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fatecantstopme · 7 months ago

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Lustful Agony

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x plus size!reader

Summary: It's sex pollen, aka my favorite trope.

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names, an insane amount of smut, dubcon (cuz sex pollen), unprotected sex (p in v), oral (F receiving), masturbation (F).

"Would you please be careful?" you snapped.

Your partner froze and offered you a sheepish smile. "Sorry, doc. I wasn't paying attention."

"I noticed," you huffed. "There are any number of things in here that could kill us, so tread lightly."

"Maybe I should wait here."

You glanced in his direction and nodded. "You know what? Good idea. Stay there and don't touch anything."

You continued on through the dusty lab, hoping to find at least one working computer, but after 20 minutes, it seemed hopeless. Every computer had been destroyed and most of the paper files had been shredded or burned. All that remained was hundreds of glass vials filled with various liquids and gases that did gods-only-knew what.

"I'm starting to think this might be a burn and run," you called back to Bucky--still standing where you'd left him on the other side of the lab.

"If we blow this place, is there gonna be a toxic cloud?"

You shot an annoyed look in his direction. "I said 'burn', James, not 'blow'. We're not blowing up a lab filled with unknown chemicals and biological agents."

"Right, yeah." He looked at the ground, feeling slightly embarrassed. He always seemed to make a fool of himself in front of you and he hated it. He never wanted to be the fool, especially around you.

Your well-trained eyes scanned the room again before falling on a secured biological containment chamber. You knew that would be the best option for storing items for burning. All you'd need to do was get all the bio vials into the chamber and light it up.

You crossed the room to the chamber, feeling Bucky's eyes following you. He hated being in a position where he felt like he couldn't protect you, but he was out of his element here. As the resident hazardous materials expert, this was your area of brilliance.

You grumbled in annoyance when you noticed the lock on the containment chamber was activated. You were familiar with this particular model, and if you were lucky, these Hydra assholes hadn't been smart enough to bother changing the code. You input the pin, silently crossing your fingers, a smile spreading across your face when you heard the distinct sound of the mechanism unlocking.

You lifted the hood slowly, hoping to find the chamber empty. You had a momentary thought that you and Bucky should be wearing appropriate PPE, but the thought occurred to you too late.

A sound of surprise escaped your lips as a puff of sweet-smelling pink dust blew into your face from inside the cabinet. The tactical suit and gloves you were wearing did nothing to protect your respiratory system from the unknown substance.

The dust seemed to dissolve almost instantly, fading into nothingness before you could even alert Bucky to the hazard. He, of course, had heard your surprised gasp, thanks to his super soldier hearing.

"Doc? Everything okay?" he called worriedly.

"Not sure," you replied. "I, uh, I got hit in the face with some pink dust...and I'm willing to bet it's not fairy dust."

Bucky's blood ran cold. "Pink dust?"

"Yeah, smelled like some kind of super sweet candy--or those sugary wine coolers I drank in college."

Any color that remained in Bucky's face quickly drained. "Look at me."

His tone was so firm, it frightened you. Bucky normally joked around with you, but you could hear the fear in his voice and it scared you more than anything else.

You turned to face him and his expression confirmed your fears. "Do you know what it is?"

Bucky nodded. "I think so, but we won't know for sure for at least 30 minutes, possibly longer."

"Am I going to die?" your voice was so soft--so small--that even he almost didn't hear it.

"Not if I can help it."

When your eyes met his piercing blue orbs, he could see the terror reflected in them. He wanted to go to you, help you, but he knew he couldn't--not if you still had even the slightest trace of the dust on you.

"You need to rinse off before we get out of here," Bucky said calmly. "If it's what I think it is, then I can't get that stuff anywhere near me."

"Why? What'll happen?"

Bucky's gaze didn't quite meet yours. "I will tear you apart and not even realize it."

His words cut you like a knife. You knew deep in your soul Bucky would never hurt you, but if this substance could turn him into a wild animal, you wondered what the hell it was going to do to you.

You'd spotted a decontamination area when you'd first entered the lab, so you slowly made your way there, careful to avoid getting anywhere near Bucky.

Bucky radioed in to Sam to give him an update on the situation. You heard him describing what had happened and asking for another team to be sent in to destroy the facility.

You stood under the spray of the shower head and let the water pummel your skin. The pressure was almost painful, but you knew it was necessary to ensure the substance was no longer on your skin. You'd inhaled it, so you were screwed, but there was no reason for Bucky to be too.

After several minutes, you felt comfortable saying you were clean. You just wanted to get the hell out of this lab and back home.

You voiced as much to Bucky, but he shook his head slowly. "You're not gonna make it all the way home, (Y/N)."

You didn't like Bucky's use of your first name in this context...he always called you 'doc', and the change made you feel like death was around the corner.

Your face must have given away your fear because he continued. "I just mean you won't make it home before the symptoms start. Once they do, you won't want to be around anyone."

"So what do we do?"

"Safe house. It's our only option."

You groaned inwardly. You had zero desire to stay in that drafty little cabin another night, but you trusted Bucky's instincts, so you simply nodded.

Bucky was quick to usher you back to the quinjet, filling you in on his conversation with Sam. "He'll send in another team in full Level A hazmat gear. They'll take care of the place."

"Okay."

"You alright, doc? How you feelin'?"

"I feel fine so far. Just moderately terrified."

"Don't be. You're gonna be fine."

You wanted to believe him--really you did--but there was something in his voice that made you question if he even believed it.

By the time the jet touched down by the cabin, 25 minutes had passed since the moment of infection. Bucky still hadn't told you what you were dealing with and it was driving you insane.

You followed Bucky into the cabin and watched him drop his bag on the floor. He turned to look at you, eyes clearly sizing you up, checking to see if you were okay.

"Just tell me," you whispered--somewhere between a plea and a demand.

He sighed deeply. "How do you feel?"

You closed your eyes and took mental stock of your body, seeking anything out of the ordinary. "I feel hot, but that could just be the anxiety."

"How hot?"

"I don't know, like feverish, I guess."

Bucky groaned and the sound sent a wave of need through your body--a need that shocked you to your very core. This was absolutely not the time for your stupid crush to rear its head.

"Please don't hit me, okay? I'm just gonna touch your hand."

"Why would I hit you?" you asked a second before his flesh hand met yours. The feeling was pleasant and it warmed you from the inside out, until he removed his hand. You inhaled sharply as an intense pain you couldn't describe shot through you.

Bucky jerked his hand away, his worst fears confirmed. "I know what it is."

"Please," you whimpered.

"It's a biological agent Hydra developed when their attempts to make a useable super soldier serum failed. It was designed to induce a euphoric sexual state that would result in agony and possible death if penetrative sex was not performed and an orgasm was not achieved."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Hydra believed they could create super soldiers the old fashion way--by breeding them. Sprinkle some of the magic dust on a super soldier and he'd fuck his way through a room full of women without a single care for their well-being. They called it 'sex pollen'."

Your breathing was labored as pain began to spread through your body. You tried desperately to ignore it and focus on Bucky's words. "What happened?"

Bucky couldn't look at you as he responded softly, "None of the women survived the mating process."

You realized now what he'd meant back at the lab. You didn't really want to know, but you found yourself asking the question anyway, "Did they do it to you?"

Bucky closed his eyes, desperately trying to push the dark memories back down. "Yeah. They did."

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Bucky shook his head, banishing the memories. "It doesn't matter. What matters now is how we handle this."

"If the sex pollen had that kind of effect on a super soldier, what's it gonna do to me?"

"I imagine it's going to be significantly worse for you if you don't...umm--if you don't reach climax."

"So I have to orgasm? Seriously?"

"I wish it were that simple."

Before you could respond, you doubled over in pain, an agonized groan escaping your parted lips.

Bucky rushed to you without thinking and laid his hands on your arms. You let out a pained whine and he pulled away, suddenly remembering what was happening.

"It feels like my skin is on fire," you cried.

"I know, doll. I know."

It was killing Bucky not to be able to help you. He was your protector in every situation, but he couldn't protect you from this. He knew exactly what kind of hell you were in for and it nearly broke him.

The waves of pain subsided and you were able to pull yourself upright. "Well this is fun," you mumbled.

"It's gonna get worse, (Y/N). Much, much worse."

"That's comforting, Buck. Thank you."

He gave you a sad look. "You can't do this alone."

"What do you mean?"

"The pollen was designed to force the creation of life...the only way to alleviate the pain is to give the pollen what it wants."

Your brain had become too muddled to understand what he was saying. "Plain English, Buck. Please."

"You, uh, you have to have sex."

"So you're saying I can't just masturbate this away?"

Bucky shook his head. "You have to have sex and your partner has to umm--ejaculate inside you."

Another wave of pain raked its claws through your skin, but you managed to stay upright this time. "What happens if I don't?"

You saw the look of sadness on Bucky's face and you knew you wouldn't like his answer. "You'll die."

"Well, fuck." You winced, reaching out to grab the back of the couch for stability. The pain was only increasing and you knew it was a matter of time before you couldn't take it any longer. "How sure are you that I'll die?"

"I mean, I don't know any regular humans that survived contact with the pollen. They were used as test subjects during its creation."

"I swear, Hydra gets more disgusting every time I learn something new."

Bucky was dying to help you. Seeing you in pain was agonizing for him and he knew his pain paled in comparison to yours. He would do anything for you--all you need do was ask.

"I'm gonna try waiting it out," you said firmly.

"What?" Bucky said, shock evident in his tone.

"I'm sure as hell not gonna force you to fuck me, Bucky. So I'm gonna wait it out."

"(Y/N), you're not forcing me to do anything. I'm offering to help. I don't want you to die."

You shook your head. "I'd rather die than force you into this."

"I'm offering--"

"Don't," you snapped. "No matter what you say, I'm going to feel like I'm forcing you to do something and I can't deal with that. So please, let me try to handle this alone."

Bucky knew for a fact he could overpower you with ease, especially when you were in such a state. He could make the pain stop and you would be glad for it in the moment. But he couldn't do it. He would never ever hurt you like that, even if it meant watching you die. It just wasn't something he was capable of.

"Okay, doll."

You could tell he didn't want to agree, but you were glad he wasn't arguing. All you wanted to do was tear your clothes off and try to find some sort of relief. The fire burning under your skin was intensifying by the second.

"I'm gonna take a cold shower and lock myself in the bedroom. Please stay out here."

Bucky simply nodded. He wanted to sit on this couch and listen to the sounds of your pain about as much as he wanted to get shot in the face. But he respected you too much to ignore your wishes.

You dragged yourself into the bathroom and stripped down to nothing before climbing into the cold shower. The frigid water seemed to help at first, but you discovered the effects were short-lived.

You leaned your head against the cold tile and let out a pained sob. You wanted the pain to stop so badly, but you didn't want to involve Bucky. You couldn't. Bucky was your closest friend and partner. His was the relationship you valued most in life and you wouldn't risk it for anything. It didn't matter you were in love with him. It didn't matter you'd wanted him from the moment you'd laid eyes on him. What mattered is you knew he didn't feel the same.

Bucky had a new girl in his bed several times a week. You were pretty sure you'd never seen the same girl twice in the three years you'd known him. Each one was a tall, blonde, model-thin, gorgeous woman. You didn't check a single one of those boxes. You didn't think Bucky was shallow, he just had a type. He was one of the hottest men you'd ever seen, so it only made sense for him to be with the hottest women.

You didn't think you were ugly, by any means. You just weren't his type. You were shorter, very curvy, girl-next-door average. You'd accepted it long ago and vowed to never tell him how you felt for fear of jeopardizing your friendship. Your current situation was as close as you could get to your biggest fear and you weren't willing to risk it. You loved him too much to lose him entirely. Even if he insisted he was willing to help, you knew he would come to regret it. Things would be awkward between you and eventually your friendship would come to an end.

"Not worth the risk," you muttered to yourself.

The cooling effects of the shower had long since worn off, so you turned off the water and grabbed a towel. As you wrapped it around your body, you found it was too small to cover everything and the scratchy material was painful against your overly sensitive skin.

You dropped the towel to the ground and opened the door a crack. "Bucky?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"Um, the towel hurts my skin, so um...please don't look while I walk to the bedroom."

Bucky inhaled deeply, calming himself. Sure, he wasn't impacted by the pollen, but the fact that your naked body was a few feet away from him certainly did.

"I'll close my eyes."

You tentatively opened the door and peeked out. You could see Bucky sitting on the couch, eyes closed as promised. You quickly rushed from the bathroom to the open bedroom door, shutting it behind you. In your haste to get out of sight, you neglected to lock the door.

You nearly collapsed onto the bed, the need to feel some relief the only thing on your mind. Normally, you would have been embarrassed to even consider touching yourself when Bucky was so close by, but this was an extreme circumstance. You mentally told yourself you needed to be quiet at the very least, given his excellent hearing.

You tried to get as comfortable as you could, but it was impossible. The only parts of your body that didn't ache were the ones you were actively touching. You slipped your dominant hand between your legs and felt another wave of embarrassment hit when you felt just how wet you were.

The moment your fingers brushed between your folds, you let out a loud moan. You slapped your hand across your mouth and hoped Bucky mistook the sound for one of pain.

Bucky was breathing heavily as he sat on the couch less than 10 feet from the bedroom door. He could hear every tiny little sound you made, even as you desperately tried to stay quiet.

He knew he shouldn't be turned on by those sounds--not when you were experiencing something so awful--but he couldn't help it. He'd dreamed of hearing you moan for him a hundred times before. It took all his will-power to not bust down that door and give you what you needed.

You let out a particularly obscene moan and Bucky had to stifle his own. His cock strained against his pants and he hated himself for being turned on. He tried to tell himself it wasn't his fault--he'd wanted you for years--but he couldn't shake the feeling of shame.

Ten minutes went by and the sounds coming from the bedroom continued. Bucky gripped the back of the couch with all his strength, determined to not give himself even a modicum of pleasure from this.

Another five minutes passed and he heard you let out a pained sob. His heart skipped a beat and he listened closely for any more noise. He heard the distinct sounds of you crying and his resolve broke. He immediately went to your door and knocked.

"Doll? You okay?"

"It hurts so much," you whimpered.

He leaned his forehead against the door. "I know, sweetheart. Please let me help you. Please."

He could hear you writhing around on the bed, whimpers of pain reaching his ears and making him tear up.

"I can't--it didn't work," you cried. "I'm so hot--it hurts."

"Please, baby," Bucky begged. He placed his hand on the doorknob, dying to turn it and get to you.

"Bucky," you whimpered.

The pain in that one simple word made his decision for him. He turned the knob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. He opened the door a crack, but kept his eyes away from the bed.

"Let me help you," he pleaded again.

Your eyes roamed his gorgeous figure and you let out a choked sob. Nothing else mattered in that moment--all you could think about was him.

"Make it stop," you begged him.

Bucky's eyes snapped open, meeting yours in a desperately hungry look. He didn't say a word, didn't even allow his brain to process the deeper meaning of what he was about to do. You'd asked him to help you--to stop the pain--so that was exactly what he was going to do.

He stripped out of his tactical suit as fast as possible, leaving himself in his boxer briefs, cock straining to be set free.

You reached out a hand to him and he went to you without a thought. He climbed onto the bed, hovering over you as his eyes scanned your face.

"Are you sure about this, doll?" he asked softly.

"I need you," you whimpered back.

Those three little words shattered the sliver of resolve he'd had left. His lips met yours in a hungry, devouring kiss--all teeth and tongue. His hands latched onto your soft curves, touching every inch of skin he could reach.

Everywhere he touched felt like ice against your burning skin. The sensation both incredible and painful all at once. Whatever bit of shyness or insecurity you had was wiped away by the sheer intensity of it all.

Bucky's lips attacked your neck, your jaw, your collarbone--nipping and sucking bruising marks into your skin. While it felt good, it wasn't nearly enough.

"Need more."

Bucky nudged his knee between your legs to spread them wider for him. "I know, baby. I know."

He quickly descended down to your aching core, blowing hot air against it in a teasing manner. You whined and scratched at his scalp, reminding him this was not the time for teasing.

He flicked his tongue between your pussy lips, seeking out your clit immediately. The second his tongue brushed against it, you cried out in pleasure--the first real feeling of relief you'd had since you'd been infected.

Bucky smiled to himself as he settled in to properly feast on your pussy, reveling in the essence of you against his tongue, invading all of his senses.

You gripped his hair in one hand and the sheet in the other, gyrating wildly as Bucky ate you with abandon. The pleasure was blinding, but you could still feel the undercurrent of raging fire flowing through your veins.

Bucky seemed to instinctively know exactly what you enjoyed, following your body like he had a roadmap to your pleasure points. He sent you over the edge with ease three times before finally coming up for air.

You reached for him, still hungry for more. "Bucky."

"I'm here, baby." He kissed you deeply, hands gripping your hips tightly. He wanted to take his time with you, but he knew he couldn't--you needed more from him and you needed it now.

He was quick to discard his underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. His cock nudged against your aching hole and you both moaned.

"Please, please, please, please..." you begged.

Bucky knew what you needed and he wasted no time sheathing himself inside of you. You cried out in pain as his cock stretched you more than you'd ever experienced before. The pain quickly subsided into pleasure and the pollen seemed to sense its purpose was near.

You felt a surge of need and you begged him to fuck you. "I need it, please, Bucky."

"I've got you, sweetheart." He began to thrust gently, trying his best not to hurt you. The sensations began to overwhelm him as much as they were overwhelming you, prompting him to move faster--losing himself in the feeling of you.

"Fuck, baby. You take my cock so well."

Your pussy fluttered in response, a soft whine escaping your lips.

"Best pussy I've ever had. So tight and wet for me. Made for me, weren't you?"

You nodded rapidly, not really registering what he was saying.

"How many times you think I can make you cum, baby? Six? Seven? Think the pollen can get you there?"

Your eyes widened at his words. Unsure if that was possible even with pollen.

Bucky grinned down at you. "I think I can get seven. Bet this pussy will give me whatever I want, won't she? Gonna make my girl scream my name all night long."

You felt the coil in your belly snap as another orgasm rushed through you. You clung to Bucky, a string of profanity spilling past your lips.

Bucky didn't let you come down from it before pushing your body towards another orgasm. He wanted to feel you gripping his cock like this as long as possible--especially since he might never feel it again.

"Baby, you feel so good," he murmured, placing soft kisses to your face. "Love the way you're squeezing me."

"Feels so good, Bucky," you moaned.

"Fuck, been wanting to hear you say that for so long. Needed to be inside this tight little pussy so badly. It's better than I ever imagined."

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wanted to ask what he meant--if he'd really imagined it, but you were too far gone to articulate a coherent thought.

As another orgasm crashed into you, you momentarily wondered if it was possible to die from overwhelming pleasure. You'd been in so much pain for so long and the sudden change to blinding pleasure was incredible. It was unlike anything you'd ever experienced.

"How many more can you give me, sweetheart?"

"Wanfeelcum," you mumbled incoherently.

"What was that, baby? Too fucked out to speak?"

"Wanna feel you cum, Bucky," you begged.

He was already so close to the edge he nearly lost control at the sound of your voice. But if he was being honest with himself, he didn't want this to end. He was scared if he came, if he gave you what you needed, then you'd be satiated and it would all be over.

"Need to feel you cum on my cock at least one more time, baby."

You whimpered, but nodded your consent.

Bucky picked up the pace, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. You weren't sure whether it was the pollen or his skill, but you went flying over the edge of blinding pleasure with an intensity you'd never experienced. You screamed his name as the waves crashed over you, pussy gushing juices as you squirted all over his cock and abdomen.

"Fuck yeah, baby. So fucking sexy..." he murmured. "Gonna fill you up. Give you what you want."

"Want your cum," you begged.

"That's right, pretty girl. Gonna give you my cum. Fill up this sweet pussy till you're stuffed."

"Yes, Bucky! Please!"

Bucky's hips stuttered as he came, filling your pussy with ropes of warm cum. Bucky kept thrusting slowly as he whispered your name into your skin over and over like a prayer.

Slowly, the haze created by the sex pollen began to fade, leaving you completely blissed out. Awareness of what you'd done began to creep in, but the feel of Bucky's weight on top of you kept you in the moment.

He finally slowed to a halt, but his lips were still pressing into your hot skin. After several more moments, he raised himself up just enough to kiss you sweetly, making sure you felt his adoration.

The moment he rolled off you, the full weight of what you'd done hit you like a ton of bricks. If your body would have cooperated, you would have turned over onto your side, curled up in a ball, and cried.

Bucky felt the sudden shift in your demeanor and he felt his heart clench in his chest. "(Y/N/N)..."

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Surprise lit up his face. "What?"

"I shouldn't have done that--I'm so sorry."

"I'm gonna stop you right there." He sat up a little so he could look down at your face. You wouldn't meet his gaze, but he continued anyway. "Don't you dare think for a single second that I did something I didn't want to do. You were in pain and I couldn't let that stand. I would do anything for you, (Y/N). Anything. I don't regret it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Your eyes finally raised to meet his and you saw nothing but honesty in his gaze. You knew he cared about you, but you were still worried you'd crossed a line neither of you could come back from.

Bucky stared at your face, taking in just how incredibly beautiful you were. He was trying to commit it to memory--never wanting to forget any bit of it.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Bucky shook his head. "You don't have to thank me, doll. Like I said, I wanted to." He paused for a moment, a silent war raging inside of him. He seemed to make a decision and once he did, the words just flowed from his mouth. "I mean it, (Y/N). I've wanted to for years--wanted you for years. I never wanted it to happen like this, but fuck baby...here we are. I would do anything you asked of me, okay? I'll rip my own heart out and light it on fire if you ask me to. So if you ask me to pretend this never happened, I will, but I need you to know I don't want to. I want to make love to you over and over again, hear you scream my name, watch your beautiful face as you fall apart for me...I want you. I will always want you."

You were completely breathless by the time he stopped talking. The words coming out of his mouth weren't what you'd ever expected to hear. "You want me?"

"I've always wanted you. Every part of you. Inside and out."

"What about all the other women?"

"What?"

"The ones you bring home all the time."

He touched your face gently, turning your head to look at him directly. "They're fine for a night, but they're not you. They were a poor substitute for the woman I really wanted, but couldn't have."

"Bucky..."

He looked a little crestfallen, mistaking your tone for rejection. "It's okay if you don't feel the same--"

Your hand gently pressed against his lips, shutting him up instantly. "If I could move properly, I would have kissed you to shut you up."

His eyes lit up and a small smile played on his lips.

"Of course I feel the same. Of course I want you. I only pushed you away tonight because I didn't want to lose you. I was afraid you would regret it."

He leaned down so he was inches away from your lips. "Oh sweetheart, I could never regret anything to do with you."

Your lips curled up in a sweet smile. "Really?"

"Mhmm."

"Buck?"

"Hmm?"

"Any chance we can make love? I wanna be in the moment...really in it."

"Right now?" he asked in surprise.

You nodded.

His lips met yours in a loving kiss. "I'm more than happy to oblige."

You grinned as he rolled back on top of you, lips pressing against yours hungrily.

"I'll make love to you as many times as you want. Whatever you want, I'll give you. Just ask."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

You smirked slowly. "Then I might have some ideas..."

"Oh really?"

"Oh yes." You pulled his face down to yours to whisper some of your inner desires into his ear.

"My god," he murmured. "You're gonna be the death of me."

You laughed lightly and he joined in before pulling you in for a passionate kiss, dead-set on giving you everything you wanted and more.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader smut #plus size reader smut #plus size reader #marvel smut #bucky barnes smut #sex pollen

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yeehaw-melbourne · 5 months ago

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Folks, I just realized WE (the farmer) dont even wear PPE! Nor does anyone else!!!! (Besides the miner hat & goggles on your head)

Fuck farming, the real reason I moved to Mistria was so I could improve the town's safety.

why does March not wear PPE? That man is ASKING to get seriously burned. I don't care if he's been blacksmithing for a decade, put some PPE on. He's not even wearing steel toed boots ffs, he's wearing fucking converses 😭

I think Adeline should work on putting together an OSHA department.

#I work in a production plant #always wear PPE #PPE saves lives #literally the first week they do safety training #and they show you a bunch of footage from the NTSB about disasters #like great #love that im working in a death trap now

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wandaverse · 9 months ago

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playing with fire.

— buff firefighter!wanda x college student!reader

— summary: the 5 times you meet and the 1 time wanda lights a different kind of fire

— tags: pure fluff, major horniness, implied smut

— word count: 1,252 words

1. the first time you meet is late at night when there’s a fire in your dorm.

someone down the hall sets fire to their microwave trying to heat up a burrito. deeply asleep with fatigue from the week’s intense assessments, you don’t hear the screeching alarms.

without hesitation, a chilvarous wanda arrives at the scene and kicks down your door, carrying you out bridal style. wanda’s not complaining, not with the way you sleepily nuzzle into the safety of her neck.

through your sleepy haze you wonder who the buff woman carrying you out the building is, she smells like smoked cedar with faint hints of sea salt. you decide that you like this scent and the warmth that accompanies it.

2. you next meet at a sorority party gone wrong.

your friends get the stupid idea of trying fire breathing. the only thing you end up breathing though is clouds of smoke when your sorority house almost burns down. wanda arrives in the nick of time in her blaring red truck and douses the flames.

something else ignites within you though when you meet her properly for the first time, awake and certainly alert. you take in the sight of her breathless figure after rushing to fight the flames. so this is who saved you that night in your dorm… oh.

wanda is not particularly amused at you and your friends’ irresponsible antics. you shrink under the weight of her disapproving gaze, but also can’t help but cheekily grin. wanda can’t stay upset, she has to admit you look cute with ash all over your face.

3. your paths cross again when you notice a kitten stuck in a tree while studying on your campus’ lawn.

after many futile rescue attempts, you call emergency services and once again your knight in shining armour (or rather, reflective PPE) arrives. she gallantly climbs her ladder and saves the kitten. you don’t deny enjoying the view of her sunkissed skin when she takes off her jacket to swaddle the kitten.

afterwards, wanting to prolong the encounter, wanda asks if you want to ride with her in her fire truck to drop the kitten off at the nearest vet. you excitedly accept her offer and enjoy the trip around the city. wanda secretly steals fond glances at you, looking adorable with the kitten in your lap.

4. the next time you meet is not in the face of life threatening danger, but rather danger to your self-composure.

on a regular trip to the supermarket, you pass the row of calendars and your eyes land on a familiar face on the annual westview firefighters calendar sold for charity. you can’t ignore the curiosity that compels you to take a sneaky peak at its contents.

your cheeks instantly burn red when you turn to february’s page and find your favourite firefighter scantily clad and leaving little to the imagination. standing in a shallow pool of water with flames raging around her, wanda poses with an axe slung across her shoulders, wearing only a black training bra and her firefighter pants. her buff arms and unsurprisingly toned abs are on show as she stares directly at you the camera. you fight the urge to bite your lip at her flexed muscles, her sunkissed skin, the shine of her sweat mixing with ash. you’ve never felt so taken before, you forget your bearings for a second.

that is, until you hear a familiar voice call out your name.

your ears register her presence before your eyes and you quickly shut the calendar, throwing it back on the shelf as if its touch has burned you. you ready to make an excuse until you finally look up and find the firefighter just as scantily clad as, if not more than, her outfit in the calendar’s photoshoot.

wanda approaches you, seemingly in her post-workout fit and you have to stop yourself from drooling at the sight of her sweaty and taut arms and abs, only this time in real life. god, the photo doesn’t even do her justice. wanda calls out your name again with a husky laugh and your blush profusely, realising you’ve been caught ogling her not once but twice.

5. you meet once again when you move out to an apartment near campus and decide to cook dinner for yourself.

you quickly realise that you actually have no idea how to cook when your entire kitchen ends up in flames. wanda arrives just in time and puts out the grease fire. for a second, you can’t help but question fate. it’s as if there’s only one firefighter in all of westview with the way wanda always finds her way back to you. you’re not complaining though.

she turns to you and scolds you for your carelessness, but not before checking that you’re okay and not hurt by the wild fire. your heart secretly skips a beat at the continued display of care. ever the prince charming, isn’t she?

before she leaves for the next emergency, though, she asks you out for dinner instead. unsurprisingly, you say yes.

+1. the evening of your first date arrives.

you’re lounging on the couch in your apartment watching a sitcom when you hear a knock on your window. wanda has climbed up the fire escape and asks to be let in like a lost kitten. you lift open the window with a laugh and she tells you that she’s set up a picnic under the stars on the rooftop. she escorts you back out the window and up the fire escape. you giggle adoringly at her antics.

the evening goes well as you two happily find that the spark between you wasn’t imagined and isn’t going to fizzle out anytime soon. conversation flows naturally and you enjoy the food wanda has cooked for you. she jokes that at least one of you can cook, which earns her a playful slap. but when you reach over to do so, you accidentally knock over a candle and almost burn the entire picnic blanket. the fire is quickly avoided though thanks to wanda’s quick reflexes. she gives you a humuored tsk, but you secretly revel in her display of protection.

the evening comes to an end as the city around you calms down and the stars settle in for the night. wanda escorts you down the fire escape once again and the butterflies in your stomach continue to take flight. when you reach your window, you turn to wanda and thank her for the evening, for thinking of such a lovely idea and packing such a delightful picnic. when you place a goodbye kiss on her lips though and she takes you in her arms, you quickly realise that that’s not the only thing she’s packed.

wanda pulls back and blushes sheepishly at your realisation, but it’s enough to set you off. all night you’ve been teased with the sight of her shirt lifting and showing the slightest glimpse of her abs, the tight fit of her t-shirt’s sleeve around her arms, the simple yet alluringly attractive way she runs her fingers through her hair. she’s been teasing you all night and you decide that you’ve had enough. you quickly engulf her in kisses and pull her boldly through your window.

your night rages on and as the flaming sun begins to rise, wanda pleasantly learns that there’s one particular fire that she just can’t put out.

the end.

#wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #i know the format is weird !! it was supposed to be headcanons !! or a drabble !!#tldr idrk what this is i just thought it was a cute idea and didn’t wanna write a whole oneshot bc that would be 10k+ words… T-T #also my first time properly posting on tumblr apologies if it’s ugly T-T #got the idea from that lizzie wind river interview but also alex and bill in mofam lol T-T #wanda is dressed like those pics in the last part ie. +1 #wanna chomp on lizzie’s arm during wind river era T-T

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incorrectbatfam · 1 year ago

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Do the batfamily members ever get too into their undercover work? (Undercover in an office and theyre worried about spreadsheets, working in a warehouse and coming home complaining about missing parts)

Bruce: Status updates on your undercover missions. Dick, you first. What have you got down at the docks?

Dick: I haven't confirmed the Killer Croc sightings yet, but more importantly, our catch hasn't been measuring up to last year's. Tuna we're doing okay on, but the salmon population seems to be on the low end. I've contacted the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries but it'll be another 3-5 business days before they can come down and check it out.

Bruce: At least you're doing something to help. Jason?

Jason: Class was okay. I think the kids are warming up to me as their substitute while Mrs. Maloney is out on maternity leave. The average on the last vocabulary quiz was 83.53% so either I'm doing my job right or they need to be challenged. I'm worried about Tristan Lancy, though. He's normally a good student but his grades have been dropping recently and his parents don't seem like safe people to tell. I'll talk to him tomorrow and try to pair him up with a peer tutor if he needs it.

Bruce: Also see if he has any alternate contacts besides his parents. Tim, any updates at the chemical plant?

Tim: If by updates you mean OSHA violations, I could go on all week. We got a batch of new recruits today and they were just thrown into the work—no PPE, no safety training, nothing. This is what happens when you place production over employee well-being. I'm gonna file a complaint after this meeting. Also, I think the union will have something to say about the manager cutting people's lunch breaks short.

Bruce: I see. Damian? Please tell me you found something volunteering at the zoo.

Damian: Depends on how you define "found." While I have not obtained evidence of a mutant larvae black market, I did help some of the animals at the sanctuary make progress with their recovery. Bobo the monkey is healing from his broken arms and we're gradually getting him re-acclimated to climbing higher surfaces. Suzie the black bear was born a little prematurely but seems to be catching up to her peers in terms of growth. Lastly, we got a grant for additional wildcat research and enrichment. As an aside, we are having an educational seminar on European mountain goats this Friday at 3:30 and I expect all of you to be there.

Bruce: I'll put that on our calendars. Steph?

Steph: It's not really undercover work for me, just work. Anyway, yes the newest Batburger location is being used for money laundering. But I really need to vent about the customers for a sec. We don't open until 10 and at 9:30 this morning some moron was banging on our door demanding Jokerized cheese fries. Then right in the middle of the lunch rush, Janie got sick so I had to fill in as the cashier and it was hell. After that, I had to step in between a fight at the drive-thru because the customer claimed we only gave him nine pieces of his ten-piece Robin nuggets and tried to beat up the kid who took his order. And to top it all off, an entire high school hockey team came in five minutes before closing.

Bruce: Cass?

Cass, blowing balloons: Can't talk. Arranging bat mitzvah.

Bruce: Duke, you're my last hope.

Duke: Margie's bringing a peanut butter chocolate cake to the bake sale. I swiped her recipe and we can easily beat her. Her ganache is way too watery and just runs off the top of the cake, which isn't even leveled. She's also trying to do something with a raspberry filling that isn't working at all. It's like she couldn't decide on what to bring. The bake sale committee also asked if we can bring some apple pies because the original baker has to go out of town for a family emergency. I think we'll win if we bring them with some ice cream and a touch of caramel, even though this isn't a contest.

Bruce: Thank you. At least our most critical case has been taken care of.

Barbara: ...I'll save my book launch for later.

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creepyjirachi · 3 months ago

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welp, it wound up being a genuinely deranged and unsafe working environment and i resigned after one shift lol. luckily i do not need money immediately enough to risk being mauled at work

got another job interview tomorrow, lads

#it was a doggy daycare place with zero safety training or PPE and a coworker literally got bit by an escaped dog .__.#like. on my first day. and dogs were escaping all day with their shit airlock system #a third of the attending dogs had multiple recorded incidents of aggression to dogs and/or staff members but were still allowed to return #which. obviously is not safe. especially when nobody is trained to work with dogs safely and there is zero PPE #coworker mentioned being bitten multiple times before and regularly working from home off the clock #manager didn't even come in after the bite and no incident report was filed at all. actually deranged #plus just disorganization unprofessionalism and general workplace shittiness #needless to say i was out of there at the speed of sound

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kastlequill · 11 days ago

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iv/v. ‘til my pulse loses time: pulsus alternans

pairing: kyle gaz garrick x f!reader word count: 2.3k synopsis: the fourth and final time you save gaz tags: whumptober, angst, gunshot wounds, feelings realization, medic!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: near death experiences, war ao3: read here ← prev | next →

IV.

As a medic, you could only do so much.

Stitching together sliced skin, surgically removing bullets from traumatized flesh, administering first aid in the field—all within your skill range. Hell, even resuscitating a still-warm, newly-dead body was possible on special occasions. But you were neither God nor Death, so you couldn’t breathe life into the expired corpse of a friend, nor was it your place to hold a scalpel to the jugular of a foe.

These mortal limitations weren’t to blame for the horrors that would unfold during the coming hours, however. The true crime committed there was your complacency.

You had grown accustomed to setting broken noses and relaxing muscle spasms, to staring into dilated pupils and realigning dislocated joints. With every passing day of relative calm, your worries gradually waned; and with every successful surgery, your easy confidence grew. Not one soldier had coded on your operating table, and not one soldier had succumbed to their injuries whilst under your care.

A random Thursday brought about the end of your pristine record.

Getting paged for an emergency surgery in the dead of night wasn’t anything new; sleep was a luxury few could afford out here, medics least of all. The days when you struggled waking to the sound of your pager were now a tiny speck in the rearview mirror of your professional career.

So the pager itself wasn’t the reason you were currently attempting to shove your trembling feet into a pair of boots, not bothering to untie the laces, ignoring the way your heel uncomfortably rubbed against the firm backend material. Rather, you were sprinting to the medbay because of the three chilling words you’d read on its display:

Bravo. Critical. STAT.

Once you arrived, shit really started to hit the fan.

The place looked as though a bomb had gone off. Two nurses were situating a limp masculine figure onto a gurney, skillfully sticking electrodes along his chest and hooking the wires up to a nearby monitor-on-wheels to display his vital signs. Meanwhile, three technicians tried to restrain a hulking mass of skull-faced muscle. Not far behind was the familiar mohawk of the Scotsman, with whom Captain Price was solemnly exchanging words. Which left one key member of the Bravo Team unaccounted for:

Gaz. Kyle.

You swallowed the panic that threatened to make itself known. Losing your cool would accomplish nothing except disrupt your focus and double the stakes.

“Report,” you demanded, rushing to the PPE station to don a pair of surgical gloves and tighten a mask around your face.

Next to you, the lead nurse grabbed hold of Gaz’s forearm and inserted a needle into his most prominent vein. “27-year-old male admitted six minutes ago with BP of 63/47, unconscious. Almost finished setting up the IV line.”

“He got lit up. Five shots made contact by our count,” Ghost interjected, voice gruff and posture unapologetically looming. “Maybe more.”

Too preoccupied with analyzing your patient’s current state and authorizing the nurse to administer a milligram of epinephrine, the words registered as little more than white noise, reduced to ‘five shots’. You cradled the nape of Gaz’s neck, carefully leaning him forward to hike up the bottom edge of his blood-soaked, tattered shirt. Trained eyes searched for exit wounds marring the expanse of his back and isolated a lone hole in his right shoulder before lowering him.

“What happened?”

The captain rubbed a hand down his face, and you couldn’t help noticing how tired the man seemed. “Exfil went sideways. Gaz got the worst of it, I’m afraid. Nasty hit to the shoulder, see, but ’least that one went straight through. The others, not so much. Four points of entry across his abdomen—”

You unclipped a penlight from your coat pocket and shined it into the fallen soldier’s eyes, gently lifting his lids with your thumb. The size of his pupils remained unchanged, unresponsive to the stimulus.

“—no exits.”

That earned a grimace from you; always did, always would. One of your first interactions with Gaz involved you excising a bullet from his leg, but abdominal gunshot wounds were plenty worse. The fact several small pellets of lethal lead were still inside him, possibly embedded in organs vital for sustaining life, spelled disaster.

Fingertips pressed against the cold skin of his inner wrists, you were dismayed to feel his pulse hasten yet gradually lose strength. Your pinched gaze lifted in supplication to the heart monitor, desperation verging on belief, praying a merciful god might will the EKG line to stabilize.

Instead, it went flat.

A flurry of frantic alerts pouring from the monitor drowned out any and all other sounds. The grand scale of the universe seemed obsolete as each of your five senses honed in on this singular instance.

“Code Blue!” you yelled, recovering fast. Someone reached to cut open Gaz’s shirt while you situated your right palm on the center of his chest and covered it with your left, fingers clasping the hand beneath. “Starting chest compressions at approximately zero one-hundred hours. Charge the defibrillator to 200 joules for the initial shock.”

Above him, elbows locked and pressure severe, you initiated CPR. Trying your damnedest to mute the surrounding whirlwind of chaos, to not be shaken by the sight of Gaz so motionless, so unlike the suave SAS sergeant who had burrowed into the cavity of your being.

Two paddles emerged from your peripheral and settled firmly under his left pec and to the right of his sternum. “200 joules. Clear!”

You stepped back, arms raised, watching his torso jerk off the gurney in tandem with a spike in the EKG. His body then dropped onto the padding below, and the line descended to null once again.

The current coursing through him had barely subsided when you resumed delivering compressions. His ribs began to crack during the second set, but you kept the same pace and depth for the full two-minutes.

What did a few broken ribs matter if it meant he’d return to his brothers-in-arms?

To you?

“300 joules. Clear!”

Like a dormant spore reawakened by a drop in defenses, fear unfurled within your gut, its noxious fumes suffocating you from the inside-out. The defibrillator capped at 360 joules, and if that wasn’t enough to restart the electrical activity of his heart, then—

A nearly inaudible blip from the monitor broke through your train of thought before it had the chance to spiral any further. The blip morphed into a series of beeps, which slowly but surely climbed to a less-concerning rate.

Your shoulders slackened, caving inward as your lungs expelled a heavy sigh of relief.

Gaz was alive. In critical condition and soon to be rushed into emergency surgery, yes, but alive. Which was more than could be said five minutes ago.

Thinking the worst had passed, Ghost crowded around the bed, jostling several of your colleagues in the process of attempting to catch a better look at his incapacitated teammate. He paid no heed to the toes on which he stepped, or the shoulders with which his own collided.

When it came to men like the 141, relinquishing even an inch of authority was as good as allowing them to take over the whole damn lot. True, they might be used to calling the shots out in a warzone, but, here, you had the final say.

“I won’t have your lieutenant scaring my staff shitless, Captain,” was your one and only warning. “Handle him, or I will.”

The other sergeant, Soap, had the decency to appear chastised, ducking his head a tad. In different circumstances, you‘d even appreciate the fierce loyalty on display for the man you both regarded highly.

Just not when it came at the expense of properly doing your job.

“We’ll take it from here.”

Based on the slight laxing of their stances, there would be no further protests. Regardless, no amount of posturing or glaring would’ve deterred you; at this point, anything unrelated to Gaz had no hope of receiving even a morsel of your attention.

Two technicians seized the gurney and rolled it in the direction of the operating room, the lead nurse with her portable monitor trailing close behind. You followed your team to the sinks, where you then scrubbed and scrubbed until you were finally ready to cross the threshold into the sterile field.

There, everything awaited you; a metal tray, a fresh set of surgical tools, and two units of B-negative blood hanging from a transfusion stand. At the middle of the OR was Gaz, resting on the table, covered in green drapes, illuminated by bright overhead lights. And as you stared down at him, at the dewy breaths fogging up his oxygen mask, a comforting sign of life, you found yourself confronted by a terrifying realization:

All that stood between you and someday loving this man was time.

The surgery, to its credit, went relatively smoothly. Meaning, the patient didn’t go into hemorrhagic shock on your table, and you managed to dig out the four bullets still lodged in his viscera. One lodged between his lower left ribs, though luckily not deep enough to damage the vital organs beneath; another two along his intestinal tract; and the last mere centimeters from his mildly-lacerated liver.

It hadn’t been pretty, but Sergeant Garrick would survive with only scars to remind him of the moment he died and crawled back to the land of the living.

“Alright,” the strain in your voice bringing hours of inner turmoil to the surface, “good work, everyone. Let’s sew him shut and reset shop for tomorrow morning.”

You vomited the moment you stepped outside the infirmary.

The wave of nausea that accompanied the night’s must had you doubling over and gripping both knees to support yourself against the force of the retching. With no food in your stomach to purge, there was just the sting of acid rushing up your esophagus and then clear liquid dribbling down your chin. It shouldn’t have gone on for as long as it did, but each time you recalled how the sergeant’s usually rich and lively complexion had looked so ashen in the fluorescence of the OR, that sick feeling returned with a vengeance.

When the chain-puking finally abated, you straightened your spine and wiped the grime off your mouth with the back of your hand. Not yet an hour prior, that same hand had held a scalpel to the hole-ridden flesh of the man whose smile could easily give way to your own, even on worser days. Days like today.

Only this time, he couldn’t take the pain away. This time, it was your turn to ease his ache.

You swiveled around until your body faced the medtent, gravel crackling and crunching beneath your boots at the sudden movement. As if they had a mind of their own, your feet carried you right back to him, one in front of the other in a quick, almost frenzied succession.

Inside, the lights had dimmed to a faint glow. A heart monitor hooked up to electrodes on his chest translated rhythmic contractions into a steady stream of beeps, and the sound echoed through your mind like a macabre metronome. He laid unmoving on a cot, exactly how you’d left him; Sergeant Garrick wasn’t the type to disobey an order, whether consciously or unconsciously received, not even in his sleep.

Then maybe I should’ve ordered him not to get shot up full of lead, you mused with a wry, half-hearted chuckle. Or fall out of helicopters.

No, it’d be wrong to ask of him the impossible. Selfish to demand he treat his body as more than an enlisted weapon, unfair to make him swear never to show up half-dead at your door again. In the same vein as asking you to take lunch breaks longer than five minutes, to not work yourself to the bone despite the omnipresent queue of wounded men and women in need of medical attention. Not unreasonable requests, just unrealistic for occupations built on too much blood and too little time.

So while you couldn’t very well expect the man to compromise the job to which he’d dedicated the whole of his existence, you could control your proximity to said man. A comet was best admired from afar, where its flaming tail looked beautiful rather than damning, and where its inevitable dissolution occurred beyond your field of view.

You needed to put an end to this thing while it was still in your power to do so. You needed to nip whatever feelings you carried for Kyle Garrick in the bud, lest they bloomed beyond management.

But that could wait. For now, he was simply an indisposed soldier requiring your medical oversight—no more, no less. He was Sergeant Garrick of the 141, not the man capable of turning faulty moments into fond memories and easy shifts into emotional shit-shows. Just a patient entering the next stage of his recovery.

And there wasn’t any harm in holding a recovering patient’s hand, you reasoned.

With that, you dragged a foldable plastic chair to rest beside him, settled down into the uncomfortable stiffness of its seat, and gently reached for his bandaged fist. Carefully extending his fingers, gently grazing your palm against his. Familiarizing yourself with the callouses there, the skin that had torn open and grown back thicker, stronger time after time until, one day, it could bear the very worst of the world without demanding ichor be spilled. Memorizing the feeling of warmth and weight, tracing the loops and whorls etched into his fingertips, never to again be found in another.

No harm at all.

tbc.

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader #cod gaz #cod x reader #cod #call of duty #whumptober #my fic #fic: ‘til my pulse loses time

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sixeyescurseuser · 11 months ago

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Thinking about figure skater Gojo who tirelessly trains to qualify and compete at the next Olympic Games.

Gojo is such a legend in the skating world, very well known for his jaw-dropping, difficult performances, handsome looks, and charming personality! He was built for the spotlight.

Naturally, he has many global fans, fan accounts, and ordinary people who follow his career.

People who meet Gojo in-person after having only seen him on tv are shocked at how tall he is, yet manages to skate so well. All those triple and quad axels? And the amount of grace and power he skates with is insane considering his build.

Once, an interviewer asks Gojo what other skaters he admires? Gojo talks about a few current big names, then sneaks in a mention of, “Oh, Suguru is also in my list , hehe.”

The interviewer chuckles alongside him, yet can’t help but ask, “Suguru…who?”

Later, Geto Suguru nearly spits out his water while watching the interview posted on Youtube. He doesn’t hesitate to text his boyfriend.

Geto: “Why do you keep bringing me up? I literally just skated in high school 😭”

Gojo sends back an old video of Geto’s skating routine from a regional competition: ❤️❤️

Geto: “WHY DO YOU STILL HAVE THIS?”

Gojo: “heyyy >:(“

Gojo: “It makes me happy 🥰 I loved watching you”

***

Growing up, Gojo and Geto skated at the same club. But while Gojo continued skating as his professional career after, Geto dropped skating in order to focus on his academics in college.

Gojo often reminisces on the long practices they had where they would watch each other run through their routines and give each other feedback, when they would mess around and throw the craziest combinations just for shits and giggles.

He didn’t realize their time together on the rink would be so short in the long run, but they began dating when they were only sixteen, and have been going strong together since.

Gojo is still lucky to have Suguru to come home to after his long days at the rink.

After college, Geto went on to become a marine biologist, where he does a lot of work in ocean wildlife conservation. He’s either on a boat collecting data for research or in the lab analyzing his sample results.

Gojo is not only busy training in Japan, but he also frequently travels to train in different countries. Gojo receives lots of updates from Suguru in the form of selfies and blurry photos with ocean wildlife or results from the lab.

Suguru in the lab with his ppe (personal protection equipment). Suguru wearing his wet suit while investigating algae farms. Suguru smiling while holding a crab.

Gojo makes the last one his lock screen. Suguru just looks so cute with his hair pulled back, and when Gojo holds his finger down on the live photo, he can hear Suguru’s voice talking in baby to the crab.

(Geto’s wallpaper is a selfie of them when they were teens.)

Geto gets super excited telling Gojo about his new findings, taking the time to explain different facts and technical terms. Gojo eagerly nods along on the phone and asks questions, commenting, “No way! The algae increased nearly double the amount with your XXX solution? That’s amazing!”

***

Gojo loves what he does, but it’s always a relief to come back home and find his comfort place in Suguru’s arms.

Nothing beats taking a shower and raiding Suguru’s closet after, cooking dinner with his boyfriend, and then cuddles on the couch.

The first thing they see when they turn on the tv is a sports reporter announcing Gojo Satoru's third national championship title, and what it means for the road to the Olympics.

“Oh wow, this guy is on a roll. He should train for the Olympics or something,” Geto says.

Gojo simply buries face in Suguru’s neck and snickers: “Or something.”

***

Once, while getting ready to sleep one night, Gojo whispers in Geto’s: “Remember that one time you ripped your pants during the Junior Grand Prix?”

Geto doesn’t react at first.

Then, without warning, he tries to smother his boyfriend with his pillow.

***

One of the best memories is when Geto surprised Gojo by showing up in-person to one of the abroad competitions.

In the middle of his post-win interview, still in his competition suit, makeup dewey and hair fluffy, Gojo suddenly spots a familiar face behind one of the paparazzi.

Gojo is literally mid-answer when he locks in and SPRINTS to get his boyfriend in his arms.

“Suguru!!” Gojo shouts. He’s already leaping and oh, Suguru’s arms readily catch him.

Geto laughs with his whole chest, squeezing tightly around Gojo’s middle.

“Hello, darling.”

Gojo has to finish the interview but he’s so bubbly now because teehee Suguru is right there and watching proudly.

Gojo needs him in his bed immediately.

After the interview, Geto explains he got his lab assistants to cover their project for the next week so he could fly out and visit Gojo in Australia!

Gojo happily drags Geto back to his hotel room, giggling and babbling about the plans they could have for the next week. The couple excitedly discuss outings to art and performance events, to the beach, even the zoo - which Geto is ecstatic for.

Upon entering the hotel room, Geto quickly drops his luggage off in the corner. Gojo is still yapping when Geto suddenly walks him backwards to the bed.

The back of Gojo’s knees hit the edge and he falls back with an “oof!”

Geto smoothly crawls on top to lay his whole body weight on his boyfriend’s.

Gojo chuckles. He combs through Suguru’s hair and continues his talking, knowing Suguru is tired from traveling and this will help them both relax.

Gojo gradually runs out of things to say, and the soft breaths against his neck tell him yep, he unfortunately needs to poke his boyfriend awake so they can both shower and freshen up before bed.

Gojo pats Geto’s lower back. “Suguru, wakey wakey.”

No response.

Pat pat on the lower back again, then smoothing his hands up to pat the upper-back.

“Babyyy, wake up. We need to shower. And eat.”

Geto offers a protesting grunt, then nuzzles against Gojo’s neck.

This leaves Gojo no choice.

He sneaks a hand down to pinch Geto’s ass.

“Ouch- hey what the fuck?”

Gojo yelps when he feels Suguru pinch his nipple in retaliation, then rolls off Gojo’s body to head toward the bathroom.

Five minutes later, the couple shower together while casually recapping the results of the skating event.

“Any feedback for me today?” Gojo asks. Geto hums, more focused on massaging the shampoo into Gojo’s hair. He applies the perfect amount of pressure that makes Gojo moan in appreciation.

“The only feedback I have is that you look amazing out there, Satoru. All the hard work you put into training clearly pays off. I am so so proud of you,” Geto says, dropping a kiss to Gojo’s nape.

Gojo preens, and completely surrenders himself to his boyfriend's tender touches.

#jjk #satosugu #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu fluff #satosugu fanfic #goge #figure skater gojo #marine biologist geto #satosugu au #cerdrabbles #fluff

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pokemoncaretips · 1 year ago

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PSA from the Alolan rangers

This year, due to unusual cosmic activity, worm holes are going to be frequent, and this corresponds to a predicted rise in ultra beast sightings. The rangers have released information on how to keep yourself safe during the next 8 months until the wormholes die down:

Travel in groups and keep alert. We recommend keeping your pokemon out of their balls if feasible.

Familiarize yourself with the cries of ultrabeasts. [A link to a government website is attached with a soundbank of recorded ultrabeast noises]

If you are deaf or HOH, all service pokemon trained in Alola recently are trained to recognize these sounds, but if you have an older service pokemon or are from out of the region, the Deaf Society of Alola will be happy to loan you a trained pokemon for the duration.

Download the ranger alert app for your rotom dex or rotom phone in case of an encounter or sighting. Remember, it is a $5000 fine for making a false report.

Avoid unnecessary travel during this event. If you are someone who works with wormholes or has travelled through or been very close to one, we recommend leaving the region for the duration if you can or increasing security if this is not an option, due to the likelihood of ultrabeasts approaching you.

Ultrabeasts are frequently startled and confused by their sudden arrival here, and are much more likely to be aggressive or reactive. Do not engage ANY ultrabeast. Avoid eye contact and remain still.

Avoid picking up litter with your bare hands, particularly paper litter that seems folded.

Keep an eye on the skies.

If you find dead wild pokemon that have been drained of fluids, vacate the area immediately.

If you feel dizzy, confused or sleepy, leave the area. Pheremosa may be present. Wear a good quality n-95 mask to provide decent protection.

Avoid power plants if you aren't an employee there. If you are an employee, pay close attention to safety briefings and wear all provided PPE. If your employer is not providing PPE, anonymous reports can be made to the authorities here [A link is provided]

Avoid large forested areas and remain alert for a long, low rumbling noise. Stay away from unexplained wild fires.

Obey all evacuation alerts sent out, and keep a survival kit packed with clean clothes, important documents other necessities. A comprehensive list of essential items can be found at the Alolan governments website.

Avoid coming unto contact with naganadel toxin. This toxin is purple and slightly bioluminescent, with a sharp, bitter smell. It's powerfully adhesive and can quickly cause breathing difficulties. If accidental contact occurs, vinegar has been shown to begin breaking it down. Apply white vinegar to the area and contact emergency services.

Make note of stone walls in your area, and report if new ones appear with no signs of construction workers.

Stay safe and don't be a hero.

#pokemon irl #pokemon #ultrabeasts

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teeth-wanted · 9 days ago

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Proposal for one (1) Telsa Problem:

Okay, call me an idiot who is way too generous, but I was raised on this principle: don't give people too much credit. I guarantee, people are way dumber than you think. To be fair, it's not *sheer* stupidity. Humans as a species are hard-wired to consciously and unconsciously make life relatively more comfortable when given the opportunity. Being comfortable in late-stage capitalism means thriving from others' stolen labor. People who can afford Teslas aren't free from this sin. Neither are we.

Point 1: gurl we gotta give some grace to the fuckheads who are now realizing their investments tie them to a Nazi. Yes, it took them wayyyyy too long to get this this realization, but I say be positive. Be glad they're here now.

Anyways, I was watching some videos that talked about how Teslas and Tesla-owners are being attacked due to the growing public outrage towards Musk and his actions. In a lot of these, we hear Tesla owners lamenting the losses they've accumulated since the election and how they can't get rid of the cars no matter how hard they try.

Point(s) 2 & 3: A lot of people want to vent their rage on Teslas. A lot of Tesla-owners want to get rid of Teslas.

My proposal is this: so like, does anyone wanna help me start a charity or campaign in which we'd legally buy unwanted Teslas that had been verifiably purchased prior to the 2025 inauguration (like, proof of purchase or a title or something like that) and allow our righteously angry fellow Americans (or like, whoever buys a $5 ticket or makes a donation) the chance to beat the shit out of those cars like it's the world's greatest Rage Room.

Financial and Administrative Support Needed for the Following Items (nonexhaustive):

Acquiring suitable protective gear (PPE)

Rage Room insurance (the usual stuff a business would have)

Locating and legally securing land for the proposed demolition sites

Training and maintaining staff (first aid, de-escalation, etc.)

Securing funds to pay off Tesla-owners remaining payments (not including any interest accrued if financed with a bank or credit union outside of Tesla or Musk's domain)

Advertisement/social media (like, not much. I can do this myself, actually, but like it is something to consider)

Do I like the idea of paying off Tesla debts? Fuck no. I'm a housekeeper. I've been lower class/below the poverty line most my life. I'm beyond pissed off by the state of our government.

But I can't get ahold of my congressman. He's refusing to hold public town halls, like many others throughout the country. The Trump Administration is drooling at the any and all chances to demonize the American public's justified outrage, and I'm sick and tired of having my voice shot down. Words are not enough, and all of our actions are being weaponized against us.

And, at the end of the day, we can't keep hurting each other when we have more dangerous threats ahead. If buying some rich guy's Tesla and letting him and his fellow angry voters take a sledgehammer to it for an hour or five, if that's what it takes for people to find an inch of common ground, if that's what it takes for me to be able to legally smash the shit out of an overpriced lemon of a fascist symbol, fuck it. I want it.

And I think, deep down, ya'll want that, too.

Intended Outcomes of Proposal:

Providing a legal and effective venue to vent frustrations regarding the current administration.

Allowing previous Tesla-owners some grace and space within the anti-Tesla community (ie most of the sane world rn)

Strengthening ties between the impacted economic classes and unifying their anger towards the actual tyrants that are screwing us all over

Emphasizing the height of the American public's outrage by using newly acquired rage room footage to advertise and reach concerned Tesla-owners and partners who have unwanted Tesla merchandise and stocks.

TLDR: people are stupid and suck and lets all be nicer to each other and legally smash unwanted Tesla cars.

I will be taking notes, thank you for your consideration :)

#elon musk #elongated muskrat #trump administration #us politics #american politics #tesla #tesla takedown #doge #department of government efficiency #fuck maga #fuck trump #fuck elon musk #*hand outstretched and twinkling eyes* lets legally obtain property and legally destory it together

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covid-safer-hotties · 4 months ago

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Also preserved in our archive

By Julia Doubleday

For many disabled and immunocompromised people, hospital settings are a significant threat to health and safety. Since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, nosocomial- or healthcare acquired- SARS-COV-2 infections have been an additional risk for sick and vulnerable people seeking care. As of today, there have still been no updates to national-level guidance to reflect that SARS-COV-2 was determined to be airborne in 2021.

In 2020, such a risk was to be expected; hospitals were overwhelmed with patients, PPE was in short supply, proper isolation wasn’t always possible, and public health guidance about transmission was confusing and, it turns out, incorrect. Early on, the WHO confidently and wrongly asserted that COVID was not airborne; this decision led national health bodies to advise against full airborne precautions in healthcare.

But in the nearly five years since, one might assume that any patient visiting their local hospital could reasonably expect safety from infection with COVID-19. After all, we’ve had five years to study transmission, update guidelines, redesign infrastructure, upgrade ventilation, purchase PPE and train staff, right?

As a matter of fact, the CDC has yet to even issue updated infection control recommendations, much less have we seen implementation. The CDC did ask their infection control advisory body, HICPAC, to update the Guideline to Prevent Transmission of Pathogens in Healthcare Settings, last reviewed and updated in 2007. But when HICPAC submitted a first draft of the updated guidelines in November 2023, it was over loud public objections registering that draft’s inadequacy to control airborne infections.

Now, HICPAC is continuing to insist that surgical-style masks are equivalent to N-95 respirators as it pushes forward with its draft guidelines. This decision is emblematic of its commitment to preserving ineffective droplet-based infection control in spite of new information and evidence. While bizarre from a purely scientific standpoint, it makes more sense from a cultural, political and economic point of view.

I’ve written at length about the political and economic factors that led the WHO to immediately claim that COVID wasn’t airborne without the scientific evidence to do so in Spring 2020. Perhaps just as irresponsible as their early decision to spread this misinformation has been their subsequent reluctance to correct their mistake as loudly as they first made it, and ongoing refusal to unequivocally recommend airborne precautions in the years since.

This year, the WHO released a document that rescinded the previous distinction between “droplet” and “airborne” transmission of viruses. This represents progress, as new data showed that no viruses actually transmit solely via “droplets”- i.e., only via sneezes and coughs.

The evolution of the science was tracked beautifully in this Wired article. It’s astonishing that we had such basic science so wrong, for so long. But it’s critical to note that for decades, there was a large financial incentive against looking too closely at the claim that flus, colds, and other common viral and bacterial infections were being spread only via large “droplets.”

“Droplet” precautions are relatively cheap and easy compared to the more complex and expensive requirements of controlling fully airborne infections. If a virus spreads through coughs and sneezes, how do you prevent transmission? Well, we all remember early pandemic guidance. Loose fitting surgical masks, social distancing and keeping diners (or patients) six feet apart, putting up physical barriers to protect from spit, and simply washing hands and covering coughs and sneezes are all examples of droplet-based infection control measures.

But airborne spread is far more difficult to control. Now we’re talking about viruses spreading well beyond six feet, well beyond the radius of a single cough or sneeze. We’re talking about the virus spreading, not just via coughs and sneezes, but via the simple act of exhaling. And not only that, but because airborne particles are so light, they don’t quickly fall to the ground the way droplets do; instead, they can hang in the air, much like smoke. So now, a waiting room or crowded examining area full of patients with flus, colds and COVID suddenly represents a much more complicated and expensive infection control problem for a hospital.

Proper airborne infection control procedures are expensive, but they are not mysterious. Some changes would be relatively simple; masking with proper respirator-style masks, rather than surgical, is an obvious, necessary upgrade. New ventilation and filtration standards are a simple fix technologically, but require investment. Tools like Far UVC are exciting and could mean drastic leaps forward in both patient outcomes and occupational safety for HCW.

Most likely, in order to save money long term and make airborne infection control sustainable, hospitals themselves would be constructed with airborne infection control, patient isolation, airflow, ventilation, etc. as major priorities in the process of designing the infrastructure.

Airborne infection control would require, rather than tinkering at the edges of existing practices, a top-down rethinking of hospital protocols. How are patients being screened upon entry into the hospital? How can COVID, flu, RSV, etc. positive patients be protected from one another in a waiting room? Why are so many hospitals designed without windows in patient care areas?

Are you beginning to see how the economic incentives align against admitting the need for airborne infection control?

Let’s return to the WHO’s document, the one that rescinded the distinction between airborne and droplet spread. Instead, all viruses which spread through the air are now referred to as “infectious respiratory particles” or IRPs. The document encourages moving “beyond the dichotomy of previous terms known as ‘aerosols’ (generally smaller particles) and ‘droplets’ (generally larger particles).”

But problems arise when the WHO attempts to apply what we’ve learned practically- or rather, doesn’t attempt to apply it. Here, it balks at what would be a massive undertaking. As I reported previously, back in 2020, the WHO had been quick to claim:

“Would there be evidence of significant spread of SARS-CoV-2 as an airborne pathogen outside of the context of AGPs [aerosol-generating procedures], WHO would immediately revise its guidance and extend the recommendation of airborne precautions accordingly”

But in 2024, the WHO, now well aware that SARS-COV-2 is a fully airborne pathogen, adopts a new approach to infection control. It’s one totally unprecedented for any other pathogen in healthcare. They advise:

There is NO suggestion from this consultative process that to mitigate the risk of short-range airborne transmission full ‘airborne precautions’… should be used in all settings, for all pathogens, and by persons with any infection and disease risk levels where this mode of transmission is known or suspected. But conversely, some situations will require ‘airborne precautions’. This would clearly be inappropriate within a risk-based infection prevention approach where the balance of risks, including disease incidence, severity, individual and population immunity and many other factors, need to be considered, inclusive of legal, logistic, operational and financial consequences that have global implications regarding equity and access.

In other words, we shouldn’t always try to control airborne disease. That would be so hard and annoying! The document then goes to state that “risks” have to be balanced and goes on to list a bunch of factors that are never considered when it comes to the spread of other pathogens in healthcare.

When it comes to the spread of norovirus in healthcare, do doctors weigh whether to wash their hands, based on the local levels of diarrhea? When it comes to the spread of bacterial wound infections, do doctors clean surfaces based on how deadly they think the wound will be? I mean, if it’s not going to kill you, why bother, right? When it comes to bloodborne illnesses like HIV, do doctors no longer test for it because it’s now a treatable disease, no longer a death sentence?

Or, when you apply this logic to any other type of infection, is it clear that this is an absurd attempt to continue evading liability for nosocomial airborne infections in healthcare, including SARS-COV-2? People should not be infected with diseases in hospitals. Period. Regardless of disease severity. Of course, SARS-COV-2 is also incredibly severe for hospitalized patients; in Australia, nearly 1 in 10 patients who caught COVID in hospitals in 2022 and 2023 died. And these events are far from rare. Of 206 patients admitted for strokes in a hospital in Japan, 44 were infected with COVID-19. 6 of them - or 13% - died. Globally, we see the same thing over and over again: lack of airborne infection control, high rates of nosocomial infections, high rates of patient death.

The WHO chose to incorporate “balance of risks”, “disease severity”, “immunity,” and the rest of its laundry list of “factors”, not because it expects infection control bodies to do serious risk assessments, but in order to provide cover for them not to do any such thing. Universal airborne infection control would be expensive and disruptive so the WHO simply gives disease control bodies a series of “outs”.

This is the international backdrop against which the US has also been updating infection control guidance. The CDC, like other national public health bodies, does not directly report to the WHO; the WHO does not have enforcement power over the CDC. However, guidance from the WHO is taken seriously at the CDC, and experts at the CDC also influence the WHO.

The WHO’s document constructs a mile-wide loophole for HICPAC to drive through. Although HICPAC provides no evidence whatsoever that the characteristics of SARS-COV-2 (or flu, or RSV for that matter) would justify dropping airborne precautions, the language in the WHO document exists to justify dropping them in the face of the ongoing, global pandemic. Despite SARS-COV-2 being a systemic, multi-organ disease with the potential to cause long-term disability, and highly fatal when contracted by vulnerable patients, culturally and politically, we are treating it like a cold. HICPAC members are not making scientific decisions, but political ones.

The science on disease transmission has advanced tremendously since 2020. In a world that actually wanted to implement what we’ve learned from COVID, this would mean dramatically safer care for patients and healthier workplaces for HCWs. Instead, HICPAC does the opposite, working to ignore the advancements in scientific knowledge and fighting to keep infection control as similar as possible to the outdated droplet model of the pre-pandemic era.

For example, they advise that N95 respirators should be worn for “new and emerging pathogens,” but make an irrational distinction between these and other viruses that are already in circulation. You know, the ones that are actually, currently infecting patients. “Emerging/new” isn’t a type of transmission, so shouldn’t denote a type of infection control.

Even the CDC balked at HICPAC’s initial draft, sending it back with pointed questions about this bizarre distinction and other inadequate protections. It asked for clarification, stating:

Another issue relevant to preventing transmission through air is to make sure that a draft set of recommendations cannot be misread to suggest equivalency between facemasks and NIOSH Approved respirators, which is not scientifically correct nor the intent of the draft language. Although masks can provide some level of filtration, the level of filtration is not comparable to NIOSH Approved respirators.

Why would HICPAC equate surgical masks with respirators? HICPAC’s draft was not designed to protect patients; it was designed to protect the status quo and allow hospitals to continue to infect patients with COVID and other airborne diseases. It’s likely that the CDC’s decision to push back on this claim was influenced by the massive outpouring of public outrage at the draft, which was seen in both the public comments submitted and read at HICPAC’s meetings.

Additionally, both OSHA, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, and NIOSH, the National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health, agree with both the CDC and patients that surgical masks are not sufficient protection. N95s are required to control airborne infections.

However, despite months of pushback, the tears of suffering and scared patients, the word of the experts who design respirators, as well as the input of occupational safety leaders, HICPAC remains unmoved on the subject.

In a series of votes held last month, HICPAC stuck to their guns. Lisa Baum of the New York State Nurses’ Association was the sole dissenting member of the committee, as reported by Judy Stone of Forbes. She not only voted against the anti-science equating of surgical and N95 masks, but also against allowing COVID positive staff to return to work 3 days after a positive test. The 3-day time frame has absolutely no scientific basis, and return to work should be based on negative tests, not on an arbitrary time window or symptoms. Since a quarter of all COVID cases are asymptomatic, staff should also be asymptomatically screened; they aren’t because hospitals don’t want staff taking time off. Again, these are economic, not scientific, decisions.

Putting these two votes together, HICPAC has voted to allow sick, infectious, COVID+ staff to go to work without proper PPE and infect fellow HCW and patients, in hospitals without proper ventilation and filtration. Patients who are infected in hospitals using outdated droplet precautions will have a 10% risk of death. Coworkers- even if fully vaccinated- will have a significant risk of developing a long-term health condition following their acute infection.

At a time when hospitals remain crushed by the ongoing burden of both COVID and post-COVID health problems, failing to protect workers is a particularly short-sighted decision. Studies have already shown that HCWs suffer unusually high rates of Long COVID, with a recent one in the UK finding a whopping 33.6% reporting symptoms, and 7.4% of respondents reporting an official diagnosis.

These decisions not only mean infected doctors and nurses returning to work actively ill; they also mean that hospitals will continue to reinforce false information about how COVID spreads, purposely miseducating doctors and nurses in their employ to save money.

The members of HICPAC understand that surgical masks aren’t really the equivalent of N95s, they simply believe HCWs are more likely to wear surgicals (they’ve explicitly stated such; this is not, incidentally, how infection control decisions should be made). But this reasoning is not shared with patient-care level HCWs. Instead, HCWs are told that surgical masks are a sufficient infection control measure for COVID-19 when infectious. When an informed patient seeking care tries to correct them, they are greeted with condescension; after all, the doctor’s information comes directly from the CDC.

Disabled and immunocompromised people relate stories of medical professionals who believe COVID spreads via droplets, who wear surgical masks instead of N95s, who draw curtains to prevent the spread of COVID and other viruses; in other words, they are continuing to adhere to outdated precautions. This is unsurprising, because they have never received accurate guidance reflecting our updated technical knowledge about how SARS-COV-2 and other common viruses actually spread.

They’ve never received updated information because the medical system does not want to spend money to protect workers or patients.

At the end of the day, this story is not about droplets and airborne particles as much as it is about dollars and cents. What sounds like an in-the-weeds scientific debate, is no more than a common tale of industry greed. We know- and have known- exactly what it would take to protect patients in healthcare settings. Instead, our leaders sit back and watch as day after day, more unnecessary infections and deaths accumulate. As day after day, more healthcare workers acquire illnesses at work which lead to staff shortages, worse patient outcomes, long-term departures, and the loss of talented, highly trained people from the field.

All of us, patients, doctors, nurses, and other healthcare staff alike, deserve medical leadership that will value our rights to safety in these settings. We deserve medical leadership that won’t actively try to slow scientific progress, and instead will welcome its arrival. We deserve to enter a hospital knowing we won’t be infected and killed because HICPAC would rather allow airborne nosocomial infections to continue on its watch than spend money preventing them.

Right now, the biggest factor protecting hospitals as their negligence rolls on into year five is the ignorance of the public. Most people have no idea how COVID and other viruses spread, have no idea that it’s so dangerous to contract COVID as a vulnerable patient (thanks to years of normalizing propaganda), and may themselves believe that social distancing or curtains prevent infections. This public ignorance is a deliberate tool which enables continued public health negligence on multiple fronts. Continuing to educate ourselves and each other is resistance when the state relies on ignorance to tamp down resistance to policies of mass infection and death.

#mask up #public health #wear a mask #pandemic #wear a respirator #covid #covid 19 #still coviding #coronavirus #sars cov 2

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