#pascals-lab

[lowrisemiller]

ꜰɪᴇʟᴅ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ

you can imagine whichever Reed you want ;)

reed richards x assistant!fem!reader

you're reed richards’ long-suffering lab assistant. brilliant in your own right, you handle everything from data entry to inter-dimensional rift control. you’ve been nursing a hopeless crush on him for months. the man can design a quantum field stabilizer in his sleep, but he’s absolutely blind to the way you touch his shoulder a beat too long or always bring him his favorite coffee without asking. how could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

masterlist | 4.7k words | MDNI SMUT | reed neglecting basic things bc scientist duh, reader(me) is DOWN BAD, reed is oblivious to everything that isn’t science, finger & oral f!receiving, reed stretching things, him being a nerd while eating ur pussy😍 unprotected piv sex DONT DO THAT ! aftercare:)

The lab was quiet, except for the soft scribble of pen on paper and the low, constant hum of equipment Reed swore was essential, even if it sounded like white noise to everyone else. You sat perched at your workstation, chin resting in your palm, eyes drifting from your screen to the man pacing ten feet away—muttering under his breath, brow furrowed, fingers twitching.

You’d seen that look a hundred times.

It meant he was close to a breakthrough.

It also meant you could scream I want you in morse code and he wouldn’t register it.

You sighed, clicking your pen against your notebook. He didn’t glance up. Not even when you shifted in your seat and stretched in a way that was definitely for his benefit.

Ten months.

That’s how long you’d worked beside him—helping with calculations, organizing lab notes, fending off media inquiries, even stopping one of his machines from literally catching fire last Tuesday. You’d poured yourself into this job. You knew his schedule better than he did. You brought him his coffee the exact way he liked it. You wear that plum lipstick because he’d once said it was a “pleasing wavelength” for visual stimulation.

He hadn’t looked twice.

You weren’t just harboring a crush at this point. No, this had evolved into something much more volatile—an emotional chemical reaction waiting for a catalyst.

And Reed? Reed was… oblivious.

Gorgeous, brilliant, maddeningly unbothered Reed Richards. With his rolled-up sleeves and distracted glances, the way he chewed on pens when deep in thought, the offhand compliments he gave without realizing they were compliments—“Your spatial reasoning is exceptional,” he’d said once, looking at your notes. You’d practically melted.

Now he stood a few feet away, talking to himself like always. You watched the way his hands gestured mid-air, sketching invisible shapes.

“Frustrated with the equations?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“No, no. Just… considering variable Y’s response under quantum fluctuation,” he murmured, barely registering your voice. “Though I suppose an extra set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”

He handed you the clipboard and your fingers brushed. He didn’t even flinch. Your heart did.

You took it wordlessly, biting the inside of your cheek. How could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

Maybe that was unfair. Reed wasn’t cruel, or cold. He was kind in his own absent-minded way. But he had tunnel vision—for science, for discovery. He didn’t notice the things that didn’t present themselves in a neat, testable format.

Like how you lingered in his orbit.

Or how your eyes followed him when he wasn't looking.

Or how sometimes, after long days, you fantasized about climbing into his lap right in that damn desk chair and making him pay attention.

Your pen scratched against the clipboard now, pretending to read the data while you watched him from the corner of your eye. He was back to pacing, lips moving silently. His sleeves were pushed up again, exposing strong forearms, veins prominent, hands twitching like he needed to do something with them.

God, you were losing it.

You placed the clipboard down. “You ever think maybe the problem isn’t quantum fluctuation, Reed? Maybe it’s just human error.”

He blinked and turned. “Are you suggesting I made a mistake?”

“I’m saying maybe if you took your head out of the wormhole generator long enough to eat or sleep or…” You paused. Look at me.

“…notice things, you’d think clearer.”

He looked like he might ask what “things” you meant. But instead, he turned back to his calculations, nodding. “Duly noted.”

You stared at his back, silent for a moment. And that’s when the thought struck you: He’s never going to see it unless you make him.

He would go the rest of his life chasing black holes and entropy and would never realize the way you burned for him—not unless you showed him.

Your pulse skipped.

Your patience is snapping.

You were going to be an anomaly he couldn’t ignore.

It was a new day, but nothing had changed.

Reed was still buried in data, half-dressed in a rumpled button-down he probably hadn’t noticed had two buttons mismatched. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered ten minutes before walking into the lab and immediately got lost in thought again. You stood at your usual station, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending not to glance over at him every thirty seconds.

You weren’t pretending very well.

This was your fourth twelve-hour day this week, and you’d long since passed the phase where your crush felt cute. It was heavier now—dense, loaded with tension you had nowhere to put. Not when he kept looking right through you, offering praise only when it was tied to data points or completed tasks.

Today, he barely looked up when you walked in, just said, “Morning,” like you were air and math and all the other constants in his life.

You sat your coffee down a little too hard.

“Sleep okay?” you asked, typing with one hand as you glanced toward him. His back was to you as he scribbled across the whiteboard.

“Didn’t,” he replied casually. “The formula’s been looping in my head since 2 a.m.”

Of course it had.

You nodded to yourself, refocusing on your notes—but your brain wasn't on line graphs. It was on how his voice sounded deeper in the mornings. Rough. Scraped thin. It was on how he'd rolled his sleeves again, unconsciously, like he was giving you just enough to fantasize about but never enough to touch. It was on how he’d leaned over your shoulder the day before, close enough to make you forget your own name, then pulled away without even noticing how stiffly you sat for five minutes after.

You were starting to feel stupid.

Or worse—transparent.

You tugged at the edge of your shirt, adjusting it subtly, then pushed your chair back.

“Reed,” you said after a moment, tone careful.

He glanced up.

You hesitated. You could say it. “Do you ever think about me when we’re not in this lab?” Or even just “Do you notice when I’m trying to get your attention?” But all that left your mouth was:

“…Do you want lunch?”

He blinked. “No, thanks.”

You smiled tightly and nodded. “Okay.”

A long beat passed before he added, “You should eat, though. Your concentration dips if you skip meals.”

That nearly made you laugh. He didn’t notice your new lipstick or the way you leaned closer when talking, but he noticed a dip in your concentration?

“Noted,” you muttered, turning away. Your heart was starting to feel like an overworked computer—on the verge of burnout.

Still, you stayed.

He asked you to help calibrate a device and you did, even though his hands grazed yours and he didn’t seem to feel it. You reorganized his notes for the hundredth time and he said, “I’d lose my head without you.” Your stomach flipped, and you cursed yourself for letting it.

Eventually, the day wore on. The lights buzzed overhead. He worked in silence. And you sat across from him, eyes on your computer screen but brain nowhere near it.

You weren’t going to say anything today. You weren’t ready. But you were closer.

You were watching him more intentionally now. Watching how he moved. Noticing when he forgot to eat, when his jaw clenched at a miscalculation, when he sighed like the weight of the universe had settled into his spine.

And more importantly… you were starting to plan.

Because if Reed Richards wasn’t going to notice you on his own, maybe it was time you made it impossible for him not to.

You started small.

A hand on his shoulder when you passed behind him—just a light touch, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. A compliment you slid in while reviewing his data aloud. Your tone didn’t change, but your eyes watched his face this time, looking for any flicker of reaction.

Still, nothing overt.

But you were a scientist too, in your own way. You knew not all reactions happened in the open.

So you adjusted variables.

Today, you wore something just a touch more fitted under your lab coat. Nothing flashy. Just subtle. Intentional. Your lips were glossed in a soft cherry sheen and you had your hair tucked behind one ear, leaving your neck bare when you leaned over your notes.

You didn’t say much when you came in. Just a soft, “Morning, Reed,” as you brushed past him to your desk. He looked up. Briefly. His eyes caught on your profile, then flicked back to his screen. But there was… a beat. Just long enough to file away.

You smirked, barely.

He worked for hours, absorbed as usual. But today, you noticed something.

His eyes flicked to you more than once.

Quick glances. Measured. Like he was calculating a change in the room’s atmosphere. Like he felt something different but hadn’t yet assigned it meaning.

When he handed you a tablet to review notes, your fingers touched—warm, steady. This time, he paused.

Just for a second.

Not long enough to be certain of anything. But long enough to make your heart thud against your ribs.

You gave him a slow smile. “Thanks.”

He blinked and muttered, “Of course,” then turned away like he needed to recalibrate.

You kept working. Quiet. Focused.

But later—when you reached for a beaker on the shelf above his head—he stood behind you, offering, “Let me.”

You turned, close enough that your chest brushed his arm as you stepped aside.

He stilled.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, like it wasn’t completely on purpose. “Thanks.”

His gaze flicked down. A flicker of something behind those eyes. He handed you the beaker wordlessly, but his jaw was set. Not tight. Just… aware.

There it is.

It wasn’t much. A subtle shift in the lab’s atmosphere. But it was enough to keep your spine humming, your thoughts racing.

You’d pushed the threshold.

And Reed felt it.

It happened again.

Reed forgot what he was saying mid-sentence. You were across the room, head bent over your tablet, pencil in your mouth, lab coat slipping slightly off your shoulder. His sentence just… stopped. Hung in the air unfinished.

And for once, he noticed you noticing.

You looked up slowly, eyebrows raised like well?

“I—” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “Never mind.”

You bit back a smile.

Another day in the lab. Another carefully applied variable. You weren’t loud about it. Just present. Vivid. A little perfume on your wrist. Lip gloss again. A comment here and there, perfectly timed to stick in his head.

“Careful,” you murmured when he bumped into the desk beside you. Your voice was soft. A little amused. “You almost ran me over.”

He looked down at you, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Liar.

You knew he had near-total environmental awareness. Reed Richards didn’t miss anything. But lately, he missed a lot—because he was looking at you and then pretending he hadn’t.

You kept it casual. Calculated.

You’d brush past him with a hand on his back, stand just a little too close while looking at the same screen, ask questions in that tone you saved for only him.

He was unraveling slowly. Quietly.

You caught him watching once—when you walked away to grab a coffee. His gaze dropped to your hips and stayed for three full seconds before jerking back to the screen like he'd been slapped.

You pretended not to see. But your grin behind your coffee cup was downright smug.

Later that day, he dropped a tool and you crouched down to grab it first. When you stood and handed it back to him, your fingers touched. He held on a little too long.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Forget what you needed it for?”

He blinked down at your joined hands and pulled back sharply. “No. Sorry. I—”

He coughed. “I’m distracted.”

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need to.

By now, you knew the exact cadence of his footsteps when he was deep in thought. The slow, uneven rhythm that meant he was pacing without realizing it, caught in his own mental spiral.

You could hear them behind you now—soft thuds on the concrete floor of the lab. Reed Richards, brilliant, infuriating man, walking through formulas with half his shirt untucked and his fingers twitching at his sides. His muttering was barely audible over the hum of the machines, but you caught bits of it:

“Non-linear increase… No, that’s not right. Unless…”

You didn’t look up. Not yet.

Instead, you sat at your workstation, half-focused on the screen in front of you, legs crossed slowly under the table—exposed just enough to draw the eye if someone were finally looking.

And he was.

Reed had been distracted for days now. You saw it in the way his gaze lingered when you bent forward to check wiring. The way his voice wavered slightly when you spoke too close to his ear. The way he’d started pausing in his work like something had thrown off the trajectory of his thought process—and that something was you.

It was working.

He still hadn’t named the tension, but it was eating at him.

So today, you’d decided: no more hints. No more tests.

You were going to prove it to him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You stood slowly, walked to the central console where he was now bent over a string of data projections, brows furrowed. He didn’t notice you at first—not until you placed a hand lightly on the edge of the table next to his.

His voice faltered. “The waveform collapse pattern could still—”

You leaned in just enough that your shoulder brushed his. “Still what?”

He straightened slightly, blinking at the screen like it had betrayed him.

Your voice was quieter this time. “You’ve been off lately, Reed.”

He turned his head, barely. “Off?”

You tilted your head. “Distracted.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

You hummed. “I know. But I’m starting to think the problem isn’t in your equations.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked to yours, guarded. “What do you mean?”

You let the silence hang for a moment. Then:

“I think the thing disrupting your work… is me.”

Reed went still. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He was computing. Processing. Trying to refute it. But his body betrayed him—his hand clenched on the table, his gaze briefly darting to your mouth before jerking away.

“I’m not—” he started. “You’re not a disruption.”

You smiled softly. “Then why do you keep looking at me like you’re afraid of what happens if you do it too long?”

He looked stunned. Then—guilty.

You took a breath, slow and steady. This was it.

“I’ve tried everything,” you said. “The lipstick. The touching. Standing so close you could feel my breath.” You leaned in, lower now, voice like silk. “And still, nothing.”

Reed was frozen in place.

“I think,” you continued, “that you’re just waiting for someone to spell it out.”

You stepped back, slowly, and hopped up onto the edge of the table in front of him—knees parted, one leg brushing his thigh. You leaned back on your hands, tilting your head like a challenge.

“Well, Reed?” you asked softly. “Do you need a demonstration?”

His pupils were blown wide. His breath caught. And his hands—god, his hands—hovered like he didn’t know where to touch first.

“You…” he said hoarsely. “You’re serious.”

You nodded, lips curled into a smile. “You want to calculate the pattern? Fine. Let’s start with some field data.”

You reached forward and took his hand—placed it firmly on your thigh.

He made a strangled sound. His fingers flexed. “This is… highly inadvisable.”

“Why?” you whispered, leaning forward so your lips nearly brushed his. “Because you’ve thought about it?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Your breath hitched.

“Every day this week,” he rasped, voice low now, broken open. “I’ve tried to ignore it. Tried to focus. But I’m… I’m failing. Every time you walk by me. Every time you touch me. I—” He shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re near.”

You dragged his hand a little higher, slow, teasing. “Good. Don’t think.”

And that’s when Reed snapped.

He surged forward, kissing you hard, like he’d been starving for air and only just found it. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, tugging your lab coat open like it was a barrier to understanding.

You moaned against his mouth, arms around his shoulders, legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them. He kissed like a man undone—like every theory he’d ever held was shattering under your touch.

“You have no idea,” he breathed against your neck. “How long I’ve been holding back.”

“Show me,” you whispered. “All of it.”

He groaned, low and guttural, and then his hands turned curious. Focused. Scientific. One settled at your throat, not squeezing, just holding—fingers spread like he was feeling your pulse, measuring your response. The other slid under your skirt, over the curve of your thigh, then—

“Oh,” you gasped, spine arching.

“I need to know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “what makes you tremble like that.”

Another touch. Another gasp. “That’s a reaction. Fascinating…”

“Reed—”

“I’m cataloging,” he said, voice filthy and analytical. “You’re the most compelling data set I’ve ever encountered.”

And then his fingers stretched.

Not just in confidence. Literally.

You whimpered as two elongated fingers traced up your inner thigh while another hand—normal-sized—cupped your breast through your shirt, thumb teasing slowly. The other hand remained at your throat, grounding you, steadying you.

He was everywhere.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered, pressing forward until you felt the thick, hard line of his cock against your core through layers of fabric. “You’ve disrupted every model. You’ve introduced chaos.”

You pulled him closer, panting. “Then let it consume you.”

“Consider this your field test,” he whispered against your lips.

And then he kissed you like he was sealing a pact—hands spanning your body, holding you like something he’d discovered and didn’t intend to release. His mouth was hot and searching, lips sliding down your jaw, teeth grazing your neck. You gasped, clutching his shirt, and that one sound made him groan hard, hips bucking against you without thinking.

“You make that noise again,” he muttered, “and I swear I’ll never let you leave this table.”

You did.

Just to see.

A breathy, needy gasp as he licked a slow stripe up your throat—and his hands tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table until your hips tilted forward and your clothed core was flush against the bulge straining in his pants.

He cursed under his breath, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Then study me,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Make sense of it.”

He did.

God, he did.

He dropped to his knees between your legs, hands spreading your thighs open as he looked up at you like you were divine—something to worship, something to break open and understand. His fingers pushed your skirt higher, until it was bunched around your hips. When he reached your panties, he paused.

“Wet already,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Stimuli, minimal. Response, immediate.”

You shivered.

Then—he pressed a kiss right to the center of the damp fabric. Slow. Gentle. Reverent.

Your hips jolted, and he smiled.

He peeled your underwear down your legs, lips brushing your inner thigh as he murmured, “I’ve never wanted anything this badly.”

Then he finally—finally—tasted you.

His tongue was hot and slow, dragging a firm, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. You cried out, and he groaned like he could feel it in his bones.

And then the muttering started.

Low. Incoherent. So Reed.

“God—taste is sharper than expected… pressure response is increasing…” His tongue flicked faster, and your head fell back. “Sensitivity peak here—yes, that’s it, I knew it—”

“Reed,” you gasped, fingers burying in his hair. “You’re talking—”

“I’m studying,” he said against your clit, tongue relentlessly. “Don’t interrupt the process.”

You moaned.

He grinned. “Good girl.”

That made your whole body jolt.

Reed caught it instantly. “Huh. New variable: verbal praise. Noted.”

His tongue circled tighter, and then—another hand slid up your torso, not the one braced on your thigh. It was soft, gentle, and a little too synchronized.

You looked down.

Another finger. Stretching from the hand holding your hip. Long and curved and perfect.

“Multi-point stimulation,” he murmured between licks. “Let’s test your threshold.”

You whimpered as his tongue lapped at your clit while that second hand slipped beneath your shirt, under your bra, pinching your nipple softly. Another elongated finger curled between your legs, circling your entrance, teasing—but never pushing in.

“I need to see you come apart,” he said. “I need to feel it.”

And then he did it all at once.

Tongue flicking. Finger pressing deep inside you, curling like he knew. Fuck, was that another?—spanning your lower back to hold you down as you arched off the table.

“Oh my god—Reed—”

“Give it to me,” he whispered. “Let me feel what I’ve done to you.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a burst of static—crackling down your spine, clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling on either side of his head.

You cried out his name, again and again, and he ate it up, moaning like it was his reward.

When you came back to yourself, he was standing again—his hands all back where they belonged, his mouth slick and shining. He looked wrecked.

And then—his belt hit the floor.

“You think I’m done?” he rasped. “You think I’d stop at one data point?”

He pulled you forward—off the table, into his arms—and turned you around until your back hit the cool surface. His cock, thick and flushed, pressed against your slick entrance.

“I’m going to learn you,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Every reaction. Every tremble. Every time you scream my name—I’ll know why.”

And then he pushed in.

All the way.

Slow and deep and perfect.

You sobbed into his shoulder as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, cock twitching inside you like even he was shocked how good it felt.

His breath hitched. “Oh… oh, fuck. You’re…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He started to move.

Slow strokes at first—grinding in, pulling out halfway, pushing deeper again. His hands explored every inch of you—mouth on your neck, chest, shoulder. He whispered your name like it was a formula. He muttered observations even as he fucked you harder.

“You clench when I say your name—tight around me, just like that—fuck—”

“Your back arches when I hit here—god, you’re perfect—”

“You feel like you want me to lose control—so I will.”

And he did.

He lost it.

His pace stuttered, then snapped—hips slamming into you with brutal precision, every thrust angle to hit that perfect spot. You clung to him, moaning shamelessly, barely coherent as he fucked you like he’d been waiting years.

You came again—harder this time—and he groaned so loud it echoed in the lab.

“Gonna come inside you,” he warned, wild-eyed. “You want it?”

“Yes, yes, Reed, please—”

He slammed deep and stilled, cock pulsing as he filled you, one last ragged cry falling from his lips as he buried his face in your neck.

You held him as he trembled through it, panting, hands tangled in your hair.

It took a full minute before either of you spoke.

Then, voice hoarse, he whispered:

“…I think I need to run a full repeat trial.”

After.

The lab was quiet, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. You were still sprawled across the console table, legs shaking, chest heaving. Reed leaned over you, both hands braced on either side of your hips. His head was bowed, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

Neither of you moved.

Finally, he let out a shaky laugh.

“...I think I blacked out for a second.”

You let out a breathless huff. “Welcome back.”

He looked up. His hair was a mess—curling wildly at the edges, gray hairs damp with sweat. His eyes were wide and stunned and so soft, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And then he leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you like he meant it.

Not a theory. Not a test. Just feeling.

When he pulled back, he looked at the mess between your thighs and the growing stickiness on his abs. When did his shirt come off? His brows pulled together, equal parts concern and fascination.

“I, uh—there’s a shower down the hall. Private. It's not… state-of-the-art, but…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d like to take care of you.”

You nodded, still dazed. “Okay.”

He helped you up with this heartbreaking gentleness, hands steady at your waist like you might vanish if he let go too fast. He gathered your clothes in silence, cradled your hand in his, and led you barefoot down the corridor to a sealed side room.

The lab shower was built for function—stark white tiles, a metal bench, one glass wall—but it felt almost sacred now. Reed adjusted the water temp with clinical precision before motioning for you to step in first.

Then he joined you.

And just… looked at you.

Not with lust, not yet. With wonder.

His hands were slow as he lathered soap across your shoulders, over your back, down your arms. He was quiet now, like something had settled deep in him. His thumbs traced gentle circles into your hips, his forehead brushing yours beneath the spray.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen today,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”

You met his eyes, searching. “You regret it?”

“No,” he said instantly. Then, softer: “I regret how long I ignored it.”

You swallowed.

He washed your thighs carefully, then cupped between them—not to tease, just to clean you, slow and reverent. You bit your lip and let him.

He kissed your forehead, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

Then you reached for him.

His cock was half-hard again—because of course it was—and when you wrapped your hand around him, his eyes fluttered. He leaned back against the wall, mouth parted, not stopping you.

“I want to try again,” he breathed. “When we’re not losing our minds.”

You smiled. “You want another trial?”

His head tipped back against the tile, a low groan leaving his chest. “God, yes. Multiple. Longitudinal.”

dividers by @cyberbeat @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @bleed-4-bey @littlemillersbaby @millersdoll @pandapetals @kellielovesmovies @rafeysgirl5 @dearstcupid @ivuravix @worhols @hoeforsirius @axshadows @aj0elap0l0gist @ladyshrike

[chere-indolente-plays]

Contrary to popular belief Dr Zed has human colleagues minions guinea pigs to keep her company at work

[dreamofbecoming]

today my french teacher talked about how even after living in the states for like 20 years and having english skills good enough to teach languages at an ivy league school, she still orders the simplest most basic drink possible at coffee shops because it stresses her out when baristas ask her clarifying questions and force her into an unrehearsed interaction, and i have never related to anyone more

[lazysoulwriter]

in their own world – pedro pascal .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluff, actress!wife!reader, married couple energy, public affection, fandom reactions

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You were seated side by side, as always — like it was simply a rule of nature. Pedro and you, then your two co-stars from the new movie you’d just wrapped.

The interviewer was halfway through a question for someone else — something about stunt work and improvisation on set — when Pedro, absentmindedly at first, reached for your hand.

You didn’t even glance down. Just tilted your body ever so slightly, so he had better access, and let your fingers intertwine with his.

He brought the back of your hand to his mouth without a word. One kiss. Then another. Then another.

You smiled, still facing the interviewer but clearly not listening. Your free hand came up to ruffle gently through the curls at his nape. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, like the feeling of your fingers on his scalp was better than whatever award you’d just been nominated for.

The others kept talking. Cameras kept rolling. But the two of you? You were gone.

In a soft little bubble of shared warmth and quiet adoration, neither of you paying any mind to the fact that you were still in the middle of a press junket.

And when Pedro finally opened his eyes again, he looked at you. Not the interviewer. Not the audience. Just you.

Like the world was made of two people.

You whispered something, barely audible, and he bit back a grin. The cameras caught it — your quiet laugh, the twitch of his lip, the little squeeze of your joined hands. Like he couldn’t help it. Like you were the only thought in his mind.

You stayed like that for the rest of the interview — fingers tangled, smiles shared, occasionally leaning into each other’s shoulders with subtle giggles and little murmured jokes that no one else could hear.

The internet? Lost their collective mind.

“not pedro kissing her hand for 10 whole seconds like they’re in a period drama—” “they’re literally in their own movie. i don’t even care about the film anymore, i just wanna see THEM.” “did you see the way he looked at her after that last kiss???? I’m not okay.” “no bc they DEF have telepathic powers. one look and boom they’re both laughing like one of them made a whole joke in their minds.” “marriage goals?? nah. that’s like soul connection goals.”

The clips went viral within minutes. Gifs of Pedro kissing your hand, you smiling like he’d just whispered poetry against your skin. Edits soundtracked by love songs. People joking that your marriage should be studied in labs.

But back in your hotel room, later that night, Pedro just kissed your hand again — slower this time — and murmured, “Didn’t even realize I was doing it… I just needed to touch you.”

You kissed his curls in return. “Always can.”

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✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

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taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[420technoblazeit]

i haven't seen anyone post it on here but one of the senior environment artists for arcane posted an interactive 360 model of jayce and viktor's lab in its base state in season 1 if you need a reference for it

[fallenbratfiction]

✦ PEDRO PASCAL MASTERLIST ✦  

✦ minors do not interact with me, my blog, or my posts

• 🌒 dark •🧸 fluff •🩹 hurt/comfort • 🔥 smut • 💔 angst 

✧ ┈┈┈┈┈ *.⋆ ✧ ⋆.* ┈┈┈┈┈ ✧

˗ˏˋ Pedro Pascal ˎˊ˗ 

• **The parts you’ve been taught to hate**  

→ pedro reassures you• comfort 

• **Birthday Gift**  

→ in honor to pedro’s birthday • smut 

• **Does your mother know?**  

→pedro pascal + mamma mia + white lotus• smut 

˗ˏˋ Joel Miller ˎˊ˗ 

• **Fences and Cities**  

→ dad’s best friend • slow burn series (hiatus)

• **Gym Crush Part 1**   • **Gym Crush Part 2 **

→ older! joel is your gym buddy • smut

• **Daydream in Blue**  

→ two strangers in a motel • smut 

• **Stay put**  

→ joel takes care of sickly you• comfort 

• **Mrs Miller**  

→ blurb/snippet of fanfic • fluff

→ married life with joel • fluff & smut

• **Safe Haven**  

→ you and joel are each other's safe haven • dark & smut

• **Bambi**  

→ joel and tommy miller's sweet lil shared thing • dark & smut

˗ˏˋ Marcus Acacius ˎˊ˗

• **The senator’s daughter**  

 → marcus acacius forbidden love• smut

˗ˏˋ Harry Castillo ˎˊ˗

• **His assistant**  

 → you’re the richest and hottest man’s assistant• smut

˗ˏˋ Javier Peña ˎˊ˗ 

• **Mustache Deal**  

 → javier lets you ride his mustache only if you study• smut

˗ˏˋ Reed Richards ˎˊ˗ 

• ** Constants & Variables **  

 → reed comforts and reassures you mid crisis at the lab

˗ˏˋ Dieter Bravo ˎˊ˗ 

✧ ┈┈┈┈┈ *.⋆ ✧ ⋆.* ┈┈┈┈┈ ✧

✦ this took time, love, & late-night agony ✦ reblogs are cherished. comments fuel me.

✧ do not copy, translate, or repost my work ✧

[eufezco]

WHAT WE DID 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

synopsis – after arriving to salt lake with ellie and joel, the fireflies take her away from you and you did what it took to get her back.

a/n – because since the last episode aired the only thing i can think about is destroying everyone ( ;) ) in that fucking hospital with joel. we're all in this together as they say in high school musical 😭 also this is my first time writing something with so many action and english isn't my first language so i hope you can understand everything

c/w – blood, violence, guns, shooting

angst. fluff

the last of us and pedro pascal masterlist

joel's eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, his expression unreadable. your arm rested against the window, hand holding your head up as you watched the trees blur past. your ears still rang from the shots, you could still feel the trigger in your fingers, the way the recoil bit into your shoulder, the smell of the blood staining your hands.

neither of you said a word. the windows of the car were closed shut, holding in the silence inside. the only sound that mattered was ellie's steady breathing from the back seats.

she let out a soft hum in her sleep, barely more than a breath, but enough for joel’s eyes to snap to the rear view mirror like a reflex. he had it angled just for her, didn’t care much for what was behind them anymore. you turned to look at her. ellie hadn’t moved. still curled up in the backseat, still in that hospital gown, though your jacket was wrapped around her like a shield. her face was calm, just sleep.

—she okay? —joel asked, voice low.

—yeah, —you said. —she's good.

it didn’t matter that joel tried to act like a human shield for ellie and you when that thing exploded, he still went down, and you still ended up in a hospital bed right beside him, with a strong headache, your body hurting. but none of that mattered the second your eyes landed on the red firefly symbol stamped across the wall. you pushed the sheets back, swung your legs over the side of the bed. you tried to stand, but the dizziness hit hard, your knees buckled, vision blurred, the taste of iron thick in your mouth.

—joel, —you swallowed and had to sit on the edge of your bed. his eyes opened slowly, he let out a low groan from his chest as he blinked against the harsh lights, —joel, are you okay? where's ellie?

and then marlene appeared, telling you how grateful she was to both of you for escorting ellie safe to the fireflies, yet joel and you cared only about one thing: where was she? marlene kept talking, trying to distract both of you, about purpose, about how special ellie was.

—just take us to her, —joel rubbed a hand over his face as he sat up straighter on the bed, the pain still into every movement.

—i can't, —that was all it took. your body went still, alert. she couldn’t? —she's being prepped for surgery.

joel’s head snapped toward her. your stomach dropped. —what kind of surgery? —he asked, looking around the room, confused. your eyes wouldn't left marlene. she took a few seconds before answering.

—our doctor thinks that the cordyceps in ellie has grown with her since brith.

—why is she in surgery? —you asked, sharp and clear. you wanted the truth, no more bluffing.

—he's gonna remove it from her, multiply the cells in a lab and then we can give it to everyone. he thinks it could be a cure.

—cordyceps grows inside the brain, —joel said immediately after.

marlene pressed her lips together, —it does.

you felt the breath catch in your chest, like your lungs had forgotten how to work. your hands trembled, but you curled them into fists. you looked at joel. his eyes were locked on marlene, but you could see it in his face. the way his shoulders had gone rigid, the way his fingers were holding onto the edge of the bed.

—we didn't tell her, we didn't cause her any fear, there won't be pain.

—no, no, no, no... —you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself up from the bed. your legs trembled, barely holding your weight, but you didn’t care. you needed to get to the door and you needed to get to her. one of the two guards flanking the exit moved and with no warning, the back of his rifle cracked against your legs.

your knees gave out, hitting the floor hard. —hey! —joel shouted. he was on his feet in an instant but the second guard was faster. the butt of his rifle slammed into joel’s side, and he dropped too, falling to his knees next to you.

marlene looked down to both of you. she pressed her lips together and just mumbled an i'm sorry, i have no other choice.

—we do, —joel said. his whole body tensed, ready to snap. you didn’t have to look at him to feel it, you had the same expression. fury. grief. betrayal. you looked up at marlene through teary eyes. yours were filled with disbelief, desperation, joel's eyes were pure wrath.

marlene shook her head looking at you two, —walk them out to the highway, leave them there. if they try anything, shoot them.

one of the guards grabbed joel by the arm, dragging him roughly to his feet. you tried to get up but the second guard didn’t wait. he shoved the barrel of his rifle against your back, hard, making you fall back to your knees. joel clenched his jaw, approaching the second guard but before he could reach him, the first guard grabbed him by his shoulder and yanked him back.

—don’t ever touch her again, —joel growled, eyes locked on the one who pushed you.

in that moment, you still on your knees and joel standing in front of you, you shared a glance, like two ends of a loaded wire. the same thought crossed your minds: we get out of here dead or with ellie. joel’s eyes darkened just enough for you to know he’d already chosen. you felt the same burning in your chest. you'd chosen too.

you left marlene behind and the guards got you through the hospital. you two walked between them. joel ahead of you, his hand behind him, stretched just enough so his fingers could find yours. you reached out, not hesitating, lacing your fingers with his in the space between you.

joel stopped halfway down the stairs, the guards barked a move! and pushed you forward. you both stumbled down a few steps. his hand held yours tighter and you understood that it was time. he slammed his elbow into the first guard’s face, bone meeting bone with a crack. the man stumbled back, you ducked and moved aside, slipping out of the way just in time as joel grabbed the first guard’s rifle before it hit the ground, and without even looking, aimed it toward the second guard.

bang.

you grabbed the dead man's rifle from the floor, and in one fluid motion, aimed it at the first guard still conscious. he was against the wall, one hand pressed over his bloodied nose. joel raised his rifle beside you. —where is she? —you asked.

—fuck you, —he said. and before he was done, you pulled the trigger.

joel and you looked at each other. there was no going back, whatever waited for you above, you were going to face it. together. you gave him a small nod. joel turned and started up the stairs, rifle raised, steps quiet. you followed close behind, watching his back like he watched yours.

you made your way to the top floor. every hallway was fire, every corner, another shadow with a gun. but you didn’t slow down. joel was just ahead, or just behind, depending on who needed cover. you moved like you'd done this a thousand times together. each time you pulled the trigger, each time a firefly dropped to the ground dead, it wasn’t hate in your chest. it was fear, desperation.

it was family.

you didn’t see enemies, you saw obstacles between you and her. between the three of you, between what the world wanted to take and what you refused to give up. your feet moved faster than your thoughts which is why you didn’t see him. he came out of nowhere, rushing from a side hall. his knife drove down into your arm, really close to your shoulder. the man pushed forward, trying to pin you, but before he could finish what he started

bang.

a single shot, clean, perfect, straight through the head, and his body hit the floor. joel was already there, eyes sharp, his focus was all on you. —shit, —joel lowered his rifle after the shot as he muttered with anger at the world, at the fireflies, at the fact that you were bleeding in front of him. —hold on. i got you.

your breath came in short gasps, the pain was sharp, the blood was hot, soaking through your shirt, running fast down your arm but the adrenaline was stronger. you shook your head, —we keep going.

he didn’t argue, he saw the determination on your face. he thought about it before he nodded once, jaw tight. you had to get to ellie.

the flickering light at the end of the hallway caught your attention. joel and you had cleared it, bodies left behind in silence and blood, rifles low now but ready. the echo of the last shot still seemed to ring in your ears, the pain in your arm ran through your whole body. joel stepped closer to the door, breath measured, eyes locked on it. he raised the barrel of his rifle and pressed it gently to the metal, pushing it open inch by inch.

joel lowered his rifle when he saw her. you straightened your back despite the weight of pain pulling you down and you lowered your rifle too. what did they do to her? what were they planning on doing to her? how could you have put it directly into the wolf's mouth? she was unconscious on the operating table. pale. still. surrounded by blue gowns and gloved hands.

—unhook her.

one of the doctors turned, startled. without a second thought, his hand grabbed the scalpel on the table beside him and also without a second thought, joel shot him. he didn't flinch, neither did you because if joel hadn’t made that shot, you would’ve.

—unhook her! —you repeated what joel said.

the nurses moved fast, trying to avoid the same fate as the doctor. the monitors stopped beeping and they pulled the needle free from her arm, and you saw the small, shallow prick of blood that followed.

—turn around, —joel ordered to the nurse, aiming his gun at them.

you approached ellie quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. you gently caressed her hair and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, —we're here, you're safe, —you mumbled to her in case she could hear you.

joel was completely numb, his eyes were distant, as if he was still processing how you almost lost her. he moved quickly, almost mechanically, to the small supply closet in the corner of the room. he grabbed bandages, alcohol, thread and needles, anything that could be used to treat you and put it inside his pack. then he reached you and ellie, his focus shifted completely. his hand gently passed down ellie’s neck and with the same careful movement, he slid his other hand behind her knees, lifting her just a little more securely in his arms, his grip solid but not too tight.

the nurses stood frozen, their backs to you, hands raised in silent surrender. they didn’t dare move, barely breathed. they’d seen your faces. they’d seen what you and joel were willing to do. it wasn’t personal, but they were witnesses now and you couldn’t leave anyone who might come back for ellie. or for you. or for joel.

your shot echoed in the sterile, tense air, a sound so sharp it almost didn’t seem real, and the nurses fell to the floor.

you stepped out of the operating room first, your rifle at the ready. behind you, joel moved with ellie in his arms. you reached the elevator, your eyes scanning the empty hallway, but the quiet was short. the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor, drew your attention. you tensed, instinctively raising your rifle.

—you go with ellie, i'll take care of that.

joel's voice came softer, almost pleading. —don't make me leave you.

you turned your head just enough to meet his eyes. you stepped in close, your free hand rising to cradle the back of his neck, forehead to forehead. —i'll meet you in the parking lot, i swear. get her safe.

joel stepped into the elevator as the footsteps rounded a corner far down the hall, still unseen but coming fast. the doors began to close and you gave him a small nod of reassure. you stayed back against the edge of the elevator shaft, just out of sight, waiting for the person to get to where you were hiding.

her braid hung low and her hand trembled around the grip of her gun. she stood in front of the door like she wasn’t ready to go in, like some part of her still didn’t want to believe what might be waiting for her inside. and you shot her. quick. right in the back of her head and she fell to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. she was young, probably a few years older than ellie but you had no choice, it was you or her.

you took the elevator, feeling the dizziness of your wound finally hit you. your hand moved to your arm and you hissed when you pressed to stop it from bleeding anymore. when you got to the parking lot, you heard a voice.

—it's not too late. even now, even after what you two have done. we can still find a way.

marlene.

you walked slowly, trying to go unnoticed, until you realized there was a gun in her hand aimed directly at joel and ellie, her finger already on the trigger. you didn’t think. you didn’t wait. you couldn’t lift your rifle with both hands, your injured arm hung useless by your side, so you raised it with one. it shook under the weight, your hold unsteady, vision narrowing. but your aim? your aim was clear. the bullet hit her low in the back and she fell to the ground.

joel moved fast, cradling ellie tighter. he opened the back door of the car and eased ellie inside, laying her across the seats as gently as he could, brushing her forehead before pulling your jacket tighter around her. then he turned in a hurry, eyes scanning until they landed on you. you were leaning against the wall now, rifle still in one hand, the other gripping your bleeding side, your knees looked ready to give out.

—got you, —he muttered, breath hot against your temple. you nodded, swallowing a groan as you moved. every step felt like fire, but he kept one arm firmly around your hips, guiding you to the car.

you stopped. joel felt it and he turned with you, both of you staring down at marlene where she lay on the floor, blood pooling slowly beneath her. her hand was raised, shaking, reaching toward you.

—wait, wait, wait, no. please. let me go.

your rifle was still in your hand, but lowered now. joel looked at you, not pressuring, just watching. the choice was yours.

—you’d never stop. —your voice quiet. —you’d come for her again.

and you shot one last time into her head. no hesitation. you leaned into joel without a word, your weight folding into the side of his body as his arm around your hips tightened, steadying you. he helped you to get to the car, his grip never leaving you.

you fell into the passenger seat with a grunt, the door slamming shut beside you as joel slid in behind the wheel. he didn’t waste a second. the engine roared, tires squealing, —press your arm, —he said, eyes moving from the road to you and back. you needed to get as far as possible from the fireflies before even thinking about stop and focus on the pain at your arm. and you did as he said, your hand to your wound, wincing hard, your fingers slick with blood.

a couple of miles passed like a blur. he drove in silence. ellie lay unconscious in the backseat, small and pale under your jacket. you were in the passenger seat, blood soaking through your shirt and running down your arm. his heart beating so hard against his ribs he swore you could hear it. he pulled off the road without warning, parking behind a cluster of rusted-out cars lining an overgrown roadside. joel rubbed his forehead. he slammed the driver’s door shut and came around to your side of the car.

he crouched down, eyes scanning your face before dropping to the blood still soaking your side. —shit, —he muttered. joel's hand careful pinched your chin. —hey. look at me. you still with me? —you gave a small nod. —alright, i'm gonna get you out of the car. you need fresh air and i'll patch you up. —he helped you to get out, his hands holding your hips as he closed the door behind you and sat you on the ground, letting you rest your back against the car. joel grabbed the pack from the back seat, dropping to his knees by your side. he started digging through the supplies he had grabbed from the or.

you swallowed hard as you watched joel rip the sleeve of your shirt with the knife. the alcohol from your flask hitting your wound was the worst, the sting was almost unbearable. then he reached for the needle, his hands trembling more than you’d ever seen before which made it very hard for him pass the threat through the needle's eye. his hands were still unsteady as he began to stitch the wound, the needle going through your skin, pulling the edges together. you closed your eyes shut and held your breath, your fingers dug into the dirt beside you.

—breathe. please. you're scaring the hell outta me.

you opened your eyes, met his, and let out the breath you didn’t realize you were still holding.

—hurts like hell, —you whispered, the corners of your mouth twitching, like you were trying to make it a joke but didn’t quite have the strength.

—i know, `m sorry. i'm almost done.

you looked down at your stitched-up wound, the edges of your torn skin now held together in a rough but solid line. blood still stained the surrounding skin and joel's hands but it wasn’t pouring out anymore. he carefully wrapped a clean bandage around your arm, putting a little pressure on the wound to make sure it stayed in place. —you did great, joel. thank you.

you closed your eyes and let your head rest against the metal of the car. joel sat next to you, his arms hung loosely on his knees. you hadn’t had time to process what you just did. the violence, the blood, the choices.

—we did what we had to do.

you nodded slowly, —we couldn't lose her, joel. she's like our-

you stopped before the word left your lips. daughter. but it hung there anyway—unspoken but clear. ellie was more than just a kid. she was more than just a cargo. joel didn’t need to hear the word to understand.

—yeah, she is.

you sat there together for a moment, enjoying the silence as your head rested on his shoulder. he didn’t speak, but his arm around you told you he was just as lost in his thoughts. then, without a word, before getting into the car again, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. and joel drove, as fast as he could, to jackson.

ellie rubbed her eyes in the backseat. joel's hands on the steering wheel tightened, your back tensed. she tried to sit but the effects of the anesthesia were still there, —it's alright, you're with us. take it slow, the drugs are still wearing off.

—i was with the fireflies and the... what drugs?

joel swallowed and you decided to talk for him. you told her they had run tests, that it turned out she wasn’t the only one and there were others like her, people who were immune. you said the doctors tried everything, but none of it worked. that all their research for a cure had led nowhere. and that they’d stopped trying.

she took a second before answering. then, she asked for her clothes, after noticing that she was wearing an hospital gown. joel told her there had been raiders. that things got messy. he said you barely made it out. you stayed quiet beside him, the lie sat on top of the others, fragile but necessary.

—were people hurt?

joel nodded. she noticed joel's hands on the steering wheel with dried blood and the way you held your arm close to your body, the dark patch of blood that had seeped through the edge of the bandage.

—is marlene okay?

you swallowed but said nothing. joel didn’t answer either. ellie waited but that silence told her more than any words could. she turned her back, curling into herself. joel took your hand, the one resting on your leg. his thumb brushed lightly over your skin, comforting, like a reminder of the words he said before,

we did what we had to do.

[andy-15-07]

Elastic Embrace

PAIRING: Reed Richards x reader

WORD COUNT: 2205 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

requestHi I have a request! In honor of the Fantastic Four movie coming out soon, could you do a Reed Richards story? Maybe where the reader has powers too but struggles to control them so Reed helps them? Lots of fluff and cute moments, maybe a bit of smut too if you want!

You slip into the Baxter Building lab well before sunrise, heart pounding as you stare at the humming containment pod. Today’s the day Reed Richards finally tries to help you master your power,your ability to phase through solid matter. You’ve spent the last month learning to dial it down to a harmless shimmer, but every time you try something bigger, you end up halfway through a wall or sinking into the floorboards.

Reed, tall and lean even in his rumpled lab coat, appears behind you as you fidget with the control panel. “Morning, Y/N,” he says softly, blue eyes warm. “Ready for our first session?”

You jump, nearly pressing the wrong button. “Yeah,sorry. I’m just… nervous.”

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, offering his hand. “Nervous is good. Means you care.”

You take his hand and let him guide you to the small training chamber: a clear-walled sphere with an array of sensors. The city skyline glitters outside. “So,” Reed begins, folding long arms, “today we’ll start simple. I want you to phase your fingertip through that steel cube.” He points to a heavy block on a pedestal.

You breathe deep. “Okay.” You step forward, watching your hand tremble. “Here goes.”

“Take your time,” Reed instructs. “Imagine your molecules slipping between the cube’s.”

You close your eyes and feel the familiar tingle. Slowly, your index finger grows translucent… then disappears entirely. A startled gasp escapes you as your hand glides through the cube. You yank it back out, normal again, blinking in triumph.

Reed’s grin is infectious. “Excellent!” He claps once,soft, almost shy,and his eyes sparkle. “See? That was perfect.”

Your cheeks heat. “That was just a fingertip,” you protest. “Not the whole arm.”

“Progress is progress.” He crosses to your side. “Now, try your whole hand.”

You inhale and, guided by his steady presence, glide your hand through, elbow next. Your confidence building, you coax your shoulder forward,and suddenly you’re halfway through the steel. A jolt of panic flickers, but you hear Reed’s calm voice in your ear.

“Control your breathing. Steady,now pull back.”

You obey, phasing out in one fluid motion. Your heart pounds, but you smile,big and genuine. Reed steps forward, envelops you in a hug from behind, and you feel him press a light kiss to your shoulder.

“Great job,” he whispers. “Really great.”

Later, you’re sprawled on the couch in your shared loft,one of Reed’s quieter safehouses,wrapped in his enormous sweater. Across from you, Reed is perched on the armrest, reading through biometric data on a tablet. He glances up.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admit, rubbing your temples. “But… good-tired.”

He nods. “Tomorrow we’ll try walking partway through the wall. But tonight, you rest.”

You grin sleepily. “Promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Breakfast in bed?”

Reed raises an eyebrow, but a smile tugs his lips. “Of course.”

Sunlight peeks through the curtains the next morning as you wake to the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon. In the kitchenette, Reed flips pancakes,his arms stretchy enough to handle both spatula and mug at the same time. He turns, grinning. “Morning, Y/N.”

“Wow,” you murmur, sitting up. “You’re domestic.”

He shrugs, pancake in hand. “If I can’t master breakfast, how can I teach you to phase properly?”

You laugh as he brings a plate to you. “Thank you.”

He sits beside you on the floor, leaning back against the island. “So,how’d you sleep?”

“Like a log.” You pop a pancake into your mouth. “This is amazing.”

“Glad you like it.” Reed leans closer, voice soft. “I like this,us,just hanging out.”

Your heart flutters. “Me too.”

He brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “There’s something… cute about your hair in the morning light.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks. “Stop.”

He chuckles. “Never.”

That afternoon, you’re back in the lab, ready to tackle phasing through a wall. Reed programmed a holographic grid on the far surface, so you can see exactly how far you’ve gone. You place your palm flat against the cold concrete.

“Just your hand first,” Reed reminds you, voice calm.

You nod, breathe, and push forward. The grid lines flicker as your hand slips through. You slide your forearm, smile widening… then hesitate at the elbow.

“Steady,” Reed says quietly. “Find your edge.”

You take a slow breath, push your shoulder in,and suddenly you’re in the wall, cement scraping at your back. Your knees hit the barrier too soon, and you stumble, trapped. Panic surges.

“Y/N!” Reed’s voice is urgent. He steps forward, stretching through the solid block until his body reaches you. He grasps your wrist in his hand,his stretchy wrist, but firm all the same,and pulls you free.

You collapse into his embrace, heart racing. Reed holds you tight. “Easy,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You tremble, tears pricking. “I’m sorry. I did it wrong.”

He strokes your hair. “No, you did great. You just need more practice.”

You sniffle. “I don’t want to keep embarrassing myself.”

Reed tilts your chin up, his eyes gentle. “Y/N, look at me.” You do, and his smile is patient. “Everyone struggles at first. You’re learning a new way of being. I’m proud of you.”

Your tears spill over. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

He brushes a tear away and kisses your forehead. “Yes, you are. And I’ll be here until you can slip through that wall with ease.”

That evening, exhausted, you settle onto the lab’s observation balcony. Reed joins you, handing over two steaming mugs of cocoa. The city lights shimmer below.

“To persistence,” he toasts.

“To… you,” you answer, and laugh when he raises an eyebrow.

He grins. “I like the sound of that better.”

You sit in comfortable silence, sipping cocoa. Reed wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. You rest your head on his shoulder. “Thank you for everything,” you whisper.

He kisses the top of your head. “Always.”

Over the next weeks, your sessions alternate between breakthroughs and setbacks. Every time you feel discouraged, Reed’s there with a patient word, a goofy joke, or an impromptu backrub. You discover that his mind is as elastic as his body,able to stretch around yours, ready to support you in any way.

One night, as you’re heading home, you find Reed waiting at your door. In his hands: a small steel puzzle cube. “Thought it might help,” he says, offering it to you.

You grin. “Is this for…?”

“For phasing practice,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. “But also…I thought we could…play with it. Together.”

You blink, heart fluttering. “Together?”

He steps closer, eyes warm. “Yeah. We could…take turns. You phase, I grab…or vice versa.”

Your breath hitches. “That sounds…fun.”

He grins, and you lean in. “Okay.”

Inside, he dims the lights and sets the cube on the coffee table. You sit on the couch; he kneels before you. “Ready?”

You close your eyes, center yourself, and press your hand to the cube. Inch by inch, you phase your fingers through. When your entire hand sinks in, you guide it back out, gasping in triumph.

Reed claps softly. “Beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm. “Your turn.”

He places his hand on the cube. In a moment, he phases his fingers through, then laughs. “Easy.”

You giggle. “Okay, smarty. Try the other side.”

He flips the cube around, touches a different face. “Hmm,slightly thicker metal. Let’s see,“

He phases completely into the cube, disappearing from sight. You gasp and reach forward…then he slips out behind you, pulling you into a kiss so soft your breath catches. His hands roam your back; you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Reed,” you murmur against his lips. “We shouldn’t…”

He hushes you with a finger. “Y/N, you’re safe.”

His kisses grow more insistent; his body stretches around yours until you’re both pressed comfortably into the couch. The warmth of his skin, the softness of his lips,it all hums through you. Your skin tingles with residual power, like the last echo of your phasing.

He lifts you onto his lap, carefully, so no awkward creaks of the couch disturb you. You free his lab coat and collar of his shirt, nipping at the warm skin of his chest. He shivers, closing his eyes.

Every stroke, every kiss, is filled with warmth and affection.

He catches your lips again, softer this time, as his hand slides beneath your skirt to rest warm and sure against your inner thigh. Your pulse hammers in your ears, and you part your lips against his, whispering, “Reed… please.”

He smiles into the kiss,an electric flash in those deep blue eyes,then lowers his mouth to your collarbone, trailing slow, teasing kisses up toward your neck. His fingertips press gentle arcs into your thigh, inching ever closer until you can’t help the soft gasp that slips free.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, voice thick with need. He lifts you slightly, guiding you to settle fully onto his lap so your heat is flush against him. His arousal presses insistently against you, and you let your hands roam over his chest,over the firm muscles that ripple beneath elastic flesh.

When he shifts, you feel the slick promise of him at your entrance. You tilt your hips, meeting him halfway. A low, breathy groan rumbles from Reed as he fills you completely, slow and tender. You thread your fingers through his hair, marveling at the contrast of softness and strength in every stretch of his body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “So incredible.”

You cup his jaw, your touch somehow grounding you amid the swirl of sensation. “Only with you,” you reply, voice trembling.

He smiles, then pulls you closer, rocking his hips gently at first,drawing out every delicious stretch, every flutter of warmth. You wrap your legs around his waist, pressing him deeper, and lean into him as he picks up the pace. Each roll of his hips sends sparks through you; you moan softly, delighted by how completely he knows you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Reed says, voice rough. He slides one hand from beneath your thigh to cup your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Heat flares through you, and you arch against him, biting your lip to stifle a cry.

He answers with a kiss so fervent it steals your breath, his other hand curling around your back, anchoring you to him. You grind down, squirming as your power hums,a gentle warmth, like embers beneath skin,mingling with the heat of his body.

“Do you feel that?” he rasps against your mouth. “Every part of you…”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Every part of me loves you.”

At that, Reed’s pace shifts,deeper, more insistent,pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails grazing rubbery skin. Your vision flutters, and he hushes you with a kiss at the base of your throat, murmuring, “Let go, Y/N.”

With one final thrust, you shudder, your power flaring softly as your pleasure peaks. You collapse against his chest, trembling, and Reed holds you through every tremor, rocking slowly until the world steadies again.

He eases you down onto the couch cushions, shifting so he can lie beside you, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. You nestle into his warmth, breath still ragged, as he kisses your temple.

“I love you,” he whispers, fingers tracing idle patterns across your back.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, smiling through the aftershocks of bliss. “I love you too, Reed Richards,Mr. Fantastic,master of all things,” you tease, and he laughs, his chest vibrating beneath you.

“Now,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to yours once more, “let’s see if we can’t master breakfast in bed next.”

You giggle, snuggling closer, and as you drift toward sleep in his arms, you know that with Reed by your side,stretching, supporting, loving,you could conquer any challenge: phasing through walls, mastering your power, or even carving out a lifetime of mornings just like this.

The next morning, you awaken in Reed’s arms, sunlight kissing your face. Your powers feel… calmer, somehow, as though his acceptance has soothed the rough edges. You nuzzle into his chest.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, stretching around you until you’re both upright, spooned together.

“Morning,” you reply, smiling up at him.

He kisses your forehead. “Coffee?”

You laugh. “Please.”

He slides out of bed,carefully, you realize, given his elasticity,and leaves you a note on the nightstand: “Breakfast at Joe’s on me. Meet me downstairs.” You grin, pull on some clothes, and slip out to meet him.

Downstairs in the Baxter lobby, Reed is waiting, hair tousled, smile radiant. He holds two cups of steaming coffee and a paper bag of muffins. “Thought we’d keep the biscuit trend going,” he jokes.

You take a muffin, sit beside him. “Thank you,for last night. For everything.”

He reaches for your hand. “You’re the bravest person I know.” He squeezes your fingers. “Now, let’s see how brave we can be today,in training and…everything else.”

You lean into him, heart full. With Reed by your side, you know you can do anything,even learn to control a power as strange and wonderful as yours. And maybe, just maybe, discover entirely new ones,together.

[anotherplumbob]

Uberhood 2024 Update By AnotherPlumbob (CC free)

The Uberhood is an ongoing PROJECT where I’m creating a Cc-free savefile, with all the worlds and lore from The Sims 2 ported to The Sims 4. 

NOTE: In this update I've revamped PLEASANTVIEW only - if you were interested in the other worlds or premades, please note they remain exactly as they were in the previous versions.

It currently includes

1.- Remade Worlds

Pleasantview (Newcrest+Willow Creek)

Strangetown (Strangerville+Oasis Springs)

Veronaville (Windenburg)

Bluewater Promenade (Magnolia Promenade)

Three Lakes (Granite Falls)

Bluewater Bay [only partially built] (Brindleton Bay)

All the career lots (detective, hospital and science lab).

BEWARE: the rest of the worlds are either empty, half built or a mess in general.

2.- Families

The save includes all the premade families as well as the iconic townies that lived in those worlds in The Sims 2 times. They all have jobs, relationships, sentiments, lifestyles, reputations, etc. For Pleasantview sims only I've also included more lore in the form of milestones, added traits, midlife crisis, etc.

3. Required packs and How to Install (PLEASE READ)

THE SAVE IS CC-FREE BUT ALL EXPANSION, GAME PACKS,STUFF PACKS AND KITS RELEASED UP UNTIL MARCH 2024. 

If you don’t have all packs, sims may be half naked, and/or bald and stuff may be missing. Install at your own risk. 

In order to install:

BACK UP YOUR SAVES.

Download the the SAVE file.

Put the save in your SAVES folder.  Documents > Electronic Arts > Sims 4 > Saves. I changed the name of the file so that it will hopefully not overwrite any of your saves (including the previous v1). If your system prompts you to overwrite a save, do not click yes. Just change the name of the save (keep it 8 numbers but change the numbers) and try again.

Optional: Put the .package file (StrangetownTexts.package) in your mods folder. This file is used to change the Strangerville mystery a bit, and turn it into the Strangetown mystery (with custom texts, references to the Bella mystery, etc.). Please install it if you want to have some clues on what happened to Bella!! 

4. Play Order

There’s really no set play order but note that:

1.- Brandi Broke is pregnant and will give birth in 3 days regardless of who you play and regardless of whether aging is on or off, so play with her first if you want to be there for the birth.

2.- Same thing applies to Pascal Curious, who’s also pregnant at the start of the save.

5. Disclaimer and TOU

I’m just one person and there may be some bugs here or there, or naked sims or whatever. Feel free to report any bugs you find but I will only fix them if I consider them super relevant or game breaking, otherwise the save is provided as is and you install it at your own risk.

Also please don't waste your breath asking me to do X world, or add lore to Veronaville or Strangetown or whatever, because I will only do it if and when I'm inspired to do it - and the requests quite honestly stress me out.

THE TERMS OF USE ARE: Be nice and don’s steal others creations! 

Download: Sim File Share - Filehosting for Simmers

[tsukikonikushimi]

Page 88 - Viktor & Jayce (Boys of Progress)

MASTERLIST

VIKTOR AND JAYCE ARE AMONG THE characters who changed the most, both physically and psychologically, over the span of Arcane. They start off as close colleagues and friends, working together in a Piltover lab. They end up making radically different choices and eventually drift into radically different directions with radically different end games. Jayce and Viktor represent two sides of the same coin, with shifting views on power and the use of hextech. "When Christian told us about Viktor and Jayce, he used Apple as a comparison," Fortiche's Pascal Charrue said. "You had Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak. Wozniak would be Viktor: He's the true genius who creates Apple, whereas Steve Jobs is its public face, like Jayce is the public face of hextech."

The writing team greatly benefited from the input of Amanda Overton, who not only is an avid gamer (though not so much League of Legends as Teamfight Tactics, "just to kind of familiarize myself more with the characters and the fans," she said) but had studied molecular biology and been a geneticist in a previous life. "I was able to draw on my science background to inform Viktor and Jayce, and their relationship and understanding," Overton said. "One of the lines Jayce says to Ambessa is that failure is ninety-seven percent of science or something, I was like, 'Yeah, I wrote that because thate what science is: No one understands that science is ninety-seven percent failure.'"

Title courtesy of Jinx:

Boys of Progress VIKTOR & JAYCE

THIS PAGE Concept art for Jayce and Viktor

ABOVE AND BELOW Viktor and Jayce activate the Hexite Crystal in Episode 103

THIS PAGE, BACKGROUND Notes investigating the runes from Jayce and Viktor's notebooks

With a "few" of Jinx doodles: "Math-y" "Magic-y" "it's all about these runes"

Pattern behind them:

The plants (with a little drawing from Jinx)

This is all for today! I'm gonna be absent for at least (maybe) 2 days so no new posts tomorrow, probably during the weekend I'm gonna post one of the many ask in my inbox while avoiding the death threats. Have a nice end of the week and see you in a couple of days!

Thank you anon for the ask! If you wanna be added to the anon emoji list on the timeline feel free to add one next time you send a request!

[sixamese-simblr]

RIGHT THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING

I acknowledge that the cultural conversation around conspiracy theories was different 20 years ago (more X Files than MAGA), but like given their character descriptions Pascal would likely be into QAnon and Lazlo is canonically into measuring skulls which is like one door to the left of extremely racist stuff plus a really weird anti trans rabbithole to boot. Like I understand that's not how they were intended but that's a way to read them in a modern context.

(I usually just go with the dad/loser/stoner headcanon trio because fundamentally conspiracy theorists that deep in the rabbithole, while interesting, really just need professional help)

Why is the "he has a degree in phrenology" bit in Lazlo Curious's bio treated like it's a quirky new age thing? Why does no one portray Lazlo as a racist bigot, or an ex-racist bigot? I mean, people have no problem portraying General Buzz as a bigot, or Olive as a serial killer, or Circe and Loki as sadistic abusers, so it's not like people don't want to have problematic characters in their games.

I'm not saying you need to acknowledge the phrenology bit, since canon doesn't really exist in the sims games. I just personally can't ignore it.

[therobotmonster]

"Doctor Martin, why are you an atheist?"

Director Maria Kleinheart wasn't the sort of person who asked indirect or idle questions. She was in every way a Kleinheart, the spitting image of her grandmother. Only she wasn't staring out from a yellowed ad in a back issue of Popular Science or Woman's Day, she was staring from across desk made of polished slate.

Emil Martin didn't respond immediately. That sort of question usually came with an invitation to services or a badgering about Pascal's wager. That didn't fit what he knew about the director, though that wasn't much. An intense religious conversion would explain the rumors around her distance from the rest of her family.

"Director, is this a personal or work related question?" Emil finally asked.

"Work." She replied.

"Is that appropriate?"

"Yes. This is about security clearances."

That made even less sense. Emil decided to risk a lecture on his eternal soul and answered truthfully. "Pretty standard, insufficient evidence."

"Would you rather it be true?" She asked. "Would it be comforting to know you existed for a purpose, that someone was in charge of your existence, caring for you?"

"Not really." Emil replied. "I'm rather Hitchenisan in that regard."

"Good enough. Follow me."

-

"BE NOT AFRAID."

The words seemed to come out of the air itself. The thing was at the center of the large, expansive lab that had once been a missile silo. It was a sphere, surrounded by two rings of brass-like metal. The rings were lined with hemispherical semi-translucent white glass or crystal protrusions. The inner ring spun slowly, as did the central core, though only the faintest irregularities in its glowing blue-white corona revealed that motion.

The outer ring was held in place with steel chains, each link six inches in diameter. Two chains locked the ring to the floor, while a third latched the top to the ceiling. The cuffs the chains connected to seemed to have been welded shut around it.

"BE NOT AFRAID." It 'spoke' again. Its voice was clear and musical, but wrong and artificial at the same time. It sounded like familiar voices; his mother and father, his cousins, his old school pals, his boyfriends, even Director Kleinheart, each synthesized poorly via an AI speech simulator, all speaking in perfect time.

Every time it spoke, Emil smelled his grandfather's sweet cornbread fresh from the oven.

"That looks like an angel." He finally gasped.

"Looks like." Director Kleinheart smiled. He wasn't sure she could do that. "I knew we picked the right man."

"This is why you were asking about my beliefs?"

"Yes Doctor Martin. You see, freedom of religion is an extension of the principle of innocence until proven guilty. Once one faith is shown to be correct, all others are revealed as wrong."

"And you wanted to make sure I, what, wasn't guilty of being wrong?"

"No, the mistaken are innocent of everything except the actions they directly take." Kleinheart continued. "It's the ones who would take this to mean they were right that are fifth columnists to an unaccountable alien power."

"Oh." Emil replied. He didn't know quite what else to say.

"I want you on our team that's studying it. We need to know how it works, what it's made of, what those things its made of can be used for, you know the drill."

"BE NOT AFRAID." Again came the smell of cornbread.

"Are the restraints necessary?" Emil asked. "It is telling us we don't need to be afraid of it."

"Oh, we thought that too at first." The director said. "But we've already learned quite a bit about our little intruder here, even a bit of its 'source code' for lack of a better analogue. That message isn't meant for us."

"What is it then?"

"Can't you guess, Doctor?"

Dr. Emil Martin shrugged. "I have no idea."

"It isn't giving us a warning."

Director Kleinheart smiled for the second time in Emil's memory and spoke again.

"It's repeating its orders."

[are-they-a-faggot]

NERVOUS SUBJECT - SIMS 2

reasoning: Widely paired up with a man, Pascal Curious. Is programmed to not be attracted to women in the main game (though he did have a girlfriend in the spinoff, we love our Bi King). Tragic backstory- child of a serial killer and the Grim Reaper and is trapped in a mad scientist lab to be used as a test subject. I want to compare him to a sad kitten, but he also has 0 Nice Points and won’t stop stealing my newspapers. Has an article on Sexypedia.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 2 Coming On 11/03/2024

Just a Little Something 😉

One Year Ago: Soldier Boy POV

Ben squinted his eyes as he stepped out into the brilliant sunshine of the early morning, shouldering the strap of his backpack with a huff. The people on the crowded, gum covered sidewalks shot him odd looks and gave him a wide birth as he made his way down the path, but he didn't care, in fact he didn't notice them. His mind was somewhere else.

He wasn't sure where he was going, just that something in the pit of his stomach was pointing him in this direction. Ben had started walking  what he thought was the way to Legend's apartment, but the streets looked so different than the last time he was in New York and he was a little turned around, but he wasn't going to admit that to anyone.

And there was something in the pit of his stomach, some instinct or gut feeling, that was telling him he needed to go this way.

It was an odd feeling that prickled on the back of his neck, as if he'd forgotten something. Ben wondered what exactly it was that he'd forgotten. He hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone other than the scientists who kept him locked in a cage so he didn’t have a social calendar to follow up on.

I've been locked in a lab for forty fucking years, what is there to forget?

But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed just out of reach...

If The Stars Wish It So Masterlist

Taglist:

@reidtomewinchester @livya99 @pascal-rascal424 @xaviersgifted @zepskies

@bagpussjocken @bitchykittenconnoisseur @kamisobsessed @goldenmaknaes @ophennie

@infinityonhighhhhh @modiddys-blog @globetrotter28 @roseblue373 @tulipsvanilla

@annoyingrebelsoul @soldiergrimes @megara0224 @zpandaqueen @ladykitana90

@corruptedcruiser @podiumackles @criminalyetminimal

@deangirl96 @kr804573 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@pamwritessometimes @roger-that-cap @my-obsession-spn

@52ndstreeet @mrsjenniferwinchester @impala67stellawinchester

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know!😊

[heartpascalispunk]

Pedro Pascal must have been created in a lab, this man is talented, handsome, funny and the kindest human alive ❤️

[callie-bleh]

ok ive been persuaded. woe, Paradox be upon ye. i have SOOOOOO many headcanons for this fucker (totally not projecting at all) for starters the glasses- we see him have a fucking monocle in Aporia's flashbacks but like.... glasses. i kinda just gave him MY glasses bc yk... whatever. his skin tone- i headcanon him as Chinese/German. the scars- we know he probably saw combat so it's a given, plus i like to headcanon that he survived Bonds Beyond Time (im so normal about him trust) the red mark under his eye is PROBABLY a scar??? question mark?? his hair is in a ponytail to keep it the FUCK out of his face while he plays card games on motorcycles and does science (basic lab safety plus long hair struggles), i made his eyes a more vibrant shade of green (they're supposed to be like... lcd screens since hes a robot), headcanon that his robot version is probably around 25-29 years old... 6'6 feet tall (or about 201.2 centimeters for my non Americans i see u)

headcanon him as pansexual, grey ace, and genderfluid

also headcanon that Paradox is not his real name (my version is named Pascal Liwei Klein and uses Paradox as a nickname or codename. it's probably his fucking gamer tag smh)

his outfit is kinda a wip bc i WAS gonna draw his canon outfit but got burnt out because my chronic illness would NOT give me a damn break so i MAY do another drawing of him soon </3

rotates him in my mind like a microwave