#pulse detector

[octiot1]

Pulse Detector: True presence sensor for hospitals

Smart tech is changing healthcare fast. It's making patient care better, operations smoother, and energy use smarter. The True Presence Sensor is one such new tool built just for hospitals where getting things right matters a lot. Pulse Detector is a new True Presence Sensor that can spot even the quietest person in a room, including patients who are asleep or still. Unlike old motion sensors that need movement to work, Pulse Detector uses 24GHz radar tech to see tiny moves, like breathing and heartbeats.

This new way to detect presence means medical gear, lights, and climate control run when needed. This makes patients more comfortable and cuts down on costs big time. In this blog, we'll look at how Pulse Detector is changing patient monitoring and hospital automation in a big way.

To get more information about Sensor and Sensor Lighting Solutions visit here: https://octiot.com/top-10-sensors-sensor-lighting-providers-in-india/

[ilovolderman]

Dinner Interrogation

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam hosts a dinner to uncover the truth about you and Bucky’s relationship.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, lasagna, lie detector abuse

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam Wilson was finished pretending.

Tonight, he was pulling out all the stops: Dinner. But not just dinner. A full-on sting operation with lasagna and lightly weaponized appetizers.

This wasn’t just a meal. This was war. Operation: Love Actually (But They're Lying).

"Casual, not suspicious" was the theme. He wore a turtleneck for authority. And the guest list? Handpicked for psychological pressure:

You (suspect #1)

Bucky  (suspect #2)

Sam (the host, investigator, and emotional wreck)

Natasha (because she lives for drama)

Tony Stark (for tech backup and snark)

Steve Rogers (for “dad energy” and moral guilt leverage)

And Peter Parker, who thought he was just invited for lasagna and board games.

The living room was dimly lit. The table was set. The lasagna was pre-ordered. And in the center of it all, hidden beneath an innocuous decorative centerpiece? A portable StarkTech lie detection device.

Sam checked it one more time. Still green. Still calibrated. Still ready to catch romantic criminals.

You arrived first. Oversized hoodie. Sleepy smile. Suspiciously content.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "That hoodie is two inches too long in the sleeves. EXHIBIT J."

Bucky arrived a few minutes later. Entered through the kitchen like this was a sitcom. Casual. Too casual.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Staggered entry,” he whispered to himself. “Classic deflection tactic.”

Steve gave Sam a look. “This is a friendly dinner, right?”

Sam didn't blink. “Oh, it’s friendly… to the truth.”

Dinner began.

You sat across from each other. Just far enough to look innocent. Close enough to smile at each other when no one was looking. Too choreographed. Too coordinated.

The lasagna was passed around like a peace offering. Peter asked three times if it had walnuts. (It didn’t. He still didn’t trust it.)

Then Sam stood.

“Game time,” he said with a smile that had war crimes energy. “We’re doing a little truth circle. Like spin-the-bottle but without the bottle. Or the fun. Or the spinning.”

Tony groaned. “Oh great, here comes summer camp counselor Sam.”

Steve frowned. “Is this really necessary?”

Natasha was already pouring herself wine. “Shhh. This is better than HBO.”

Beneath the table, the lie detector pulsed.

Sam began.

“Alright. Easy question. Bucky—ever been in love?”

Bucky gave a slow shrug. “Once or twice.”

Green.

 “Recently?” Sam pressed.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Define recently.”

“Within the last six months.”

Bucky just smirked. “Hard to say. Time’s a social construct.”

Still green.

Peter blinked. “This feels intense for lasagna night.”

Tony sipped his drink. “You have no idea.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Right. Fine. You,” he pointed at you. “Same question.”

You looked positively angelic. “What, if I’ve been in love?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely.”

Green.

“Recently?”

You tilted your head. “In a cosmic sense?”

“IN THE LAST SIX MONTHS.”

You smiled. “Possibly.”

Green.

“Can i go next?” Peter asked

Sam ignored him. “Okay. Next question. Ever kissed someone who lives in this building?”

You and Bucky shared a brief glance.

Then, in perfect sync: “No comment.”

Green.

Sam nearly flipped the table. “WHY IS ‘NO COMMENT’ STILL GREEN?!”

Natasha actually laughed into her wine glass. “It’s calibrated to detect lies,” she said, sipping wine. “Not cheeky evasion.”

“Then they are hiding something!” Sam barked, pointing at you “That proves it!”

Bucky leaned back, arms crossed. “Proves we’re smart. Not guilty.”

You bit your lip to hide a smile.

Sam rounded the table. He pointed to your hoodie. “That is HIS hoodie.”

You raised your brows. “Is it?”

Bucky shrugged. “All hoodies look the same.”

Natasha muttered, “Lies. That’s his ‘Wednesday hoodie.’ I’ve seen him fold it.”

Sam snapped his fingers. “HA! COLLATERAL CONFIRMATION.”

You smiled serenely. “Or maybe we just do laundry on the same day.”

Peter whispered to Steve, “This is better than that time Vision tried to cook.”

Sam glared. “Alright. Final question. And I want both of you to answer. Clearly. Slowly. With eye contact.”

He paused for effect.

“Are. You. Dating.”

You both paused.

Then turned to each other.

Then to Sam.

And in the exact same deadpan voice: “No.”

Green.

Sam stared at the device. Then at you. Then at the ceiling. Then back at the device.

“I’ve been betrayed by science.”

Bucky leaned forward. “You okay, man?”

“No!” Sam snapped. “I’m living in a romantic Truman Show and none of you are helping!”

Tony patted his back. “Want some wine?”

“I want answers!”

From under the table, the lie detector shorted out with a sad little pop. Probably from emotional overload.

Peter leaned over to Natasha. “Do you think I could fake-date someone for this kind of dramatic energy?”

Natasha didn’t even look up. “You’d crack in three hours.”

You stood and stretched. “Well, this was enlightening. Thanks for dinner, Sam.”

Sam stood, pointing dramatically. “This isn’t over! You hear me? You can lie to the machine. But you can’t lie to me forever!”

Bucky stood too. “Wanna bet?”

You both started walking toward the door.

Sam pointed wildly. “They’re leaving at the same time!”

Peter: “So?”

Sam: “They didn’t come together!”

Natasha: “Neither did your sanity.”

The door closed behind you.

Sam collapsed into his chair.

Five steps out the door. You both broke. Laughter exploded between you like a popped balloon.

Bucky slung his arm over your shoulders as you leaned into him, giggling helplessly.

“That—” you wheezed, “—was actually cruel.”

He grinned, crooked and smug. “He’s going to short-circuit in his sleep.”

You gave him a sideways look. “The lie detector literally did.”

“Friday probably auto-filed it under 'emotional casualties.’”

You both collapsed into laughter again, and after a moment, he held out his hand with that familiar spark in his eyes.

“C’mon. Lets go to our spot.”

He led you up onto the building’s roof. The door creaked open and the city met you with open arms — the soft hum of traffic below, the wind gentle in your hair, and a sky stretched out like a quiet secret. The rooftop was empty, peaceful. The kind of place that felt like it belonged to you and no one else.

Bucky pulled off his hoodie and draped it over your shoulders without a word. You didn’t even protest, just slid your arms into the sleeves and hugged it close.

It smelled like him. Warm. Safe. You sat down against the low wall at the edge, legs stretched in front of you, and he sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders like it had every right to be there.

Silence settled between you again.  but the good kind. The kind that felt earned. Easy.

“I’m perfect,” you said after a while, answering the question he hadn’t yet asked.

Bucky turned his head toward you, a little surprised.

“I just… I don’t love pretending around them,” you admitted, looking out at the skyline. “I mean, I know we’re not lying. Not really. But… it kind of feels like we are. Like we’re sneaking out after curfew.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “We don’t have to pretend forever.”

“I know.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “But it’s also kind of fun.”

 “Very fun,” he agreed. “Especially when you get that smug look.”

You blinked up at him. “What smug look?”

He grinned. “That one. The one that says ‘we made out in the stairwell and Sam has no idea.’”

You groaned, laughing into his shoulder. “We are going to be the reason he needs therapy.”

“Worth it.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then finally your lips—soft and lingering, like you had all the time in the world. His hand cupped your cheek as your fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt. When he pulled back, you stayed close.

“Think they’ll ever figure it out?” you whispered.

He looked at you like you were his whole world. “I kind of hope not.”

You laughed softly and leaned against him, your hand finding his, your fingers slipping into the spaces like they belonged there. Above you, stars peeked through the clouds, and below, the city buzzed on like it didn’t know your little secret.

From far below, through a cracked window, Sam’s voice echoed faintly into the night:

“FRIDAY, CROSS-REFERENCE EVERY PHOTO OF THEM FROM THE PAST YEAR. I WANT BLINK RATES. I WANT STANCE ANALYSIS. I WANT SHADOWS CHECKED FOR HAND-HOLDING.”

You leaned your head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “We’re safe.”

Back inside, Sam stood triumphantly at the whiteboard he had forcibly dragged into the living room, the wheels squeaking on the hardwood floor as if the entire house was questioning his sanity.

Natasha leaned lazily against the wall, wine glass in hand, her expression somewhere between bemused and concerned.

Peter and Steve were seated at the dining table, playing Scrabble — although Peter had already exhausted every single letter in his limited vocabulary to spell out variations of “Stucky.” (He was still trying to get “Stucky” onto the board despite Steve pretended not to know what it meant.)

Meanwhile, Tony, as usual, was on the couch, projecting photos into the air with what could only be described as a mix of disappointment and genuine curiosity. He flipped through a series of images with the skill of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of snooping.

"Okay," Tony said, clicking through the photos on his holographic display like a man on a mission. "Three feet apart in May. 1.7 feet apart in July. September? Clearly sharing one churro. No context. But I’m sure that was more than a snack.”

Sam scowled at the screen, scribbling furiously on the whiteboard like he was composing the next great espionage novel. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, pulling down a string of yarn across various photos of you and Bucky, as if it was going to somehow solve the mystery. "I need a new plan. A better plan.”

Tony glanced over at him, the kind of look only someone who knew Sam for way too long could pull off. “What’s your next move? Secretly record their Netflix history and analyze their most-watched shows for clues?”

Sam paused for a moment, considering it. Then he snapped his fingers. “...Actually, that could work.”

Natasha slowly lowered her glass, an expression of disbelief dawning on her face. “Sam. You’re kidding, right?”

Sam stood back, “Get ready,” he said ominously. “This will work. I will finally know the truth.”

Natasha looked at the others with a half-smile, then back at Sam. “You’ve officially lost it.”

Tony nodded sagely, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “I feel like we should all start taking bets on whether Sam will completely implode by the end of this.”

Sam, grinning maniacally, “Let’s just see who cracks first.”

next part

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[nasa]

Love Letters from Space

Love is in the air, and it’s out in space too! The universe is full of amazing chemistry, cosmic couples held together by gravitational attraction, and stars pulsing like beating hearts.

Celestial objects send out messages we can detect if we know how to listen for them. Our upcoming Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope will help us scour the skies for all kinds of star-crossed signals.

Celestial Conversation Hearts

Communication is key for any relationship – including our relationship with space. Different telescopes are tuned to pick up different messages from across the universe, and combining them helps us learn even more. Roman is designed to see some visible light – the type of light our eyes can see, featured in the photo above from a ground-based telescope – in addition to longer wavelengths, called infrared. That will help us peer through clouds of dust and across immense stretches of space.

Other telescopes can see different types of light, and some detectors can even help us study cosmic rays, ghostly neutrinos, and ripples in space called gravitational waves.

Intergalactic Hugs

This visible and near-infrared image from the Hubble Space Telescope captures two hearts locked in a cosmic embrace. Known as the Antennae Galaxies, this pair’s love burns bright. The two spiral galaxies are merging together, igniting the birth of brand new baby stars.

Stellar nurseries are often very dusty places, which can make it hard to tell what’s going on. But since Roman can peer through dust, it will help us see stars in their infancy. And Roman’s large view of space coupled with its sharp, deep imaging will help us study how galaxy mergers have evolved since the early universe.

Cosmic Chemistry

Those stars are destined to create new chemistry, forging elements and scattering them into space as they live, die, and merge together. Roman will help us understand the cosmic era when stars first began forming. The mission will help scientists learn more about how elements were created and distributed throughout galaxies.

Did you know that U and I (uranium and iodine) were both made from merging neutron stars? Speaking of which…

Fatal Attraction

When two neutron stars come together in a marriage of sorts, it creates some spectacular fireworks! While they start out as stellar sweethearts, these and some other types of cosmic couples are fated for devastating breakups.

When a white dwarf – the leftover core from a Sun-like star that ran out of fuel – steals material from its companion, it can throw everything off balance and lead to a cataclysmic explosion. Studying these outbursts, called type Ia supernovae, led to the discovery that the expansion of the universe is speeding up. Roman will scan the skies for these exploding stars to help us figure out what’s causing the expansion to accelerate – a mystery known as dark energy.

Going Solo

Plenty of things in our galaxy are single, including hundreds of millions of stellar-mass black holes and trillions of “rogue” planets. These objects are effectively invisible – dark objects lost in the inky void of space – but Roman will see them thanks to wrinkles in space-time.

Anything with mass warps the fabric of space-time. So when an intervening object nearly aligns with a background star from our vantage point, light from the star curves as it travels through the warped space-time around the nearer object. The object acts like a natural lens, focusing and amplifying the background star’s light.

Thanks to this observational effect, which makes stars appear to temporarily pulse brighter, Roman will reveal all kinds of things we’d never be able to see otherwise.

Roman is nearly ready to set its sights on so many celestial spectacles. Follow along with the mission’s build progress in this interactive virtual tour of the observatory, and check out these space-themed Valentine’s Day cards.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[mutable-manifestation]

Ghost Chirps AU Part 4

A little treat in these trying times

Part 1 & 2

Part 3

***

The first time Daniel chirps (to Vlad’s knowledge, but it’s actually the fifth, he was just out of range in the GZ all the previous time) Vlad responds immediately. 

The boy attacks him just as viciously as ever, and Vlad assumes from then on that the boy is merely taunting him, crying out for family only to go “no, not you.”

Vlad ignores it from then on. It isn’t particularly frequent anyway.

When he hears him chirping back and forth with some other ghost somewhere on the East Coast he feels his eye twitch. 

He dismisses it, however. No doubt it is one of Daniel’s little ghost allies helping him try to antagonize Vlad into showing up just to be rejected again.

Well, Vlad won’t fall for Daniel’s petty tricks. He would be Vlad’s son in time one way or another, no need to indulge the boy’s temporary sense of superiority.

It is grating when it wakes him up in the middle of the night, but he goes back to sleep quickly after.

Midday, he thinks he might have to track down Danny’s little friend for a nice long chat about Not Doing That. But that’s an issue for later.

Before “later” can arrive, Vlad finds himself taken into “temporary custody” while the police search his house.

He goes peacefully, assured that they’ll find nothing amiss, all of his ecto materials tucked neatly away in a lab that is inaccessible any way other than phasing. And wrapped in lead just in case.

He does not notice that a member of the Justice League is involved, nor would he care, certain that none could find his lab. And utterly unaware of the JLD’s existence.

Not that the JLD is needed in this case.

Despite his best efforts to change every copy of the construction crews’ blueprints both digital and physical in order to eliminate knowledge of the inaccessible room, there’s no accounting for memory.

Officer Roger worked in construction before joining the force, and it was only less than a half a year ago that Masters’ Amity home was constructed. Officer Roger still remembers the doorless, windowless box they built alongside the small mansion itself. It’s nowhere to be found on the property, so he brings it up with his superior.

Orphan questions it - nearly giving the whole team heart-attacks in the process - but a simple “I used to work in construction” seems to be enough to satisfy her curiosity.

A two hour sweep with some metal detectors finds nothing.

Then Orphan reappears from the shadows, providing another jumpscare, before pressing a hand silently to the side of her head.

The crew watches in silence as well, giving their pulses a chance to slow.

A ten-count later Orphan’s hand drops, and she strides confidently to the rear-left corner of the mansion and points at the ground.

“200 feet beneath the foundation,” she says before disappearing back into the shadows.

The crew shares a look and gets to work.

The time it takes to dig up the cube is just more time spent in a cell for Vlad, where he waits patiently, assured he’ll be released soon enough.

The lab itself would be only a minor problem - there would be fines and inspections and a heavy watch until everything was brought up to code. Questions about how he accessed it would be a larger problem.

But worst of all, in the comfort of his lab? He’s not much for hiding away incriminating documents. 

Of which there are many, given his propensity for keeping extensive records of his experiments, which include unethical cloning and what sums up to human experimentation. 

Once they find the actual facilities for the experiments in his Wisconsin home? It will all be over for him.

Being a ghost he could, of course, simply flee the cell and start anew somewhere else, with a new identity or even in a new dimension altogether - so long as he could nab Maddie and her children to bring with him.

But within his labs, he also keeps extensive records of himself.

A copy of the Plasmius Maximus.

Other ghost- and halfa-capturing restraints.

When he hears steps approaching his cell 2 days into his stay when it is clearly not a mealtime, he thinks “finally” assured that he is about to be released.

He only registers that it is Batman after he’s been hit by the Plasmius Maximus - cut off from his powers for at least the next two hours.

He has no chance to complain, as he is subsequently tranqued unconscious to be taken to a more secure location.

***

It’s an hour and half after school let out when the cops - who had taken to trying to distract Jazz and Danny with cards games and work stories while they waited - step away to answer their radios. 

When they return, they tell them that it’s “time to go.”

The siblings share a look, then shrug.

It wouldn’t be the first time the cops had to drive them home - rare though it was, there were at least 4 such occasions in their memories. It wasn’t a big deal.

They were less than enthused when the cops explained that they’d be heading to take them to the station instead of to home. Still, they chalked it up to the whole “questions about the Red Hood” thing and moved on. 

At least it meant they could dodge a home visit like Danny had wanted.

Except when they get there, they are taken to a cushy room and introduced to their social worker, a woman with a kind smile and a soothing voice who introduces herself as Bethany Scott, sits them down and explains, very gently, that their parents are currently under investigation.

To her credit, she isn’t condescending. She doesn’t try to hide away the truth; when they ask why, she tells them.

It’s a surprisingly long list of charges. Of everything on it, the violation of the meta protection acts comes as the biggest surprise.

Their parents were obsessive about ghosts, but they were also good at it. They never attack anything that doesn’t have ectoplasm.

Well, barring a few misfires.

Another surprise comes then: the Anti-Ecto Acts don’t exist. Ghosts are covered by the MPA by design, the AEA would never have gotten off of the ground in any legal capacity. It is solely a creation of the GIW, an extreme “‘real’ humans only” supremacist group that had worked at every level to pull the wool over the eyes of the small town’s citizenry so thoroughly that they’d been thought a real government agency - the imitation of which would be just one of the many charges that every member they managed to capture would be facing.

Then Mrs Scott starts talking about placement options.

Their Aunt, they are told, is not an option. 

It comes as a surprise to Danny. On quiet nights, when no ghosts showed up to interrupt him and Sam and Tucker weren’t up to distract him with a game of Doomed, his mind would sometimes wander back to that darkest of timelines.

He’d wondered how Vlad had ended up with custody. Being his godfather made him an option, but Danny would’ve wanted to go with Alicia. Will be damned, Danny would’ve plead on both knees with the judge to go with his aunt. Grieving or not, he’d have wanted as much distance between him and Vlad as possible,

He’d assumed Vlad must have done something to her or paid off the judge to rule in his favor.

To find out it was because she simply wouldn’t take him?

A part of him understands. He doesn't - Aunt Alicia is a kind person, yes, but not particularly loving or caring. When his parents brought up the subject of children with her on one of their rare visits, she described herself as having “less motherly instinct than a starving axolotl.”

Not an encouraging description after he read a book on axolotls for context. 

With their options being “Aunt in a small wood cabin in the middle of nowhere with the emotional sensitivity of a bull in a china shop” and “Rich friend of the family who would enable them to stay in contact with their friends and could hire them therapists even if he’s personally useless for helping them through the grieving process” she probably also figured marking herself down as a solid non-option would just expedite them getting the help they need (because she does care, even if she herself can’t - won’t - be there for them in that way).

He doesn’t hate her, but the knowledge burns. To know that there really was no avoiding Vlad - in that horrible future and in the now - makes him sick to his stomach.

Except-

Except before he can spiral, Mrs Scott tells them that Vlad is also not an option. Because he’s also under investigation.

A hysterical giggle bursts past his lips before he can think to stop it.

“Why?” he asks, ignoring Jazz’ disapproving grimace.

It’s less funny when they’re told that he’s under investigation under suspicion of mostly the same violations as their parents - including MPA violation, given the whole “million dollar ghost” incident and related propaganda. As the mayor especially, he should’ve known the AEA weren’t real and that the GIW were frauds and it was his responsibility to do something about them.

Depending on how he’d interacted with the group, he might be looking at aiding and abetting treason - or just outright treason - charges.

“If Aunt Alicia and Vlad both aren’t able to take us, then where are we going to go?” Jazz asks, shoving her emotions aside to deal with the matter at hand.

“Ordinarily, we would call up a few local fosters and see if one could take you in for a few days while we look into more long-term options. Worst case scenario you would have to spend a night or two in a hotel suite connected to mine while I found someone,” she answers. “But the two of you are in luck; Batman is the one who brought the case to our attention - apparently some erratic behavior from Red Hood brought them here, don’t ask, I don’t have all the details - and offered to run your parents’ DNA to check for other relatives that could take you. There was a match.”

The siblings share another look.

Both grandparents on their mother’s side had been only children and both were dead. Aunt Alicia had already said no and had no children of her own. Their father had been disowned by his family, and even if their other Aunts and Uncles would have been willing to take them in it didn’t matter, because all 5 had died in various accidents on their “hunts.”

“Apparently your uncle, Jerry Fenton, had a fling before he passed with one Ms Sheila Haywood. Their son, Jason, was thought to be the son of Willis Todd and Mrs Haywood until the DNA test today. He was raised by Willis and Mrs Catherine Todd until his subsequent adoption by Mr Bruce Wayne, and is currently living in Gotham.”

And it sounds wrong - the only thing most Fentons could love was mystery and danger - thus why only one out of six had survived. But they don’t know enough to dispute it.

Also. The involvement of another billionaire is setting off alarm bells. On the one hand: this could be a fruitloop paying someone off in order to forcibly adopt them. On the other hand, maybe Jason Todd really was a Fenton and being adopted by fruitloops was some kind of curse on the current generation.

“We contacted Mr. Todd the moment the connection was made. He has expressed an interest in taking you in, and flew out immediately to come and meet you. He arrived not five minutes ago.”

She paused and gave them a sympathetic look. 

“I understand that this is all a lot to take in. Please know that placing you with Mr. Todd is not the end of my duties; even after he takes you, I will be following you to Gotham. I’ll be looking into counselors for the both of you, and we’ll have a follow up on that topic in a maximum of a week’s time. I’ll also be doing regular home checks to ensure you’re both settling in well and that you’re being taken good care of. 

Even with what little I’ve gleaned, it is obvious that the environment you both grew up in until now was neither a safe nor a healthy one. It is my job to ensure that doesn’t happen again. If you have any concerns about your placement home now or in the future, please do not hesitate to bring them up with me. If you worry something is not “important” enough to mention, rest assured that if it bothers you in the slightest, then it’s important to me.”

She gives them each a long look.

Then she brings in Jason.

[buckyalpine]

Bucky can’t lie

A smutty thot. Imagine the avengers fucking around with a lie detector test, testing how well the super soldiers were trained. Steve failed instantly while stating his own name, blushing from embarrassment. Bucky was shoved into the chair next.

And he was disgustingly good.

The wires were attached to him within seconds, with questions flying left right and center. He crossed his arms over his chest with an eyeroll, answering the most ridiculous questions each person would throw at him.

"What the hell Barnes, there's no way, you can't be serious"

The super soldier smirked, while the others watched the needle scratch on the paper steadily, not a single signal indicating he was lying. It was going great until Tony's eyes lit up with a brilliant idea.

“Wait. Get y/n in here”

You sauntered into the room, scrunching your face seeing Bucky hooked up to the machine, while the rest of the team stared at him intently. The faintest uptick scratched onto the paper making Steve cock an eyebrow while Bucky's expression remained the same.

"What am I doing here and why's Bucky-

"Shh, just stand there. We're trying to see if we can get Bucky to fail a lie detector test. Alright, new question. Is there anyone in this room you've thought about naked" Tony asked while all eyes stared at Bucky, the soldier biting his lip.

"No"

"Hm" Tony nodded, continuing. "Is there anyone in this room you've thought about having sex with"

"What kind of questions are you asking, pervert" Bucky exhaled through his nose, his finger tapping against the seat.

"Just answer the question Barnes" Tony smiled sweetly, grinning when the needle already started to move a little higher than before.

"No"

The needle ticked higher making Bucky huff, ignoring the way his face heated up when you stepped closer to peer at the paper.

"Interesting. Slight deception detected there Barnes, you sure about that?"

"Yes" Bucky forced through gritted teeth, managing to keep the needle from jumping around too much.

"Here, let me" You smirked, pulling Tony away from the seat, gazing into the soldiers eyes while he threw you a cocky smirk.

"Think you can do better doll?" He sassed while you shrugged, the scent of your perfume already making hi sweat.

"Have you ever thought of kissing me?" The needle jolted before Bucky could even open his mouth, making the others screech while Bucky shook his head. "Liar"

"You ever thought about me naked? You like watching me out on the field?"

"No" Bucky's pulse raced, his pants starting to feel too tight, the test scribbling wildly.

"Okay this mf lying" Sam snorted while Bucky's flushed cheeks grew hotter.

"Really? You ever think about me on my knees for you? Sucking your cock?"

"No" The needle nearly jolted off the sheet, making Tony cackle, clapping his hands madly while Steve blushed and chuckled, torn between watching his best friend's walls crumble and running out of the room with your questions getting filthier and filthier.

"You think about cumming down my throat? having me swallow all of you, telling you how good you taste?"

"No"

"You think about having me naked on your bed, soldier? Moaning for you? Screaming your name?"

"You think about stuffing me with your babies Jamie? Getting me pregnant with that serum running through your veins?"

"You want me to call you daddy baby? How about Sergeant"

"Do you want me to be your slutty baby, drip all over your cock"

"N-No" Bucky gritted out again while Sam threw his hands up.

"You're not fooling anyone dumbass, I think you broke the needle" The machine nearly gave way with a high pitched whizz matching Bucky's racing heartrate. You grinned, getting up from your seat, making him pant.

"Do I make you horny baby" You slinked onto his lap, making Bucky finally break his resolve, his hands flying to your waist.

"Fuck yes. C'mere" He hissed, ripping the wires off and tossing you over his shoulder with a spank while Tony peered over at the paper with a satisfied smirk.

"No lies detected"

[corruptedcaps]

Total Eclipse

This story is for the incomparable @misseviehyde. Hope she and everyone else enjoys it!

Ally adjusted the tripod legs one last time, the soles of her sneakers sinking into the soft beach sand. She wiped the sweat from her brow and peeked up at the sky through thick rimmed glasses, the moon already beginning its slow crawl across the sun. She smiled. It would be a perfect view. Alone, finally, with her telescope.

She pulled out a small folding chair, scribbled a few notes in her weathered astronomy journal, and looked up again. Then laughter cracked through the air that made her shiver.

“Oh my God, look at her.” Came the unmistakable voice of Tessa. Ally tensed.

Tessa was the queen bee of their high school. All tanned skin, cropped tops, and cruel smiles. Her gang wasn’t far behind, beach bags slung over shoulders, phones out and recording.

Ally tried to ignore them, tilting her telescope higher. She knew she should have picked a more isolated spot.

“What’s that, your virgin detector?” Tessa kicked a little sand at the legs of Ally’s tripod. “Gonna find aliens with that thing, or just more losers like you?”

Ally flinched but didn’t reply. The eclipse was minutes away.

“I said.” Tessa stepped closer, eyes glinting, “What are you even doing out here? This is a beach, nerd. Not a science lab.”

Ally reached for her telescope again, but Tessa grabbed her wrist and yanked her away. The tripod tipped.

“No!” Ally cried, trying to catch it. The telescope hit the sand with a thud. Tessa snorted. “Oops.”

A sudden chill crept over the beach. The moon had almost fully covered the sun. Shadows warped. The air shimmered. Ally looked up, her heart pounding. “You’re ruining it.”

Tessa rolled her eyes and shoved her. “Relax dork, like anyone cares.” The light changed. Dimmed. A dark halo flared around the blackened sun. Ally could feel electricity in the air and watched as Tessa’s hair started to levitate.

Tessa’s smirk faded as her hands, still gripping Ally’s shoulders, started to sink into her like mist meeting water. “What the?”

Ally convulsed. A glow pulsed through her skin, violet and silver. Tessa cried out and tried to pull back, but her arms were stuck. Her face twisted in horror as she was pulled into Ally’s chest with one long slurping sound.

Ally collapsed onto her beach towel. For a moment, the beach was silent. Tessa’s friends, like everyone else on the beach, were transfixed by the eclipse to notice the weird science it was creating with Ally and Tessa.

Ally’s oversized hoody shrank and morphed into what could generously be called a bikini top, her old worn jeans turning into a matching bottom. Her skin started to glow with a golden tan.

Her body changed next, becoming curved, sculpted, with legs long and lean, breasts fuller, and a tighter waist. Her lips tingled as they plumped up, becoming instantly kissable.

She felt the heat of her new body. The strength. The power. And something else. Memories.

Not just Tessa’s. Not just Ally’s. Hers. A lifetime of being both. The hours spent stargazing and dreaming of more, followed by the day she decided to stop hiding and instead to start taking. She remembered being mocked… and then making them afraid to try. She remembered being invisible and then impossible to ignore.

These weren’t the memories of Ally or Tessa, but of someone new. The name came out of the ether and became as natural to as breathing. She was Alyssa. She had always been Alyssa. The bitch, the babe, the queen bee. Every dork’s nightmare and every guy’s wet dream.

She looked at her French manicure and rolled her hands over her body, feeling it as though she always had it. She was going to enjoy being the alpha from now on.

One of the girls turned around to see where Tessa had disappeared to but finding only a new beauty in her place. However after a moment the name Tessa seemed foreign to her, like it was someone she knew in a past life. “Alyssa? You okay?”

Alyssa tilted her head, letting the sun’s returning light gleam off her perfect physique. “Never better babes.”

They other girls looked at her for a long moment, as the new reality settled in their minds. Then they smiled and gravitated towards their leader, gaming over her.

“Oh my God, Alyssa, you have to tell me where you bought your bikini.” One said.

“Totes, you look banging babe.” Another added.

“Wait till the guys see you.” The last sycophant said but Alyssa ate it all up.

Alyssa smirked. “Well, let’s not keep them waiting.”

She walked away, hips swaying, the queen of a world rewritten by the eclipse, leaving behind the broken telescope, now half buried in the sand. A relic from another life, a life she was about to totally eclipse.

[psformybss]

could u write an interview fic w drew n an actress reader or costar

Wired Chaos

drew starkey x actress!reader

warnings: sarcastic chaos, emotional exposure, lie detector mess

an: i had so many ideas but i decided to do a wired interview because i honestly love these. i went a little too extra with this one tho and it’s lowkey chaotic af.

You’re not nervous.

You’re just strapped to a machine that monitors your pulse, breathing, and capacity for deception, sitting across from your real-life boyfriend-slash-former nemesis while cameras roll and a complete stranger watches for signs of romantic weakness. Totally normal. Very chill.

Drew’s already grinning like he’s been waiting his whole life for this. His legs are sprawled out in that irritatingly confident way, and he looks like someone who definitely still texts “u up?” for fun.

“Try not to lie,” he says, tilting his head. “I hear the machine hates liars.”

You blink once, slowly. “Good luck, then.”

The technician gives a thumbs up. The camera starts rolling. You resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they leave orbit.

It begins politely. Names. Roles. Basic stats.

Then Drew gets cocky. “Would you say I’m your favorite cast member?”

“No.”

The needle stays flat.

He gasps. “Cold-blooded.”

You smile sweetly. “You’re top five.”

“There are six of us.”

“Exactly.”

Your turn.

“Did you or did you not call my character ‘forced’ before ever speaking to me?”

Drew shifts. “Allegedly.”

The machine screams LIE like it’s offended on your behalf.

You hum. “Interesting.”

“In my defense,” he says, “you walked into that readthrough like you’d already fired half the writers.”

“And you looked like you hadn’t slept since 2017.”

Someone off camera chokes. You don’t look. Drew’s trying not to smile. He’s failing.

You get off track quickly.

“Be honest,” he says. “You rehearsed your Truth or Dare roast, didn’t you?”

You pause. “Maybe.”

The machine beeps loud enough to make the intern flinch.

Drew laughs like he’s just caught you cheating on a test. “Knew it.”

“You told the entire table that I looked like a ‘girlboss-themed Bond villain.’”

“Yeah, and that was improv.”

“That’s what concerns me.”

You try to sabotage him next.

“Did you know you liked me when you sent that stupid meme about Rafe needing therapy and a father figure?”

He stares. “No comment.”

BEEP.

You press your lips together. “Joseph Andrew Starkey. You caught feelings over a shitpost.”

He mutters, “It was a good meme.”

It spirals from there.

“Did I annoy you during season two?”

“Yes.”

“Do I still?”

“Yes.”

“Are you in love with me?”

“Shut up.”

Truth.

You raise both brows. He looks like a man deeply regretting his life choices.

“Say it again?” you ask.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll make it your ringtone.”

He’s not wrong.

Eventually, the technician cuts in, trying to regain order. You and Drew both ignore him completely. Someone behind the camera whispers, “Just let them go.”

You’ve lost all structure now. It’s just chaos and bad decisions.

“Have you forgiven me for the hoodie I stole in Atlanta?”

“Which one?”

He closes his eyes like he’s praying.

“Would you trust me to act opposite Timothée Chalamet?”

He blinks. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because you’d fall in love and I’d have to fight him.”

“…You think you could win?”

A long pause.

“…Emotionally? No.”

You nod solemnly. “That’s fair.”

Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, you stop remembering this is for Vanity Fair. That millions of people will see it. That you’re both supposed to be promoting a show and not emotionally exposing yourselves on camera like two feral raccoons in love.

Drew looks at you like he always does—like you’re either going to kiss him or ruin his life. (It’s always been both.)

You cross your legs, lean back, and say, “So… still think I was a bad fit?”

He smiles, slow and sheepish. “No.”

Truth.

You lean forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “Did you fall for me before or after I told you to grow up on set in front of the sound guy?”

He grins. “Right then.”

Truth.

You hum, pleased. “Knew it.”

When it’s over, you both stand at the same time. The technician is sweating. The producer looks like he needs a drink. The footage will need a thousand disclaimers.

Drew bumps your shoulder with his. “You gonna be nice to me now?”

You eye him. “Define ‘nice.’”

He leans in, smirking. “You’ll text me later.”

You scoff. “You’ll text me first.”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Probably.”

The machine would call that the truest thing he’s said all day.

[kurokawaia]

❛ HIS PRAISE ❜

Tomioka Giyuu X Fem!Reader

WC; 1.1k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW; fem reader! reader is slightly timid and shy? use of good girl, praise, praise, praiseeeeeeee, oral -> male receiving, implied cock warming in da throat, slight throat fucking? the things that would happen to me if I got praised by this man :3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: (filled request) Could you please do Giyuu with a s/o with a MASSIVE praise kink? Like, just complimenting her gets her all hot and bothered, and giyuu doesn't even realize it at first, but then eventually clocks on and just gets a huge ego boost🤭 he even gets michevious and uses it to his advantage during bed AND in other places..👀 - ANON

m.list | demon slayer m.list

Everybody knew you and Giyuu were together, and they always thought about how someone as timid, outgoing and not stoic as you are compared to Giyuu, managed to fall for each other. Giyuu will always be reserved, but he does have a way of making you feel special in soft ways. But, what you have never thought to anticipate, was how what he says to you would affect you how deeply it does.

It had started innocently enough.

You were out in the yard of your shared house, perfecting your breathing techniques, when Giyuu walked by.  You obviously noticed his presence, your body and mind were always on high alert, and you had a Giyuu detector LMA-. You were in the middle of this one particular move that was just not getting easier when you caught his gaze. 

He paused, watching you with his usual eyes, but his eyes were always soft when looking at you, but then he spoke. "You're doing great," he said, in a low tone. "Your form is almost perfect." The praise was simple, and yet a quiver ran down your spine. Your heart skipped a beat, and the heat crawled up to your neck. You tried brushing it off, focusing again on your training, but the more you thought about it, the more flustered you became. And with time came a pattern. For every time Giyuu praised you-whether it was your strength, your kindness, or something as silly as the way you brewed your tea-you just couldn't help it, quickening your pulse. It was in that intonation of his voice, the sincerity lacing it, the softening of his eyes whenever he looked at you. At first, Giyuu didn't catch on, still quietly praising you as he normally would and not usually catching on to the fact that it affected you in the slightest. But soon, he started to catch on. He started to notice the flush of your cheeks, the catch of your breath, and the way you seemed almost...distracted whenever he said something kind. It was in the evening, when you were both sitting before the fire after a long day, that Giyuu decided to test the theory in his mind. You were talking of your day in a happy, light mood when he interrupted you. "You're amazing, you know that?"  You blinked, words faltering at his sudden interrupting of your yapping. "W-what?" Giyuu slightly leaned a little closer and his lips tugged upwards into a small teasing smile, a smile only you got to see. "You are amazing, the way you do everything, push yourself in this manner, it's... incredible." Your face burned, and you bit your lip to keep it all in, but the way he looked at you, the subtle dip of his voice just that much lower was too much. The pooling heat in your stomach became too much to bear, and you shifted in your seat, aka, Giyuu's lap. And it was then that Giyuu's smirk only widened farther at the realization that he was right, and he'd never seen you so flustered, so vulnerable, and for some reason, it made him feel a heat inside him. "You like it when I praise you, don't you?" he asked in a voice barely over a whisper. You couldn't find the words to respond, you only nodded, were wide-eyed, your breath coming in short, and you had shallow gasps. Giyuu's eyes had turned dark as he moved in closer, his lips grazing your ear. "Good girl," he whispered. Those words alone ran a streak of electricity down your spine, and absolutely nothing could be done to impede the tiny gasp that escaped your lips. Giyuu pulled back just enough to see your reaction, and at the sight of you so undone by his words, his heart pounded in his chest. He chuckled low, his tone pleased, happy that he got that reaction from you. "I think I'm going to enjoy this," he said, lowly. "And I think you will too. From then on, it became Giyuu's mission to push your limits with what he said. He would praise you at the most unlikely moments, and his voice, laced with that teasing note that only you and only you can pick up, it would send your knees jellylike every time. 

You wanted him to catch you in his arms and please you until the sun came up, god, the feeling that welled inside you when he praised you was insatiable, you always craved more. Every time you were flushing or stammering that heat bubbled inside him, you were so cute and you were his. But...it wasn't about the praise anymore, but rather the fact that he could control your reaction, and melt you with just a few well-placed words. The more he did that, the more confident he became, and that once-reserved nature gave way to a more playful, dominant side. And you? You were completely at his mercy, unable to fight the feeling his voice, words, and presence brought you. Though that frustrated you, red in the face, squirming in your seat, you couldn't help but like it-love it. And Giyuu was more than happy to give you just what you wanted as your lips were tightly wrapped around his throbbing shaft as it was nudged down your warm throat.

You were trying to take him as deep as you could without gagging on his cock, using your hand to jerk off the reminder that didn't fit into your mouth. Giyuu's moans grew louder before he struggled to maintain a still stature. Giyuu began to move your head through the tuffs of your hair, your movements not your own as you removed your hand and let him take control.

He moans, "Feel so good, you're such a good girl, taking me so well."

Your panties just became more soaked than they already were as you moaned helplessly on his cock at the praise and a breathy laugh left his throat, and it made your tummy tingle. 

When you take him carelessly and put him into your mouth, tears well up in the doe's eyes. Your cunt was soaking wetter by the moment, and the whimpers coming out of his mouth made it even more likely that he would soak your pants.

Giyuu started moving more quickly, which made you start crying even more. When you hollowed out your cheeks, he let out a stifled sigh that made him hesitate to approach further. He pulls away from you, his load spilling into your mouth.

A groan leaves his moan as he stroked your head lovingly, "Oh, you're so good, such a good girl, good for me."

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | demon slayer m.list

[coldflasher]

i know it was his show and all but it's sooo boring that the flash gave us all this info about how barry's powers affect his biology and yet did not do a single thing for the other metas outside of the cool shit they can do with their powers, so i've decided it's my new headcanon that in contrast with barry, who has to eat significantly more to compensate for all the energy he burns while running, caitlin has an incredibly slow metabolism due to her low body temperature. she often forgets to eat because of this, and instead of sleeping, she goes into a torpor-like state to conserve energy. bonus points if she does it with her eyes open because it's creepier and therefore sick as fuck. imagine cisco walking into the cortex and the motion detector lights are off so he assumes he's alone, until the lights come on and caitlin is sat at her desk, staring straight and unblinkingly ahead like a doll in a horror movie, with an almost undetectably slow pulse, pale and unresponsive as a corpse, and----cisco, why are you screaming, she's fine

[mayonayys]

Cold Reunion

Tags: Caleb/FMC, Nondescript MC, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence Rating: T+ Words: 1,763 Summary: He was dead. So who was he to stand before her now and question her? He had left her all alone and the grief had nearly killed her. But here he was. And she was angry.

A reimagining of Empathetic Interrogation.

AO3 Link

Her stomach turned as she tried to process what was happening. The man before her was him, there was no question about that now. But his voice was too harsh, his actions were cruel.

He was different, but here he was, right in front of her.

He leaned in close, running the lie detector down her throat and pressing it into her chest.

Her heart felt heavy, bottom lip quivering as her mind tried to make sense of what was happening.

She shifted, pulling at the arm restraints, but stilled when he inched even closer. She could feel his breath fan across her face. Her stomach turned, her senses on high alert.

"I'll ask again." He tilted his head as he pressed the lie detector in harder, causing her to flinch away. "Did you come to Skyhaven for the Aether Core?"

Her mouth twisted into a frown as he glared down at her, the caring and kind man she once knew was nowhere to be found. She started to retort, ask him a question in turn, say anything to help her figure out what was going on.

"Answer me," he sneered out, his eyes holding a venom she never thought was possible in that lilac gaze.

This couldn't have been her Caleb—not anymore.

"Remember," he said slow and low, "the camera is watching. You must tell the truth."

It was almost like he was warning her—he was never that good of an actor though, was he? She didn't feel any warmth from him, she was just prey caught oh so perfectly in his clutches. She winced as the lie detector pressed into her chest and the arm restraints bit into her wrists.

She gritted her teeth and let out a shaky breath.

She would just have to be as good of an actor as he was, then.

"I'm telling the truth." She said slowly, calmly. "I'm not related to anything involving an Aether Core."

Something flickered across his features, but her blood was boiling too much for her to be able to read his expression properly.

"This is your last chance." He adjusted his grip on the lie detector, letting out a deep breath that brushed over her face and had her pulling at her restraints again, wanting nothing more than to push him off of her and rid herself of this false image of him.

"I don't know anything." She reiterated through gritted teeth. She could feel her pulse raising as the device began to beep, soon to reveal her fate.

But his grip shifted on it again, a subtle click meeting her ears as the buzzing stopped and the screen went blank.

He pulled back, just a little, his expression unreadable.

She couldn't help the shaky breath that left her and she swallowed to ease the drying ache in her throat.

He looked her up and down one more time before standing to his full height, towering over her.

"You passed." He finally said and just as she blinked in confusion he seemed to slowly morph before her.

He was still the Farspace Fleet's Colonel, but there was a familiar softness around his eyes now.

She flinched as the lights came on and she instinctively raised her arms, expecting the resistance of the arm restraints, but they clicked open just in time to allow her to shield her eyes from the too bright lights.

She blinked, letting out a small noise of confusion as she moved her arms, looking at him through the gap.

He was smirking.

She felt a new wave of emotion course through her and her jaw tensed as she balled her hands into tight fists.

"You…" Her voice came out strained, anger, confusion, and hurt bubbling up to the surface.

He didn't seem put off by her tone, instead he leaned down, and in a too familiar gesture, his hand went to rest on her head, his thumb brushing at her bangs.

"Surprised? Sure it's been a while, but you already forgot about me?" He chuckled.

She swatted his hand away from her.

"You, Caleb, you're dead!" She lost her cool, voice louder than she would have liked, but her rage bubbled up too quickly for her to control.

The look on his face shifted, the amusement in his smirk deepening.

"If that were true, how could I be standing right here?" He leaned forward again, hands going to take the collar from around her neck.

She pushed his hands away from her again, standing quickly.

Her face heated with rage and his smirk faltered for a nearly imperceptible moment, the hard gaze he wore before threatening to slip back onto his face.

He reached for the collar again and caught her arm when she went to push him away. His gloved hand was cold on her sore wrist, his long fingers applying just enough pressure to make her flinch and try to jerk away.

"Just let me get this, okay?" His tone was soft, he was trying to soothe her now.

After all that, it didn't work. He was no longer her childhood protector, he was a man who evaded death and left her alone to grieve him for far too long. He was cold—cruel even, if she were to go by the force he'd already used against her.

The collar snapped off and he tossed it on the table behind him.

His hand was still around her wrist, but his grip loosened. When she didn't pull away his hand left her wrist, inching down to clasp her hand in his.

"Did I scare you?" He asked and it would have been reassuring if she wasn't still trapped in an interrogation room.

"You…" She shook her head, feeling her face heat as all her feelings came to a head. "You left me!" She blurted out and she could feel tears of anger and grief pricking at her eyes.

He didn't say anything as she glared up at him, but he shifted their clasped hands, his fingers threading through hers.

He tugged her gently forward and she stumbled, reaching out her other hand to brace against his chest. She scoffed as she looked up at him, shaking her head. She didn't pull her hand from his grasp, instead she squeezed her fingers, hoping that her small grip in his large hand could at least cause him a moment of discomfort, but he didn't even flinch.

He pursed his lips, eyes searching her face as she glared up at him with as much venom as she could muster.

"I didn't leave you," he finally said, voice soft. He looked truthful, but how could she believe him after the display he'd put on?

"You did." She hissed out, taking a step back.

He tugged at her arm again, not letting her get far.

She snarled at the action, rage still at the forefront. She pulled at his grasp and when he was unmoving, she raised her other hand, quickly striking out.

The sound of her hand across his face rang out in the silent interrogation room, but he didn't make a noise as his head turned to the side. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to darken, twinkling with a barely contained rage.

Her fingers stung, even with her glove to buffer the impact of her hand on his cheek. She took a step back, only stopped from going farther by his grip on her hand.

He wasn't looking at her yet and she watched him with a quiet fear rising, taking place of the anger she'd felt before.

His lips parted, tongue just barely flicking out to wet them, but she caught the sight hint of a red liquid tinting his tongue and staining the few teeth she got a peek at.

He finally turned back to her, gaze hard, and her breath left her.

He tugged her forward again and she struggled against his grip, letting out small pleas for him to let her go to no avail.

Her other hand landed on his chest again, fingers gripping at and wrinkling his uniform coat.

She did her best to glare up at him, despite the way she sucked in shaky breaths.

His face was stony and she flinched back when he leaned forward. She could feel his heart beat under her palm, calm and steady, while her own was erratic, pounding loudly in her ears.

His breath fanned out across her face again and she turned away from him, wincing at the faint smell of iron on his breath.

His free hand reached up, gloved fingers ghosting over her jaw before he gripped her chin, turning her head and making him face her. She cringed away from his hard gaze, but as he leaned in closer, his expression seemed to soften.

She couldn't help the small whimper that left her mouth as she felt his lips nearly brush across her cheek.

"I didn't leave you," he finally said, voice soft and reassuring. His thumb gently brushed her jaw, the hand gripping hers loosening and going to rest on the small of her back.

She almost broke, but took in a shaky breath, turning her face ever so slightly, meeting his softened eyes.

"I won't ever leave you, I promise." He said, pressing his forehead to hers.

She blinked and her unshed tears finally fell, stinging her hot face. Her lips trembled as she held her breath, closing her eyes as she leaned into him, his now tender touch overwhelming her.

He pulled her closer, their bodies pressed flush to one another and her sob finally broke. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her tear streaked face into his chest.

"I thought you were dead, Caleb." She managed to get out, voice muffled by her tears and the fabric of his jacket.

He held her tight to him and she could feel him press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. He moved, hand stroking her hair, and he pressed his lips to her temple, the sound of his soft breathing soothing to her senses.

"No matter what," his voice was gentle in her ear and his fingers caressed up her spine. She felt herself clinging to him further, sucking in a breath, breathing him in. "I'll always be by your side." He pressed another soft kiss to her temple, holding her tight until her sobs died down.

She was angry, her heart heavy with grief, but he was her Caleb and he was here, in her arms, once again.

[biteyoubiteme]

Happy 1k!!!!

Now beautiful, I'd like a Vampire!TXT thoughts/hc and of course some biting i know you like that and make it suggestive

me to you tonight

vampire!txt headcanons

warnings:🔞!!! fem!reader, mentions of blood, biting, oral (f!rec) prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1.0k total

an: ily mae thank you, you're making me blush, if anyone was going to bite me I would ask you first. I hope you like this! also your yeonjun posts about him being a phlebotomist (and my babysitter's a vampire) influenced taehyuns part <333

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

yeonjun .ᐟ

very into keeping his hands on you because of your warmth, loves to feel how your flush travels along your body when he traces patterns on you. Feeling you blush is even better when you're making out. Loves to feel the heat in your cheeks while he cups them, peppering kisses anywhere he feels the blush has spread. Will bite your ass just to leave a mark. Loves to bite your thighs. Loves when he lays his head in your lap and you play with his hair. Easy for him to just twist around and nip at your flesh, will kiss over the marks he makes to get the blood on his lips. Kisses exchanged so you can taste yourself. Loves to eat you out with the taste of your blood in his mouth. His two favorite flavors mixing drives him insane. Let’s his fangs brush over your clit just to see you jump. Could spend hours going between feeding on your blood and your wetness. 

soobin .ᐟ

an obsessive biter without even realizing it. So confused to see teeth marks all over you like he wasn't the one doing it. Loves to bite over your heart, teeth sinking right into your breast. Dragging his teeth over your sides and along your ribcage before nipping at your sensitive nipples. Loves to get you low cut tops so that he can see all the little healing marks he's left on your cleavage. Loves to overfeed, your reaction is so similar to overstimulation that it gets him going just as much. He will take the best care of you as you recover from long nights where he couldn't contain himself. Spendslots of time cuddling, fingers tracing over every puncture mark he's made with his fangs, connecting the dots like constellations. Will ask to feed whenever and wherever unashamed about his need to taste you at all times. Will bury his face into the crook of your neck and huff if you say no. But you give in soon enough after all his soft kisses over your pulse.

beomgyu .ᐟ

has the best sense of sound and smell. Loves to tease you about hearing your heartbeat, can tell it’s you from a mile away just from the sound alone. He constantly jumps out from behind corners just to sense the way your blood pressure jumps, even better when he can tell just by walking in a room that he affects you. “Aww, do you think I'm pretty?” and even as you try to deny it he can hear the rhythm of your heart giving away your lies. Loves to be a lie detector, asking you questions he knows you would never really answer honestly in the beginning but why even hide now? He wants to know everything about you. Now you just purposefully lie because you know he can tell the difference. Can tell as soon as a single horny thought enters your head. You're his favorite smell in the world. Will buy a hoodie for the two of you to share, passing it from you to him just so he can keep your scent close to him at all times. Is a lip-biter when you make out just so that he can have your blood in the mix, keeps all your dirty clothes, and regularly masturbates with them pressed to his nose without shame. 

taehyun .ᐟ

is very picky about who he feeds from and it has everything to do with taste and smell, believing he won't ever find the perfect person. He works at a blood bank as a phlebotomist, never tempted to drink anything he draws because of his self-control and distaste. That is until he gets you in his chair. Absolutely overwhelmed by the sensation of hunger for what felt like the first time in his life. He's never had shaking hands when trying to insert a needle before but as soon as he leans in he can't do his job calling someone else to take over. Claiming he couldn't find a vein when he was known for never missing one. He watched the way his coworker discarded the gauze that had wiped away the dots of blood from your elbow ditch, making sure to note exactly where they had thrown them away. He wasn't even ashamed to have pulled them out when no one was looking, taking them into the bathroom because he couldn't wait to get home. Pressing the fabric to his nose as he shoved his free hand down his pants, not caring about being at work when he finally found exactlywhat he had been waiting for.  

Taehyun also gives me a vampire x vampire vibe so much. Worships his vampire mate because it is what he was made to do. 

kai .ᐟ

likes to hold hands because he can feel your pulse between your fingers. Always kisses your wrist, likes to keep it on his lips just to feel the warmth. Will ask you if he can just keep holding your wrist up through movies and cuddling. He asks so often that you're already ready, laying down letting him rest his head on one arm while the other is pressed right under his nose. Never bites you; actively avoids the topic like the plague, is tempted but never indulges, won't even ask.It's why when he finally does bite you both of you are so shocked, unable to think about exactly what's happening. Bites in a moment of passion, his moan against your neck making his teeth scratch along your smooth skin, biting down without being able to resist any longer. Both of you have the best orgasms of your lives. He's so apologetic, kissing over the mark he left, begging you to forgive him and yet it turns into desperate pleas for him to do it again and again. “I'm so sorry i- I didn't mean to, I just- you just- please, please, I need to taste you again, I'm sorry-” looks at you like you set the moon in the sky when you say he can. Hazy puppy dog eyes on you, soft grin on his lips when he's gotten his fill, strictly only biting you during sex, leaving the both of you sated and happy after. 

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

[nasa]

Navigating Deep Space by Starlight

On August 6, 1967, astrophysicist Jocelyn Bell Burnell noticed a blip in her radio telescope data. And then another. Eventually, Bell Burnell figured out that these blips, or pulses, were not from people or machines.

The blips were constant. There was something in space that was pulsing in a regular pattern, and Bell Burnell figured out that it was a pulsar: a rapidly spinning neutron star emitting beams of light. Neutron stars are superdense objects created when a massive star dies. Not only are they dense, but neutron stars can also spin really fast! Every star we observe spins, and due to a property called angular momentum, as a collapsing star gets smaller and denser, it spins faster. It’s like how ice skaters spin faster as they bring their arms closer to their bodies and make the space that they take up smaller.

The pulses of light coming from these whirling stars are like the beacons spinning at the tops of lighthouses that help sailors safely approach the shore. As the pulsar spins, beams of radio waves (and other types of light) are swept out into the universe with each turn. The light appears and disappears from our view each time the star rotates.

After decades of studying pulsars, astronomers wondered—could they serve as cosmic beacons to help future space explorers navigate the universe? To see if it could work, scientists needed to do some testing!

First, it was important to gather more data. NASA’s NICER, or Neutron star Interior Composition Explorer, is a telescope that was installed aboard the International Space Station in 2017. Its goal is to find out things about neutron stars like their sizes and densities, using an array of 56 special X-ray concentrators and sensitive detectors to capture and measure pulsars’ light.

But how can we use these X-ray pulses as navigational tools? Enter SEXTANT, or Station Explorer for X-ray Timing and Navigation Technology. If NICER was your phone, SEXTANT would be like an app on it.  

During the first few years of NICER’s observations, SEXTANT created an on-board navigation system using NICER’s pulsar data. It worked by measuring the consistent timing between each pulsar’s pulses to map a set of cosmic beacons.

When calculating position or location, extremely accurate timekeeping is essential. We usually rely on atomic clocks, which use the predictable fluctuations of atoms to tick away the seconds. These atomic clocks can be located on the ground or in space, like the ones on GPS satellites. However, our GPS system only works on or close to Earth, and onboard atomic clocks can be expensive and heavy. Using pulsar observations instead could give us free and reliable “clocks” for navigation. During its experiment, SEXTANT was able to successfully determine the space station’s orbital position!

We can calculate distances using the time taken for a signal to travel between two objects to determine a spacecraft’s approximate location relative to those objects. However, we would need to observe more pulsars to pinpoint a more exact location of a spacecraft. As SEXTANT gathered signals from multiple pulsars, it could more accurately derive its position in space.

So, imagine you are an astronaut on a lengthy journey to the outer solar system. You could use the technology developed by SEXTANT to help plot your course. Since pulsars are reliable and consistent in their spins, you wouldn’t need Wi-Fi or cell service to figure out where you were in relation to your destination. The pulsar-based navigation data could even help you figure out your ETA!

None of these missions or experiments would be possible without Jocelyn Bell Burnell’s keen eye for an odd spot in her radio data decades ago, which set the stage for the idea to use spinning neutron stars as a celestial GPS. Her contribution to the field of astrophysics laid the groundwork for research benefitting the people of the future, who yearn to sail amongst the stars.  

Keep up with the latest NICER news by following NASA Universe on X and Facebook and check out the mission’s website. For more on space navigation, follow @NASASCaN on X or visit NASA’s Space Communications and Navigation website.  

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[drabblesandimagines]

Dove (part nine)

Leon Kennedy x female reader (bodyguard trope, slowest, slow burn I swear, a few swears in this one) Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven. Part eight.

The click of the lock – unsure how your ears even picked up on it at all with the ghost of the alarm still screeching around your skull – makes your stomach churn as Leon heads out into the garage, off to face the unknown.

What if it’s one of those… those Lickers, stalking around the house, waiting to wrap him up in one those awful tongues, fling his body from side to side?

Fuck, your chest feels impossibly tight, like there isn’t even space in there to take a deep enough breath. You squeeze your eyes shut, sitting upright on the sofa, forcing yourself to count - in, hold, out. In, hold, out. In, hold out… If those things are out there, you try and placate – your breathing steadier than it was but heart still pounding furiously - Leon can handle it. He’d said so himself that he had a lot of experience so that must count for something, otherwise he'd more cautious and less cocky when he’d strode out the door.

He is coming back – you repeat it in your head like a prayer, maybe if you say it enough times it’ll make it true.

You two had been about to kiss. He needs to come back.

--

Leon heads straight to the trunk of the SUV to rummage through the duffel bag that he’d stored there the previous day. You’d been polite enough not to remark on why it had been accompanying him to the bathroom and out on his perimeter checks, but it could only go on so long without being commented upon. It seemed a good compromise to leave it locked in the trunk, whilst still having enough on his person to get by. He helps himself to a couple more rounds, two flash grenades and two straight up grenades, though he sincerely hopes he won’t be dealing any of those out so close to the house. Attaching everything to his utility belt, he takes a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. His heartrate is elevated, adrenaline pulsing through his veins from a combination of the alarm, what might be waiting for him behind the garage doors… ..and the fact that he was a millisecond away from kissing you.

Need to address that later.

He won’t have the chance to if he doesn’t get his head on straight, though. He checks his ammo one last time, clicks the safety off and undoes the padlock on the garage door, lifting it up so fast it bounces off its hinges as he tucks himself to the side, preparing for an ambush.

Nothing but a strong gust of wind.

He walks forward, slowly, gun raised, and sidesteps out, keeping his back pressed against the outer wall. It’s a fraction different being in a rural setting, surrounded by fields than it is to be in the depths of an underground facility, not worrying about being so exposed. No-one else here to have his back, so this’ll have to do.

He edges around slowly, trying to keep his ears peeled for any movement above the wind – a heavy footstep, maybe a tile slipping from the roof – but there’s nothing but the rustle of the trees as the wind wooshes through. He keeps his eyes flickering between the horizon, the sky and the ground for any evidence that there was someone or something close enough that would trigger the motion detectors, but nothing is to be found.

Leon circles the perimeter two more times before retreating back into the garage and viewing the footage, trying to pinpoint the exact alarm that was triggered, though it doesn’t seem to be obvious. There’s nothing at all to be seen as he thoroughly watches each of the feeds, checking that there wasn’t some dark flash in the corner of one of something or someone retreating out of shot, but it all comes up blank.

Maybe the alarm was divine intervention, he muses, pulling the garage door back down and securing the padlock. He really shouldn’t be kissing the witness, should he?

His phone rings – Hunnigan. Of course, she’ll be keen for an update.

“Hi. Look, I haven’t forgotten,” he starts, hoping to deflect from a lecture. “Dove’s just got up, so-“

“Great.” Though she doesn’t sound sincere. “Patch me through to your laptop, we can have a video call and I can ask her myself.”

“Oh. Er…” He hesitates, trying to drum up an excuse. “Surely you’ve got a lot of other pressing matters on your plate than this. I’ll ask her now and then I’ll email through the intel, if there’s any.”

“Leon,” her tone is stern, “may I remind you that I’m the handler of this case and it is my right to speak to Dove if I want.” There’s a pause and Leon realizes a moment too late that that was his moment to placate her. “Are you hiding something from me?”

“No, of course not!” He sighs, frustration creeping into his voice. He knows it’s not professional, that he needs to keep his emotions in check, but it’s all starting to bubble over with the accusation. He can’t just waltz back in the living room, declare the perimeter is clear, shrug off the near-kiss and shove you on a video call with Hunnigan – it’d be emotional whiplash.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not hiding anything from you, you know me better than that. I just… I haven’t had chance to give Dove the last update yet, and I don’t want her to know about the CCTV hack.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think she needs to know.” “You don’t thi…? Agent Kennedy,” he knows he’s in trouble now – he can picture her rubbing her temples as she thinks how to handle this. “You’re aware I was the one who chose you for this assignment, and I can quite easily choose another agent and reassign you if you refuse to co-operate with myself and HQ.” “I am co-operating! And you know what, Hunnigan? You should trust me. I’ve never given you any reason to doubt that.” He huffs back. “I’ve been where Dove is, okay? She’s still shaken up, she’s fragile. I’ll tell her what she absolutely needs to know, but I don’t want to tell her things that will just pointlessly scare her.” “Oh, come on, you don’t want to scare her? You’ve been in that house barely 36 hours together and you sound like an overprotective boyfriend.” “I don’t.” He near enough growls at the accusation.

“You do – you’ve never made me chase you so much to get information from previous witnesses. Why do you care about her so much?”

“No, hold up - those fucks were not witnesses. All they cared about was avoiding Umbrella’s wrath, not wanting to fall victim to the fucking monstrosities they helped create. Dove was just trying to do her job, to try and keep the public safe – like we are – and look where it got her. She’s injured, in pain, locked up in the middle of nowhere, worried about being suspected of being involved, we just had the security alarm go off and-“

“Wait. Alarm?” He’s used to her typing whilst he’s on the phone, but this time it sounds a little more frantic. “What alarm?”

He exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine. I’ve just checked. Nothing to suggest anyone or anything’s been close. Must’ve been the wind – pretty gusty here today.”

“No, it’s just…” She trails off and Leon can hear her attack the backspace key. “We have it set so FSOs are alerted when an alarm system at any of the safe houses trigger. When did this happen?”

“About 30, maybe 40 minutes ago?  I’ve done the perimeter four times, it’s clear. I’ll review the footage when I’m back inside.”

The typing ceases. “There’s nothing in any of the logs.”

“That a problem?”

“It’s set up to trigger a notification so we can get in touch with whoever we have out on security detail and check in. I should’ve got something.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs as if she could see, “maybe it’s glitched.”

“Maybe…” She trails off, scanning the information on the screen once more. “Okay, fine – a compromise. Go and speak to Dove, quickly tell her what you want to tell her and then video call me on the laptop so I can ask about the servers.”

“And you won’t tell her about the CCTV?”

Hunnigan sighs. “No, I won’t tell her about the CCTV. 10 minutes, understood, Agent Kennedy?”

He takes another deep breath, he’s mad at himself, irritated with the situation and the fact he’s on thin ice after that outburst, that’s for sure.

“Yes, ma’am.”

--

The garage door unlocks and you jump to your feet, bracing yourself. There’s no denying the relief when you see Leon step back in, physically unharmed. You want to run over, to embrace him, but you stay glued to the spot.

“All clear, Dove. False alarm.” He offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile but he can’t quite commit, quickly turning to lock the door behind him.

“Really?” You don’t mean to sound quite so skeptical.

“Mm-hm. I think the wind must’ve just hit the sensor a certain way.” He turns back, but doesn’t make to step forward. “Sorry I was gone a while – wanted to be thorough, you know? And then Hunnigan called just as I was going to come back in.”

“Oh, with updates?” You don’t know what you’d like to hear.

“Kinda.” He hesitates for a moment before moving towards the kitchen. “Sit down – I’ll grab some water, okay?”

He clocks the panicked look on your face, even more so than it was when he’d left the room. Good going, Kennedy. “It’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

“Okay. Sure.” You mumble, sitting back down heavily on the couch and picking a spot on the coffee table to stare at as you hear him busy himself in the kitchen. He appears a few moments later, a glass of water in each hand and his laptop tucked under his arm. He places one glass down carefully in front of you and moves to sit on the other couch.

The distance feels too great for a man you swore was a millisecond away from kissing you not even an hour ago. Are there CCTV cameras in the house? Maybe Hunnigan had seen what was about to happen before the alarm had gone off and Leon’s getting reassigned. If he can’t know your real name, he really shouldn’t be kissing you either, should he?

“So, first of all,” your attention snaps back to agent. He’s opened his laptop up, placed it on the coffee table, and sat right on the very edge of the other sofa that it doesn’t look like it could be comfortable, “the President wanted the surveillance department back up and running as soon as possible. A lot of manpower has been dispersed to assist.”

“That makes sense - national security and that.” You wonder if they’re in the same office, sat in your colleagues’ chairs. Did they just… steam clean the carpets to get out the blood? Rip them out entirely and lay down rugs to cover the concrete floor?

They should burn the whole building down to the ground.

“In a way, but they are still working on tracking down the perpetrators of the attack. It also means that Hunnigan’s not been able to send a team to your place as yet.”

“So, I’m still a potential suspect?”

“Not to me.” He replies, firmly. “But I’m afraid it’s still something that needs done. In the meanwhile, er, she wants to know if you remember anything about the servers, specifically how they operated.”

You shake your head. “Not anything technical.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, just they’re struggling to regain access and, well…” He looks at you, sympathetically.

“I’m the only one left to ask.”

“Mm.” Leon looks down at the laptop then, a few taps and clicks as he seems to set something up. “Hunnigan would like to talk with you – pretty urgently – so I said we’d call after I’ve given you the updates. You ready?”

Leon spins round the laptop before you even had chance to respond, an outward call already ringing, the camera on and showing your rather surprised expression in a box to the right of the screen. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he hung up with Hunnigan – he’d wasted a few precious minutes putting the grenades and ammo back in the duffel bag in the SUV.

“Dove,” Hunnigan’s voice comes through the speakers first before her video appears on the screen. “How are you doing?”

“Okay. Thank you.” You shuffle in your seat as Leon gets up and circles round to the back of the sofa you’re sat on, crouching down to check the angle. “How are you?”

“Good - thank you for asking.” There’s an awkward pause, you can see her purse her lips before she pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose before continuing. “Agent Kennedy, you are not required for this call.”

“Understood, ma’am.” He can’t help himself still, apparently. “I’ll go just shower, then, if I’m not required.”

“Good idea,” Hunnigan bites back. “Go cool off.”

You shift slightly in your seat, not sure how to deal with the tension between the two. What had been said in that call? In the little box to the right hand of the screen, you can see Leon raise a hand, almost as if he was going to reach out to squeeze your shoulder. Instead he drops his hand into a fist, bounces it off the back of the couch twice and strides out of shot towards the bathroom.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Dove - the servers.” Hunnigan’s tone has changed – lighter, now she’s talking to you, and she’s typing along with every word. “What can you tell me about them?”

“Erm… Just everything that I told Leon for his report already, I think. All the active cases are stored on there – it distributes them randomly to operatives every morning via the terminals. I already have some pre-allocated when I log in – it must do them at some point in the night.”

“And the end of the day?”

You shake your head. “Nothing particularly different at the end of the day that we need to do. It saves periodically on the server as you update cases. Nothing’s saved on the terminals themselves – it would be a security risk.”

“And did they ever talk about the security embedded into the server itself?”

You hear the shower switch on from the bathroom, wonder if Leon will be using the same shampoo and conditioner… “Dove?” “Er, no. Not that I can recall being told.”

“I mentioned there was a breach on the database when we first met.”

“Yeah.” You swallow around the lump in your throat, wondering what she’s about to reveal. “Did they extract all the information, then?”

“They got nothing.” She sounds disappointed.  

“But that’s good, isn’t it? It’s a lot of information, personal information too. You wouldn’t want that getting out into the wrong hands.”

“Mm, not entirely. The server wiped itself in result of the attempt.”

That doesn’t sound right. “Wiped itself?”

“Apparently”, she sounds skeptical. “it’s protocol.”

“No. I mean…” You shuffle in your seat, trying to think ahead of each word before you say it. “I honestly don’t know what it was meant to do in that scenario, but it doesn’t seem right that they’d set it up to wipe without any sort of recovery method, or a separate back-up in the event of a hack or a breach.”

“We’re of the same opinion, then.” She nods, a satisfied smile on her lips. “But I’m curious as to why you’re so sure.”

“Because some of the surveillance has been going on for months, occasionally even a year before enough intel is gathered to be escalated.” Sometimes you’d had to scroll through pages and pages of notes to get yourself up to speed before you even started analyzing the most recent intel.

“What do you mean by escalated?”

“Well, the surveillance team doesn’t act on anything – we’re just collating it as evidence for action then to be taken if deemed appropriate.”

“Do you decide that?”

“I don’t have the final say in it, but I write advisories.”

“How so?”

“Erm, like, this one was flagged up erroneously so it should be closed. This one is of interest, but not enough to act on, ongoing surveillance required. And then any more than that, I flag for review for the senior analysts.”

The shower shuts off.

“And they worked in the same building.”

 Worked.

“Yes.” You press past the thought. “I don’t see why they would risk losing everything without some sort of failsafe – it would set the whole operation back to day zero.”

“Indeed, as that’s where we are now. They don’t even know where to start.” Hunnigan sighs and leans forward, rubbing temples with one hand.

“If you’re cleared of suspicion of the attack and breach, how do you feel about leading the division?”

“If?” You can’t help but bristle at that, the fact that she’d put the two things in the one sentence. Were you meant to be flattered at the offer?

“Yes – if.”

“I told you, this isn’t anything to do with me. I… I passed all my security checks at interview, we get vetted monthly without fail! If there had any doubt about my loyalties I would’ve been off the team and in custody immediately.”

“No need to get defensive, Dove. You have to understand where I’m coming from.”

“No, I don’t understand.” Tears burn at your eyes, though you’re determined not to let them fall. “I don’t understand how you think I could possibly have anything to do with what happened, that somehow I acquired those… those Lickers and let them, let them…” Your breath catches in your throat, the memories overwhelming you.

The bathroom door opens, but you don’t turn, eyes fixed on the screen. “Surely you have to agree it’s suspicious that you, out of all of those people, were the only one to survive, and yet with so little injury too.”

“Hunni-“

“I don’t know!” You retort, cutting across Leon’s warning to the agent. “I don’t know why they didn’t kill me. I don’t know why they didn’t bite my head off, rip me apart limb from limb, but… but I wish they had.”

“Dove,” Leon’s voice is soft, now directed towards you rather than the laptop screen, “you don’t mean that.”

“Noted.” Hunnigan’s tone is icy. “Thank you for your time.”

There’s a beep and the call disconnects.

You get to your feet, keep your head down, trying to make a beeline for the bedroom – it’s the only place you can go – but Leon steps in front of you, holding his hands up in front of him, as if he’s afraid to touch you, smelling sweet from the strawberry bodywash.

“Hey, look at me.”

“I’m tired, Leon.” You are, truly – suddenly and inexplicably feeling exhausted. Pathetic.

“Please.”

You look up then, defeated – you’re going to have to look up eventually - but there’s no tears in your eyes. His hair is damp and he’d dressed in a hurry, patches of his white t-shirt going translucent. “What?”

“I know it’s difficult right now – and I’m not just saying that, trust me, I’ve had that feeling when you’re the only one left and you don’t know why – but please don’t say things like that.”

You stare at him, but you don’t know what he wants you to say. “Sorry.”

“No, Dove,” he sounds exasperated, “I don’t me-“

“I really am tired.”

And he believes you. He wants to wrap you in his arms, pull you close to his chest, whisper promises in your ear, press kisses to your crown – anything to bring a spark back into your eyes than the look of defeat.

What had Hunnigan said?

“No, of course. You’re recovering.” He steps aside, leaves a clear path to your bedroom. “Go have a nap or just a rest – whatever you need. I’ll make us lunch when you’re up.”

You nod, hurrying into the bedroom and closing the door behind you with a click and near enough collapse into the bed, mindful of your arm, muffling sobs into the pillow.

 --

“Why do you care about her so much?”

The words ring around Leon’s head as he lays on the sofa, one arm tucked behind his head as he looks up at the ceiling. It’s been over an hour and a half since you retreated into the bedroom, an hour or so since he last heard a muffled sob behind the door. He’d had to stop himself dialing Hunnigan’s number to find out what happened – tensions were too high. Why does he care so much? You’re beautiful, sure – always been a sucker for a pretty girl and that’s got him in trouble in the past – but it’s more than that, far more.

Maybe… maybe he cares so much because he’s never really had the chance to care for someone like this. He’s not had any sort of real relationship since before Raccoon City, one night stands here and there, but nothing of any domestic substance. You’re not entirely reliant on him, but it’s those things you’d do for a partner when they’re having a rough time. He could’ve been obtuse and unhelpful, watched you struggle in a foreign environment, but that’s never been his style – the wide-eyed, rookie cop who just wanted to help was still in there.

But what was he thinking earlier, nearly kissing you? You’re vulnerable, a prisoner almost, under his watch. He shouldn’t be doing that. It’s too much of a pressured environment, emotions and tempers are high – as the blow-out with Hunnigan had made abundantly clear.

He rolls to his side, cursing the world. Why couldn’t he have met you anywhere else?

--

You wake up, disorientated at first as to why it’s so dark. You’d retreated back into bed just before midday, surely Leon would’ve woken you for your medication at least. You sit up, allowing your eyes to adjust before hauling yourself out from under the warm covers and tentatively open the door, unsure of what the hour may be.

The living room is empty, an abandoned pillow and blanket on the sofa – Leon must be out on a perimeter check – but the garage door is ever so slightly ajar.

Leon’s never done that, even when he went out to search for a chair he’d got through the same routine and locked it up tight behind him. Maybe he’s grabbing something from the SUV and with you being in bed hadn’t felt it necessary to follow his usual routine?

“Leon?” You call out, cautiously.

There’s no response.

You walk slowly over to the door, trying to steady the building panic in your stomach, and peek through.

The garage light is on. The SUV is still in place, the garage door shuttered down and Leon is on his side, his back facing towards you, almost in a crescent shape so you can’t see his head, and the garage floor is smeared in blood. His blood.

You retreat like a coward – you should go forward, check for a pulse, see if you can do anything to help, but the panic is overwhelming. You make it only a good four or five steps when there’s that horrible, unhuman sound at the same time as something wet wraps around your ankle and yanks you down hard.

A tongue.

It’s one of those things’ tongues.

You scream, try and grab purchase on the carpet, your nails ripping up fibres but it’s not enough. You kick back wildly with your other leg, all terror and no substance, but the tongue begins to retract, yanking you along with it, the carpet burning against your knees as it drags you back into the garage.

You turn to look over your shoulder, tears burning your eyes, as the monstrosity waits on the hood of the SUV, dragging you to rest besides Leon’s lifeless body.

Lifeless and headless.

You scream.

There’s a bang – not of a gunshot, but of a door hitting the wall - and you’re up right in bed, heart pounding furiously against your ribcage, hard, shallow breaths but there’s no oxygen reaching the bottom of your lungs.

“Dove?”

--

The scream had come from your room and Leon can’t remember getting from the sofa to the door he’d moved that fast, throwing it open with such ferocity that it had banged against the wall, the handle leaving a hole in the plasterboard. He had his gun raised, cursing himself already for leaving you alone, only to find the room empty of intruders and you sat up in the bed, tears streaming down your cheeks, staring blankly into the space and breathing so hard it was as if you’d been sprinting.

He holsters his gun – safety clicked back on – and is by your side, crouched down, hand on your covered legs in moments.

“Dove?” He asks, softly.

You look at him, eyes wide in alarm, panting, before you grab his hand, squeezing his fingers in the hopes of reassurance, not quite believing you’re awake. “You’re… You’re okay.”

“Me?” He raises an eyebrow.

You nod. “You were… They were… I…” You swallow back down a sob.

“Hey, it’s all right. It must’ve been a bad dream.”

“It had got you, you were… You were dead.”

You squeeze his fingers again before letting go, trying to steady your breaths. “It felt so real.”

“I know.” He wasn’t a stranger to having such dreams, despite how many years had gone by. “But it wasn’t. I’m fine, see? Not a scratch or bruise on me.”

You nod again, shakily.

He gets to his feet. “Let me get you some water, hm?”

You wrap your fingers around his wrist then. It’s not a strong grip, he could pull out of it easily, but it’s enough to still him.

“Can you stay?” You’re not looking at him, eyes fixed on a random spot of the duvet.

“I’ll only be gone a moment, just to the kitchen and back.”

Your grip tightens a little around his wrist. “Please.”

“Okay.” How could he ever say no?

You shuffle along in the bed then, making space wordlessly.

“Are you sure?”

There’s only a slight tug on his wrist before he clambers carefully onto the bed – boots and all – lying back against one of the pillows and you shuffle to lean into his side, leaving a little space. He wraps his left arm around you without thought, pulls you in closer so your head is laying on his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He begins to rub his palm on your lower back in soothing circles – mindful not to go higher with the bruising. He can feel the rate at which your heart is pounding.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

“Can we just…?” You squeeze your eyes closed tight. “Can we just stay like this in silence for a bit? Please.”

“Of course – anything you need.”

You keep your eyes closed, trying to focus on touch to calm your heartbeat - relishing the warmth of his chest on your cheek, his palm on your back and the sound of his steady heartbeat. It doesn’t take long for you to relax again in his embrace, another wave of exhaustion rolling over you from the shock.

“Dove?” He asks gently, cautiously when you’re on the precipice of sleep.

You don’t reply, the effort too great.

“What are we gonna do, huh?” He whispers, giving you a light squeeze.

You feel him press a long kiss to your crown.

--

He’s just extinguished a cigarette, but he already needs another as his associate makes a beeline across the office, a shit-eating grin on his face. Fucker shouldn’t look so happy. He bangs the packet on the table to retrieve another, lighting it and taking a deep drag as a single printed page is laid before him. He looks down – a list of addresses divided into columns that mean absolutely nothing. “What’s this shit?”

“Addresses.” His companion answers, tapping the paper enthusiastically with his every word. “But, more importantly, a list of DSO assets. As you’ll see, there are quite a few of them, all dotted around the States.” He takes another drag of his cigarette, waiting for him to continue. “And I happen to know some of these are designated safe houses - equipped with state-of-the-art alarm and surveillance systems.”

“Right. Do you have a point?”

“Getting there. Alarm systems are all connected to the central hub, so yours truly worked his magic and set all active alarms on the system to trigger at the same time.”

“And why should I care?”

“You should care because only one alarm triggered, suggesting there’s only one in use.” His companion dips his hand in his pocket, pulling out another sheet of paper and a pen. He places it down besides the list of addresses to reveal a grainy CCTV still of a figure and proceeds to pull the cap off the pen off with his teeth, spitting it out on the table and circles an address.

“And that means…?” “That means…” He draws a circle around the grainy image of you laying at the bottom a stairwell, “I know where she is.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Carbon Monoxide Poisoning

Carbon monoxide (CO) poisoning - occurs when carbon monoxide gas is inhaled.

CO - a colorless, odorless, highly poisonous gas.

Produced by incomplete combustion.

Interferes with the ability of the blood to carry oxygen.

Found in: automobile exhaust fumes, faulty stoves and heating systems, fires, and cigarette smoke.

Other sources: woodburning stoves, kerosene heaters, improperly ventilated water heaters and gas stoves, and blocked or poorly maintained chimney flues.

The result is headache, nausea, convulsions, and finally death by asphyxiation.

Symptoms

The symptoms of CO poisoning in order of increasing severity include:

headache

shortness of breath

dizziness

fatigue

mental confusion and difficulty thinking

loss of fine hand-eye coordination

nausea and vomiting

rapid heart rate

hallucinations

inability to execute voluntary movements accurately

collapse

lowered body temperature (hypothermia)

coma

convulsions

seriously low blood pressure

cardiac and respiratory failure

death

In some cases, the skin, mucous membranes, and nails of a person with CO poisoning are cherry red or bright pink. Because the color change doesn’t always occur, it is an unreliable symptom to rely on for diagnosis.

Although most CO poisoning is acute, or sudden, it is possible to suffer from chronic CO poisoning. This condition exists when a person is exposed to low levels of the gas over a period of days to months.

Symptoms are often vague and include (in order of frequency) fatigue, headache, dizziness, sleep disturbances, cardiac symptoms, apathy, nausea, and memory disturbances.

Little is known about chronic CO poisoning, and it is often misdiagnosed.

Treatment

Immediate treatment: Remove the victim from the source of carbon monoxide gas and get him or her into fresh air.

If the victim is not breathing and has no pulse, cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) should be started.

Depending on the severity of the poisoning, 100% oxygen may be given with a tight fitting mask as soon as it is available.

Taken with other symptoms of CO poisoning, COHb levels of over 25% in healthy individuals, over 15% in patients with a history of heart or lung disease, and over 10% in pregnant women usually indicate the need for hospitalization.

In the hospital, fluids and electrolytes are given to correct any imbalances that have arisen from the breakdown of cellular metabolism.

In severe cases of CO poisoning, patients are given hyperbaric oxygen therapy. This treatment involves placing the patient in a chamber breathing 100% oxygen at a pressure of more than one atmosphere (the normal pressure the atmosphere exerts at sea level). The increased pressure forces more oxygen into the blood.

Prevention

Carbon monoxide poisoning is preventable.

Particular care should be paid to situations where fuel is burned in a confined area. Portable and permanently installed carbon monoxide detectors that sound a warning similar to smoke detectors are available for less than $50.

Specific actions that will prevent CO poisoning include:

Stopping smoking. Smokers have less tolerance to environmental CO.

Having heating systems and appliances installed by a qualified contractor to assure that they are properly vented and meet local building codes

Inspecting and properly maintaining heating systems, chimneys, and appliances

Not using a gas oven or stove to heat the home

Not burning charcoal indoors

Making sure there is good ventilation if using a kerosene heater indoors

Not leaving cars or trucks running inside the garage

Keeping car windows rolled up when stuck in heavy traffic, especially if inside a tunnel.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Poison ⚜ Fictional Poisons

[androoline]

John Price's Project

Trigger Warning: This fanfic contains themes of psychological manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, dubious consent, +18 content, and descriptions of anxiety and self-punishment. Please read with care.

Notes: This fanfic explores a complex and intense dynamic between the reader and Captain Price, featuring elements of power and submission, psychological pressure, manipulation, and a questionable relationship. It will be a short fanfic, with a maximum of 5 chapters, and I will also post it in English. I’d greatly appreciate comments and reblogs. This is my first fanfic posted on Tumblr.

Summary: In a military base where order is absolute and every mistake feels like a verdict, a new recruit struggles to prove herself under the piercing gaze of Captain John Price. Every report becomes a battlefield, every error a noose tightening around her neck—and Price, with his unrelenting authority, knows exactly how to wield it against her. Amid suffocating deadlines and the base’s cutting silence, she realizes the true challenge lies not in the paperwork or the rules, but in the internal war she wages: to prove her worth or surrender to the dangerous allure he ignites. How much will she sacrifice for recognition? In this game of control and desire, the answer may cost more than she ever imagined.

The base was quieter than usual that morning, as if the world had held its breath.

You passed through the metal detector for the seventh consecutive time, the device remaining silent, as always. You adjusted the collar of your blouse, restless fingers brushing the fabric, your nervousness betraying the calm you tried to project.

The badge, still warm from the printer, hung around your neck, your smiling photo clashing with the stern words "Temporary Visitor" in bold letters. The official badge, the one that would confirm your position, hadn’t arrived yet—your real boss, the man who was supposed to sign off on your hiring, had been on a mission since the day you set foot here.

You had arrived early, as always. In the car, your fingers drummed on the steering wheel as the base’s gate opened with infuriating slowness. Your eyes fixed on the dashboard clock: 07:42. Six minutes ahead of your usual time. Too early. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the pulse that quickened for no apparent reason. The smell of spilled coffee—a remnant of a rushed accident on your way out of the house—still clung to the upholstery, a reminder of your own disorder in a place that demanded perfection.

The main corridor was deserted when you entered, your high heels echoing with cautious precision on the worn floor. You knew every detail of that path: the coffee stain on the third tile to the left, the distant sound of weapons being loaded in the courtyard, the metallic scent of the air conditioning that never seemed to rest.

The base was a living organism, but today it was too quiet, and you felt like an intruder in its silence. As you passed the communications room, he was there. Ghost, still as a statue, occupied his usual post. The mask covered his face, but you felt the weight of his gaze, a pressure that made your skin prickle. Today, though, something was different. His gloved fingers, which usually tapped on the arm of his chair, were still. Completely motionless.

You slowed your pace without meaning to, your throat dry. “Don’t try to talk to him,” Kate’s advice echoed in your mind. “Ghost doesn’t like civilians. Or soldiers, for that matter.” But for the first time, he moved—a slight tilt of his head, almost imperceptible, without breaking eye contact. It was enough to make your stomach churn. You quickened your pace, your heels echoing louder in the empty corridor.

In that first week, you had learned three things about this place:

John Price was an almost mythical figure, revered in a way that made even the most hardened soldiers lower their voices when mentioning him. No one spoke openly about his actions, but the fragments you caught—“The Captain sorted out the issue in Kyiv,” “Price doesn’t tolerate mistakes”—painted a picture of someone who operated with lethal precision, always one step ahead.

His office was a sanctuary of military order. Every object was in its place, every map and document aligned with an obsession that bordered on unsettling. You had never seen him in person, but his habits were etched into the reports he left behind, marked with red ink annotations as sharp as a blade.

And, as strange as it was, you liked it. The rigid routine. The hierarchy that eliminated any ambiguity. The rules that kept you anchored in a world that otherwise seemed ready to swallow you whole.

But today, something was different. Price’s office—always locked during his missions—had its door slightly ajar. The light spilled into the corridor, a warm glow that contrasted with the coldness of the environment. Your heart raced. He was back.You hesitated, your fingers gripping the folder you carried until your knuckles turned white. The door was both an invitation and a trap. Before you could decide, his voice cut through the silence.

“Come in.”

It was rough, laced with fatigue, but carried an authority that allowed no hesitation. You swallowed hard, pushing the door open with a careful movement, your steps measured as if walking on a minefield.

The office was exactly as you had imagined: impeccable. Military maps covered the walls, dotted with classified documents pinned in place. On the desk, three folders aligned at perfect right angles, as if daring any misalignment. In the center, a single report—the one you had submitted the previous night—now marked with red circles that felt like silent accusations. The smell of cigar smoke, woody and heavy, permeated the air, mingling with leather and metal.

Price didn’t look up when you entered. He kept reading, his broad, calloused fingers turning the pages with a slowness that seemed calculated to heighten your anxiety. The cigar rested between his fingers, smoke rising in slow spirals.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

You obeyed, the chair too low, forcing you to look up at him. When he finally raised his face, you understood why John Price was so feared. His blue eyes were cold, clear as ice under winter light, and they seemed to dissect every detail of you—every tremble, every hesitation.

“You made mistakes.” He pushed the report toward you, his voice cutting. “Three times.”

Your pulse quickened, heat rising to your face.

“I reviewed—”

“Not well enough.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, the space between you shrinking dangerously. “Did you know your father called me yesterday?”

You froze, your throat dry.

“No, sir.”

“He asked if you were… settling in.” He smiled, but it was a sharp smile, one that knew exactly where to cut. “Do you think he’d be proud to know his daughter nearly leaked classified information?”

Your fingers clenched in your lap, the weight of the accusation crushing any defense.

“I didn’t—”

“Do it again.” He tossed another dossier onto the desk, the impact making you flinch. “And when you’re done, translate this. It’s in Russian.”

You opened the file, the first words jumping out—приказ (order), наказание (punishment). The rest was a maze of encrypted military jargon, a test as cruel as his gaze.

“I… I know the basics, but this—”

“So now it’s ‘the basics’?” Price picked up the cigar, examining the glowing tip with an air of cold amusement. “Your file says ‘fluent.’ Just like it said you had experience with confidential documents.” He took a slow drag, the smoke enveloping you like a subtle threat. “Or was it your father who… embellished your qualifications?”

The blood froze in your veins. He knew. Every word was a rope tightening around your neck, and you had no escape.

“I can learn,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected, despite the hammering in your chest.

Price studied you for ten seconds of silence, the weight of his gaze almost physical. Then he nodded, as if reaching a conclusion you weren’t allowed to understand.

“18:00 hours. I want everything corrected and translated.” He turned his back, the gesture a clear sign you were dismissed. “Show me you’re here on merit, not favors.”

You left, your steps hurried in the empty corridor. The silence of the base seemed to swallow you, the echo of your heels the only sound accompanying you. The weight of that encounter—Price’s eyes, the veiled threat, the impossible challenge—stayed with you, like a shadow that wouldn’t leave your side. And somewhere, the memory of Ghost’s gaze, that slight tilt of his head, still made your skin tingle.

The clock on your cubicle wall read 17:43. The hours had passed in a blur, and you hadn’t even noticed. Lunch—a vague idea—had been completely forgotten. The knot in your stomach, fueled by adrenaline and the weight of Price’s words, made any thought of food impossible. Since leaving his office that morning, you hadn’t crossed paths with anyone else. The corridors, usually alive with muffled voices and hurried footsteps, were deserted, as if the entire base had emptied, leaving only you and the suffocating pressure of the work.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you typed, the blinking cursor a silent accusation. You reviewed the report four times, correcting each mistake Price had pointed out with near-obsessive precision. A mistranscribed date, an ambiguous line of translation, a misaligned paragraph—each flaw now felt like a personal judgment. How had you not noticed?

The Russian dossier was a nightmare of its own. The words danced in your exhausted mind—приказ (order), наказание (punishment), слежка (surveillance). You knew enough to understand the document was more than confidential; it was the kind of thing that, if misinterpreted, could cost lives. And Price knew that when he tossed it onto your desk with that icy stare.

A low, almost inaudible sound made you freeze. Footsteps? No, just the hum of the old air conditioner, tricking your senses. You glanced at the slightly open door of your cubicle, your heart racing, but the corridor remained empty, steeped in shadows. The base’s solitude seemed to amplify every noise, every thought.You returned to work, forcing yourself to ignore the emptiness in your stomach and the exhaustion weighing on your shoulders. When you finished the translation—or what you hoped was an acceptable translation—the clock read 17:58. Two minutes. You grabbed the documents, aligning them with almost compulsive care, and rushed to Price’s office.The corridor was dark, the automatic lights already off. Your heels echoed too loudly, each step amplified by the oppressive silence.

At Price’s office, the door was ajar, like a silent invitation. The golden light from the desk lamp spilled into the corridor, mingling with the lingering smell of cigar smoke. You knocked softly, the sound almost swallowed by the pulsing in your ears.

“Come in,” came his voice, as firm as it had been that morning, but with a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. Fatigue? Curiosity?

You pushed the door open, the documents clutched against your chest like a shield. Price was standing this time, his back to you, examining a map on the wall. His rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed muscular forearms, scarred in ways that told stories you’d never dare ask about. He turned slowly, his blue eyes locking onto you with that intensity that made your legs weak. He was, without a doubt, a formidable man.

“Punctual,” he said, almost as if surprised. “Put them on the desk.”

You obeyed, placing the documents carefully, aligning them perfectly with the edge of the desk. He didn’t move to take them. Instead, he stepped closer, stopping just inches away. Too close. The heat of his body and the smell of tobacco and leather were suffocating.

“Explain,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Why should I trust this is right now?”

You opened your mouth, but the words caught. The emptiness in your stomach seemed to climb to your throat, and the exhaustion of a day without breaks weighed like lead. He raised an eyebrow, waiting, his arms crossed. Each second of silence was an eternity.

“I… corrected the mistakes you pointed out,” you managed, your voice weaker than you’d hoped. “And the translation… I did my best with the deadline. I checked every term twice.”

He picked up the dossier, flipping through the pages with deliberate slowness. You held your breath, bracing for the next blow. But then he closed the file and set it aside, his eyes returning to you.

“You work well under pressure, pet” he said, and there was something new in his voice—approval, perhaps, but laced with something darker. “But pressure’s nothing. Not here.” He took a step forward, closing the distance even further. “Do you know what happens to those who truly fail?”

You shook your head, unable to look away.

“They don’t come back.” He let the words hang, heavy, before stepping back and sitting at the desk. “Go. Be back tomorrow, 07:30. No mistakes this time.”

You nodded, your legs trembling as you left the office. In the corridor, the silence of the base seemed to swallow you, the echo of your own footsteps your only company. The feeling of being under Price’s scrutiny lingered, as if he were still watching, even from so far away.

[leaawrites]

Pretty Little Liar

Noel Gallagher x fem!actress!reader

Summary: in which, a picture makes insecurities rise from the depth.

Warnings: age gap, fluff, bit of angst

Wordcount: 0.8k

Part 2, Masterlist

“And what about this picture?”

Her co-star shifted over the photo, which had been all over the news for the last two weeks, of her and Noel Gallagher leaving a restaurant almost at the same time. Walking closely behind the other. They climbed into the same car as well, though the press didn’t catch that moment.

Feeling her pulse quicken, she hoped the lie-detector wasn’t catching up. It was good publicity, her management told her as they proposed the idea of them going out and being seen for the first time since they started seeing each other.

“Just having dinner with a music legend,” she answered, looking calmly down at the picture while pinching her skin to stop her face from heating up and her heartbeat from racing in fear and the feeling of love she felt every time she saw him. “Nothing romantically.”

What a fucking liar she was.

“She’s telling the truth,” the woman operating the machine said, making Y/n visibly relax into her seat again.

Her shoulders relaxing and a deep breath falling out of her mouth, escaping her lings where it was previously held hostage.

“That’s right, haters. Nothing going on between them, stop saying nasty shit now.” Y/n laughed gratefully as her co-star looked straight at the camera, with a serious tone and a death stare on his face.

The publicity was good, though it wasn’t exactly one that could be controlled. The moment the picture was released, people started commenting on everything. The age difference, the problematic of it all and, of course, on it being nothing more than a make pretend and that she was only after him for the fame.

If only they knew.

Slumping down on the sofa in London two weeks later, after the press tour was finally over and the video released, the comments stopped flooding in at a mass. They were still there sometimes, but nothing too serious.

“I can’t believe they believed you that,” Noel called from the kitchen, the video still playing on his phone as he was preparing tea for the two of them.

“What can I say? I’m just such an amazing actress,” Y/n said, smirking as she heard his laughter echo from the other room.

His feet gently padding on the floor as he walked over to her again, two cups in his hands. Putting them down on the table, he leaned over to her, pressing his lips on her forehead before moving down. Travelling over her cheek, over her jaw and neck until they finally landed on her lips.

Pulling her closer with his hand on her cheek, he could feel the smile spreading on her face from the familiar contact she craved for too long now. The hasted goodbye or good morning pecks weren’t enough for either, both feeling more contempt with the slow, raw emotions lingering between their lips.

“I missed you so much, darling,” Noel whispered, his lips still close to hers, but leaving space to breath.

“I missed you too,” she answered, her hand moving through his hair.

She knew this was problematic and nothing she saw herself being tangled in two years prior, but it happened and nothing could make her regret it. Noel was sweet and gentle, he was funny, making her feel secure in a world so cruel and unpredictable.

He made her feel loved.

Watching him closely, she saw the familiar look of awareness flash through his pupils, though now it seemed threatening. Like the realisation that with every calm there would be a storm following.

“What is it?” She asked, hooking her leg around his waist and moving him closer towards her.

His lips falling on her collarbone before answering hesitantly, “If you ever wanna stop I won’t blame you.”

His words made her eyes open wide in shock, though before she could answer, Noel continued speaking. “I know this isn’t exactly what you expected it to become after that party and I understand if you find someone else. Someone your age.”

“Noel,” she warned him to stop speaking.

“I know that you deserve better.”

“No,” she said, putting her hands on either side of his face and moving his head up for him to look at her directly. His eyes holding emotions as deep as oceans. “I want you, okay? I decided that this would be alright and that we would happen, you were the one wanting to distance yourself at the beginning and now you’re doing it again, why?”

“The people-”

“The people? That’s all you’re worried about? You, fucking Noel Gallagher, who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinion is fearing someone else’s opinion all of a sudden?” It felt like she laughed right at him, laughing in his face out of shock at his stupidity.

“This isn’t about me, alright? This is about you. If this comes out, your name will be all over every headline and I know how much stuff like this can pull you down. I don’t do this out of selfishness, I do this because I love you.”

Rolling her eyes, she threw her head back in annoyance at his words. “God, I love you too, that’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m telling you to stop being so stupid and just let things go their way. We can’t change how they perceive this, but I know that I can handle anything as long as you’re there, alright?” She asked, watching him nod his head before he sat down next her and pulled her into his chest now.