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k9wa · 26 days

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𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — your least favourite cyborg is brought back to you a mangled mess.

⠀ OR

⠀ — being boothill’s mechanic when you lowkey can’t stand each other.

⚠︎ sweet sweet tension, a little suggestive towards the end, gn reader (no referring pronouns), can they fuck already, this was ib by his lightcone, wc 1.9k

boothill's eyes flickered to life, emitting a faint glow of red as his systems began to reboot.

a pair of familiar red pupils met yours, two crosshairs fading into sight as boothill regained his sight and— to your dismay— consciousness.

as the cyborg regained his motion he attempted a step forward, only to realise he didn’t have the feet or legs to do so. the only thing keeping him powered on were some metal claws screwed into his back and a few loose cables connecting to your terminals.

“sugar plum,” boothill's scruffy voice cut through the silence. “do y'care to explain where my legs might’a run off to?”

you actually cocked an eyebrow. how the hell were you supposed to know? boothill was brought back to you in a mess of scraps and wiring— the damn hunk of metal was lucky you made him as blast proof as possible and he was left salvageable.

“care to tell me how the hell you got this roughed up?”

you asked in turn, crouching down to look at the detached and ruined internals of boothill's torso where the stand-in wires were connected. you ran a finger carefully along the edge of his shredded metallic stomach.

“guess i didn't make you as smart as i thought. time for a newer model, maybe?”

boothill's eyes flickered down to his missing lower half, then to your hand that was more or less caressing him. it was amazing how much annoyance they could show in all their artificial glory.

“look who’s talkin.” the cowboy grumbled, pointy fangs poking out in an irritated grin.

“how ‘bout, ‘gee, boothill! i’m real glad y’ain’t get blown to smithereens beyond repair!’”

“it would've been less work for me if whoever blew you up finished the job.”

you sighed as you stood up, putting a hand lazily on your hip.

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

“some real cutie-pies i was huntin’ down had a lil’ more firepower than i expected. guess they didn’t appreciate me spoilin’ their party.”

boothill visibly cringed as his insult was substituted with some cutesy nickname mid explanation.

“and can you fix my beautiful synesthesia beacon already? this thing is drivin’ me up the wall.”

the request fell on deaf ears as your fingers typed something on your laptop, likely another string of code.

“you’re more concerned about your censor than how long it’s gonna take me to put your legs back on…” you sighed to yourself, still leaned over your workbench, eyes focused on your screen.

“i'm not touching it right now. you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay sentient after this.”

boothill snorted at the remark, brows furrowing in a steady grimace.

“well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ to speak freely– i’m a grown man!” his pointy teeth shone as they peeked out again in a grin.

“y’know what? just leave yer lil’ tools and all the pieces there— i’ll get my legs back on myself. don’t need no charity work from the likes’a you.” he laughed. “heck, may even give myself a new pecker while i'm at it!”

the mechanic had half a mind to listen, sit back and watch boothill struggle to reassemble himself just to prove a point and simultaneously bask in his embarrassment when the former realised it wasn’t possible.

(not that he would’ve admitted defeat– you would have begrudgingly stepped in and helped before he inevitably messed up his wiring more.)

you stepped back over to boothill, hands moving to hold his cheeks so you could tilt his face side to side to check for any more damage.

“cool it, cowboy.” your eyes squinted in focus as they looked at boothill's, lightly tugging up on his eyelid to check for scratches or cracks.

“i'll get you back up and running, just lose the attitude already.”

boothill's eyes narrowed as he felt your touch on his face. the temperature difference of warm fingers on his cold, mechanical body stirring an oddity where his gut should have been. though he tried to ignore it, the sensation was there, clear as day against all his artificial nerve endings.

“real easy for you to say,” he huffed, avoiding your eyes as he was examined like a broken toy. “let’s see how peachy you are when yer all strung up and legless, love muffin.”

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

“just get it over with.'' boothill muttered in annoyance. “and try not t’fuss anythin’ up.”

it took quite some time, as expected, for you to successfully reattach boothill’s legs and fix his mangled midsection. when you were finally finished, you tugged out any leftover wires that connected boothill to your terminals and pushed back in your wheelie chair to beckon the cowboy forward. you pushed your glasses up to your forehead, some hair getting swept out of your eyes with them.

“feel fine?”

boothill rolled his ankles and bent his knees, giving his legs a good stretch to test their mobility.

“mighty fine,” he responded, satisfied to feel they were weighted and moved the same as before. “though i can’t say i’m lovin’ the breeze up my backside.”

boothill glanced down at himself, steel body completely bare and lacking any of his signature clothing.

“got my pants lyin’ around anywhere, sugar plum?”

you pointed to another table in the room, where boothills clothes— (or rather the new ones you had to go and get—) were neatly folded, his hat placed on top of them.

boothill went to get himself dressed, hoisting up his bell bottomed pants and sliding on his jacket. he stole a glance in your direction every so often, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the mere sight of you.

the artificial man hit a small bump in the road as he went to zip his jacket (could you really call it that with how little it covered?) up— his fingers weren’t responding as well as they should have been. he could open and close his fist, but lacked the precision to pinch and hold the zipper.

“hey, honeybun,'' boothill called over to you with a furrowed brow. “didn’t i tell you not to go fudgin’ anythin’ up?”

you, in all your overtired glory groaned, turning around in your chair and waving boothill back over.

“what are you talking about?”

“my cute lil’ fingers ain’t workin’ that’s what i’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

boothill's footsteps were clunky and loud as he stomped his way back over to his mechanic.

you reached for his hand, an uncharacteristic gentleness in your touch as you examined five mechanical fingers.

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

boothill tried, but his fingers got stuck halfway into the motion, locking at the joints.

“son of a bitch.” you sighed, turning for one of your tools. “sit back down.”

boothill grumbled and went to hoist himself back onto the workbench.

“least one o’us can say it…”

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

you pulled boothill's shirt off his left shoulder and popped open a tiny panel on the curve of his neck, sliding your glasses back on to the bridge of your nose. with a lean forward you began carefully looking at a few thin wires that filled the space.

boothill tapped his fingers against the tabletop while you worked, that same oddity as before settling in his now repaired gut. he rarely got messed up enough for you and him to spend this much time together, or for you to have to really be in such close proximity.

it’s not uncomfortable, but the feeling is by no means familiar. it’s actually a little embarrassing– a galaxy ranger, a space cyborg and expert hunter, feeling almost flustered at some close contact like some kind of shy little girl.

“something the matter?”

boothill nearly jumped as you spoke up quietly to check on him, voice quiet and so close to his ear he had to refrain from leaning both closer and away.

“nah, everything’s just dandy.” boothill’s voice followed yours– quieter and a little softer as a result of the closeness.

“you’re sure?” you looked up from the small mess of wires, eyes glancing up at your cyborg over the rim of your glasses. “might as well fix anything else that’s bugging you while i’m here.”

boothill would have swallowed if he had the need to lubricate his throat. he shook his head, turning to look somewhere— anywhere else.

yours lingered on him, albeit briefly, observing the clench of his jaw and the way he tried to shift in his seat without being disruptive to your work. he didn’t see the little smirk tug at your lips as you refocused on the task at hand.

boothill’s cybernetic limbs felt almost human in their sensitivity, sending faux shivers up a spine he didn’t even have. the mechanics fingers running down his forearm are doing him no favours as they move to hold his hand again.

“close your fist…open it…two fingers up…”

each command was obeyed, ten gunmetal fingers finally holding up a little peace sign.

“that should be it, come see me if they start acting up again.”

you stood up, tentatively reaching out to fix boothill’s jacket and begin to zip it for him.

boothill didn’t protest the act, but it was…confusing, to say the least.

“reckon i’ll just start seein’ those auto bots again,” he leaned back on his palms as your fingers fixed his collar, straightening it out. “much as i love our lil’ visits.”

you only hummed, smoothing out a few wrinkles and neatly tucking his scarf into it’s neckline, as he liked. “you could,” you mused, hooking your finger lightly into his collar and giving a gentle tug forward. “they don’t take as good care of you as i do, though.”

this time boothill caught the little smirk on your lips, clear as day and enough to make him question if short circuiting was possible.

you’re doing it on purpose, he knows. the careful touches to his hands and body against the sensors you put there, quiet voice leaving him with a frisson you made it possible for him to have.

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?”

he entertained you with a lean forward, two white crosshairs looking right at you while he considered if a hand on your waist was too forward or the perfect cornering move.

“just like watching you squirm.”

you were gone as quickly as you’d arrived, finger unhooked and going to pick up his hat.

“but say i was,” you didn’t bother with a glance over as you made sure the brim was straight and unharmed. “i hardly have to try.”

boothill hopped down from the table, following your path and offering a scruffy chuckle when you reached up to place it on his head.

“yeah? and what makes y’say that?” his hand found a place on his hip.

you didn’t respond— not verbally, anyway. a quick flick of your eyes downwards was all he received.

so he followed, looking down as well, to the very appendage he had insisted you give him over and over again pushing against his trousers.

his own dream, now his downfall.

boothill pushed passed you, pushing his hat further down onto his head while he stomped away. the profanities that left his lips filled the air— or rather their replacements. something something i love you blah blah peach cobbler something cutie-pie or meow!

“remind me t’settle for them lovely auto bots next time!”

he opened the door with a firm kick of his boot, stomping out with a scowl.

as if he wouldn’t be back. you took better care of him, after all.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

#i have a few leaks and drip marketing and thats it #but idc thats enough hes everything #boothill #boothill x reader #honkai star rail #boothill hsr #boothill honkai star rail #boothill x you #boothill headcanons #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr boothill #also #i know his synaesthesia beacon replaces the phrase and not only the word #im just not writing all that #UNEARTHLY

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scoobydoodean · 4 months

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what is your opinion on people calling dean a heavy misogynist? i don’t agree personally but i feel like you could put my thoughts into better words

First, I have to chuckle a little at "heavy misogynist". Apparently, some people have begun to realize their fave is also guilty of misogyny crimes therefore they focus on making sure all of us know Sam is a light misogynist and Dean is a heavy misogynist. I just find that amusing.

This is a broad topic in a long show, so I won't endeavor to address every conceivable incidence of misogyny in the show I can think of. Instead, I'm going to create a few headings, at least one of which I think most criticism falls under.

Misogyny through the writing team

How Sam's misogyny gets a pass

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

How Dean actually treats women

Misogyny Through The Writing Team

First, Supernatural in of itself has issues with misogyny—as in, the writers of the show (including female writers) have issues with misogyny which they are happy to put on display semi-frequently. The show started in 2005, during a period of time where casual sexism was absolutely rampant on TV and no one thought anything about it. Female celebrities were regularly mocked and dragged on cable television in a way men simply weren't. They were called bitches and skanks and whores, and even "progressive" voices were inundated with casual misogyny and a fixation on purity culture (that largely applied to women only). Quite simply, I think fandom tends to be far too generous toward the writers, assuming certain things were "flaws" the writers intentionally wrote for the characters.

Put another way, there are some criticisms I prefer to level at the writing team rather than the characters, because what is written plainly reflects their ignorance in the real world rather than any intent to give Sam or Dean or any other character meaningful flaws—much less outright terrible ones that greatly harm their image. I'll give a few examples:

2.17 "Heart" makes me very uncomfortable as I sit here in 2024 and observe how Sam and Madison's romance develops. Me feeling that way does not mean the authorial intent of 2007 Sera Gamble was that I think to myself, "Man Sam comes off as uncomfortably rapey here." Hopelessly bad with women, perhaps—but not creepy.

In season 2, the writers begin to develop a running “joke” that Sam is afraid of not just clowns but also little people. The latter “joke” is (wisely) dropped fairly quickly. I have never criticized Sam for being afraid of little people, and I never will. It is readily apparent to me that this running "joke" reflects the ignorance of the writing team rather than an intent to give Sam meaningful or interesting flaws. Their intent was to use little people as the butt of a joke. I personally find this "joke" distasteful, and the idea of trying to take that and somehow "dunk" on Sam for the bigotry of the writers is more distasteful to me.

This is also how I feel about the running "joke" of a porn magazine and website (BAB) that solely features Asian women, that is put on display on multiple occasions during the show—first in 2.15 "Tall Tales", where the context is Gabriel infecting Sam's laptop with a virus from the website and making him believe Dean is responsible. BAB continues to make "Easter Egg" appearances in the show afterward. While often associated with Dean by fandom, the writers clearly think of BAB as a general, "funny" (it isn't), running gag with no more depth than "haha men like porn funny". An issue is stolen by a sentient teddy bear in 4.08 "Wishful Thinking". An issue is owned by the teenager who swapped bodies with Sam in 5.12 "Swap Meat". The Men of Letters also collected a considerable number of issues (8.17). I simply do not believe the writers thought for a single moment about BAB being a grossly racist gag. They most certainly did not write it as an intentional criticism of Dean from that perspective. It reflects nothing but their ignorance and racism here in the real world, and absolutely SHOULD be criticized from that REAL WORLD impact.

How Sam's misogyny largely gets a pass

One of the things I have not been able to stop noticing on this rewatch is Sam's issues with misogyny, and how often Sam's misogyny comes out in conflicts with Dean... starting from the very first episode of the show. Pretty much any time you get anything that feels like it might be a misogynist Dean or horn dog Dean moment... Sam either just has or is about to follow that up with some misogyny of his own.

In 1.01, right after entering Sam's apartment and meeting Jess, Dean mentions the Smurfs on Jess's shirt. We think to ourselves "Okay. A little misogynist... a little horn-dog Dean." Sam is happy to 1-Up that in two ways. First, Jess voices her intentions to go get dressed. Dean dismisses this, but while doing so, makes it clear he intends to leave the room with Sam, as he'd like to have a private conversation with Sam anyway. Sam objects, walking over to Jess and putting an arm around her, demanding Dean say whatever he needs to say right then and there. Maybe this would feel supportive if Jess wasn't in her underwear and hadn't just made it clear that now that the panic over a possible break-in is over, she'd really like to not be in her underwear in front of a stranger. But nope. By god she needs to stand there so Sam can prove a point about misogynist Dean! Second, Sam immediately (and I think quite erroneously) jumps to imply Dean is trying to cut Jess out of the conversation because she's... a woman? Or... something? He makes a big show of moving over Jess and standing beside her, saying anything Dean has to say, he can say in front of Jess. However, the moment Sam actually understands that Dean is here because John is missing on a hunting trip, he dismisses Jess to speak to Dean alone... because he's lying to her. By painting Dean erroneously with this "The men are talking" bullshit that had nothing to do with anything, Sam sets himself up to be viewed as a misogynist by his own framing of the situation and what it means to leave Jess out of a discussion. He also reveals his own alleged principles as a performative illusion. Despite being his intended life partner, Sam never intends to tell the woman he loves about his past as a hunter (he makes this clear later on the bridge). However, I think because Sam's actions usually co-occur with what gets called out more directly or more immediately recognized as misogyny from Dean (should have gotten him for the Smurf's comment, Sam!) Sam's misogyny often flies under the radar... and he's really... pretty bad.

I spoke here at length about how Sam tends to look down on women who interact with Dean (often before meeting them). There is absolutely an intersection with purity culture here and there's discussion in that thread about that as well, and whether this is a "2000s writers" issue or intentionally written flaws.

In 1.06, Sam cuts Dean off before Dean can accept an offered beer from Rebecca, but then as soon as Sam needs Rebecca out of the room, Sam asks her to not just bring them those beers... but also fix them sandwiches. Rebecca says, "What do you think this is, Hooters?" and Dean mumbles, "I wish" and we somehow lose sight of the fact that Sam literally just asked a woman to make him sandwiches which is possibly the number one misogynist man trope. Sam vaguely suggests Dean is a misogynist in 1.19 for nudging Sam to go on a date with Sarah Blake and possibly get information on the case, because that would be "using" her, but Sam wants to "use" Meg Masters in 1.22 and he wants to "use" Ruby to get what he wants, and when he said getting information from women was "Dean's job", he was also showing he was perfectly willing to use Dean and Sarah—he just doesn't want to get his hands dirty. It also comes to light in 1.19 that this is more about Sam's belief that he has to protect women from him, and Sarah herself ends up calling Sam antiquated for it.

I mentioned before that Sam doesn't plan to ever tell Jess who he is, and he makes the same plans with Amelia. Dean, meanwhile, confides in Cassie (it's what leads to their breakup) as well as Lisa.

I also have to mention... one of the funniest things I see deancrit samgirls in particular dig at time after time after time is Dean calling women "bitches". Never mind that Sam also calls women like Ruby and Bela bitches and calls a woman a bitch in front of Madison. Apparently none of these occurrences count because... *looks at notes* reasons. "Bitch" only counts as misogyny when it's Dean saying it. Also, let's not mention that Sam exclusively uses the word "bitch" to refer to women, while Dean also calls men and creatures bitches at different points so it isn't a gender specific insult for him.

Dean is definitely the "heavy" misogynist here... right? (I guess Sam is a "tall" misogynist instead).

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

Dean is commonly treated in fandom as if he's some kind of sex pest, and quite blatantly... he isn't one. Women almost always proposition Dean first (thejabberwock has sets on this here and here), but him asking people out also isn't inherently creepy in any way? Co-occurring with Sam's purity culture inundated judgements, we often see fandom's own as well, where Dean is some kind of sex pest because he... likes women? Or... because he has sex with consenting women who also want to have sex with him? Sometimes it's giving purity culture wank, sometimes it's given big radfem energy... but regardless, I sometimes see people talk about Dean like him so much as making eye contact with a woman is a violent sexual threat, and that's just laughable—as is denying the agency and autonomy of consenting women in general.

Even though it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, I'll also add that Dean... doesn't even actually have sex with the frequency that people talk about it? Dean has sex with Cassie—who was a long term partner of his in 1.13. He has sex with an actress in 2.18, and with Doublemint twins in 3.01. He has sex with a waitress 4.05. He plans to have sex with someone in 3.04, but turns her down when he realizes she's a prostitute who's working. This happens again in 10.07. I'm on season 4 of my rewatch and haven't been formally keeping up... but Dean is not actually having a lot of sex? We get implications he's been out partying a few times, and can maybe infer he scored, but we don't actually know.

I'm not a huge fan of performing Dean, in the sense that I think over the years I have seen it wildly overstated far too many times. But I do think Dean sometimes plays a character for Sam especially. Dean tells us this himself in 2.03 "Bloodlust" when confiding in Gordon. He never says so directly when it comes to the sexy sex guy doing sex persona, but his actions reveal him. One can think of plenty of examples of Dean saying horny stuff about women to Sam... but what about his actions?

How Dean actually treats women

Finally, there's how Dean actually treats women... and one would be very hard pressed to prove to me that Dean is sexist toward the women in his life. He's been close friends with multiple women and worked with women on hunts on multiple occasions and never once batted an eye. Jo in 2.06 is sometimes floated as an example, but it's actually discussed within the episode. Dean makes it very clear that he thinks women can do the job just fine. What he has a problem with is Jo's lack of experience and her romanticization of the job (especially during a period where Dean has fallen deeply out of love with the job himself). Everything we see as the series progresses supports Dean's assertion as truth. He's very good friends with Charlie, Jody, and Donna and doesn't go around excluding them on hunts while favoring men. That is not a thing that happens. While he initially tries to talk Claire out of the life (as he does everybody—this is not unique to women—see Adam for example) when she decides to hunt, he supports her regardless. There is nothing uniquely overprotective about how Dean treats women who hunt. End of. Dean has no illusions about traditional gender roles or any of that nonsense, jumping to clean dishes after dinner at Jody's and cooking breakfast for Lisa and Ben. (Our knowledge of Dean and the chores he does for his family already tell us this—but regardless). Even Demon Dean, an entity with no love for anyone and close to zero principles, targeted men who abuse and threaten women, and when Crowley ordered him to kill Lester's wife to fulfill the terms of Lester's demon deal, Demon Dean instead became so deeply annoyed with Lester's hypocrisy (he cheated on his wife first) and his assertion that it's different when men cheat, that he killed him and smiled while doing it.

So anyway, nope—I don't think Dean is a "heavy" misogynist.

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bug-boy32 · 6 months

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Write some professor smut with Spenc x reader. Idk y I have a thing for that. It doesn’t have to be a big age gap. He’s young, college would be perfect, grad school even if you want to make the reader older. They can be going for anything I just want smut. I want him to have her riding his thigh after class or something.

I just need him. And smut. I’m not okay.

Meet me after class 🤎

Pairing: professor!spencerreid x fem!reader

Summary: After weeks of trying to break your favorite professor, he finally relents and you get your wish. After class. In his office.

Warnings: smut!!! Thigh riding, age gap (they are both adults just reader is a college student Spencer is a professor) semi public s3x! !!!MINORS DNI!!! I will tell your mama

Word count: 776

A/N: Thank you anon for this request!! I am so exited to start writing Spencer and I hope you all enjoy! ♥︎♥︎

Divider credits: @kithsune @cafekitsune

Want more like this??? ☞ my master list

It was no secret that Dr. Spencer Reid is your campus’s resident heartthrob. The professor had a constant flock of young women filling up his criminology classes at the beginning of each semester, and his effect was not lost on you.

Since the beginning of the semester you had made it your mission to gain the younger professor’s attention (sure he was still 10 or so years older than you but still, younger.) On the first day of class, you sit close to the front of class so he sees you when you wear low cut tops and short shorts.

But even after weeks of trying, you seem to have not yet caught the attention of your favorite professor. So, frustrated, you had nearly given up your efforts until that fateful afternoon. “Y/N will you please see me after class” Spencer spoke as he walked closer to your desk space. You quickly nodded thinking about what he could possibly need. You knew you had a good grade in his class and always turned in assignments on time. So maybe…just maybe…your efforts have paid off.

After class your body buzzed with excitement as you walked to Dr. Reid’s office across the dirtied carpets of the lecture hall. You knocked meekly, not wanting to seem too bold or too disruptive. He opened the door shortly, but surprised you when he practically shoved you into the small office space.

“U-uh ahem well Dr. Reid you asked to see me” you stuttered as you watched him pace his office space, seemingly contemplating his next move.

He sat down at his large desk chair and instead of answering your question he simply said “sit.” And pointed at his khaki clad thighs. “Sir I’m not sure what you mean I can just sit in this chair here.” You tried to respond but he quickly cut you off saying “No, sit here.” As he pointed to his lap again.

You tentatively moved closer to your professor and as soon as you were within arms length, his strong hands grabbed your hips and pulled you onto his lap. He leaned over your shoulder and whispered lowly, “You seem so shocked is this not what you wanted darling…’cause you can tell me no right now and I’ll stop.” You whimpered as he spoke and involuntarily writhed in his lap as you responded “N-no please don’t stop s-sir.”

“Good girl, now here’s what’s going to happen.” He continued to whisper. “I’m going to continue my work for while, and you are going to make yourself cum right here on my thigh. Then when I’m done…maybe you’ll get a reward.” He spoke, as you nodded dumbly at his words and the feeling of his breath tickling your ear. “I need to hear you sweet girl.” He teased. “Y-yes sir.” you responded As you began to move back and forth along his thigh.

He hummed satisfied as he started to type on his laptop. You buried your face in his neck as to not make too much noise and you promptly sped up your movements against his leg. You were careful not to bump your back against the desk and disrupt his typing but still, he slipped a hand beneath your cable-knit sweater and rubbed his thumb along your shoulder blade.

Your skin burned at his touch and the feeling encouraged you to increase the speed of your movements and hopefully reach your release faster. You could feel your wetness soaking through the panties you wore as your skirt rode up along your thighs, the delicious friction of your clit against his thigh only egging you on.

“P-please I’m so close.” You whimpered close to his ear, yet you elicited no response from your professor as he continued on typing. He simply hummed and you continued your efforts for what seemed like many more hours.

You could feel your release building within your lower stomach and you grind against him faster. Muffled against his shoulder you screamed out his name over and over as you reached your high, practically panting against his sweater vest.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me.” He praised as you came down from your high and began to catch your breath. His hand slowly trailing up and down your back in an effort to soothe you. When you had calmed down enough you looked down at where your soaked core met his thigh, and saw the mess you had made where his pants were darkened. He chuckled, which prompted you to look up at him as he spoke, “I think you earned that reward now darling hmm?.”

You could tell you’d definitely be seeing him after class more often from now on.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and likes always appreciated!! Comment your thoughts!! 👓🤎

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x fem!readr #criminal minds x reader #ry writes

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nevadancitizen · 8 months

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-> (I'VE BEEN) DREAMING OF YOU

synopsis: könig comes into your reality.

word count: 1.2k

characters: könig, player! reader

trigger warnings: mention of canon-typical violence, maybe slightly obsessive könig oops lol

notes: self-aware cod au belongs to @puff0o0 , inspired by @simp4konig // i moved for college lol hopefully i'll be able to upload(?) more often + salf-aware aus are really my thing huh. my jam if you will

It had been a week since König figured out he wasn’t real.

At least, that’s what he approximated it to be. Time was tricky if he actually tried to count the seconds and minutes and hours.

But when he stepped off the helicopter and trudged back into base, he knew he would at least have some sense of relief. Some sense of… realness, even though he knew he only existed through the wires of ethernet cables, or maybe even something as primitive as a CD.

König knew his boots tracked in mud and blood and maybe even guts, but he didn’t care. Everything would be wiped clean and be put on a new plate tomorrow for… he guessed they would be called the players, to eat.

He shut the door to his quarters behind him and leaned against it, closing his eyes and sighing. He desperately wished he could tell someone, anyone, about what he had witnessed – what he knew to be true.

He felt crazy. He felt blessed. He felt like a conspiracy theorist that was just re-inventing the idea that the whole world is a simulation – because it is! People re-invented ideas all the time, but there was nothing shameful in it. But if the rest of humanity (and for all he knew, humanity could only be KorTac and Specgru) oohed and aahed and said, “God, we live in a simulation? I’ve never heard that one before!” just to make him feel good, nothing would ever get done. But it still stung to know such a heavenly being existed and to keep such a huge secret.

Of course he was talking about you, thinking about you. When did he not think of you, actually?

He felt almost hollow without you. Like you had given him warmth with your control – a raging bonfire he could only observe from a distance, but still felt the full heat of: as in, an actual heat in his chest whenever he felt his control slipping away, replaced with the security that came with being in your presence. And König didn’t hate it. Not at all.

He didn’t even bother to shrug off his work equipment before he threw himself onto his bed. He turned over and swaddled himself with his blanket to try and emulate your warmth. It did nothing.

It was a while before he fell asleep. And he had the strangest dream…

He was in your room. He had only caught glances of it, but here he was, tangled in your blankets and in your bed.

And there you were. Sitting at your desk, typing away at your laptop. Your back was to him, but he could tell it was you. Even at this distance, you were so warm.

You were wearing the big, chunky headphones you always wore when you played. He could hear quiet thumping bass coming from them. It was the only sound he could hear aside from your quick keystrokes.

König slowly untangled himself from your blankets – he still had his boots on, the ones that had mud and blood and maybe even guts. Then he realized he had all of his work equipment on.

He stood and surveyed his surroundings. Everything in your room was so… you. (Obviously. It was your room.)

His eyes snapped back to you when you took off your headphones. You pressed a button on the side to pause your music and then set them down. You stretched your arms above your head and let out a quiet groan as you leaned back.

You looked so soft. So cute. Nothing like what König had seen through the screen. You had been slightly bitcrushed and pixelated, but now…

The warmth that blossomed in his chest was like no other. It spread out into his limbs, almost making him weak in the knees. His eyelids fluttered, but he forced them open to look at you, take in more of you.

He tried to say your name softly, as to not startle you, but it came out choked and loud and awkward. His voice even cracked.

You were so scared you nearly punched a hole through your monitor. You stood and turned, immediately grabbing a pair of scissors that were on your desk.

Your hand shook as you pointed the pair of scissors at König. “T… take off the hood!”

König kept his feet planted firmly on the ground, even bending at the knee a little to be less threatening. He puts up his hands in a surrendering manner. “Schatz, no, it’s me. It’s König.”

“Shut up!” you barked. “I’m not – no way am I being killed or robbed or whatever by someone in cosplay!” Your eyes flit over his body, spotting a knife on his utility belt. “And give me your knife. Try anything and I’m – I’ll…” you glanced down at the pair of scissors (which you can’t really stab him with). “I’ll snip your dick off!”

It honestly takes a bit of effort on König’s part not to laugh. Still, he slowly, carefully took the knife out of its holster and offered it to you, the blade pointed towards his chest. “Please, be careful.”

“I know how to handle knives,” you snapped. You put the pair of scissors back on your desk and took to pointing König’s knife at him. You took a tentative step closer, your jaw set. You reached a shaking hand out towards König’s face. “Don’t… move.”

"Mein Leibling.” König breathed out the words. “What are you doing?”

“The mask,” you said. “I’m taking it off. Then I’m calling the police.”

König just looked at you with wide eyes, his blue-grey eyes stark against his eyeblack. His eyebrows creased as he looked down at you, but said nothing.

And then, König felt a blossoming warmth as his face was exposed for the first time in what felt like forever.

His eyes fluttered shut as he felt your eyes rove over his face. Under the hood wasn’t a face: nothing except for his eyes, eyebrows, and a little bit of the surrounding skin. The rest of it was unloaded textures, a checkerboard of black and bright purple.

“Schatz…”

“König…”

König’s eyes opened as you said his name. You didn’t notice before, but his eyes were detailed, told a story. This wasn’t the king of the battlefield – this was König. Here, he wasn’t a killer, wasn’t someone who saws someone’s head off with a dull plastic knife and doesn’t even blink when the blood spurts out. He wasn’t the long-shot-drop-pop one-bullet-wonder. He was a man.

König gently reached up and took your wrist and pulled your hand away from his hood. It fell back into place, covering up his checkerboard face.

He looked down at you, his eyebrows still furrowed. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

“You’re…” you sighed – not disappointedly, but more surprised. “You’re actually him. You’re König.”

“I am,” König said simply.

“Schatz,” you said. “What does that mean?”

König smiled down at you, even though he didn’t have a mouth. His eyes crinkled at the outsides. “Treasure.”

He gently let go of your wrist, his hand traveling up your arm until it came to your shoulder. His fingers brushed against your jaw, the rough texture of his gloves making you tense just the slightest bit.

He whispers softly, like he’s afraid of you hearing his voice. “My treasured player.”

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corollaservant · 2 months

Text

jjk 18+ mdni

nasty girl / on camera

Satoru was in the middle of explaining the electron's dual nature and about to go into into it's wavelength equation, Planck's constant to mass and velocity when the computer screen started projecting a video. Your pussy from a higher angle was being pumped full of his dick, legs spread apart, his cock drilling you, muffled sounds and mewls audible. The lewd scene was loud enough for all students to hear your moans and skin slapping sounds reverberated around the lecture hall. "you're taking me so well, such a good..good girl" Satoru's sensual voice would breathe out as his fingers would rub your clit, your body spasming under his relentless thrusting, folds wet, pussy squeezing him and precum smearing your insides. Satoru's face was now flustered, his movements erratic and accelerated, he'd been trying to change slides or disconnect the screen by any means possible, holding down the Windows Logo key and pressing the P key once but to no avail, the keys were stuck in a loop and his laptop was trying to execute that command, continuing to play the video with his cock stuffing you. He shut the laptop screen, removed the cable and told his students to take 5, confused and embarrassed. The students who were uncomfortably shifting in their chairs got up and left and you approached his desk. "Satoru what the fuck was that?" you said "I don't know baby" he sighed exasperated. "But- " he continued getting up from his desk, "look at what it's done for me" showing you his erection straining his laboratory pants smirking. "Are you insane? You're lucky my face wasn't in it!" you say but curse yourself internally when you feel a sting in your core, the need to bring your thighs and rub together growing by the minute. You remembered that video, he'd taken it last week after hours. "C'mon baby its just five minutes, you can sit on my cock nice and quick" he whined as he patted down on his thighs. This man was so pussy drunk he didn't give a single fuck about what had just happened or the fact that anyone could walk in anytime. You hesitantly approached him, your core burning from desire, as he praised you "such a good girl, now lean closer". you sighed as he pushed your drenched panties to the side, his thick fingers spreading your slick across your lips teasing the entrance and your aching clit, his cool breath in your ear "do you think your lab partners are now jerking off to your shots?" he teased, as he unzipped himself and positioned you on his flush tip. That man was so unserious.

#gojo x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #corollaservant

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 9 months

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Noir and Hobie are so old school

They don't have laptops, just an old analog computer that still runs in black and green

They're still learning how to use the microwave, because that became a thing in the late 80's. Gwen never mentioned not putting forks in the thing , so how hell was Hobie suppose to know that makes it EXPLODE???

Their tv is an old boxset and they refuse to buy cable so Hobie is constantly fiddling with the antennas and hitting it hard as hell when it blinks out of color

They wake up every morning and sit in front the radio like old people, drinking coffee and biscuits

Pav comes over and is like oh my god how can you two stand this what do you two do all day

Noir and Hobie are like 'idk talk to each other???? enjoy each other's company??? stare longingly into each other's eyes??? I swear you kids nowadays'

#all they need is EACH OTHER #No fancy do-das or whatchamacallits #as Noir would say #spiderman #atsv #hobie brown #spider man #spider punk #spiderpunk #across the spiderverse #peter benjamin parker #spider noir #spidernoir

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catscidr · 4 months

Note

Can you make a scenario with obedient reader who is getting experimented on by Dottore please ☺️

nonnie i started writing this at 1 in the morning yesterday because i couldn't stop thinking about it and i may or may not have gone over my self imposed word limit. however....... hot doctor. so. hope u enjoy because ik i sure as hell did ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: dottore being just a biiit creepy, slightly suggestive (?), normal tension + sexual tension asgnfns includes: fem!reader, dottore wc: 1,9k

“Stick your tongue out.”

Dottore places his gloved thumb on your tongue, knocking you out of your daze.

As per your routine, the doctor performs a quick, partial check-up to assess your physical state before diving right into his scheduled experiments. What he had planned you never knew; such was the joy of being one of the second Harbinger’s playthings.

He gazes into your mouth with an almost bored expression as he looks for anything out of the ordinary. Being so close to his face, you could feel the warmth of his breath tickling your cheeks and the sharp point of his mask just barely grazing your jaw. When finally satisfied, Dottore mumbles something about nothing that’ll skew the test results and pulls his hand back, wiping your saliva off on his coat. You shut your jaw and look at him expectantly, waiting.

He turns his back to you and rummages through a drawer, taking out an assortment of what appears to be wires coming out of a small rectangular box with even more wires sticking out of that. You glance at the machine and then back up at Dottore, a question burning on your tongue that he answers before you get the chance to voice it out loud.

“This right here,” he sets the machine down on the table and plugs some cables into his laptop, “is a polygraph. Do you know what it is?” he asks with the ghost of a smile, hands buried in his pristine lab coat. You nod silently.

“A lie detector,” the doctor says, disregarding your answer. He takes out a vial from his pockets and brings it up to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, observing how the liquid shone at the right angle. Letting his arm fall to his side, he takes a few steps around the table and towards the chair you’re sitting in, bending down to your height.

“Do you know what this is?”

He brings his hand up to show you the vial in question. A purple, slightly translucent solution that came halfway up the thin glass, shut tightly with the help of a small cork seal. You already knew what you had to do with it, but not what the liquid itself did. Slowly, you shake your head and tear your gaze away from the liquid, looking back up at the man in front of you. His expression doesn’t change for a second, observing your own carefully.

“Simply put, it’s a truth serum. Anyone that drinks this will find that they will be rendered unable to lie. Of course, the serum itself is still being tested, which is precisely why you’re here,” he says, his smile growing just slightly. You part your lips, hesitant to speak.

“So, you... want me to drink the potion and then take a lie detector test to verify whether it worked or not?” you ask with a small glimmer of hope in your eyes. The doctor nods curtly, his expression unwavering. You internalize a sigh; looks like you lucked out today and won’t have to endure any physical torture this time around.

“Now drink,” he says, emphasizing the order by taking out the cork top with a quiet pop, bringing the vial up to your lips. Your hand reaches up to grab the glass but right as you reach it, Dottore uses his free hand to swat your hand away. You tear your gaze away from the serum and look up at the doctor- his expression flat, lips devoid of the small smile that was previously on his face. He pushes the vial closer to you, the edge of the tube pressing against the plush of your lips, forcing you to tilt your head back ever so slightly.

“Drink,” he repeats, his deep voice rumbling your nerves.

You part your lips and tilt your head back even more, allowing the Harbinger the space to push the vial past your lips. Your throat bobbed as soon as the serum made its way down, Dottore’s stare unwavering from your face. The purple serum slid down smoothly; the lack of any discernable taste only being slightly unnerving, all things considered.

Dottore stares at you long enough for you to start becoming nervous by his presence. However, as soon as your pulse quickens, he leans back and puts an acceptable distance between the two of you as he puts away the, now empty, vial back in his coat pocket.

“How do you feel?”

That makes you pause. How did you feel? Nervous, anxious? Awkward, even? The answer was an obvious all of the above. However, this was in response to Dottore’s unusual closeness, not in result of the serum changing your body in any way, shape or form. In fact, you didn’t really feel anything other than your heart racing in your ribcage. You felt strangely normal, which only fueled the slight agitation boiling in the pit of your stomach; feeling anything less than discomfort when subjected to Dottore’s experiments was nothing short of unusual. But, knowing he couldn’t care less for an answer that doesn't regard the effects of the serum, you keep your thoughts to yourself.

“I feel fine,” you say as normally as you could. Dottore narrows his eyes, observing your behavior with interest, but doesn’t push further.

He directs his attention back to the polygraph on the table, wires hanging loosely off the side of the surface. Grabbing the four cables, he peels off the protective film off from the sticky sides and sticks two cables on your temples and one on your wrist. Holding the last cable, he looks down at you with an unreadable expression.

“Tilt your head back for me,” he says quietly, voice unassuming.

You do as he says and, as soon as your throat is revealed, Dottore plunges his hand into your shirt. He sticks the last cable to the top of your left breast, fingers grazing the plush skin for a moment before he retracts his hand and rounds the corner of the table. Your heart pounds in your ribcage, your poor, weak mind reeling at how physical he seemed to be getting despite the psychological nature of the experiment. He makes no further comment as he opens his laptop and does whatever it is he needs to do in order to start the test.

“Keep staring at the wall. I’m going to be asking you a series of questions. You are to answer with the first thing that comes to your mind, in the most natural way possible. Understood?” Dottore says rigidly. You nod quickly, replying with a quiet yes, sir.

“Then let’s begin. What is your name?” he asks, leaning his chin into his palm.

You tell him your name which, obviously, doesn’t make the lie detector go off. He nods and continues, asking questions that range from “where are you from”, “when is your birthday” and “how tall are you”.

However, the more he speaks, the more his questions become increasingly... risky to answer.

“What do you think of my experiments?”

Holding your tongue, you mull it over for a moment. Even though you knew that no matter what you intended to say wouldn’t matter, that you’d just tell the truth no matter what, you wanted to think carefully either way. After a moment you part your lips, still staring at the wall like he instructed at the start, and speak.

“Sometimes they can be painful, but I know you’re doing what’s best for me and... everyone else.” You felt the way your hands clammed up from sweat, the plastic chair becoming increasingly uncomfortable for you to sit in without shifting your weight. Dottore looks at the screen of his laptop and grins, his gaze finding your tense figure once again.

“What do you think of me?” he asks, and even though you can’t see his expression, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You respond without allowing yourself to stress over what your truth is.

“I think you have a strong work ethic, and I... admire you for it.”

His lips stretch into a wide, uncharacteristic smile. Dottore stays quiet, stalling for the next question to let you simmer with what you just said. He shifts his position on the table, leaning forward over the computer with both hands clasped in front of him.

“And what do you think of me, not as a Harbinger but as a simple, regular man?” he asks coyly, his mask hiding the way his crimson eyes pierced a path into your side profile.

“That you’re attractive,” you blurt out, head tilting to the side away from him to hide the way your cheeks immediately warmed up. The doctor scoffs, amused by the sheepish display merely a few feet in front of him.

“Hm. Good,” he hums to himself, straightening his back to lean into the chair he sat on. “Look at me,” he orders firmly.

Not even giving yourself the time to process his words, you automatically turn your head to look at your captor. The sight of his pleased, seemingly innocent smile made your heart flutter. He grabs the side of his laptop and turns it around so you can look at the... blank screen?

Before you can question what exactly it is you were looking at, Dottore speaks up.

“I wasn’t tracking your answers. I lied to you. What did you say you felt after drinking the serum?” he asks with a tilt of his head, amusement clear on his face. You freeze, brows raising ever so slightly as the cogs turn in your head.

“Nothing...?” you murmur quietly, slowly understanding what he meant.

“Nothing, because you just drank water. With a dash of food coloring, sure, but water nonetheless.”

“Ah.”

Looking at his intricate mask then back down at the blank laptop screen, you felt yourself become increasingly embarrassed the longer the silence between you two stretched out. Dottore chuckles heartily, the sound revibrating in the small room as he stood up to loom over your figure.

“Technically, you could still call this an experiment. What if you did lie? There’s a possibility you did since nothing forced you to tell the truth. However, I know you wouldn’t.”

He leans down to your height, a gloved hand coming up to tilt your head back, holding your chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re always so good to me, you know. So obedient, compliant and malleable,” he sighs, a soft and eerie smile on his face. “My favorite test subject,” he whispers.

Glued in place, you do nothing aside from staring up at him with wide doe eyes, your cheeks flushed as a result from the attention he gave you.

“What a good girl you are,” he mumbles to himself, but still loud enough that you can hear. The doctor was so close that you could just barely feel the warmth of his body against you aside from his hand holding you still, his lips ghosting over your own.

With a chuckle, Dottore straightens his back and looks down at you with a knowing smirk, acutely aware of the effect he had on you. He hums, faking being lost in his thoughts, conscious that you sat there, waiting, silently begging for more.

“How about a reward, then?” he suggests in a low voice. “Prove yourself to me, prove that you spoke nothing but the truth, and I’ll reward you handsomely.” Dottore tilts his head in a way that can only be described as condescending, smiling at your bashfulness. Slowly, he takes off the wire stuck to your body, his hand lingering beneath your shirt, over the cable stuck to your chest.

“I’m sure you’d enjoy that, my pretty test subject.”

#୧ ‧₊˚orderup!#dottore x reader #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #dottore x fem!reader #dottore x afab reader

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tealin · 10 months

Text

McMurdo Internet

Internet service is supplied to Antarctica via a geostationary satellite. This far south, the satellite is only a few degrees above the horizon, and unfortunately for McMurdo, it's behind Mt Erebus. So the signal is beamed to a receiver on Black Island, about 20 miles away to the southwest, and bounced over to the sheltered alcove at the end of the Hut Point Peninsula where McMurdo sits.

The Chalet, administrative hub, with Black Island in the distance

The Black Island telecommunications infrastructure was installed in the 1980s, long before the internet we know and love today. It was upgraded in 2010 to allow more data transfer, mainly realtime weather data to feed into global forecast models. For this reason, it's probably the only place I've ever been where upload speed is remarkably faster than download speed – 60Mbps for outbound traffic, but only 20Mbps for inbound. Most regular internet use is receiving, not sending, so that's an entire base running on a connection that's only marginally faster than the average American smartphone. As you can imagine, this is somewhat limiting.

The limits to one's internet access actually begin before one even reaches the Ice. At the orientation in Christchurch, one is directed to a URL from which one must download and install a security programme from the U.S. government. It may feel like a hippie commune full of nerds, but McMurdo is an installation of the American state, and as such its computer network is a target of whatever disgruntled conspiracy theorist decides to hack The Man on any given day. Computers that are allowed onto this network (such as the one on which I am typing right now) have to have an approved firewall and antivirus service installed, then this extra programme on top of them. I am not sure what it does. For all I know the CIA is spying on me even now. (Hi, guys!) But you need to install it to get on the McMurdo Internet, such as it is, so I did.

To be honest, I was rather looking forward to a month cut off entirely from the hyperconnected world, so I was a tiny bit disappointed that quite a lot of day-to-day communication is done by email, and I would need to be on my computer a fair bit to get it. Had I known just how important email would be, I'd have installed an email client that actually downloads one's messages instead of just fetching them; as it was, the cycle of loading an email and sending the reply, even in Gmail's "HTML for slow connections" mode, took about five minutes, not counting the time it took to write. Tending one's email was a serious time commitment; sometimes I felt like I was spending more time on the computer in Antarctica than I did at home.

Crary scientists waiting, and waiting, and waiting

In a way, though, I was lucky, because I was technically a scientist and therefore had access to the one building on base with WiFi, the Crary Lab. And don't think you can just waltz into Crary with your laptop and poach the WiFi – in order to access it at all, you have to get set up by Crary IT with your own personal WiFi login. If you do not have Crary access, your portal to the Internet is one of a handful of ethernet cables in each of the dorm common rooms, or some public terminals in the main building. You can hop on, download your emails, maybe check the news or Google something you needed to look up, and then leave it for someone else. When most online time sinks are either blocked or too heavy to load, it’s amazing how little internet time you actually turn out to need.

Things that we have come to take for granted in The World are not a part of McMurdo life. Social media is pretty much out – the main platforms are bandwidth hogs even before you try to load a video or an animated GIF. There is no sharing of YouTube links, and no Netflix and chill. Someone was once sent home mid-season for trying to download a movie. Video calls with family and friends? Forget it. People do occasionally do video calls from Antarctica, often to media outlets or schools, but these have to be booked in advance so as to have the requisite bandwidth reserved. Jumping on FaceTime does not happen – not least because handheld devices have to be in airplane mode at all times for security reasons. Your phone might be secure enough for your internet banking, but not for US government internet!

It is, unavoidably, still a digital environment, it just gets by largely without internet access. Nearly everyone has an external hard drive, mostly for media that they've brought down to fill their off hours. If you want to share files you just swap hard drives, or hand over a memory stick. When the Antarctic Heritage Trust wanted some book material from me, I dropped it onto an SD card and ran it over to Scott Base on foot – a droll juxtaposition of high- and low-tech, not to mention a good excuse for a hike over The Gap on a beautiful day. It took half an hour, but was still faster than emailing it.

There is also a McMurdo Intranet, which includes a server for file sharing. Emailing someone your photos will take ages, but popping them into a folder on the I: drive and sending them a note to say you've done so (or, better yet, phoning them, or poking your head into their office) is much more efficient. To conserve space, this informal server partition is wiped every week, so you have to be quick about it, but it's an effective workaround, and also a good way to get relatively heavy resources to a large number of people in one go.

The telecommunications centre on Black Island is mostly automated, but like anything – perhaps more than some things, given the conditions – it needs to be maintained. There is a small hut out there for an equally small team of electricians and IT engineers; Black Island duty attracts the sort of person who might have been a lighthouse keeper back in the day.

Towards the end of my time on the Ice there was a spell where they needed to shut off the connection overnight, to do some necessary work. Given that most people's workdays extended at least to the shutoff time at 5:30 p.m., this meant essentially no internet for a large portion of the population, and some amusing flyers were posted up to notify everyone of the impending hardship.

Someday, faster, more accessible internet will come to Antarctica. It's more or less unavoidable, as communications technology improves, and everyone's work – especially the scientists' – depends more and more on having a broadband connection at all times. It will make a lot of things more convenient, and will make the long separation from friends and family much easier. But I'm pretty sure that many more people will mourn the upgrade than celebrate it. One can, theoretically, curtail one's internet use whenever one likes, but even before the pandemic it was almost impossible to live this way with the demands of modern life: I know from personal experience that opting out of Facebook alone can have a real detrimental effect on relationships, even with people one sees in the flesh fairly regularly, simply because everyone assumes that is how everyone else communicates. Being in a community where no one has access to assumed channels, and is more or less cut off from the rest of the world in a pocket universe of its own, levels the playing field and brings a certain unity. The planned (and, unarguably, necessary) updating of the physical infrastructure of McMurdo will wipe out a lot of the improvised, make-do-and-mend character of the place; how much would free and easy access to the online world change it in a less tangible way?

I'm sure the genuine Antarctic old-timers would shake their heads at the phone and email connections we have now, and say that no, this has already ruined Antarctica. It's not Antarctica unless your only link to the outside world is a dodgy radio. It's not Antarctica unless you only get mail once a year when the relief ship arrives. Doubtless the shiny new McMurdo will be seen as 'the good old days' by someone, someday, too. Change may happen slower there than elsewhere, but just like the rust on the tins at Cape Evans, it comes eventually, regardless.

For my own part, I'm glad I got to see 'old' McMurdo, such as it was, all plywood and cheap '90s prefab. The update will be much more efficient, and tidy, but yet another generation removed from the raw experience of the old explorers. My generation is probably the last to remember clearly what life was like before ubiquitous broadband; to some extent, Antarctica is a sort of time capsule of that world, just as the huts are a time capsule of Edwardian frontier life. I hope they'll find a way to hang on to the positive aspects of that.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to waste an hour mindlessly refreshing Twitter ...

If you'd like to learn more about the Black Island facility, there's a lot of good information (and some photos!) here: https://www.southpolestation.com/trivia/90s/blackisland.html

And this Antarctic Sunarticle goes into greater depth on the 2010 upgrade: https://antarcticsun.usap.gov/features/2114/

#mcmurdo station #antarctica #internet #wifi #connectivity #antarctic blog

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sukunaspinkyfinger · 5 months

Text

omegle adventures! featuring gojo satoru & nanami kento (f!reader)

"one day out of boredom, you decide to convince your boyfriend to fuck around on omegle with you"

contains: crack, mentions of male reproductive body party (it's omegle, ifykyk)

GOJO

Satoru needs almost no convincing to begin his first-ever journey on Omegle with you, even if you warn him about the possible dangers beforehand. He plops down on the couch beside you and swings an arm around your shoulder as he yoinks your laptop in his lap and waits for the site to load, impatiently. You try to hide your laugh the moment your webcam turns on, debating if it was a good idea to introduce your unhinged boyfriend to this even more unhinged website.

For the first couple of minutes, everyone just straight up skips you and Satoru, or the person on the other side simply stares at their phone without saying a word.

"Booooring..." a defeated sigh escapes the tall man as he leans back on the couch, turned to you. It seems only you were aware of the new candidate that just loaded in.

"Yo."

The child sitting in his gaming chair seems rather disinterested as he takes a sip from his energy drink, his eyes drift between his monitor and Satoru, who turns to him with a cocky smile.

"Yo, kiddo. Whatcha' playing?" Satoru asks him with a lot of enthusiasm as he gestures over to the child's monitor that showed the loading screen of a familiar video game. The kid on the other side blinks at least five times as he takes a good look at your boyfriend before he answers with a very unimpressed tone.

"Your hair makes you look like my sisters rat that got electrocuted last week. It climbed behind the fridge and chewed the cable. My dad noticed it because it got stinky."

Satoru is in disbelief, not sure if because of the sudden insult or because of the gruesome story the kid described with a poker face. You hold your tummy as you begin to laugh uncontrollably, which earns you a rather unamused look from your scarred boyfriend.

"I'm playing Fortnite, by the way. I could easily 1v1 you."

That's it, you remembered the name of the familiar game which your boyfriend also plays very enthusiastically every Friday night accompanied by Yuji and Megumi. Which is why Satoru stiffens the moment the child on the other side of the screen states that he would, in fact beat your boyfriend in a 1v1, whatever that means. Their conversation suddenly forms into a heated debate about game's strategies, something about building and nineties, which you didn't really get, so you decided to get up from the couch to get some snacks.

The moment you stretch your legs and stand up, Satoru does so as well with such eagerness it almost knocks you over. He sprints into your living room from where you can hear the beep sound of his PS5 you gifted him for his birthday. For the rest of the evening, Satoru forces you to watch him compete with the kid for hours, whining and kicking as he loses for the 27th time.

NANAMI

It was a long and especially boring Sunday evening. The weather outside was horrendous, so you decided to stay inside and relax but somehow nothing seemed interesting enough. You tried reading a book, watch a show, even did the dishes while waiting for your long-term boyfriend, Nanami to finally arrive home to no avail as nothing could keep you entertained.

Hours later, he finally steps through the front door and greets you with a loving kiss as he takes off his long, thick coat. "How was your day, sweetheart?"

You explain your unusual boredom to your boyfriend as you lead him to sit on the couch with you and as you serve him some dinner, a genius idea pops into your head. You briefly remember the website you and your best friend used to mess around on when you were kids and thought it would be fun to do the same with Nanami. To your surprise, the exhausted man obliged as he helped you set up the laptop as comfortably as possible while you two cuddled on the couch as none of you intended to change positions.

"Care to elaborate about this...Omegle?" he asks, seemingly curious as he types in the link in the search bar.

"You basically get to talk to random people online, it's fun, kind of." you pause as you remember some of the vile stuff you used to laugh at with your bestie as a teen. "There are a lot of weirdos, though, so beware."

Nanami was about to protest upon hearing your words but it was too late as your webcam loaded in and the first person appeared on the other side. At first, you two could only hear rustling and deep breaths coming from a man, which earned a confused expression from the both of you. As your boyfriend realized what was going on, he angrily skipped the shameful person on the other side, though no avail; for some reason, every creep decided that today was going to be the day, the perfect day for them to stroke their soggy dicks on Omegle. Of course, most of them landed in your chatroom, how convenient.

However, your boyfriend - despite the uncomfortable looks and disgusted sighs - still decided not to throw away the laptop and sanitize his eyeballs with bleach. That, until one particular face appeared on the screen, grinning at Nanami like some kind of maniac. Your boyfriend's eyes widen in shock and despair as soon as he realizes the identity of the white-haired man staring back him like a demon from hell.

"Nanami?? Y/N? No way, who would've thought I'd run into my good frien-"

Nanami quickly shuts the screen of the laptop, almost breaking it the moment he hears Satoru's excruciatingly exciting shriek. He just can't escape him even in his own home, can he?

"Honey, are you okay?" You ask while trying not to burst from the laugh that slowly but steadily creeps up from the depths of your stomach as he looks at you with a defeated expression on his handsome face.

"Grab your coat." he states out of the blue as he stands up and grabs his car keys.

Despite the tragic events of the evening, at least the two of you got to enjoy a cute date in a nearby café and that is what you call a "win-win".

gojo's still trying to beat that kid in fortnite as we speak

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk crack

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it-was-too-cold-always · 5 months

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We're Not in CW Anymore - 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

The reader gets blasted into another universe - one where Sam and Dean Winchester are real people, real hunters, and really fucked up. To her surprise (or horror), Dean has been getting glimpses of her life in his dreams and is completely enamored with her. It's nothing like the cable-friendly CW show that she knows and loves.

Reader x Dean Winchester

Warnings: language, violence

Chapter 3: The Bunker

The Impala pulled up to the bunker, the car still awkwardly silent. Dean opened the door for you and offered a small smile as you climbed out of the backseat. It was almost comforting. Almost. You couldn’t shake the idea of him watching you undress or take a shit. God knows what he saw. And until you figure out what exactly he’s witnessed, you’re going to keep your guard up.

Sam led you down the corridors of the bunker, which did actually look a lot like the show. Dean followed behind you, making you a little more uneasy. You were suddenly very aware of how tall they are compared to how short you are. Sam and Dean towered over you. They also walked too damn fast for your little legs. Finally you were standing in the main room of the bunker. Unlike the show, the room was bustling with people. There were a couple gathered around a book, a few staring at laptop screens quietly, and a handful typing away on their keyboards. You recognized one of them – Charlie. She had on headphones and was bobbing her head to the beat no one else could hear.

“Right, let’s ask James where to start,” Sam said after clearing his throat. He went over and talked to one of the men reading off his laptop. You could see them talking, Sam pointing over to you. You blushed heavily. Trying to ignore Dean staring at you again, you took a moment to look around the room. You were pleased to see a pretty good mix of people – not everyone was a white man. They were all dressed in business casual, mostly button-ups. A stark contrast to Sam and Dean’s flannel and jeans. You remembered their grandfather thought of hunters as less than – do these Men of Letters feel the same?

“Thanks, man,” Sam said to James before walking back towards you. He shot Dean a look, probably for staring again. “So, he gave me a few books to start off, nothing really concrete. I guess we won’t find out until we start digging.” Sam gestured for you to take a seat at a table in the back of the room. “Be right back,” he said.

Dean stood for a moment, contemplating if he should sit next to you or across. He decided to sit next to you, maybe he won’t be as tempted to stare. He couldn’t help it – he watched you for months, and he couldn’t help but fall for you a little. You were funny, had great taste in music, and killer curves. He liked the way you talked to yourself and sang in the shower. It’s only natural he developed a crush on you. And now he was in such close proximity to you. He wanted to touch you, just to make sure it was really true. You were here, in his bunker, in real life. Not only that, but you were supposedly soulmates. It made his heart flutter a little, though he’d never admit it.

“Do you think Gabriel was telling the truth?” you blurted, breaking Dean’s train of thought.

“Which part?” he asked.

“You know which part. The soulmates part. That’s crazy, right? Soulmates aren’t real.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have time to – by the time he opened his mouth, Sam slammed down several books onto the table. “Alright, everyone pick one and let’s get to work.” This was going to be a long night.

After several hours of reading the oldest book you’ve ever seen, you were ready to call it a night. The number of people in the main room of the bunker was dwindling, just like your patience. “What exactly are we trying to accomplish?” you asked, stretching with a heavy sigh. You didn’t see the point in researching soulmates and alternate universes. It’s not going to change anything. Unless they could get you back home.

“If Gabriel worked hard enough to transport you to a whole different universe, surely it was for a good reason. There has to be some sort of explanation besides you and Dean being soulmates,” Sam said, not even looking up from his book. You stole a glance at Dean, who met your gaze. Your eyes silently begged him to put an end to this reading torture and suggest we go to bed. As if he could read your mind, he cleared his throat. “I don’t know man, I think we should call it a night. It’s been a long ass day.” Thankfully Sam agreed.

“Where am I sleeping?” you asked. Surely there was a spare room in here somewhere. “Let me find an empty room. I think there’s one not too far from our rooms,” Dean responded. You were ready to have some time to yourself to process everything that’s happened today. Especially the whole soulmate thing. That was going to take some getting used to. Dean led you to his bedroom, inviting you to sit on the bed while he searched for a room you could use. His room was decorated with various guns hanging on the wall. A picture of him and his mom sat on his nightstand. You walked over and picked up the photo. Dean was a cute kid, and Mary was beautiful. They looked genuinely happy. It was a nice picture.

“Good news and bad news. There IS a spare bedroom, but it’s filled to the brim with boxes of old files. I’m not even sure there’s a bed underneath all that crap.” Dean’s voice made you jump. You were too focused on the photo to hear him coming. You blushed as you set the picture back down – he caught you snooping around his stuff. “Then where the hell do I sleep?” you asked. This is a nightmare.

“How about you take the bed and I take the floor?” Dean suggested.

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor in your own room. YOU take the bed, and I’LL take the floor,” you responded.

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor after traveling dimensions. Take the damn bed.”

“You’re stubborn as fuck,” you sighed. “Okay, we’re both adults, right? We can share a queen bed without being dramatic about it. Just no funny business, or I’ll kick you in the balls.”

He chuckled. “No funny business. I pinky promise,” he said, holding out his pinky finger to you. You took it in yours and immediately felt sparks fly. You both stared at your hands for a moment, half expecting literal sparks coming off your fingers. The electricity you felt off his single digit was intoxicating. You wondered what would happen if you did more than touch pinkies.

He cleared his throat, letting go of your finger quickly. “I could find something for you to wear to bed, get out of those jeans. I doubt you’ll want to sleep in them,” he said as he started rummaging around his dresser. He pulled out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. “Bathroom’s around the corner. I think Sam set out a toothbrush and whatnot for you already.” You changed quickly, anxious to get the whole crawling into bed part over. That would be the most awkward part, you told yourself.

You walked back into the room, the sweatpants going inches past your ankles like little socks. Dean was matching you with gray sweats and a black t-shirt. You gawked a little. The shirt was tight enough for you to get a peek of the wall of muscle underneath. His arms were toned and muscular. One was covered in tattoos, the other in various scars from fighting monsters all his life. I guess that is more realistic, you thought. The idea of him getting all those scars made you sad, nonetheless. “Alright which side do you want?” he asked. You shrugged and picked the left, crawling under the covers. You stayed as close to the edge of the bed as possible. Dean did the exact same thing, leaving a large space in between you two. You prayed you’d fall asleep quickly, feeling uncomfortable in this awkward situation. Sharing a bed with a complete stranger. God, please don’t let him be a creep.

Chapter 4

Tags 💛

@5tud10-54r4h @deans-spinster-witch

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean x reader #sam and dean #team free will #spn #fanfic

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bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove · 5 months

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Age of Machine - B.Barnes

Summary - Bucky and his wife just want their kids to unplug from the electronics and the internet for the holidays, so they take a trip to a cabin in the mountains.

Word Count - 812

Warnings - Use of Y/N, female reader, mentions of food, not proofread

Author’s Note - I know this was uploaded later than I wanted but welcome to day 14! Two weeks in and somehow still going strong! Of course I had to add one of my favorite songs by my favorite band into at least one of my fics. I hope you enjoy!

my masterlist

25 days of fics masterlist

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

not my gif

Bucky had taken notice that as his twins got older, they were more attached to their phones, reliant on the internet. He was getting tired of his kids texting back and forth when they were right next to each other. In turn, he brought up an idea to his wife, that for the holidays they should rent a cabin in the mountains which she thought was a great idea. The couple just wanted to have quality family time together, no electronics, no internet, no cable, just them and maybe a record player.

With Bucky’s avenger status, he was able to find one last minute at a good price. The deal was, the kids wouldn’t have their phones or tablets, they would bring a record player with them and some records and the only person that will have a phone is Bucky. As the kids packed, Y/N popped into their rooms and snagged their phones and tablets as well as making sure their laptops were sitting on their desks.

Their kids were in high school so at this point, they were quite upset that their electronics weren’t coming along with them on the trip. “I don’t want to hear any whining. You need to unplug from the internet for a few days. Tell your friends that you won’t have any internet or phones until after Christmas. If there’s an emergency they can call your father’s cell,” Y/N explained to the twins. In classic teenager fashion, the two of them groaned but complied with telling their friends that they won’t have their phones until after Christmas.

After everyone was packed, they got into the car and drove off towards the mountains. Bucky had assured his wife that there was a record player there and to just bring a few records to switch through for the 3 days they were going to be there. It was a 3 hour drive to get there, the kids sleeping most of the time as their parents quietly made their plans in the front seats.

“If there’s not a lot of snow maybe we should do a hike together. That’s my favorite way to check out scenery in a new place,” Y/N suggested to her husband.

“Do you really think they would want to go on a hike with us? We’re not cool anymore, didn’t you get the memo? Apparently it’s not cool to have an Avenger as a dad,” Bucky joked to his wife, earning a slight giggle from her.

“It was never cool to have a teacher as a parent, especially if their friends are failing my class,” She joked back.

As they pulled into the cabin’s driveway, Y/N shook the twins awake. “Time to wake up babes, we’re here. You guys need to help me and dad bring everything inside.” She earned a noncommittal grunt from Steve and a groan from Sarah. “Let’s go you two. You’ll have plenty of time to sleep once we get settled in.”

The twins slowly got out of the car, going to the trunk and grabbing a few things before heading inside after their dad. They got themselves settled and then got comfy on the couch, squished between their parents. Their first night wasn’t very eventful, just settling in and lounging with each other.

However, the next morning was where the fun began. Y/N and Bucky working in the kitchen to make a huge breakfast for their family. They had all of the twins’ favorites as well as their own favorites, a Christmas record being spun on the player as the couple bustled around in the kitchen. Sarah and Steve hadn’t woken up until after breakfast was ready and the table was set. They ate breakfast together like they did every single morning, having sleepy conversations about their weeks and how they felt sleeping in the cabin.

The kids were already bored, which is when Bucky pulled out his worn out copy of The Hobbit from his bag. Y/N had started a fire to help warm up the cabin and changed the record over to her personal favorite album, The Battle at Garden’s Gate by Greta Van Fleet, trying to line up the needle to the right spot to play a song that was very fitting for what they were trying to drill into their children, Age of Machine. A song about relying too much on technology and needing to unplug from it.

As the song started, so did Bucky, rekindling their old holiday tradition of reading The Hobbit to their kids. “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”

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senorabond · 6 months

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Rumor Has It: Chapter 4 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Rumor Has It (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 4 Summary: Marcus is still reeling from your phone call and can’t stop thinking about the last time he saw you. Peña is ready to get things moving.

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

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x Reader), flashback, semi-public/workplace sex (evidence locker after hours), unprotected p-in-v (stay safe, folks), probably talking about cum way too much?, Dom/sub dynamic, soft Dom!Marcus, praise kink, you are such a good girl, denying all the feels, Javi is apparently a leg guy

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 4.6k

Author’s Note: This was going to be the final part of the evidence locker flashback, buuut it turned into part 2 of 3. There will likely also be more future flashbacks of Marcus and Reader, perhaps in the form of one-shots. Javi has always had a mind of his own, but he really surprised me while writing this chapter! As always, thank you SO SO MUCH to my beeeeautiful beta @kilamonster for helping me find Javi’s voice and mannerisms. You help keep me going!!

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Present Washington, D.C.

Marcus sits on his couch, bare feet propped up on the coffee table, summarizing case notes for court on his laptop. He’d be giving a deposition later that week, and wasn’t looking forward to catching up on all the work he’ll miss for the actual trial. The case you and he worked on before your move to Texas was set for a few weeks away. Six months after you made the arrest, and it feels like things are finally coming full circle – both with the case, and with you.

Your call had been a shock to his system, leaving him distracted at work and sleeping restlessly these last few days. Marcus would be lying if he said it wasn’t a welcome shock. He’d been anxious to hear from you, both worried and frustrated that you’d never returned any of his calls. Hurt, too, if he was honest. What the two of you had went beyond some convenient arrangement – it developed out of the natural chemistry the two of you shared, after you’d been working together on the case and developed a friendship based on your mutual respect and admiration.

Marcus realizes he’s been drifting off again when his laptop goes into sleep mode and he has to tap the touchpad to wake it back up. Taking a swig from his beer, he sighs and moves his laptop to the couch cushion next to him. With a heavy sigh, Marcus slouches down deeper into the worn-in leather sofa and rubs his stiff neck. You’re really the reason he’s working at home this late, having to make up for time lost spent thinking of you. And the last time he saw you.

A glance at the clock on his cable box evokes a rough swear. Marcus told his girlfriend he’d call her after dinner, but he also forgot to eat any dinner and time just got away from him. He fires off an apology text and makes a mental note to get up early enough so he can surprise her with coffee before work.

Marcus hasn’t been to the store in awhile, so his stomach will have to subsist on a dry ham and cheese sandwich with stale bread. Too tired to finish his notes, he shuts his laptop and packs his work bag before heading to bed. As he enters his bedroom and goes through his nighttime routine on autopilot, Marcus’ thoughts drift once again to your last night in D.C.

In bed, stretched out on the side you used to occupy on the nights you’d spend over, Marcus lets out a heavy sigh and tries to clear his mind. Unbidden, thoughts come to him: you, laid out on the light table, wet, writhing, and begging. This has happened each night since your call. Tonight, Marcus is hard in seconds, precum already forming a damp spot on his boxers, and he needs relief.

Before he can change his mind, Marcus walks to his dresser and opens his sock drawer. He pulls out the pair of panties you were wearing that night, given to him as a cheeky parting gift. Too embarrassed to admit how long it took him to get around to finally washing them, he’s since used them several times for his own purposes. Having a girlfriend the last couple of months has meant the panties were kept hidden in the back of his sock drawer instead of his bedside table drawer. This would be the first he’s pulled them out since they’d made it official.

Back in bed, Marcus tells himself this is just to help him get a good night’s sleep. He’s removed his boxers and lays there with the covers kicked to his feet, free to move as much as he wants. Marcus fists his cock, and swipes the leaking tip with his thumb, spreading it around the swollen head.

Mentally, he takes himself back to that night in the evidence room: the feel of you in his arms, pussy wrapped perfectly around his cock. Already so aroused, it won’t take him long to finish. As he’s done before, he plans to shoot his load in the panties that once collected your combined cum, spilled from your weeping cunt. Marcus strokes himself feverishly until his thighs shake and he’s bucking up into his fist, trying desperately not to moan your name.

Washington, D.C.6 months ago

“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.”

You focus on the feeling of your exhaled breaths mingling in the space between yours and Marcus’ mouths. He nuzzles your neck and trails wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbone and chest. His every move is slow, languid, intentional; every touch sets your nerve endings alight. Your hands are buried in his hair, caressing the back of his neck, holding him to your breast as he sucks a taut nipple into his mouth.

“You’re so soft, so beautiful,” Marcus mutters against your skin, lost in his senses. He’s unbuttoning your shirt the rest of the way, kissing and nuzzling down with each inch exposed.

Suddenly, Marcus is pulling you up, a hand behind your neck, another behind your back, until you’re sitting up fully on the edge of the table. He’s thrown in a slight shadow as your body blocks the lit surface behind you. You love the change in the angle, the difference in your height making him tilt his head up to meet your gaze, his own eyes full of adoration and awe.

Removing your shirt entirely, Marcus quickly unhooks your bra and tosses it onto the table with your shirt. He rolls up his sleeves, his tie draped forgotten over the back of a nearby chair with his jacket. Desperate to feel more of him, you busy yourself with undoing more buttons of his shirt and running your hands across his chest and shoulders and back, wherever you can reach. Marcus reaches for you and helps you off the table, your skirt staying bunched at your hips and waist.

“Turn around for me,” Marcus commands in his gentle, coaxing tone. You obey, and close your eyes a moment while they adjust to the white light of the table surface. Strong hands explore the curves of your ass, caressing, squeezing.

“Feet apart, sweet girl.” His words are right behind your ear, a low rumble of satisfaction elicited as you follow his order immediately. You place both hands on the edge of the table, readying yourself for him.

“Mmm, good girl.” You feel him moving behind you and shudder a bit – he’s undoing his pants, pulling his length out. Then he’s there, body pressed against yours, kissing the back of your neck, hard cock leaking on your ass. Your pussy is already pulsing in anticipation.

Marcus drags the tip of his nose up the line of your neck and nips at your earlobe. “Are you ready to take my cock, sweetheart?” He brushes your hair back from your face and you can only nod vigorously. A firm hand tilts your chin up.

“I need to hear it, baby. Say it.” The suspense is torture, you need him inside you, stretching, filling you, in the way only he can.

“Yes, Sir. Please. I need it.” The intensity of your need weaves a tremor into your voice.

“What do you need?” Marcus grinds himself into your ass with a grunt, his hands gliding over your back and breasts.

“I need your cock, Sir.”

“Then you better take it.” Blood rushes in your ears, your breathing gets more labored.

Marcus removes one of your hands from the table, guides it back towards him and you reach between your bodies. He places a hand over yours, wrapping your fingers around his shaft. The heft of him, the heat, the grip of his hand on yours as you give him a tentative stroke – “Good girl,” his breath hitches.

Marcus’ hand on your shoulder lowers your upper body closer to the table. You tilt your hips up at a better angle, offering yourself to him, then line his cock up at your entrance and try to push back. Marcus stills your hips, holds them firmly in place with both of his strong hands.

With anyone else, you’d be embarrassed at the pitiful whine you let out, but it’s different with Marcus. It’s always been different, and right now you’re too far gone to care about anything else. You just need him inside you one last time.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweet girl, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.” Marcus speaks softly, soothingly. “I’ll give you what you need.” He drags the head of his cock through your folds, getting it slick and ready.

Marcus inhales deeply through his nose, then enters you in one slow, smooth movement, pulling a moan from deep in your throat, and a stuttered exhale from him. You both take a moment to catch your breath and relish the sensation of being joined again. The stretch, the fullness – it makes your head swim.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Marcus mutters. “You’re so good, so perfect…” His hands caress your back and hips, then he’s moving – slowly, mindfully working you open with each press of his cock. He slides one hand up between your shoulder blades to the back of your neck, digs the fingers of his other into the flesh of your hip. You can tell he’s trying to hold back, give you time to adjust. But soon, he pulls out almost all the way, only to slide home again with more force, your forward momentum stopped by the table.

His pace quickens slightly, each thrust elongated and ending buried deep inside like it belongs there. The hand on the back of your neck moves to grip your shoulder, pulling you back onto his cock, forcing a breathy moan from your lungs on each snap of his hips. The edge of the table digs into your belly, but the feeling of being trapped and utterly at the mercy of Marcus’ increasing heat and ardor only fuels the flames kindling in your lower belly.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good. You always take my cock so well. My perfect girl.” Marcus’ unceasing string of praise elevates the stimulation to new heights and you feel the first flutters of another orgasm starting. Marcus feels it too and groans, slowing his rhythm to a torturous pace so you feel every drag of the head of his cock inside you.

Whimpering, you fight the urge to beg. Marcus knows what you can take, knows how far he can push you. He knows when you’re working hard for him, lavishes you with praise and adoration, and always rewards you with the best sensual, pleasurable experiences you’ve ever had.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m going to let you cum for me again,” Marcus lets out a breathy chuckle. “But we’re not there just yet, okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” you respond automatically and Marcus hums in delight. He strokes the back of your neck with his thumb and gently presses down on your shoulder until your breasts are pressed flat against the warm light of the table.

“Look at you, so beautiful. You should always be in the light, always be seen and appreciated.” Folding your arms to cradle your face, you close your eyes against the light of the table and bask in the warmth of Marcus’ words. His hips never stop their fluid motion, almost lazy if not for the strength and intention behind each thrust.

This is another of his lessons in patience. Patience has never been a strength of yours; Marcus has taught you the value of slowing down, waiting, living in the moment – especially a sensuous moment such as this. If you can focus on the here and now instead of the finish line, the end will be so much sweeter.

“Mm, that’s right, just relax and take it,” He pulls back and spreads the globes of your cheeks to see where his cock is splitting you open. His breath hitches at the sight, “Ohh, that’s pretty. I wish you could see how beautiful you look like this, sucking me in over and over. It’s like your pussy was made for my cock, sweetheart.”

This makes you moan even louder, your breath catching, ass pushing back involuntarily, cunt clenching around his cock. Marcus curses under his breath and shoves himself in harder, thrusts becoming shorter again, hitting even deeper.

“Oh god, Sir. Yes, please fuck me.” the words spill out unbidden, punctuated on each slap of Marcus’ hips into your ass and thighs.

“Does that make you hot? Knowing your pussy was made just for me? Meant for my cock.” Marcus’ words come out more strained as he fucks you harder. “It had to be, you take it so well. You fit so perfectly wrapped around me. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

He’s got you pinned against the edge of the table now, driving into you, breath coming out in pants. Sweat is forming at your temples and the back of your neck, you’re craning your neck to try and see his face, but the light of the table is blurring your vision. Marcus, always so attuned to you, must see you struggling. He stops, remaining buried in you and says, “Come here, sweetheart. Let me help you up.”

His arms slide around you, one across your stomach, the other wrapping across your breasts to your shoulder. You push up off your folded arms, and Marcus pulls you back against him, burying his face in your neck and hair. Marcus resumes, his thrusts short and staccato. The angle has changed, the head of his cock presses more firmly against that fleshy spot inside you over and over and your vision blurs a bit at the edges.

“How’s that feel, sweet girl? Hm?” A whine loosens from your throat. “I can feel your legs shaking, I know you’re getting closer.” Panting, you grip onto his arm across your middle, wrap the other one behind you to card your fingers into his hair that you love to muss. You’re struggling to hold the angle, arching your back almost painfully. “I’ve got you, beautiful, relax. You don’t need to strain, just hold onto me.”

Slowly, you start to let your weight sink into Marcus’ strong arms around you. “That’s it,” he whispers encouragingly against your ear. “That’s my good girl – letting me help, giving in. I know that’s not easy, you’re doing so well.”

He’s hunching over you, holding you against him tightly, supporting most of your weight now. “I know your body, I know how to take care of you.” Marcus grunts as his cock twitches inside you – he’s getting closer as well. The need for him to fill you is overwhelming, suddenly.

“Please, Sir. I w-want–” Your plea is choked off as the fingers of his hand on your lower stomach start to travel down.

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you want.” He nuzzles against your neck, nips at your jaw as you turn to look at him over your shoulder.

“I want your cum, Sir.” His rhythm falters for a moment and he lets out a deep groan.

“I’m going to give you my cum, I promise, sweetheart.” Those fingers make a beeline for your cunt. You cry out as they deftly circle your clit. “But I’m going to need you to give me one more first. Can you do that?” You’re keening, teetering right on the edge. Marcus is relentless, plunging his cock into you, applying just the right amount of pressure to your clit, and tonguing across the fluttering pulsepoint on your neck.

“I know you can do it, baby. C’mon.” You’ve reached your breaking point as his voice goes deeper, his cock twitching inside you as he fights to keep from following you. All it takes is for him to practically growl his next command, “Cum for me. Now.”

As he feels the pulsing of your cunt around him, Marcus crashes his mouth down on yours to swallow your cries, muffling your moans with his tongue. He grunts against your mouth and stills his hips, breathing deeply in and out through his nose as he comes back from the edge. You sag against him, legs shaking, as you ride out your high.

“Good girl,” he rasps. “My good fucking girl.” He kisses your forehead and temple, then presses his lips in a trail down to the crook in your neck where he rests and catches his breath.

“Thank you, Sir,” you whisper breathlessly.

“I should be the one thanking you,” Marcus says softly into your hair. “You did so well for me.” As you begin to regain the strength in your legs, he runs a hand across your cheek and cups it, kissing you gently. His other hand trails featherlight touches across your breasts, then tweaks a nipple making you gasp.

“Do you still want my cum?” This makes you clench around him with a moan, and he smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

~~~

PresentWashington, D.C.

Marcus lays in bed, eyes squeezed shut tight, remembering the sounds you made as you came. He fucks up into his hand, once, twice more – “Oh fuck…fuck— fuck-” your name on his lips, cock pulsing as ropes of his cum land in your panties and spill over his fist. He strokes himself through it all, gasping for breath.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself, waiting for his heart rate to slow. He chooses not to dwell on the fact that he just came the hardest he has in months. Cleaning himself up, he puts the cum-soaked panties in his hamper and almost collapses back into bed. Post nut clarity begins to set in, yet he doesn’t feel guilty like he thought he would, jerking off to those memories while in a relationship with somebody else. Somebody who actually was emotionally available and interested in him that way.

It’s late, but Marcus knows he’s going to sleep like the dead tonight and probably wake up feeling refreshed. He’s gotten past the shock of your phone call and come through the other side.

Marcus lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes for sleep. His phone buzzes on his nightstand and he rolls over to check it, thinking it must be his girlfriend responding to his apology earlier.

Talked with Peña – I’m officially on the case! Thanks for your help xo ☺️

His mouth breaks into a grin. Of course it’s you. Happy to get the update, Marcus tries to think of something appropriate to write back.

You did all the hard work, you just needed a friend to listen.

Then he adds: Always here to help, I mean it.

He watches the three little dots appear as you type back immediately: Can I call you tomorrow?

He writes: Of course, call any time

Thanks, talk tomorrow. Go to sleep!

If only it was that easy.

~~~

TexasThe Next Day

Javier leans back in his desk chair, fingers laced behind his head. Last night was an unexpected, albeit pleasant, surprise. He hasn’t had someone go toe-to-toe with him like that in awhile, and he always enjoys a challenge. Especially a challenge as good looking as you.

You respect Javier’s position in the structure of things, and you certainly have enough experience as a Fed to understand the rules of the game here. But Javier can tell you’re not just another meek, pushover type. Obedient, maybe, under the right circumstances, yet always ready to put up a bit of a fight when warranted.

That last thought has certainly gotten Javier’s dick interested. He tries to adjust himself inconspicuously, mindful that his office door is open and to get up and shut it could be a wrong move if somebody were to walk by. Shifting a bit in his seat, he focuses instead on the paperwork he needs to sign to make your assignment to his case official.

CBP Agent in Charge is written next to your name on the form. Javier smirks; you said you wanted all in – until the end – and this will make sure of it. You’ll be officially attached to the case, responsible for any Customs involvement in the investigation and a trial, if it comes to that. Javier knows this is a big step up for you, professionally speaking, and a huge undertaking. But he knows you’re up to the challenge.

Now he just needs you to call your guy and bring in the – how did you put it last night? – boys with the fancy toys and the dollars to spend. Javier chuckles at that a bit as he signs and dates the last form. He doesn’t know who it was in the FBI you were previously entangled with, but if it brings him what he needs to finally get these fuckers behind bars, he’ll play a bit dirty to leverage that connection. And it won’t all be to his benefit, there’s a distinct possibility that you’ll get a promotion once this is all over. This is something Javier is more than happy to use his clout to influence.

A thought occurs to Javier that as the CBP’s lead representative on the case, you won’t be directly reporting to him. Not officially, anyway. It’s not like he’s never slept with somebody a few rungs beneath him before, just never a direct report. Besides, at this point in his career, in his current position, any kind of fraternizing is not worth the risk. He hasn’t slept with anybody at the office in quite awhile. Well, he hasn’t slept with anybody in quite awhile, period. Maybe that’s why you’ve been such a source of distraction to him, he just needs to get laid.

He’s had his eye on you ever since you first arrived six months ago. You intrigued him. That’s why he talked to Sandra in Human Resources to get the scoop and a copy of your resume. Once he saw your background and heard a few of the rumors circulating, he had to speak to you for himself.

Most newer agents in the area meeting Javier for the first time are a bit intimidated, excited, or even a little starstruck. He hates those kinds of encounters the most, he shouldn’t be looked up to for the things he’s done. You, however, had a different impression of him entirely.

It stings a bit, he admits, to imagine you thinking poorly of him because of those rumors. Javier doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something about you that makes him want to show you he’s not like that. He knows at least half the rumors he’s heard about himself aren’t true. He doesn’t really mind the rumors about his dick being huge, though, because he can live up to that one.

It’s the rumors about what really happened in Colombia that bother Javier the most. Some of them are purely malicious, but others are a little bit too close to the truth for his liking. Most of the rumors about his sex life, though, are funny, bizarre, or just plain unimaginative. He’s not sleeping his way through the office, or leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. Yeah, he was closer to being that guy in Colombia, but that was about survival. Getting into the bed of another person got him out of his own head for a little while. The physicality of the sex was his escape. He could drown himself in the sensations, lose himself in his partners’ sounds, what made them feel good, how to take them to new heights.

You’ve had your own share of rumors spread unfairly about you, too. It occurs to Javier that he also had preconceived notions about you from those rumors. He assumed that because he’d heard you’d slept with some FBI guy, it must be true. Sure, you ultimately confirmed the kernel of truth in the rumor, but only when presented with the worse versions. The versions Javier offered up so readily, almost cavalierly. Within minutes of meeting.

Javier growls a fuck and throws the pen down onto his desk in frustration. What the fuck is wrong with him? It’s a miracle you even agreed to help him with the case. He won’t blame you if you never call the FBI. He’d deserve that. Digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, he tries to think of how he’s going to fix this.

“I am such an asshole,” he grumbles to himself.

“Why are you an asshole?”

Javier’s head jerks up at the voice and sees you standing in the doorway of his office. Shit.

“I’m not disagreeing. Just curious,” you say, with a sparkle of mischief in your eye.

“Oh, uh…” Javier searches for some excuse and grabs the paperwork in front of him. “I fucked up these forms. Gonna have to redo them, and my admin already hates me.”

“Oh. Okay then.” You hover in the doorway and glance at the chair in front of his desk that’s covered in stacks of files and papers. “Do you have a minute?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure, let me just–” Javi moves quickly to take the clutter off the chair and decides a spot on the floor next to his desk is its new home. This is the first time you’ve been in his office, and it feels strangely intimate. Like if it were the first time you’re visiting his house. He stamps that thought out before it can take root and sits back down behind his desk.

“What’s up?”

“They’re in,” you say perfunctorily.

You momentarily distract him by crossing one leg over the other.

“Wha– uh, who?”

“The FBI. I spoke to my contact in the art squad, briefed him a bit on the case, and he’s going to see what they can do to help.”

You really do have great legs.

“You’re serious?” Javier looks up at you sharply, then scratches absently at the stubble on his jaw. “Just like that?”

“Well, yeah…?” Your smile is bemused. “Javi, I’m confused here. Didn’t you want their help? I thought that’s what this whole thing was about, using my contact to try and get FBI support on the case.”

Isn’t that what this was all about? Javier doesn’t know jack shit about art, other than if he personally likes the look of something or not. He knows narcos, the FBI knows art, and you were the link. Why does it feel like it’s about more than that now?

“Yeah, of course, I’m just surprised, is all. Figured they’d want something in return or would put up a bigger fight first.”

Javier leans back in his chair and considers you for a moment, runs a finger over his lips. “You must have left a really good impression on them.”

“I guess so.” Your cryptic smile threatens to put all kinds of ideas in Javier’s mind. Thoughts that are not permitted within interagency cooperative arrangements. You stand up to go. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Thanks, by the way. For calling.” You’re watching him curiously. “And, uh–” he gestures at the paperwork he lied about fucking up. “You’re on the case.” Your facial expression makes his throat stick. “All in,” he adds. “‘Til the end.”

“Then I look forward to working with you, Javi.” You depart with a brighter smile, and Javier tries very hard to not watch you walk away. It’s only when he’s handing over the signed forms to his admin later that he realizes you didn’t call him Agent Peña once.

~~~

Next Chapter || SeñoraBond's Masterlist

Additional Author’s Note: I am so thrilled at all the folks who have liked this story and that there are others enjoying my horny little musings! As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

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

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totisviribus · 1 year

Text

An ADHD Morning

I set seven alarms so I don't oversleep. I couldn't sleep last night because I was researching ancient Rome on Wikipedia until 2am so I am bleary tired. My coffee maker is moldy from last week's brew and I don't even consider cleaning it, I just know that I won't be having coffee this morning.

I forgot to shower the night before, but now I don't have enough time to do it this morning, I got up too late. I use dry shampoo and hope my hair doesn't look greasy (it does). I scrape it into a messy pony tail that will give me a migraine but it's the only way it looks acceptable. My finger nails are stumps of dried blood because I picked at them all night. The inside of my lip is swollen and bleeding because I couldn't stop chewing on it, thinking about how I could ruin today. My eyebrows need to be plucked. My face is covered in acne because I never remember to take my makeup off before I fall asleep.

My bedroom is a sea of clothes, piled high to obscure the wooden floors. One hamper has some clean clothes in it, I know, but I have forgotten which one. My ironing board is under the piles somewhere, but it's broken, so I'll have to try to use the anti-wrinkle spray on the sweater I fish off the floor and hope it looks okay. It's already been forty minutes, how has the time passed this way? I will be late now, no hope of arriving on time. My sweater is covered in cat hair. Where is the lint roller? I look through the piles and can't find it. I spend ten minutes looking for tape to make a make-shift lint roller and it doesn't really work.

My dresser is filled with empty makeup tubes, used makeup wipes, glasses wipes, and used lint roller sheets. I pick out the products I use and quickly do my makeup on my unclean skin.

Purse. I need my purse. Which purse did I use last? Which has my wallet in it? I walk past the piles on the floor of my apartment, past the dirty dishes, past the mound of art supplies on my desk. I find my purse on the floor under my desk. Okay.

Socks? I need socks. My socks might show when I sit down in these too-tight too-short pants. I have to find matching ones. Clean ones? No, that's too much of a reach. I must just find matching ones. I search, digging through the floor piles. I find two that do not match, but are the same color. Good enough.

Fifteen minutes late. My cat chirps as he brushes against my leg. Oh! My little friend! He's so cute and sweet. My sister loves to get pictures of him, so I'll take one for her. Look up here, Blue! So cute. I should really update the instagram I made for him, I've met so many people who have the same type of cat. I should edit some photos of him today to post. He makes me so happy. I feel so lucky I get to have a cat and such a sweet, loving one like Blue. How many people get to have such a great pet? I'm so thankful for him, and I tell him so while I scratch his face the way that makes him purr.

I text my sister the picture. She tells me to have a good day. I try to find a cute GIF to send her to tell her to have a good day too. Here's one with Snoopy. She'll like that.

I also need to feed Blue. There are a dozen empty, smelly cans on the counter of cat food, but I pick a new one out of the box they were shipped in and put it in his dish with a random measuring spoon because all my other silverware is dirty.

Bag. I need to pack a bag. Laptop, keys, tissues, pens, notebook, headphones, charging cable for my phone. Is that everything? And my wallet, of course! Aha. That would be bad if I forgot that.

My shoes are dirty and scuffed but I don't have time to fix them. What kind of coat? I don't check the weather. I pick out a thin yellow one that I like. I've always liked bright colors. This will cheer me up to wear it. Bag, coat, keys, phone...where is my phone?

I have headphones on, listening to a YouTube video on two times speed, but I don't know where my phone is. I don't have time for this! But I can't leave without my phone.

It's deep in the covers of my bed. I don't remember putting it there between sending the GIF to my sister and now, but no matter. I found it.

It's twenty degrees and raining. I have no umbrella and my spring coat is incredibly inappropriate for the weather.

I've left my car on the street for a few days in an area that is only for 3-hour parking. The parking tickets are stacked on the windshield. I owe the city about $400 in parking tickets and I keep getting letters from the police that they'll boot my car if I don't pay. I messed up the days on my budget spreadsheet, so I won't be able to pay them for another month.

I have no gas. I check the miles my car estimates I can go with the amount left and compare it to what my GPS says. Just enough. Maybe. It'll be okay. I can't get gas now.

I forgot to brush my teeth. I forgot my laptop charging cable. I forgot to take my medication, and I forgot to bring my medication with me to take my second dose. When I finally arrive at my destination, I don't remember that my debit card fell between the seat in my car yesterday while getting coffee at the drive-thru. So I leave without it. I also forgot to put deodorant on.

I wonder what my coworkers would think of me if they knew about my messy apartment, my poor hygiene, my lack of planning skills. Will they notice my teeth aren't brushed? Do I have any gum, mints, anything?

My coworker sees me come in late with in an oddly-fitting outfit and messy hair, but I greet them happily when I come in. They say that everyone forgets things sometimes and lends me their laptop charger. I'll forget to return it, but they don't know that yet. They don't know about my kitchen or my bedroom or my clothes or my unwashed face or my parking tickets. They don't know that without my medication I will be useless for the entire day and get nothing done, making more work for them.

I'm an excellent actress. I pretend to be like everyone else, and somehow I pass the test every time. I'm a shy, kind, young woman - they would never suspect there is a moldy box of forgotten take out food in my backseat that I'll discover in a few days. People socialized as female are expected to be neat, organized, in control. They don't even consider that I might not be those things.

"What did you bring for the potluck today?" my coworker asks.

The ingredients I bought for the dish I signed up to make are rotting in my fridge, forgotten as soon as I put them there after shopping two weeks ago. I didn't think to buy them closer to today. I also didn't think to put the pot luck on my calendar.

I make up an elaborate story about how my boyfriend needed to be picked up from a far-away job site last night. She believes me and I feel I don't deserve it.

I wish I wasn't a good actress.

#adhd #adhd women #adhd post #adhd tag #adhd things #executive dysfunction #neurodiverse stuff #add #essay #personal #totisviribusletters #adhd feels #adhd life #adult ADHD #adhd adult #adhd brain #my adhd

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