#modern c++

[theorist-fox]

Simon breaks your fever

Because I can't stop thinking about this

18+

CW: you're sick (fever, high body temp), fluff, established relationship, smut (clit rubbing, unprotected p in v sex, premature ejaculation). you're so hot (literally) that simon busts a nut

Masterlist 🦊

Your fever hasn’t gone down.

Despite you telling Simon that it’s okay, that it’s just seasonal flu and pretty much half of your colleagues have had it, that man can’t stop fussing.

On day two, you heard him grumble over the phone that he had to take some days off for family matters. And while it was cute to listen to him refer to you as family, this whole thing was an overreaction.

You had a cold and a mild fever; you weren’t on your deathbed.

But then he came into the bedroom straight after ending the call, holding a cuppa in one hand and your pills in the other. Left them on the nightstand before pressing his lips to your forehead to check if you were still warm—grumbled something about you heating up the room when he pulled back with a frown.

And then he helped you sit up, fluffed the pillow behind your head, and smoothed away the hair sticking to your forehead. Made sure you took your pills, made sure you were comfortable and cared for and—

—and oh, isn’t your heart melting into a puddle.

You decide that being sick can’t be that bad, when he makes it feels this good—even if you’re cranky and feverish.

And so, you start offering bright smiles when he presses cold, wet towels to your cheeks. Brush kisses on his knuckles when his palm comes to feel your forehead. Whisper thank yous when he insists you eat in bed, your bowl of soup carefully placed on a wooden bed tray.

And when he gets in bed at night, seemingly unafraid of catching your same bug, you press your back to his chest and fit in his arms. Simon’s already a walking furnace on his own, and your fever doesn't help with the uncomfortable stickiness that grows between your bodies through the night.

Simon doesn’t care, especially on day three, when you decide that a reward is on schedule. Poor man’s been at your beck and call ever since your early symptoms have appeared, so why not give him a reward of sorts.

You press your ass against his crotch, rolling slow circles that rouse him from his slumber.

Simon’s first instinct, however, is to stop you. A big hand flattens on your belly, fingers twitching to resist the urge to curve around your waist and grasp until he dimples the fat there.

A hum leaves him. “What are you doing?”

You nuzzle the pillow and act all innocent, even if he can’t see it in the pitch-dark room.

“Nothing,” you tell him. “Can't sleep. Feel a little restless, with the fever and all.”

“Restless,” he echoes with humour, already catching on. “Need me to wear you down?”

You turn your head until his nose bumps with your cheek. He presses a kiss there.

“Mmh,” you hum with a smile. “Maybe."

His hand rises slowly, and you’re delighted to feel the pads of his fingers reach your chest. He cups your breast through your shirt and thumbs your nipple, already pebbled and stiff. 

Hard like his cock pressing against you.

Your skin is unbearably sensitive due to your fever, and the slightest touch could easily turn into stinging pain. That’s why as soon as he skims over your nipple your body goes haywire and you jolt, grinding the swell of your ass against him. 

Simon presses forward, meeting your inadvertent movement. 

There’s a moan coming from both sides. Yours is more cracked, a wonderful cocktail of relief and soreness—though you’re liking this more than you should, probably. You’re never one to say no to a bit of pain now, are you?

Simon, on the other hand… oh, Simon. His voice is low—gravel against the road. A groan that sounds like it’s coming from a dry throat, strikingly possessive when paired with the gentleness with which he’s holding you.

“Lemme take care of you then, yeah?” He whispers, leaning closer to your ear. 

He tucks his arm under your neck, letting you nestle your cheek in the crook of his elbow. You’re sure he must be running hot too, but you’re sporting a whopping 100.4 body temperature, making his skin feel like an ice pack. 

You sigh beautifully at the slight relief he provides.

Simon takes care of you first, like he's so kindly offered, and you don’t fight against him.

You don’t fight against his hand snaking under the waistband of your sweats. Don’t fight against the pads of his fingers drawing slow eights on your clit. 

What you do instead is bury your face in his forearm, as he presses soft kisses to the exposed skin on your neck.

You get wet embarrassingly easily. He collects it with his middle finger before returning to the tight knot of your clit, circling gently—no rush whatsoever.

He checks in every once in a while, whispering soft questions to your skin as he explores it with his lips.

Are you okay?, and a kiss. You hurtin'?, and another kiss, right under your ear. He waits for you to reply each time, before finally giving in and nuzzling the nape of your neck through your hair. 

He goes on, murmuring sweet nothings when you whine and he can’t pinpoint if it’s from pleasure or your body aches.

“That's it, love,” he whispers, coaxing moans from your lips as his fingers guide you closer and closer to the edge. Steadfast on your clit, he keeps a rhythm he knows will crack through you—break the mould of stiff muscles and sore skin.

Your orgasm catches the breath in your throat. It almost stings, burning through you in waves that stem from your sex and ripple in all directions.

Until your body undulates with it, pressing back into his. Until your voice follows suit too, cracking gently as you bite into the thickness of his forearm to keep quiet.

Simon’s panting against your shoulder like he came as well. It’s impossible not to notice the girth of his cock indenting the fat of your ass, how deliciously hard he is just because he’s touched you so thoroughly.

It gets you drunk on power to know how little it takes for you to do that to him.

His lips are pursed in a kiss ardently left to the crook of your neck. You feel the wetness of it, the heat seeping through your much hotter skin. His fingers slow down, until soft circles turn into mere flicks on your clit that gently drag your consciousness back into your body, back into his arms.

“Alrigh'?” He murmurs to the skin of your neck, as he huffs from his nose to balance his breathing.

“Mhmh,” you reply absentmindedly, still foggy and dipped in a dreamy state.

Gingerly, the hand buried in your knickers travels to your waist, leaving a wet trail that slowly dries up—from the curls on your pelvis all the way to your hip. He pinches you softly.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks.

In response, you press your ass to where he’s waiting for you.

“Yes, please—yes.” You say, not bothering to veil your willingness. 

If your bones weren’t aching, you’d let him fold you like cheap paper. Knees to your ears and all.

Simon’s fingers tug down your pants and knickers at the same time, exposing the burning skin of your ass to the air. Even under the duvet and pressed against him, everything feels so unbelievably fresh—it’s utter relief that has you softening against his chest. 

Relief that ratchets up when you feel the head of his cock glide seamlessly through your slit, causing you to grind your hips backwards each time it catches your swollen clit.

His tongue lavishes the skin of your neck, distracting you from the pleasurable pain of the stretch as he comfortably slides in. You feel your muscles tighten around him, as your nails dig into his arm wrapped around your waist.

But Simon’s the one who seems most out of his element, for once.

“Jesus fucking Christ, love.” He breathes heavily to your shoulders. His voice doesn’t even sound like him.

The hand around your waist grabs a handful of your clothes, fabric bulging within the grooves of his fingers, while the one extended under your neck fists the pillow until his knuckles paint white.

“F-fuck—you’re burnin’ up.” He croaks, burying his face against the back of your head. “Bloody hell—fuckin’ melting me down ‘ere.”

He tries to move but his voice cracks in a moan before he stops completely. More muted curses leave him.

“Fuckin’ hell you feel good.” He pants, voice so breathy you can barely hear him, and you wonder if he’s talking to you at all. “S’ so fuckin’ hot.”

He stays stock still inside of you, hips flush to your ass. 

But you’re as cheeky as they come, and he should know that already.

Which is why you move, canting your hips until you can feel him slide out of you, and then back in.

“Fuck, no—sto—"

Simon grunts. Chokes on it. 

One flick of your ass has him unravel. He cums inside of you with a quick snap of his hips to meet yours, and the slap of flesh against flesh would be loud if it weren’t for how strong his groan is. 

For how much he’s filling you up, buried to the hilt until you swear you can almost feel him throbbing in your stomach.

Simon hides in the crook of your neck, holding on tight with a stiff arm curled around your belly. You can feel his heartbeat thunder against yours, as if merging together—erratic and unsteady.

It takes him a while to recover, to catch his breath. You coax him out of his bubble gently, threading your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp until you feel him deflate behind you with a sigh.

“Bit of a cunt move, that.” He mumbles, but there’s no bite in his voice.

You smile. Somehow the aches in your body soften up, and you feel like floating on a cloud.

“Well, I'd say you didn't mind much,” you say innocently.

He snorts.

A hand lands blindly on your face, and he gives it a good scramble until you’re chuckling in his palm. You easily recognize that as his way to sneakily check for your temperature, while masking it as a playful jab.

“Sorry,” you feel compelled to say, though your voice is muffled by his hand.

And then he nuzzles your shoulder, planting a fat kiss on your neck. 

“S’alrigh’,” he says softly. “Saved us from a third-degree burn, after all. Gotta thank you for tha'."

You burst into a laugh that he catches with his mouth—his fingers already curled around your jaw, turning your head his way before you can utter another word.

Your laughter seeps through your lips onto his, vibrating until his cheeks curl into a smile of his own.

Infectious, like your stupid flu.

Because the next morning, Simon wakes up with a terrible sore throat, though he doesn’t feel as annoyed as he thought he'd be.

In fact, he decides being sick can't be that bad, when you make it feel this good.

Even if now you're both cranky, feverish, and all.

[coralkashri]

Watch: From Modern to Unbelievably Modern C++

From Modern to Unbelievably Modern C++ talk from CoreC++ 2023 YouTube recording.

From Modern to Unbelievably Modern C++ CoreC++ talk is now available online. Related Links From Modern to Unbelievably Modern C++ – talk experience Presentation’s slides CoreC++ YouTube channel CoreC++ Home

[saint-hymn]

mercy, mèrci

[turtletoads]

hating you won't make you suck any less

[linnytheseagull]

Here's how to spot a Mad Scientist:

Is very smart in a specific field

Probably hasn't slept in the past 4 days

Depressed

Slowly decends into madness/spirals/gets obsessed over something to the point where they destroy their lives over it

Here are other minor signs you might want to look out for (doesn't apply to all Mad Scientist):

Very pathetic. A loser, if you will

Is gay

Wears glasses

Has a best friend who is extremely friendly and also a poet

Graying hair despite their relatively youthful appearance

Can be a little bit silly (as a treat)

Note that not all Mad Scientists are actual scientists. The Mad Scientist can be disguised as something else and may try to trick you; do not be fooled. Look for these traits to identify a real wild Mad Scientist.

Now you are ready to go out into the wild and find your very own Mad Scientists to hyperfixate on for the next month! Hope this helped❤️

[temeyes]

a very adorable kirby!141 c/mm for @tapioca-milktea1978!

[hinamie]

i have so much band!au content in the pipeline my brain is Rotting but enjoy these two for now

jjk band!au

[grimmroach]

soap saw this guy and swooned

[prom-is-slavery]

Are we going to prom or hell

[nstraykat]

I'm sorry Towa, cigarettes are smelly. Smelly like your ass.

Edit: I think Towa's butt smells like smoke. I think his whole body smells like that, even his mouth (which is worse than smelling like "other things", in my opinion). Not to mention his clothes. Smelling Towa can be such an experience lol

[anghraine]

One of the highlights of the description of younger Kirk as a bookish and severe Academy instructor is that Gary Mitchell, the friend describing him that way, seems to have been his student back in the day and was trying to pass his notoriously difficult "think or sink" class at the Academy.

Present-day Mitchell mentions reading "that longhair stuff you like" to Kirk (now that he's acquired godly powers that include being able to read Spinoza) and there's this random lore drop about how Mitchell helped a lab technician with a crush on Kirk orchestrate her dating campaign, in hopes that it'd distract Kirk enough for Mitchell to survive his class.

It seems pretty widely accepted that Kirk had a romance with Mitchell himself at the time, which is not my take at all, BUT honestly it's hilarious to me that there's this whole Clueless-style "student matchmaking plot to get a strict teacher a girlfriend so he'll chill enough that you can pass the class" history established almost immediately about Kirk. Comedy gold, especially since Kirk and the lab technician ended up in a long-term relationship and he nearly married her.

Bonus: Kirk and Mitchell became close friends but Kirk is still incredulous at the idea of Mitchell voluntarily reading Spinoza in the episode. And when Mitchell flips into obnoxious god mode and describes Spinoza as simple and childish, Kirk is pretty evidently affronted and alarmed. It's not surprising that Kirk has big philosophy opinions given that futuristic humanism is half his personality, but the idea of him as a former philosophy instructor with Spinoza feelings who goes to space and still can't escape Bad Philosophy Takes is incredible. Even by Season 3, it's just like:

KIRK: Dr. McCoy saved your life. PARMEN: I am losing patience, captain. KIRK: And you consider yourself a disciple of Plato?!

[koreplus]

yaoi virgin mary

[necromosss]

i was just trying to make references of these two for future comms and i ended up going full throttle on the design (SOBS)

Extra: them dressing the other one up according to each tastes!!<3

[ohmygraves]

roommate!ghost who gets home from a long deployment, forgetting to buy groceries for himself afterwards and having to use some of your products.

like, surely he made a mental note five months ago to buy himself some body soap because he just ran out right before his deployment, or at least in his note app. oh, of course. his phone died and he forgot to charge it. well, you won't mind if he use yours, right? and maybe some shampoo too, he can't be walking around the house with greasy hair.

he returned late at night, stumbling into the flat you two shared with his stomach empty, greasy as hell and his soap bottle all empty in the bathroom. just his luck after getting into such a shitty mission.

when you woke up the next day, he was asleep on the couch, not wearing his balaclava and still have his towel around his neck. an empty tupperware on the coffee table (was it the other half of your burrito last night that you kept for today?), some beer (was it yours!?), and the tv being on.

somehow, his hair looked softer, so you ran your fingers through his hair instinctively. and goddammit it was so soft. it was unreal. how did he get his hair so soft with 5-in-1 bodywash!? unless...

ghost woke up from your constant yapping, yawning and rubbing his hair, unsure of what's such a big deal. it's just bodywash, right? and maybe a little bit of shampoo, your leftovers, and some of your beer. why are you so mad at him?

plus, now he smells just like you, had an indirect kiss with you from the burrito, so why should he be bothered that you're yelling at him?

[idle-compy]

finished this yasammy drawing that's been sitting in the wip folder for weeks bc i ain't coping too well around these parts

[sinsofsinister]

farah karim - kilo actual