#A Chemical Reaction of the Heart

[selfshippinglover]

Who does more of the planning between you and flug?? Are dates usually your idea? Or if there's gonna be some kind of event who takes charge??

-aggressively-selfships

~God i HAVE to plan dates because Black Hat never lets this man get A BREAK

~I basically have to kidnap him lol <3

~We work together on dates mostly cause I like having a plan but also we switch who's planning them/leading them ^w^

[trainingdummyrabbit]

i take my little guys pretty seriously more often than not but it really must be said that a good 30% of decisions on them were made simply Because It Would Be Funny

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

I heard you say you were good at math, do you happen to have any good tips at studying math? Genuine question here, I just failed my final exam for a math course. I am bummed and looking for advice. Sorry if this was a weird question to ask of you on this blog. And for also asking on anon, im a bit to embarrassed to ask this on my account.

I'm not sure if I have any good types and tricks...math was just my Neurodivergent Perk that I've had since I was a kid...also full disclaimer that I completed my high school math credits in middle school and my college math credits in high school so while that is a pretty epic gamer moment, it also means I have not touched a proper math course in like 6 years

Fun time math lesson with Danny below (:

One pattern that I used to do (at least when it came to formulas) was kinda organize my work into categories, if that makes sense.

So let's say you have a physics (shush it's still math) problem that's looking for the potential energy of an item weighing 7kg that's 5m above the earth --

What's the formula? - PE = mass * gravitational * height

What's the values we already know? - m = 7m, g = 9.8 m/s^2 (this is an always constant value for earth's gravity), h = 5m

Plug it in - PE = 7 * 9.8 * 5

Final answer - PE = 343 J (Jules)

Sometimes you're going to have to use other formulas first before you can get to the meat of your main problem. So let's use the same example, but now the height is 7 feet. You'll need to convert that first into meters before you can plug it into your formula and it can help keep track of your work --

What's the formula? - meters = ft/0.3048

What's the values we already know? - ft = 7

Plug it in - m = 7/0.3048

Final answer - m = 2.1336 (usually round off to nearest 100th, so we'll use 2.13). meters = height // h = 2.13m

What's the formula? - PE = mass * gravitational * height

What's the values we already know? - m = 7m, g = 9.8 m/s^2, h = 2.13m

Plug it in - PE = 7 * 9.8 * 2.13

Final answer - PE = 146.18 J

Now let's say we know the PE is 68.31 J and it's resting at a height of 8m, but we don't know its mass? Simple! Do the same exact sequence of organizing and you'll be able to tell how to work backwards.

What's the formula? - PE = mass * gravitational * height

What's the values we already know? - g = 9.8 m/s^2, h = 8m, PE = 68.31 J

Plug it in - 68.31 = m * 9.8 * 8 // 68.31 = m * 78.4 // 68.31/78.4 = m * 78.4/78.4 (this will cancel out completely, so it will NOT be m * 0) // 0.87 = m

Final answer - m = 0.87

My overall suggestion is to focus on memorize your equations first and foremost, and from there use the 4 steps to organize your work. The variables will always be given to you, so as long as you can remember which formulas (and constant variables!!) are necessary for that information, you should be golden! Then, you can plug and play as needed, but keep in mind you may need additional equations to get all of your variables first. If you're able to, there tons of free specialty calculators you can use specifically for certain formulas! I used omnicalculator's Potential Energy Calculator to check my work here in fact, give or take a few decimals.

Granted, this information mostly applies to math likes physics, algebraic, and trig. I am dogshit at geometry because I can't visualize and angles vex (heh) me so...man good luck to you if that's the field you're struggling in.

[ultalliance]

What if I kept drowning you in tags? What then? Tag dump pt.3/3(?)

I will definitely add more muses ny'all know me

[itspileofgoodthings]

my mom had to listen to me rant about a societal ill the other day after we’d watched an episode of tv and she goes “it must be hard when you engage with a piece of art and it just electrifies whole sections of your brain”

[meltorights]

oh this is a two-parter..........................

[moved-to-void-kissed]

Mmm not very happy about how awake I currently feel

These two exchanges happened one after the other earlier though, which was very.. surprising? flustering? I don’t know just look at them ;w;

First he said this when opening up the game:

And then this, immediately afterwards:

Fancy regal Sygna Suit or otherwise, he is such a nerd (and I love him for it)

[vvviktor]

I personally love "this fic will be a family heirloom"

okay we need to have an intervention.

i've noticed that people don't leave the same kind of unhinged compliments under fanfics that visual artists usually receive (eg, "i want to eat your art"), so i've come up with a list that you need to start employing when your friends send you their WIPs and when your favorites update on ao3 but you're having a hard time commenting something that sounds intelligent and you still want to support them

"you're like if [famos author] (eg, Victor Hugo if the fic is angst) was into [fandom]"

"well THIS has been added to my pre-sleep daydream schedule"

"this fic invaded my mind and consumed my brain like a spore"

"I'M LOSING SLEEP OVER THIS ONE, FOLKS"

"yOu'Ve AlReAdY lEfT kUdOs HeRe"

"this fic has me scratching at my yellow wallpaper, it's so good"

"this fic has me checking under my floorboards for the heart of a kind man i murdered, it's so good"

"i'm making my parents read this"

"i know only one chapter is out so far, but i'm going to print this out, staple it together, and put it on my bookshelf next to the canon material"

"this fic gave me another mental illness"

(you can only do this one once) "i made an ao3 account specifically to bookmark this"

"i'm going to print this out so i can eat the words on the paper"

and a couple that are just nice (without the feral nature):

"i made a custom playlist to listen to while i read this fic"

"this fic reminds me of [song]"

"i really liked the part where [x], it really stuck with me"

"i really liked this line, [quote the line,] it was so well-written!"

artists: draw fanart of the fic!! it doesn't matter if you think your art skills are good and it doesnt matter if it's just a sketch!! let the author see it!!

make a moodboard!! for the fic!! let the author see it!!

[selfshippinglover]

You spot a shop full of nicknacks and bits and bobs, from old screwdrivers to little ceramic statues. What are you picking up for flug?? Something practical he'd use or just something that makes you think of him!

-aggressively-selfships

~AWW A FLUG ASK? IT'S BEEN FOREVER WAHHH THANK YOOOU QOQ,,

~Heehee well first off; extra bits and bobs! If it's something that he's always running out of or proclaiming that you can never have too many of than I'm going for that first! Wanna keep him well stocked <333

~Then things that remind me of him or things that look like they'd be useful for him! Things with funky shapes he can toy with <333

~Anything cute imma steal for myself XD

[jcmarchi]

Ultrafast Lasers on Ultra-Tiny Chips - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/ultrafast-lasers-on-ultra-tiny-chips-technology-org/

Ultrafast Lasers on Ultra-Tiny Chips - Technology Org

Lasers have become commonplace in everyday life, but they have many uses outside of providing light shows at raves and scanning barcodes on groceries. Lasers are also important in telecommunications, computing, biology, chemistry, and physics research.

An ultrafast laser. Image credit: Caltech

In those latter applications, lasers that can emit extremely short pulses—those on the order of one-trillionth of a second (one picosecond) or shorter—are especially useful. Using lasers operating on such small timescales, researchers can study physical and chemical phenomena that occur extremely quickly—for example, the making or breaking of molecular bonds in a chemical reaction or the movement of electrons within materials.

These ultrashort pulses are also extensively used for imaging applications because they can have extremely large peak intensities but low average power, so they avoid heating or even burning up samples such as biological tissues.

In a paper in Science, Caltech’s Alireza Marandi, an assistant professor of electrical engineering and applied physics, describes a new method developed by his lab for making this kind of laser, known as a mode-locked laser, on a photonic chip.

Alireza Marandi. Image credit: Caltech

The lasers are made using nanoscale components (a nanometer is one-billionth of a meter), allowing them to be integrated into light-based circuits similar to the electricity-based integrated circuits found in modern electronics.

“We’re not just interested in making mode-locked lasers more compact,” Marandi says. “We are excited about making a well-performing mode-locked laser on a nanophotonic chip and combining it with other components. That’s when we can build a complete ultrafast photonic system in an integrated circuit. This will bring the wealth of ultrafast science and technology, currently belonging to meter-scale experiments, to millimeter-scale chips.”

Ultrafast lasers of this sort are so important to research, that this year’s Nobel Prize in Physics was awarded to a trio of scientists for the development of lasers that produce attosecond pulses (one attosecond is one-quintillionth of a second).

Such lasers, however, are currently extremely expensive and bulky, says Marandi—who notes that his research is exploring methods to achieve such timescales on chips that can be orders of magnitude cheaper and smaller, with the aim of developing affordable and deployable ultrafast photonic technologies.

“These attosecond experiments are done almost exclusively with ultrafast mode-locked lasers,” he says. “And some of them can cost as much as $10 million, with a good chunk of that cost being the mode-locked laser. We are really excited to think about how we can replicate those experiments and functionalities in nanophotonics.”

At the heart of the nanophotonic mode-locked laser developed by Marandi’s lab is lithium niobate, a synthetic salt with unique optical and electrical properties that, in this case, allows the laser pulses to be controlled and shaped through the application of an external radio-frequency electrical signal. This approach is known as active mode-locking with intracavity phase modulation.

“About 50 years ago, researchers used intracavity phase modulation in tabletop experiments to make mode-locked lasers and decided that it was not a great fit compared to other techniques,” says Qiushi Guo, the first author of the paper and a former postdoctoral scholar in Marandi’s lab. “But we found it to be a great fit for our integrated platform.”

“Beyond its compact size, our laser also exhibits a range of intriguing properties. For example, we can precisely tune the repetition frequency of the output pulses in a wide range. We can leverage this to develop chip-scale stabilized frequency comb sources, which are vital for frequency metrology and precision sensing,” adds Guo, who is now an assistant professor at the City University of New York Advanced Science Research Center.

Marandi says he aims to continue improving this technology so it can operate at even shorter timescales and higher peak powers, with a goal of 50 femtoseconds (a femtosecond is one-quadrillionth of a second), which would be a 100-fold improvement over his current device, which generates pulses 4.8 picoseconds in length.

Written by Emily Velasco

Source: Caltech

You can offer your link to a page which is relevant to the topic of this post.

[all-the-horsies-but-you-ask-them]

OCs you can choose from (3/??)

OC names that aren't on refs (and art credit thats not by me) are in alt text

[reeselovesfoblog]

I’ve got so many fem f/os but here are my main 3 romantic ones!

I’ve got so many other female f/os though, and not just romantic! I’ll just tag the romantic ones along with my fem QPP and the rest non romantic f/os are on my rentry if you wanna see!

If you have a fem f/o, romantic, platonic or familial doesn't matter, please like this post! (Also feel free to rb with your fem f/o ships <3)

[reidrum]

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows. 

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy. 

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch,  you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point. 

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured. 

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere. 

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

[mariasont]

What if I put an insane little idea in your head and let it bounce around? Mid seasons (7/8 ish?) Spencer with a kinnda sorta fangirl? She just started at the BAU and it’s not that she’s weird about him but she does have like 3 of his papers memorized down to the letter and she “possibly quoted him on her college application essay” (it’s the literal conclusion).

Like she’s just this little ball of excitement and he has no clue what to do when the team is like “ask her out for the love of god and stop making heart eyes when she lets you nerd out”

Sorry if this makes no sense it’s 2:30 in the morning

FANGIRL - S.R

a/n: AHHHHH BECAUSE WHAT IF I JUST SMOOCHED YOU

loved, loved, LOVED this idea and writing it! you are amazing <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: reader being a fangirl for reid because WHO WOULDNT BE UGH

wc: 1.2k

"Dr. Reid, hi, it's such an honor. I'm the new agent."

You give him your name, hand extended out to him, bouncing off the balls of your feet. There was a badge pinned to your shirt, the clip attached to it gleaming in the fluorescent light, which despite its usual severity, seemed to soften around you.

Spencer comes to a standstill, his coffee suspended mid-sip, documents wrinkled in his hands as he assesses you. You are pretty. exceedingly so, but he's having trouble processing it, his mind still shrouded in the remnants of sleep. 

He blinks away his surprise. "Nice to meet you. Hotch must've briefed you about the team, I assume?"

He adjusted the heap of papers to under his arm, freeing his hand to meet yours. The softness he encountered prompted a momentary pause, awakening a sudden urge to not let go. However, he promptly set aside the thought, releasing your hand with a concealed hesitation. 

You fiddled with your earlobe, you shot him a sheepish smile. "Yeah, Hotch did, but I already knew a bit about you. I've always been a fan of your work. I mean, not like a fan per se, because that would be weird, right? But I've read all your papers, and they're just... they're brilliant, honestly."

Spencer was clearly caught off guard, his brows leaping upwards as he surveyed you. You weren't lying--that much was clear to him. He could see it in the way you met his eyes with an enthusiasm so bright it was nearly blinding.

"My work? You're actually familiar with it?"

A soft giggle bubbled from you, a sweet sound that seemed to momentarily leave him winded. He placed his coffee on the desk, leaning back slightly. 

"Oh, definitely. Your research on chemical composition analysis in narcotics? I've read it so many times I could probably recite it in my sleep."

He considered the possibility of you exaggerating. He took great pride in his work and (without sounding too cocky) he was well aware of its significance and contribution to his field. However, there's a difference between knowing your work is recognized and encountering someone who has internalized it to such a degree--especially someone like you. He suddenly felt a touch of self-consciousness.

"I'm sorry, that was too much, right? I promised I'd play it cool, and then I saw you and... well, it's all just really surreal," you said before gesturing vaguely towards the bullpen. "Anyway, I'm going to go, uh, find my desk."

You hurried away before he could refute your words, head bowed. He felt like an ass.

The day threw him off balance. His contributions to the team lacked their usual insight, his mental gears turning more slowly. And for some inexplicable reason, he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of you. He attempted to rationalize it as a reaction to your interest in his work, a level of admiration that was a rare find. Unlike the formal niceties from others, your excitement about his work, about him, stood out.

He tried to latch onto Hotch's deductions about the unsub, willing his intellect to snap to attention and offer up a decent theory. However, a glance in your direction derailed his efforts. You were bent over the desk, your hands animatedly navigating through the papers. He was happy to see your enthusiasm was there despite his lack thereof earlier.

"Based on the geographic profiling and the choice of victims, it looks like the unsub has a background in urban planning."

Emily nods, "Good theory. What led you to that?"

He watches the anxious flicker in your eyes, glancing towards him, hands clasped together as you incline your head his way.

"Actually, I read about a similar case in Dr. Reid's paper on The Spatial Patterns of Serial Offenses." It strikes him then--he hasn't yet invited you to use his first name, adding another tick to the ever-growing list of ways he feels he's been inadvertently discourteous. "The clustering of crime scenes near arterial routes suggests the offender leverages the urban grid to facilitate escape and avoid detection. Embarrassingly enough, that was the topic of my college application essay."

Spencer was momentarily speechless (not something that happened often), his mind racing through the physiological response to shock--catecholamine release, vagal tone alterations, even transient arrhythmias--mirroring the way his heart seemed to skip a beat. You really did have his work memorized.

"That's, uh, right," he said, his voice gaining momentum. "By leveraging the urban grid, the offender not only evades capture but also creates a psychological terrain of control."

Hotch nodded in agreement, turning your attention to a series of photographs.

Before Spencer even looked her way, he could sense Garcia's stare, and as he turned, she prodded him with her elbow, smirking. "Seems like she's quite the match for you, doesn't she?"

"Huh? What? No, I mean--she's my coworker, and besides, she's much younger." Spencer was quite sure he sounded anything but convincing.

Garcia raises an eyebrow, shaking her head. "I meant in terms of smarts, but oookay, Spencer."

She walked out with a bounce in that definitely hadn't been there earlier, and Spencer was left with a red face.

He had every intention of pulling you aside, to apologize for earlier, to reassure that he didn't find you odd or weird, and to admit that he was genuinely flattered. But it appeared that every time he had a chance to make it to your desk, you had vanished, or were in deep conversation with JJ, or inside Hotch's office.

It was a relentless cycle that persisted until the end of the day, when everyone began to leave--except for you, who remained still firmly planted at your desk, fervently jotting notes into your notebook.

Absorbed in your work, you didn't notice his approach until he cleared his throat.

"Hey," he said softly.

Startled, you flinched, prompting him to immediately feel like shit. Strike three. You laughed off the shock when you realized it was him, moving your notebook aside, offering him your undivided attention.

"Sorry, Dr. Reid, hi! How's it going? Is there something I can do for you?"

"I thought I'd see if you needed help with anything, and you can call me Spencer, if you want." He glanced at his watch. "Are you still working?"

You pushed a piece of hair from your face and nodded towards the formidable pile of forms. 

"Spencer, okay," you said, like you were testing it out, "and just sorting through a mountain of onboarding paperwork."

He nodded, hesitating slightly before speaking. "Listen, I need to apologize for earlier."

You tilted your head. "What for?"

"I think I wasn't as welcoming as I intended to be."

"That's okay, I know I was a bit intense."

He shook his head. "No, you weren't. It's just... It's rare that my work gets much attention. I'm happy you appreciated it. If there's a specific topic that you're more interested in, maybe I could explain more about it sometime?"

You glanced down at your hands, trying to hide the smile that was blooming there. You weren't successful. When you looked back up, Spencer felt a little bit awestruck by your eyes, the flecks of color that he could now see clearly.

"I'd love that. Maybe over coffee?" you suggested.

"Yeah, sure." He could feel the heat rushing up his neck. 

He reluctantly parted ways, leaving you to your paperwork, and as he approached the elevator, Penelope was there.

"You know, sugar, maybe I did mean quite the match in a romantic way. So, are you going to ask her out, or shall I play Cupid?"

He blushed. "I think she might have just beat me to it."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles

join my taglist here!

[cntloup]

18+ MDNI you take control...

You approach him slowly, carefully as he lies down on your shared bed, completely bare and vulnerable before you as though you’re a lion approaching its prey, watchful and prudent so as not to scare him away since this sense of sheer trust and submission occurs scarcely. 

You settle on his thighs and tenderly take his rock-hard cock in your hand as he gazes at you with slightly nervous eyes, "It’s ok, Si. Just lie back and let me take care of you.” you croon softly to put his mind and heart at ease. 

And he lets out a shaky sigh, leaning his head back on the pillows and shutting his eyes, feeling a surge of chemical reactions as if his body is on fire, burning with fierce desire. 

You slide your palm over his weeping tip and he whimpers keenly at your tender touch on his sensitive throbbing cock as you slowly move down to the base, making him groan softly which makes you smile in return as he gets louder and louder with each stroke. 

It's like a secret project to you to see how much noise you can elicit from him since usually he’s fairly quiet. You’ve learned his little tells as you went on with your languid movements, learning new tricks and now you know fully well how to touch him properly to make him putty in your hands. 

Now that you get to witness his pliant, obedient side, “Let it all out, Si. Let everyone know who you belong to.” you encourage him, putting enough pressure as your hand smoothly glides over his thick veiny cock, his face scrunched up in pure pleasure and tears rolling down the sides of his face as a string of curses leaves his throat, followed by whimpered moans of your name on his tongue, creating a beautiful symphony which you could never get tired of. 

And you feel the slight twitch of his cock against your palm along with breathy whimpers that get higher in pitch as he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back, signaling that he’s close, causing a sort of a victorious smile to form on your lips as his orgasm bursts through him, engulfing his entire body as seething flames and you feel the warmth of his thick cum on your hand. 

“Fuck...” he breathes out, chest heaving as he comes down his peak of pleasure and you giggle as you crawl up his body to kiss his slightly parted lips, “I love you.” you murmur against his skin, “Love you too, baby.” 

[millersfinest]

the thing in your chest that beats | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5k

mini-series: california (you’re here) | oregon | idaho | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, mentions of fate, santa barbara arc, infected, shooting, lots of exposition, torture, violence, vulgar language, slow-burn romance, eventual smut, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption.

note: this first part is lowkey boring imo, but i hope the angst makes up for it. as always, please enjoy my hyperfixation!!

California

Ropes chafed at your skin; securing your legs and wrists on top of each other to the wooden post. Fog had shielded the setting sun from your skin—after many hours of being scorched. Your muscles ached and your bones were sore. The exposed skin on your shoulders and chest was dry and flaking, exposing an under layer of tenderness. Everything fucking hurt. But you were barely there; head nodding off from the scratching at your stomach and the dryness in your mouth ripping your lips apart.

How did you, a firefly, militarily trained, end up tied to a pillar at the cusp of a beach in Santa Barbara?

You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This group searched for people like you—lonely and pillaged by the weight of the world. You were too distracted to foresee their deception; they got lucky with you.

Until the chemical reactions in your brain short-circuited, causing you to act out in the name of self-preservation.

Wrath, by definition, is a trait you’re easily overcome with. It’s not just something that passes through you like other traits and emotions. It holds on. It makes a home in your body and directs you like a rabid dog—a burdening feeling that nestled between your sore muscles. It filled you with adrenaline to kill and destroy—to get rid of the people who tried to get rid of you.

And, every time, you managed to find yourself feeling bad about it. There was no explanation for that. Just your heart being too sensitive for world you existed in—it was constantly broken. By yourself and your circumstances.

It was your own fault that you were captured by the rattlers. You should’ve never left Catalina Island for a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything better than the firefly base—you should’ve known that and never left. Perhaps, if you had remained under the duty of your earned dog tags, you wouldn’t have been thrusted into the situation that you were in.

Wyoming was a lie that you told yourself because you wanted to live a life that didn’t exist.

Locked in a debate with death, your body abruptly hit the dense surface of the sand. The ropes that bound you to that skewer had been severed by a fallen angel. A prisoner you had attached yourself to in the hopes of survival. Her hair was coily and reflected copper under the Californian sun.

You came to from the impact, finally beginning to hear the ongoing gunfire coming from the resort buildings. As you twitched in pain, she cut the bindings at your wrists and ankles. Tucking a pistol into your hand, she muttered words of hope. “Good luck out there, hotshot.”

Your lips moved to respond, but there wasn’t any sound. It didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t around to hear it. The young woman at once took off in the opposite direction of the chaos with a bag over her shoulder.

Stuck in a dilemma, you didn’t move for a few moments. Eyes stuck on the weight in your weak hands. It was nothing but a black semi-automatic—it weighed nothing compared to bigger firearms. However, it sunk your hand into the sand as if it weighed a ton. You couldn’t even hold a gun with the same conviction that you used to. Yet, the fallen angel had faith that you could.

Taking in a deep wheezing breath, you tried to stand to your feet. You got up enough for your knees to bend, but once you extended them, you crashed back into the sand with a thud. In temporary defeat, you looked to the people still suspended on the pillars. They were unmoving, rotting away from the inside out. That could’ve been you if it weren’t for her cutting you down.

In mourning them, you gave standing another attempt. Keeping your hands low to catch your fall. But you didn’t fall. The muscles in your legs were weak, trembling as you stretched them. With a hunch in your back, you grabbed the gun, adjusting it in your hands. Your professional form remained the same as remnants of your training. Placing your hands over one another on the handle, supporting its weight. Aiming the barrel toward nothing specific, just to get the feeling again. It’s been months since you had opportunity to defend yourself.

With as much quickness that you could muster, you went through the resort to grab supplies. A backpack, medkit, and some food.

Setting your mind on leaving, you tried to sneak through the gunfire between the prisoners and the rattlers. But that simply wasn’t in the cards for you.

Before you could escape the resort, one of them had a bone to pick with you. It was the same rattler that was your deceptive captor. She used her femininity to convince you that she needed help—that she was weak and she needed your help. If anything, you have a bone to pick with her.

She had come at you with her bear hands, pushing your face up against a wall. She tore the backpack from your back, throwing it to the side. Where did her wrath come from? Somehow, you managed to get the upper hand. Straddling her body delivering punches that you haven’t in awhile. It felt natural to you to release such violence against another person.

Through beating her bloody, you found your power again. Tearing off the shimmering dog tags around her neck that had previously belonged to you. Heaving, you looked down at her. She had split your lip and broken your nose, but you could argue that you did worse to her. Her nose was cracked in multiple places, as she coughed up her own blood and teeth. It slipped down the crevices of her face, dribbling into her brown eyes.

“Fuck you.” You firmly speak, picking up your bag from its straps, swinging it around your shoulders.

From the fight, you had stumbled into a room of firearms. Still weak, you limped around. Causing you to walk away from the damage with a Beretta A300 shotgun and ammunition.

Like it was a prize after a big challenge.

You found yourself stumbling along the sand of the beach you were stuck on. This time, closer to the foggy waters of the coast. Ignoring the throbbing sensation in your thigh. You were barely sentient, running on nothing but fumes. But you knew you had to get as far from Santa Barbara as you could.

All of sudden, darkness began encapsulating your eyes from the outside in. Your limbs grew heavier, slowing down the pace of your movements—you collapsed into the sand like the damsel you had become.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying on an itchy couch. Waking up felt like awaking from a coma. Sitting up was a chore because of the tightness of your muscles. You felt it like a sickness in your chest. Trying to move your legs, you sucked in a pained breath. A hole that was cut into your ripped jeans was covered by white wrapping. Gauze.

A single lantern in the middle of the living room illuminated the space. It was placed on a dusty coffee table—off-center. Your backpack and weapons leaned against an entertainment center; a large cabinet that combined the use of compartments as well as a space for the tv to fit.

Blinking slowly, you tried to remember how you got there. Fingers gripping at the cushions, experiencing a crazy amount of brain fog. A wrapper crackled under the weight of your hand as you shifted. It was a granola bar tucked under the pillow that you laid your head on.

You stomach scratched at your abdomen, so you wasted no time in retrieving it—ripping open the wrapper and biting into the nutty granola. The side of your foot kicked over a metal canister, accidentally. Clashing toward the scratched wooden floors, it startled you. Reaching down, you shook it in your hands. There was a liquid inside. Screwing the lid off, you realized it was only water. Something else your body demanded of you.

Who put all this stuff here? It couldn’t have been you.

A creak from the side of the room, caused you to snap your head in that direction. Chewing slowly on the oats in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched. Your free hand felt your hip from the cool metal of that gifted pistol, but there was nothing but the fabric of your jeans.

By the time she came into your view, your body froze. Your gun was across the room, she had the advantage. She loomed in the darker parts of the room as if she were hiding from you—in a way that was prey-ish, rather than predatory.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up…”

Her voice was raspy, and she spoke with a slow cadence. When she came into the light, she kept her distance. By the corner of the entertainment center cabinet—on the opposite end of where your bag was laying. Her auburn strands were choppy and tucked behind her ears. She wore a white t-shirt that was filthy with, what looked like, blood and dirt. Hands fidgeting with each other in front of her body as she eyed you with concern. She was missing her pinky and ring finger from her left hand. “You’d been out for hours… I, uhm, stitched up a wound on your leg— thought you might’ve caught an infection.”

She lacked conviction when she spoke to you. Voice leaving with a sort of emptiness, or perhaps, guilt. “Where’d you find me?” You asked, gritting your jaw. Holding onto the metal canister tight enough to use as a weapon if need be. That last thing you wanted was to be fooled by a stranger again.

She cleared her throat. “The beach.”

That’s when it hit you. The memories of your weakness hit. You remember dragging your legs through the sand, catching the glimpse of a body sitting in the water beside a vacant boat, then falling into a deep sleep. Of course, you, somehow, offered yourself up to a stranger.

It was just your luck, huh?

“There were others you could’ve helped… Why me?”

A scoff fell from her lips. Scarred eyebrows jutting together; an attitude washing over her freckled features. As if your words were charged with something else besides cautious curiosity. “I was expecting more of a thank you...”

You blinked, sucked your teeth. “I don’t know you from a can of fucking paint— so, you should lower your expectations.” You retorted, boring your eyes into her slender figure. What alarmed her was how your voice scolded gently. It cut deeper that way. “I mean, what is that on your shirt? Blood? Would you wanna thank some stranger in a bloody shirt?”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?” Her thick eyebrow raised, voice dropping an octave. “You look like shit—“

You glanced at the shirt that clung to you perspiring body. It also had remnants of blood and dirt and sand. Leaning your elbows on your thighs, you leaned forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through—!”

“And you know what I’ve been through?” She countered, scoffing after her words.

You talked over each other—barking like unfamiliar dogs. Wrath came easy to you; and, apparently, it came easy to her, too. Her words silenced you, but you grit your teeth. “I should’ve left you where I found you— fuckin’ joke’s on me.” She ran a hand through her short hair, taking long strides out of the living room. Preparing to sink back into the corner she came from.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed your pride. There was a sincerity behind her eyes that you couldn’t ignore. Her anger radiated off her epidermis is such a way that it was familiar. “All right,” You sighed, positioning your body slowly to face her departing figure. She’d stopped in her path, peering over her boney shoulder. “I don’t recognize you from the cells… Or the pillars. Who the fuck are you?” Your eyebrows furrowed, voice weakening by the mention of your greatest failure: becoming a slave to the weirdest assholes known to man.

Wheels shifted in her mind, her olive eyes flickering around in the dark, in thought. Lips opening and closing, trying to formulate her words—but there was no use. She decided to resume her steps, sequestering herself in a bedroom. You heard the sound of the door shutting and locking the door behind her.

Groaning, you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the soft, itchy pillows, frustrated.

Unbeknownst to you, she’d locked herself in that room because she found herself overcome with emotion—hot, streaming tears. She didn’t know you as much as you didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to share her own greatest failures with you. If what you were saying was true, you were victimized. How could someone like her talk to someone like you? After the things she’s done… After the things she was prepared to do.

The sun ascended, with the two of you lingering in separate rooms. You had eventually fallen asleep after some hours in your thoughts. Wondering about the story of the woman sheltering herself from you. Multiple times, you had to stop yourself from dwelling. This is what got you caught up with the first time. Instead, you began to think about what your plans were.

Were you going to resume your journey to Wyoming, in the hopes of finding that settlement? Or were you going to hitch it back to Catalina Island? And hope to God that they take you back with minimal consequences. Dwelling on those thoughts, instead of her, is what brought you to sleep.

When you woke up, you finished the metal canister of water. Giving the room a proper once-over. Sun rays cascaded through the dusty windows like beams, illuminating the room, angelically. Taking a deep breath, you decided to walk around. The soreness in your body hadn’t changed—you still felt burdened by your own body.

The home was a single-leveled Tuscan inspired home. Its interior was riddled with browns and beiges. Dragging your feet against the wooden floor, you entered the kitchen. All the cabinets were blown open and searched through. You assumed it was that woman who you’d met—still, you didn’t know her name.

Looking down at the counters, there was a yellow-paged note on the furthest one from you. The island closest to her bedroom. It was lying under a pill bottle. You shifted as quickly as you could to the note, sliding the pill bottle to the side, but not without a glance. They were antibiotics.

Found the antibiotics in the cabinets this morning, there’s only two left. Take them both.

I left to go hunt for some food. Stay in the house if you know what’s best for yourself. There’s infected around.

I’ll be back soon.

— E

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “If I know what’s best for myself…” Pressing into the top of the bottle, you unscrewed it. With nothing but your saliva, you knocked back two of the pills just like she told you. However, not because she told you to. There were many reasons for you to catch an infection from the wound on your leg—the wound you didn’t even remember how you got.

“I can handle infected.” You muttered to yourself. It’s been awhile since you really dealt with them face-to-face, but it was an innate ability. Why wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself from infected? Your only limits were your body stuck in its state of pain.

But, where you come from, sometimes it took movement to heal pain. Pushing through soreness and tightness was the only way to move forward.

So, instead of waiting around for E to come back around. You decided to explore some of the nearby houses. Ones that were only a few paces away from the house that you were currently in—you weren’t that stupid.

You secured your backpack around your shoulders, hooking the strap of your shotgun around your arm, and sticking the pistol in the back of your jeans. The first stop was next door. Slowly, you had climbed through a broken window. Landing in a bedroom decorated with childish posters. Focusing, you found yourself busy with looting the home. Taking things of importance and putting them inside of your bag.

You didn’t run into anything shocking until the third place you visited—three houses down. Thankfully, there was no clicking, but there were the familiar wailings of a runner. Catching a glimpse of coily copper hair, huddled over sobbing in her hands, you crouched behind a wall. Eyes shifting from side to side, trying to digest the visual.

Good luck, hotshot.

Perhaps, it was her who really needed the luck. Slowly, you removed the gun from your shoulder, leaning it against the wall. The breaths from your lips fled in chunks, pulling the gifted pistol from your waistband. You had known her for the entirety of your stay at that treacherous resort—she was your anchor. She helped you with your anger, keeping you under an emotional routine. Later, it worked for the worst instead of the better, but she tried to help you in there. She was patient with you.

You stepped from the wall, aiming the chamber of the pistol at the back of her head. You didn’t know her for that long, but you knew she wouldn’t want something like this for herself. She had plans just like you did—she wanted out of California. Leaving her to stumble around this broken home would be fucked up.

She freed you. Now, it was time for you to free her.

“You deserved better than this, Honey.” She was sweet and tangy like honey; that’s why you called her that. It wasn’t even her name—you didn’t know her name.

Your index finger squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet straight through her unsuspecting mind. Her whines were more coherent, meaning that all of that just happened. The infection had just taken over. A tear had slipped down the fat of your cheek when her body hit the ground. The shot echoing against the walls and through the neighborhood.

She lasted no longer than a day on her own, and those rattlers were nothing but the blame. They drained you enough to make you suffer but keep you working. But, out on the road, you stood no chance.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the floor by the baseboards of the wall Honey’s body laid beside. With a lump in your throat, you plucked it from the ground, holding it delicately in your hands.

After months of captivity, I’ve found myself in a situation that I could have never imagined. I didn’t notice when the clicker bit me, everything happened so fast!

It hurts now, though, a lot. And the anticipation of the infection is worser than I expected it to be. This is the part where I put a gun in mouth to end it all.

I’m too tired to do that. For once, I don’t wanna fight.

I apologize to those who end up witnessing what I have become.

The palm of your hand covered your mouth in shock as you read the letter. Honey must’ve been horrified. And it hurt to know that she went through it all alone.

Catching you in a grieving state, E had vaulted through a broken window with her gun in hand. Her olive eyes landed on you, subsiding the subtle look of shock on her face. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.” She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, sighing. “You’re in no condition to travel alone…” Her eyes casted onto your frame leaning over a marble counter, reading over the letter silently.

Hearing her footsteps, you folded up the letter and slid it into your back pocket. Taking a final look at the dead woman on the floor, a reflection of your friend that didn’t exist anymore, you brush past the the auburn-haired woman. Shoulders grazing as you achingly climb out of the same window she came in from.

Without saying, what happened to Honey worried you. Loneliness was a cruelty that many could afford—you experienced it. But loneliness along with bodily ailments wasn’t a problem you wanted. If it weren’t for E, you could’ve been in the same position as Honey. What made you worth saving and not her? A ball of fury, like yourself, should’ve been the first to go.

Yet, a level of gratefulness washed over you. Were you ready to thank the freckled stranger for her saviorship?

E followed you back to the house, binding the front door with furniture. Entering, you noticed two rabbits attached to a string laying on the tiled counter. Impressed, you hummed, while dragging your feet toward the couch you had slept on. You shrugged off your backpack and leaned your shotgun against the wall.

The auburn-haired woman peered at you, messing with rabbits, pulling them off the string to prepare to cook them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She breathed. Her voice coming out like a muttered sigh, but it was loudly quiet in the house. Therefore, your ears picked up on her words.

You ignored her, pulling out the note, and kicking your feet up onto the couch to read it again. Analyzing the messy handwriting on the page, tainted with dried tears and dirty hand prints. E had brought in a metal trashcan to cook the animals she hunted for the both of you. Every so often, peaking at you with interest and wonder.

When the rabbits were cooked, she brought it over to you in a chipped ceramic bowl. “Thanks…” You mutter, barely meeting her eyes.

“Yeah,” She answered, slightly taken off guard.

The two of you eat separately, on different sides of the room. E didn’t retreat back into the room had the night before. Instead, she propped herself on the stool by the island table. Where she could keep her intense olive eyes on you—attempting to read you without asking questions.

You were impressed by the rabbit presented to you. Back at the base, you were familiar with chicken more so than rabbit, though. There was a hesitation when taking the first bite. But the rumble in your belly was satisfied by the animal, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a strong gaze on you, peering to the side was a natural reaction. She’d snap her eyes back to her plate before you could fully catch her. Sighing, you set the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.

In your looting, a bottle of wine called out to you from the basement of one of the Tuscan homes. You limped toward the kitchen with your calloused hand wrapped around the sloped neck of the bottle. Placing the bottle at the middle of the island, you take a seat at the furthest end from her. “I thought I would properly thank you for saving my ass…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly. Choosing to keep your eyes trained on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s Cabernet, I think. The label’s kind of rubbed off.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

You pursed your lips, flickering your eyes to peer at her. “Hm.” You hum. “Okay, well, more for me, I guess.” You shrug, reaching for the wine. The plan was to drink it either way—if she wanted it, or if she didn’t. Peeling off the wrapper, you were happy to see that it was a screw top instead of an imbedded cork.

Taking the first sip, its sweetness spread over your tongue. The alcohol percentage was fairly high, so you were expecting a pleasurable feeling within the next few minutes. If you kept gulping at the bottle. You deserved a bit of man-made solace after what you’ve been through. After the things you’ve seen. Taking another sip, you prepare to go back to the couch you were sat on, with the bottle in your hand.

However, E places a hand on the cool tiles. “Wait…” She rolled her eyes. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.” In her silence, she realized that she also deserved a few moments of calmness—self-care.

The corners of your lips curled, sitting back down on your stool. You slid the bottle close enough for her to reach it, leaning your head against your fist.

Orange rays of the sun shifted through the room; setting so the moon could take her place. You and E had found comfort in the wine and in the space between yourselves. Scooting close to each other until there was only a single stool in the center of you. Talking about the more joyous parts of your lives—which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. The pair of you managed to keep the important information off the record. Upholding a level of vagueness between your truth.

When E had brought up her son and girlfriend, that’s when the energy shifted in the room.

“You have a family? Then… Why are you out here?”

A beat slivered between you, circling your bodies like a ribbon.

“I recognize those dog tags… You’re a firefly? I thought they shut down years ago.” She spoke with rigid shoulders, taking a swig of the Cabernet.

Your hand reached for the thin metal around your neck, decorating your exposed collarbones. There was a disconnect between you and the facility you had grown up in. While you loved the support of the community, as you got older, you wanted something different. “Yeah, after everything shut down, another popped up here—in California. It’s the only one left, I believe.”

She chuckled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol accumulating in her system. “Hm. Are you gonna try and recruit me into your little cult? Is that why you’re still out here?”

Deepening your eyebrows, you peered down at the grout between the tiles under your hands. “Probably… If I still was a firefly…” Slowly, you enunciated. “I haven’t been one for months now.”

“Ah, you went rogue.”

“I wouldn’t say that… But, yeah, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the wine bottle. She put it in your hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. E left room for you speak, just boring her hazed eyes into your frame. “I was done with being an asshole for a living— I don’t want to just survive anymore… I want to live.” You take a large swig of the wine, lamenting subtly.

Look where desiring life got you. Locked up as a slave for another bunch of assholes. “I heard from some people that there was a place in Wyoming that wasn’t anything like the fireflies.” You inhaled, sharply. “I could live a normal life there— maybe it’s a stupid idea… I don’t know.”

E deepened her thick eyebrows, leaning forward. “Are you talking about Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. There was a map in my bag that had the name. I lost it when the rattlers got ahold of me.”

With scrunched face, she stood to her feet. Running her hands over her face, releasing a tired sigh. “It’s not that stupid of an idea…” Looking back at you, she placed her hands on her hips. “That’s where I’m headed— Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Oh…”

Was this the fated reasoning behind why the both of you met? Both harboring an inner pain and guilt for something or someone. Two damaged souls meeting in the middle—this could be a productive exchange. But what would E receive?

She swore under her breath, running her fingers through her hair, stressfully. “You could come with me, it’s not like you’d get far in your condition alone.” She blinked, casually. You scoff at her words, sucking your teeth. She could never just be kind. Sure, it was obvious that you were injured—in horrible shape—but you weren’t inherently weak. You were a trained individual, something that most people couldn’t say.

“I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least offer. It’s a long journey—“

“Oh, you still come off like an asshole, but I appreciate the offer.” You nod, jumping from the stool. “Those fucks threw me off track— I wouldn’t even know where to start up again… So, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You don’t make me regret this. I have a bad history when it comes to trusting strangers.” You pressed your lips into a line, leaning against the island for support. There was a slight sway to stance, as the world around you didn’t feel stable.

“Okay, well, you have my word.” She affirmed, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “Do I have yours?”

You inhaled, sharply, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes, you have my word… On the condition that you tell me your name.” She narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips curling. “We can’t possibly travel together if we don’t know each other’s names.”

The auburn-haired woman picked up the backpack she threw against the lower cabinets, slinging it over her shoulder. She was preparing to huddle into that bedroom again. Before leaving you in the dim hue of the few lanterns in the room, she spoke. “Ellie. My name’s Ellie.”

She waited by her door for your answer, with a raised eyebrow. You gave her your name, plainly. Straightening the hunch in your back—feigning a level of stoicism.

The only response she gave was a hum, before locking herself away. Releasing a sigh of relief, you smiled. Wyoming wasn’t the pipe dream you thought it to be. Yeah, the experiences you had leading up to that conversation weren’t the best. In fact, those experiences scarred everything about you. But could this have been the reason behind your hellish encounters?