#Advanced Steel Frames

[advancedsteelframes]

What are the benefits of custom steel frames in Adelaide?

Discover the benefits of custom steel frames in Adelaide, including durability, safety, energy efficiency, and sustainability for long-lasting, low-maintenance homes.

[its3nvy]

"Wear the hat, ride the cowboy" Billy the Kid

Summary: After drawing the wrong kind of attention at the saloon, Billy comes to your rescue. Having to pretend to be his for the night, which leads to a ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy’ situation ;) 

Tags/warnings: mdni (18+), porn with no plot, angst, size kink, riding cock, overstimulation, fingering, breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, slight knife kink

Note : This is my first time ever writing smut and I haven't edited it a lot so this should be fun. (Tell me if it's good or not pls)

tags: f!reader, smut

word count: 3.7k

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Curiosity led you to the local saloon one evening, where Billy often engaged in poker games. The air inside was thick with the smoky residue of cigars, and the occasional clinking of glasses underscored the distant melody of a forlorn piano. As you pushed through the creaking doors, your presence hung in the air, drawing the gaze of rough patrons whose eyes bore into you with a kind of familiarity you had never known. Unaccustomed to the bold gazes and suggestive comments that swirled around you like a threatening storm, you sought refuge at the bar. A man behind it was taking someone’s order.

You looked around, your eyes finally found Billy's familiar frame, surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke, engaged in a high-stakes poker game.

“Hello, darlin’,” a drunken man stumbled toward you.

“Hello, sir,” you gave him a small smile, trying to avoid his intense stare.

He leaned against the bar to keep his balance. “Come on, darling, don’t be such a prude. Talk to me.” His hand reached up, attempting to caress your face.

From afar, you saw Billy, his eyes—usually mischievous and full of life—met yours with a fleeting recognition. Without uttering a word, he rose from his chair, his cowboy boots echoing a heavy cadence on the worn wooden floor.

The drunken man's intrusive advances persisted, his slurred words creating an uncomfortable tension. "Don’t play hard to get, honey. I can show you a good time," he insisted, his hand becoming more insistent. Ignoring the drunkard, you turned back to the bar, hoping for intervention. The man persisted, his persistence turning aggressive. As his hand encroached upon your personal space, a shadow fell over you. 

Billy's presence loomed, his gaze colder than the steel of his revolver. Without a word, he grabbed the man's hand, his grip firm and unyielding. “Leave her alone," Billy's voice cut through the clamor of the saloon, his words echoing with a subtle menace.

The tension escalated, a palpable undercurrent surging through the room. The patrons, sensing the imminent storm, shifted uneasily. Billy's eyes held yours, a silent reassurance amid the brewing chaos. The drunk man, now confronted by the notorious gunslinger, stumbled backward, a mixture of recognition and fear contorting his expression. With a final warning glare from Billy, he slinked away into the crowd.

Billy turned towards you, his eyes softening as if to assure you that the storm had passed. 

"What in the hell are ya doin’ here?", he murmured, his tone both gruff and concerned as he reached you, seizing your hand and guiding you to the quiet side of the room. "I needed to go out, Billy," you replied, your voice carrying a note of defiance and desperation.

He hissed, a trace of irritation etching lines across his rugged features. "You can’t. You gotta go home. These people here are dangerous," he warned.

"And you don’t think me leaving alone would be dangerous?" you shot back, your gaze a defiant challenge to the protective facade he wore like impenetrable armor.

"Shit," he conceded, his irritation mingling with a begrudging acceptance of your undeniable truth. "Alright, I’m finishing up my round, and then we can go," Billy relented, his tone an admission of defeat. "But you play along with me, ok? If they don’t think you're claimed, they'll see you as fair game," he said, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that cut through the smoky haze, demanding an unspoken oath.

“Ok,” you huffed out.

He pulled you towards his table with a rough yet oddly comforting grip, a silent acknowledgment that, for a fleeting moment, you were to be sheltered from the men surrounding you as long as you stayed with him. "Wait," he murmured, his hand lingering on yours. With a swift motion, he removed his hat, worn and weathered from a life on the precipice.

You extended your hand to stop him. "Billy, you can’t," you insisted, your voice barely more than a whisper, laden with the implications of his gesture. “You know what this means.”

"That’s the point," he declared, his crooked grin returning like a bittersweet promise of protection. As he placed his hat on your head, it became a proclamation, an unspoken claim made before the watchful eyes of everyone present, and a promise of a heated night that lingered in the air like an unspoken secret.

"Now, c’mere," he commanded, pulling you towards him as he settled into his chair, drawing you onto his lap. You bit on your lips, a mixture of anticipation and fear, the heat rising to your cheeks as the proximity between you tightened like a coiled spring. This was the first time Billy had been so close, and the magnetic pull of his presence ignited an unfamiliar fire within you.

He looked up at you as you bit your lips, his gaze a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension that hung thick in the air.

As he resumed his poker game, you felt his breath against your neck. "Pass me the whiskey, doll," he asked.

You leaned against the table, inadvertently pulling your hips tighter into his pelvis, sensing his hardness between you. His hands reached out against your hips, gripping you and keeping you still. "Careful," he warned against the shell of your ear, his breath raising goosebumps along your neck, a sensation that heightened the electrifying energy between you.

As you handed him the glass, he took a swig, and then, with a deliberate slowness, leaned down against the side of your neck, planting a lingering kiss. "Thank you, doll," his gravelly voice murmured, the aroma of whiskey lingering in the air.

Billy's fingers grazed lightly along your waist, sending a cascade of sensations through your body. His gaze met yours once more, a silent invitation lingering in his eyes. It was then that you became acutely aware of the speculative glances from the patrons, their curiosity fueled by the undeniable connection unfolding before them.

The weight of Billy's hat on your head felt like both a shield and a beacon, marking you as his amidst the prying eyes of the saloon.

The night passed on and as the final hand of poker concluded, Billy rose from his seat, still holding you close. "Wrapping it up for the night, boys. See ya tomorrow," he declared, his voice a mix of weariness and determination.

He grabbed your hand, guiding you out with a certain urgency. The saloon doors swung open, thrusting you back into the harsh glow of moonlight. As you stopped in front of his horse, he turned around and said, "What the hell were you thinking, coming here alone? You know how they treat women here."

His words cut through the night air, a mixture of concern and frustration etched on his rugged features. The distant sounds of revelry from the saloon formed a dissonant backdrop to the charged atmosphere between you.

You met his gaze, a swirl of emotions reflecting in his eyes. "I just wanted to have one free night, Billy. Just one," you replied, your voice carrying a note of desperation. Billy's jaw clenched, a silent acknowledgment of the dangers lurking in the shadows. "This ain't the place for that, especially not for someone like you," he muttered, his grip on your hand tightening as if to emphasize the point.

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The moonlight cast shadows across his face, revealing the hardened resolve etched into his expression. "I can't have you wandering into places like this, doll," he continued, a trace of vulnerability underlying his gruff tone. "It's too damn dangerous."

Billy sighed, a heavy exhale that seemed to release the tension in the air. "Let's get you home," he said, his voice softened. With a final glance back at the saloon, you moved towards his horse. As you approached, he placed his hands on your hips, lifting you onto the horse with a gentle yet firm touch. You instinctively grabbed his forearm for support, your eyes locking in a shared moment of intimacy. 

The ride home was a silent journey through the cool night air, the rhythmic hooves of the horse creating a steady cadence. You sat in front of Billy, the warmth of his body enveloping you, his strong arms encircling your waist as you traversed the dimly lit trails. 

As the horse navigated the uneven terrain, Billy's embrace tightened slightly, offering both stability and reassurance. His chin rested on your shoulder, his warm breath tickling your neck, and in that intimate proximity, the weight of your unspoken desires lingered like an invisible thread weaving through the darkness.

Arriving at your doorstep, Billy helped you dismount, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Your eyes met, a complex tapestry of emotions woven between you. He spoke, his words a whisper carried away by the night breeze, "Be more careful, doll. This world ain't kind, especially to those with a heart as tender as yours." He placed his hand against your cheek, caressing it lovingly.

"Billy," you responded, the ache in your voice carrying a mixture of gratitude and longing. He placed a loving kiss on your forehead, his touch a hushed plea for silence. "Go to sleep, doll. I'll come by tomorrow morning," he whispered, giving you a kiss on the forehead, turning away.

"Billy, wait," an urgency surged within you, desperate to find a reason for him to stay. You took off your hat, intending to return it to him, a feeble attempt to anchor him in the moment. “Keep it. I prefer it on you,” he remarked, a bittersweet acknowledgment that stirred emotions too complex to unravel.

Locked in a gaze that spoke volumes, you inched toward him, a silent plea lingering in the air. As your fingers tightened around the hat, a palpable tension filled the space between you. His intense blue eyes held yours, revealing a tumult of unspoken struggles and desires. Your gaze shifted to his lips—slightly chapped yet irresistibly inviting. 

Closing the distance, you reached him, and, without hesitation, pressed your lips against his. The kiss was a desperate plea, an attempt to convey the emotions that words couldn't capture.

Billy's initial surprise melted into a shared passion, and for a moment, the world around you faded. His arms encircled you, pulling you close as if trying to etch the moment into his memory. As the intensity deepened, you let go of the hat, your hands finding their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer. He tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin. He pulled away slightly, breath mingling with yours, lips lingering, an anguished pause in the silent night.

"Fuck, doll," he groaned, your foreheads leaning against one another, his hands gripping the fabric on your waist. You looked up into his eyes, witnessing the inner battle reflected in his gaze as he grappled with the decision to restrain himself or not.

You approached your lips to his cheek, giving him a slight peck, when you heard him whisper, "Fuck it." His lips crashed to yours, hungry, hot, and demanding, stealing your breath in a heated rush. His hand came up, cupping your jaw, angling your head to deepen the kiss as he slicked his tongue inside your mouth.

“Come, let’s go inside, yeah?” He asked. You nodded at him, as he gave you a quick kiss, ushering you inside, “good girl.” And in an instant, he’s moving toward you, wrapping his arms around your body and pressing you to his chest. You press your lips to his and moan at the taste of Whiskey. His tongue slides over yours in slow strokes that make your cheeks warm, but it’s when his teeth nip at your bottom lip that a whine escapes. 

His rough, calloused hands drop to the cusp of your neck, gripping your hair just tight enough to make you hiss. You arch into his touch as he starts to explore your body, mapping out every dip and curve. 

“Billy- Please… do something.” He moans a response into your neck as his lips slip down to leave love bites along the column of your throat. 

Eager to feel you, Billy tried to pull at the strings of your corset, but to no avail. It was too complicated to remove in the dark, and with the emotions aptly blinding him, Billy had no patience to try.

In the dark, you heard a flick of a knife, and you felt a cold tip of the blade against your skin before Billy’s voice comforted you, “Be a good girl and don’t move, ok?”

A rip ran through the air as Billy sliced your corset in half from the back. You stayed perfectly still, trusting him completely to cut the clothing off of you without harming you at all. The moment Billy had cut your corset, he dropped it to the floor and pulled your top off with it.

He immediately lets his hands drop to your breasts, nipples already pebbling from the cool air. He pinches and pulls at them for only a moment before he’s trailing kisses down your stomach.

Bilily stops just above your hip bones, “May I?” he asks, blue eyes peering up at you. “Yes. Billy, please.” You beg him, voice thick with desperation. He chuckles and then rubs his hand over your throbbing clit. He slides one, then two thick fingers into your dripping pussy. A whimper bubbles from your swollen lips as he pulls back to spit on your heat. His fingers curl, digits stretching and scissoring inside you. Your head feels like it’s spinning, arousal leaking from your cunt and down Billy’s fingers. 

Your hips are unable to escape his assault on your g-spot when he pins you down, and you let out a moan you hardly recognize as your own. “Shit, you’re so wet.” His teeth catch his bottom lip as he smiles down at your fucked-out form. 

Billy’s hand never slows, even as he grinds his palm into your poor clit. You cum not long after, waves of pleasure crashing over and drowning you in euphoria. Your body is trembling as you come back to Earth and Billy is there, watching you from between your thighs. He places a kiss on your sensitive clit before he stands back up, towering over you. 

“Please. Fuck me, Billy.” You say through heavy breaths. He feels his head spin at the sound of your voice. 

“Whatever you want, doll.” 

Billy lays you across the couch and crawls over you, leaning back to release his aching cock from the confines of his pants. Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of him, pre-cum drips from his flushed, red tip.

He fists his cock at the sight of you below him, lips parted and breasts heaving. Billy leans his body over yours, trapping you between him and the cushions below you. You can feel the muscle covering his torso press against your tummy. He ruts his cock through your pussy, the head catching on your clit deliciously. You both moan at the feeling and link your fingers together. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. I’m gonna make you all mine”, Billy coos down at you, searching your face for any hesitance. You nod at him, earning you a keen smile and a quick kiss. “It’s gonna hurt, doll, I’m sorry.” Squeezing his hand, you hold your breath when he lines himself up with your entrance.

You gasp when his tip slips into you, already feeling like he’s split you in two. Salty tears start to well in your lash line at the burn of Billy’s cock stretching you out for the first time. He’s much bigger than you anticipated and you dig your nails into his skin. 

“I know, I know. Just breathe.” He tries his best to comfort you, gritting his teeth at the feeling of your cunt around him. His heart stings at the sight of you crying for reasons other than pleasure, but he can’t help it when his hips buck, pushing himself another inch deeper.

Billy knows he should feel guilty for liking the way you screw your eyes shut, the way your cunt flutters around him even though he’d worked you open already. He’s not even halfway inside you and your legs are trembling around his waist while he holds himself back from pushing in balls-deep. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in his chest at the effect he has on your body. 

Billy’s hand leaves yours and drops to your clit, rubbing tight circles with his thumb. Your mouth opens into an “O” shape and your sloppy cunt grants him another inch.  He can feel the velvet of your walls drawing him deeper, euphoria building in your veins. With every circle drawn, Billy pushes in further and further until he’s finally buried to the hilt. He stills for a moment, letting your cock-drunk mind play catchup with your body. “I’m gonna move, is that ok, doll?”

He pulls out, making you whine at the empty sensation, then, he’s driving his hips forward again. You loop your arms around his neck as he attacks your insides. Any words you have die on your tongue as Billy sets a rough, passionate pace. His tan skin, covered in old and new scars, feels slick against yours as his cock splits your mind in half. You can feel Billy everywhere, you can taste him, touch him, smell him, see him. He’s completely overwhelmed your senses and given you nothing to think about other than him.

The air around you is humid and thick, the scent of sex swimming through it. Billy slips in and out of you with ease, the clear strings of your slick and his pre-cum coat your pussy lips like a gloss. You let your gaze fall on him, watching how his brows furrow with concentration while he molds your insides into the shape of him.

Billy lifts your hips in the air to get an angle that allows him to hit even deeper, pumping his cock into you so hard that the air is forced from your lungs. There’s no one else you could want, no one else who could ever make you feel like this. 

“Shit Billy. I’m so close.” You moan, a familiar warmth starting to coil in your tummy. He nods and slots his lips against yours for one final kiss. His tongue explores your mouth as his dick strikes your g-spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. You cum hard as every nerve in your body is set aflame. His hot, sticky cum floods your walls and leaks from around his cock. 

Silence lies thick in the air aside from your heavy breathing and the soft kisses you share. Billy leans back to peer down at where you’re connected and shakes his head at you. 

He picks you up and places you over his hips, leaning you back. “Can’t waste this, doll.” He tuts at you, gathering the cum leaking from your abused pussy on his tip and pushing it back in. Throwing an arm behind his head, a fucked-out grin crosses his features as you sink down on his cock, letting him rub against your most sensitive spots. A strangled moan sounds in the back of your throat as he slowly pushes back into the deepest parts of your cunt.

His tongue darts out to lick the sweat off of his cupid’s bow, large hands moving to slide down your hips to grab at the fat of your ass. He guides you up and down on him as you babble and cry.

“I’ve got you, doll.” His words send a shiver down your spine and you brace yourself on his broad shoulders. Your cunt flutters around him, “Fuck Billy’-” you cry out.

Billy groans at the sight of a white ring around his shaft, made from a mixture of his and your cum. “So tight… taking me so fuckin’ well.” He bucks his hips, tip grazing your g-spot just right, just enough to make your eyes roll up into your head. “C’mon, doll.”

He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, then captures your lips with his. He swallows every moan and hiccup as he pounds into you, only slowing when you clench impossibly tighter around him. Stars are dancing in your vision and pleasure is burning in your veins. You hear him swear again, he lets his head fall back onto the cushions and plants his boots flat on the floor. You nearly scream as he fucks back up into you. He’s growling something in your ear, but his words sound so far away. 

“Cum on my cock, doll. C’mon, do it. Do it for me.” Billy babbles in your ear as he loses his rhythm, now just slamming his hips into yours with all the force he could muster. Your arms are clinging to his neck and he has you trapped against him. White, hot pleasure hits you like a ton of bricks as you squirm on Billy’s lap. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he pumps his hot, sticky cum into your womb. 

He lays back on the couch, letting you rest against his chest.  With a tender touch, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your hair. His lips lingered for a moment. As he pulled back, his fingers began to stroke your hair slowly, each caress a testament to the unspoken passion that simmered between you.

“From now on, that hat stays on you, doll. Let everyone in town see you belong to me."

send me billy thoughts or requests pleaseee :)

[natalievoncatte]

The heat was getting to be a problem.

The power had been out in National City for three days, and those three days were expected to be among the hottest of the year. Lena was, frankly, desperate.

You might think that she’d have it easy, but anyone who would think that a penthouse in a skyscraper would be easy to cool would quickly be disabused of that notion. The windows mostly didn’t open and having the balcony doors spread wide did next to nothing when the breeze felt like opening an oven, even up here.

It had been Alex’s suggestion, sent by text.

Why don’t you go to Kara’s? The loft is pretty breezy.

She was right, of course. When Lena arrived, Kara had every one of her huge loft windows open, allowing the breeze to flow freely through the open, airy space.

There was another problem, though.

When Kara opened the door, Lena nearly keeled over. Kara was wearing a sports bra and shorts so short they barely deserved the name, exposing a vast amount of golden, sun-kissed skin. Worse, her gloriously muscled stomach and shoulders glistened with sweat.

Lena was surprised to see that the heat bothered her, but it clearly did. Kara had forgone her glasses, too, and after she opened the door, she swept the back of her hand across her forehead and sighed.

“Hi,” Lena squeaked.

“Hi yourself. Hot out there?”

“It’s hot in here.”

“Come in, come in,” said Kara.

Lena stepped inside, forcing herself not to stare at Kara’s thick thighs and the swell of her chest under straining fabric. Was that zipper some advanced Kryptonian technology?

“Want something to drink?”

“Isn’t your fridge dead, too?”

“Yeah, but I cheat. Watch.”

Kara slipped a bottle of water out of a pack on her counter and breathed on it. Ice crystals formed on the surface and the water visibly chilled. It shocked Lena when she accepted it and the cold water on her lips was bliss. Lena let out a soft sigh and closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of cold spreading through her chest, cooling her body.

When she opened her eyes, Kara was the one staring. Lena had thrown on a short, a-frame sun dress that bared her back, for no other reason than making sure that her skin could have as much surface exposed to the air to evaporate and cool her down as possible.

“So what are you up to?” Lena asked.

Kara gestured to the notebook and stacks of papers on the table.

“Old-fashioned journalism, I guess. My laptop battery died yesterday.”

“I thought you’d be out there trying to fix the power.”

Kara shrugged. “With what, my super-electrician powers?”

Lena shot her a look, raising her brow.

Kara turned away, heading for the windows.

Oh, Jesus, Lena thought.

It wasn’t as if Lena hadn’t… noticed Kara’s physique. She wasn’t blind, after all. They’d taken spin class together, and Kara liked to wear leggings on the weekends.

But holy shit, those shorts made her ass look… Super.

Lena was still fumbling over a buns of steel pun in her head when Kara turned back.

“Hey, you okay? Your heart raced for a second there.”

“F-fine,” said Lena.

“Alex and the others are coming over tonight for an emergency game night,” said Kara. “I better get ready.”

For the next couple of hours, Lena helped Kara neaten up her apartment and prepare non-perishable snacks and a cooler full of beer and wine coolers, chilled care of Kara. Alex and Kelly were the first to show up, with Alex giving Lena a cheeky look as she walked into the apartment.

“Hey, you two,” she said. “Been having a hot time?”

There was something brittle in Kara’s laugh that set Lena a little on edge, and the Danvers sisters shared one of those looks they shared that made Lena wonder if they could communicate telepathically. Whatever the message was, it made Kara look away first, distracting with an offered beer that Alex gladly accepted.

Lena took a wine cooler, wishing it were wine.

Nia and Brainy showed up next, followed by J’onn, who was the only one fully dressed in a button-down shirt and khakis, while everyone else was dressed for the beach or a track meet.

Lena sat on the floor, because the hardwood was cool under her butt, and leaned back against Kara’s couch. Kara sat beside her and Lena’s heart definitely sped up.

Looking over, it was hard to tear her eyes away. Kara made a magnificent display- the blocky weight of her shoulders, full biceps and strong arms and bulky, sculpted forearms. Lena’s eyes followed the vein on the back of Kara’s arm down the back of her strong hand and the elegant lengths of her fingers.

Kara kept her nails neatly trimmed like that because of Supergirl duties, right?

Right?

“Hey Luthor? You having a heat stroke?” said Alex. “You look spaced out over there.”

Alex had a playful grin plastered on her face, though she too was sweating profusely. A cooler breeze rolled in through the big windows and everyone sighed in delight.

Except J’onn. “What shall we play first?” she said.

“Clue!” Nia chirped.

“Brainy always kicks our ass at Clue,” said Alex, “and I am not playing Monopoly with a literal billionaire again.”

“Perhaps we should play Risk,” said J’onn, rifling through the game shelf.

“We could try Twisted,” Kara suggested in a deadpan voice.

Lena swallowed hard, thinking of herself tangled up on the mat with Kara, clothes glued to their skin by sweat, salty skin sliding against salty skin, the scent of her…

“Earth to Lena,” said Alex. “Got any ideas?”

“Exploding Kittens,” said Lena. “We haven’t done that one in a while.”

“Kara, chill us some cold ones, will you?” said Nia.

Once everyone had a rapidly warming drink, Brainy dealt the cards and the game began. Alex called Kara out for peeking several times, with that loaded Danvers Sisters Look and an almost predatory smirk.

She wasn’t the only one peeking.

Lena participate in the game but her mind was elsewhere, specifically the valley of Kara’s broad back, where sweat gathered between her muscles and rain down in heavy beads, or the sweat gathering along her collarbone or sparking along the lush inner curves of her tightly contained breasts.

“Hey,” said Kara. “It’s your turn, Lena.”

Then she reached over and brushed damp lock of inky hair out of Lena’s eyes.

She could have melted. She swallowed hard, brushed the sweat from her brow, and made a hasty and wasteful play that would probably cost her any chance of winning, but she didn’t care. The game seemed at most a distant concern.

Kara’s tongue glazing along her soft pink lips was much more interesting. They’d pretty much all given up on makeup but Kara was still positively radiant, soft and inviting and homey in a way that made Lena ache in her chest.

And, uh, other places.

It was full dark now, so they finished the game and Kara and Alex got up to light a few candles.

“This is like camping,” said Nia.

“We should have thought to procure ‘marshmallows’, said Brainy. “Kara could toast them with her heat vision.”

“We hardly need more heat. I’m boiling,” said Lena.

J’onn let out a soft grunt. “It’s my turn to go on patrol. I think I’ll be the first to head out.

Everyone gave their goodbyes as he headed out the window. The others huddled closer around the table, lit by the candle sitting in the middle.

“We should tell scary stories,” said Alex. “Like around a campfire.”

“Since it was your idea, you go first,” said Kelly.

Alex leaned into it with abandon, leaning in over the table as she started spinning a campfire yarn that Lena quickly recognized as The Hook.

Kara edged closer, until her bare thigh pressed against Lena. She leaned in close, and it wouldn’t have taken much for Lena to… rest her head on Kara’s shoulder. It just kind of happened, Kara’s scent filling her nostrils as she turned into Kara.

Lena flinched as Kara shot her a concerned look.

She can hear my heartbeat.

Kara must have thought Lena was scared, because she casually slipped an arm around her.

Lena’s breath caught. Kara’s powerful arm rested lazily around her hip and her relaxed hand rested on Lena’s thigh, fingers placed lightly on bare skin.

It was a powerfully possessive gesture, not just protective but… more. Lena shifted a little and let herself completely fall against Kara.

Alex kept on telling the story, her gaze pausing heavily on the two of them as she scanned the room. Brainy looked bored but Nia looked genuinely petrified and Kelly was looking at her wife with the kind of adoring reference that was currently plastered on Lena’s face as she looked up at Kara.

Alex reached the crescendo of the story and Lena let out a little gasp, turning her face into Kara’s neck, more for the sake of it than out of fear. Kara’s hand stroked lazily up and down her back.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone get you,” Kara whispered.

“You two okay over there?” said Alex.

“Fine,” said Kara.

“There are two actual couples here and you two are the ones doing the heavy petting.”

They weren’t heavy petting. Okay sure, Lena had her fingers curled around Kara’s hip and Kara’s hand was staring to pass the platonic zone when stroking her back but…

Oh.

“It’s getting late,” said Kelly. “Maybe we should head home.”

“Agreed,” said Nia. “Come on, Brainy.”

Lena and Kara didn’t get up.

The others did, piling out of the apartment. Alex went last, shooting Kara another of those damned looks, smiling like a self-satisfied cat after a big stretch.

The door closed and Kara yawned.

“Mind if I stay?” Lena said, quickly. “My place is just too hot to sleep.”

“Of course,” Kara said softly.

Lena didn’t move. They were alone now, the apartment dark except for candles that threw flickering shadows and made Kara even more ethereal. Lena could barely believe someone so gorgeous could be real.

“Lena,” Kara said quietly. “Have you ever thought about…” she trailed off.

“About what?”

“Us. What we are to each other.”

“Yes,” said Lena.

“Me too.”

“What are you thinking?” Lena asked.

“You’re my best friend. You mean more to me than basically anyone else, and the thought of you has kept me going through some really dark times.”

When Kara smiled for her, her eyes lit up, sparkling in the candlelight, like moonlight dancing on nighttime waves. She was entrancing.

“I…” Lena began. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as just a friend. There’s more on the table if you want it.”

“More like… kissing?”

“Yes, exactly.”

This was actually happening. It was real, not a daydream or a fantasy. Kara moved with agonizing slowness, full of a gentle, kind intensity as she leaned down and lightly brushed her lips across Lena’s.

It was like being tossed in a tub of ice water… in a good way. Lena shivered as Kara cupped her jaw and went for another kiss, more forcefully this time, more insistent. The breathed as one.

“Kara,” Lena whispered.

She couldn’t help it. Lena dragged her tongue over Kara’s skin, tasting the sweat pooled at the base of her neck. Kara let out a low moan followed by a deep basso rumble in her chest, pulsating in time with her breathing.

“Did you just lick my sweat?”

“Are you purring?!”

Kara giggled. “I can do lots of things.”

Lena looked up at her with lidded eyes. “Oh yeah? Show me what you got.”

She squeaked as Kara picked her up in a single smooth motion, and with a self-satisfied smirk, carried her towards the bed.

Later, as they lay in a tangle of perspiring limbs atop sweat-soaked sheets, the power thumped back on and the air conditioning began to blow over them, chilling Lena’s skin.

She barely noticed.

[moonselune]

BG3 Crew reacting to runaway parent trying to get back in your child's life

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The quiet of the night was shattered by a loud, insistent banging on your door. You jolted awake, heart pounding, as the noise continued with an almost frantic urgency. Glancing at the clock, you realized it was well past midnight. Your child, already asleep in their room, was oblivious to the commotion. You hurriedly dressed and made your way to the door, the unease in your chest growing with every step.

When you finally opened the door, your breath caught in your throat. There stood your child's absent father, a man whose presence had long been a source of pain and disappointment. His disheveled appearance and haggard expression were a stark contrast to the composed demeanor you remembered from the past.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s the middle of the night. My child is asleep.”

He pushed past you, ignoring your protest. “I’m here to see my child,” he said gruffly. “I’ve come to make things right.”

You stepped in his way, blocking his advance. “No. You don’t get to waltz back into their life whenever you please. You had your chance, and you squandered it. Now, you need to leave.”

His face reddened with anger, and he sneered at you. “So, you think you can just keep me away? You’re nothing but a petty little obstacle. It’s my right as a father to see my child.”

Before you could respond, you heard the heavy tread of footsteps behind you. Karlach, ever vigilant and protective, had come to investigate the commotion. Her presence was like a storm rolling in, radiating an aura of fierce, unyielding strength. Her eyes locked onto the intruder with a look that could melt steel. Karlach stepped forward, her voice low and menacing.

“You’re in no position to make demands, buddy” she said, her tone cold and dangerous. “This is a warning. Leave now, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a veteran’s wrath.”

The father’s eyes widened in shock as he took in Karlach’s formidable presence. She was a force to be reckoned with, her imposing frame and battle-hardened demeanor making her a terrifying figure. He took an involuntary step back, clearly unnerved by her.

Karlach continued, her voice like gravel. “I fought in the Blood War. I’ve faced demons and horrors you can’t even imagine. Do you really think you want to test me now?”

His bravado crumbled under the weight of her words. He stared at Karlach, then at you, and finally, with a defeated sigh, he turned on his heel and stumbled away into the night, leaving you with a mix of relief and lingering anxiety.

You closed the door with a trembling hand, your heart still racing. The fear that had gripped you was slowly giving way to a profound sense of gratitude. Karlach’s fierce protection had ensured that your child remained safe from harm, and her presence had been a steadying force in a moment of distress. Turning to Karlach, you took a deep breath and let out a shaky sigh.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice filled with both relief and admiration. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Karlach’s expression softened, though her fierce demeanor remained. She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “I’d do anything to keep both you and the little one safe. You don’t have to face this alone.”

You nodded, feeling a wave of appreciation for her unwavering support. “I know,” you said softly. “And I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. Truly.”

Karlach’s lips curled into a mile. “Well, then,” she said with a hint of her usual fire, “let’s make sure that anyone who tries to come near you both knows that they’ll have to go through me first.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at her resolute tone, feeling the last of your tension dissolve. As you made your way back to your child’s room, Karlach followed close behind, her presence a comforting shield against the uncertainties of the night.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The night was calm and still, the kind that promised peaceful rest, but that illusion was abruptly shattered by the sound of frantic yelling. You jolted awake, heart pounding, and glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. The cries and shouts came from your daughter’s room, and your immediate concern propelled you out of bed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you shook Minthara awake. Her eyes snapped open, her expression shifting from drowsy confusion to alert determination quicker than light. Together, you raced down the hallway, the sounds of the confrontation growing louder with each step.

Bursting into your daughter’s room, you were met with a sight that filled you with dread. Your daughter, barely able to contain her fear and anger, stood her ground against her father, who had somehow managed to infiltrate the sanctuary of her room. His imposing figure loomed over her, and his presence was both unsettling and unwelcome.

“Leave me alone!” your daughter shouted, her small voice trembling but filled with determination. “I don’t want you here!”

Her father, a grizzled mercenary with a hardened demeanor, looked down at her with a mixture of annoyance and condescension.

“You’re not in a position to make demands,” he sneered. “I’m your father, and you will listen to me.”

As you and Minthara entered the room, your daughter’s eyes met yours, and she bolted towards you. You wrapped her in a comforting embrace, holding her tightly and whispering reassurances. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” you murmured. “I’m here.”

Minthara’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the intruder. Without a word, she strode purposefully towards him, her demeanor cold and menacing. With a swift, practiced motion, she grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there with a strength that left no room for argument. The mercenary struggled, but Minthara’s grip was unyielding. He attempted to boast about his exploits, his voice full of bravado.

“I’ve fought in countless battles,” he said, his tone dripping with arrogance. “I’ve taken lives, dealt with worse than you—”

Minthara interrupted him with a harsh, mocking laugh. “Please. You’re nothing can even compare to me,” she said, her voice laced with disdain.

Your daughter, still clinging to you, looked up with wide, fearful eyes. “Can you make him leave?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You looked over to Minthara and gave her a slight nod, the type that Minthara takes as nothing is off limits. Minthara glanced at your daughter with a reassuring nod, then turned her gaze back to the mercenary.

“You heard the child,” she said, her tone cold and final. “It’s time for you to leave.”

As the mercenary started to raise his voice again, Minthara’s patience snapped. With a swift, decisive blow, she knocked him out cold. His body slumped to the floor, and she turned to your daughter with a gentle, reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I’ll deal with him.”

Your daughter’s face brightened with relief as she held onto you tightly, nodding her head eagerly at Minthara. Minthara gave you a curt nod before she dragged the unconscious mercenary outside, her expression a mixture of determination and satisfaction. As she left, you held your daughter close, whispering soothing words of comfort.

When Minthara returned, she found you and your daughter in your shared bed, your daughter nestled against you, her tiny frame trembling slightly from the recent ordeal. Without a word, Minthara climbed into bed beside you after, of course, washing off the grime from her... excursion. Your daughter, still shaken but comforted, immediately latched onto Minthara and snuggled into her, finding solace in her presence.

You watched as Minthara, despite her usually stoic demeanor, gently stroked your daughter’s hair, her expression softening as she comforted the child.

“There, there,” Minthara murmured softly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

Your daughter looked up at Minthara, her eyes heavy with sleep but filled with trust. “Goodnight, Mother,” she whispered, before closing her eyes and curling up closer.

You smiled softly at the sight, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and warmth. Minthara’s actions had been more than protective; they had been a testament to her unwavering dedication and love for both you and your daughter. You reached over, careful not to disturb your daughter and took Minthara's hand, giving it a soft squeeze in thanks, forever grateful for her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

At home, Lae'zel had been adjusting to her role as caretaker, the initial discomfort giving way to a surprising degree of warmth. Your son, now peacefully napping in his room, was nestled under a soft blanket, completely unaware of the impending danger.

The tranquility of the house was abruptly shattered by a soft but deliberate creaking of the door. The estranged father of your child, driven by a mixture of unresolved feelings and a twisted sense of entitlement, had managed to break into your home unnoticed. His presence a dark shadow against the peaceful setting as he made his way to the child’s room.

With a furtive glance around to ensure no one was watching, he slipped inside. The sight of your sleeping son stirred a pang of something akin to remorse in his eyes, but it was quickly overridden by a sense of possession. He reached down and scooped up the toddler, cradling him in his arms. The action was abrupt and rough, causing your child to stir and awaken with a frightened whimper.

The sudden disturbance woke Lae'zel from her own moment of repose. Her heightened senses detected the commotion in the room, and her instincts immediately went on high alert. She could tell immediately that this was not your son's ordinairy fussing, she moved swiftly to the source of the noise, pushing open the door with a forceful shove. Her eyes widened in alarm as she saw the man holding your son against his chest.

Lae'zel’s expression hardened into a fierce scowl as she took in the situation. Her hand moved to the weapon at her side, and with a practiced flick, she drew it. The blade glinted ominously in the light.

“Put the child down!” she commanded, her voice a growl filled with righteous fury. The man’s eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and defiance.

“This is my son,” he declared with a scoff, his tone dripping with contempt. “I have every right to him.”

But the reality of the situation was starkly different. Your son, still half-asleep and disoriented, immediately began to fuss and whimper, reaching out with tiny, pleading hands towards Lae'zel. The distress in his voice was unmistakable as he called out, “Mama! Mama’zel!”

Seeing the child’s evident fear and his desperate need for Lae'zel, the warrior’s resolve hardened. She took a step forward, her weapon poised with deadly precision. “You are not taking him. He needs to be with someone who cares for him, that is not you.”

It seemed the father had suddenly realised that danger he was in now he was at the blade's end of a Githyanki silver sword. In a panic and with a final, reckless gesture of defiance, the man threw your son into the air. The sudden action was shocking, and Lae'zel’s heart raced as she watched in horror. Without a moment’s hesitation, she dropped her sword and leaped forward, catching your child with a protective embrace as he fell. Her fierce determination was evident as she cradled him close, her blade still held firmly in her other hand.

The man, seizing the opportunity bolted for the door. Lae'zel’s focus was on your son, and as she made sure he was safe, she allowed the man to escape. She did not let her guard down, but her priority was to protect the child, and the man’s escape was a calculated risk she was willing to take.

Outside, the commotion had drawn attention. As Lae'zel made her way to the front of the house, her eyes fell on the scene unfolding before her. You stood over the unconscious form of your estranged partner, your knuckles bruised and bloodied from the confrontation. There was relief in your expression as you looked up to see Lae'zel, your son safely and happily in her arms. Lae'zel approached you with a careful but determined stride, holding out your son to you.

“He is safe now,” she said, her voice steady but laced with concern. “He was frightened, but I kept him close.”

“Thank you, Lae'zel,” you said softly, your voice filled with emotion after pressing a kiss to Lae'zel's cheek “You saved him.”

Lae'zel nodded, her face a mix of weariness and satisfaction. “It was my duty,” she replied simply. “I will always protect him.”

You took your child into your arms, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude. As you held him tightly, Lae'zel’s eyes softened with a rare gentleness, she had faced a thousand horrors but nothing was as terrifying as the thought of your child, her son, getting hurt.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the farm, where Shadowheart and your young daughter were enjoying a peaceful afternoon. The fields were alive with the joyful sounds of chirping birds and playful animals. Your daughter, her face alight with happiness, was darting around the farmyard, feeding the animals and laughing at their antics. Shadowheart, her demeanor relaxed and gentle, followed closely behind, occasionally helping with tasks and sharing in your daughter’s exuberant joy.

The scene was idyllic: cows mooed softly, chickens pecked at the ground, and your daughter’s gleeful giggles blended harmoniously with the sounds of the farm. Shadowheart’s protective nature shone through as she tended to the animals alongside your daughter, clearly enjoying the role of caretaker.

But this serene moment was abruptly interrupted when a familiar figure emerged from the edge of the farm. Your daughter’s father—who had been absent from her life—appeared with a look of determination on his face. His eyes scanned the farmyard until they landed on your daughter. Relief washed over his features as he strode forward, his expression a mix of desperation and authority.

“There you are!” he called out, his voice carrying across the open fields. “I’ve finally found you. Come here!”

Your daughter’s face went pale as she spotted her father. She immediately bolted behind Shadowheart, clutching at her skirts. Her small voice quivered as she looked up at Shadowheart with wide, frightened eyes. “Mama, make him go away! I don’t want him here!”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed, her protective instincts kicking in immediately. She placed herself between your daughter and her father, her stance firm and resolute.

“You need to leave,” Shadowheart said, her voice steady and commanding. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

Your daughter’s father scoffed, clearly irritated by the interruption. “Oh, come now. She’s my daughter. She needs to come with me, I want to spend time with her.”

"She doesn't need to do anything." Shadowheart’s jaw tightened. “No. I will not allow you to upset her further. Leave, now.”

The father’s eyes flickered with annoyance, but he disregarded Shadowheart’s command. He took a step closer, his intent clear—he was determined to take your daughter regardless of Shadowheart’s interference. As he reached out a hand toward your daughter, Shadowheart’s reaction was swift and decisive.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Shadowheart drew upon her time spent as a Sharran. Her movements were a blur as she executed a series of precise and powerful strikes. Your daughter’s father barely had time to react before he was struck down, collapsing to the ground in a heap, unconscious and defeated. Face first in the mud.

Shadowheart stood over him, her breath coming in measured gasps as she surveyed the scene. She turned to your daughter, concern etched across her face.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently. Your daughter’s initial shock quickly transformed into awe. Her eyes widened as she looked up at Shadowheart, a mixture of admiration and excitement shining through her fear.

“That was amazing!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. “Can you teach me how to do that? Please? Pretty please!”

Shadowheart’s concern softened into a smile as she saw the spark of admiration in your daughter’s eyes. She knelt down, placing a comforting hand on your daughter’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said softly. “But learning how to fight and defend yourself is not something to take lightly. You have to practice lots and lots.”

"I don't care!" Your daughter’s enthusiasm remained undiminished. “I want to learn! I want to be strong like you! That was so cool!”

Shadowheart’s smile broadened, touched by the girl’s resolve. "Okay, okay, little fighter, let's go ask your mother about it and see what she says, okay?"

Your daughter sprinted off, bellowing your name, the previous incident seemingly forgotton. Shadowheart couldn't help but chuckle and then sighed as she looked at the father's crumpled form. With a hand on her hip and a snap of her fingers a portal opened. Shadowheart was sure that he would have a much better time in the neighbouring farm's fertiliser tub. Maneure was so good for crops this time of year.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Your daughter’s school fete was abuzz with excitement, the large open park filled with the chatter and laughter of parents and children. The annual talent show was in full swing, and each performance was met with enthusiastic applause. It was a time for the students to showcase how far their wizarding skills had developed. You couldn't tell who was more excited, your daughter or Gale.

You and Gale stood near the front, eagerly awaiting your daughter's turn to showcase her magic. The weeks of practice and preparation between Gale and your daughter had culminated in this moment, and both of you were a mix of pride and nerves.

Gale was showing signs of his own anxiety—fidgeting slightly, his eyes darting to the stage and then back to you. It was clear that he cared deeply about how this would go for your daughter.

Just as your daughter's name was called out to get ready to go on, she began making her way to the backstage area to prepare, until her face suddenly fell. You turned to see what had caused the abrupt change in her demeanor, and then you heard the unmistakable voice of your ex—her estranged father—cutting through the ambient noise of the school fete.

“Hey there, little one! Where’s my hug?” he called out, his tone laced with a mixture of familiarity and condescension.

Your daughter hesitated, her small frame visibly tensing as she reluctantly approached her father. With a forced, apprehensive smile, she gave him a quick hug. The look of discomfort on her face was evident as she pulled away, and with a quick look of worry to you, she darted to the backstage entrance where she began to prepare to perform with the other kids.

Confident your daughter was out of sight and earshot, you felt a surge of irritation and disbelief. You hadn’t expected him to show up here, let alone disrupt your daughter’s big moment. Turning sharply, you confronted your ex, your voice edged with frustration.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, crossing your arms. “Why show up now?”

His face remained a mask of faux innocence. “I’m here to support my little girl, of course,” he replied with a shrug, but his eyes betrayed a glint of something darker as he glanced at Gale. “Had to make sure that new boytoy of yours isn’t a bad influence.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you were about to launch into an argument when your daughter's teacher approached, her expression soft but serious.

“Excuse me,” the teacher said, addressing you and Gale. “Your daughter has developed a case of stage fright, bless her, and has asked for her father.”

Your ex immediately stepped forward, a smirk spreading across his face as he assumed the teacher was referring to him. But the teacher’s next words made it clear they were talking about Gale.

“I'm sorry, but I’m actually referring to Mr. Dekarios,” the teacher clarified, gesturing toward Gale. Gale’s face brightened, and flashed your ex a smug smirk, only for it to fade into concern as he followed the teacher, catching sight of your teary daughter waiting nervously backstage. She ran over to him, looking up at him with a mix of hope and distress.

“Gale!” she said, her voice trembling, “I need your magic!"

Gale knelt down to her level, his expression softening. “Sweetheart, I can’t help you with the performance,” he said gently. "I promise you will do amazing, you've been working so hard and-"

"-No, I need your magic to make him disappear!" Your daughter sniffed and Gale realised what she had meant.

"Ah, well that I can do," Gale whispered with a smile and your daughter’s face lit up with relief, and she threw herself into a hug with Gale.

“Thank you, dad!” she said, her voice now full of gratitude, those tears gone and a smile plastered on her face. With a renewed sense of determination, she ran back to the stage, her earlier anxiety replaced by a brighter, more confident demeanor. Gale watched her go, then returned to your side, where you will still arguing with your ex in hushed whispers. At the sight of him, you both quietened, keen to hear what had happened.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “But there's something I have to do.”

With a subtle flick of his fingers and a murmur of arcane words, Gale cast a spell. Moments later, your ex’s face appeared puzzled as he was enveloped in a shimmering aura, his protestations fading as he was magically transported away. Gale turned back to you, his face reflecting a blend of satisfaction and affection.

“One less distraction for her,” he said, giving you a warm smile.

You felt a surge of gratitude and admiration for Gale and without warning grabbed him, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I adore you, you know that".

"Not as much as I adore the both you," Gale assured you, “Now, let’s enjoy the show.”

You both watched your daughter take the stage with a confident smile was a moment of pure joy, made even more meaningful by the support and love surrounding her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The schoolyard buzzed with the end-of-day excitement as children and parents alike gathered to leave. Astarion, impeccably dressed as always, stood near the gate, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of aloof interest one might expect from him. Today, he was tasked with picking up your daughter from school as you ran an errand.

As Astarion waited, he noticed a commotion near the gate. Your daughter, spotting him through the throng of people, waved frantically and beckoned him over with an urgency that immediately set off alarm bells in his mind. His instincts, honed by years of surviving in a dangerous world, quickly jumped to the worst-case scenario.

With an exaggerated flourish, Astarion swept toward the commotion, his cloak billowing behind him like a cape of night. He shoved parents and children alike out of the way, his expression shifting to one of fierce determination as he approached the source of the disturbance.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Astarion demanded, his voice carrying an edge of authority that was both commanding and melodramatic. His gaze fell upon a man who was arguing heatedly with one of the teachers. The man’s expression was a mix of frustration and entitlement.

The teacher looked visibly relieved upon seeing Astarion. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! This man claims to be your daughter’s father, but he’s not on the approved pickup list.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed in disdain as he took in the man’s appearance. “Really now? And just who do you think you are, daring to disrupt the well-being of a child? My child.”

The estranged father, clearly unperturbed by Astarion's theatrics, argued back. “I will have you know that, I am her father! And I have every right to pick her up.”

Before Astarion could retort, your daughter bounded over, her face lighting up with joy at the sight of her Papa. She launched herself into Astarion’s arms, who caught her with practiced ease.

Astarion beamed down at her and gave her a subtle wink before pretending to hear something you had said and then looked on to growing crowd with feigned surprise and distress. “Oh dearest, what have you told me, my little one? Did he say he was going to do something terrible?”

Your daughter, catching onto the game, nodded vigorously, a playful glint in her eyes. “Yes, Papa! He said he was going to kidnap me!”

Astarion’s eyes widened in exaggerated horror, and he tightened his hold on your daughter, pulling her close to his chest. There was a concerned murmur among the other parents as they looked at your daughter's father accusingly. “Oh, my gods! We mustn’t let him near you then. Neither should you fellow parents! Come, we’ll have to leave immediately!"

The father, growing increasingly agitated, protested loudly. “This is absurd! I’m her father! I am not trying to kidnap her.”

With a smirk, Astarion began walking away, your daughter securely perched on his hip. However the father began to follow the two of them. At this Astarion called out over his shoulder with a dramatic flair, “Help! Someone call the authorities! This man is stalking us!”

Your daughter, struggling to suppress a giggle, chimed in, her voice a high-pitched wail. “He’s following us! Help!”

Astarion shot her a playful but stern look. “Shush, darling. We mustn’t blow our cover!”

Despite her best efforts, your daughter couldn’t entirely suppress her laughter, and Astarion had to shush her with a gentle but firm hand on her mouth.

As they made their way towards the school gate, Flaming Fist had arrived, drawn in by the commotion. They quickly assessed the situation, and the paretns quickly took Astarion's side. He was the one afterall who would pick her up from school, he was the one who would begrudgingly sew the costumes for the school play - even when no one asked him to. He was the one your daughter called papa, not this stranger.

Astarion, still holding your daughter close, offered a graceful nod to the Flaming Fist as they dealt with the situation. With the father now in custody, Astarion made a clean getaway, carrying your daughter away from the scene. Once they were safely out of the school’s vicinity, Astarion finally allowed himself a genuine smile as he set your daughter back down on your feet. “Well, that went rather splendidly, didn’t it?”

Your daughter looked up at him with adoration, her earlier anxiety completely forgotten. “Thank you, Papa!”

Astarion’s expression softened as he looked at her, . “You’re welcome, my dear. Just remember, I’ll always be here to keep you safe.”

As they walked hand in hand away from the school, the sunset painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, a perfect backdrop for a day’s adventure turned into a cherished memory.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of spices and simmering sauce as you and Wyll busied yourselves preparing dinner. Your son sat at the kitchen table, deeply engrossed in his coloring book, his small tongue sticking out in concentration. The evening was shaping up to be a peaceful, if ordinary, family affair.

The pleasant hum of conversation and the clinking of pots and pans were suddenly interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Before anyone could move, the door swung open, and your ex, carrying an impressive stack of brightly wrapped presents, barged into the kitchen. His arrival was as abrupt as it was unwelcome, and his presence brought a palpable tension into the room. You braced yourself, a tight smile forced onto your face as you faced him.

"What are you doing here?" you asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. The birthday for your son had been last month, and you had hoped that was the last of these unscheduled visits.

“Better late than never,” your ex replied with a nonchalant shrug, as if the delay of several weeks was an afterthought.

Wyll, standing by the stove, appeared taken aback but quickly regained his composure. He extended a hand, offering a polite greeting. “Hello, I’m Wyll. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Your ex ignored Wyll’s outstretched hand completely, his focus solely on your son, who looked up from his coloring with a mix of curiosity and confusion. "Hey little man look what I've got for you! From your good ol' papa!"

“Thanks for the gifts,” your son said, his small voice full of genuine appreciation. “But I have a new dad now.”

Wyll’s face brightened with a mix of pride and relief and he placed a proud hand on your son's shoulder. “That’s right!... I’m his new dad now.”

Your ex’s face darkened, and he tensed visibly. “Wyll isn’t your real dad, kid. I’m your real dad.”

Your son, still focused on his coloring, paused to think. “Nope, Wyll is my dad. He picks me up from school, reads me bedtime stories, and he loves me. That’s what a dad does.”

Your ex’s face flushed with anger, and he started to call your son ungrateful. However, before things could escalate further, Wyll stepped in, his tone firm but calm.

“Let’s settle this outside,” Wyll proposed, his expression resolute.

Your ex, who was taller and bulkier than Wyll, agreed with a snort of disdain. You watched with a mix of apprehension and curiosity as Wyll winked at you before stepping outside with your ex.

You followed them to the door, your heart racing as you anticipated the confrontation. As the door closed behind them, you heard a sudden, odd sound—a poof of magic followed by the unmistakable bleating of a sheep.

Confused, you stepped outside to see Wyll standing there, looking smug and decidedly pleased, while your ex was transformed into a sheep, bleating in protest. Wyll turned to you with a grin, clearly proud of his handiwork.

“I knew I held onto that polymorph scroll for a reason,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your tension dissolving into mirth. “What am I supposed to do with a sheep now?”

Wyll’s grin widened. “Well, you could always sell him to a butcher, if you’re feeling particularly adventurous.”

Your laughter rang out freely now, the absurdity of the situation breaking through any lingering stress. The evening’s peace was restored, and as Wyll and the transformed sheep made their way inside, you felt a renewed sense of warmth and relief. The family dinner would go on as planned, now with one less complication and a story for the ages.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. You and your son had spent a pleasant day foraging among the underbrush. Your son, his spirit as free as the woodland creatures around him, had been frequently shifting in and out of his wildshape, delighting in the thrill of his magical transformations. You watched with a fond smile as he scampered around, shifting effortlessly between human and animal forms, the laughter and joy in his eyes brightening the entire forest.

As you crouched to inspect a patch of herbs, the distant sound of wheels on a forest path reached your ears. Your heart skipped a beat, a gnawing sense of unease creeping up your spine. The sound grew louder, and you recognized the unmistakable clatter of a carriage—a carriage that seemed all too familiar. Your pulse quickened as you straightened and scanned the surrounding trees.

You spotted the carriage as it emerged from a narrow forest trail, its ornate design and gilded trimmings unmistakable. The insignia on the side confirmed your worst fear: it was indeed from your ex’s noble family. The wheels crunched over the fallen leaves, and you felt a cold wave of apprehension wash over you.

With a determined, but calm demeanor, you called out to your son. "Sweetheart, you need to go back to the grove right now. Run to Halsin and stay with him, okay? Mama has someone she needs to talk to."

Your son’s face, still flushed from his wildshaping fun, looked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes. "Mama, what’s wrong?"

"Just go quickly," you urged, kneeling to meet his gaze. "I’ll explain later. Go, now."

Hesitantly, he nodded and bolted down the forest path, his small figure quickly disappearing among the trees. As your son sprinted, his tiny feet pounding against the earth, the distant sound of the carriage faded into the background. The urgency in his heart spurred him on faster, each step propelled by a mix of fear and determination. His breath came in quick gasps, the forest blurring by as he made his way back to the grove.

The grove came into view, and your son’s eyes scanned the area frantically. He spotted Halsin, who was tending to a small group of the squirrels, and ran up to him, his face flushed and eyes wide with panic.

“Papa! Papa!” your son called out, his voice trembling as he urged himself forward. “Mama needs help! My evil papa is here!”

Halsin’s expression shifted from calm to concerned in an instant. He dropped what he was doing and knelt down to your son’s level, his eyes searching your son's face. “What happened? Where is your mother?”

Your son, barely able to contain his anxiety or catch his breath, explained hurriedly. “This big carriage came, and-and Mama told me to run back here and-and she said she needed to talk to someone, but-but I know it’s my evil papa who’s come. 'Cause I only see Mama that upset when- when he’s around.”

"Take a breath, little one, it will be okay. Stay here and stay safe, go play with the other children” he instructed firmly, giving your son's shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

“No!” your son protested, his small fists clenched. “I’m coming with you!”

And as if to make a point you son clung onto Halsin's leg, Halsin looked down at him with uncertainty, he knew he would get an earful from you later, but your son really cared. Your son’s determination had won out. Halsin let out a sigh and nodded. “Very well. Hold on tight.”

Meanwhile, you continued to argue with your ex.

"So, here you are," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "I must say, I didn't expect to find you in such... rustic surroundings."

You squared your shoulders, fighting back the rising tide of frustration. "What are you doing here?" you demanded, your voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath.

A haughty smile curled on your ex’s lips. "My family is pressing me for an heir. The pressure is mounting, and I’ve come to collect my son. It’s time he fulfilled his role in our family’s legacy."

The words felt like a physical blow, each syllable carrying the weight of his disregard for your family and your son's well-being. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "You can’t just waltz in here and demand him like he’s some sort of accessory. You’ve been absent for years. You have no right to claim him now."

Your ex’s gaze hardened. "I have every right. I am his father, after all."

"You have no understanding of what it means to be a parent," you said sharply, taking a step closer. "You think you can just come and take him after all this time? You’ve done nothing but make his life more difficult."

Your ex’s face twisted into a sneer. "And you’ve done a remarkable job of corrupting him with your… unconventional lifestyle."

The words stung, but you refused to let them show. You took a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "If you think you can just come in and take him away, you’re mistaken. He has a family here who loves him and a home where he belongs."

Your ex’s face twisted with disdain. "You think your little forest dwelling and its inhabitants can replace what I can offer him? He needs to be in a proper environment, one befitting his heritage."

The sharpness of his words cut through you, but before you could respond, the situation took a dramatic turn. The footmen who had been idly standing by suddenly turned aggressive, encircling you with threatening movements. Just as you prepared to defend yourself, a small, but fierce bear cub you recognised skidded into the clearing. It growled and snapped at the footmen, causing them to flinch and hesitate.

"It's only a cub! Kill the little beastie!" your ex barked, his arrogance masking his growing anxiety. He turned to retreat, but was abruptly met with a much larger, imposing figure.

A massive grizzly bear roared ferociously in your ex’s face, its powerful form blocking his escape route. The footmen, their bravery crumbling in the face of the beast, fled into the forest with cries of terror, leaving your ex isolated and vulnerable.

You let out a relieved laugh as you scooped your son up in your arms. He had shifted back to his human form, his face alight with mischievous joy.

"You’re safe now," you murmured, holding him close as he giggled.

The massive bear continued to roar, rising up on its hind legs in an intimidating display. Your ex, panicked and covering his face, braced himself for an attack that never came. Instead, the bear suddenly shimmered with a golden light and, in a swirl of magic, Halsin emerged from the transformation, his human form standing tall and resolute. His stance, however, was no less aggressive. Halsin’s eyes locked onto your ex with a steely, unyielding glare.

“You’re not welcome here,” Halsin’s voice rumbled, each word measured and threatening. “You are not taking my son. I suggest you leave before something unfortunate happens.”

Your ex, shaking with a mix of fear and anger, attempted to regain his composure. “This is outrageous! I have every right to take him. I am his father!”

Halsin stepped closer, his presence radiating a potent blend of authority and menace. “You have no right to disrupt his life after being absent for so long. He is my son, and you are trying to take him from his home, from the family who loves and cares for him. You have no claim here.”

Your ex’s bravado faltered as he looked around at the animals—deer, wolves, and other woodland creatures—gathering once more, their eyes fixed on him with a watchful, protective intensity. The forest itself seemed to close in around him, adding to his sense of encroaching dread.

“You can’t do this!” he shouted, his voice rising with desperation. “This is a matter of family legacy and honor!”

Halsin’s gaze remained unyielding. “No, this is a matter of what is best for my son. You are an intruder here, and if you do not leave immediately, you will face consequences beyond your understanding.”

Your ex’s gaze darted around, his composure crumbling as he realized the gravity of his situation. The animals’ eyes glinted with an unspoken threat, and Halsin’s unrelenting stance made it clear that he would not back down. With a final, resentful glare, your ex backed away, his movements hurried and clumsy.

“This isn’t over,” he spat, before turning and stumbling back to his carriage. He climbed in hastily, his footmen still cowering in the forest, and the carriage lurched away with a trail of dust.

As the carriage disappeared from view, Halsin let out a long, slow breath, his form relaxing as the immediate threat passed. He turned to you and your son, his face softening with concern.

“Are you both alright?” he asked, his voice gentle now, though still laced with the remnants of his earlier fury.

You nodded, your heart still racing but calming with each passing moment. “We’re okay. Thank you, Halsin. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

Halsin reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “No need to thank me. We are a family, and we protect each other.”

As you all made your way back through the forest, the weight of the day’s events began to lift, replaced by a profound sense of relief and solidarity.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Rolan:

The market was a bustling tapestry of colors and sounds, a vibrant mosaic of stalls and vendors peddling everything from fresh produce to handcrafted trinkets. You, Rolan, and your young toddler son meandered through the market, enjoying the lively atmosphere. Your son, perched on Rolan’s shoulders, was giggling and pointing at the various sights and sounds, his eyes wide with wonder.

Rolan had a firm but gentle hand on your child’s legs, ensuring he was secure while still allowing him to enjoy the view. You walked beside them, occasionally glancing at the stalls, picking out small treats or intriguing items. The air was filled with the delightful aroma of fresh bread and spices, mingling with the cheerful chatter of vendors and patrons.

As you approached a stall selling brightly colored fabrics, a familiar yet unwelcome figure emerged from the crowd. It was your ex, looking disheveled and distraught. His clothes were tattered, and he seemed to be making his way through the market with an air of desperation.

“Please!” he cried out, dropping to his knees in front of you. His voice was choked with emotion, a stark contrast to the authoritative tone he had once used. “Please, I’m begging you. I want to be a part of our child’s life. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m ready to make things right. Just give me a chance.”

You stopped in your tracks, your heart hardening at the sight of him. The memories of his absence and the pain he had caused surged up, making it difficult to maintain your composure. You took a deep breath, summoning all the resolve you could muster.

“You had your chance when our child was born,” you said firmly. “You walked away, leaving us behind. You don’t get to waltz back into our lives now just because it suits you.”

Rolan, standing close by with your son, nodded in agreement. His face was set in a serious expression, his eyes reflecting the protective nature he had come to embody.

“You had no part in his life before,” Rolan said, his voice calm but unwavering. “And you’ve shown no effort to make amends until now. It’s not fair to our family to let you back in on a whim.”

Your ex’s face twisted with a mix of desperation and anger. “I’ve changed,” he pleaded, his voice rising with frustration. “You can’t just shut me out like this. I’m his father!”

Without warning, he lunged towards you, a sudden movement fueled by desperation. The instinct to protect surged within Rolan. His eyes narrowed, and with a decisive flick of his wrist, he cast a thunderblast. The crackling burst of energy erupted with a deafening roar, sending your ex stumbling backward.

Your ex’s eyes widened in shock and fear as the spell hurled him through the air. He landed with a splash in the nearby fountain, the water erupting around him in a frothy surge. The sight of him floundering in the fountain, soaked and sputtering, was both dramatic and almost comical.

Amid the chaos, your toddler, who had been watching the scene unfold from Rolan’s shoulders, burst into fits of uncontrollable giggles. His laughter was a bright, musical sound that cut through the tense atmosphere, his tiny hands clapping with glee at the sight of the man he had only heard about but never seen in such a state.

You couldn’t help but smile at your son’s reaction, the tension of the moment dissolving into a shared moment of levity. Rolan, still standing tall and composed, watched as your ex scrambled out of the fountain, his dignity as drenched as his clothes. The crowd that had gathered looked on with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, whispering among themselves.

With a final glance at your ex, who was now pulling himself out of the fountain with an air of defeat, you turned to leave.

You and Rolan guided your son away from the market, his laughter still echoing in the cool evening air. The market’s lively bustle continued around you, but you walked with a renewed sense of security and unity.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Raphael:

The weight of the day’s stress seemed to settle heavily on your shoulders as you sat in the study of the grand estate, trying to focus on the papers spread before you. Your ex had reappeared in your life with a demand that rattled you to your core: he wanted to see your daughter more often, and, worse, he was insistent on having a greater role in her life. The mere thought of him attempting to insert himself into her world again filled you with a sense of dread and frustration.

Raphael, who had been surprisingly supportive of your emotional turmoil, took it upon himself to reassure you. Despite his usual aloofness, he had shown an unexpected level of concern. Yet, as you talked through your frustrations with him, you noticed a shift in his demeanor—a subtle, almost imperceptible pang of hurt hidden behind his devilish exterior. The notion of your daughter potentially calling another man "papa" seemed to strike a chord with him, even if he refused to vocalize it.

Of course he had to do something about it, somebody had to save your wretched little souls and why shouldn't it be the devil that loved you both?

One night as you held your daughter close to your chest, worst case scenarios tearing through your mind like a nightmare on repeat, Raphael took a seat necxt to you and placed a hand on your thigh.

“It's been dealt with, dearest,” Raphael said, his voice smooth and reassuring. “You needn’t worry about him any longer. He’s been… persuaded to leave you and your daughter alone.”

His words were confident, but you sensed an undercurrent of something more complex, though Raphael’s expression remained inscrutable. You chose not to press further, trusting that he had the situation in hand. Days passed, and true to Raphael’s word, your ex disappeared from the scene, making no further attempts to contact you or interfere in your life.

You couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and unease. The problem had been resolved with unsettling speed, leaving you feeling as though a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. One evening, as you and Raphael relaxed together, you finally broached the subject of your ex’s sudden disappearance.

“What exactly did you do to get him to leave us alone, my love?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, though a thread of curiosity laced your voice.

Raphael’s smirk was back in place, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. I made a deal with him.”

His casual response did little to quell your lingering curiosity. “A deal? What kind of deal?”

Raphael’s expression remained carefully neutral, his voice maintaining its smooth, unaffected tone. “Just a little something to ensure his cooperation. You know me, darling. I always have my methods.”

You couldn’t pry further, and Raphael’s words left you with more questions than answers. You did notice, however, that your ex was no longer a problem—an outcome that seemed almost too convenient.

Unbeknownst to you, the deal Raphael had struck was far from ordinary. Raphael had promised your ex immortality—a promise that seemed generous at first glance. In reality, Raphael’s “gift” trapped your ex’s soul in a form of eternal confinement, bound within the House of Hope—a luxurious prison within the estate.

In the House of Hope, your ex found himself a mere spectator, condemned to watch as Raphael embraced the role of father to your daughter. He was forced to endure the sight of Raphael’s effortless integration into your family, witnessing the tenderness and affection Raphael showed to your daughter, which he could never again claim for himself. The once-dreaded presence had become a ghostly observer, unable to interfere but ever-present in the periphery of your life.

Raphael’s decision, though cloaked in his usual bravado, was driven by a complex mix of feelings. The thought of another man being a father figure to your daughter stirred a pain he struggled to admit even to himself. Yet, by ensuring your ex’s permanent removal from your lives, Raphael had also managed to secure his own place in your family, albeit in a way you would never fully comprehend.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Oof this was a big one, I have been binge watching dexter which definitely inspired this. I hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[reasonsforhope]

"Chicago’s 82-story Aqua Tower appears to flutter with the wind. Its unusual, undulating facade has made it one of the most unique features of Chicago’s skyline, distinct from the many right-angled glass towers that surround it.

In designing it, the architect Jeanne Gang thought not only about how humans would see it, dancing against the sky, but also how it would look to the birds who fly past. The irregularity of the building’s face allows birds to see it more clearly and avoid fatal collisions. “It’s kind of designed to work for both humans and birds,” she said.

As many as 1 billion birds in the US die in building collisions each year. And Chicago, which sits along the Mississippi Flyway, one of the four major north-south migration routes, is among the riskiest places for birds. This year, at least 1,000 birds died in one day from colliding with a single glass-covered building. In New York, which lies along the Atlantic Flyway, hundreds of species traverse the skyline and tens of thousands die each year.

As awareness grows of the dangers posed by glistening towers and bright lights, architects are starting to reimagine city skylines to design buildings that are both aesthetically daring and bird-safe.

Pictured: Chicago's Aqua Tower was designed with birds in mind.

Some are experimenting with new types of patterned or coated glass that birds can see. Others are rethinking glass towers entirely, experimenting with exteriors that use wood, concrete or steel rods. Blurring lines between the indoors and outdoors, some architects are creating green roofs and facades, inviting birds to nest within the building.

“Many people think about bird-friendly design as yet another limitation on buildings, yet another requirement,” said Dan Piselli, director of sustainability at the New York-based architecture firm FXCollaborative. “But there are so many design-forward buildings that perfectly exemplify that this doesn’t have to limit your design, your freedom.”

How modern buildings put birds in danger

For Deborah Laurel, principal in the firm Prendergast Laurel Architects, the realization came a couple of decades ago. She was up for an award for her firm’s renovation of the Staten Island Children’s Museum when the museum’s director mentioned to her that a number of birds had been crashing into the new addition. “I was horrified,” she said.

She embarked on a frenzy of research to learn more about bird collisions. After several years of investigation, she found there was little in the way of practical tips for architects, and she teamed up with the conservation group NYC Audubon, to develop a bird-safe building guide.

The issue, she discovered, was that technological and architectural advancements over the last half-century had in some ways transformed New York City – and most other US skylines and suburbs – into death traps for birds...

At certain times of day, tall glass towers almost blend into the sky. At other times, windows appear so pristinely clear that they are imperceptible to birds, who might try to fly though them. During the day, trees and greenery reflected on shiny building facades can trick birds, whereas at night, brightly lit buildings can confuse and bewilder them...

Pictured: A green roof on the Javits Convention Center serves as a sanctuary for birds.

The changes that could save avian lives

About a decade ago, Piselli’s firm worked on a half-billion-dollar renovation of New York’s Jacob K Javits Convention Center, a gleaming glass-clad space frame structure that was killing 4,000-5,000 birds a year. “The building was this black Death Star in the urban landscape,” Piselli said.

To make it more bird friendly, FXCollaborative (which was then called FXFowle) reduced the amount of glass and replaced the rest of it with fritted glass, which has a ceramic pattern baked into it. Tiny, textured dots on the glass are barely perceptible to people – but birds can see them. The fritted glass can also help reduce heat from the sun, keeping the building cooler and lowering air conditioning costs. “This became kind of the poster child for bird-friendly design in the last decade,” Piselli said.

The renovation also included a green roof, monitored by the NYC Audubon. The roof now serves as a sanctuary for several species of birds, including a colony of herring gulls. Living roofs have since become popular in New York and other major cities, in an inversion of the decades-long practice of fortifying buildings with anti-bird spikes. In the Netherlands, the facade of the World Wildlife Fund headquarters, a futuristic structure that looks like an undulating blob of mercury, contains nest boxes and spaces for birds and bats to live.

The use of fritted glass has also become more common as a way to save the birds and energy.

Earlier this year, Azadeh Omidfar Sawyer, an assistant professor in building technology in the Carnegie Mellon School of Architecture, working with student researchers, used open-source software to help designers create bespoke, bird-friendly glass patterns. A book of 50 patterns that Sawyer published recently includes intricate geometric lattices and abstract arrays of lines and blobs. “Any architect can pick up this book and choose a pattern they like, or they can customize it,” she said.

Pictured: The fritted glass used in Studio Gang’s expansion of Kresge College at the University of California, Santa Cruz, depicts the animals in the local ecosystem.

Builders have also been experimenting with UV-printed patterns, which are invisible to humans but perceptible to most birds. At night, conservationists and architects are encouraging buildings turn off lights, especially during migration season, when the bright glow of a city skyline can disorient birds.

And architects are increasingly integrating screens or grates that provide shade as well as visibility for birds. The 52-floor New York Times building, for example, uses fritted glass clad with ceramic rods. The spacing between the rods increases toward the top of the building, to give the impression that the building is dissolving into the sky.

Gang’s work has incorporated structures that can also serve as blinds for birders, or perches from which to observe nature. A theater she designed in Glencoe, Illinois, for example, is surrounded by a walking path made of a wood lattice, where visitors can feel like they’re up in the canopy of trees.

Pictured: The Writers Theatre, designed by Studio Gang, includes a walking path encased in wood lattice.

Rejecting the idea of the iridescent, entirely mirrored-glass building, “where you can’t tell the difference between the habitat and the sky”, Gang aims for the opposite. “I always tried to make the buildings more visible with light and shadow and geometry, to have more of a solid presence,” she said.

Gang has been experimenting with adding bird feeders around her own home in an effort to reduce collisions with windows, and she encourages other homeowners to do the same.

“I’ve found that birds slow down and stop at feeders instead of trying to fly through the glass,” she said.

While high-rise buildings and massive urban projects receive the most attention, homes and low-rise buildings account for most bird collision deaths. “The huge challenge is that glass is everywhere.” said Christine Sheppard, who directs the glass collisions program at the American Bird Conservancy (ABC). “It’s hard to know what I know and not cringe when I look at it.”

Tips for improving your own home include using stained glass or patterned decals that can help birds see a window, she said. ABC has compiled a list of window treatments and materials, ranked by how bird-safe they are.

Whether they’re large or small, the challenge of designing buildings that are safe for birds can be “liberating”, said Gang, who has become an avid birdwatcher and now carries a pair of binoculars on her morning jogs. “It gives you another dimension to try to imagine.”"

-via The Guardian, December 27, 2023

[ninibeingdelulu]

So much jealousy

synopsis-> Walking in the streets with your boyfriend, a little boy come to compliment you.

The afternoon sun beat down in blazing streaks across the crowded city sidewalk causing a sheen of perspiration to glisten along your exposed collarbones.

You didn't mind the balmy heat one bit, chattering away merrily while clinging to Sukuna's side as the two of you navigated through the chaotic foot traffic.

"Y’know, babe, I'm actually kinda stunned you agreed to come wandering around in public with me today," you hummed cheerfully, pointedly ignoring his trademark frigid glower currently fixated dead ahead.

"Could it be the great and terrible Ryomen Sukuna might actually enjoy being out amongst the ‘humans’ with his girlfriend every once in a while--"

"Tch. As if I'd ever willingly suffer through that particular circle of hell for any reason other than appeasing your incessant nagging, woman."

His glacial growl easily carried over the dull roar of nearby pedestrians.

Without even glancing your way, one rough calloused palm snaked around your hip to yank you snug against his towering frame.

"Careful you don't get yourself trampled like the weak, insignificant gnat you are while bumbling around daydreaming about nonsense."

You scoffed under your breath, deliberately digging your elbow into his rock-solid ribcage without remorse. "Excuse me for attempting some lighthearted small talk on this lovely afternoon stroll, dear."

The sarcastic endearment practically dripped with saccharine disdain meant solely to rankle his easily riled temper further.

"Hey ! Pretty lady!"

That sweetly boyish shout pierced straight through the dull din surrounding you both, prompting your steps to falter slightly mid-stride.

Sukuna's steely grip around your waist instantly constricted like a vise, head whipping around to zero in on the source of the intrusion.

A young boy no older than perhaps five or six stood beaming up at you from beside a nearby storefront.

His chubby features positively glowed with open childlike awe while eagerly beckoning you closer with one waving hand.

You couldn't help the instinctive upwards curving of your mouth in response to such an earnest, unfiltered reaction. Adorable didn't even begin to scratch the surface--

Before you'd even begun stooping down, Sukuna abruptly wrenched your frame flush with his, effectively halting all forward momentum.

The thunderous look contorting his chiseled features could've curdled fresh dairy as he aimed that full formidable presence like the razor-sharp edge of a katana directly at the innocent child.

A furious retort was already forming on your lips only to catch in your throat at the heated intensity singeing from those red irises glaring murderously.

You knew better than anyone else the full depths of Sukuna's unrestrained power and depravity when provoked - even over such a seemingly trifle matter.

This side of him was still a raging tempest you had yet to navigate carefully at times.

"Hey...whoa there, big guy," you murmured while splaying one hand soothingly up his tensed chest.

"I know how much you despise other humans around me and all, but this little kid clearly meant no harm..."

The lethally coiled lines of his musculature remained etched in grim steel cables beneath your gentle stroking while that smoldering glare refused to abate even a fraction.

"Sukuna, I'm serious - it's not nice when you get like this over noth--"

Your calming words came to an abrupt halt as he suddenly bent at the waist, fingers encircling your wrist in a vise-like manacle while hauling you down with him until your faces were mere scant centimeters apart.

You glimpsed something visceral and undefinable glimmering in those crimson depths before Sukuna growled out his decree in a low thunder:

"Wait until I have you home, woman...and then we'll see how much of a nothing it truly was getting such pitiful, unwanted advances from those lesser beings."

[scribbly-squid]

Jealousy of The Devil

Lucifer x F!Reader

Lucifer gets the wrong idea when he walks in on a simple competition between you and Husk. He decides to show you who you belong to.

🌻 Don’t feel great about this story but decided to still post it anyways. This would be my first NSFW work I ever write so I hope it’s good. So erotica content warning!

Masterlist

“And this one is courtesy of fighting off several loan sharks a few months ago.” You lifted your shirt, revealing a straight, clean cut running from your armpit to just under your breast. “Bastards managed to gang up on me and turn my knife against me. Thankfully, it was a clean cut—I’d just sharpened the knife while hanging out with Vaggie a few days prior.”

Husk leaned in, inspecting the fresh wound. It was healing nicely, though it would undoubtedly scar. “Looks good. Nice job. Did you manage to stitch it up yourself?”

You shook your head, grinning softly at the memory. “Nah. By the time I tried, Lucifer found me and refused to let me do it alone.”

Husk whistled low, smirking. “Bet he wasn’t too happy about that. But—” He stood and pulled down his trousers slightly, revealing a circular scar on his thigh about the size of a quarter.

Your eyes widened as you instinctively reached out, running your fingers along the purplish mark. “Whoa. Why does it look like that?”

“Angelic steel,” he replied, taking a long swig of whiskey. “It hurt like hell. Went clean through, thankfully. Got it during a turf war back when I was in my prime. Funny thing? It was a stray bullet from some other fight nearby. Dumb luck.”

You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “Okay, you win! I can’t compete with someone who got third-partied on their own turf.”

Husk chuckled, clearly enjoying your defeat. He raised his glass in mock triumph. “Loser makes the next beer run.”

Before you could retort, Lucifer’s booming voice echoed from the doorway. “What in the seven rings is going on here?”

You jumped, heart skipping a beat as Lucifer strode into the room, his piercing eyes scanning the scene. First, they locked on you, still holding your shirt up. Then they shifted to Husk, who hastily pulled his trousers back up.

Lucifer’s expression darkened, sharp teeth glinting as he clenched his jaw. The air grew heavy, heat radiating from him in waves. His horns extended from his head, crowned by flickering fire. His porcelain features were marred by jagged stripes, and his eyes glowed red.

Husk raised his hands defensively, taking a cautious step back. “Whoa, hey! It was nothing—just a little harmless fun comparing scars.”

Lucifer growled, fire licking the edges of his words. “Get. Out.”

Husk shot you a quick glance, grabbed his whiskey, and made a hasty exit. “I’m not forgetting our deal. You’re still doing that beer run!” he called over his shoulder before disappearing.

Now alone, Lucifer turned his fiery gaze on you. His horns remained, his tail swayed sharply behind him, and the flames between his horns burned brighter as he advanced. You instinctively lowered your shirt, but his attention never wavered from your face.

“…What was that?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less dangerous.

You sighed, already knowing where this was headed. “Lucifer, it was nothing,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “Husk and I were just swapping stories about our scars. That’s all.”

“Swapping stories?” he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief and jealousy. “With your shirt up and his pants down? Do you know how that looked?”

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a firm look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Luci. Husk isn’t interested in me like that. It was a dumb harmless competition. Nothing more.”

His tail lashed behind him, the fire on his horns flaring. “Harmless or not, I don’t like it.” He took another step closer, his frame looming over you despite his shorter height. His possessiveness was palpable, radiating off him in waves of heat.

Sensing he wouldn’t back down, you softened your stance, reaching up to place a hand on his chest. His skin was warm—too warm—and his heart raced beneath your palm. “Lucifer,” you said softly, your voice soothing, “you know you’re the only one I want. No scar story or silly bet will ever change that.”

His eyes searched yours, the fire in them dimming slightly. With a deep sigh, he rested his hands on your hips, pulling you close. “You drive me mad,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “Absolutely mad.”

“Good,” you teased, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You could use a little madness in your life.”

That earned a soft chuckle from him, though his expression remained serious. “But don’t think for a second I’ll let anyone else get that close to you again,” he warned. “Especially not while you’re half-dressed.”

Before you could argue, his lips crashed against yours, claiming you with fiery intensity. His hands gripped your hips, his tail curling possessively around your waist as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his golden hair as he devoured you like a man starved.

The heat from his body seeped into yours, leaving you breathless. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, the fire between his horns now a faint flicker. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice thick with love and possessiveness. “Never forget that.”

In one swift motion, he transported you both to his bedroom. You found yourself straddling him on a plush velvet loveseat, his tail coiling around you as he pulled you flush against him.

His grip is possessive yet gentle enough to send shivers racing through you. His lips crashed against yours once more, demanding and fiery, his growl vibrating against your mouth. His kiss was overwhelming, filled with raw need and an unspoken promise that he wasn’t about to let anyone or anything come between you two. One hand slid up to your lower back, pulling you even closer, while the other cupped your jaw, tilting your face to deepen the kiss.

Your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, feeling the warmth of his horns as they faintly brushed against your forehead. He groaned at the sensation, his lips parting slightly, allowing your tongues to meet in a heated dance that left you utterly dizzy.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, Lucifer’s lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice low, sending a thrill down your spine.

“Lucifer—” you began, your voice breathless, but he silenced you with another searing kiss.

“You’re mine,” he growled again, his hands gripping your hips firmly. “Every inch of you. And I’ll burn anyone who dares to think otherwise.”

You couldn’t help but smile against his lips, the possessive edge in his tone oddly comforting. “I’ve always been yours,” you whispered, brushing your lips softly against his.

Lucifer’s eyes softened at your words, though the fire within them never dimmed. His tail coiled tighter around you as he leaned back slightly, his fingers tracing along your spine. “Good,” he said, his smirk devilish. “Because I don’t plan on letting you forget it.”

Lucifer’s lips lingered on your clavicle, his warm breath brushing against your skin as he murmured your name like a prayer, each syllable dripping with desire. His sharp teeth nipped gently, followed by soft, lingering kisses that sent electric shivers down your spine.

When his mouth found the sensitive pulse point on your neck, he sucked lightly, just enough to leave his mark—a claim that was unmistakably his. The sensation made you arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as his growl rumbled through you like thunder.

Unable to resist teasing him further, you shifted in his lap, straddling him completely as you rolled your hips against his. The friction was intoxicating, and the way his hands gripped your hips in response only spurred you on.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Lucifer warned, his voice low and strained as his crimson eyes met yours.

Your lips curved into a sly smile, leaning down so your faces were only inches apart. “Why not?” you teased, grinding your hips once more, earning a guttural groan from him that sent heat pooling in your core.

His grip tightened, his claws pressing slightly into your skin as he held you still, his control hanging by a thread. “You have no idea what you’re doing, darling,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear before his tongue flicked over the shell of it.

“Maybe I want to find out,” you whispered, your voice dripping with mischief.

Lucifer’s smirk returned, dark and predatory, as his tail curled around your thigh, pulling you even closer. “Careful what you wish for,” he murmured before his mouth returned to your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp.

The mixture of pleasure and pain was exhilarating, and you couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, grinding against him once more. His arousal was unmistakable now, and his groans grew deeper, vibrating through your chest as his lips explored every inch of exposed skin.

“You drive me mad,” he admitted, his voice a rough whisper against your skin as his hands roamed your body, igniting every nerve. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours again, his kiss full of unrestrained passion that left you utterly breathless.

As soon as the words escaped his mouth you found yourself transported to your shared bed - Lucifer having somehow unburdened himself of all his clothing.

He gently grasped your hips, flipping you onto your back with an effortless motion. A soft hum of satisfaction escaped him as he nestled his nose into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You tangled your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as your lips met in another passionate kiss, your heart racing with every brush of his lips against yours.

Kneeling between your legs, he leaned back slightly, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, his hands gently caressing your thighs. A soft, appreciative smile curved his lips as he gazed at you, his voice full of admiration. "You're beautiful," he whispered, the sincerity in his words sending a shiver of warmth through you.

A blush spread across your cheeks as you reached for his hands, gently pulling him closer to you. “Show me,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with longing.

Feeling his erection against your stomach, your body shuddered as he lowered himself over you, placing wet open mouthed kisses down your neck and chest, stopping to tear open your shirt along with your bra, revealing your breasts.

He licked your soft skin around your right breast in a small circle, flicking your nipple with his forked tongue. You moaned with approval and he looked up to capture your gaze before moving his attention to your other. Your hands ghosted over his shoulders, slipping further down his arms as he continued exploring the dips and curves of your body with his tongue. He paused again, sitting back. Staring into your eyes, the sclera of his eyes that had burned red was now glossed over with lust. He looped his claws at the waist of your panties, yanking them down, ripping them in the process.

“I need to taste you.”

The heat between your thighs surged at his words, your breath hitching as you gave a small nod. His hands glided to your knees, his claws grazing lightly down the outside of your thighs, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in their wake. Lowering himself between your legs, his intense gaze never wavered, locking with yours as though daring you to look away.

He pressed slow, deliberate kisses to the tender skin of your inner thighs, each one sending sparks of heat through you. Then, with a teasing smirk, his sharp teeth grazed your skin before sinking in gently, a blend of pleasure and pain that made your back arch instinctively.

As he finally reached your center, he paused for a moment, inhaling deeply as though savoring the moment. His lips and tongue moved with deliberate care, exploring you in a way that made your head fall back with a breathless gasp.

A soft mewl escaped your lips as your hands instinctively reached for him, wanting to pull him closer, “Ah ah..” he teased, gently pinned them at your sides playfully, his touch firm yet tender, leaving you completely at his mercy.

As if he could sense your every thought, he gently bent your knees, angling your hips with a precision that left you breathless. His forked tongue traced over your clit with an expert touch, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you squirmed under his hold, anchoring you in place. When he slid a finger inside, followed by another, your body responded instinctively, trembling as he coaxed wave after wave of bliss from you with unrelenting precision and care.

“Lucifer…” His name fell from your lips, barely above a whisper, as every nerve in your body ignited from the overwhelming tension. “I…” Your attempt at words dissolved into a breathless, incoherent moan as his touch unraveled you completely.

His grip softened, his fingers curling with perfect precision against your most sensitive spot, drawing you higher with every motion. His lips and tongue worked in harmony, sending waves of bliss cascading through you. He held you steady, guiding you tenderly through your orgasm, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

Licking his fingers with a satisfied hum, he slowly crawled up your body, his lips trailing delicate kisses along your skin. Each touch was slow, almost as if he was memorizing every inch of you. When he reached your lips, he captured them in a tender, lingering kiss, his hand brushing the sweat-soaked strands of hair gently from your face.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and filled with an affection that sent warmth flooding through you.

“Lucifer…” you whined, your voice trembling with need as your nails raked across his chest, leaving faint trails in their wake.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice steady but laced with longing. He let out a soft whine as your hand pressed firmly against his chest for balance, you shifted slightly, your legs straddling his waist as you leaned closer, your breath mingling with his.

Your other hand moved between your bodies and grasped his cock guiding him to your entrance and lowering onto him slowly as he stretched your walls, filling you. With a gasp, you dropped completely, taking him completely, your hands falling back to his chest. A low groan rumbled from his chest as his grip tightened on your hips, his claws pressing into your skin with possessive intensity.

“Just like that sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he urged you to move. His hands glided up your sides, tracing your curves with deliberate care before squeezing your breasts. As you moved against him, he cupped them firmly, his thumbs brushing over your nipples in teasing circles. Each touch sent a shiver through you, syncing perfectly with the rhythm of your movements.

With a deep groan, he sat up, his strong arms wrapping around your back and pulling you flush against his chest. His lips found your neck, biting and sucking at your sensitive skin.

You gasped at the sensation, your movements instinctively quickening as you ground against him, the tension in your stomach building with each passing moment. His grip tightened, his breath hot against your neck, “Y/N..” He groaned out.

He captured your lips in a deep, fervent kiss, a groan rumbling from his chest and vibrating against your mouth. As the kiss broke, his forehead rested gently against yours, his gaze locking with yours, filled with unspoken longing.

With deliberate care, he began to move, his thrusts slow and rhythmic, alternating between shallow and deep. Each motion sent ripples of pleasure through you, drawing soft hums from your lips as your breaths mingled, desperate and ragged.

“Come with me sweetheart,” His head dropped to your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin as he held you close. Instinctively, you tilted your hips upward, your legs crossing tightly behind his waist, pulling him even deeper. The change in angle sent a jolt of pleasure through you, his every thrust now perfectly striking your sweet spot.

“Lucifer,” you moaned, his name spilling from your lips as the tension in your core snapped. Waves of ecstasy crashed over you, your body trembling as you clenched tightly around him, drawing a deep, guttural groan from his chest.

With an animalistic grunt, his movements faltered, his hips pressing firmly against yours as he buried himself deep. A shudder ran through his body, his release spilling into you as he let out a guttural groan, your name falling from his lips like a reverent whisper.

You guided the weight of his body to rest fully against you, your hands skimming along the smooth planes of his back, fingers tangling in his hair as he nuzzled into the curve of your neck. His breath was warm and steady against your skin, his horns slowly retracting as his eyes faded back to their usual crimson glow.

As he slipped out of you, you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, feeling the tension in his body begin to ease. He muttered something into your neck, his voice barely audible.

“What was that…?” you asked softly, tilting your head to catch his words.

Lucifer shifted, lowering himself to rest his head against your chest. His crimson eyes gazed up at you, uncharacteristically vulnerable, holding an emotion you couldn’t quite name.

“I said I’m sorry…” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with something raw and genuine.

You looked down at him, your fingers gently brushing through his tousled hair. “What do you mean…?” you asked softly, your brows knitting together in concern.

Lucifer’s gaze didn’t waver, his crimson eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right words. “I mean for losing control,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “For letting my jealousy get the better of me… for being too much.”

Your heart clenched at the rare vulnerability in his tone. You cupped his cheek, brushing your thumb across his smooth skin as you whispered, “You don’t have to apologize Lucifer. I’m here… I chose you.”

His eyes softened, and he closed them briefly, leaning into your touch. “You deserve better than the devil who struggles to control his own emotions,” he murmured.

“And yet here we are,” you replied with a small smile, guiding him closer. “I think I’ll keep you anyway.”

“Promise me you won’t do that again…” he murmured, his voice low and serious as he pressed soft kisses between your breasts, his lips lingering on your skin.

You blinked down at him, your fingers still tangled in his hair. “Do what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at you, his crimson eyes dark with an unspoken plea. “Let someone else get that close to you. Let someone else touch you, see you, in a way that’s mine,” he admitted, his words dripping with possessiveness but laced with vulnerability.

You sighed softly, brushing a strand of his hair from his face. “Lucifer…” you began, your tone gentle but firm. “You have all of me. You don’t have to worry about anyone else. But I promise—I’ll be more mindful of how it might look.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, and he leaned up, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “Good,” he murmured against your mouth. “Because I don’t think I could handle losing you.”

You smiled softly into the kiss, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw as you pulled back slightly to meet his gaze. “And you never will,” you whispered, your words laced with a quiet but unwavering confidence.

Lucifer's eyes softened, the intensity of his gaze filled with something deeper than lust—something more permanent. He kissed you again, slower this time, as if sealing the promise with each brush of his lips against yours.

Perfect example of how my thoughts went from writing this to actually rereading it. This ended up almost being 4K words too, hopefully as my first nsfw story ended being okay. I hope to improve with them in the future!

[gardens-light]

hello!

I love your work and I wanted to ask if you would be interested in writing a D-16 x techno-Organic reader?

I would like to see his reaction to the fact that part of her body is soft.

Hi! Thanks for the feedback and for this awesome prompt. I've always liked the idea of a techno/Cybertronic- human/organic hybrid reader, and there definity needs to be more fanfics of it.

Hope you enjoy and apologies for keeping you waiting. :)

Of Flesh and Steel

Expecting the usual deal transaction, the Quintesson ship landed upon the vast plains of Cybertron, sending harsh vibrations through the metallic ground. Their leader scanning the area with a studious gaze, as D16 and his Decepticons greeted with polite bows and hidden, false smiles.

Once their guard was down, Megatron withdraw his cannon. The weapon whirling to life, as he held the barrel against the Quintessons neck with a smug smile. His crimson gaze giving a silent demand, as his glare narrowed.

Amidst disruption and confusion, you made your escape. Forcing your already tired, broken and battered body to run as far as you could. Desperate to put distance between you and your creators, only to lose yourself among the strange foliage of this unknown world.

Content: D16/Megatron X GN Cybertronian/Human Hybrid Reader. Events takes place after TFO.

Word Count: 1,300

The dense metallic forest of Cybertron shimmered under the glow of the twin moons, its landscape a strange fusion of natural beauty and mechanical precision. A forest filled with copper-like leaves hummed faintly, the sound of energon flowing through their veins filling the air like a distant song. Amidst the alien tranquility, D16 and Shockwave moved with purpose, their sensors tracking an erratic and unfamiliar signal.

His towering frame gleamed in the moonlight, while scanning the area with piercing optics. Claws flexed instinctively, prepared for whatever this anomaly might be. Beside him, Shockwave’s singular optic glowed a cold, analytical purple, his detached demeanor betraying no hint of surprise nor curiosity.

Cautiously approaching a clearing, the signal became stronger. Much stronger. Finally brushing away the branches and leafs, D16's and Shockwaves optics widened as their gaze fell upon the most peculiar sight.

You.

Despite having distinctly Cybertronian characteristics. D16 could see something more... organic to you. His optics roamed over your frame, but your... human like skin glistened faintly with a metallic sheen under the moonlight.

Your human-like facial features had the most beautiful optics the Decepticon leader had ever seen. Their unusual colour held a strange depth, as if they contained circuitry woven into your very soul.

Oddly articulated armor covered your arms and legs, segmented like plating- similar to his own.

A small gasp escaped your lips, as your startled gaze finally met theirs. Feeling D16's gaze, as he tried to study more of you. His processor attempting to make sense of the impossibility before him.

Shockwave tilted his head, his optic narrowing as he scanned you. “ "A hybrid of Cybertronian and something... organic? Unprecedented. Likely a Quintesson experiment. Curious anomaly. Should we secure it for study?”

You quickly flinched at Shockwave's imposing presence, pressing yourself harder against the tree as if trying to merge with its metal bark. Breath quickened, and a faint, glitchy sound escaped your lips—a broken plea in a language that Shockwave couldn’t decipher.

“Hold,” D16 sharply spoke, raising his arm to block Shockwave’s advance. His cannon clicked softly as it retracted back into his forearm. His crimson optics slightly softened, as he approached you, his massive frame towered, but his movements were calculated, almost measured.

A whimper softly escaped your lips, while you clutched onto a crude tool—a shard of Quintesson metal that you scavenged during your escape.

It was hardly a threat, but your grip upon it was desperate. Daring to aim the shard at him, feeling D16's optics study your movements for a little longer.

He could see the fear in her optics. Your... words was something he couldn't understand, but the trembling of your frame and the way you recoiled told him enough.

“Their fear is irrelevant,” Shockwave replied coldly, his scanner continuing to process data. “The priority should be understanding their origin and purpose. We should capture them for further analysis.”

Giving a subtle nod to the suggestion, D16 lowered himself to one knee, coming more to your eye level. Softening his voice to a low and steady tone.

“We’re not here to harm you.”

His usual tone returned once opening a private channel to his comrade. Analyze their signal patterns. I want a full breakdown of their language and physiology. But handle them delicately, I don't want you to get too... 'carried away' with your research.

Shockwave inclined his head, his optic flickering. Understood. Prepare for transport?

Not yet. Gain their trust first. It’ll be easier to extract information if they're more cooperative.

"Here..." Your studious gaze narrowed upon D16's outstretched servo. The back of his digits gently encouraging you to lower the Quintession shard, while edging his palm closer. "Take my servo. We'll keep you safe."

Hesitation eased your uneven breath as your optics studied his open servo. Your expression softening slightly while you slowly dropped the shard.

His hand...? His body...? It's... similar to mine...

Optics trailing up his arm, falling upon his faceplate. Placing your small, organic servo into D16's palm, silently allowing him to help you onto your pedes.

The sensation was startling for both of you. To him, your touch was alien—warm and pliant, a stark contrast to the cold steel he was accustomed to. But to you... his hand was immense and unyielding but not entirely hostile. Unfamiliar yet comforting at the same time.

Your touch still trembled within D16's servo, as your optics met his once more. The Decepticon leader felt the faint warmth of your organic flesh through the sensors in his plating. He tilted his head, observing you more closely.

Another sound escaped you, more urgent this time, your voice broke as you spoke to the pair in a pleading, desperate tone. Though your words were incomprehensible. D16's optics softened slightly, and for the first time, a flicker of something unfamiliar stirred within him— pity?

"Calm yourself," he said in the gentlest tone his imposing frame could muster.

You didn't understand his words, but his modulation slightly eased your trembling frame. Bring your spark closer to it's regular pulse. Your grip upon his digits slightly tightened, yet he could still feel your servo trembling.

Shockwave stepped closer, his ever-analytical gaze fixed upon you. Their integration of organic and Cybertronian elements is intriguing. There are no known processes that would yield such a seamless fusion. A study upon them may represent... a new frontier.

D16's crimson gaze flickered up towards his comrade, replying over his private comlink. We’ll take them back to base, but remember—this isn’t just a subject. Proceed with care.

Clutching onto his servo, looking up at him with a mixture of fear and fragile hope as you quietly followed D16's lead through the forest. He occasionally gave you a slight side glance, hiding the storm of suspicion and calculation within him.

Your trembling digits brushed against his metal palm, causing him to freeze for a fraction of a second. You were... impossibly soft—alien and fragile in a way he had never encountered. Cybertronians, even the most delicate among them, were made of metals, alloys, and composites. The sensation of warmth and yielding flesh against his cold plating was... utterly foreign.

While running his thumb over your smaller servo, his optics flickered briefly as he tried to process the sensation. The texture of your servo was smooth yet uneven, faint imperfections running beneath the surface—a network of tiny veins, a pulse of warmth radiating outward.

Something... stirred within his chest. An urge wanted to pull back, to break contact, as if touching you might do damage—or worse, compromise him. But he forced himself to remain still, his vast reserves of discipline locking his servo in place.

They feel.. soft. So soft. Soft, gentle and yet... resilient?

The fact that you had somehow survived the harshness of the Quintessons and the wilderness of Cybertron seemed at odds with the fragility of your form.

Your grip tightened slightly around his digits, pressing your body warmth deeper against his palm. D16 caught himself feeling an odd pang of... Pity? No, that wasn’t it. Understanding? Closer.

The softness of your skin, your frame it was... too exposed, too... unprotected. It stirred something in him that he didn’t like—a flicker of vulnerability, perhaps even responsibility.

He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Shockwave, whose single optic remained fixated upon you with clinical detachment, as he steadily followed behind. For a fleeting moment, the Decepticon leader envied that cold, mechanical focus. For D16 felt his own reaction felt far too... personal.

Clenching his jaw, he pushed the sensation aside and refocused on the situation at hand. “Their physiology is... unique.” He muttered, almost to himself, his voice was steady, but there was a faint tension in it.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you looked up at him with a soft gaze. Your trembling seemed to lessen slightly, as though his presence—even as alien it was offered you some sort of... reassurance.

To you, he was a savior. To him, you were merely an enigma—one he would unravel.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: Charity Case

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You stand in the changing room, staring at the mirror, at yourself. Peppermint cloys on your tongue as you consider the dainty blue sweater. It isn’t your pick. Few of the clothing are. You can barely differentiate between the weaves and colours. 

“Well?” Lloyd calls from the other side of the thin barrier between you. 

You rarely used dressing rooms. You shop at the thrift shop, find whatever looks like it will fit, and go. Not that you even do that often. You’ve been wearing the same wardrobe of used pieces for years.  

You shift and touch the little frill along the collar. It frames your neckline prettily but it’s just too much. A nice strong cableknit with sleeves you can tuck your hands into and some corduroys are much more practical. 

“Come on, toots, I’m dying. You find anything you like?” He urges. 

You face the door and slide back the lock. You step out. The walls are lined with mirrors. Behind him, behind you, beside you, everywhere. You pinch the frilly hem as you bite your lip. 

“I don’t know...” you drawl. 

“Wowza, that’s cute,” he smiles from the bench. His hands are full as he holds both your lattes over his lap. “I like the colour. Be nice with a skirt.” 

“Skirt?” You mutter, “I don’t really...” 

“I grabbed a few, why don’t you try one on?” He prompts. 

You hesitate then shrug. You turn back and see yourself reflect on the door. You only notice then that the light weave clings to the outline of your bra. You quickly hide inside and shuffle through the many hangers.  

You don’t realise how short the skirt is until you get it on. The lace lining sticks out the bottom and four little bows decorate the cream material. It’s sophisticated in a way you aren’t. You sift through and find a top you think matches. 

You steel yourself before you emerge again. Lloyd’s impatience seeps through with a clearing of his throat. You step out and clutch your hands behind you, staring past him. 

“Wow,” he breathes, “that’s nice, tootsie, we’re definitely getting that.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about the white,” you sway, “it’ll get stained.” 

“I can’t believe I’m the one saying it but don’t be so pessimistic,” he chortles. 

“Sure, you’re right,” you agree quietly. “Well, still lots to go through.” 

You shuffle back into the change room, shivering at the rush of air that floods beneath the short hem of the skirt. You continue the tedious task of going through each and every piece. You can’t focus on any of it. You’re indifferent to even the nicest garment, things that you may have coveted in a clearer state of mind. 

Lloyd carries your haul to the counter after handing off the cups. His is empty and yours is cold. You put his in the bin near the desk as he pays. You look down, embarrassed. 

“Lloyd, you don’t--” 

“Sweetie, Merry Christmas,” he interrupts and smirks at the front desk lady. “Careful with that, don’t wrinkle it.” 

He might be nice to you but there’s those moments where he’s so... demanding. You wish he’d be a bit kinder to the people doing things for him. You offer the associate a sheepish smile then hide behind the cup. You taste the cold espresso and hover. 

Lloyd gathers up the bags and leads you back into the crowded mall. You drain half the cup and give up. You subtly toss it as you pass one of the many waste bins. 

“Well, you still need some basics,” he declares and glances at you, nudging you with his elbow, “you know, under-roos.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah...” 

“There’s a Victoria’s Secret right there.” 

“Victoria--” you gulp. “That’s fine, er, no, there’s probably somewhere else.” 

“Hello,” a woman calls as Lloyd struts towards the marquee of the lingerie store. “We’re having a promotion. You can spin the wheel and get a coupon.” 

You cringe and hide behind him. He spins and gets a coupon for thirty percent off. The woman is tall and her dark red hair is perfectly waved. She’s all in black that clings to her figure prettily. 

“Come on, tootsie roll,” Lloyd ushers you inside. The boutique is far too nice for you.  

You keep your arms crossed as Lloyd browses. He is unfazed by the crotchless lace and the sleek satin. You get to a table strewn with cotton thongs and thick-banded boyshorts. 

“You get the pick of the litter,” he declares, “you need a bra? Maybe six?” 

“Lloyd,” you murmur, “I don’t know...” 

“What’s your size?” He peeks at your chest then his brows pop up and he chuckles. “Sorry, just trying to help.” 

“Um, I wear... sport bras, so...” 

“Hmm, let me find...” He turns and strides off before he can finish his thought. 

You frown and look down. You see a nice pair of coral panties but when you turn them over, you find the have a narrow back. You just want your Walmart high-rise. You sniff and step out of the way of some other shoppers. 

“There she is,” Lloyd appears out of the crush, “Toots, this is Lara, she’s going to get you fitted.” 

“Fitted?” You utter. 

“Yeah, she can help measure you for your bra size--” 

“That’s okay--” 

“It’s five minutes,” Lara insists, “in the back.” 

“We want to get you something nice,” Lloyd argues, “don’t we? Get bang for our buck.” 

You don’t have it in you to resists. It’s nice. You’ve never bothered with anything like that. Everything you have just does the job. It doesn’t matter if it really fits, just if you can get it on. And everything you have is gone. You suspect his present is more charity than holiday cheer. 

Embarrassed, you nod and try to force a smile. Lara waves you toward the dressing room and Lloyd turns to peruse the table of panties. You cringe and drag your feet across the store. 

As you’re shut in with Lara, she has you take off your shirt. You’re uncomfortable as she measures you through your sport bra. It’s almost like a medical exam. 

“He’s really nice,” she says. 

“Hm?” You sniff. 

“Your boyfriend. Gonna be a really happy holiday,” she chimes. 

“Oh, he’s not...” you drone but don’t finish. 

“Husband?” She wonders. 

You shrug. You don’t bother explaining. You just want to get out of this place. All these strangers are making you dizzy. 

[blakeswritingimagines]

Bad Things From Me To You (Kinktober)

Word Count: 3.8k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Jaime Lannister, a man with golden curls, a sharp, lean face, and deep green eyes, sits alone in the training yard of the Red Keep. The sun beats down on him, accentuating the beads of sweat glistening on his brow. Around him, knights train with swords, shields, and lances, each swing and thrust echoing through the air. Ser Jaime lifted his head at the sound of your footsteps as you entered the training yard. His gaze met yours as you approached, his usual cocky demeanor faltering for a moment. Jamie set his blade aside and stood to his feet, his face still betraying a hint of concern. "You shouldn't be here," he said gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know," you replied, your voice gentle. "But I needed to talk to you about something important." You took a step closer, your heart beating faster. You knew Jaime could be protective, almost possessive at times, and you hoped he wouldn't object to your conversation. You approached him, your eyes locking on his muscular frame. His toned arms and broad shoulders left you feeling small in comparison. "I need to talk to you," you said firmly. "Alone."

His brows furrowed slightly at your insistence, yet there was no denying the curiosity that flickered in his eyes. "Fine," he conceded, turning away from the training yard and leading you towards the quiet solitude of the stables. Once inside, the smell of hay and horseflesh filled your senses. Jaime leaned against a stall door, watching you closely. "What's so urgent?" he asked, his tone still edged with impatience. As you followed him into the stables, the sound of the bustling castle faded into the background, leaving only the sound of the horses and the soft rustling of hay. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the conversation to come. The air was thick with anticipation as Jaime leaned against the stall door, his intense gaze focused on you. You paused for a moment before speaking, collecting your thoughts. Finally, you spoke, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. "I've been thinking about our future, Jaime... but I've been promised to another," you began. His expression hardened at your words, his jaw clenching tightly. "Promised?" he echoed, the single word heavy with disbelief. Jamie pushed himself off the stall door, his movements fluid and graceful despite the tension coiling within him. He stepped closer to you, his height and imposing figure making you feel small and vulnerable. "Who have you been promised to?" he demanded, his voice rough with emotion.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Jaime advanced towards you, his presence like a wave crashing against the shore. His eyes burned with intensity, demanding answers. You could sense the tension in the air, thick and electric with unspoken emotions. You took a small step back, your nerves frayed by his closeness. "I-I've been promised to a lord from the North," you admitted, your voice faltering. "He is… very powerful and influential." A muscle ticked in his jaw as he processed your words, his eyes never leaving yours. "A Northern lord," he repeated, his tone flat and devoid of emotion. But beneath the surface, a storm raged within him. The thought of you belonging to someone else, of losing you to another man, filled him with a fierce, primal rage. "And what of us?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "What of the bond we share?" The intensity in his gaze and the depth of emotion in his voice shook you to the core. You could see the storm brewing in his eyes, the possessiveness that he tried to mask. It was clear that the thought of losing you cut deeply into him, but you had a duty to fulfill. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "The bond we share is… special," you admitted, your voice soft yet filled with a hint of sadness. "But this alliance with the North, it is important for our future. Our duty comes first." Jaime's eyes darkened as he searched your face, seeing the innocence in your eyes. He had always known you were pure, untouched by the harsh realities of the world. It was one of the things that had drawn him to you in the first place. But now, that innocence made it all the more difficult to accept your decision.

Jaime's eyes flashed with anger, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Duty?" he spat, the word dripping with contempt. "You would sacrifice our connection for some fleeting political gain? For a stranger?" He took another step closer, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "Is that truly what you want?" Your heart skipped a beat as Jaime's face loomed closer, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. The anger in his eyes was palpable, but it was tinged with something else, something like desperation. His words hit you like a punch in the gut, the accusation stung deeply. You wanted to explain, to tell him that this was something you had no control over, that this was your duty. But the words wouldn't come, stuck somewhere between your heart and your throat. Instead, you averted your eyes, unable to meet his intense gaze, and whispered in an attempt to make it easier on yourself. "Yes." Two days later, you were in your room, idly sewing a handkerchief when there was a knock at the door. The sound shattered the silence of the room, and you set the fabric aside, walking over to open the door. Standing before you was Jaime, a rare smile on his face. "May I come in?" he asked, his tone light and pleasant. You stepped aside, allowing him to enter, feeling a flutter of curiosity at his unexpected visit. As he strode in, he closed the door behind him, his eyes never leaving yours. With the door shut, the room seemed smaller, the walls suddenly closing in. "I've been thinking about our conversation the other day," he began, taking a few steps closer to you. His gaze was intense, his movements graceful and purposeful.

You felt a mix of excitement and trepidation as Jaime came closer, his gaze unwavering. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken tension. You clasped your hands together in front of you, trying to hide your nerves. "Y-you were?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness. You studied his face, trying to decipher the meaning behind his intense stare. "Yes," he replied, his voice low and smooth. "It seems our future may be decided sooner than expected." He paused, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. "I have realized something," he continued, stepping even closer until he was mere inches away from you. "Something about you… it cannot be ignored. It must be acknowledged and cherished, do you know what that is?" His hand reached out, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek, sending a jolt of warmth through you. You grew flustered from his touch, his fingers like hot coals against your skin. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his proximity overwhelming your senses. "No," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't. What is it?" His thumb caressed your cheekbone, tracing the contour of your face with gentle pressure. "It is my realization that you have no first clue how to be with a man," he confessed, his voice a husky whisper. "And as much as I cannot stand the thought of you belonging to anyone else…. I wish to help you understand more." His hand moved from your cheek to cradle the side of your neck, his grip firm yet tender. "Will you let me?"

Your breath hitched as he cradled your neck, his touch lighting a fire within you. His words echoed in your mind, the possessiveness in his voice undeniable. Despite the confusing emotions raging within you, the curiosity and desire to know what he meant won over. "Y-yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'll let you." A slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips as he leaned in closer, his nose grazing yours. "Good girl," he purred, his warm breath mingling with yours. "Now, let us begin your education." His hand slid down from your neck to rest on your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body. You could feel every inch of his muscular frame pressed against you, his heat seeping into your skin. His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat. "First lesson," he breathed against your ear, his voice a seductive growl, "learn to respond to a man's touch without hesitation." Your heart pounded against your chest as he pulled you against him, the feel of his hard muscles against your soft flesh both exhilarating and intimidating. His breath on your ear sent shudders down your spine, his voice a low, sensuous growl that sent your stomach fluttering. You felt vulnerable yet strangely safe in his arms as if his proximity was a shield protecting you from the outside world. "H-how?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of nervous anticipation. "How do I respond to a man's touch… without hesitation?"

His lips trailed down the column of your throat, leaving a scorching path of desire in their wake. "By trusting him completely," he whispered against your skin, his words punctuated by nips and licks. "By giving yourself over to his will, to his pleasure." He cupped your breast through the fabric of your gown, kneading the soft mound with skilled fingers. "Feel this," he commanded, pinching your nipple through the thin material. "This is the response men crave from you. To submit to my touch, to revel in the sensations I evoke within you." His other hand slid beneath your skirt, his palm gliding along the sensitive inner thigh, inching higher with each passing moment. "Can you do that for me? Can you trust me enough to lose yourself in the pleasure I offer while I teach you?" A gasp escaped your lips as he touched you, his words and actions igniting a heat within you that you never knew existed. You clutched at Jaime's shoulders, your breathing becoming labored as his hand continued to explore under your skirt. Your body reacted to his touch, betraying your growing need. "I… I can try," you whispered, your voice breathless and filled with desire. "Teach me. I want to learn." A triumphant smirk played on his lips as he heard your words, his eyes gleaming with dark promise. "Excellent," he purred, his fingers finding the dampness between your thighs. "Let us proceed then." With deft movements, he pushed your skirts up around your hips, exposing your bare legs and the delicate folds of your sex. "Look at you," he murmured, his gaze raking over your exposed flesh. "So wet already. So responsive to my touch." He dipped a finger into your slick heat, groaning at the warmth that enveloped him. "You're going to make a quick learner out of yourself, aren't you, pet?" As he began to stroke your inner walls, his thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive nub with deliberate slowness. "Just feel," he instructed, his voice a hypnotic rasp.

Your knees buckled slightly at the first touch of his fingers, your entire body quivering with anticipation and arousal. The sensation of his digit sliding inside you, filling you up, was overwhelming. "Oh gods," you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders tighter as waves of pleasure coursed through you. His thumb on your clit was driving you mad, sending jolts of ecstasy straight to your core. "What is this?" you pleaded, your eyes fluttering shut as you surrendered to the sensations. "It's your body awakening to pleasure," he explained, his voice thick with lust. "It's you finally understanding what true delight feels like." His thrusts grew deeper, his finger curling inside you to find that sweet spot that made your back arch and your head thrown back in abandon. "This," he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction, "is how you should respond to every touch, every caress." His thumb pressed harder against your clit, picking up speed as he sought to draw forth your climax. "Come for me, pet," he demanded, his own arousal evident in the throbbing bulge pressing against your buttocks. Your moans grew louder, more desperate as Jaime continued to tease your senses. Every movement of his finger sent sparks shooting through your veins, making your toes curl and your heart pound wildly in your chest. "Jaime…" you whimpered, your grip on his shoulders tightening to the point of pain. "I don't know if I can…" You were overwhelmed, consumed by the new sensations coursing through you, each one stronger than the last. "That's it, let go," he coaxed, his voice a low growl. "Just give in to it." He increased the pressure on your clit, his finger now pumping steadily in and out of your dripping entrance. "You're close, I can tell," he taunted, feeling your walls clench around him. "Give in to the pleasure, pet. Let it consume you." His other hand slid around to cup your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he watched your face contort with pleasure.

Your whole body trembled as the pleasure built within you, threatening to break free at any moment. "Jaime… please…It feels funny," you begged, your breath coming in short gasps. The dual assault on your breasts and your clit was too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Stop, I'm… I'm going to…" "Yes, that's it," he urged, his eyes fixed hungrily on yours. "Don't fight it. Come undone for me." His finger plunged deep, stroking that secret spot inside you as his thumb circled your clit relentlessly. Your nipple was pinched hard, the slight pain mingling deliciously with the pleasure. "Now, pet. Come now." He captured your mouth in a fierce kiss, swallowing your scream as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of bliss consuming your trembling body. He drank in your cries, prolonging your peak until you slumped bonelessly against him, utterly spent. "There now," he murmured, nuzzling your neck. "You did so well, pet. Such a good girl." As the aftershocks of your climax rippled through you, you panted heavily, your body slick with sweat. "That was… incredible," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. The world seemed to have narrowed down to just the two of you, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the steady beat of his heart echoing in your ears. "Thank you," you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion. He smiled, pleased with your reaction. "You're welcome, pet," he replied softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "But we're far from done. That was just the beginning." His hands roamed over your curves possessively, reigniting the flames of desire. "I plan to take my time with you, to explore every inch of your luscious body." His teeth grazed your earlobe, his hot breath fanning across your skin. "By the time I'm finished, you won't remember your own name. All you'll know is the feel of my hands on you, my cock buried deep inside you." He punctuated his words with a sharp nip, drawing a startled moan from your lips.

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, anticipation building once again. Despite the intensity of your previous climax, you could feel your body responding eagerly to his touch, to the promise of more pleasure yet to come. "Please, we can't," you breathed, arching into his caress. "Oh, but we can," he purred, his hand sliding down to grip your ass possessively. "And we will." He rolled onto his back, pulling you astride him. "Ride me, pet," he commanded, guiding your hips to straddle his thick shaft. "Take what you need." His hands settled on your waist, encouraging you to sink down onto him. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Use me for your pleasure." His eyes blazed with hunger as he watched you, waiting for you to impale yourself on his throbbing length. "You want to learn for your new husband don't you?" His words sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you, making your heart pound in your chest. With a soft sigh, you slowly sank down onto him, taking his thick shaft inside you inch by glorious inch. "Y-yes," you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper. The feeling of his hardness stretching you open was intoxicating, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. "I want him to be happy." "That's right, pet," he coaxed, his voice low and husky. "Show him how much you want to please him." His hands tightened on your hips, guiding you in a slow rhythm. "Let him see how eager you are to serve him." Each word was punctuated with a deep thrust, pushing you further down onto his cock. "Make sure he knows how much you crave his touch, his control." His fingers dug into your flesh. "Show me you understand."

"Yes, Sir," you gasped, bracing your hands on his chest as you began to move. Slowly at first, then faster as the pleasure built between your thighs. Your hips undulated sinuously, grinding your wet heat along his rigid length. "I want him to be proud of me," you panted, your breasts bouncing with each roll of your hips. "To know that I'm his perfect little wife." The thought of pleasing your future husband spurred you on, driving you to ride him harder, faster, chasing the ecstasy that awaited you. "That's it, pet," he praised, watching your breasts sway with each movement. "Show him how much you love serving him." His thrusts matched your movements, driving upward to meet you. "Let him see how much you crave his domination." His eyes locked onto yours, dark with lust and pride. "Prove to him that you belong to him, that you're his in every way." His grip on your hips tightened, urging you to ride him harder, faster. "I do, I do!" you cried out, your voice high and breathy with need. "I belong to him, body and soul!" Your hips moved frantically now, grinding against him with abandon as you chased your release. "He owns me, controls me, makes me his!" The words spilled from your lips like a prayer, a vow of submission and devotion. "I'm his perfect little wife, ready to serve him in any way he desires!" With a final, desperate plunge, you came undone, your inner walls clenching around him as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you.

"That's it, pet," he growled approvingly, feeling your tight walls convulse around his throbbing member. "Let go, give in to the pleasure." His own climax approached swiftly, driven by your cries and the tightening grip of your pussy. "Show him how much you love submitting to him." His thrusts became erratic, more forceful, as he neared his peak. "Give him everything, let him have it all." With a final, powerful surge, he spilled himself inside you, filling you with his warmth as he moaned your name even as your future husband's name spilled past your lips. His seed filled you, hot and potent, triggering another wave of pleasure that rippled through your body. Your muscles clenched tightly around him, milking his cock as you rode out the aftershocks. "Oh, yes," you whimpered, your body trembling with satisfaction. "He fills me so perfectly." Your hands rested on his chest, stroking him gently as you basked in the aftermath of your shared orgasm. "I can feel him inside me, marking me as his own." The realization brought a smile to your face, a sense of completion and belonging that filled you with joy. "That's it, pet," he murmured, still holding you close as he caught his breath. "You're his, completely and utterly." His hands caressed your back, soothing away the last remnants of tension. "Remember this moment, remember how good it feels to submit to him." His voice was soft, and tender, as if he wanted to imprint the experience onto your mind forever. "Hold onto this feeling, because it's just the beginning of what he'll give you." He pulled you down for a gentle kiss, sealing the memory with a taste of his lips.

"You're right," you whispered against his lips, feeling a new kind of happiness bloom within you. "This is just the start." Your fingers traced idle patterns across his skin, committing every detail to memory. "But nothing will ever compare to this moment, with you." The admission slipped out before you could stop it, revealing a depth of emotion that surprised even you. "Thank you, Jaime," you said softly, meaning it more than you'd realized possible. "For everything." Jaime's expression softened at your words, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "You don't need to thank me, pet," he replied, his voice low and sincere. "I've always been here for you, in whatever way you needed." His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, a gesture of affection that spoke volumes. "And I'll keep being here, no matter what comes next." There was a hint of uncertainty in his tone, a recognition that your roles would soon shift irrevocably. But for now, in this quiet moment, he simply held you close, savoring the closeness and the unspoken understanding between you. "And perhaps we can continue on with these lessons until your big day." The mention of your wedding made your heart flutter with excitement and nerves. "Yes," you breathed out, nodding eagerly. "I want to learn everything there is to know about pleasing my future husband." Your gaze locked onto his, a silent plea for guidance mixed with a touch of fear. "What will you teach me next?" The question hung heavy in the air, laden with significance. Jaime's eyes darkened with a mix of desire and something deeper, something almost like longing. "There's still so much to explore," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "So many ways to make you feel pleasure beyond imagining." His hands slid lower, cupping your rear possessively. "We'll start with the basics - how to touch yourself, how to tease and tantalize until he's desperate for you." He squeezed gently, emphasizing his point as he grinned.

The sensation of his hands on you sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins. "Teach me then," you urged, leaning into his touch. "I want to be ready for him, for our wedding night." Your breasts pressed against his chest, nipples hardening further under the pressure. "Show me how to make him moan with pleasure, just like you did earlier." A smirk played on Jaime's lips at your eagerness, and he leaned back slightly to admire the view. "As you wish, pet," he purred, his hands deftly unfastening the front of your dress. With practiced ease, he pushed the fabric aside, exposing your breasts to the cool air. "Watch closely," he instructed, his voice thick with lust. "Feel every inch of your skin come alive beneath my touch." His fingers danced over your sensitive flesh, circling around your hardened nipples before giving them a light pinch.

[writers-potion]

Writing Armour

Types of Armour

All types of clothing provide some protection.

For street fights where you have a couple of teenagers brawling, it would be appropriate to dress them in jeans and a jacket. For more protection, a quilted winter coat or a morotbiker's thick leather jacket, perhaps.

Leather, especially when treated and straightened, offers good protection against arrows, swords, and spears.

The historical armour will include glued-together layers of fabric, thin wooden or bone platelets sewn onto cloth. For wealthier and more advanced societies, metal would be used.

An armour has many parts, and you'll want to describe them with varying levels of detail. However, here are the basics:

A cuirass is a breastplate, protecting the heart and abdomen.

Greaves are shin guards, usually strapped on, protecting the front fo teh lower legs.

Arm guards (bracers)

Helmets

Modern armour will involve a bulletproof vest (which may also be knife-proof). It can be stiff and heavy, and the wearer will sweat under them.

The body armour can lose its effectiveness after a few years.

Disadvantages of Armour

The typical armour (made of steel) is heavy and clunky. In a few hours, your hero is likely to be sweaty, hot and stinky on the inside.

Armour restricts mobility.

Every armour have gaps (the wearer needs to breathe!), and a clever fighter will aim for the chinks.

Shields

Shields are held by the hand rather than worn, so larger shields will be cumbersome and heavey to move, while smaller ones will offer only partial protection.

Shield often consise of wooden frames with leather, hides or metal. They may be painted with heraldic emblems, scary faces, or with magical pentagons.

A shield can also be used as a weapon, like ramming it under the opponent's chin or slamming it down his feet.

The smaller fighter can use a shield well to their advantage, since a shield of the same size will have fuller coverage of their body. However, they will need a strong arm.

Units of githers may use shield formations, such as the tortoise of the Roman legions, the shield wall of the Vikings, and the Greek hoplites shielding not only themselves but the man next to them.

This post is for writers who are trying to bluff their way through a fight scene with minimal knowledge! For full-fledged scenes, I recommend more research.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

1968 Wood, Hot Metal, and Gasoline: The Improbable Marcos 1600 GT

It’s easy to deride the Marcos, but its “plywood” is more akin to a state-of-the-art composite technology. Wood in cars? The mind goes to the faux wood paneling on

the left tasteful Chrisler production of the early 1990s, or the anachronistic Morgan Roadsters. But the Marcos 1600 GT is much different than either of those applications. And it owes a lot to one of the greatest warplanes of all time: The de Haviland Mosquito, which relied heavily on plywood construction.

Yes, plywood. We think of it as a cheap material, maybe even an inferior one, and certainly not something that has any place in a sports car. But use it correctly, and plywood's limited weight and incredible strength do wonders. Think of it as a composite material: You can alter the aspects that make up its structure to change its characteristics—the wood type, the number of plies, the orientation—just like you can with fiberglass or carbon fiber, which can be made of different weaves or molded using different techniques. And like those materials, it's impressively strong for its weight (especially at the time of the Mosquito and Marcos).

You won't be surprised at all to learn that the aerodynamicist and co-founder of Marcos, Frank Costin, worked as an engineer on the Mosquito as a during the war.

The brand is the first king, the Xilon (Greek for "wood") used plywood chassis construction (the car was remarkably ugly, too), and the GT was a further development of these techniques. The body is constructed of fiberglass and supported by the wooden chassis, which gives the car a rigid structure that's lightweight—it's about 1,800 lbs—and strong. Consider the issues that Colin Chapman had with the very advanced Lotus Elite, an all-fiberglass monocoque road

car that suffered from some notable failures. The hybrid construction of the Marcos, on the other hand, proved remarkably durable.

And to be very clear about the comparison to the Morgan roadster, the Marcos GT's chassis is plywood, whereas the Morgan has a steel chassis and an ash-framed body. Later Marcos GTs, however, used a steel chassis that had some issues. Notably rust. As such, steel-chassis Marcos are far less desirable among fans of these little sports cars.

This particular car, powered by a Ford Kent crossflow inline-four that's been bored to 1.7 liters. Power is sent to the rear wheels via a four-speed manual transmission and a 3.73:1 differential.

Sources: motortrend.com ; classic.com ; wikipedia.org ; autoevolution.com

[sapphic-coded]

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Some gore. Language that Cap wouldn't approve of. Reader is a messed up assassin. Minors DNI

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: Welp. Here's my first fanfic on tumblr. I only have one chapter written, but I'm hoping my muse will stick with me so I can turn this into a series. This is lightly edited. I apologize in advance for any mistakes you come across (and you most likely will). Minors, please do not interact. Please do not copy/steal my work. Enjoy!

Chapter One: I Thought You Died Alone A Long, Long Time Ago

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1992

The silence that filled the car wielded a tension you were all too familiar with. Your father’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel he gripped. A deep frown pulled at his lips while his cold, steel gray eyes stared straight ahead behind a pair of thick, dark framed glasses. His usual tamed black hair was a mess with strands of hair shooting out in random directions. 

Sitting next to your father, up in the front passenger’s seat, was your older brother. He was a tall, skinny boy who had just embarked into his teens. His blonde hair was parted down the middle of his head and reached the tips of his ears. His navy blue eyes stared out the passenger’s window. His lips were pressed tight. There was so much he wanted to say. If you guys were anywhere else, perhaps he wouldn’t hold back. 

Sitting next to you in the backseat of your father’s station wagon was your older sister. She was a year younger than your brother with her long brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her head was bowed, and her brown eyes were glued to the pages of her book. She was skinny like your brother, but her body was already beginning to shift into adulthood. She had started growing breasts last summer. 

You were the youngest. You had recently celebrated your tenth birthday. You were skinny like your siblings, but still very much a child. Your green camo jacket felt heavy. You were all dressed alike: green camo jackets, dark green shirts, green hunting fatigues, and heavy brown boots. It was the outfit you always wore during your hunting trips with your father.  

Your brother reached toward the car’s radio. Your father’s hand released its vice-like grip on the steering wheel and slapped down on your brother’s hand. You heard the loud smack, and your brother quickly snatched his hand back.

“I’ve had enough of your nonsense.” Your father’s voice rode a current of anger that popped the tense bubble of silence. 

“I just wanted to listen to music,” your brother shot back. “Sitting here in silence is boring.” 

Just like that another argument between your father and brother started up. You looked over at your sister. She was very much focused on her book. Your attention drifted over to your window. You did your best to tune out the argument happening up front while you watched the scenery of trees roll by. Eventually your gaze dropped to your lap. You stared at the dried blood caked around your fingernails. 

“...pointless and–”

“You are cowardly and weak!”

You can’t believe the weekend is almost over. You had spent the whole weekend out hunting with your family. Your father had parked his station wagon in a lot and marched you all out into the woods. You all had spent the whole weekend laying in the cold mud. It was your brother’s hunt. You were all following his lead. Which meant mostly laying in the mud and following tracks every so often. This weekend was supposed to end with your brother’s first kill. Instead, it ended differently. 

The engine of your father’s car stopped as you reached your house. The argument between your brother and father had ended, but you cannot recall when. You undid your seatbelt and opened the car door. The moment you stepped out onto your driveway, your attention landed on a moving truck parked across the street. A man and a woman were busy unloading boxes out of the truck and carrying them into the house. 

You noticed something else. A girl around your age with blue hair came out of the house and walked down the driveway towards the moving truck. Her pace slowed as she noticed you. You lifted your hand in a small, friendly wave. A smile had started to curl at your lips when your father’s voice called out to you. You turned away from your new neighbors and found your father standing in the garage with his hunting rifle hanging from his shoulder. You made your way up into the garage where you felt your father’s hand fall gently onto your shoulder. 

Amsterdam – 2010

You hate these jobs. Long relentless days spent circling your target. Never able to strike just yet. You had to put on a show first. Pretend to be their friend, or a business partner, or their lover. You had to act as if your target was important in some flimsy life you threw together. Your kills were always messy at the end of these jobs. You can’t help it. You just want the stupid job to be over. 

And it almost is. You have spent the past four days pretending to be your target’s bodyguard. Four days spent following your target around. You dealt with their problems and waited for the day all your targets would be together in the same room. Because the job wasn't just to kill the target you were pretending to protect. Your target and their friends had messed up. They had pissed off the wrong people. You were there to clean up the mess. 

Your target had set the long awaited meeting to take place in a fancy hotel in the middle of the day. The guest list for this meeting would be short. It included your target and you, his business partners, and their private security. The meeting wasn’t scheduled to take long. It was supposed to be a simple transaction. An easy exchange of goods and money. The details of that particular transaction did not interest you. Your interest lingers on your plan to take out all your targets. 

The dark brown shoulder holster that you wore over your white, button-up, collared shirt held one of your favorite guns. There was nothing overly special about it. It was a standard, black 9mm Beretta handgun. It was reliable in nearly all your jobs. It was your favorite because it had been your first gun. A present from your father. It marked the end of your training and the beginning of the rest of your life. If your job was to take out just the one target you had been following around, then the choice would have been easy. But the job required the elimination of all your targets. Since the other targets were bringing their own private security, once you made your move you would need to finish the job quickly. 

But the job didn’t specify that the kills had to be quiet. 

You pull on your gray suit coat. Your shoulder holster disappears from view as you stand before the mirror and button the coat. Matching gray trousers cover your legs and the black flats you wear bring a smile to your face. This job was almost over and soon you would be busy getting yourself as far away from here as possible. Hence why you chose the flats over heels. You run your hands down the length of your suit coat to smooth out any wrinkles. Your hair is pulled back into a professional, tight bun. Your right hand dips into one of the suit pockets. The pad of your finger brushes against the small, round marble nestled within. 

When your target is ready, you follow him out of the hotel room he rented and down into the hotel lobby. You follow him across the spacious lobby and into a large boardroom. As the door clicks shut behind you, your eyes survey the room. A long mahogany table commands most of the space within the room. Situated around the table were identical black office chairs. Far more than necessary for this meeting. Sitting in four of the chairs were your four other targets. Standing behind each of your targets were their own bodyguards. Sunlight poured into the room from the floor to ceiling glass windows that ran along one side of the room. 

You follow your target over to one of the chairs. He takes a seat and you stand behind him. Your gaze briefly returns to the other bodyguards. All tall, imposing looking men. They stand as still as statues, and you wonder how they do it. Do they enjoy following around power addicted fools? You spent four days with your target, and you can’t wait to kill him. 

“Where’s Tyler?” your target asks as he settles into his seat. 

“Running late,” your other target answers. 

You tune out the insults your targets direct towards the currently absent Tyler. Instead, you wonder what this peaceful boardroom will look like in the next ten minutes. Or however long it takes for Tyler to show up. There will definitely be blood. Broken glass was also a given. You doubt the chairs will make it. The hotel will definitely need to buy a new table. But you wonder if you’ll get a chance to see their faces. Just one. It’s the part that fascinates you the most. Your target’s last moment etched across their face. It reveals so much. 

The door to the boardroom opens and the conversation shared between your targets dies into an awkward silence. You turn in time with everyone else as Tyler steps into the room alone. The first thing you notice is that he is sweating. A lot. In his shaking hand he holds the handle of a briefcase. His free hand raises up and he runs his fingers through a disheveled mop of dark hair. 

“Sorry about the wait,” Tyler says. 

“Jesus, Tyler,” your original target replies. “You look like shit. Let’s just get this over with so we can all go home.” 

Tyler nods and hurries over to the table. He sets the briefcase down and opens it. One of your other targets reaches into their coat pocket and pulls out a brown wrapped parcel. The size and shape of the parcel is clearly money. With everyone’s attention on Tyler and his suitcase, you causally unbutton your gray suit jacket. 

“Just so everything is clear,” your original target addresses the others. “You give us that.” He gestures to the suitcase. “You take the money, and we don’t hear from you ever again. You don’t mention us and we don’t know you. You don’t come looking for this because it doesn’t exist.”

Tyler nods. 

“We still haven’t discussed how we are dividing our profits,” another target says. 

“We’ll discuss it later,” your original target replies. 

As the conversation shifts into another argument, you decide that this is as good a time as any to wrap things up. All your targets are in place with a few bonus players. It is time to put these boring four days behind you. As your hand moves towards your pocket, you spot one of the other bodyguards quickly lowering his head. His hand lifts up to press against his ear. You still your movements as you watch the other bodyguard. 

“We just lost our comms,” the bodyguard’s voice cuts through the argument. 

Your hand abandons its journey towards your pocket as your original target turns around in their seat to look at you. The question written plain across their face is one you can’t answer. Maybe if you had any comms to worry about then you could make a solid guess as to why they are suddenly down. But you don’t. And while you have no interest in who the new mysterious player is, you do get the sense that maybe you really should wrap this up. Quickly. 

You mimic the other bodyguards as you reach for your gun. Your fingers manage to brush against the holster’s leather before a faint beeping sound pulls your attention over towards the door. Something small and metallic rolls out from underneath the door. It rolls across the floor towards you and your gathered targets. You can barely make out what it is from where you are standing, but the quickening frequency of the faint beeping causes you to turn away from it. 

The white light that explodes from the weird object swallows up the entire boardroom. You close your eyes as the explosion drowns out the shouts from the other bodyguards. Your ears are ringing when you open your eyes. The shouts from your targets are muffled as they all scramble from their seats. The wall of glass windows shatters as men in black tactical gear attached to wires swing into the boardroom. The bodyguards who had managed to pull out their guns immediately exchange gunfire with the uninvited tactical team while your targets scramble to avoid getting hit. 

Well, you hadn’t planned to end this job on a neat and tidy note. Things were about to get really messy. 

You pull your gun from its holster and aim it at the first tactical newcomer that pointed their gun at you. Your finger squeezes the trigger, and you watch with satisfaction as their head snaps back from the bullet barreling through their forehead. Their body goes limp and drops. You spy one bodyguard already dead with their chest riddled with bullet holes. 

A second tactically geared newcomer turns their attention to you and is quick to fire. You quickly duck underneath the fancy boardroom table. Bullets from your enemy’s gun rips through the wood above you. You take aim at the guy’s leg and fire. The guy’s cry comes through crystal clear as he drops to his knee. You can’t fight back the smile that curls your lips as you maneuver your way out from underneath the table and fire off another round where you’re almost certain his mouth is. 

Another bodyguard has joined the other dead one on the floor while the others corral your targets behind them as they continue to exchange gunfire with the uninvited guests. Except, Tyler darts out from behind the weakening wall of bodyguards and rushes towards the bullet ridden table. He snatches up the briefcase and hurries towards the door. The other targets hurl curses his way as you lift your gun and aim at the back of his head. You are about to pull the trigger when the door Tyler reaches flies open into him. Tyler stumbles backwards, trips over his clumsy feet, and falls backwards. The briefcase slips from his grasp and slides across the floor and stops at your feet. 

Your attention, however, is not on the briefcase. It’s not even on Tyler who is groaning and still alive. Your eyes are glued to the person who steps through the doorway and into the room. You recognise her face immediately despite her red hair. It’s long and tied back away from her face in an intricate braid. The black catsuit she wears bears the symbol of SHIELD on her shoulders. The identity of the tactical newcomers pales in comparison to the way her olive green eyes widen slightly in recognition. Old memories, so long buried that you are shocked you can even remember them, creep in. The gun in your hand never wavers as you find your old friend at the business end of it. 

“Y/N.” 

If there were any doubts, her voice banished them. It’s her. 

“Put down the gun.” 

It’s as if a floodgate has opened. The memories are countless despite the fact that it had only been three years. So old and forgotten that they feel new. They smother the job that has taken up residence within your mind. You’re here to kill your targets, but all you can think about is the last time you saw her. How abrupt her departure had been. You remember your father’s rants about her family. 

Slowly, you lower your gun. She takes a step forward. Tyler’s groans stop, and he lifts his head up. He reaches for the briefcase at your feet. You point your lowered gun down towards Tyler’s head and pull the trigger. Your friend’s advance stops as blood and pieces of Tyler’s brain paint the floor and the briefcase red. One target down. 

The smoke pours from your gun as you gauge her reaction. The recognition you saw earlier is gone. Her face is a mask, and the frustration you feel is so familiar. 

The last of the bodyguards drop and your remaining targets are completely exposed. The remaining tactical guests close in on your targets except for one who breaks off and starts towards you. You ignore the orders the man shouts at you. Instead, you kick the blood and brain matter stained briefcase underneath the ruined table. You start to raise your gun, but the tactical guest already has his finger on the trigger. He fires and you are quick to dodge out of the way. The bullets dig holes into the wall behind you. You kick one of the office chairs at the man. It collides into him and he stumbles back. You raise your gun again but the moment you squeeze the trigger, your legs are swept out from underneath you. The bullet you fired finds a home in the ceiling as your back collides with the ground. 

Before you can move, a weight settles on you. Hands pin down yours. Strong legs straddle you as your friend’s face fills your vision. 

“Stop, Y/N.” There’s more force behind her words this time. “Don’t make me hurt you.” 

You almost laugh. Almost. Maybe if your job was done then you could have spared a moment or two to revel in your friend’s joke. But you were dangerously close to losing control of this job. You pull your legs up and manage to throw your friend off of you. You roll onto your knees and go to stand when the man you had kicked the chair at slams the butt of his gun into your jaw. Your head snaps to the side and blood fills your mouth. 

The childhood memories that have been distracting you vanish as you spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor. The man turns his gun back around to point the barrel at you. Your hold on your own gun remains firm as you look over your shoulder towards your friend. She’s on her knees as well, but that is all you are able to make out as you quickly drop back down towards the floor. A small, short bluish bolt flies barely an inch over your head and lands on the guy who hit you. Blue strings of electricity wrap around his chest as he drops with a shout. 

You scramble to your feet and head for the door. Your hand digs into your suit pocket and your fingers close around the small marble. You can hear your friend catching up to you as you pull the marble from your pocket. Your thumb presses down on the miniscule button barely noticeable to the eye. As you quickly near the door, you drop the marble. It rolls towards your remaining targets. The moment you make it out of the boardroom and into the lobby, you feel her hand close around yours. You yank your hand hard from her grip and turn quickly while raising your gun. 

You find yourself staring down the barrel of her gun. A smile creeps onto your face as you hold your gun steady. Unfortunately, your friend doesn’t find this amusing. 

“Put down the gun.”

“You first, Nat,” you reply. 

Her gun stays pointed at you when it finally happens. The boardroom explodes into a hot, blazing ball of destruction. The force of the explosion sends both of you flying further into the spacious lobby. You both hit a fancy looking pillar before dropping with a hard thud to the ground. Despite your body’s screams of protest, you are the first to climb back onto your feet. You look down as your friend starts to move. Still alive. Your gun feels heavy in your hand as that single thought runs laps through your mind. For the first time in a long time, you feel excited. 

“Sorry, Nat,” you say as you slide your gun back into its holster. “Gotta run.” 

You leave her there and make your escape. Slipping away from the scene that has now drawn a crowd is as easy as breathing. You hardly think about it. And with nobody chasing you, it’s almost painfully easy. But the further away you get, you know that’s not entirely true. She isn’t chasing after you now, but she will. You hope so. You miss your only friend.

[bits-and-babs]

✰ 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐙𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 - 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “This is just a hookup." "I know." — Fed up of your antics, Simon gives you a time and place.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. reference to interrogation/violence/torture, sensory deprivation (pitch black), power imbalance, references to masturbation and voyeurism, finger sucking, gagging, against a wall, p in v sex, unprotecte- i know, I’ve got issues.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

Skittering chills crawl up your vertebrae as you wait impatiently. The shipping container previously used as an interrogation chamber didn’t make for the cosiest spot, but Ghost hadn’t left much room for argument when he’d informed you of the rendezvous point.

“Container 12, 11 pm.”

He’d delivered it with authority, that barking order that rang out over the coms when bullets whizzed by your ears. Who were you to deny Lieutenant Simon Riley? Refusal equated to insubordination— you couldn’t have him thinking you’re undisciplined.

Casting your eyes over the inside of the container, you grind your teeth together. Dried, rusty-coloured flakes of blood peel from the metal ridges of the walls, and a chair lies discarded on its side in the corner. Standing here alone is unnerving, though you’d never admit it. Perhaps that’s what Simon had in mind- a test of endurance. He was late for the meeting by around five minutes; surely there was no other explanation?

It’s only as you begin to settle into reluctant resignation that the creaking door of the container screeches, pushed forward. You’re, admittedly, relieved to see him. Golden flood-lamp light spills across the floor, haloing Simon’s hulking frame before he shoves the door closed again.

“Lieutenant,” you address him by rank, squinting in the darkness but keeping your voice as steady as you can muster. It’s pitch black, but you’re almost convinced you can see his ghoulish mask sneering at you in the darkness. “You’re late-“

“You’re early,” his gruff voice cuts through the blackness. It sounds odd, the bluntness of the Mancunian accent bouncing off your eardrums. He also appears closer than you realised, his voice abnormally loud for the distance you assumed lay between you.

They were right; he really did move like a spectre.

“You needed me, Sir?” You query, but the words seem to shrivel and die in your throat when a gloved palm settles across your chin, tilting your head up.

“Don’t think so,” he answers, his warm breath fanning over your face. There’s amusement flirting with his tone— only slight, but with your senses on overdrive, it rings in your ears like he’s set off a gun beside your temple. “Think you need me.”

Heat burns beneath your skin, but you grit your teeth and steel yourself against the shock of Simon fucking Riley making such an astute observation.

“Sir?”

“Don’t play coy,” his tone is flat, words slightly muffled as though he had something in his mouth, “Think I don’t hear you? Always moanin’ my name when I’m on watch.”

He’s walking you backwards, stopping his advancement only when your back hits the cold metal of the wall.

You don’t have a chance to dispute his damning point, his naked fingers pushing past the plush of your lips and pressing against your tongue. It’s as though your body falls in line immediately, following his silent orders like a good little soldier. You trace his fingertips with the tip of your tongue, sucking on the length of them as he hums.

“Always raisin’ your voice, hopin’ I’ll hear you. You want me to join you? That it?” He asks, his monotonous accent pooling deep in your abdomen as he continues to call you out for your reckless behaviour. Any of 141 could have overheard.

You open your mouth to speak around his digits, but Simon preempts your pathetic attempt to make an excuse. He pushes his fingers in until his knuckles brush your lips, halfway down your throat. You gag around the intrusion, hand grasping at the bulletproof vest Ghost still wore after returning from his latest mission.

“Fuckin’ dirty girl,” he groans over the filthy sound of your chokes. You can hear the clinking metal of a belt in the darkness, the rustle of khaki fabric and the rip of a zipper. “If I give you what you want, are you gonna stop those pathetic little whines?”

God, it’s ridiculous. You practically trip over yourself to nod the affirmative to his question. Muffled swears rumble in Simon’s chest, intelligible despite the close proximity. You’re already scrambling to pull down your cargos; embarrassment soothed only by the blackness that swallows and shrouds you both.

Ghost grunts softly, pulling his saliva-soaked digits from your mouth. The disappointment of feeling empty doesn’t last very long, his drenched fingers brushing over your pussy lips and plunging deep inside you without warning.

“Fuck,” he practically spits at the squelching sound of your cunt swallowing his fingers. You gasp loudly as he curls them back, brushing against your walls and coaxing a sensitive spot that ripples bliss through your core. “This— This is just a hookup.”

You nod over and over, probably looking like those stupid Churchill-Dog bobbleheads he’d see in taxis at home, babbling the same words over and over as he teases that mind-melting spot inside you that has your thighs trembling; “I know, I know, IknowIknowIkno-“

You feel it before you hear it, the huff of breath before the rumbling growl of dying resolve. A large, bruising hand grabs your thigh and hoists it over Ghosts’ hip. The position settles for only a moment, your tight, orgasm-teased muscles just creaking at the sudden change before Simon’s cock sinks into your dripping core.

The wail of bliss ricochets off the metal walls of the cargo container. Ghost is quick to press his naked palm to your mouth, suppressing your pathetic little mewls as he inches inside of you. You can hear his haggard breaths, can feel the ebb and flow of his exhales as he presses his masked forehead against your own.

“Hoh- Fuck-“ Simon groans out, only slightly rocking into you once he settles balls deep. It’s barely there, but the gentle thrusts have you clawing at his sleeves. Your eyes roll back, his pubic bone grinding just right against your needy clit.

“This is just a hookup-“ Simon insists through gritted teeth, but as a shaky moan falls from his mouth when he begins to thrust into your tight, wet heat forcefully, you start to wonder if he’s attempting to convince you of himself.

You realise he’s losing that battle when he spills inside you with a gasp of your name, quickly followed by an almost desperate ‘just one more-‘

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[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Hi

Congratulations again 🎉

Here is my request for your I love you 3000 Bonanza:

Steve Rogers, Fake Dating and the prompt:

"I'm tired of answering that question"

Thank you in advance 💞

Oooh this one was actually quite tough but I hope you like what I've come up with!

Not a Nobody - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Revelations occur when fake dating Steve leads you to getting captured

Word Count: 1.2k

Warning: Kidnapping! Light Angst! Fluff! Brief Mention of Blood!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Masterlist / Celebration Masterlist

You were sat trembling in your seat, the metal frame of the chair like an iceblock against your bare skin. Despite the freezing temperatures, your skin was slick with sweat and your chest heaved as you tried to catch a breath. 

You flinched at the sound of heavy boots echoing around the abandoned warehouse, the owner slowly approaching. Your eyes darted to the man, instantly spotting the flash of metal as he pulled a knife out of his pocket as he approached.

You tried to control your breathing, make it shallower as he held the knife against your neck “Maybe this will get you talking hm?” he said as he caressed your cheek with the cool steel “Where is Captain Rogers?”

You screwed your eyes shut knowing your answer would only enrage your captor “Please, please I’m tired of answering that question, I - I told you I don’t know, please just let me go.”

Your captor let the knife dig into your cheekbone just enough to draw blood “And I told you, I don’t believe you” he growled “As Captain America’s girlfriend you should know everything”

You bit your lip to stop it from trembling when you spotted a shadow pass on one of the higher levels, you fought the urge to breathe a sigh of relief, help was coming you just had to hold out a little longer. 

Your captor must have noticed your gaze drifting though so you thought on your feet to keep his attention on you “I’m not!” you exclaimed bursting into tears “I’m not it was all a lie!”

Your captor faltered, blinked a couple of times in confusion “What?”

“It’s true it was all fake! Some paparazzi took our photo together once and everyone assumed we were together but we’re not! We were faking it!” you exclaimed as tears streamed down your face. 

“I don’t believe you” your captor growled. 

“It’s true I swear,” you said before shaking your head “god do you really think someone as low as me would attract the attention of a superhero? I’m nobody! Just some girl who works in a bakery! And he’s this amazing man who is selfless and kind and so loving and whoever he loves is gonna be the luckiest girl in the world” you gasped, the words tumbling out of you all of them completely true, you and Steve were just neighbours when that photo was taken but the last couple months had been the best of your life, even if the lie had ended with you being captured “god, god I wish I was lying right now because he means the world to me but I’m just a nobody”

Your captor studied you as he took a couple of steps back “Why? Why lie?” he asked, seeming to be actually curious. 

You scoffed and shooking your head, looking down at your lap as you gathered yourself “It was some stupid plan” you muttered as you looked up at him “They- they thought” you said before pausing to take a breath, the expression of a terrified damsel in distress falling, a smirk replacing it “they thought you wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation and kidnap me, they knew it would lead them directly to you”

Confusion passed across your captor's face before realisation dawned and his expression fell. He barely had enough time to react before a circular red, white and blue shield smacked into the side of his head and knocked him out cold. 

“Took you guys long enough” you breathed, pulling off the restraints that you had managed to untie the moment you arrived and wiping the blood from your face. 

“And miss your dramatic monologue?” Tony smirked as he landed in front of you and placed handcuffs on your captor, the head of a crime syndicate here in New York. 

“I’m glad that one acting class I took in college didn’t go to waste, but I think I’ll stick to my day job” You glanced at the sound of someone jogging over to you, a smile forming when you saw it was Steve. 

You went to stand from your chair but Steve put his hands on your arms “Whoa take it steady” he said, holding you upright even though you didn’t need it. 

“I’m fine Steve I promise” you reassured him.

“That cut on your cheek tells me otherwise” he said carefully brushing his fingers over it to assess how bad it was “Let’s get that cleaned up, you guys good in here if I take Y/N back to the jet?” 

“Yeah we’re good, go get some alone time,” Nat said with a knowing smirk. 

You frowned in confusion over at her but didn’t say anything as Steve led you out of the warehouse and towards the jet. Once inside he carefully guided you to sit down before grabbing the first aid kit.

You watched as he crouched down in front of you, removed his fingerless gloves and began preparing what he needed. When his gaze rose to meet yours he paused for a split second as if was gonna say something but he didn’t. He just raised the bit of cotton and gently tapped it against your skin.

You winced at the sharp pain of the iodine “Sorry” Steve murmured, continuing his work even more gently. 

The silence between you seemed to stretch in a way that it never had before, so much so that you felt the need to talk but couldn’t think of what to say. 

“Did you mean it?” Steve asked quietly making you jump, his gaze set on the first aid box that he was tidying away. 

“Wha-what do you mean?” you stuttered. 

Steve nodded his head in the direction of the warehouse “In there, what you said about me… did you mean it”

Your lips parted as you let out a long breath, you hadn’t meant to say what you did but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true you just hadn’t planned on saying it, it just tumbled out uncontrollably “every word” you whispered. 

Steve’s gaze rose to meet yours again, his bright blue eyes shining “So the past couple of months?” he started. 

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you recalled all the time you spent with Steve, living your dream, pretending to be his girlfriend and wishing it was real “Were the best 2 months of my life” you breathed. 

“They were for me too” Steve admitted swallowing nervously “You’re incredible Y/N, You’re not a nobody, never have been, you mean the world to me Y/N from the moment I met you”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief “Then why were you so against this whole plan?” you asked recalling how angry he got when the team suggested it. 

“It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, it was because I didn’t like the idea of putting you in danger” Steve sighed. 

A lopsided grin grew on your face as you cupped his cheeks and gently kissed him “It’s a good thing I have you to protect me then” you smiled, caressing his cheek with your thumb “Let’s do this for real”

Steve grinned back at you and nodded his head “Deal” he said before leaning back in and kissing you much deeper than before.

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Masterlist / Celebration Masterlist

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[just-an-emily-existing]

Tw: Death, Blood, Implied Gore

Happy Traintober, and happy reading ;)

Once, in a little valley of the Island of Sodor, before the Skarloey was the Skarloey Railway, there lived a timeworn steam engine named Cadogan. She was the first of her kind, known for her heartwarming whistles and the warmth of her vintage red color, Cadogan had seen many seasons cycle through the green hills of the island. She was a marvel of engineering, a pride of the station, most cherished by the little children who would wave to her as she puffed past, sending clouds of steam spiralling into the sky.

But as time marched on, her brilliance dulled. Technology advanced; newer, faster engines glided effortlessly along the tracks. Cadogan began to feel the gnawing fear that came with obsolescence, the relentless threat of the scrap yard looming over her. Whispers among the workshops grew louder, each echoing the unthinkable: “It’s time for Cadogan to retire.”

One crisp winter evening, as the sun dipped beyond the hills and cast long shadows over the rails, Cadogan sat in her shed, a heavy heart trapped within her iron frame. The fear of being dissolved into lifeless metal spurred something within her. The sound of the wheels against the tracks, the longing for the cheers of her passengers, it brought her to tears. The body she possessed could not accept her fate among piles of rust and decay. In a moment of desperation, Cadogan closed her eyes and wished with every ounce of steam in her boiler.

Suddenly, a warmth surged through her, igniting an ancient magic, a chance she never knew she had. In a flicker of golden glitter and a burst of steam, Cadogan transformed, her essence shifting from iron and steel into the flesh of a young woman. Her hair flowed like black smoke, and her eyes now gleamed with fire and life. Overjoyed but still filled with fear, Cadogan fled from her old life.

She raced through the misty woods, her heart pounding fiercely with newfound freedom, but the fear of being discovered still chased her. She was a creature of the tracks, yet here she stood, vulnerable in a world where she once was mightier than her human form could ever hope to be. It wasn't long before the townsfolk noticed a woman who looked almost exactly like her engine counterpart. They quickly realised it was Cadogan herself, trying to flee from the railway to Lady knows where. Some marvelled at her bravery to escape, but some believed she was an omen, a wraith signalling the end of the railway.

One fateful evening, weeks after her initial escape, Cadogan found herself at the edge of a bridge that loomed over a rushing river, the moon glowing white on the horizon. Questions swirled within her. Could she remain human? Would others accept a woman born from an engine? The doubts clawing at her mind twisted her heart into knots. Just then, a group of workers approached. They were armed with old tools and bows, faces twisted in disgust. They had come to reclaim the escapee of Sodor, a mission that included her fate as well.

Seeing the determination in their eyes, Cadogan understood the truth; they had come to take her back, to return her to the looming embrace of scrap. “No! I’m more than what they designed! I'm still useful! I don’t deserve this!!” she shrieked, desperation coursing through her veins. But they were resolute, pushing forward, and as her fear turned to rage, she was pressed to the edge of the bridge, heart pounding wildly.

With a sudden wave of anger, she scrambled to keep her distance, ready to leap into the freedom of the river below. They soon noticed her anger was turning into aggression, and saw she grabbed a huge stick and pointed it at them, backing away slowly. “I refuse to let you kill me! I’m getting across this damn bridge whether you like it or not!” So, the workers had no choice but to draw their bows. “Stay away from me!” she yelled, and in her turmoil, she felt an arrow pierce through her abdomen. In the fragile moment between horror and self-preservation, she felt herself fall back. Time froze as she lost her footing, falling into the depths below.

She screamed something wicked, a scream that could make ears bleed. The rushing waters greeted her with a cold embrace, and for a moment, she could breathe. Yet as she sank below the surface, the realisation struck her like an arrow. There was no escape from her own demise. She couldn't outrun her fate. Underwater and beneath the weight of her newfound humanity, she saw visions of tracks, glowing sickly warm in her memory, the laughter she had brought, the love she felt, the children who waved.

But alas, she couldn’t find her strength, the water paralysing her whole body. The world went dark for our Cadogan. But suddenly, a bright light flashed before her, a last wave of magic surged through her, resurrecting her spirit. She pulled herself from the abyss, thinking she could fly, but it was too late; the bridge, the lives above, and the hope she chased were irretrievably lost.

The workers had gone, leaving only the haunting echo of what could have been—a glimpse of a life forever marred by horror. Cadogan stepped onto the bridge, feeling lighter than ever before. She looked off to the side and saw her lifeless engine corpse, stuck between two huge rocks. She didn't even feel scared or shocked, she just stood there, and looking down on her body, saw the arrow... The arrow that had killed her, forever doomed to be lodged through her body.

She soon realised what she was—an engine dressed like a woman cast adrift, forever trapped on the isle that once adored her.

As the last curls of steam rose into the moonlit sky, Cadogan realised she was now alone and dead, not only an engine trying to escape but a creature of sorrow forged in the waters of loss. The only sounds that remained were the whispering wind that stirred between the trees, and the rushing of water over her body pressing against the silence of a bridge that would bear her grief for the ages.

But workers will tell you, on a full moonlit night, they can see the woman, running across the bridge, the arrow still lodged deep in her body, trying to pull it out. But she never does pull out the arrow, or reach the other side, for no matter the condition of the rails and bridge, she always slips and falls, screaming the same wicked screech as she did when she first fell and plunging into the water below.