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[pinkgrapefloyd]

tory nichols x lady macbeth monologue

[mlmgaze]

"lestat was 20 he should have been at the club" "louis was 25 he should have been at the club" well armand was 17. he should have been lording it over the high school cafeteria. he should have been making life hell for everyone else in drama club.

[off-mozzarella]

Anyways I recommend laying on the grass and booping some mushrooms, healing experience

(Please excuse my nails I didn't remove the black polish properly)

[somebirdortheother]

I was tagged by @daincrediblegg to make a moodboard with my name + core on pinterest. Your tag is my command 🫡

Tagging with zero pressure 🌝🌚: @lady-of-imladris @queenmeriadoc @coraleethroughthelookingglass @vellichormybeloved @helenvader @niennawept

[arctic-hands]

Picture it: sophomore American history. The year is two thousand and eight. The teacher is known for passing out jolly ranchers, one per student per day, when a kid does a good job. One day, she wants us to list every state in the country. Kids start listing them off in unison, mostly alphabetically, but falter around the I states (this is in Indiana, mind). Except one triumphant voice lingers as every other voice trails off in doubt and consternation. This voice flawlessly recites every state in these United States* as the class and teacher stare in awe, and at the very end the resounding voice makes mention of Puerto Rico and Guam as territories. The teacher wordlessly hands over two jolly ranchers.

A new day. List the presidents. Nobody knows beyond Washington, Lincoln, FDR, JFK, Clinton, George W. Bush–the incumbent finishing up his final term in a few months. Except. One voice–just as triumphant–recites every president, in order, even making mention of Grover Cleveland's non-consecutive second term. Everyone–teacher and student alike–stares again, this time almost in horror. The voice, embarrassed and blushing at the stares this time, finishes the forty-three chronologically, and this time as the teacher hands over another two jolly ranchers she overcomes her shock to ask "How did you know that??"

At which the body that contains the voice shrugs sheepishly, pops a blue raspberry in their mouth, and makes a vague "I 'unno" sound–unwilling to admit that the Fifty Nifty song they sang with their class in a third grade recital had permanently seared itself into their brain, as did the Nickelodeon presidents song that aired during the Oh Four election between Bush and Kerry

*I realized after while at dinner that evening when I told my parents about it that I had completely skipped Pennsylvania and Rhode Island, but the listing was so smooth and confident that no one noticed. I never made that mistake again regardless

[pocketramblr]

Upon seeing the post about second as iida my first thought was and third can be uraraka then I noticed you had the same idea in the tags

Great minds think alike I just think that's what she deserves,,,trio holders to the original trio babeyyy

[zhuhongs]

i'm thinking of moving to taiwan after college, how has it been treating you? a lot of people i know who did move to taiwan only talk about how hard the language is (even if they're taiwanese 🥲) but i wanna now how like, your everyday life is!

oooo, that sounds so exciting, wherever you end up i hope you enjoy it! But yea, so I live just outside of Taipei in New Taipei but New Taipei is actually huge and there are many parts of New taipei that are like super far from Taipei proper and are pretty hard to live in without a having a scooter or car. I'm assuming you've been to taiwan before if you think you want to move there but ya never know! I tbh knew very little abt taiwan before coming here but yea. Just giving you an idea of where I live and that i can't speak for all of Taiwan, just my area thats just outside of taipei but still served by their metro system (which is honestly super dope, shout out to the MRT).

So like I overall love living here sm, I'd love to live here someday for work or smth and not just studying abroad. The transportation is amazing, the nature is. so lovely. Like tbh no matter where I am in the city I am no more than 10 km away from the river or the mountains and everything is so green and nice. However in order to be so green all the time, taipei is very rainy and very humid. Legit my hair was such a nightmare when i got here, if you are from a dry climate, you will notice so many changes. Like my skin is rlly nice bc of the moisture, but my hair was unmanageable so i chopped it off. But I also have was less allergies now. If youre originally from a humid climate it should be nbd.

My daily life is honestly pretty easy. I live in a dorm so I didn't have to deal with things like speaking to a landlord or finding someone who would rent to me, or having to deal with utility bills, or dealing with the semi confusing garbage disposal system. But, I do know ppl that did have to do these things and speak way less chinese than I do and were just fine. Honestly, ppl say that you can live in the Taipei area without speaking chinese and be just fine bc most ppl speak english. Tbh idk how anyone does that, I rarely speak to anyone in english here but I think thats bc I always try speaking chinese first. Most people can speak a decent amount but unless you speak to them in english first theyll speak in chinese. I feel like most things you can learn just by living your daily life and learning high frequency words and when all else fails use google translate. But honestly, my life is very easy and pleasant. If I'm hungry I can easily go to a food stall or grocery store or convenience store near where I live. If I really don't want to leave the house, I can order food with a reasonable delivery fee (well reasonable to me, ik food prices are going up here).

Personally, I find that making friends here is pretty hard, but I'm not a very social person and find it hard to start conversations with ppl idk, and most taiwanese people don't talk to you if you don't talk to them, so this might be hard. But I feel like everyone is very friendly for the most part its just kinda finding the chances to make friends is rare if you aren't working or going to classes or know someone here already.

But overall yea no taiwan is a great place to live, there's a lot of things I'm gonna miss abt taiwan when i go home but somethings in my home country are hard to find here. Some of the traditional taiwanese food isn't bad, but not like my cup of tea, but you can find a lot here. It's just that most like foreign cuisine is more expensive or geared towards the locals so its not very authentic. I def miss hispanic food and some foods are hard to recreate here bc of lack of ingredients but taiwanese food is also very nice. Some dishes may look boring but are actually very good. I hope you like living in taiwan if you end up living here!

[ephemerallyhades]

jason deserved better from the narrative but i could go on FOREVER about this so i’ll just. not. ugh. he was knocked out all the time bec he would’ve been too OP if he hadn’t that’s the only conclusion here. because he wasn’t allowed to outshine percy :) (and i fucking love percy but cmon.)

but ugh. he really deserved better lolllll like we got to see the extent of percy’s powers, nico’s, but jason? whatever i’m not bitter about it…

percy had an 'im a big three son' moment when he choked a goddess with her own saliva (controlling a fluid that was INSIDE her body) annabeth was terrified.

nico had an 'im a big three son' moment when he disembodied bryce lawrence (quite literally dissipating and shrinking his LIVING soul into a spirit) and threw him to the underworld, smashing his zombie warriors. reyna was terrified.

yet we were robbed of jason's 'im a big three son' moment where he sucks the air out of someone's lungs and makes them stop breathing, or damaging a person's nervous system with his lightning control, and literally cause internal bleeding, or a damaged/fried skull if he electrocuted hard enough (look up the effects of lightning damage on body y'all will get a whole list, tbh he doesn't even need lightning to do any of this, air control is more than enough since air takes charge of everything going inside the body, but this is just an added effect.) he could give people STROKES if he wanted to. he's the literal definition of burnt out kid who was suppressed from discovering the magnitude of his abilities, because one, his dad's ego wouldn't be able to handle it, two, because he, for some reason, can't be allowed to do anything other than get knocked out :/

also adding on, hardcore pjo fans know that after the ending page of boo, there's this fan story that rick chose to publish in the last few pages of the book where a fan reimagines the ending of hoo, in that work, annabeth collapses from an attack and percy sobs clutching her body. jason calmly asks him to step aside, and kneels before annabeth, jason regulates her breathing using his wind/lightning powers and brings annabeth back fully from her cardiac arrest, causing percy to be relieved. (I wanted to link the pics of the pages here so bad but I didn't have the hard copy of the book with me, and this isn't available anywhere online either, only in the original covers of boo uk and us version, so I edited this post and asked people to reblog this post w the pics if they have the hardcopy, and a kind blogger found the story I'm talking about and reblogged the pictures of the pages, you can check my reblogs of this post for the pictures of the almost all the pages after this scene) considering rick approved and even liked the fan's work well enough to publish it in the official boo book, I'd say rick was aware and never completely ruled out expanding jason's abilities and had them in mind, he simply didn't incorporate it into the books. (also W fan for giving jason the rep he deserves, I will always remember you, the story was very well written, with great dialogue)

[coweye]

The Honda Odyssey

Logan Howlett x Reader | smut | 6k words Summary: The car fight reimagined and it only needed to be like 10% more erotic than the original.

I got carried away. I just love Wolvie so much. I'm so happy Logan is getting the adoration he deserves. Long live the Wolverine renaissance.

Warning: smut, p in v, ass play, foul language.

If you had to pinpoint a moment when your life became the shit show it had steadily developed into, you’d say it was the moment you auditioned for X-Force.

In your tenure as besties with Wade Wilson, it's fair to say things hadn’t gone smoothly. The man was a conduit to all things fucked up, but you adored his loose morals and quick mouth. The idiot in red had weaselled his way into your heart and became something of a brother to you and more recently a roommate.

Now, if you’d have told your younger self you’d be in your late twenty’s sharing an apartment with a burn victim who regularly staples a toupee to his fucking head and a coke-head, blind, old African American woman, you’d have laughed in their fucking face.

So, you’d like to think that as these things go you are pretty damn well adjusted but traversing the multiverse was a bit of a stretch, even for you.

One moment you’re at Wade’s surprise party, the next your ass has been zapped to the TVA and you’ve been given a sacred mission; to accompany Marvel Jesus (Wade) and protect the sacred timeline.

Naturally you’re fucking mind blown, you’re a low-level mutant, fuck, you couldn’t even join the X-Men.  Your particular set of skills were a dime a dozen and your flagrant disregard of rules had made you a ‘poor candidate’.

No, the mutant powers you had been graced with weren’t extraordinary by any means. You were basically an off-brand Captain America, just without the gorgeous cheekbones, patriotism and righteous need to do good.

In layman terms, you are strong as shit and have an accelerated healing factor. Not quite the same level as Wade’s mind you. You have, give or take, an inconvenient five-minute turnaround on the more fatally debilitating wounds.

To say you were unqualified was an understatement and to say you were reluctant was a simple fact. A fact you repeated, loudly to anyone that would listen as you were bathed in rich black leather.

“I think maybe you meant to grab negasonic teenage whatchacallit… she’s great, super powerful!” You continue. “Did you mean to get Domino or Colossus or maybe one of the X-Men? “

“No Miss Y/L/N. We have not got the wrong person for the job.” The man you later find out is called Paradox, calls out as you re-enter the operation headquarters. “Mr Wilson requested your presence; he wanted your assistance on his mission.”

“Y/N/N… ten out of ten, baby girl, I one hundred percent would bang. I’m talking raw dog, Barry White on a rug, let’s go all fuckin’ night.”  Wade hollers in his own brand-new suit and even you must admit, you look fucking amazing. “Sweet angel, we’ve just gotta’ come up with a superhero name for you!”

You are enrobed in rich thick black and teal leather, your first ever hero suit and it’s a fucking good one. It doesn’t cling, but instead pulls you in securing your flesh and extenuating curves, ones you hadn’t entirely realised you had. The bottom half your face is concealed with a mask, carefully crafted to follow the contours of your nose and cheekbones.

You’d barely recognised the mysterious figure in the mirror.

“Right?! Tailor was pretty handsy though!”

“Oh yeah, ha! - that man is indeed a predator.” Wade says with a chuckle and a fond sigh.

It shames to you to say but that’s when you stopped fighting this whole thing. You looked the part of a hero; you thought that maybe the TVA knew what they were doing. That they had seen something in you and knew that you had a good heart under all the darkness that lingered on the surface.

Wrong.

You were just a demand Wade had made. He wanted his number one disciple at his side whilst he carried out his sacred mission. You were part of an attempt at appeasing him whilst they destroyed your timeline.

Little more than a pawn to be used whilst they manipulated him into a false sense of security.

Thus, you were thrown into a series of events far beyond your control when Wade being Wade decided you were hunting down a Wolverine to stabilise the timeline, only to be once again fucking zapped into some place they called the void by that little English shitbird named Paradox. It’s entirely accurate to say that you were a little less sturdy than your compadres.

Unfortunately for you, the fall from such a height into the void was fatal. When you finally awake in the desolate wasteland to the sounds of blades clashing it is disorientating to say the least.

Forcing yourself to your feet you lower your mask and gasp in the sweet strangely stale oxygen as you stretch out your newly healed spine with a groan. It was impossible to tell how long you were out as you take in the scene before you; Wade and the Wolverine are engaged in a heated battle. From the looks of it, Logan is winning this fight despite being the human equivalent of a knife block with Wade’s katanas protruding from his chest.

For a moment you pause, perhaps its head trauma that hasn’t healed (He’s fucking Deadpool, he can look after himself for two minutes) and appreciate his form, the Wolverine the two of you had kidnapped was gorgeous. Tch, as if there was any other kind.

Sure, you were biased you’d always been somewhat of a fangirl, but the Wolverine was objectively breath-taking.

You’d indulged in comics whilst growing up but when you found out he was real and looked the way he did, hell, Wolverine was your sexual awakening. He was the first man to make you feel that tingle in your lower stomach. Yes, you may have been thirteen years old, a ball of puppy fat and social anxiety but you’d been waiting for him ever since. 

You’re snapped out of your reverie when Wade loses baby knife in Logan’s shoulder blade, finally you spring into action. In good time as well as you’re not sure if even Deadpool can survive decapitation.

In the singularly most stupid act of your life you throw yourself in front of your friend’s body. “Wait, Wait! Please!”  

Wade has paused behind you, you can feel him weighing up the situation, pausing for a moment to see what you’re going to pull out of the bag.

“The TVA they can fix it, whatever you did, whatever made you the worst Logan, they can fix it! – They have the power to end universes, but they also have the power to fix yours! Help us get back there and we can fix both of our worlds! I promise, they can fix it.” You plead, it’s not quite a lie exactly, more of an Educated Wish than anything.

Okay it is a lie, but you’re sure that the TVA can most likely, probably, maybe fix his world.

Logan’s eyes lock with yours in that moment you can see that he wants to kill you both and be done with it, but that hope won’t let him. You feel a smidgen of guilt for the deceit, but frankly you’ve done worse for less. Your world was on the line it wasn’t the time to pull your punches.

Fast forward four exhausting hours, two periods of unconsciousness and one flaying to find yourself sat opposite Wade gagging down cold spoonful’s of Spam in some dusty ass diner.

You were no better than a man as you watched the Wolverine.

Those arms, those thighs, the way he had beheaded Sabretooth without even breaking a fucking sweat. You wanted him to wrap those instruments of death he called hands around your throat and fuck you dirty until the sun came up.

It had been a long exhausting day and you had been soaking wet for most of it.

Shit, could he smell that? Does that count as sexual harassment? You’d have to ask Wade.

Logan, however, was utterly dismissive of your advances in the face of what was undoubtedly utterly horrific past trauma. Something you were trying to be understanding about, but self-pity in a man, it just turned you on. I said you had some surface layers of darkness.

Unable to help yourself you gaze at him as he opens a bottle of rubbing alcohol. You are utterly entranced, watching the thick chords in his throat bob as he takes a swig.

That tanned skin where his jaw ends and neck begins, slick with sweat and dirt. You’d love to sink your canines into the strip below his ear. He must feel your stare on him as he looks up and catches your eyes dark with lust already surveying his person.

It should embarrass you, that every time he peers your way, he catches you gaping at him like a lovesick puppy, but there’s something about Logan you can’t quite put your finger on. The man heats your blood like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, maybe it’s that torch you’ve carried for him since girlhood, maybe it’s the thick thighs you’d kill to ride – who can say for sure?

In what you assume is against his better judgement, he comes to perch on the booth beside you. His broad shoulders cast an imposing figure as he gets close enough that if you were to move your hand a couple of inches to the right, you’d finally be able to touch that yellow fabric that plagued your tween dreams.

You’re burning up at the thought of him, unable to stop yourself you part your legs slightly to ease some of the pressure. Logans nose twitches, his head swivels your way and his eyes catch your own.  

Welp - at least you have your answer about him smelling your arousal.

Deciding that you were most likely verging on sexual harassment charges you decided to focus back in on the task at hand, gagging once again at another spoonful of spam.

“Be a good girl and swallow, Y/N/N, you know the rules!” Wade jokes, your chortle was your only response. What could you say? He always hit your funny bone despite the ocean that was raging in your panties.

Logan stares at Wade for a long moment before turning to your way and addressing you for maybe only the fourth time today?

“What are you doing with this fucking clown? You his sidekick? Following him round to laugh at his stupid fucking jokes whilst he gets kids killed?”

“Why I have never.” Wade is faux outraged at his words, clutching his imaginary pearls as the Wolverine throws around accusations that aren’t entirely untrue.

The Wolverine’s expression remains stern as his eyes track your face. They seem to be evaluating your character and from the flare in his nose and crease in his brow you can guess he finds you lacking. You’re embarrassed to admit how much that deflates you, so you do what you do best; you deflect.

 “I could follow you around and laugh at your jokes instead, if you like?” When you speak your voice has a sultry edge to it and there’s no mistaking your intentions.

Logan seems to think on your proposition for a second or two, before he huffs grabs his rubbing alcohol and unopened can of Spam and heads over to sit at the bar.

“Holy hot ham and cheese on rye, Y/N, you fucking slut.” Wade berates you though his voice is as light as it’s always been as he boots your shin under the table. “Trying to your holes filled by Wolvie during a world saving mission, Marvel H Christ, stay on fucking task!”

You swear you hear Logan mutter a Jesus Christ from the bar.

Though as Wade continues irritating the hero hunched against bar, you can’t help the realisation that he didn’t say no.

“You’re uh… well regarded in our world.” Wade complements, being real doesn’t come easy to him. You appreciate the effort.

“Well, I’m not shit in mine.”

“I tried to join the X-Men because of you.” You speak up finally joining their conversation. Wolverine’s back goes rigid, but he doesn’t respond. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to continue or hoping you’ll stop. “You made a difference to this world, made me think I could do the same. I just never quite make the cut.”

Logan doesn’t seem to have a response.

It seems your words have an effect as you catch him watching you more often. When Wade makes his jokes, he looks to you for validation of his withering looks.

You’re probably more distracted by this revelation than you should be when the three of you come across a real nasty variant of Colossus seeking out Wade for… you want to say… revenge?

The not-so-gentle-anymore-giant flips the Honda and tosses both Wade and Logan through the treeline as they advance on him as if they were little more than toys his mother had asked him to pick up.

One by one your bullets ricochet from his metal skin as he comes towards you. You aren’t built for this fight; you are completely and utterly outmatched.

All you’re doing at this point is buying yourself some time for your backup to pull themselves from the rubble, however during a particularly spirited cartwheel the metal oaf finally gets his hands on you. Colossus’ metal palm is cold on your throat, and you could swear you hear your neck snapping before you feel it.  

With a gasp you return to life to find a slightly dishevelled Logan standing above you. By the grace of god, his sleeves have been worn away in the fight, his arms, oh sweet lord, his arms are on full display.

“Thought you were a goner.” He offers you a hand when you simply stare mutely his way. Locking your fingers around his wrist he pulls you to your feet. You don’t release your hold on him and neither does he.

“Don’t throw the party just yet, eh?” You joke weakly, for a second you could swear there’s a slight raise of the corner of his mouth, imperceptible, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. In the past few hours you had become an expert on Wolverine’s face.  

Your mouth is dry as you take in his thick sweat laden biceps.

“Where’s Wade?” You query whilst rolling your aching neck as you haven’t heard his voice in a record thirty seconds, Logan suddenly remembers himself and drops your hand.

“’fraid Metal man took your clown, was pissed with him and can’t say I blame the guy.”

“Shit.” You sigh rubbing your temples as you kneel to pick up the dismembered arm of your best friend. “Well – fuck. That’ll take him a few hours at least to grow back – He’ll be so sad about his suit.”

You peel the fabric from the limb and tuck it under the breast plate of your own suit. Wade will want his glove back when it grows back.

“He say where he was taking him?”

“Oh yeah, that along with his plan for world domination...” Logan huffs as if your mere presence annoys him.

“Thought you didn’t like sarcasm.”

“I like sarcasm just fine, Bub. It’s you I don’t like.” You can’t help but smile his way at the comment made at your expense, his brows crease. “You’re a strange one.”

“Can you do your sniffy thing?”  Its impressive, you thought he’d reached the limit with his scathing looks towards Wade, yet he somehow manages to pull a deeper frown out the vault especially for you.

“Sniffy thing?” His words are spoken with such derision, it turns you on a little. You realise that perhaps you are in fact a deeply troubled individual.

“Oh, sorry.” You pretend to clear a frog in your throat. “Please, oh, please, beautiful, handsome Wolverine, please can you locate my bestest pal with your heightened sense of smell?” His face doesn’t break despite your hands clasped in front of your chin.

“You’re just as fucking annoying as that moron.” He huffs “Get in the fucking car, we’ll follow his trail.”

“You can smell him from the car?”

“The blood, Jesus Fucking Christ, there’s a trail of blood.”

“Ah.” Is all you reply as you find your seat in the passenger side and start your own one on one team up with Wolverine. Its not exactly the way you imagined it, but beggars certainly can’t be choosers.

After a few moments of sullen silence, you decide that there’s no time like the present to form a long-lasting bond.

“What’s your world like?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Okay... What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they can save your world? I bet its something boring as fuck, like team-“

“What did you just say?”

“I bet you’re gonna do something boring like-“

“No before that.”

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they save your world?” You question, his sudden interest in your words takes you by surprise as he has been vacant from your conversation.

The breaks suddenly shriek as the car comes to a stop.

“What do you mean if?”

“I…”

“You said they could fix my world. Undo it all, is what you fucking said.”

“I mean I think they can!”

“You fucking liar.” The edge to The Wolverine’s voice is terrifying. The realisation trickles down your spine, Logan has been nice to you all this time, you’re finally meeting The Wolverine.

“I didn’t lie!” For some reason you’re ashamed of your deceit, you’ve murdered countless people and still, you’ve felt less remorse. Logan’s eyes pin you in your seat as disgust clouds his face. It hurts more than you can fathom. “Not exactly, I think they can fix your world! – I needed your help and if you killed Wade there was no hope for my universe!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your universe!” He spits your way; his hands are gripping the wheel in what seems like an effort to keep his cool.

“I know, but I do!” You cry back at him. “You know how to save the world, you’re the fucking Wolverine! I know how to kill people, but this hero shit, this isn’t me!”

“Ha! No shit.” There is pure hate in the man’s eyes as he stares back at you.

“Please, you’re Logan. Whether you’re the worst one or not - You’re still better than me.”

“Get out of the fucking car.” The words come from between clenched teeth and are filled with warning.

“No – fuck you.”  Your rage breaks the banks to meet Logan’s. Perhaps it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fear for Wade but something within you snaps at his constant bad temper. “It was an educated guess and a fucking reasonable one at that, get the fuck over yourself you big bird wannabe geriatric fucker! “

He slams his palms on the steering wheel, his nose flares and his teeth clamp together.  “Fuck me? Fuck you – you sad pathetic excuse for a side-kick. No wonder the X-Men wouldn’t take you, and they’ll take fuckin’ anyone. You are a ridiculous, immature, moron who spends her days following around a fucking clown to avoid facing the reality that you are no one. I have never met a sadder, more attention starved asshole in my entire life. You were right about one thing, you’re no fucking hero.”

Its shameful the way your stomach drops, and your eyes involuntarily begin to tear. To hear your hero say the words you’ve thought about yourself whilst laying awake at night. It’s a knife to the gut.

“Nothing to fucking say, huh, Angel?” The use of Wade’s nickname for you is like sandpaper on your skin, it rubs you the wrong fucking way.

“I am going to hurt you now.” Your voice is barely a broken whisper.

“You’re going to hurt – “His faux chortle is cut short by a swift punch to his face. You’re worried you may have been overzealous with your swing when his nose begins bleeding. The Wolverine is stunned for only a moment before he grabs the back of your neck and proceeds with smashing your face into the dashboard and those concerns are quickly put to bed.

The old fucker is strong, but you don’t think he’ll kill you, yet another educated wish.

“Not so tough now…” He shouts as the radio channels change with your skull. Pulling a knife from your leg strap you embed it in his thigh and pull the lever to recline your seat whilst he’s distracted, luckily, you’re not there when he swings for retribution.

Though one of his fucking steak knives catches your upper arm slicing through the leather. Warm blood trickles down your arm, staining the beige interior of the poor Honda. 

Your legs are your strongest asset, so when he attempts to restrain you with the seatbelt, you are presented with your window of opportunity. You wrap them around his neck as you pivot your hips slamming the Wolverine headfirst into the metal of the door. Once, twice, three times - on the fourth he lands a fist to your gut, luckily, he has retracted his claws.

If he was willing to kill you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

You’re winded struggling to catch your breath from the gut punch, but you manage pull the knife from his thigh that is nestled between your legs and thrust it into his neck, you aim for the spot you’d fantasied about kissing before he’d torn your character apart piece by piece, now you just want to bathe in his fucking blood.

It was the pain that instantaneously made his claws extend. He’s quick to move them, though he slices through the sides of your suit as he buries them in the chair behind you. Your ribs are a bloodied mess though you don’t care, in a few hours they’ll be good as new.

Logan has seized the opportunity and has your arms pinned to your sides, his blood has cooled a little more than yours, he doesn’t seem to want to murder you over an argument.

Perhaps he’s more well-adjusted than yourself, that thought alone should concern you, except it just enrages you further.

“You stupid fuckin-“The Wolverine starts admonishing you, before you swing your head forward and headbutt him.

Yes.

You really do that.

You headbutt the man with the adamantium fucking skeleton– at full strength. Its sheer dumb luck you don’t crack your own skull in the process– maybe Logan was right, you are fucking dumb.

“Fucking fuck!” You cry grabbing your forehead and writhing. Noone wins with a headbutt, except Logan apparently.

“Fucking stop that.” Your writhing has pushed your core against his crotch, and he is already packing quite the heat at what feels like half-mast. He grabs your hips to stop your movement, but it only seems to push you closer. “Stop fucking moving.”

The constant arousal you’ve felt since meeting him returns in double time, Logan’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken. It’s debased and you’re ashamed that you want him, you haven’t stopped wanting him, despite the awful fucking words that left his mouth minutes ago.

“Like … a little pain Wolvie?”

Its relief you feel, you think, when instead of answering or punching you in the face, he closes the gap.

The Wolverine’s claws retract, and he grabs at your chin. Logan’s mouth utterly devours your own, your front tooth clashes with his own as you push yourself upwards, you pull your knife out of his neck, catching his grunt of pain on your tongue as you begin licking your way down his thick throat.

The vein you’d spotted hours ago is throbbing freshly healed, you sink your canines into the flesh and its as good as you’d fucking imagine. His groan is utterly beast-like as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

The Wolverine’s throat tastes like salt and iron. Thick, tangy and warm on your tongue as you soothe the bite. It drives Logan wild, thrusting his hardened member against your warmth. One of his gloved hands rises to lock on the back of your neck to pull you into yet another earth-shattering kiss.  His sharp hot tongue slides against your own, exploring the expanses of your mouth like its his to claim.

You bite at him again then, your teeth catching his bottom lip sharply.  Logan groans into your mouth before you use every ounce of your enhanced strength to throw him backwards against the dashboard.

He is taken utterly by surprise as his head slams into the windscreen cracking the glass with a grunt. When he looks your way Logan’s eyes are blackened with desire, he is utterly wild.

Slowly as if afraid to make any sudden moves, you unzip your combat boots, your eyes never leaving his. One boot and then the next.

You thank the TVA’s tailor for making your suit a two piece as you shuffle backwards into the backseat, pushing the thick leather down your legs all whilst maintaining eye contact with the beast leaning against the dashboard.

“You sure you want this Darlin’?”

“Darlin’?” You question mockingly, your voice lowering to imitate his own, as you wantonly spread your legs, your bare leg resting next to the headrest. Only a pair of black cotton panties separate him from your most intimate parts and his eyes are locked on your clothed core. “a second ago it was ‘Pathetic Moron’ to you.”

Your head tilts in question as his eyes lock back on your own, you think perhaps for a moment something akin to regret passes over his face, but you’ve never been entirely comfortable with feelings, so you drop your hand into the waistband of your panties, you’ve barely circled your opening with your pointer finger before he’s on you.

“That’s my job, you fucking Moron.” He plunges two bare thick fingers into your heat. Gasping you throw your head back against the headrest, it’s a tight fit and its been a while but the slight burn eases some of the aching in your core.  “You’re fuckin’ soaking wet, you like it huh, bub? Making me bleed?”

Your grab his jaw, your nails digging into his flesh. “I’d like to bathe in-” He scissors his fingers finding that spot inside you and you let out an embarrassing noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “-Your fucking blood… you mean motherfucker.”

You’re an absolute goner when he starts rubbing your clit, after a day of foreplay your body seizes, and you grab at the nape of his neck trying to find something to anchor you down. But as fast as the build was you come tumbling down just as quickly, when he cruelly withdraws his hands.

“No! - Wha- what the fuck?!” You’re almost crying as your torn from the precipice.

Logan flips you over onto your stomach before you can complain any further, your face down on the filthy upholstery as he pulls your panties from your hips. You can’t see him from this angle, though you can feel his warm hands tracing the globes of your ass.

You force your knees further apart, pushing your bare soaking pussy against the tight bulge of his yellow suit. If you had enough of your facilities about you, you’d be embarrassed that you’re currently rubbing your cunt against The Wolverine like a bitch in heat after he’d chewed you out only minutes ago.

Logan’s hand dip between your thighs, his fingers swirl along your hole, dragging your wetness along to your aching clit.

“You think I’d make it that easy?” He asks as he continues the journey back and forth. On the second pass he dips his finger inside of you for a fraction of a second before resuming its path. “What do you want, darlin’?”

You weren’t going to beg, in fact you bit your tongue to stop the traitorous words from forming, this man had already made you abandon most of your self-respect, he wasn’t having this.

“Logan…” At your breathy words the man leans forward, pressing his fabric covered cock into your ass as he folds his body over yours. One hand comes down next to your shoulder, the other explore your tits as he rocks himself into your throbbing core. It’s the perfect storm as he nuzzles into your exposed throat but somehow you manage your words. “Fuck me or don’t, I’m not begging, bub.”

He exhales through his nose in what you guess is equal parts amusement and annoyance, but you’re far beyond caring. He places a bite on the spot where your throat meets your shoulder as his body pulls back. Momentarily his hands leave your hips to deal with his own pants. You hear the clank of his belt hitting the car floor moments before you feel the head of his cock, running along your folds.

The head of his cock is thick, and it feels hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick. All of a sudden Logan pushes forward and sheathes himself inside of you with a single thrust.

You try your best to hold in your incoherent moans but to little avail as he pulls back before slamming full force back into you. If you were a human woman, your pelvis would’ve shattered from the force of his hips against your ass, instead you gather your strength and push back, allowing him deeper. The both of you moan in unison at the depth he reaches.

You grab onto the foam of the seat, ripping through the fabric with your bare hands desperate for an anchor as Logan unforgivingly pounds into you from behind, once again he folds his body over yours, wrapping a palm around your clawed fingers.

“.” He grunts something incoherent into your ear as he picks up the pace, slamming into you repeatedly, slowly picking up his pace. Your core is positively aching as you throb around him, pulling him deeper within you.  If you were expecting any further explanation, you’re sorely disappointed.

The wolverine pulls back, gripping at your hips keeping you still as he resumes his powerful strokes.  Logan’s hand dips to your clit, rubbing quick circles sending you barrelling back towards your orgasm. As you begin to clench around him, he pulls your body upwards, his head brushing against the top of the car as he holds you against him his fingers never leaving your clit.

“Come on my cock, Angel.” Unable to stop yourself you clench around him, hearing him talk like that does something primal to you.

You fucking loved Logan’s mouth, you bet he ate pussy like a champion if he played the clit this fucking well.

You stopped fighting it and threw yourself from the cliff, shattering in his thick muscle veined arms as he held you up against him, his cock still viciously plundering your depths.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispers against your neck whispers peppering it with bites.

Logan gives you a few moments to come down from your high before he resumes his punishing pace, you think perhaps you’ve reached your limit of pleasure, that the threshold can’t possibly be topped until he whispers into your ear in that gruff voice.

“What was it Wilson said? Filling all your holes?” The Wolverine asks, his eyes meet yours over your shoulder meaningfully, asking permission as he offers you his thumb. You merely moan your approval and wantonly draw his finger into your mouth, soaking the pad in saliva.  

Logan yanks your head into a vicious kiss. It’s a messy one, filled to the brim with need. The hand not currently locked on your neck holding your face to his, travels down your back, through the valley of your bodies. The pad of his pinky runs appreciatively over the globe of your ass, before his hand dips into the crease.

Logan’s thumb runs teasingly against the tight ring of muscle, it’s a foreign experience which makes you startle slightly.

“Anyone ever fucked you here?” He asks as he bites down your neck, delicately pushing you forward until your head rests on the backseat. You shake your head as your eyes close, his cock is buried balls deep within you as he plays with your asshole.

When his thumb finally breaches your tight hole just past the nail, he begins his thrusts once more. His cock fills your pussy from behind and suddenly you feel so fucking full, Its far too much for you.

“Fuck… Logan.” You gasp almost on the verge of tears as pounds you into the back seat. It seems the ass play has gotten to him more than expected, as his pace has increases.

“Where?” He asks breathless from the exertion as he pulls his thumbs from your ass and takes a handful of the meat on your hips.

“Inside…. Please … Logan.” You practically beg though you’ll never admit it, his rhythm becomes stunted as his hips slam into the back of your thighs.

“Give me something tight to come in, Darlin’.” Moaning at his words you’re eager to obey as you reach your hand between your own legs and rub mercilessly at your clit. The unforgiving pounding, the grunting and the fingers currently bruising your hips and the burning of your now vacant ass send you sailing over the edge.

You clamp down on him like a vice, groaning unable to hold back your whimpers anymore as he finally bites your neck and pumps his seed deep inside you as far as it can go. Logan grunts like a beast as he pulses deep inside of you.

Logan collapses beside you. Dents in the interior of the van you don’t even remember making have appeared from where a stray elbow or knee has hit the metal in the throes of passion.

The Wolverine tucks his cock back in his suit. Ever the gentleman, he uses your black panties to wipe away the cum dripping from your thighs, you haven’t got the heart to tell him that when you’re commando redressed in your suit that you can still feel him dripping from you, your pussy uncomfortably slick against the leather.

After dressing, the two of you sit in contemplative silence. Neither one of you has the emotional complexity to discuss what happened and neither one of you will accept fault for your argument that led to it, so, silence reigns.

The tension is sliced in two as Logan leans forward and pushes an errant lock of hair behind your ear in an act so goddamn endearing, you melt. You still wouldn’t apologise for lying, because you didn’t lie but you can meet him a quarter of the way.

“I’m sorry for calling you geriatric.” You whisper catching his eyes, a small spark of humour leaps into them, you’ve seen more emotions from your hero in the past half an hour than you knew he was capable of.

“I shouldn’t have-“ Logan’s heartfelt apology is cut off by the lead of this goddamn story.

“Well, well, well.  Would you look at this, My best friends, Ha! I get fucking kidnapped, an arm ripped off and you’re nowhere to be found? I thought don’t worry Wade, they won’t leave you, Y/N/N will come around that corner any second."

Wade has appeared through the passenger side window; he looks a little worse for wear and has a child’s arm growing from his stump, its kind of gross to look at.

"What if Colossus had had his way with me? What then Y/N? I expect this from Wolvie, but not from you! No, no heroic rescue for old Deadpool. I have to save myself because you fuckers are too busy playing hide the adamantium bone!  Thanks for nothing guys. Now the car has old man sex stank to it, as if this hunk of shit Honda could get any worse!”

[sniffanimal]

I'm weirdly hypersensitive to the fact that everyone says "hundred percent" now as an affirmative. nothing really wrong with it but like it sticks out as if everyone randomly started saying "Jeebwobbers" or something every time instead. it feels so alien to me even though it like makes perfect sense

[criminalamnesia]

the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

[anantaru]

— flavored chapstick challenge

synopsis. you put on different chapsticks and make your boyfriend guess the flavor <3

including. alhaitham, venti, scaramouche

genre. making out & slightly suggestive, fluff, gn! reader

— alhaitham

as was expected from somebody like the scribe himself, the moment you have challenged your boyfriend alhaitham to such witty game, he, in return, will take it serious, extremely grave to the point where the more actual reason as to why you wanted to play this game in the first place, went straight down the drain.

notwithstanding the fact that such was the case now, the man will always kiss you slowly and passionately, each time, introducing you to how it felt when time froze, whenever he pressed his lips on you.

naturally, to savor the artificial taste on his mouth, he tenderly swipes the tip of his tongue over your bottom lip and hums, then breaths in as glitter and a faint rosy tone was sticking all over his mouth.

alhaitham opens his eyes and watches you struggling weakly at him.

you're holding yourself close to your boyfriend now, both hands around his neck, watching him with flustered cheeks and stars hidden behind your eyes, greeting him with your precious gaze.

alhaitham blinks and found himself holding the eye contact longer, his lips pressing together to voice a deep, low, pleading tone;

"sunsettia, i assume?" he whispers, almost cruelly, staring at your wet lips and like he didn't just tease the living hell out of you.

yet not so fast, since truth must be served in alhaitham's eyes— following his answer he assured you that in order for him to be truly certain, one hundred percent, he needed to repeat that kiss once again, that exact one, maybe use his tongue a little more while he was at it.

— venti

venti simply takes every opportunity to just kiss you while ignoring the entire purpose of the game, even once asking you about the rules again— this isn't him feigning innocence, or is it now?

ah well, you know your boyfriend pretty well, correct? it's not like he doesn't understand what the chapstick challenge was, in fact, when you proposed the idea to him, the anemo archon was utterly delighted, all impulses of soul and senses numbed when he started to become excited about it.

in a tizzy as he was, one of his most beloved hobbies was the secret art in teasing you, not to forget edging you on and playing sweet, miniature tricks on you while adoring the annoyed tone on your pretty expression.

venti gently props up your face with his hand before leaning in, his gentle dreams long subdued when he faces reality. you let yourself slit into his embrace when he begins to kiss your bottom lip, nibbling on the wet skin before tilting his head to let his tongue inside.

you felt malleable, as if all your troubles and worries simply had melted like snow in the sun, trickling away into pure nothingness— and ugh, he did it once again, making you forget about the game as well.

instead of saying something, you resort to letting yourself drift into his warmth, stroking one hand into his tousled hair before tenderly clashing your tongue against his own— yet before you knew it, venti was senseless once again, abruptly pulling away red-cheeked, "hehe, it's valberry, isn't it?"

— scaramouche

sometimes you wonder if scaramouche genuinely believes that you cannot pick up on what his secret plans are, especially when it came to a game you, in fact, controlled.

you were aware of your boyfriend and on how smart he was, not to mention knowledgable— so why, out of the blue, he pretends to not get the flavor right, even worse, not a single one was guessed correctly the entire day.

come on now, he clearly knows the answer, look at his handsome face blushed with love and that awfully sweet smirk plastered all over his lips, attached with residue of your chapsticks showing a little glitter on his face.

scaramouche was getting more clumsy the more chapsticks you tried out, even swallowing down the first two letters of the real answer before messily uttering the complete opposite.

perhaps, he believes you kiss all the grief and longing away from his flesh, and so this is why he wants to kiss you more, or make you kiss him instead— see it this way, he doesn't need to say it out loud and embarrass himself, despite his progress in trusting the people around him, scaramouche found himself struggling regardless.

even so, all his thoughts, all his passions, all his delights, whatever you stirred enclosed by his immortal frame, he refers to it as a bubble of love, and your touch alone calms his fiery flame within a dark spot in his body.

with gentleness crossing paths in your view, you admire kuni and purse your lips, remaining silent as his mind was long since lulled into soft calmness.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[simpjaes]

BIG D*CK FOR DUMMIES (s.jy)

The one where you find out that your boyfriend has a huge cock and you’re not entirely sure if you can take all of it. 

MDNI!!! | pls leave feedback and reblog your fave writers!

PAIRING ― jaeyun x afab reader  

WORDCOUNT ― 2.4k

CONTENT ―  first time, established relationship, top jaeyun, painful sex

NOTE ― this was originally written for a different idol on my other blog [ncteez] but i pictured jake in that one en o’clock episode doing this and went feral so……here’s ur giant package. 

smut tags― he’s a little cocky (lmao), i guess you could say size kink but it’s more like huge cock / tiny pussy size kink, theres some crying, praising, reader gets off like almost instantly and becomes incredibly cock drunk the second he’s able to actually fuck

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Things you knew about your boyfriend before dating: he’s very protective, super smart, has good taste in music, his hands are big and warm, and he’s very down to earth.

Things you didn’t know about your boyfriend until after dating and he’s on top of you during a moody and rainy night makeout session: his cock is huge and it’s very intimidating.

One might ask, how could you have not known? Well, that’s easy. It’s a fairly new relationship and a very shy relationship at that. It’s a bit embarrassing for you, actually, because it’s not like you don’t want to be intimate with him. You definitely do, and apparently so does he. 

It’s the first time in the three weeks you’ve been dating that you’ve gotten to be completely alone with him in an intimate setting. For one, you live with your parents, and secondly, he lives with three other dudes who like to be all up in his business. It’s not exactly easy to get alone time with him. Thankfully, your parents are out on a five-day holiday somewhere in the Bahamas and you’re here on your family couch with Jaeyun’s hands cradling your neck as you kiss him. 

It got heated very fast, presumably because the two of you haven’t really had the privacy to do more than a standing makeout session without someone listening in, or worse, walking in. It almost makes the air feel electric now, kind of like a breath of fresh air except the fresh air tastes like the fruity chewing gum he had in his mouth when he originally came over.

Here’s the thing though, and man, it’s a thing. Looking at Jaeyun you’d think he’s average at best and you’re not really the type to go around guessing dick sizes.  So, naturally, when he slots a leg between yours as he got on top of you and you fucking felt it against your leg, you were a little more shocked than anticipated. Maybe he let out a little snide chuckle at your reaction too, you wouldn’t know, you were kind of busy wondering when he was going to let you in on the secret. 

Now, here you are deep in thought of how the hell that thing is going to fit anywhere while simultaneously one hundred percent willing to make it fit because god, does he know how to makeout and feel someone up. 

The more he kisses you, the more his hands roam, the more you experience intimate touches with him, the more you feel like your skin is on fire and replacing that intimidation with extreme arousal and lust. All the way until the point that the presumed makeout playlist starts over and he finally pushes a bit further with you.

“Is this okay?” He asks, now slotting himself entirely between your legs and essentially pressing his length directly against the pool that is threatening to seep through your fucking denim shorts. 

You give him a half nod, trying to pretend that he’s definitely a normal man with a normal cock. He smiles though, knowing full well that this isn’t what you were expecting. No one ever expects it from him. 

“You seem occupied,” he comments, pressing himself against you a little more and leaning down on his arms to nip at your lips. “or shocked, maybe?”

You try to kiss him to shut him up, not wanting to expose yourself for being entirely inexperienced with a size like his. 

“Hm?” He encourages you, pulling back again and looking directly into your eyes with a confident smirk. 

“Well,” you shift your eyes away and sigh out, “you’re kind of huge…” 

He takes that compliment and runs with it. It’s not like the two of you have to finally have sex or anything, but you both knew what was happening and you both definitely knew what the other wanted. At least ten minutes ago that was the situation.

“Is it too much?” He asks, this time a bit more concerned that his own biology could ruin this for you. 

“Probably? no, maybe?” 

Jaeyun pulls away from you, moving himself to sit back against the couch and give you your space. Considering probably and maybe isn’t a yes, he feels no need to push or pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do. There have been times where he’s hurt another person while being intimate, though not intentionally, he’s not exactly willing to do that to you unless you’re like, you know, jumping his bones for it. 

“Still, i’d like to try–” You start, looking at him as you sit up and feel your entire body tingle at the cold air that replaces his warmth. “Maybe if we take it slow– like, really slow?”

He looks at you with shining eyes. He asked you to be his girlfriend because he genuinely likes you. He likes your voice, he likes the way you smell, likes when you talk about your favorite songs and favorite movies. He was definitely smitten from the moment he saw you trip on your own two feet down the front porch of a house party months ago. Taking it slow with you was pretty normal, and the fact that you want him too just makes him all the more willing to take his time. 

“I’ll take care of you, ” he hums, spreading his legs a bit across the couch to give himself more space to re-adjust himself. “Just tell me if I need to slow down?” 

You nod, staring directly between his legs and rubbing your own together on instinct. If anyone’s gonna split you open, it might as well be your boyfriend.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

When he said he would take it slow with you, he really meant it. The fact that he curled three fingers into you for a solid twenty minutes and you still feel like your legs will buckle on you at any moment knowing that this is just for prep– oh damn. 

 The fact that he even used his tongue on you for the first time, making sure you were more slippery than you already were for another twenty minutes? The fucking fact that you were on the verge of orgasm when he pulled it out and presented it to you like a cock you could totally sit on without issue? 

Fuck.

Reality washes over you far too quickly when you actually make that attempt. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel like you were being torn apart by him, but part of you loves the way his gentle hands hold you steady as you try to sink down. You can feel the wet heat between your legs coat his length inch by inch as you start to slide down.

He stops you only for a moment when he notices you wincing. 

“Breathe, baby, just a little more.” He encourages, getting a nod from you before guiding you down further.

You breathe, clenching around him and doing your best to stop doing that so you can relax. You can tell he’s struggling to actually take it slow by now too, only because you can feel his hands shake against you as he holds himself back from obliterating you, probably. You’d think it would be quite endearing to see, if it weren’t for the fact that your eyes are blurring from the tears threatening to fall. 

Feeling embarrassed, you wipe your eyes and focus on how he feels inside of you. The pain is still there, but as you “sit” here, that pain somehow does replace itself with a strange sensation of pleasure little by little. You’ve always wondered what it felt like to be full, and it appears that this is exactly it.

It’s overwhelming.

“Do you want to stop?” He asks after noticing your tears, a bit of panic in his voice despite the fact that you could have sworn hearing a moan come out alongside it, “Pull up, it’s okay, you can–”

You sink down further instead, now bottoming yourself out on him and releasing a broken whine of both pain and pleasure. He grunts in unison to your whine, gripping your hips even harder than he already was and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Fuck,” he sighs out, lazily opening his eyes to look at the way you perch yourself on him so perfectly. “Such a tight fit.” 

You nod, mostly unable to hear a word he’s saying as you try to relax your body enough to get rid of that small hint of pain. The consistent clenching of your adjustments send your boyfriend spiraling a bit, unable to contain his sighs of pleasure as your tight and wet heat squeezes his cock.

“Tell me when I can move, please, tell me–” He groans out almost frantically, staring down at where you sit flush against him and wanting so badly to fuck into you.

 He’s wanted to do this to you since you started dating, now that it’s finally happening, and now that you’re quite literally jerking him off simply by adjusting to his size– you know, it’s not exactly easy to contain himself. 

You take a few more seconds to breathe before your body finally relaxes and you give him a reluctant nod. 

Instantly it’s like you’re seeing stars. He barely moves, all he does is flex his abs and press his hips up and it’s like he manages to fit another non-existent inch inside of you. 

You groan out, falling forward against his chest and gripping onto his shoulders as you feel your body adjust to even that small movement. To you, this is so fucking embarrassing, but to him? 

Hottest thing ever. Really. 

He can hear your whiny gasps against his neck when he moves and it’s driving him fucking wild, especially considering the fact that his cock is driven so deeply inside of you that he thinks you’d tell him to stop— but you don’t. 

You’re so good to him, and for what it’s worth, he wants to make sure this will be the best orgasm of your life.

Slowly, his hands fall to your ass and guide you up. You feel slight relief as a few inches leave you, and your stomach bubbles with that same sensation of both pleasure and pain when he slides you back down.

He moans out at you, almost like he’s cooing in pity at how much you’re trying to take for him. It’s incredibly sexy to hear now that your ears have stopped ringing and you’re beginning to believe that you’d never want anything smaller than him anyway.

This time, you lift on your own and sink back down just as fast, wincing again against his neck but releasing a moan that sounds more like pleasure than anything else. He sees this as a green light, gripping your ass and encouraging you to lift slightly again.

“Stay like this.” he mutters with a deep breath before kissing against your forehead and thrusting his hips up once, hard. 

The tight heat you’re offering sends him into a frenzy when paired with the wet slap of his pelvis hitting your pussy, and the sounds you’re making offer little in terms of stopping because by now, you’re both loving it. 

He thrusts into you with ease, the drag loud and slippery, the moans of pleasure you release only make him go faster, harder. Almost releasing a whimper of his own at how fucking perfect you are for taking all of it.

“Look.” he tries to let out, waiting for you to pull yourself up from his chest and look at him.

You do with ease, that broken face from before now replaced with lustful and blown out pupils. 

“Look how good you take it,” he praises with a groan, almost punctuating each word with a thrust, “knew you could take it.” 

Your broken smile that falls into a slack mouthed string of nonsense only continues to push him.  All the way until you can’t think straight at all, and you’re feeling your body tense up with such pressure that you can’t even warn him before your walls are clenching so tightly that it even hurts him. 

You grasp onto him for dear life as your orgasm washes over you, drenching his entire length as you hold your breath. Never have you gotten off while feeling so fucking full, and arguably, you don’t think you could ever feel an orgasm so intense without him being the one to split you open.

“There you go baby.” he hums, watching you breathlessly fall apart on top of him before picking up his rhythm again and chasing his own high.

By this point, you’re so well adjusted that even the searing pain of his restless thrusts feel good. Your brain is foggy but you can’t help but just fucking watch him.

This is your boyfriend and this is what it looks like when you’re making him feel good. 

“Are you close?” you start to bounce on him, meeting his rhythm and allowing him to rest his own hips. 

He nods as he looks at you, awestruck with how you’re already able to ride him as if you weren’t whining just moments before. Seeing you take him in full like this is enough to have his cock pulsing.

“Just a bit more, baby.” He closes his eyes and runs his hands up your waist. “Keep riding me, fuck.” 

And that, you do. Feeling proud of yourself for being able to actually take this literal monster, you focus on the twitch inside of you as he releases with a deep and breathy moan.

It’s entirely too sexy to ignore, and you continue to bounce even as he tries to hold you in place to subdue the sensitivity of his cock being fucking strangled by how tight you are. 

Once his body stops jerking and you feel the last twitching release inside of you, you fall forward and both of you groan from the sensitivity. 

“There are pros and cons to having a big dick, i guess.” he admits in a groan. 

Even when you laugh, there’s another wince from both of you followed by a groan.

“Pros: big dick.” he whispers, holding you still against him so you don’t move again before he can soften up and pull out. “Cons: big dick.” 

You still laugh, and it still hurts. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

me and my lame ass endings lmfaooooooooooooooooo

[gghostwriter]

A Series of Happenstance

Spencer Reid x House!Daughter!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer loathed to see you and the one time he pleaded to Trope:Angst; think post Tobias Spencer Reid w.c: 5.2k Disclaimer: I am no way a medical personnel, least of all a psychiatrist so there will be medical inaccuracies A/N: this is part one of my house!daughter series and it’s angst, babes. Spencer is just mean and lashing out here which is totally understandable. It also took a while since writing such heavy pieces of fiction takes a toll on me but I hope, especially to the ones who were excited for this series, love it still. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first meeting

Spencer didn’t want to be here—here being in this cream colored, four cornered room, facing off the ultimate nemesis of profiler. Not an unsolvable case, not an unsub, but rather a psychiatrist contracted by the FBI for psych evaluation. 

He was fine, he insisted to Hotch. He can compartmentalize well, he rationalized to Gideon. He just needed rest and the comfort of his own bed, he stated to the whole team. But protocols were protocols and his unit chief was a stickler to rules especially when it involved the care for his team. 

That was how he found himself on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting in silence and watching the ticking of the clock as if it was the most interesting piece of art there was. 

The tension was stifling. Spencer could almost see it tainting his vision red. Biting the insides of his cheek, he wanted to keep everything in. 

No, he needed to. 

He knew he was being rude, petulant even but for once, he didn’t have it in him to care. He didn’t know you. You were a complete stranger being paid by the government to report back any findings that could keep him out of the field. It wasn’t fair. You were just accepting the call of duty but you bore the brunt of his ire and hostile gaze. 

In the normal setting, he would have found you intriguing. Your office colored in taupe—cold, distant, and linked to the desire to escape from the world but in the farthest side of the room was a shelf littered with books and small knick knacks that seemed to be collected over the years rather than curated to match the professional setting. The books ranged from published psychology dissertations, medical teaching materials, and collections of essays from well-revered and obscure writers. 

You were dressed in black and white, standard for your importance, but your nails were painted in a pale pink color—close to looking natural but not quite. And lastly, your looks. 

You were beautiful, don’t get him wrong, he may not have the same experiences as Morgan did with the opposite sex but he knows a beautiful attractive woman when he sees one. No, it wasn’t that, it was how young you looked—almost or maybe even sharing the same age as him. 

A genius, then.

A prodigy in your own field just like him. 

“Doctor Reid,” the low timber of your voice bringing him out of his musings. It sent a shiver down his spine when he first heard you speak. A reaction that he catalogued in his mind as a mystery to be revisited later on. 

He subtly tilted his head to the side, an indication that you had his attention albeit reluctantly.

“Anything you say in this room is strictly confidential,” you gestured with your hand. “No file or notes will be passed to your unit chief or any personnels of the brass. I promise you.”

He scoffed, breaking his vow of silence. “That’s not a hundred percent true, Doctor. Lying to get your patient to talk can only get you so far.”

“I understand where you’re coming from but all I submit to the FBI is my conclusion if you’re fit to go back to work or not, patient-confidentiality still stands—” your delicate fingers feebly holding your pen. “Now, I sensed a little resentment. Is it coming from your self-loathing about having to choose a victim for Tobias Hankel or is it your displaced anger from separating with your team liaison, Agent Jareau?” 

He glared at you. How dare you imply the seething anger from within him is directed at anyone but himself. “What? No, no, no. I’m not angry at anything or anyone! Maybe at you and this whole evaluation but never at JJ or—” he cut himself off.

“The suspect,” you continued on for him, jotting down notes on your black leather journal.

“The unsub. Unknown subject.” He corrected, second nature of him to do so. “We call them the unsub.”

You nodded, a lock of hair falling away from your bun. A distracting motion that momentarily rendered him speechless. “Alright. Are you angry at yourself and your decision to separate with Agent Jareau during the case?”

He scoffed but opted to stay silent. Spencer had already given too much of his emotion away by answering the earlier questions. 

For any regular citizen, it may seem like the opposite but given the sound of you scribbling away on the pages of the notebook, you beg to differ.

You crossed your pant covered leg and stared into his eyes, a maneuver that could mean two things: 1) you were sizing him up, which was highly unlikely given the dynamics, regardless of his hostility or 2) you were trying to connect with him, a move backed by science that stated eye contact releases oxytocin—a bonding hormone. 

A study he didn’t want to prove right at the moment.

“Do you perhaps feel remorse for the unsub?”

His left eye twitched. “Tobias Hankel.”

“Is there a reason behind why you’d prefer to call the unsub by name?” You further asked, having found a sore subject to poke and prod to elicit a reaction.

The answer was yes, of course. Tobias was just a victim as much as he, Spencer Reid, was—the unsub, in his eyes, was a victim of bad fate that resulted in fracturing his psyche but a shrink didn’t need to know that. 

To be exact, the FBI didn’t need to know that he, an active and upstanding agent, felt remorse and guilt for not being able to save Tobias. Human emotion rarely had a place in bureaucracy and paperwork.

“How old are you?” Spencer nonchalantly inquired to throw you off his trail. “You look too young to be a Doctor contracted by the brass.”

You scribbled something again in your notebook before answering in a monotone voice as if your reply has been well rehearsed. “24, about to turn 25 and yes, I do look young. I graduated early due to my intelligence which I believe is the same case for you, Doctor—” you clasped your hands in front of you, leaning slightly forward. “—which brings us back to the topic, the anger inside of you, who is it directed to?”

His eyes shifted to the clock—5pm. 

A small smile graced his face. The time was up.

“Well, I believe we’re done here, Doctor—” he proceeded to stand up, picking on an imaginary lint as he did so. “—I would say it’s been nice meeting you but that would be a lie you’d no doubt catch and analyze.”

Your lips pressed thinly together, imitating a smile but Spencer knew that move quite well—you were reining in any unsolicited and possibly inappropriate comment regarding his snappy behavior. 

A small chuckle escaped his lips. If he, a profiler, considered you, a psychiatrist, his number one nemesis, there was no doubt you consider him the same. 

As he was about to step out of the office, your slender fingers brandished a calling card.

“Here’s my number—” he gingerly took it as if it contained some unknown pathogen. “—and my door is always open when you’re ready to talk, Doctor Reid.”

He nodded once, a goodbye. “Doctor House.”

There was little doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’d never willingly stop by your office again but if he had been paying attention to your subtle patronizing words of farewell, he would have picked up that this encounter was far from over. 

Especially when he found out on a busy Tuesday morning from Hotch that you had deemed him unfit to return back to the field—effectively barring him from the jet on its way to Idaho. 

The second meeting

There was a series of rapid knocks on your office door. 

As a psychiatrist with your own practice, it was highly unusual for clients to suddenly show up with no prior appointments or even a customary phone call. 

It was a Tuesday morning and like clockwork, you’ve allotted the first half of the day in catching up with paperwork dealing with your office and evaluations for the FBI. 

That gave you a pause, remembering a snipping agent who you deemed unfit for duty. Dr. Spencer Reid. The genius profiler who joined the ranks at the tender age of 22. A prodigy in his old field, just like you.

He was closed off, simmering with rage almost, and there was little doubt in your mind that he was the one behind the door, ceaselessly knocking. After all, when you sent in your evaluation directly to his unit chief, the stoic man’s face twitched with concern and maybe a little bit of annoyance in the paperwork it would entail.

“Come in,” you called out, hands clasping together on top of your desk. A perfect picture of professionalism.

The door swung open, revealing a tightly wounded Dr. Spencer Reid. 

With a thick cardigan adorning on his body and a leather satchel draped over his shoulders to his front, he looked normal. But you knew better, his choice of outerwear represented a security blanket in the middle of September and his placement of satchel acted as a shield and its’ straps a stress ball. With just that one look you knew he wasn’t ready to back with his team. 

“Dr. Reid, what can I do for you?” You asked, hand unclasping and indicating to the seat in front of you. “Please sit.” 

Closing the door behind him, he shuffled closer to your desk but made no indication to sit down. “I’d rather stand, Dr. House, and I think you know why I’m here.”

A show of dominance. Right away, he wanted control the outcome of this conversation to his favor. It was textbook psychology, a taunt you wanted no part of.

A slight smile appeared on your face, one that could be translated as friendly for those open and condescending for those closed off. “I believe I don’t follow.” 

“My evaluation, you made a mistake,” the left corner of his mouth lifting for a smirk. There was a vein visible on his temple, his anger and will to bottle it up manifesting physically. 

You tilted your head to the side, unwavering in your gaze, hands clasped and index fingers tapping together. The pause and silence was a standard tactic to get a patient to break, similar to what law enforcement uses with suspects but results may vary especially when used on a seasoned profiler.

Right away, Spencer understood your tactic. “That won’t work. We use that in every case, I know the standard—” he looked around the room. “—should I lower the temperature too?” 

You answered with silence. The agent in front of you now was no longer thinking clearly. His objective mind that would deem him fit to return for duty clouded with emotion, anger and something else. 

His right hand touched above his left wrist. A subconscious move provoked by your unrelenting gaze. A move that gave away an important piece of information that his unit chief no doubt omitted in the reports.

Ah.

Tobias Hankel was a drug addict.

And in turn has subjected the agent in front of you to his vices.

You sighed. Suddenly the case no longer felt black and white, it was treading close to home as you remembered your father who’s abusing Vicodin in lieu of his leg pain. It was a sore spot for you—a clink in your armor. 

“Sit, please,” you indicated to the chair in front of you again.

Spencer complied this time, having heard a change in your tone. 

“Dr Reid,” you started. “I believe my evaluation of you is still correct—”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“—but, please let me finish, perhaps we can compromise. As a psychiatrist, it’s not in my practice to give in to my client’s demands but as you are not a regular client, I believe it would be beneficial for the both of us to reach an understanding.”

You walked towards the locked cabinet to your right. It was where you kept all medical equipments—including medicine for patients. Reaching back to the depths of the lower shelf, your hand brought out a non-descriptive black pouch from its hiding. You sat beside Spencer, effectively communicating that you are both on the same level.

“I will approve your return for duty as long as you come back for a couple of sessions, not FBI contracted, strictly confidential, and you—” handing him the zipped pouch before continuing on. “—get drug tested.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he knew that his unit chief and mentor kept the delicate nature of his case out of the bureau and wondered how you pieced everything together. He underestimated you, you realized. A mistake on his end. 

“I’m a psychiatrist, I know the signs Dr. Reid, and besides, I’m a genius just like you,” you adjusted your posture, slightly leaning back. 

Check. 

He smiled, one that you could say no longer contained malice. It was instead filled with resignation and relief. “You’re right. I underestimated you, Dr. House.”

Standing up, you dusted imaginary lint from your black pencil skirt before extending your hand out for a handshake. 

He hesitated before reaching over shaking it once. His hands were rough and calloused from frequent holding of his gun but felt oddly warm and soothing. It represented who he was in your eyes—prickly and rough around the edges but soft and good on the inside.

As he exited your office with a soft thud of the door behind him, you admitted to yourself that you took a huge gamble. Rather than a checkmate, all you did was check his king. You didn’t ask if he had built his own stash of drugs after the case was finished. It was a risk you were willing to take just to take a step closer in getting the agent to trust you. Baby steps were better than nothing. You could work with that.

There was still the drug test you could rely on. A black and white piece of paper that would tell the truth if done at the right time. After all, the most important teaching your father, the older Dr. House, has imparted on you was—

Everybody lies.

The third meeting

The bar at the corner Main Street on a Friday night was a rare place for you to be. The echoes of its pulsing music could be heard a couple of shops away, luring bodies than the space could ever handle like it were Pied Piper and the people—by extension, you, were the unsuspecting kids. The lights were colored orange, giving the area a tint of good times and bad decisions. The aged brick walls discolored in a multitude of shades and the decorative posters were aimlessly nailed to the wall. There was a section far from the bar that was filled with moving bodies—people letting loose and exhibiting what you’d call a mating dance for anyone interested and beside the bar were two dart boards, popular with the crowd, but had seen better days. 

This wasn’t your usual scene as you excused your way to the bar tucked at the center space. It wasn’t due to snobbery, like what your friend Kyle once joked, it was preference.

The sticky floor beneath your sensible nude heels had you wishing that your feet were tucked in a soft blanket with mind numbing television playing in the background instead of navigating the throng of people holding their drink of choice and inhaling the musky scent of liquor and sweat.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” a tenor voice flirted from beside you.

Your eyebrow raised as you took in the source—a burly African-American with a buzzcut. There was something distinct about him that set him apart from the rest. It wasn’t his built or the way his grey shirt stretched to fit around his biceps. It also wasn’t the twinkle in his eye as he tried to entice you to flirt back. One of his hands drifted down to his waist and with his wide leg stance, you knew.

A cop. An off duty law enforcement officer.

You laughed. “Does that line usually work on women, especially from—” you paused for suspense. ”—a cop?”

“Okay,” the stranger chuckled. “Close, want to try again?”

A smile stretched your glossed pink lips. You were never one to back away from a challenge—it was one of the traits you inherited from the other Dr House.

“Well, if we’re basing it on where the bar is located nearby and my fifty percent guess from a while ago, I’d say you were a cop—maybe for a couple of years, before joining the FBI. Maybe counter terrorism—” the memory of Dr. Reid talking about his team found its way to the forefront of your mind. “—or by any chance, the BAU?”

He could no longer hide the surprise from his face. “Right, that’s right. What gave it away? Was it my ruggedly handsome looks or are you just a mind reader?”

You thanked the bartender before trying to find your way out of the surge of people behind you, clamoring to place their order. The stranger stretched out his muscular arms, guiding you away from the bar towards his booth.

“Just a mind reader,” you simplified—an action that came as second nature to you. In the past, when you would disclose your job as a psychiatrist, people would react in two ways. One, they’d get subconscious that you’d read into every body language they’d have, causing them to shy away or two, they’d become over-zealous and ask you to diagnose them all in good fun like it was some sort of magician’s trick.

A mop of light brown curly hair parked beside a long blonde hair caught your periphery. He had his back turned but it was a presence you’ve slowly started getting familiar with. It was Dr. Spencer Reid, out in the natural setting, a first.

Your eyes slowly widened as you realized where he was guiding you and who he might be. 

“Huh,” you uttered under your breath before flashing a smile to the stranger beside you. “Are you by any chance, Derek Morgan?”

“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. How’d you do that, Ms. Mind Reader?”

A different timber of voice answered. “It’s because I told her—” a pair of hazel eyes turned to you, filled with accusation. “—Dr. House. Are you keeping tabs on me?” 

“Dr. Reid, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

He scoffed. “In a bar? Near my office? The statistics on seeing me here is actually surprisingly high.”

He was hostile, understandably so as here you were, a stranger, who knows his deepest, darkest secret mixing in with the otherwise innocent parties of his personal life. It was no harm, caused no click in your armor—he’d been cooperative as of the late within the confines of your office but seeing you beyond the four corners of your taupe walls threw him off the loop.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” the blonde woman beside Spencer, flashed you a smile, hand stretching out for a handshake. “I’m Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.”

You shook her hand. “Ah, it’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau.” 

“So, how do you know Spence?”

You smiled, unsure on how to disclose your psychiatrist-patient relationship with someone he works with. You didn’t know how much his team members knew about his scheduled Saturday meetings with you or if they even knew at all what Dr. Reid was going through.

From the past appointments, you’ve categorized the agent as an anxious avoidant type—something geniuses who grew up in a non-secure household tend to share. Yourself, included.

Your eyes glanced at Spencer before drifting towards the table behind him, subtly trying to figure out his choice of drink. You hoped it was non-alcoholic. He’d be suffering from withdrawals and if he clung to a substitute vice, you’d have to find a roundabout way to tackle the issue without pushing him to close off again. You didn’t need that, he was just starting to open up after all, plus if he stopped cooperating, you’d have no choice but to bring it up to his supervisors, jeopardizing his career. 

A clear glass came into view as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.

Water. It was water.

You breathed a sigh of relief before slowly panning up, locking eyes with Dr. Reid. His gaze narrowed, having understood what you were checking on.

Checkmate.

“She’s FBI’s contracted psychiatrist,” he explained, jaw tight from anger. 

You flashed him a little smile before averting your eyes in chagrin.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look a little to young to be a licensed doctor,” Agent Jareau observed. 

“I graduated early.”

Morgan’s left hand pats your back while the other pats Dr. Reid’s. “Another genius, then. You’d get along great with our pretty boy over here. He’s always going on and on about facts and statistics—“

“No offense Morgan, but I don’t think we’d get along at all,” Spencer sneered. “I’d rather not get to know someone who has an ulterior motive.”

Your hand tightened around your glass. “It’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau and Agent Morgan but I think my friends would be looking for me,” you flashed the young agent a dejected smile. “Dr. Reid, hope to see you again soon.”

“I don’t,” he sardonically replied.

You nodded once before turning back to where you friends would be, settled in the four seater booth, unaware that you may have just burned the rocky bridge you’ve built with a patient in need. 

The fourth meeting

A warbled hum roused you from slumber. 

With one eye straining to stay open, the digital clock on your dresser displayed 12:21. Midnight—the time for humans to all be in stupor but based on the humming, subdued underneath your pillow, there was one exception.

You sat up, blindly reaching for the phone. There was no programmed name for the number and right away, an eerie feeling started swirling in your gut. This was no social call. A call this hour could only be one thing, an emergency.

“Hello. Who is this?” Your voice still rough from sleep.

No answer. 

You pressed the phone closer to your ear, hard enough to possibly leave a mark. There were light rustles on the other end that indicated a presence, a person that wouldn’t or couldn’t answer your inquiry.

“Hello,” you tried again, voice raising at the end from tension. “Is anyone there?”

There was silence. The dread in your stomach further worsening as if group of bats decided to wreak havoc in its dark crevices. There was no indication that this was a prank call and there was also no indication that it wasn’t. 

You bit your lip, torn between hanging up and waiting for an existence to make itself known. It could be nothing or it could be—your train of thought suddenly taking a sharp left turn to the corner that a certain FBI agent unknowingly occupies. You had given him your number, having scrawled it at the back of your calling card during the very first meeting, purely out of the goodness of trying to put back the broken genius that graced and intrigued your doors.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” You hesitantly asked, hoping that your intuition was wrong. That this wasn’t the agent calling for help.

A deep groan answered.

“Oh gods,” you breathed out. “Okay, okay. Just—shit, just stay on the line. I’m coming, I swear. Just—fuck.” Your feet scrambled out of the apartment, never mind the lights or the chill that the midnight had cloaked the air with.

It was your worst nightmare. You knew what this call was, you knew his state on the other side of the phone by experience.

Hands trembling as you started the ignition of your car and speedily backing up the parking lot and out the streets in little time. 

“Spencer,” formality be damned at this point as you turned a sharp right, your GPS indicating 8 minutes away from destination. “Spencer, are you still there?” 

A light rustle replied. 

“I’m almost there, hang on for me, okay,” your hand letting go of the steering wheel to push the tousled hair away from your face.

Each second felt like an eternity, each time passed threatened to push your mind into the fog of panic and memory of your very own father taking a whole bottle of Oxycodone and leaving a message for you and your grandmother. The panic, the fear, and the dread of that very moment had come back in two folds.

Your clammy fingers leaving pinch marks on the back of your palm. “Not now, not now,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t have an attack now, keep it together.” 

“Dr. House,” Spencer gravely slurred.

You haphazardly parked the car at the nearest available sidewalk space, uncaring if by some miracle you get ticketed. “I’m here, Spencer. I’m here.”

There was a groan as you hurriedly ran up the apartment stairs, grateful that the security below was surprisingly lax.

Third floor, get to the third floor. I need to get to the third floor—you repeated under your breath. You could have called an ambulance or better yet his team member, SSA Derek Morgan, but you felt the urge to make sure he was alright. To make him see that someone else besides from his mother and team care about him. To make him see that life was worth living, no matter the good or the bad.

“Spencer, I’m outside your door,” you tried to catch your breath. “Do you think you could let me in?”

And for a few seconds, there was only the tense silence before a series of gasps and groans crescendo’ed louder and louder from the phone speaker and on the other side of the door. 

Shit. You knew what those grunts of pain and pleas meant, he was seizing.

Slamming down on the ground, uncaring if your exposed knees get bruised, you sent a silent thank you to your past self for leaving a hair pin inside the pockets of your sleep shorts. Breaking and entering was yet another skill set you learned from the other Dr House and his team of skilled doctors, you just never imagined you’d be applying that knowledge in breaking and entering a federal agent’s home. 

The door unlocked and you barreled your way to the living space where a frightful sight greeted you—Spencer on the floor, laying still as if he was peacefully sleeping.

“No, no, no,” you slid beside him, mind cataloguing every detail for the right action. An empty needle near his exposed right arm and an empty glass bottle of Dilaudid.

No rise and fall of the chest.

And no pulse. Medical training kicking in, you tilted his head up, clearing the pathway, and started chest compressions.

One. Two. Three—

“C’mon, Spencer, breathe,” you grunted in between pumps.

One. Two. Three. Four—

You leaned down to his chapped lips, blowing air to his mouth. “I need you to breathe for me, okay. Breathe, Spencer.” 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five—

“Breathe, c’mon Spencer,” you knew there was a high probability for the agent to have his own stash of narcotics and in by agreeing to keep his secret, lest he loses his badge, to get him to open up was a gamble. A risk you were now regrettably paying for.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—

“Dammit Spencer, I could lose my license for this. Breathe, I need you to breathe.”

A sputtering of coughs escaped his lips.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” you breathed out, arms sagging from the pressure of performing CPR and the weight of fear that you might have been too late. 

Spencer groaned. “Dr. House?”

You nodded, the salty tears blurring your vision. The image of him lying still was burned into your memory, the same way the mirage of your own father lying in a pool of his own vomit. He’s alive—they’re both alive.

Your hands angrily erased the rivulets the tears left behind on your cheeks. Now wasn’t the time to give in to relief and emotion. Although Spencer was out of the woods, there was still a huge uphill battle to tackle. 

“I’ll carry you to bed, lean your weight on me,” you huffed as you helped him up the floor, making sure to take in most of his weight that you could.

The form of you, tears still streaming down your face and steps away from a breakdown, and his hunched form, weak and pliant, was a sight to behold. It was a sight after battle—after the white flag had been waved and the injured tying their best to find their way back to life.

It was sad. It was hopeful.

It was a brush on humanity’s eternal friend, death. Death that still loomed in the corners of the apartment, biding his time to take what was promised.

You laid him gently on the bed before running back to the spied kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. The smell of books permeated the air as if to try and bring your panicked mind back to the present. If it were any other day, you would have found yourself perusing his shelves of eclectic classic literature but this wasn’t the right time and place.

Your bare feet sliding across the floor to make its way back to the groaning figure on the bed, threatening to sit up.

“No,” you tapped his shoulder to get him back down. “I need you to rest.” 

“But—”

“No buts Spencer. Rest, I’ll stay here.” 

His drooping eyes reading yours, trying to find any type of lie that would break his being further than it already was. Spencer was a broken man and this was the first time you could see written in his eyes his plea for help and company. “You promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

His hands blindly groping across the bed spread before it found the treasure it was searching for, your hand. He enveloped his with yours, calloused fingers intertwining with smooth. A contrast that brought him comfort—you were here. You were real. You felt safe. You saved him.

He was alive.

And with that, his eyes closed to fall into a peaceful slumber, one that he hadn’t had in months. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[nasa]

A simulated image of NASA’s Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope’s future observations toward the center of our galaxy, spanning less than 1 percent of the total area of Roman’s Galactic Bulge Time-Domain Survey. The simulated stars were drawn from the Besançon Galactic Model.

Exploring the Changing Universe with the Roman Space Telescope

The view from your backyard might paint the universe as an unchanging realm, where only twinkling stars and nearby objects, like satellites and meteors, stray from the apparent constancy. But stargazing through NASA’s upcoming Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope will offer a front row seat to a dazzling display of cosmic fireworks sparkling across the sky.

Roman will view extremely faint infrared light, which has longer wavelengths than our eyes can see. Two of the mission’s core observing programs will monitor specific patches of the sky. Stitching the results together like stop-motion animation will create movies that reveal changing objects and fleeting events that would otherwise be hidden from our view.

Watch this video to learn about time-domain astronomy and how time will be a key element in NASA’s Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope’s galactic bulge survey. Credit: NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center

This type of science, called time-domain astronomy, is difficult for telescopes that have smaller views of space. Roman’s large field of view will help us see huge swaths of the universe. Instead of always looking at specific things and events astronomers have already identified, Roman will be able to repeatedly observe large areas of the sky to catch phenomena scientists can't predict. Then astronomers can find things no one knew were there!

One of Roman’s main surveys, the Galactic Bulge Time-Domain Survey, will monitor hundreds of millions of stars toward the center of our Milky Way galaxy. Astronomers will see many of the stars appear to flash or flicker over time.

This animation illustrates the concept of gravitational microlensing. When one star in the sky appears to pass nearly in front of another, the light rays of the background source star are bent due to the warped space-time around the foreground star. The closer star is then a virtual magnifying glass, amplifying the brightness of the background source star, so we refer to the foreground star as the lens star. If the lens star harbors a planetary system, then those planets can also act as lenses, each one producing a short change in the brightness of the source. Thus, we discover the presence of each exoplanet, and measure its mass and how far it is from its star. Credit: NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center Conceptual Image Lab 

That can happen when something like a star or planet moves in front of a background star from our point of view. Because anything with mass warps the fabric of space-time, light from the distant star bends around the nearer object as it passes by. That makes the nearer object act as a natural magnifying glass, creating a temporary spike in the brightness of the background star’s light. That signal lets astronomers know there’s an intervening object, even if they can’t see it directly.

This artist’s concept shows the region of the Milky Way NASA’s Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope’s Galactic Bulge Time-Domain Survey will cover – relatively uncharted territory when it comes to planet-finding. That’s important because the way planets form and evolve may be different depending on where in the galaxy they’re located. Our solar system is situated near the outskirts of the Milky Way, about halfway out on one of the galaxy’s spiral arms. A recent Kepler Space Telescope study showed that stars on the fringes of the Milky Way possess fewer of the most common planet types that have been detected so far. Roman will search in the opposite direction, toward the center of the galaxy, and could find differences in that galactic neighborhood, too.

Using this method, called microlensing, Roman will likely set a new record for the farthest-known exoplanet. That would offer a glimpse of a different galactic neighborhood that could be home to worlds quite unlike the more than 5,500 that are currently known. Roman’s microlensing observations will also find starless planets, black holes, neutron stars, and more!

This animation shows a planet crossing in front of, or transiting, its host star and the corresponding light curve astronomers would see. Using this technique, scientists anticipate NASA’s Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope could find 100,000 new worlds. Credit: NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center/Chris Smith (USRA/GESTAR)

Stars Roman sees may also appear to flicker when a planet crosses in front of, or transits, its host star as it orbits. Roman could find 100,000 planets this way! Small icy objects that haunt the outskirts of our own solar system, known as Kuiper belt objects, may occasionally pass in front of faraway stars Roman sees, too. Astronomers will be able to see how much water the Kuiper belt objects have because the ice absorbs specific wavelengths of infrared light, providing a “fingerprint” of its presence. This will give us a window into our solar system’s early days.

This animation visualizes a type Ia supernova.

Roman’s High Latitude Time-Domain Survey will look beyond our galaxy to hunt for type Ia supernovas. These exploding stars originate from some binary star systems that contain at least one white dwarf – the small, hot core remnant of a Sun-like star. In some cases, the dwarf may siphon material from its companion. This triggers a runaway reaction that ultimately detonates the thief once it reaches a specific point where it has gained so much mass that it becomes unstable.

NASA’s upcoming Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope will see thousands of exploding stars called supernovae across vast stretches of time and space. Using these observations, astronomers aim to shine a light on several cosmic mysteries, providing a window onto the universe’s distant past. Credit: NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center

Since these rare explosions each peak at a similar, known intrinsic brightness, astronomers can use them to determine how far away they are by simply measuring how bright they appear. Astronomers will use Roman to study the light of these supernovas to find out how quickly they appear to be moving away from us.

By comparing how fast they’re receding at different distances, scientists can trace cosmic expansion over time. This will help us understand whether and how dark energy – the unexplained pressure thought to speed up the universe’s expansion – has changed throughout the history of the universe.

NASA’s Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope will survey the same areas of the sky every few days. Researchers will mine this data to identify kilonovas – explosions that happen when two neutron stars or a neutron star and a black hole collide and merge. When these collisions happen, a fraction of the resulting debris is ejected as jets, which move near the speed of light. The remaining debris produces hot, glowing, neutron-rich clouds that forge heavy elements, like gold and platinum. Roman’s extensive data will help astronomers better identify how often these events occur, how much energy they give off, and how near or far they are.

And since this survey will repeatedly observe the same large vista of space, scientists will also see sporadic events like neutron stars colliding and stars being swept into black holes. Roman could even find new types of objects and events that astronomers have never seen before!

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