#crossing wires podcast | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bandgie · 2 months

Text

On Your Knees Pt.2

ONE | TWO

synopsis: They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but this one seems eager for a treat.

warnings! MDNI 18+, fem!reader, incel!seungmin, pussy eating/fingering, PIV (raw), edging (m!), blue balls, multiple orgasms (f!), dom reader (kinda), banter, prolly more that I missed lol

3.1k words

Seungmin doesn't think there'll be any way for him to live how he has been. Even the friends he spends time with hardly compare to the time he spends on the bathroom floor eating you out. Embarrassingly enough, it's all he can think about. Even as the podcast he's watching blares through his headphones, he can barely make out what they're saying.

Something about how it's submissive for a man to eat pussy. How demeaning the act is for a man to do. Yet, Seungmin questions the validity of what these so-called 'alpha' men are saying. Is it truly so terrible to have the taste of a cunt on your lips? To suck and lick on such a delicious flower?

He shuts his computer off, ripping the headphones by the wire to hone in on his conclusions.

Okay so maybe this is normal. Seungmin's a big boy; it makes sense that he would eat pussy sooner or later. And if he liked it, that's also fine. He's a man, after all, it makes more sense to like giving girls head than to hate it.

Just as long as he doesn't try to reach out to you. Now that would be submissive of him. And if there's anything Seungmin is dead set on, it's that he is not submissive.

But days after not seeing you with Han, days of not getting a taste of the pussy that has him whipped has him doing things he's sworn not to do. He found your number, he texted you, and he's going over your house on your conditions.

He's so fucked.

It's too late to turn back by the time he's at your front door. Seungmin only waits a few seconds before the door swings open. He's seen you about a dozen times, but it's the first time he's felt his heart swoop at the sight of you. He reasons it's just because you're in a t-shirt.

"Oh wow," you take a step back and look at him up and down, somewhat in disbelief. "I can't believe you actually came."

Seungmin can't find it in himself to believe he came here on his own violation either. "Whatever," he shivers from the cold, night air. "Are you gonna let me in or what?"

You take a step aside to make room, "Since you asked so nicely."

Seungmin takes awkward steps into your apartment, noting the cozy setup and simple plants littered in your living space. His fingertips run on the soft material of the couch, pulling on the loose threads automatically.

You walk past him, taking a seat on your couch and reaching for the remote. "I was just about to put something on," you turn and look up at him. "Come on."

Tentatively, Seungmin walks around the sofa to you. Just before he takes his seat, you click your tongue. "Nope. On the floor." You point to the space between your legs. Seungmin hands close and open, unsure what to make of the situation. You sigh and loll your head to the side, looking at him unamused. "You gonna sit down or what?"

Seungmin glowers at you, "I am. You don't need to be such as ass about it." He grumbles a little more before bending down and crossing his legs to face the TV. "Nope, wrong way," you twirl your finger in a circular motion to indicate him to face you instead.

He looks at you confused, "But you said we were gonna put something on." You shake your head at him, "No. I said I'm gonna put something on. I never said anything about you." A hint of red begins to show on Seungmin's face, but before he has the chance to most likely curse you, you spread your legs.

You can practically see the words die in Seungmin's throat at the sight of your bare cunt. He acts before he can think, twisting his body fully and gripping the underside of your thighs to spread you further. It's better than he remembers.

"This is why you came, right?" You look down at him. "Missed the taste of this pussy?"

Seungmin licks his lips, nodding mindlessly. Something about taste and pussy, but he understood nonetheless. His tongue pokes out, but you grip his hair and yank him upwards. Seungmin whines, like an animal tore away from his meal, but you ignore it. "You're just here to make me feel good, got it? You don't get to cum, only I do. Do you understand?"

You have to shake his head to force an answer out of him. "Yes yes yes." He shifts anxiously in your hold. "Only you. I'll make you feel good."

Despite his desperation, you smile. "Good boy. Go ahead."

The moment your grip loosens, Seungmin latches onto your core. It's soft, it's warm, it's good. He moans into your cunt, inhaling through his nose and he dips his tongue between your folds. It's only been days since he's tasted you, but it feels far too long. How could he go a single minute without tasting you? Getting that sticky arousal on his lips so the taste could mingle in his mouth the entire day? Seungmin puckers his lips and kisses your cunt, a thank you for introducing him to a whole new world.

Your fingers mindlessly click on the buttons of the remote as you try and find a show. You keep switching back and forth between options, clicking random buttons until you accidentally set the caption to a different language. One of your hands pet the top of Seungmin's head, pushing back his hair and twirling it in your fingers.

His tongue slides down until it catches your entrance, barely prodding it until he slides it back up to your clit. He swirls your bud in his mouth, sucking and licking until your hips buck. "Shit," you breathe. "You really missed my pussy, huh?"

Seungmin opens his eyes to look up at you. He turns his head sideways to place your clit in his mouth, flicking your clit rapidly. That's as much of an answer as you're getting, but it does the job. He lifts his head back up and sucks harshly, pulling on your sensitive flesh before releasing it. You shiver and moan, feeling your arousal drip onto the couch that you'll make him clean up later.

"Fuck yes," your grip tighten on his hair. "Finger me." Seungmin leans back and uses his hands to rub your pussy. His fingers rub and swirl around your core until they're drenched. He trails them down until they catch your entrance, pushing his middle and ring finger in.

You throw the remote on the couch and grip the cushions. The stretch is slight, but his fingers are long. They reach much deeper than you could ever do yourself, and you let out a loud moan when they finally settle all the way inside. Seungmin pumps you slowly, getting used to how your walls pulse and clench around him. He watches as your cunt swallows his fingers. His cock throbs in his pants.

"Shiiit," you throw your head back onto the headrest. "I'll cum if you keep doing that."

That's all he's ever wanted. Seungmin places his mouth back onto your clit where his tongue flattens against your cunt. He moves his head up and down while thrusting his fingers in and out. Both of your hands are tugging on his hair, pulling and pushing him away.

"Already?" He pulls away for a moment to speak. "Didn't think you'd be this easy, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised." A devilish smile appears on his lips as you lift your head to look at him. You wish you could come up with a snide remark, but your head starting to feel fuzzy and all you can focus on is how close you are.

You push his head back to your pussy and wrap your legs around his body, locking him in. "I'll make you regret saying that."

Seungmin laughs into your cunt, happy that he succeeded in pissing you off. Now that he's pushed against you, it's a little difficult to finger you as rapidly, but you rather like the shallow thrusts. It gives you more to clench down on and ride while he licks your clit. You buck your hips and ride his face inelegantly. The first hints of your orgasm build in your stomach, making your body feel unbelievably warm as your hips stutter.

"Fuck," you rasp. "Imma cum." You blink a few times and lazily smile at him, "Did you miss the taste of that too?"

As an answer, Seungmin buries himself so deep into you that his nose is pressed against your clit. The extra texture is enough to send you over the edge, creaming on his fingers and twitching in his mouth. He happily gulps down your arousal, slipping his fingers out to replace them with his tongue instead.

You just taste so good. Seungmin is delightfully reminded of how it felt to swallow you for the first time, how the taste settled on his tastebuds. His tongue scoops out the white cream your pussy flooded out and spreads it on your clit before licking it back up again.

He hums, shoving his cum-stained fingers when you finally release him from your hold.

Seungmin wants it again. His hands splay over your thighs to spread them. After all, it's you who gets to cum. It's only fair he makes sure you can as much as possible. But before his tongue has the chance to find its rightful place in your pussy, you snap your legs shut.

He looks up at you like a wounded dog, "Hey! Open them back up!"

Seungmin isn't sure what he's expecting to see, but it definitely isn't how you look right now. Flushed with a heaving chest, eyes that are wide and full of arousal, and a cheeky smile on your bitten lips. He's reminded of how pretty you actually are.

"Get up," you snap him out of his thoughts. "Take off your pants too."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Seungmin rises from his aching knees and fumbles with his belt. He unties it quickly before undoing the top of his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers. You gasp, eyes locking with his cock for the first time.

"Holy shit," you slap a hand over your mouth. He's hard. His cock is red at the tip, leaking with so much precum you think he's had to stain his underwear. You can almost see it twitching from lack of attention, begging to be touched.

Seungmin smiles, grabbing the base and squeezing it. "You like it, huh?" It's not easy to take your gaze off his length to look into his eyes instead. The sight of him has you aching to be filled. Your pussy clenches around nothing, but you keep your nose upturned, "It's alright."

He scoffs, but the smile never fades. You widen your legs and welcome him, watching as he gets into a half-squat position to angle his cock towards your entrance. Seungmin rubs his tip over your sensitive clit. When it catches your nub, you jolt. You wrap your legs around him and bring him closer. He does it again, this time pressing the head of his cock down to apply pressure.

You reason he's doing this on purpose. Making your pussy squelch and your hips jolt to try and get him inside. As much as you hate to admit it, he's good with his dick. Teasing you by slowly dragging the fat of his head down your slit, slapping his tip and your wet cunt. You're annoyingly reminded of what he said days ago; 'I can make a girl cum. I just don't care to.'

The words echo in your mind and you scrunch your nose. "God, fuck! Stop pissing me off and put it in already."

For a moment, you think he's going to defy you. His tip trails lower and lower until it's against your entrance. Seungmin steadies his cock at the base and pushes forwards, barely spreading you open. "Didn't think I'd ever hear you begging for my cock," he smiles at you teasingly. "You were being such a feminist the other day. What happened?"

Not-so-nice words begin to form in your head and before you get the chance to spew them out, Seungmin pushes all the way in. His cock stretches you out more than you anticipated, and it's whines that leave your lips instead. He doesn't give you the chance to adjust as he pulls nearly all the way, save for his tip, before slamming back in. Your entire body jolts and you whimper again.

Your pussy can't keep up with his pace, but you hardly mind the pain. It blurs into white pleasure that burns hot in your cunt.

"You hear that?" Seungmin pants through his thrusts. "That's the sound of your pussy getting fucked by an...what was it again? An incel?" He laughs as your eyes darken with anger, seething with a type of emotion you're not too familiar with.

You reach out the grip his wrist that's placed on the side of the couch, digging your nails into his flesh. Seungmin hardly notices the pain, his teeth shining in his shit-eating smile.

The words are stuck in your throat. You want no more than to tell Seungmin how much of an ass he is, that his cock is merely adequate, but you can't. Every drag of his length rubs against your walls deliciously. You can practically feel every vein on him as he fucks you raw. He makes your hot pussy even hotter and he, unfortunately for you, keeps dragging his cock against that sweet spot deep inside you.

"You," a breath from you, "are a dick."

Strangely enough, your words seem to spur him on more. He tears his hand from your iron grip to place them both under your hips. Seungmin angles your hips upwards and drives forward, shoving his cock unbelievably deeper. Your hands shoot up to your face, trying to block all sounds of pleasure, but Seungmin can hear them. He can hear the gasping behind your fingers, the high-pitched moans muffled in your hands.

Seungmin laughs, but it sounds winded. "A dick huh? That's funny. You seem to like being fucked by one."

It occurs to you that you've been too lenient on him. Letting him eat the very same pussy he's thrusting into, letting him fuck you raw. His attitude needs some shaping.

You let him keep fucking you. You let his cock throb and twitch in your pussy. He's close, but he's doing good at holding back. Seungmin must be used to dumping his cum and leaving, but he seems to hold out just for you. It's cute, but your plan is better.

Your head bounces with every thrust. Seungmin makes sure to keep his long fingers at your clit the entire time, switching between pinching and flicking against it. It helps to build your second orgasm. Your jaw falls open and your moans become more frequent.

"Shit," he breathes. "Pussy gripping me so tight. Is someone gonna cum again?"

Blinking up at him, you nod. Your hand grips your chest, squeezing your boobs underneath the material as you keep nodding. "Mhm. Keep fucking my pussy and I'll cream all over your cock." That does it for him. Seungmin has been holding back his orgasm so much that his ears feel like they might burst.

With new vigor, he fucks into you harder, deeper. Seungmin doesn't try to hide the animalistic sounds he makes, groaning and moaning as your walls wrap around his cock. "You want my cum, huh? Acting all big and strong when it's you're begging for it. Say it. Tell me you want my cum."

You don't, not because you're prideful, but because you can't. He's thrusting into you so roughly that words seem to leave you. His hand pulls your clit roughly, and the harsh tug drives you over the edge. You squeeze your breasts so tightly to anchor yourself. You can feel how your pussy floods with your cum, leaving your legs trembling and shaking.

Seungmin can feel it too. The pulsing, the wetness. It's enough to finally let him release. His balls tighten, his dick twitches, and he-

"Pull out."

Seungmin doesn't know why he listens. He was so close to his orgasm, he could still taste it on his tongue. But your demand outweighs his need to cum. With a wail, he pulls out. A small whimper makes its way past you as he finally slips out, cock shining in your cum.

His cock is red, rubbed nearly raw from how good he was keeping himself at bay. You can see the head of his cock pulsing, worse than the first time you saw it. A wicked smile finds your lips.

"Do you remember what I said earlier, Seungie?" You speak with artificial gentleness. Seungmin is too busy trying not to cum, squeezing the base of his cock almost painfully. You have to repeat your question before he finally looks up to you. "Huh? About what?"

"About who gets to cum," you remind him. "Who is it that gets to cum tonight?"

Seungmin thinks back about how you presented your cunt to him, bare and wet. He briefly recalls how you said something about being the only one to cum, but he was so entranced by your sweet pussy that he hardly cared.

He frowns, face flushed. "But that's not fair! I ate you out. You came on my tongue. You came on my dick. I'm so hard and-"

"And that doesn't matter," you interrupt him. "I never said you can cum. That's your fault for assuming you could." You have to bite back you smile at his pitiful reaction.

Even with his dejected look, you can't help but find it somewhat cute. You fake a pout and click your tongue, "Poor thing. Here, kisses will make you feel better."

Seungmin wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't you widening your legs and him falling to his knees. Yet, he does just that. You feel his warm, wet tongue on your throbbing clit. Sucking and licking eagerly like he forgot about the aching cock between his legs.

You fondly brush the hair from his face as he eats you out for the second time tonight. His eyes look up to you with your clit in your mouth and you shiver. Seungmin will be a handful for sure, but you can't help but think you've found the perfect diamond in the rough.

a/n: omfg I actually had a whole different idea but I scraped it and did this instead :p. if you wanna ask for a third part, please don't, I have no more plot for this fic tags: @mynsung, @andassortedkpop, @jminnnnnnn, @geneziesm, @applekiwi3202, @i6gyuu, @lazycarolinamoment, @lewoh-ot8-wh0re, @ihave-atummyache, @seeeeking-skz, @loeyscock, @blankdyean, @dini-recs, @yzsqu, @desirehorizon-recsextra a/n: I need to start asking if people want tags rather than looking through my comments and see who was asking for a pt 2 :(

#smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz #stray kids #skz seungmin #stray kids seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin smut #seungmin #seungmin stray kids #seungmin skz #seungmin skz smut #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours

645 notes · View notes

strawberryspence · 7 months

Text

inspired by the recent events (think of a singer and football player) and ofc, inspired by the brilliant, @henderdads, who has graciously allowed me to make this into a whole thing. 👀

check out the original post!

*i don’t know ANYTHING about the NFL, so sorry for the obvious mistakes*

”What do you mean?” Steve looks up from tying his shoelaces, and stares at his agent.

“Harrington, how many times do I have to say this?” Robin smirks at him, “He’s here. He’s sitting with Mama Joyce.”

Steve’s 100% sure a wire short circuits in his brain. He blinks rapidly at her before asking once again.

“Eddie Munson?”

Robin hums, “Ahuh.”

“Like the 12 time Grammy winner, Eddie Munson, from Corroded Coffin?”

Robin slaps a hand on her forehead, “Yes, Steve! Eddie Munson is in the stadium right now. You’re the one who asked me to arrange his seats.”

Steve jumps from the wooden benches, “I didn’t think he would come!”

Robin crosses her arms, “First of all, you were the one who made that bracelet with your number on it—“

“I WAS DRUNK!”

Robin puts up a finger, “You weren’t drunk when you brought it to his concert and asked Lucas Sinclair to hand it to him. You also weren’t drunk when you announced it on a podcast, when it could’ve been a secret for all of us to keep. Second of all, you whined and annoyed me until I finally caved in, called his publicist to finally arrange the whole thing and the thanks I get is more whining?!”

Oh no. Steve stares at her, as all of the things she said finally sinks in. Oh no. Eddie Munson is in the crowd. He came. Steve asked and Eddie came. He’s gonna watch Steve Harrington play. Weirdly, he wonders if this is what Eddie feels when he’s about to play sold out arenas. Steve’s never felt nervous to play, the field is— well— his comfort place and not once has he had this sense of dread to play. Not even when he had to play the Super Bowl.

"I didn't think he'd come!" Steve panics.

“Uh-oh. No time for panic attacks. The game starts in about 15 minutes.”

“Oh my god.” Steve groans as she pushes him out of the locker rooms to the halls. There’s TVs in every corner, and one TV catches his attention.

There he is.

Eddie Munson’s sitting beside his adoptive mother and his siblings. Dear God. In what world is this real?

The commentator squeals in delight as he broadcasts, “Here’s one for the books, one that’s surely going to break the internet tonight. In the crowd tonight, we have the lead singer of best selling metal group, Eddie Munson. The rumors are apparently true! Harrington and Munson are definitely friends, maybe even more?”

Steve groans as Sinclair moves pass him, bumping shoulders. A huge smirk on his face, “I didn’t think you could do it, but I have to say, I am very proud of you.”

”Leave me alone.” He sulks as Lucas walks down the hall laughing his head off.

When Steve started talking to Eddie, he never really thought he’d end up here. Did he want something serious with Eddie? Well, yes. He’s been crushing on the man since he realized he was bisexual and Eddie was already the cover of the Seventeen magazine for nth time. But Eddie was a superstar singer who’s still on a world tour that has already sold billions, so no, Steve didn’t expect him to be here. He also knows that Eddie just got out of a pretty public break-up, so he didn’t expect anything but friendship. He just— shoot his shot and prayed to the Gods.

Steve thinks back to the conversation they had a few nights ago. A conversation only possible through the help of prayer and two shots of vodka.

“You wanna go out this Sunday?” Steve asks, trying his best to keep the nerves under the wraps.

“Isn’t that the day of the game?” Eddie speaks over the phone and Steve still can’t fathom the fact that he’s talking to Eddie Munson on a regular Wednesday night.

“Yeah, I mean. We can go out after the game.” Steve gulps, and he feels the need to take another shot.

”Huh.” Eddie hums, “Would that be a date, Harrington?”

“Yes.” Steve lightly bangs his head on the wall, “I mean, if you want it to be.” Steve covers his mouth to muffle the embarrassing sounds that comes out from him. What a wuss.

“Here, let’s play a fun little game. Let’s wait till Sunday.” Steve can hear the smirk in his voice, and god, Steve will have to look up the damn “Eddie Munson smirks for 10 minutes” compilation on Youtube again.

”What do you mean?”

“I’ll think about it. On Sunday, if I’m in the crowd then maybe we can get some dinner. If I’m not, then maybe next time.” There’s a playfulness in his voice that makes Steve want to tear his hair out.

Steve gnaws at his lips, that sounds easy enough, “Okay. That sounds… easy.”

Eddie laughs. It’s music to Steve’s ears and he feels pathetic, “Not so easy, big boy. If I’m there, you have to get a touchdown and then it’s a date. If not, then we hang out with your siblings. They’re pretty cool.”

Steve stares at the wall in his room, there’s maybe 50% chance he’ll get a touchdown. He could talk to Sinclair and McKinney to get him the ball. He could do it. It’s just another touchdown. He’s done—what?— like 50 touchdowns in his life.

”Okay.” Steve gulps, “Let’s do it.”

“HARRINGTON!” Steve blinks back to the present, lifting his eyes away from the picture of Eddie Munson wearing the red windbreaker representing his team.

Hopper’s calling him over, a smirk clear on his face. Why is everyone fucking smirking at him? “I see you’re distracted. I hope this doesn’t cripple your ability to play.”

”Hop!” Steve groans, only for his coach to laugh and pat him in the back.

“Go on! Line up!” Hop smiles, winking at him, “Good luck out there.”

Steve puts on his helmet, before taking a few deep breathes.

He just needs a touchdown. One touchdown.

Steve smiles.

He’d do anything for Eddie Munson.

A touchdown is nothing.

#okay so again i dont know anything about nfl and football #i will write more after i finish this three hour long video about football #thank you cass for allowing me to write this #i love you from the bottom of my heart #this are the only worms i have right now #steddie #dae writes #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie rants #steddie headcanon #daeheadcanons #steddie famous au #steddie fanfic

843 notes · View notes

uhohdad · 9 months

Text

EXPERIMENTAL

it’s been awhile since i’ve written please mind the rust

to be continued? maybe?? let me know if you want more

Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.

AO3 Link: X

PART TWO: X

Word Count: 5,4k

Warnings: Flirting, Sexual Content, NSFW, Reader x Konig, talk of standard war stuff, Reader is a bit of a pervert. Non-con Voyeurism. Reader has anxious thoughts/low-self esteem-ish? No use of y/n, reader’s gender/sex is incomprehensible, cause I do for the girls the gays and the theys.

NSFW UNDER CUT

You never thought you’d end up working for the government, but the opportunity was too good. Where else would you find a grant to experiment if not for the generous funding of the military industrial complex? You should have known. Research is research, you told yourself, and the pay is too good to pass up on.

Most of your time was spent in the lab. For the most part, you had worked alone, spending up to 14 hours a day working on your project. It had been months, but you’re sure your developments will forever change warfare.

How many deaths will your creations be responsible for? How much blood on your hands?

No. It’s just a job.

You let out a deep sigh. Usually you have background noise - music, a show, a podcast - something to help ward off the obsessive thoughts. But today you had visitors coming.

You had requested a test subject for a beta version of your project. A soldier to help work out the bugs before the final version gets sent on the battlefield.

Battlefield.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about-

A knock interrupted your internal conflict. You looked up, your eyes meeting the visitor through the circular glass pane of the swinging door. Just his eyes, as the visitor wore a black mask that draped from underneath a helmet, flowing over his shoulders and down his chest. You couldn’t help the concerned look that crossed your face as you hesitantly waved him in.

The door creaked as it opened and the man stepped in. You shoulders eased a bit when you noticed the uniform previously obscured by the door, confirming he was a soldier from the base and not an intruder in a mask. You couldn’t help but tense again once you noticed his stature. Even from across the room you could tell he was well over 6’5. You’re sure he could reach his hand up and touch the ceiling with ease. Muscles with enough mass and definition to be seen even under the uniform.

What are they feeding these boys?

“Hi! I mean- hi. Uh,” Your introduction was shaky, but it was on par for your typical social interactions. After giving him your name, you asked for his.

“Konig,” He responded, his deep voice and coarse accent catching you off guard once again.

“Ha, yes. Nice to meet you.” You took a deep breath in hopes to conceal your fluster before continuing, “You’re here to help me test the new tech, right?”

Tech. When did you start using slang? Trying to be cool, huh?

Shut up.

Konig shifts in his spot a few paces from the door, not daring to step any closer to you. You’re wonder if you were coming off as too cold. “Uh, yes.” He clears his throat, “Just let me know what you need from me.”

Okay, straight to the point. You can do that. You’re happy to move on from the unsteady introduction. “Right,” You turn your attention from him to your laptop and the project in front of you. You hold up your device for him to see. He takes this as his invitation to move closer to get a better look, his black boots making their presence known as they stepped across the tile. The device resembled an earpiece - a small black strip attached to a coiled wire that ends with a sensible black base. “It doesn’t have a name. Yet.” You find yourself struggling to make eye contact with Konig, “Uh, here, it might be easier to just show you.” You flip the laptop around so he can see the screen. He’s standing right next to you now, and it’s hard not to notice how small you feel standing next to this giant of a man.

His bicep is the width of my head.

Stop it.

You try to smother your distracted thoughts as you put the device behind your ear and turn it on. A transparent projection in the shape of a curved rectangle covers your eyes, overlaying your view of the lab.

Konig watched silently as the screen on your laptop changed, now displaying your view through the lens. “This device is powered by AI.” You felt more confident now. You weren’t great at small talk but your work was your comfort zone.

“The possibilities are endless. Without being fed blueprints or GPS - it’s able to scan & provide a map of a building before you even set foot in it, and give you the safest path trajectories.” You make some adjustments from the laptop, and the projection overlays filters on your vision. Directional arrows appear, showing the easiest exit from the lab with coordinates and distance countdown to destination.

You continue, “Target identification.” You look at Konig from behind the transparent projection. He meets your eyes before quickly shifting his gaze back to the laptop, where he could see himself outlined in a bright red overlay.

“Scanning capabilities, even through solid objects. It can identify any object you want. Not just objects, either.” You turn your gaze toward the lab wall. Konig watches carefully as the faded outlines of workers on the base from rooms away appear, their heart rates and heat map registering from beyond the cold tile walls.

Konig stares, impossible to read.

“And uhm,” you pick up an additional device from the table, a thin square chip, “This is an attachment for your, er, weapon.” You cringe a bit at this feature, “The AI has aim assist, too. You know self driving cars? Ah, well, it hasn’t been fully tested yet, but in addition to auto aim it- uhm,” You can’t help but let out a nervous laugh, trailing off.

“It shoots for you.” Konig finishes so you don’t have to.

You wonder if the guilt is obvious.

It might as well be you out there in the field, taking lives. He’s probably disgusted with you under that hood, you think.

You purse your lips for a moment, “Yes. But we’re just scratching the surface. This technology is capable of-“

“It’s brilliant,”

Konig is skilled in the art of catching you off guard. He tilts his head, curiously eyeing in your direction. You wonder if he’s looking at your features or the projection,

“You made this yourself?”

You study him back, trying to figure out if he was mocking you, but unable to decipher his expression from under his hood. The AI continued to monitor him on your vision, and you felt as if you were violating his privacy by watching his heart rate slightly spike as he looked you over.

He must be lying.

You turned the device off and set it on the table, “Yes. It’s not perfect, but I’m hoping you can help me work out all the flaws.”

His stared quietly for a moment and you felt dread pool in your stomach, wishing you could see his expression under his hood. “I’d be honored to.”

A shaky smile formed on your face. You could no longer read his heart rate, but you found yourself wanting to believe the sincerity of his voice. “Let’s get started.”

You pick up another matching set of devices, two thin c-shaped bands, before continuing, “Obviously you can’t take a laptop out in the field. These are portable remotes.” Konig watches attentively as you place one of the bracelet shaped device on your wrist, tapping on it to summon another projection. “I tried to make it as user-friendly as possible. We can make adjustments if needed before launch.” You hold out the device toward him. “For you.”

He looks hesitantly at the device. Instead of taking it from you, he places his arm out on the table in front of you.

You’re distracted by your own remote and a moment passes before you register he hasn’t taken it from you. You glance over at his outstretched arm before meeting his eyes.

He sees your confused look and explains, “I just- I don’t want to break it.” Konig knows his own strength and he knows the worth of your project. He doesn’t want to accidentally apply too much pressure and ruin your work.

A nervous laugh escapes you, but you oblige him. You made this device for the battlefield, it’s meant to withstand more than a man. Even an extra large, muscular-

Stop it.

You’re not going to push. You carefully take his forearm in your hand, adjusting the device to his wrist. You try not think about how muscular and hard his forearms are, and try even harder not to think about how hard his biceps would be. And you definitively try not to think about how hard his-

Stop it.

“That comfortable?”

His voice is low, “Yes. Thank you.”

“Of course,” leaves your mouth, a little breathier than you intended.

Your face burns and you’re sure he’s got you pinned. You wish you could ask to borrow his mask.

It’s been a long time since you’ve experienced intimacy, okay? You’ve been confined to these four walls for months now, devoid of human touch. You’d be frothing at the mouth for anything bipedal at this point, let alone the mysterious superhuman sitting across from you.

You’re at a disadvantage, to say the least.

You can’t even look at him.

Konig carefully taps on the device on his wrist, activating his remote. The projection appears and he moves his arm to get a closer look. “This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

If he didn’t notice your blush before he was sure to now. “Oh! I don’t-“ Another nervous laugh, “It’s nothing. Let’s get you calibrated.”

You pick up the earpiece and hand it to him, still avoiding his gaze. You’re forced to meet his eyes again when he doesn’t take it. There’s no way you could handle putting this one on for him. This time you reassure him, “It’s okay. I know it’s small, but it’s durable. I promise.”

He carefully takes it from you, and you try not to notice the electricity you feel when his fingers graze yours. He reaches under his hood, the fabric warping as he places the device behind his ear and turned it on, the same way he watched you do it. He then waited patiently for your guidance.

You put your earpiece on before making a few adjustments on your bracelets projection. “Okay! We should be synced now. Go ahead and pull up your settings.”

You take him through the customizations, telling him how to switch between visual overlays, how to use multiple at once. Display adjustments, how to use the intercom. He watches intently, never interrupting.

“I hope I’m not boring you.”

“Boring me?” Konig stares at you, eyes saturated with disbelief at your doubt. “It’s incredible.”

You feel the warmth creep up on your cheeks again. All of the doubts and moral dilemmas you’ve been mulling over the past few years seem to melt away when Konig compliments you.

“Want to take it for a drive?”

“Absolutely.”

—————————————————-

It’s been awhile since you’ve been out on the field. The passed months have been spent under the florescent lights of the lab, hunched over your laptop as you fought with code. Feeling accomplished when you made a step forward in progress, followed quickly by a sinking feeling as you tried not to think of the consequences of each development.

It was nice to feel the sun for a change.

Konig followed a few steps behind you, both sets of boots crunching on the gravel beneath you. Few words had been exchanged. There was something about unreadable people made you nervous, but you tried not to let it show.

You stopped once in front of the empty shoot house, looking up to the soldier that towered over you.

“I had weapons development make us a prototype gun to pair with the AI. It’s for testing purposes only, so it doesn’t shoot real bullets.” You pointed at the faux shotgun propped up against the outer wall of the shoot house. “The auto aim chip is already attached. It’s going to be something to get used to.”

You continue, “I’ve placed the AI on test. It will simulate the conditions of a mission in a way that adjusts to your learning speed. Obviously once you get used the system we’ll have test runs with real people, but for now I just want you to get used to the overlays. If you get stumped, just let me know. I’ll be able to hear and see what you can from out here. I’m synced in to your device, too, so if you can’t figure out the adjustments, or can’t access your device, I can take care of that for you remotely.”

“Understood.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he spoke to you like you had seniority, with the utmost respect. It made you feel important. Really it should be the other way around - a nerdy weakling in the presence of an experienced and powerful soldier. You briefly wonder what exactly a man of his stature is capable of. He looks like he could pick up a grown man and snap him in half like a toothpick. Let alone what he could do to you…

You force yourself to stay on topic, but your smile lingers, “Any questions for me?”

You still can’t decipher what’s going on under the mask, but his voice is soft, as soft as it can be under his rigid accent, “Negative.” He walks over to the prop gun and picks it up, handling it expertly. Even though it’s a replica, he still opens the chamber and curiously peaks inside. Watching his big hands run over the realistic firearm caused an intoxicating mixture of fear and arousal to wash over you, manifesting as a tightness in your lower gut. You can’t remember the last time someone made you feel this way. Dizzy and excited and nervous.

It didn’t help that you’ve spent the last few months practically isolated and without intimacy.

He’s going to be the death of me.

Stop it. We’re just excited about testing the project. It’s a long time coming.

He would make me come a long time.

Stop. It.

After you watch him disappear into the shoot house, you turn on the intercom, “Konig? Can you hear me?”

“Affirmative.”

His gravely voice flooding your intercom is not helping your dirty thoughts. You pull up his view on your projection. “Okay, I have your video feed. Are you ready for the simulation?”

He cocks the prop gun so loud you could hear it from inside the building in addition to the comm. “Affirmative.”

Oh, fuck.

The knot in your stomach doubles and you think your knees might just buckle. You shift in your spot in the dirt to steady yourself, gravel scraping under your shoe.

You hear your name over the comm. “You still there?” Your attention is brought back to his view. You can see the world from his eye level and get taken aback at how different it looks compared to yours.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, raising your arm equipped with the wrist remote, “Okay, in 3… 2… 1…” You press the button to start his test simulation.

You watch as Konig looks around. He’s got target scan activated, and the AI has overlaid fake targets onto his projection for him to hunt and eliminate.

You watch carefully, scanning the screen for any imperfections in your coding. The guide seems to be working smoothly, directing Konig through the maze-like hallways of the shoot house with ease. The placement of targets are generated randomly and you’ll have to crunch the numbers later to verify, but it seems to have accurately calculated the most efficient route, directing him accordingly. You try to ignore the sound of Konigs hitched breathing over your receiver and try even harder to ignore the way it’s making you feel. Instead you make sure the auto aim function is activated.

“Approaching first target.” He says over the comm and you can help but smile at how serious he is taking it. You remember your first time in the range, testing out the auto aim on the simulations. How silly you felt. Like a child playing with a toy gun. You think it’s sweet he’s indulging you.

His steps become quieter as he rounds the corner and his breathing slows. He pauses briefly before quickly jumping out at the target. You can tell the auto aim takes over and the shotgun pulls against his grip with the force of a strong magnet. It’s alarming at first, you remember, the gun taking control from you.

It’s not like that, of course. You designed it to be a teammate. Able to identify and terminate a threat before the user had even registered it was there. It was meant to protect the user, to defend their life.

That’s what you tried to tell yourself anyway. It was easier to swallow than thinking of it as the automatic killing robot it really was.

You kept the auto-fire function off for now. Partially because you wanted to slowly transition him into the AI features. Partially because you were ashamed.

You watch as Konig takes back control of the gun. He’ll learn how to work with it instead of against it soon, you remember the same struggle you had yourself in early testing. He fires at the target, a projection of an enemy soldier the AI had slowed for training purposes. Konig pulls the trigger and you hear the sound of gunshots. In real life, of course, nothing had fired. But the AI simulation was designed to immerse the player, imitating the feel of the battlefield. From Konig’s perspective he may as well just shot through a human heart. Other than the learning curve of your designs- it seems natural for him.

It was not natural for you when you had experienced the simulation. If anything it was just a fully immersible prediction of the consequences to your actions. Fuck Around and Find Out™️ now coming to an VR headset near you.

You watched his target drop & fade away in a dust of pixels, a design change you made after being unable to bear the look of replicated dead soldiers lying limp on the floor.

It’s just a job.

“Konig? How did that feel?” You wished you could see his face on the screen before remembering you wouldn’t have been able to see anything behind his hood anyway. You briefly consider a self-facing camera, but wonder if it would be for the improvement of the design or for self-serving reasons. You’d have to think of another good purpose to add it to the final product later.

“It’s a lot faster than I am.” He stuck with the facts, not wanting to cause a misunderstanding if it was strange for him to get used to.

“That’s the idea. Weird, right?” You offered, your smile lifting the tone of your voice.

“Very.” You could tell he was smiling too. “I want to try a few more - I’ll get used to it.”

He continues through the shoot house, approaching the next simulated targets. He’s slowing learning to work with the AI, letting it guide him as he controls the trigger. You watch as your program learns his skill, escalating the challenge first by increasing enemy speed and difficulty, then by adding multiple targets at a time.

You can tell this man is a trained killer, even just from watching a trial. It’s clear he’d easily be able to handle a real mission with ease - your advancements or no. Watching his gloved hands grip the gun, his quickened breathing, made the tightness in your lower half hard to ignore. It felt wrong how his rugged demeanor turned you on.

He continued without faltering, navigating the shoot house’s maze-like layout with the help of your guidance program. Despite your reservations, you decide it’s time to add an additional integration. “Konig, the gun you’re using is fully compatible with the weapon chip. As in, trigger capabilities. If you’d like, you can turn on auto fire.”

There’s a slight pause, and you’re worried he’s realized the full implications of such a technology. You’re relieved when he finally speaks over the intercom, “I think I turned it on.”

You verify on his feed before responding, “You got it. Let me know if you need anything.”

Holding your breath, you observe your AI work. He rounds another corner and approaches two more targets. Your code was capable of identifying each target’s imminent threat level, eliminating them in order of danger to the user. You hear Konig’s breath hitch when the gun operates with a mind of its own, mowing down the simulated targets without hesitation. Each shot effectively tearing through the most vulnerable areas of the targets.

“Meine güte…” He mutters, taking a moment to register what had just happened. You watch his feed pan down to his gun, his hands turning it over to examine it in disbelief.

You wonder what he’s thinking as you watch those strong hands work. If he thinks you’re a monster for creating such a brutal and mindless killing machine.

“Konig?” Your voice is dripping with uncertainty, but it’s your job to collect his feedback, “All good?”

You watch his thumb stroke the forend before his gaze shifts up, “I think I might be out of a job.”

You let out a laugh, words pouring out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Well, I don’t think we’d be able to replace you.”

Ah, shit.

You’re hoping you didn’t lay all your cards on the table, but you don’t dare let the silence hang, forging on, “Human supervision is still needed when it comes to technology like this. You know, wouldn’t want it to turn evil and try to take over the population.”

You’re hoping you saved it, but the few seconds before he responds seem like a lifetime.

“Well if it was made by you, I don’t think it would be capable of turning evil.”

Your brain short circuits and your mouth parts as you ready to respond, but find that you’re unable.

What did he mean by that? If he was implying that you weren’t evil enough to negatively influence a code, then he didn’t know you. Of course he didn’t, he just met you.

Was he implying you were too smart of a programmer to let a technology go faulty? Then he REALLY didn’t know you. You think briefly to your failed prototypes. How long it took to work out the bug of the AI mistakenly registering civilian children as threats.

Ugh.

Whatever the implications, you understand that Konig just complemented you. Something you were not still not equipped to handle, demonstrated by your slack jaw and wide eyes you’re thankful he can’t see. All accompanied by a warm feeling that spreads across your chest.

He’s just being nice.

Sexual attraction, that you could handle.

Not a crush.

This is a no-crushing zone, you decide.

The warm feeling needs to stay below the belt, thank you very much.

It’s obvious you’re joking, but your voice has a different tone when you finally gather yourself. Softer, bordering on dispirited, “Well, I don’t know about that. Y’know, I once programmed a toaster to cook my toast the perfect amount every time. I wanted it to spring out at exactly the right speed & distance to land square on my plate. Like you see in cartoons, y’know? It worked for a little… but one day it starting burning all my toast to char and shooting it max speed at my ceiling. I think it got mad it’s life purpose was making my breakfast.”

You hear Konig laugh for the first time. A raspy, hearty laugh that floods your comm and fuels that warm feeling in your chest, much to your dismay. You nose scrunches as you watch the shake of his feed slow. “There are worse purposes.”

You didn’t even give yourself the space to dissect the implications on that one. The smile is apparent in your voice, “I’ll let the toaster know.”

Konig finished out the trial after getting used to a few more overlays. You confirmed you had everything you needed for the day before letting Konig know you could wrap up.

He met you at the entrance of the shoot house, handing over the gun to you. It took you a moment to get readjusted to his size. He was tall enough to block the entire sun, casting you in his shadow.

You hold the barrel of the gun with one hand, resting the butt on the dirt. With your other hand you remove your earpiece, “Thank you for your help today. Really.” You say, forced to tilt your head back to look up at him. “If you’re interested, I’d love to continue trials with you.”

“It was my pleasure. I’d be happy to help.”

He tried to take off his wrist remote before you stopped him, “You can hang on to that. I have all your data on mine. It would be good for my research if you got used to the overlays outside of here. I don’t want to assume your time, but I think it may be helpful in assisting you with your duties.”

Konig shifts in his spot, “I don’t want anything to happen to it.”

You smile at him, pleased he’s being so respectful of your work. “Don’t worry. If you manage to damage it, then it’s not good enough for launch. Even breaking it will be valuable research.”

He considers this before hesitantly dropping his arm.

You continue, “Just promise you’ll share your thoughts with me. I don’t know what the life of a soldier is like, I don’t always know what’s best for you guys. Your feedback will be important in tailoring the design to fit your needs. It’s just a prototype, so you can be honest.”

His eyes stare down at you from under his hood and you can’t help but avoid his intimidating gaze by looking at the black paint around his eyes.

“I promise,” He says definitively and it’s obvious he means it.

You have his word.

——————————————————————

Back in the lab, you take a deep breath as you set your prototypes down. You had parted ways with Konig at the shoot house and haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.

You take the ear piece and remove the chip from the prototype gun in order to transfer the data to your laptop. You had a long night ahead of you reviewing footage and analyzing the AI results, but you knew your focus was going to be elsewhere.

You hoped your distracted thoughts would subside after eating an early dinner and watching an episode of your most recent show binge, but it doesn’t help.

You can’t stop thinking about the soldier with a laugh so wonderful you’d do about anything to hear it again.

You did your best to stay on task and turned your attention to your laptop, opening the software you designed to store its data.

It finally loads and what displays makes you gasp, your hand instinctively shooting up to cover your mouth.

Konig’s feed is still live.

Your eyes dart over to your ear piece, confirming it’s turned off. He couldn’t hear you on the comm. His overlay projection is turned off, but he must not have powered the unit completely down, and you neglected to end the feed.

You still don’t dare make a sound. You sit frozen, staring down at the screen with wide eyes.

He’s not wearing the headset, no. You can tell the camera is sitting on something at hip-height, maybe a table or a bed. Definitely not Konig-height. You can’t see much, your view is facing the wall of what you can tell is a modest-sized room.

It’s five-thirty now, you guess he’s clocked out and went back to his quarters for the evening.

This is so wrong.

You were violating his privacy. You should just disconnect the feed now, and forget about it.

You should.

But you don’t.

Instead you slowly lower your hands, lips pursed. It’s not long before Konig comes in to view.

The only thing he has on is a towel wrapped around his waist. His head was cropped out of view, but you can see his chest and his pecs are as chiseled as you had imaged them. Abs you hadn’t previously considered begging for your attention. The towel is dangerously low and goddamnit he’s got V lines, of course he does, and you can feel the warmth pool in your lower abdomen again.

This is so so wrong.

You should end it. End the feed, end the software, end the project. You’ve already crossed so many lines and if anyone found out about this you’d be discharged so fast it would make your head spin.

You’re seriously considering if it’s worth being outed as a pervert and forfeiting your grant just to ogle at the ultimate beefcake while Konig gets comfortable on his cot, face still out of frame. You’ve got a view of his side now, showcasing the middle of his chest down. You can see the definition on his abdominal muscles and you silently thank yourself for opting for choosing the higher resolution camera for your project.

He moves his arms out of frame once he gets the towel adjusted, you’re assuming to prop them behind his head.

He lays still for a few minutes, and you wish you could see his face. You were almost done talking yourself into closing the feed when his arm comes back in to view. Strong hands and forearms followed by massive biceps.

Your breath hitches again when you realize he’s reaching down for the towel. He unwraps it delicately, letting each end hang off the side of the bed.

He’s fully naked now, and it’s official-

You’re a pervert.

His cock sits at half attention and he wraps his hands around it, stroking it absentmindedly.

Oh, fuck.

Your mouth hangs slack and you can’t help but let out a squeak. You double check to make sure you’re still in your software and didn’t somehow accidentally open PornHub. But no, you were definitely watching Konig rut into his hand, teasing himself to arousal.

It doesn’t take long for his cock to reach full attention, leaking precum from the swollen tip. Even scaled next to his oversized hands you can tell it’s huge.

He reaches down to cup his balls briefly before returning to his shaft, wrapping his hand around it and stroking gently.

You can’t stop watching now- you’re locked in, eyes glued to the screen and you don’t think you’ve so much as blinked this entire time.

You watch as he picks up the pace, biceps flexing as he fucks his hand faster.

A low moan comes through the speakers of your laptop. You scramble for the volume controls, reducing it until you were sure no one passing by in the hall could hear.

It’s addicting, his moans. Deep and gravely and you can’t help but close your eyes and imagine what it would be like for him to be moaning in your ear instead of over a screen. For him to be fucking you instead of his hand. Moaning like he’s approaching a release he hasn’t felt in decades.

When you open your eyes again he’s stroking faster, his whole body tensing, a glossy shine forming on his defined muscles. You can’t help but stare at his bicep as it flexes to jerk his cock.

Even without seeing his face, you can tell he’s getting close.

His cock is a blur as he pumps vigorously. His breath quickens before suddenly hitching, muscles fully clenched as he comes, the first few drops landing on his stomach and thighs.

His whole body constricts as the waves of the pleasure wash over him. You can tell it’s intense.

His pumping slows and his seed spills over his knuckles and down his shaft as he squeezes out the last of it, quivering at the sensitivity.

His muscles relax and he sinks back into his cot, wiping his hand on the towel. He lays still for a few moments, the sound of him catching his breath and his rising and falling chest takes stage. Until he removes the towel from underneath him, wiping away his mess.

You’re staring, eyes wider than when you started. Your knuckles lighten as you grip the stool beneath you. It wasn’t the finish that shocked you, no.

Not the size of the load that spilled from his huge cock.

Not the way he had bucked his hips, desperate for the touch.

Not the way his muscles had rippled through the phases of orgasm.

You were shocked because as he finished;

Konig had moaned your name.

Part two

#könig #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig call of duty #fic #konig x reader #konig x you #call of duty #modern warefare ii #mw2 #smut #konig fic #x reader #uhohwriting

802 notes · View notes

senorabond · 6 months

Text

Rumor Has It: Chapter 2 (Peña x f!reader x Pike)

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Pena x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 2 Summary: You’re reviewing the case file Javi gave you when a memory of your last night in D.C. distracts you. After a bit of a brainstorm, you decide it’s finally time to call Marcus back and get his opinion. He always has the right words.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: masturbation (f!reader), flashback, thigh riding, oral sex (f receiving), semi-public/workplace sex (evidence locker after hours), hand on throat for control, Dom/sub dynamic, soft Dom!Marcus, praise kink, you are such a good girl

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem/afab. Marcus is strong enough to lift Reader up onto the edge of a table (no mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color), Reader has hair long enough for Marcus to brush away from face, Marcus is super thoughtful and thorough when planning for sexy times

Words: ~4.5k

Author's Notes: A huge thank you again to @kilamonster for being my wonderful beta, talking me through my fear of posting dirty talk, and letting me bounce random porny ideas off her. <3

Again, there’s no specific time/setting, I just really wanted to get both Javi and Marcus together in the same story. In my mind, Javi is post-s3 of Narcos, and Marcus is somewhere around/after s7ep1 of The Mentalist.

I learned basically everything I know about the court system from true crime TV and podcasts, so the legalese here is purposefully vague. I have no idea what it would take to prosecute a federal case, lol. However, I did find some interesting information while researching art fraud/money laundering! I’m happy to share links to my sources if anybody is interested.

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Later that night, you sit cross-legged on your bed, the various photos and documents from Peña spread out around you. You can see why he was so adamant about Customs involvement – there was enough circumstantial evidence in front of you for some lower-level courts to convict. Peña doesn’t strike you as the type to take chances though, not at this point in his career. If he’s making an arrest, he wants a case airtight, no room for technicalities or sympathetic juries. He’ll have worked with enough federal prosecutors to know what he needs to put bastards away and keep them there.

You think back to your conversation with Peña for what must be the twelfth time since that afternoon. It’s still difficult to reconcile the reputation with the man. Javier Peña, the senior DEA agent, was by reputation a force of nature; women and men alike wanted him and wanted to be him. He is unapologetically brash, arrogant, and always gets his way. If he believes something is worth getting, he’ll do whatever it takes, even if he has to use less than savory channels.

Javier Peña, the man, is intense, focused, driven, and has some of the saddest, most beautiful, big brown eyes you’d ever seen. He has a level of self-awareness you hadn’t expected. He struggles with asking for help, even if he can recognize his own limitations.

With a sigh, you take the wire transcript in hand and lean back against the pillows propped up against the headboard. The conversation had thankfully already been translated from Spanish with the original attached for reference. You had basic Spanish under your belt from high school and learned some choice slang from friends and exes, but you didn’t know nearly enough to comprehend the entire conversation on paper in front of you.

The men were discussing various works of art and their estimated values at auction and on the black market. One of the men, Castano, was insisting he could simply forge a copy of a famous painting since it was “just a bunch of splattered paint” that “didn’t look like anything anyway.” You chuckled to yourself.

You used to think the same thing about the abstract expressionism paintings you’d seen until somebody actually took the time to explain the meaning behind the movement. Agent Marcus Pike knew a lot about art – it was his job, after all, as head of the FBI’s art crimes unit in D.C. You worked closely with Pike and his squad to close a major case before you put in for the transfer to Texas. The two of you had spent a lot of time together and grown close, developing a mutual professional respect before things had ever gotten personal.

Your thoughts travel back to the last time Pike taught you something about art. It’s a bittersweet thought, since that was also your last night in D.C., and the last time you saw him. You’d come so close to saying more than you were ready to admit, and certainly more than you were ready to hear in return.

With a sigh, you drop the transcript on the bed and fall back onto your pillows. That last night in D.C. was also the last time you experienced an orgasm you didn’t give yourself. More than one, actually.

Your mind floods with images and sensations from that night and, rather unconsciously, your hands begin to retrace the parts of your body Marcus had touched. Fingertips ghost over the crook of your neck and across your collarbone to the collar of your worn t-shirt. Marcus’ t-shirt, actually. You’d stolen it unapologetically when he’d forgotten it at your place and told him it looked better on you anyway. Marcus had agreed, and then shown just how much better he liked it on you.

While your one hand is occupied at your breast, the other busies itself at the waistband of your panties. Eyes closed, you slide a finger over your dampening slit, remembering the path Marcus’ tongue traveled as your breath hitches. God, that man could use his mouth. And he loved to use it on you. You let the memory of that night wash over you…

Washington, D.C. 6 months ago

“There is one thing I need right now.” You feel a bit giddy at your recklessness, but any nerves you might have are quelled when Marcus runs the tip of his nose up your jawline to your ear.

“And what’s that? Hm?” He inhales your scent and hums with pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, you shift the hand at Marcus’ hip to his crotch. When you feel how hard he already is you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Marcus inhales sharply through his nose at your touch, then lets out a groan in your ear at your gentle squeeze. “Tell me what you need.” His five o’clock shadow rasps against your sensitive skin as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth.

“I need you to show me that evidence locker you haven’t shut up about since we met.”

~~~

Pike stands behind you in the elevator in case you happen upon anybody else working late at the office. The odds are low, except for the contracted private security officers, but you didn’t think they’d want to see Pike’s hardon either. He’s so close, he’s almost pressed against your back while caressing a palm over your ass. You try to keep a straight face, but are practically panting through parted lips.

“You’ve been wanting this for a long time, haven’t you?” Marcus asks, his voice low in your ear as he leans over to push the button for the correct floor. His tone is almost conversational, but you can feel the thread of excitement pulling taut between your bodies. He’d been teasing you with the idea of fucking you in the art squad’s evidence locker for months now, going into great detail about what he was going to do to you – you only had to ask.

You nod silently in response as the elevator doors close, and Pike grips your waist, grinding his erection into your lower back. “Yes,” your breath huffs out. He likes you to use your words, and strokes your arm with an approving hum.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Your nipples harden at his words and your breath comes out shakily.

Marcus was the first person you’d ever been with to call you a good girl. You never thought you’d be into the kind of gentle dominance and steady stream of praise Marcus employed with you, but it made all the right synapses fire in your brain and took the experience to an entirely different level.

You nod again, playing the game, knowing what he wants to hear.

Marcus’ hand splays across your lower belly, the other sweeping gently across your throat and brushing your hair away from your face. He’s pressing into you, the energy coming off him in waves, leaving you feeling heady.

“Say it for me.” It’s spoken softly, coaxing, but still an unmistakable command.

“I’ll be a good girl for you.” Your voice has the slightest waver, but ends strong.

Marcus’ hand on your belly inches lower and heat radiates between your thighs. “I know you will.”

The doors of the elevator open with a ding that makes you jump, and Marcus moves back with a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. Gently, he guides you with a hand between your shoulder blades. You’re on one of the underground levels, where the low ceilings and fluorescent lights are stark reminders that you’re both still in a government building and cameras are watching your every move.

A security guard rounds a corner and Marcus clears his throat, then moves to button his suit jacket, presumably to hide his erection. How he manages to walk with that thing when it’s hard, you’ll never know.

The guard waves amiably. “Good evening, Agent Pike. What’re you still doing here so late?” Of course Pike knows the guard; probably knows his kids’ names too.

“Just had something to finish off first.” Biting your tongue to keep from laughing, the two of you pass the guard. “Oh yeah, tell Rosie good luck at her big match this weekend.” You nearly snort. The men share a brief handshake and you and Marcus round the corner, the door to the evidence lockup just ahead.

The two of you share a heated look and Marcus smirks. He swipes his badge and the door unlocks with a small snick. You’re guided inside a dark room that could be the size of a storage closet for all you can see. Marcus flips one of the light switches, and sturdy floor-to-ceiling shelving units are illuminated on either side, hedging you in like a maze. So far, it looks like any other evidence room, except with mood lighting.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you mutter, and Marcus chuckles. As he leads you along the shelves towards some unknown destination, long shadows from the meager overhead light throw the long rows and corners into darkness.

He takes your hand and explains, “The lighting, temperature, and humidity are all controlled by a central system. Same kind as in the National Gallery.” You nod, genuinely impressed.

“You don’t keep all your evidence here, right?” The room was large, but most of the shelving space was taken up by various sized crates and archival boxes. Marcus shakes his head.

“Just the very valuable pieces that need to be kept under special conditions. Any other evidence is kept in a regular lockup.” Marcus stops and you come up short, nearly colliding with his broad back. “Oh,” you breathe, peering around him and knowing this is what he wanted to show you.

The maze of shelving units opens up onto what looks like a miniature museum exhibit. Paintings are hung on the walls or staged on easels and covered with drop cloths. Sculptures are on pedestals in glass cases along one wall, and to your right are a few chairs next to an expansive table.

Marcus approaches the paintings and proceeds to carefully remove the drop cloths from each work of art. They vary in style, color, expression, and movement. Some of them are encased in elaborate frames, while others are plain, or bare. Now this is what you’d hoped for after all these months hearing Marcus speak of this place in near reverent tones. This evidence lockup could rival most well-funded galleries and museums.

“Are these all forgeries?” You take a step closer to the nearest painting and inspect it – for what, you’re not sure. “Stolen?”

“A bit of both.” Marcus sidles up behind you. Your voices remain hushed, private, intimate.

Hands casually in his pockets, he takes you on a tour of the evidence on display, telling you a bit about each piece – what made the art valuable enough to forge or steal, and a few particulars about each case. He is in his element here, the picture of quiet confidence. Passion laces his every word and brings a spark to his eyes that you’d only seen a few times before when you were about to crack a case.

You have never felt more attracted to him.

Coming up to the last painting, you cock your head to the side and give it a quizzical stare. It’s abstract, composed of a muted yet warm palette. The paint is blended with no discernable lines or shapes.

“What is it?” you ask, looking up in time to see Marcus’ dimple appear next to his gentle smile.

“What do you see?” Marcus steps behind you again, and runs the tips of his fingers up and down your arms.

“I… I’m not sure. What am I supposed to see?” The texture of the paint is layered in some spaces, and there’s almost an ethereal glow emanating from its contrast of light and dark. You feel a bit embarrassed and uncultured. Maybe if you squint or let your vision blur, like it’s one of those magic eye puzzles that give you headaches.

“What I love about abstract art is that there’s no right or wrong answer. I hated it until we studied it in school. I always thought I was missing something, and got frustrated that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”

You let out a soft hmm of agreement, but are distracted by Marcus’ voice, hot on your ear, lips close enough to graze the sensitive shell. “It was this quote by an artist, Arshile Gorky, that helped me appreciate it more. To paraphrase, abstraction frees the mind and allows it to explore the unknown. Whatever you see is what you’re meant to see.”

You let your mind rest on his words, buzzing from the energy between you. With a smirk, you say, “I bet you got laid a lot in school.”

Marcus gives a surprised chuckle. “I did alright,” he admits, and you hear the grin in his voice.

Turning to face him, you run your hands up his chest and under the lapels of his jacket to his shoulders. Marcus sighs, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. That spark in his eye is trained on you now, his pupils blown while they skate over your face under hooded lids.

“What’s next on the tour?” Your voice comes out a bit hoarse, his gaze almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Marcus smiles, somewhat mischievously. “Just one more thing. C’mon,” he takes your hand and starts leading you to the large table and chairs. “I think you’re going to like this part.”

Leaving you at the edge of the table, Marcus goes to one of the nearby shelves and pulls out a large cardboard envelope from a box, nearly the size of one of the paintings. With the flip of a switch, the entire surface of the table illuminates, humming gently from the internal fan. He pulls out what looks to be a sheet of dark plastic film and lays it on top of the table, revealing an x-ray image.

Marcus’ face is like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “This is an x-ray of that painting over here,” he points to the abstract work you’d been standing at a moment before. The x-ray on the table is a ghostly, black-and-white rendering of the muted swaths of paint. “And here,” he lays a second image down on the table, “is another x-ray taken of the same painting at different settings.”

You nearly gasp. It’s virtually a different image entirely. The abstract painting has been reduced to a haze, overlaying a distinct pastoral landscape. Leaning over the table for a closer look, you feel a pleasantly warm glow on your face from the lit surface. “What the…” Your eyes snap back to Marcus’ face, which is lit up with what you can only describe as glee.

“So you like it?” His eyes are sparkling and that dimple you love so much has reappeared. “‘Like it?’” You scoff. “I love it, Marcus, this is incredible. But…” you gesture at the images, “What exactly does that mean in terms of evidence?” Marcus comes around to your side of the table.

“The first one is a radiographic image of that painting we looked at, which could have told us if there were any traces of minerals or other elements within the paint used. Modern paint pigments are synthetic,” Marcus pulls the first image closer and gestures to the different shades of gray. “But–” he slides the second image next to the first, with its outlines of rolling hills and fluffy clouds, “Historically, heavy metals were frequently used, like lead and cobalt.”

Nodding along with the lesson, you put two and two together. “So the heavy metals in old paint would show through on an x-ray, even if somebody has painted over it.” Marcus is beaming at you, clearly happy that you made the connection.

“Exactly. And then the synthetic paint could be removed later.” Turning to face you, he rests a hip on the edge of the table. The surface light casts dramatic shadows across the contours of his jaw and nose. You mirror his body language and reach out to poke him playfully in the chest.

“No fair; the FBI gets all the fun toys.” The cool satin of his tie slips deftly between your fingers, and you give it a gentle tug. His gaze is alert and hungry as he takes a step closer, and you can feel your body responding to his proximity once again. Marcus trails a finger across your clavicle that sends a chill down your spine and tingles straight to your nipples.

“Yeah, but if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll share.” Threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, he pulls gently but purposefully until your head tilts back and you’re forced to meet his eyes. A shuddering breath escapes your parted lips. Marcus leans in and grazes his lips against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces the sensitive inner edge of your top lip and you nearly let out a whimper.

“Go on, then. Ask me.” He nips at your bottom lip. “Nicely.”

“Please,” you breathe. Marcus’ arm encircles your waist, while the hand in your hair grips a bit tighter. He uses a tight hold on your ass to grind you against the firm thigh he places between your own. Your hands grasp desperately onto his shoulders as your knees feel like they’re about to buckle from the delicious pressure.

“‘Please’ what?” Marcus prompts gently. You’re pressing back against his thigh now, too lost in the sensation to respond. He withdraws it suddenly and you��re left clenching, all too aware of how badly you need that pressure back.

“‘Please’ what?” He repeats, more firmly this time.

“Please, Sir.” You correct yourself quickly, and are rewarded with Marcus’ lips against yours and the blessed return of his thigh. He’s a man possessed, and you whimper into his mouth as his tongue licks inside. The next thing you know, he’s got you sandwiched between the table and his thigh now, your skirt hiked up, juices leaking through your panties as you ride the firm muscles of his leg.

“Look at you, just beautiful. You’re so hot like this, I love seeing you lose yourself. Does that feel good? Hm?” Marcus presses his hard cock into your hip and groans. “Jesus, I can feel how fucking wet you are through my pants. Are you going to leave your pussy juices on me, so anybody we walk past can see what a good girl you are for me?”

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, arms gripping to Marcus for dear life as you continue rutting against him, breath becoming ragged. The friction and pressure are almost too much, you’ll practically give yourself rug burn at this rate. But the onslaught of Marcus’ filthy praise in your ear, his hot, steamy breath against your neck, his tongue on your pulse point – you’re already careening out of control and he knows it.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” Nodding, wordless, you scramble to hold onto him as Marcus scoops up one of your thighs and hooks it over his hip with a grunt. “Then you better ask first.”

“P-please,” you gasp out, “Please, Sir. Please can I cum?” You’re on the precipice, Marcus’ cock almost painfully hard in your hip.

You gasp when he pulls his thigh away, eyes flying open in shock. “Not yet, sweet girl, hold on for me just a little bit longer. You’re going to cum on my tongue first.” Before you have a chance to protest, Marcus hoists you up fully onto the edge of the light table and pulls up a chair to feast on you.

You’re immediately aware of the warmth the lit surface of the table infuses into every part of your body it’s touching. The table itself feels sturdy and solid beneath you, but you can’t fight an initial moment of panic. “Um, Marcus…I don’t know if–” It’s a struggle to concentrate as Marcus noses at your clothed pussy. A gentle double tap to the crown of his head is all the signal he needs to check in.

“You okay? Do you want to stop?” Marcus’ face is flushed, but his eyes are clear and laser focused on you.

“Is this, uh…safe?” You rap gently on the table with a forced air of nonchalance.

Marcus smiles and strokes the outside of your hip and thigh with his hand. “Totally safe. I triple-checked the specs and tested it out already.”

You lift an amused eyebrow at that. “Tested it out?”

Marcus’ eyes go round at the implication, his dominant persona dropped. “Not like that! I mean I stacked a shitload of evidence boxes on it and did a– well, ah– a simulation, I guess you could call it.” His self-effacing chuckle is endearing. He always knows how to make you feel safe and secure during your more adventurous times together. You smile and stroke his hair as he rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow sending shockwaves to your pussy.

“I’m very interested in finding out more about this simulation…Sir.” His honorific on your lips is your signal that you’re ready to continue and his grin turns wolfish. With a playful, smacking kiss to the tender flesh of your inner thigh, Marcus slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Bracing your calves on his broad shoulders, you lift your ass a little to help Marcus slide the panties the rest of the way off.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.” Gently, he applies pressure to your knees until you’re completely spread out before him. You might be a little embarrassed being on display if you didn’t know how much he loved you like this: open, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy. The expression on Marcus’ face is practically one of reverence.

“This is exactly why I wanted to bring you here,” Marcus places open-mouthed kisses up your thighs, sucking and nibbling his way to your center. It’s difficult not to squirm, he’s got you feeling antsy and impatient. “I wanted to see you lit up and on exhibit for me, like the work of art you are.”

You must be quite a sight to behold with the bright light of the table shining from beneath you. To drive his point home, Marcus dips his tongue to your core and collects your gathering slick on his tongue, spreading it and his saliva up to your clit in a broad swipe. Riding his thigh earlier has left you swollen and sensitive; your back arches off the table and you gasp at the sudden contact.

Marcus holds you open with one hand so his tongue can more freely explore the full length of your slit, while the other alternates between massaging your breasts and rolling a peaked nipple through your blouse. Desperate for more, you unbutton your top enough to pull the cups of your bra down and leave yourself exposed to Marcus’ roaming fingers.

Your whimpers and shuddering breaths combine with the sounds of Marcus lapping at your seeping cunt. His nose bumps against your engorged clit and you gasp, hips spasming. The hand on your breast disappears, and a finger gently nudges your entrance.

“I’m going to get you ready for my cock, baby. Are you ready?” You nod wordlessly, and Marcus eases a digit inside you, watching your expression. “Oh, pretty girl, you’re so good, so wet. So tight, fuck.”

Marcus laves his tongue over your clit and you clench around his finger. “Mmm, you’re going to take me so good, aren’t you?” Soon, he adds a second, working it rhythmically in and out, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit until you’re panting.

The wet noises made by Marcus’ fingers inside you are practically obscene. When he crooks them at just the right spot, you lose all sense and writhe against him. You can hear a question in his inflection, but the twist and pull of his fingers are distracting, to say the least. He’s leaning over you now, the heel of his palm applying pressure over your clit to replace his mouth.

“You’re doing so well, I know you can do it. You just need to ask me first.” His fingers inside you are relentless, and you can feel the pressure building inside, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Marcus can tell how close you are and stops with his two fingers buried deep inside and applies his other hand to each side of your neck with just enough pressure to get your attention.

“C’mon, sweetheart, focus for me, otherwise I’ll have to stop.” His fingers are barely moving inside of you, just enough to keep you right on the edge. “You know what to do.”

A sob practically escapes your throat. “Please, Sir. I need to cum. Please can I? I want to be good for you.” It’s impossible to keep the pleading from your tone, you’re so close. Your hips are gyrating of their own accord, feebly fucking yourself on his fingers.

Marcus moves his hand off your throat to cup the side of your face and tangle his fingers in your hair. “Mm, do it. Be my good girl and cum.” Marcus leans down for a final taste where you’re stretched around his curling fingers, then settles his lips around your clit. With a cry, you break and see stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm crashes over you.

“Fuck yes, that’s my good girl. So beautiful like this, so perfect. I can feel you dripping into my hand, baby, you’re so wet. Did that feel good? Is that what you needed?” Marcus praises you through it all, stroking your neck, your breasts, peppering kisses over your mound and belly. His fingers retreat, leaving you fluttering in aftershocks, and you watch him lick your cum from his palm and fingers.

“Thank you for being such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I had to taste you at least one more time before you leave...” Reality falls over the room like a weighted blanket, and you let your engaged muscles go slack against the lit surface of the table, suddenly harsh and blinding. You feel exposed instead of exhibited and you squeeze your thighs together as the final flutters of your orgasm subside.

“Hey, come back to me,” you hear Marcus murmur, and feel him turn your face to meet his. He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste your tang on his plump bottom lip. He presses his forehead against yours and you share a couple of breaths.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Additional Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! There is plenty more to come (had to). I'd love to know what you thought -- any and all feedback is welcome! I just want to become a better writer. :)

Chapter 3 || SeñoraBond's Masterlist

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #javier peña #marcus pike #javier pena x reader #marcus pike x reader #javier pena fanfiction #marcus pike fanfiction #senorabond writes #rumor has it fic

77 notes · View notes

broadlyepi · 9 months

Text

New Album: Long Walks and Short Tangents

Hey Everyone! N0n-B1nary here. I'm very happy to announce that my first album, "Long Walks and Short Tangents" is now available on Spotify!

This album has a pretty wide range of instrumental themes, but most are in the softer, lofi categories that are great to study , write, do chores or just zone out to. Two of the songs, "Translating an Akkadian Script with the help of Some Cheap Coffee" and "Sometimes Letting Go Of Your Past Means Crossing Mountain Ranges And Barbed Wire" were directly inspired by two characters from the fantastic Syntax Podcast made by @twinstrangersp , who are starting their crowdfunding campaign for season 3! Huge shout-out for their continued encouragement and support!

#music #spotify #lofi study beats #lofi #drum and bass #chill #writing music #indie artist #nonbinary #Spotify

103 notes · View notes

lowkeyrobin · 4 days

Note

Hi, could I request a Trevor Spengler x reader where they meet at Ray's Occult Books? Maybe he was on his way to Occult Books (for whatever reason lol) and driving the Ecto-1 and almost ran them over and then they meet again in the actual bookstore? Thanks!

yeah sure!! ; sorry this took so long to get out, lots of procrastination and writers block lmaooo ; I apologize for this being so short as well lol ; thanks for requesting! hope you enjoy ; anon if you didn't see me respond to ur apology you're totally fine! sorry if I sounded mean or anything lol

TREVOR SPENGLER ; vehicular manslaughter

summary ; Trevor's dumbass almost runs you over

warnings ; language, near death experience, corny ending

word count ; 486

masterlist

Your lonely yet calm walk down to Ray's Occult Books couldn't have gone worse.

You were listening to Remy through your wired earbuds, enjoying the sunny weather in the city. You carry about fifty dollars in your wallet, wanting to spend it on some of the books at the shop. Ray always had the weirdest but most intriguing selection, it was impossible to not stop by every here and there once you finished up another novel.

You turn to cross the street, jaywalking, perhaps. In truth and in your defense, there was no one at that night until that stupid asshole showed up. Why he was driving like a maniac at top speed was beyond you, but luckily for your quick reflexes, you'd lived to see another day. You watch as the car speeds away, tire marks staining the concrete road.

You gasped for air, having felt like you'd nearly thrown up your heart and stomach. You throw your middle finger up, a look of frustration on your face. You turn back, continuing your walk down to your location.

As you enter the building, the doorbell jingles, causing Ray and Podcast to look up and at you.

"Hey Y/n!" Podcast smiles, "What's new?"

"Almost got ran over out there" You joke, "What's up, Ray?"

"Here for books?"

"Y'know it, old man"

"Christ, I'm not that old"

You make your way back to the bookshelves, scanning the spines of them for any interesting titles that would entice you. You hear a car motor outside, and they end up parking on the curb like they were in some sort of hurry.

The driver rushes in, nearly in a panic as he looks between Ray and Podcast.

"Do you guys know where Phoebe is?"

"Nope"

"No, why?"

You look at the car outside, identifying it as the one that had nearly ran you over minutes prior. You pull your earbuds out of your ears, and your eyes land on the boy who was driving.

"You're the asshole who almost killed me!"

Trevor's eyes widen, looking between you and the other two. "What?"

"You almost fucking killed me, like, three minutes ago" You restate, crossing your arms with furrowed brows. "What're you in such a rush for? Are you trying to commit vehicular manslaughter?"

Podcast stands between you two, trying to diffuse the situation. "Trevor, this is Y/n, Y/n this is Trevor-"

"I don't care?"

"Shush, Pod"

He quickly quiets himself.

"You're an ass, learn how to drive"

"Learn how to not jaywalk!"

He had you there.

Ray snickers, finding the bickering amusing. "Trevor, go find your sister. I better not get a call from your mother tonight wondering where she is"

"Damnit" He grumbles, glaring at you as he leaves the shop.

You watch him leave and speed away, then turn back to Podcast and Ray.

"He's kinda cute"

"I thought he almost killed you?"

"So?"

#lowkeyrobin #ghostbusters afterlife #ghostbusters frozen empire #ghostbusters oneshot #ghostbusters preferences #ghostbusters x reader #trevor spengler #trevor spengler x reader #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard #gender neutral reader #gn reader #they/them reader #gn! reader

21 notes · View notes

podcastsexyman-battleroyale · 1 year

Text

Art Request

Hi folks! We’ve got a large number of participants for our little tourney! Since these are podcast people, most of them don’t have official/free to use art. So, especially since we have multiple characters from the same podcasts, I need your help!

Below is a list of characters. If their name is not crossed out, that means I need art! Please dm me your art (and how you would like to be properly credited if it differs from your blog handle). Do not send art that isn’t yours unless you have explicit permission from the artist.

Characters are ordered by show (shows listed alphabetically) and not by bracket listing. Brackets will be revealed after preliminary rounds.

Alice (Alice isn’t Dead)

Rat/Jacob (Archive 81)

Aava Arek (Campaign Podcast)

Amos Faraday (In Transit)

Kayne (Malevolent)

Kellin

Hastur/The King in Yellow

Collins/The Butcher

Wallace “Andrew” Larson

Isaac Prince (Mayfair Watcher’s Society)

Queen of the Summer Sun (Mistholme Museum of Mystery Morbidity and Mortality)

Bryony Halbech (Red Valley)

Barret Racket (Rusty Quill Gaming)

John Hunger (TAZ)

Kravitz

Roger Kaplan (The Bridge)

Mark Bryant (The Bright Sessions)

Nyathi (The Secret of St Kilda)

Sid Wright (The Silt Verses)

Katabasian/mason

Elias Bouchard (TMA)

Oliver Banks

Gerard “Gerry” Keay

Michael Shelley/The Distortion

Tim Stoker

Mike Crew

Mikaele Salesa

Jordan Kennedy

Peter Lukas

Sasha Wire (TPP)

Ty (Woe.Begone)

Marcus Cutter (Wolf 359)

Eric Chapman (Wooden Overcoats)

Kevin (WTNV)

Earl Harlan

Kasper Rodes

65 notes · View notes

theogonies · 1 year

Text

more scuffed haikyuu headcanons because they're fun and i'm neglecting my homework. music themed this time!

(my last set of social media headcanons are here)

hinata listens to a LOT of music, mostly on all those long bike rides to & from school and during all his solitary practice sessions, so he's been tasked with making all the workout/practice/hype playlists for the karasuno team. he takes his job very seriously, every one is unique and perfectly curated. loves making playlists for people he cares about too <3

this is a PROBLEM for kageyama. he never really listened to music before (scary) but now he spends minimum 1 night/week lying awake way too late at night listening to hinata's playlists and scrolling through genius lyrics.

kenma's got pretty broad taste but he mostly listens to ambient video game osts. minecraft, pokemon, animal crossing, anything cozy and atmospheric. he and hinata have a bunch of collaborative playlists to share new music they find with each other.

somebody said that tendou is a miku stan and like. yeah. i can see him being a huge vocaloid and nightcore fan in general, it would scratch his brain in just the right way.

probably more of a controversial take but i can see ushijima being into vocaloid too. he'd never heard of it before meeting tendou but now he uses it to hype himself up before matches. his teammates will walk past and see him sitting on a bench with his earbuds in, no expression on his face, they all assume he's listening to a podcast or something. no. it's hatsune miku and ushijima is having the time of his life. he and tendou went as rin and len for halloween one year

pretty much the only time that tsukishima isn't listening to music is when he's actively playing in a match. he listens to a lot of lyrical & experimental singer-songwriter type stuff, music that would be considered pretentious if he actually talked to people about it but he's very private about his taste. only uses wired headphones.

he and yamaguchi share a lot of music, too. not like hinata and kenma where they're trading playlists though, it's just that they share tsukishima's earbuds a lot and if yamaguchi hears something he likes, he likes asking questions about it/the lyrics/the artist. it's a win-win for both of them, yamaguchi learns about tons of new music that way and tsukishima loooooves infodumping about the things he's into <3

sugawara loves american oldies. frank & nancy sinatra, the beach boys, a lot of jazz and swing n shit. anything you can slow dance to! he's a romantic. the boys tease him about it a lot but secretly they all find it super endearing. probably takes swing classes on weekends now and then tbh

atsumu and osamu go to punk shows together. it's more osamu's thing (atsumu's personal taste is a little more bro-y) but they both love unwinding in the mosh pit after a long day. the dashboard in their car is full of cassette tapes from diy bands they've seen. no they do not have a tape deck

oikawa and iwaizumi listen to a lot of the same music. anything with a good beat really. the difference being that iwaizumi can dance and oikawa cannot (to his credit, he does try. he really, really tries.)

#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #kozume kenma #tendou satori #ushijima wakatoshi #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #sugawara kōshi #miya atsumu #miya osamu #oikawa tōru #iwaizumi hajime #ronan writes

104 notes · View notes

crossingwirespodcast · 7 months

Text

In Flash One, we meet Amelia, an agoraphobic beauty blogger who is struggling after a breakup.

Of course, you all know her better as THE BLOGGER.

Flashes will be short bonus prose pieces, taking a look at our survivors before the apocalypse hit. 'Faces in the Recording Are Closer Than They Appear' was performed by Lizzie Apel as Amelia, the Blogger.

You can read along over here, and listen along wherever you listen to podcasts!

#crossing wires podcast #the blogger #crossing wires flash #audio drama #queer fiction

49 notes · View notes

poppysplace-edits · 2 months

Text

updated source list

games: bandori, smile for me, night in the woods, ace attorney, animal crossing, danganronpa, pokémon

anime: jojo’s bizarre adventure, one piece (currently up to fishman island), madoka magica

shows: infinity train, adventure time, gravity falls, bojack horseman, black mirror, daria, the simpsons, moral orel, drag race, dragula, i’m a virgo, over the garden wall

movies: encanto, big hero 6, studio ghibli

misc: milgram, sanrio, lalaloopsy, rainbow high

actual play shows: the adventure zone, dimension 20

podcasts: within the wires, welcome to night vale, red valley

i can still do icons, wallpapers, stimboards, and dni banners for unlisted sources

#source list

7 notes · View notes

postoctobrist · 4 months

Note

Getting my podcast wires crossed and imagine the Nadine Dorries book as a cheap eurospy movie.

Steve Bray as 009

8 notes · View notes

spoondrifts · 11 months

Text

a quick charity tsv character study, because oh how she intrigues me <3 full fic under the cut, reblogs appreciated :)

Every name in this world has two meanings, one buried. Charity keeps her name’s first meaning on the tip of her tongue, wrapping herself in it like a fine cloth: kindness and tolerance in judgment. It is the first thing people think when she introduces herself, her first impression. In Marcel’s Crossing, when they venture into town on those rare occasions that they need something the forest cannot provide, the clerks and cashiers and vendors would smile warmly at the rosy-cheeked young thing who proudly named herself Charity, cooing sweetly, saying, “A pretty name for a pretty little girl”, and her parents would also smile, knowing.

Charity grows and learns the forest like her own skin, lives within it much the same. By the time she’s ten years old, she can navigate Penda’s Slake alone and mapless, sensing her way by the shudder of the birch trees and the crackling of the brush beneath small, pattering feet. The snare-dogs slither white and sinuous in the corner of her eyes, jaws splitting, snapping, protecting her.

The god of the Slake cradles her, its budding, blooming hunter.

* * *

The chapel in the woods is rotted and abandoned, but it hums with holiness. Her parents take her there every day and teach her to scrawl the hallway’s prayer marks, never entering, never risking their own hallowing, but instructing from safety, from a distance.

Her mother tells the same story, every time they go. “My grandfather found our god here, at Penda’s Slake,” she says in low, lyrical tones. The name of the forest always rang sweetest in her mouth. “A god of leading and chasing. Of hunting, and being hunted. A god that was both predator and prey.” She shifts Charity in her arms, encouraging her to look up at the collapsed chapel. “My grandfather learned those prayer marks from hunting here.”

“What did he hunt?” Charity asks.

“Rabbit, elk, deer, anything that fled. And when he split them open, their blood soaked the soil and grew beautiful flowers, and inside these flowers he read the words of our god’s hymns.”

Then Charity follows her father’s steady hands as he practices the marks in the grass, drawing with thick whorls of elk’s blood dipped from a glass jar. The snare-dogs loll about in the clearing around the three of them, rolling in the rustling grass and panting in the evening summer heat. Loyal beasts, when they were sated.

“Here,” her father says, guiding her small fingers into the cooled blood. “Go on.”

Charity traces the prayer marks dutifully. Her parents’ pride warbles between them like a livewire, hot and comforting. Globs of shining red cling to her fingertips and slick down her hand, dripping onto her pale wrist. She thinks about putting her tongue to it and lapping it up.

* * *

The sacrifices usually struggle; not because they don’t understand what’s happening to them, but because they do.

Charity is fifteen. This is her first sacrifice alone, her first gift to her god that is truly hers. The man whimpers and trembles under his sackcloth, moaning senselessly in agony; his wrists are bound with barbed wire, seeping blood, his ankles chained together with wrought iron.

He staggers, nearly tripping, but she yanks him back upright. She’s strong and fit from hours of racing through the trees alongside the snare-dogs, dodging their drooling fangs when they got too zealous and began nipping at her ankles, from hours of clambering up swaying birches, hugging the trees with her whole body, listening to the shrill cicada-song in the eaves of the world.

“Please, please,” the sacrifice cries, voice muffled and quashed by the sackcloth. His fear sweetens the air like a fragrant perfume, makes her shiver with anticipation.

She shushes him. Penda’s Slake is still and silent. Waiting. Hungry. She opens herself up to the nearing chase, its thrilling heat settling like gnawing teeth around her throat, and begins to sing her favorite hymn: “We will bring you terror, and you will bring us meat. You will make me savage, we will make you fleet...”

The sacrifice cries out and starts to struggle in earnest now, but it doesn’t matter—they’ve arrived at the chapel.

The hunt begins.

* * *

Charity is eighteen and her parents are weakening, growing ill and lame. Her mother struggles up and down the front porch stairs on ailing legs; her father’s hands spasm uncontrollably when he winds his traps. There comes a day when they sit her down in their living room, hands clasped, and tell her what must be done.

And because she has a responsibility, she does it.

The snare-dogs, when they finally catch her mother and her father, rend their transfigured bodies with razor teeth, spilling the meat of them into the grass and howling with twinned mourning and rapture, jaws gaping and glistening crimson. Charity is crying when she gets down on her hands and knees, wild, chasing, euphoric, and her face unfurls like a brilliant red flower as she sinks her new spooling jaws into her mother’s elk-boned throat.

* * *

Charity’s god has a thirst that must be quenched.

The people of Marcel’s Crossing are too jaded, too suspicious to follow her into the woods any longer; she sets her sights on the larger towns to the north, where the people know nothing of true woodland and even less of true divinity.

She packs her bags like a naive young woman might, with moleskin journals and soft, colorful dresses and big round glasses that make her look cross-eyed and gently bewildered at all times. She leaves her hunting rifle, her sleek steel knives, her book of hymns. She practices a smile in the mirror that is stupid instead of feral.

She wanders for three days in the town of Vanderwelt. She spends three irritating days asking stupid passersby for directions, taking meaningless tours of dull museums, and chewing on tasteless croissants on street corners before a man named Gareth buys her a coffee one morning and she knows she’s struck gold.

Gareth is perfect. He falls for her hair-twirling, forgetful mask like a gormless rodent stepping right into the maw of a greater beast. She looks up his name’s first meaning when he isn’t around and has to laugh. Chivalrous. Modest. Gentle. He would certainly like to see himself that way. The librarian has to ask her to be quiet or leave.

When he asks her to move in with him, she acquiesces with fluttering lashes and a carefully-curated grateful stammer. She polishes the art of “forgetting” her glasses in his flat so that he feels competent when he guides her from place to place, pointing out treacherous curbs or rising steps that she cannot see. They have dates in the shittiest little diners, eating food that’s always rubbery and bland because he likes to share, to feel like he’s providing for her, and he prefers his steaks well done. Charity bears this indignity with twisty little smiles that Gareth can interpret any way he wants.

He’s terrible in bed.

She hums the melodies of her hymns as she combs her fingers through his hair. He tilts his head, raising a curious eyebrow.

“That’s a pretty tune. What’s that from?”

Charity pets the side of his soft face and imagines what he might look like with birch-white flesh. “Oh, I don’t know. I must have heard it on the radio.”

* * *

She mentions Penda’s Slake only in passing, enough to seed intrigue without forcing the issue. And, predictably, Gareth pretends as though it’s his idea to visit her childhood home, his idea to take a hiking trip through her sacred woods, his idea to map a loop to the freshwater springs that stem from the White Gull River.

Charity pretends to be charmed to hide her slavering hunger.

* * *

That woman—that desecrating, defiling, disrespectful bitch—perches on the roof of Charity’s chapel like a greasy crow, orange flames welling up beneath and behind her as the blaze swallows up sacred ground like so much kindling. Charity’s heart fractures in her chest and she feels the raw sting of loss like the gore of a stag’s antlers, the snare-dogs howling all around her in abject grief, wretched, distraught—she turns and plunges back into the darkness of the treeline, vanishing from the desecrator’s sight.

She won’t let this violation be a painless one. She can feel herself changing, growing wild with fury, eyes sharpening in the gloom, buckling to her hands and knees, teeth itching. Her god wails inside her skull and she wails back in the thin, shrieking tones of the elks of birch and bone.

When the blasphemer tries to scramble for the car, that metal monstrosity in the midst of her lovely woods, Charity lunges and closes her splayed jaws around the bitch’s ankle. She screams and Charity is dizzy with the taste of her blood, fangs clamped like vices in yielding flesh, ready to jerk her head and drag the squalling prey into the dirt, ready to rend the soft flesh of its stomach into the open air with her hands and bare its steaming, soupy insides to the watchful trees, ready to chase and claw and kill and KILL—

The heel of a boot slams into Charity’s vulnerable throat with a lash of sharp pain and throws her backwards into the grass. She chokes, splutters, jaws closing and working helplessly around the taste of mud and silt, and in her moment of disorientation the car roars and accelerates into the dark, past the flaming chapel, vanishing back out onto the road.

Charity writhes in the grass, gasping for breath. The snare-dogs whine in a chorus of splitting wood, a thousand felled trees; the sonorous groan of the chapel collapsing into ashes rings in her ears in a terrible cacophony.

“My god, my god,” she moans to the open air. Beseeching. Apologizing. The agony of her god’s displeasure lances through her like a physical wound. Terror sings in her bones. “Please. Please.”

The snare-dogs have begun to snarl menacingly all around her. They have been denied something tonight, and they will have their fill.

Charity shuts her eyes. Feels the roles shifting. There’s them that lead and there’s them that chase. She has failed to chase. The Slake begs for a recasting in its time-honored performance.

Panting, sobbing breathlessly, she climbs to her feet. The snare-dogs rumble with primal excitement.

There’s them that lead, and there’s them that chase.

Charity races into the trees.

She leads.

#tsv #the silt verses #charity tsv #gareth tsv #sister carpenter #brother faulkner #my writing #fic

25 notes · View notes