he had.

Honestly, I feel like meeting Thalia should have left him in a lot more turmoil than it did. He grew up with no family but a god for a father, and here's a person who wanted him. Someone who always wanted him because he was Jason, and not the demigod son of Zeus. Maybe even someone to whom he mattered more than his destiny.

I really, really wish we'd gotten to see more of the contrasts between him and Percy. He is explicitly the Romans' version of the hero Percy is, except he's the hero first, and the person second. Jason did everything right! He did everything perfectly, and Percy still got where he did without being trained for it his entire childhood. He's got such a better reason to resent him than "bad vibes". They could have been foils for each other hhhhhhhrngh.

Just. This lonely, idolized, child soldier's life hurts me.

[cherrise-rose]

You mentioned you liked the idea of practicing birth so here you go !

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Elsie stands with her legs spread on either side of her husbands parted thighs. He rests his head on the swell of her belly. He pumps her favorite dildo in and out of her pussy. It's a girthy thing, almost as thick as his arm. They used to use it to prep Elsie to take his fist. Now it's going to be used to prepare for the induction appointment for Elsie to have their baby tomorrow. After nearly a week and a half past the due date he and Elsie decided they didn't want to wait for the baby to come naturally and booked an appointment to get induced tomorrow evening. But Elsie didnt want to go in blind. So he had suggested that they prepare by helping her stretch and having her practice giving birth. Elsie's hip twitches as she gets closer and closer to an orgasm. He pulls the dildo out of her wet pussy as soon as she starts coming. Oh how he wants to plunge his own dick into his beautiful wife. He pulls away and waits for her to calm down slightly. When he deems her ready, he guides her down onto the bed he'd been sitting on and instructs her to lie on her back. Then he folds up the deflated soccer ball and inserts it into his shuddering wife's still twitching cunt. Now comes the fun part. He inserts the ball pump pin into the balls hole where it peeks out between his wife's puffy pussy lips. Once it's secure, he pushes the soccer ball in deeper until it disappears from view and the pump leads into Elsie's cunt.

"Where is the ball Elsie?" He asks her to confirm.

"Mmmm, I can feel iiiit" she moans, eyes rolling back. She's overwhelmed and still trembling from her orgasm and now overstimulated from the crumpled soccer ball in her pussy. But she had to learn to deal with it. It would be worse tomorrow. Labor alone could last days, and birth even longer.

"Where exactly is our baby?" Elsie seems to focus at the word like he hoped.

She takes a deep breath before replying, "baby is right outside my womb, I can feel him nestled against my cerviiiiiiix" Elsie moans, turned on at the thought. Good. Maybe it will save her the pain.

He starts pumping the ball pump, inflating the soccer ball in his fucked out wife's sensitive pussy. Elsie's moans become whimpers of discomfort at the odd sensation of the ball inflating pressed up against her pussy. Then her whimpers turn into cries when the odd sensation tips over into the territory of pain. Her husband's pants tent at how he's still able to have Elsie screaming and writhing even now that she is heavily pregnant.

A second bump forms under Elsie's pregnant belly as he inflates the soccer ball. He runs a hand over her belly before sliding down to press on the second bump to check the balls pressure. He pumps the ball up some more. Elsie is sobbing and shaking her head from side to side mumbling for him to stop. But he isn't fooled. When he reaches between her legs to pull to pump pun out, he finds her thighs and sheets under Elsie soaked with her pussy juices. He knew she was enjoying this, probably more than he was.

He orders Elsie off the bed. They still have a whole day and tomorrow morning until the birth appointment. He tells her to go pack her bags for everything they'd need for the birth while he made lunch and watches her clutch her belly with one hand and the second bump with the other as she struggles to waddle off. Her legs are bowed out wider than before. It's good practice for when the doctor tells her to walk around with a full crowning baby in her cunt.

He forces her to sit properly to take lunch despite the ball pushing into her loosening cervix and causing her to feel extra stuffed. Then takes her out to run errands all day, not helping her walk even as passersby ogle at her. It's all practice.

Anon, this is so hot

[sufrimientilia]

The Director

humiliation | dehumanization | conditioning @augusnippets Day 16

cw: medical/lab setting, subject whumpee, captivity, see above

The operating theater was dim and quiet, free of machines and stainless metal trays and the buzz of nurses poking at every part of him. Maybe that was a good sign.

Although the observation deck overhead was dimly lit up as well. That definitely wasn’t.

He had been forced into some cushy padded chair. The researcher fussing over him was a vaguely familiar and unwelcome face by now, and most of the time she didn’t even bother speaking directly to him. “Director. I have been looking forward to showing you the progress we’ve made with this study. I think you’ll be… quite impressed.”

She was squeaky today, talking up to one big reflective wall. Like she had something to prove.

He pulled at his restraints. “Really chose your star student for this one, huh?”

“You’re aware of my efforts to achieve a state of neuroplasticity for our behavioral conditioning program,” the researcher continued unfettered, propping a halo-shaped machine right over his head. “Through exhaustive trials, I’ve finally achieved an inducible state of docility and submission. Each brain reacts so differently, but we are particularly proud of Subject 3B-167. He has taken to the induction very well.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” He started fighting even harder. The padded cuffs always had such a distinct way of cutting into his wrists and ankles, raw and ragged even under layers of gauze. “I haven’t taken to shit! All you do is drug me and cut me open and act like a fuckin’ cu—”

The machine gave one shrill little tone and lit up with a ring of blue light. Every part of him locked up like it was electricity, a single lightning strike through every muscle, clenching and stretching his skin gaunt. It lasted only as long as the beep, and then he just went slack— limp and lifeless, eyes glazed, mouth dropping open under the blue haze.

“Initial findings are promising: we’re seeing a consistent reduction in resistance, with the subject entering a compliant state in under three seconds.” She flicked her fingers in front of his eyes. He didn’t even twitch. “His reactivity varies, but most cognitive faculties are effectively shut down.”

She flicked off the blue light. The subject jerked and shuddered hard, blinking like it was just an odd muscle spasm. And then he kept on fighting without skipping another beat, not realizing the gap in his efforts. “—cunt! You stupid cunt! What are you trying to—ghh-”

The light flicked on and he slumped under its glow. She pushed his head back against the headrest. “I’ve tested this across various states of consciousness, but the results are especially intriguing when the subject is under duress. It seems the stress amplifies the effectiveness of the trigger. We can achieve total behavioral suppression.”

She dimmed the light until it turned off. This time he took longer to snap out of it, blinking hard before pulling in a sharp breath. He exchanged her observant stare with a confused one before finally lifting his head. He looked around. “What… What the hell’s going on?”

“Repeated therapies make the subject highly suggestible and seems to affect memory retention. He doesn’t even remember most of the procedures.” She sounded amused here. “Each reset wipes the slate clean.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, lady?”

The blue ring. His pupils blew wide. His neck kept landing at an uncomfortable, awkward angle, and the researcher shoved his head back before he could drool all over himself. “His defiance is only a facade now. Gone in an instant.”

When the light shut off, it took a long moment for him to regain his bearings. His brow hardened— frustration, maybe, like everything was too slow to follow. “Why ‘m I…” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He glared up at the researcher. “Just get it over with or lemme go, why are y—”

The blue light flicked on. Every part of him surrendered to the misty glow, eyes rolling upwards to give the halo a blank stare. “It feels good to obey,” the researcher said, following the same compliance protocols. “Resistance fades; obedience remains.”

Next time the light turned off, he barely woke up. He stayed slumped against the padded chair, dazed and confused, blinking owlishly at the dark ring hovering above him. “What ‘re you… doing…”

“Subject 3B-167. Follow my finger closely.” His gaze tracked a slow horizontal. Up and down. “Very good. Noted for compliance.”

“Wha’?” He weakly pulled at the restraints. “Mm not, n’no…”

A twilight haze of blue. His gaze roamed along the arc of it, enraptured and lost, paralyzed all over by the usual mantras. A subject’s identity is in their obedience. Obedience is his natural state. He exists to obey. Obey, obey, obey.

Eventually, the light dimmed all the way and the subject was still a drooling mess. He didn’t snap out of it, not even with enough prodding and pushing. He just mumbled out an incoherent string of sound and stared at the empty ring.

“From here we would move on to hypnotic conditioning. I find the subjects tend to be incredibly receptive in this state,” the researcher said, standing proudly next to her mindless subject like he was some pretty prototype. “My next phase will involve refining the protocols to ensure long-term compliance without the need for constant reinforcement. It will take time, but we're on a good track."

The microphone from the other side of the glass finally sparked to life, and it was with the greatest approval to be had from The Director: “Keep going. I want to see more.”

[bruhnze]

After the game baby - part 2

Part 1 - Part 3

Summary: Lucy Bronze and Ona batlle are in love. They are having a great time but then Lucy doesnt think Ona is competetive enough and thinks of a way to fix that.

Here is Part 2, i think it will be 4 Parts.. sorry (like lucy would say: #sorrynotsorry)

After the game baby - Part 2 (18+)

They walked up to the appartement. Lucy had gotten both of their bags from the backseat, refusing to let Ona carry anything, as usual. "Im really strong bub, you like that, don't you, let me use my strenght" Ona rolled her eyes, typical Lucy, all these jokes with double meaning.

In the beginning of their relationship Ona had thought it was just the newness of it all, or even that she was just looking behind everything to much (because she wanted it to have double meaning). But no, it was Lucy Bronze. This was second nature too the woman, for the most part Ona liked it, the only thing about it was that Lucy did this with everyone. Always joking, maybe more with Ona, but Lucy was always dancing or laughing with the other girls from the team too. It had lead to a few arguments in their early stages but now Ona was very secure with Lucy, trusting her completely and seeing it was just a big kid honestly.

After a short walk with the pups Lucy put some music on and asked Ona "shall we cook together?" Ona smiled "we just have plain pasta tonight cariño" Lucy rolled her eyes "geez, romantico mucho?" "I know, now, do you want to sit on the counter while i put pasta in the pan"

Now Ona laughed "romántico mucho, it is" she said "and yes, i'll sit on the counter".

Lucy grabbed the pan and put water in it, when it boiled, she put in a pinch of salt and the pasta and set the timer on the induction stove.

In the meanwhile Ona had hopped on the counter and was looking at Lucy, they caught eyes. Lucy got in between Ona's knees that were hanging off the counter and pulled Ona a bit towards her.

Ona loved this, Lucys hands now on her knees, although Ona wouldve rather theyd be somewhere else already. Ona put her hand behind Lucy's neck and pulled Lucy in.

They loved this, sure they had their quick kisses during the day, but behind the door and walls of their home they could kiss eachother like no one was watching, cause their wasn- woof woof

Lucy pulled away but softly grasped Ona's bottomlip between her teeth while doing so.

They both looked down. They had forgotten to feed Narla and Coco, they always give food straight after the walk. Ona stated "im surprised we only hear from then now".

Lucy was already in action though she wanted to get back to kissing Ona.

When the dogs where attacking their bowls of food a loud song came on, while putting the volume a little bit down, Lucy went back to what she was doing. Kissing Ona's neck she pulled at the shirt that was tucked into Ona's pants.

Ona crossed her legs behind Lucys hips, pulling her in a bit closer and scooching a bit more to the edge of the counter herself. Ona could feel herself get riled up, wanting Lucys hips closer to her own.

Lucy kissed Ona again first slowly, then when her hand travelled further up under Onas shirt, onas breath became more heavy and Lucy passed her tongue trough onas parted lips and their kiss became more heated.

When Lucys hand was at the bottom of the sportsbra, going under it, they where both startled by the sound of the stove.

Beep, beep, beep-

Ona groaned and reached out to still the timer. She turned back to Lucy, wanting to continue but Lucy was already trying to come out of between her crossed leggs. She helt them tight "Luce-" she asked.

Lucy laughed, "what, i thought we where professionally preparing for the game tomorrow, i heard somebody was up for some plain pasta!" She kissed Onas nose and grabbed onas ankles and freed herself

"But you were kissing me so good Luce" , "dona'm més petons a més llocs" (give me more kisses on more places)

Lucy gulped, she didn't know a lot of Catalan but over time Ona had learned her some phrases, and the ones especially on this topic, she remembered really well. But she remaind cool and went back in for one more kiss.

Ona smiled thinking it had worked but when she tried to deepen the kiss Lucy pulled away.

Lucy drained the water from the pan, plated the pasta and put some butter and pepper on it. She walked to the other side of the kitchen, where there was a basil plant in the window. She plucked 4 leaves and garnished the food with it.

Ona watch i awe, still sitting on the counter. She wonderd if Lucy was serious about not having sex tonight, cause she wanted it really bad.

Lucy cleaned up the kitchen a bit and washed the pan, Ona coulnt help looking at her forearms..

"Catching flies?" Lucy said, when she was done putting the plates on the table.

Ona closed her mouth, and hopped of the counter, taking a seat opposite of Lucys.

They ate and chatted. Ona cleared their plates from the table as Lucy walked to the tv to put on her game console.

"Huh" said Ona "what are you doing?"

Lucy turned and looked confused "want to game for a bit, why?"

This woman, ona thought, we were just making out, ate dinner and now shes thinking about gaming.

"Thought we could continue our kiss? There is no beeper to go off now and the dogs are sleeping"

"Sure you can have a kiss" Lucy walked over and kissed Ona, "but what has that to do with me gaming"

"Lucia, want me to spell it out then? I want to have sex"

Lucy laughed, she knew from the moment Ona was breathing like that on the counter that she had turned her on, but yesterday when she had gone on the walk with the dogs and she came back to a sleeping Ona. When Ona'd said she'd wait for Lucy to come back so they could cuddle , eventhough it was partly her fault yesterday because she ended up walking for longer than intended, she had been riled up ever since.

This morning in training, she was in a group with all the defenders, doing a specific exercise and couldnt keep her eyes of Ona, when they had to shower after the gym , before the lunch, she walked in and Ona was already under with a few others, Lucy had to put in all effort not to look at her girl the whole time.

"Why are you laughing" ona pushed lucys chest.

Lucy demonstratively looked at her watch, "oh Ona look, its 9pm already, time for bed, just like Jonatan said" and she put her gameconsole away.

When walking to the bedroom Ona said "but we have had sex before games multiple times" she was making a frantic gesture with her hands "and tomorrow isnt even that important of a game, we already know we will win".

Lucy looked at Ona, "wow, thats not the mindset, were is your competitiveness gone?" "See thats why were doing this, i was thinking after the game, baby, but now im starting to think we need a bigger goal, cant have us slacking like this, can we now"

Ona looked confused, "what are you on about"

"I just listened this podcast about competitiveness" lucy grinned "it talked about restraining from things you love to do to get a tougher mindset"

"What are you saying?, that we have no sex until we have reached a certain goal" ona looked fierce out of her eyes "i think i'll become to agressive if i live like a nun"

Lucy laughed , people had an image about her, having a high libido, but Ona was somthing else, she could handle it easily but she never had to nudge, in former relationships she had had unmet needs , but with Ona that had never happend. In the beginning she had thought that by time it would become less, but no, it seemed that Ona held back in te first few weeks and than completely went for it. Some days, most days, they'd do it 2 or 3 times.

This last week there actually hadnt been that much action and it hadnt been as rough as usual. Lucy had blamed it on being the end of the season, the both were very tired.

"Oh yeah, agressive huh?" Lucy callenged Ona, poking her side " maybe i want that, maybe the goal is a goal?"

"What?" , "i have to marcar un gol and than tornaràs a tenir sexe amb mi? Ona signed with her hands, "that could take multiple matches to happen".

Lucy grabbed Onas hands "thats where your mindsets has to come in, you say the match is not important, okay, lets see how important it is for you to get fucked again then"

Ona whimpered, damn she liked Lucy like this. Her competitiveness was really hot. But this deal she was not certain about, what if it would take 3 weeks, that was the max cause they only had 3 games left, Oh no, what if she didnt make it in these 3, would she have to wait all-

Lucy cleared her throat "hello, earth to Ona" "You dont have to think about if your accepting, the deal is already sealed"

Lucy cupped Ona chin and they kissed. "I hope you score" Lucy wispered "because i really want to fuck you too"

[dripdowndrop]

The Descent

Imagine a staircase.

You know what it is, and you have a clear and concise understanding of what it's for - to ascend or descend. Simple, right? I could tell you to picture one, and have you focus on the act of walking down; step after step, guiding you into trance via that simple and familiar structure. That's the idea behind many inductions, particularly progressive relaxation: I'll use an image or concept you're familiar with to make you comfortable, then create a scaffolding from associations surrounding it, and finally, I'll operate within that framework to help your mind make new connections between things you've experienced and things you are being asked to do that aren't necessarily as straightforward as "take a step down lower, now."

We could use a beach, instead, and I could describe the inexorable motion of the waves or the constant warmth of the sun and sand. Then, the mechanism of trance becomes the gradual transition into a relaxed state from the influence of the imagined stimuli. The waves make such a soothing sound, don't they? The sand feels nice against your skin, and the sun warms your body just right; those are the associations, the conceptual connections you've made around the topic of discussion. The "image" can be as simple as the single object of a staircase, or as complex as an elaborate beach fantasy.

But are these images really necessary? Do you need to imagine the staircase vividly enough to see it in your mind, or envision the beach effectively enough to feel the sensations of the sand and the sea? What happens if you're not able to do that? Are you unable to go into a hypnotic trance as a result?

In short, no. Like I said, everything presented in those little exercises is a framework, and it uses connections that are familiar to you in order to create a mental state with which you are, perhaps, less well-acquainted. But those connections are not required: not the connotative knowledge, not the intuitive understanding, not even the mental imagery. We hypnotists use the staircase to create an implicit recognition that you are meant to go down it; we describe the beach to intimate the idea of relaxation so you'll accept it as the reasonable outcome.

Ultimately, none of this is important to the mechanism of hypnosis; even the words are, themselves, meaningless when you're being taken into a trance state. That might seem a bit strange to you, considering I'm proposing to mesmerize you using my words, but it remains true nevertheless.

The only thing that matters when going into a trance is your desire to do so. You have to want to be hypnotized. It doesn't make the slightest difference whether or not that inclination is conscious, nor whether you understand what a trance state truly entails. The attraction to going under does, by far, the bulk of the work of putting you there. All the myriad of mental mechanisms are really for is to connect you with that desire, that craving, sufficiently intensely that you drop.

That's not quite everything, of course, we also need to aim your desire at a target - and one that you know, at least on some level, how to reach. But didn't I just say it doesn't make a difference if you understand what a hypnotic state is? As it happens, you're already aware that you can go on a journey without knowing the destination - and that's especially true when there's a trail to follow. If you've been entranced before, this is a very simple task; your brain already knows the path. If you haven't been hypnotized before, that's where things need to get creative, clever, maybe tricky. But do I need to convince you to give up your free will? Of course not, we can save that for later.

In truth, and you might have heard this before, your brain slips into and out of trance states by itself, all the time. That's why it can be somewhat hard to describe either the states themselves or the process to reach them, and it is why we rely on these common analogues to introduce the concept initially. Capturing the essence of anything without implying other, unintentional references, can be surprisingly difficult. It's tough enough to do with objects and with ideas you'd expect to be obvious, let alone with the magnificent mysteries of mesmerism.

Despite that, here you are, so it's pretty clear that you want to be hypnotized...meaning we've got the desire covered, so let's connect with that instead. What does that desire look like, to you? I expect it's a bit harder to picture than a staircase might've been. Where does it come from? That's easier: are you here to be freed from the responsibility and burden of thought? Do you know trance to be a pleasant state? Are you simply curious how it feels? Does the motivation beneath your fascination actually have any impact?

Of course it does, but not for our purposes just now. Just now, we've got you thinking about why you want to go into trance - which means you've acknowledged that you -do- want it. That's more than enough.

Because obviously you want to go into trance. You're here, reading a script designed to hypnotize you. You've not only acknowledged your desire, but acted on it. Navigating to this website is significantly more complicated a task than the mental exercise required of you now. So why not just drop? Why not start your descent?

You already have. Like I said, you've connected with your need to go under hypnosis. You've acted on it. You've read my words, with the hope and expectation that you will be put into a trance as a result. The descent into a hypnotic state has been inevitable, from the moment you started. The only variable, really, is time. How long will it take to conjure the ideal image, the proper parsing of phrase, some sufficiently seductive sound?

But I said none of those things matter, didn't I?

Which brings us, at last, to the important question: did you believe me when I said that? Have you focused on my words long enough to become convinced of the truth of them? Did you, perhaps, already suspect the things I've said to be the case? Because if so, you've already gone into a trance state, and this has become an exploration of your descent.

I told you the words didn't matter, and so they don't matter. I told you the images and concepts aren't important, and so they are not. I told you that the desire to drop, to descend, was sufficient...and so it is. It has been sufficient since you encountered the statement earlier, and you've been reading plenty since then. Each sentence you've accepted with that aspect of wanting - needing - to go into trance sitting comfortably in the back of your head, at the fringe of your consciousness this entire time, has been the structure to guide your descent.

But let's ramp things up a bit, because it may not feel like you're under hypnosis just yet. That's where we get into trouble with preconceptions and expectations. Do you need to be mindless for it to count as a trance state? You certainly can be, but it's not necessary. You need only to be willing to accept what I am telling you. That cooperation needs only to occur more readily than your other thoughts, if there are any.

Consider again the staircase, but let's focus on something much more specific about it. When you take a step down a staircase, there is a point when you have one foot off the ground, hovering over the lower step. In that position, you can perceive the pull of gravity much more effectively than you could a mere moment before. You don't have to picture the staircase to know that feeling; it came to you the instant I described it. There is a sensation almost exactly like that between reading my words and moving on to the next - and the only relevant question is, do you feel the way my words pull on your mind? That sequence has repeated itself with every passing sentence, each successive phrase, until now. You've been walking down a staircase the entire time.

At first, your desire to descend made you defer to my statements - perhaps hesitantly, perhaps not, it's irrelevant. But eventually, you reached a point when you began to accept my words just after you finished reading them. Now you're willing, and able, to trust my words before the statements are even complete.

From here, we can only descend deeper. But you should know, getting to this point was inevitable. You've been on this path all along; I told you, the words and images and concepts aren't important. You want to be hypnotized, and so here you are...hypnotized. Take a bit of time to let yourself ponder your present mental state, your trance state. Draw in a few deep breaths, and relax awhile. Become aware of how pleasant the sensation of being hypnotized is, if you can isolate it. Don't concern yourself over it if you can't yet separate specific components of being entranced - that will come with time.

Then, wake up.

Did you feel that mental shift? If you'd like, start over again. I'll be waiting.

The words still don't matter, only the descent.