#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.

[nanamiskentos]

NERDS DO IT BETTER ☓. ── ( 呪術廻戦 )

⌗ turns out they're the best you've ever had, and you think you're gonna' have to come back for more!

ᯓ starring ─. jjk ensemble cast : nerd! gojo, nerd! geto, nerd! sukuna, nerd! nanami, nerd! toji, nerd! choso

𝓶𝓾𝓵𝓽𝓲. ㅤ﹑ ( 呪術廻戦 x afab!reader )  ─── ❛ cw ⌓. mdni. college au. risky, public séx. handjóbs. óverstím. hate séx. fíngeríng. fiíming (consénsual). édging. vírgin!kuna. óral (m). missiónary. soft séx. brééding kínk. créampíe. backshóts. óral (f). wc ⌓. 3.5k.

﹙ 五条 悟 : gojo satoru ﹚ ─ advanced mathematics, physics

"oh, fuck!" gojo's absolutely quivering, throwing back a head of tousled, snowy hair, "that's, ouh, that's way better than i ever coulda' even dreamed of." pale-pink lips snapping sharp around another moan as he shudders, "can ya' do it again?"

you're clicking your tongue, doing your very best to bite back a flushed smile yourself. knowing that you've got the smartest, honour roll student pliant beneath you, his thighs splayed out and bare — the skin spottled with patches of rosy pink, dusted with fine white hairs. he's still got that campus sweatshirt on, rumpled over the askew collar of the dress shirt underneath. where you're eager to run your hands, to slide your fingers up past the low trail of hair on gojo's groin.

it doesn't hurt that gojo's, like, ridiculously gorgeous. thick-rimmed glasses foggy over vibrant blue eyes, framed by ridiculously long lashes. and you can see him gnawing at the inside of his cheek as your hand keeps at a steady pace. pumping him over and over, until thick ropes of seed are coating your hand. it must be the nth climax of his by now, but it seems neither of you are that eager to call it a day.

you smile at how gojo squeezes his eyes shut, glasses skipping askew so you can fondly kiss his forehead. titling his glasses right back into place, all while he bites back a low, rumbled groan, "a-another?" it's a plea, almost hopeful for you to milk his poor, throbbing cock until there's not much else it can give.

"mhm, i don't know, satoru. it's kinda' risky, don'tcha think?" you're trying to keep your voice down, knowing that anyone could round the corner here. they could move past the stack of chairs littered behind the physics subsection of books and old papers to find gojo spread out so sluttily over this chair, his pants drifting past his ankles while you lean over behind the desk to jerk him off. workshop questions and calculations long discarded as the most intelligent man on campus chases some form of pent-up relief from you, his angel that's solely heaven sent.

gojo's the type of guy that's always moving, whether he's skimming and flipping through pages of glossy textbooks or speeding over the butterfly keys of his steel-grey mac, and right now?

he's still in motion, tapping trimmed nails in staccato beats against the plastic table. drumming his fingers over and over as he does his best to not let you see the crystalline tears of delicious overstimulation pooling at the corners of his eyes. shuddering as you pull back, letting his big cock snap back, smearing a thin line of translucent cum against his blue sweatshirt.

cursing because he knows he's gonna' have to peel that top off before his next class, before anyone can figure out exactly what that stain is, "fuck, we still got 15 minutes before that lecture, yeah? one more, please, baby, jus' one more."

﹙ 夏油 傑 : geto suguru ﹚ ─ philosophy, sociology

"what did i say? eyes on the lenses, pretty girl." geto's determined and mean when he's like this, but then again, when is he not a cunt?

that bitchy nerd's always sniping at you, doing dumb shit like taking your seat in class and sucking up to the teacher — batting pretty, dark lashes at the tutor while throwing a nasty look your way when you get the answer right.

but as of this moment, there aren't any right answers in your head. not when geto's got you propped up in his broad lap. right in front of a blinking video camera, perched on a shaky tripod as he swirls his digits as deep as he can into your pretty, swollen pussy.

"s-sugu', feels so good," you moan, sinking your teeth into the plush flesh of your lower lip as geto's face softens for a split second before hardening once more. handsome features crinkling as he shakes his head of choppy, raven hair, "didn't ask if it felt good, geez. i asked for the answer to the question, or are we jus' having trouble following instructions as well?"

"hate ya' so, so much, still, i don' even remember the fuckin' question," you're sniffling, knowing that he's so deliciously knuckle deep within you right now. your clear, glossy arousal coating his fingers as he pumps the digits in and out of your heat with a satisfying squelch!

geto smiles, as though he wanted you to say that while he was rolling a fat thumb over your clitoral hood. berry lips pulling at the corners as he tuts, using the hand that was previously holding apart your thighs to slide a pristine paper over his bed, clicking his tongue before he intones, "tch', let me quiz you, again, 'cause we got that test tomorrow. though, 'm not sure it's much good. now, how would you explain structural functionalism?"

your mind's absolutely turning to incredible, pleasurable mush as you struggle to form coherent sentences. instead, staring at the blinking red light blearing out through the dark haze of geto's form room, and swallowing as he begins pulling at the sensitive ache of your clit, "it's, like, the premise of everything havin' a purpose. like, hahh, society being a well-oiled machine n' people are jus' cogs and — fuck! suguru, can't even focus like this."

your back is writhing against geto's toned chest, and you can feel the dark strands of hair that have escaped his hairtie tickling at your cheek, "i know, beautiful," he coos, almost as though he quite likes you, rather than the loathing that he claims, "now tell me, who's ideas does structural functionalism align with? answer quick, and i'll make ya' cum this time, promise!"

brain whirring on overtime to snap out a rushed breath, "emile durkheim!" your lips pouting as you heave in a candied breath of air, "that's right, isn't it? now you promised, so please! make me cum, sugu', fuck."

you can hear geto chuckle, "you didn't make me pinky promise, though?" and he's revelling in how you huff, and curse him out, "besides, i like watching you squirm all pretty for the camera. helps me remember my notes so much more. y'know that 'm gonna' go back and revise this later."

﹙ 両面 宿儺 : ryomen sukuna ﹚ ─ anthropology, history

"you're a virgin?" your mouth parting into a sweet gasp as charlotte tilbury leaves sticky strands of product stringing between your pretty lips. because, there's just no way...

sukuna's rolling his crimson eyes, and shoving his tattooed hands into the ragged pockets of his thick hoodie, "why don't we focus on the project again? y'know that the entire thing is due next week, and this is our last meet-up before we gotta' present?"

the burly, quiet man's clearly flushed — with his tanned cheeks painted awash in some watercolour, blushy hue. muttering something about insolent cheerleaders and how he's refusing to get a bad grade because of you. but you're never one to lose. you just cross your arms over your chest, and a little more firmly on purpose, just to watch sukuna gulp as his gaze drops right down to that shadow of cleavage, "hey, you're the one who asked if i was sleeping with the quarterback."

sukuna's just too easy, because for all his churlish, jerkish attitude, he's not immune at all to your easiest charms. like a pretty red lollipop, or a spritz of your favourite body mist, or when you hike the hem of your skirt up just a little bit higher to doodle faint hearts on your flesh. and now he's grunting, drawing his eyes away from your torso to gulp, training his eyes solely on the project rubric, "yeah. was jus' a question. i don't give a fuck."

"mhm, sure." snapping strawberry gum between your teeth, "because i'm not with him." you grin as sukuna stiffens, almost snapping the poor, thin frame of a cheap lead pencil between his thick fingers.

"no?" he sounds almost, almost sheepish. battered headphones clattering around his marked neck as he jerks, and you almost coo. for it's honestly quiet sweet at how interested he sounds. ironic, considering ryomen sukuna is one of the most surly men on campus. always with his nose buried in some medieval book, always some exemplary paper of his pinned to the student noticeboard about the heian era.

"no," you repeat, scooting just a little bit closer to his broad frame, "because 'm interested in someone else, ya' see. like you, 'kuna."

the pencil snaps, the wood finally giving out to the quick motion of sukuna's fingers clamping down on it. pieces scattering and littering the table as broken lead clutters, the remnants of a man who's just had his world rocked but doesn't want to admit it, "hah, funny," he's muttering, "yer' really interested in me?" all you had murmured was a tempting, alluring little phrase that would remain with sukuna forever, something like, "want me to prove it?"

and that's exactly how you ended up like this. eyes blown wide, little hearts dancing around your pupils as you took in the sheer size and girth of what sukuna was hiding in his faded jeans. lips parting to close over the weeping tip of his thick shaft, and grinning at how there's already sheer, salty drops leaking out.

"fuck, w-wait," sukuna's groaning, with his spiky head of two-toned hair thrown back against your desk chair, "it's sensitive." clacking his sharp teeth around a wanton moan when you tongue at the veins bulging on the sides of his cock, "already feels like 'm gonna –"

"cum?" you offer helpfully, flattening your tongue against him so he throbs, hot and heavy, into your mouth. releasing yourself from his cock with a loud pop! and you're sure glad that your sorority roommates aren't home, for you're not sure how to explain that you're dripping wet yourself, just from sucking off the most infamous, ill-reputed nerd on campus.

"yeah, yeah," sukuna rasps, a heady and low tone that escapes from his chest, "and that would be e-embarrassing, fuck, that's — that's a good spot." sighing as you trail teasing fingers over folded skin, right at the underside of the base of his cock.

"not that embarrassing, 'kuna," you shake your head, loosening the slick strand of saliva that was stringing away from your lips. replacing your mouth with an entirely different type of gloss, and one that you're growing increasingly fond of, "and besides, we got a lotta' time before my roommates come back. plenty of other things we can do, hah."

﹙ 七海 建人 : nanami kento ﹚ ─ economics

"but i jus' think numbers are kind of beautiful, wouldn't you say? like they have their own satisfying figure and precision?"

you smack nanami's chest, leaving a small, cherry hue over your boyfriend's pectorals, "your girlfriend is literally under you, and you're talking about numbers being beautiful."

he gives you an apologetic smile, thick waves of golden hair dampened with the sweat of exertion that was to be expected when he was delivering the sweetest, most loving strokes to your very core. thick, bulging tip kissing your cervix as nanami huffs, "sorry, darling. nothing's more beautiful than my girl, and, heh, yer' figure is the one i love the most."

"that's better," you gasp, feeling him rummage through your swollen pussy. girthy shaft bulging past throbbing, dripping folds as he delivers hit after surefire hit against your g-spot. but then, suddenly, you're frowning, "don't you have class, like, right now, babe?"

nanami squeezes his eyes shut, amber lashes kissing peach-flushed skin. "yeah, had some tutorial," he groans, drawing his cock out of you almost entirely before he's snapping his hips back into you with such force that there's a resounding smack reverberating through his bedroom, "but heh, they don't really need me there. i already know all my shit."

"and you won't get in, i don't know, trouble?"

your boyfriend shakes his head, pushing aside the stack of stock market magazines littered near your head, so he can slam his hand down on the soft quilt. all so nanami can steady himself as he has only one purpose in mind, to make you cum. to make you see such stars of pleasure that you squirt all over his cock. and he can already picture your fucked-out form, hazy and littered with the marks of his loving. and drenched down below.

well, anatomically, it mustn't be possible but at the mere vision, nanami can feel himself harden even more. like his cock is responding to the hypnotising grip that you've got him in. hefty balls tightening further and he's rasping in your ear, "can i —, fuck, can i cum in ya', darling?" desperate and falling apart at the mere idea, at the way your eyes flutter shut in bliss, "only if yer' also wanting me to, i swear. but please –"

"yeah. in me, kento. baby, all yours."

that's all it really takes for thick, stringy wads of hot release to spurt out from nanami's weeping tip. cock releasing strands of gooey seed into your cunt in a way that makes your boyfriend press his forehead against yours, littering a thousand kisses against your fucked-out, smiling lips, "thank you, thank you, thank you, darling. i love you so much. can't even put it into words, but i love you —"

﹙ 伏黒 甚爾 : toji fushiguro ﹚ ─ physical education, kinesiology

"what the fuck did you jus' call me, ma?" toji's got a blunt nail trailing down your spine, running over the curve of your ass, "a nerd?"

you're writhing, "yeah, yeah. i mean, that's what everyone says," and it takes every cell in your body to fight back the inevitable release that toji's bestowing upon you. for you're determined to delay this just a little longer, to feel toji's thick cock slam into you from behind over and over in a way that you never really expected from the grumpy sports major.

and it seems the idea amuses him, for you don't even need to turn around to imagine how his sharp, jade-green eyes must be narrowing at the knowledge of what everyone calls toji fushiguro behind his back. how toji's sharp, shark-like grin must be widening, sharpening knives to sink into your shoulder, "why? 'cause i don't do that stupid, attention-seeking sports shit like everyone else in my degree? 'cause i don't wanna' waste my time on the field or in the locker rooms?"

"t-toji, it's 'cause you always got your damn nose in a book. and i didn't even know you could —," you shriek, feeling his burly forearm come up in front of you, past your bouncing breasts to support your weight as he presses further into you, "i honestly didn't even know you could fuckin' read."

"suchhh a nasty attitude, ma," toji chuckles, and your ass pleasurably stings at the resounding smacks echoing through the (thankfully) empty gymnasium. your lace panties pulled to the sides as you're balanced over the bleachers right in the very corner where the lonesome toji fushiguro prefers to sit, where no one else can bother him.

but damn, if he's not getting off on the idea of taking you so prettily like this. don't get him wrong, toji loves this position. loves how nasty and filthy your pretty arch is when he's swabbing his cock against your pussy. but fuck, he also wishes you were flipped around for him. just so he could press a thumb to your lower lip, and watch your eyes go all silly and crossed for him. while he tacked the thick curl of dark hair around his groin to your sticky, throbbing clit. battered your pretty cunt with his inches until that feisty lil' attitude melted away into sugar and cream.

you moan, such a wanton sound, when toji's thick fingers are climbing up your throat. past your jaw to settle at your mouth. pushing past your lip so you can drool so beautifully for him as he does his level best to at least regretfully silence the sexy sounds falling out of your lips.

"careful, ma," toji shudders, feeling the tight heat of your cunt snatch his soul away, "wanna' keep the volume down so those rocks-for-brains football players don't hear what's going on here. unless, you want them to see how the nerd's practically plowing your brains out, hah."

the resulting clench of your cunt tells toji all that he needs to know, and he has to bite back the furious blush crawling over him, underneath his faded varsity jacket, "oh? that's how it is? well, okay then. hold on."

﹙ 脹相 : choso kamo ﹚ ─ lab medicine, psychology

you know better than to sass choso when he's like this, the night before the final semester exam. see, because the man's got your thighs splayed so prettily out for him. glistening, and dripping all over his bedspread. and to the side, he's got that damn anatomy textbook flipped open.

choso's frustrated, sighing and flicking the pads of his fingers against his tongue to thumb at the sticking pages. rolling his eyes when he isn't able to find the passage that he wants, as if that's your fault. but you don't miss the hungry gleam in the raven-haired man's eyes, the spiky knots atop his head coming loose as he delves right back into his favourite meal. his favourite study snack being your glossy cunt, for he could munch on the slick strands forever.

"bear with me, my love," choso's cooing, trailing a slender, pale finger up your sticky folds until he comes to rest at your clit. tapping the throbbing bud once, "jus' gotta' memorise this, and you're helping me so much."

he's pressing a chaste, quaint kiss to your pulsing clit. that dark mark stretched across his face twitching as he murmurs, "ah, think, choso! right, the clitoral glans has, hmm, 8000 nerve endings. and it leads up to..." choso's drawing slow, teasing circles on your clit and it makes you whine, bucking your hips, "patience, my love. i'll reward you extra special for helpin' me out like this. now, it leads up to the clitoral shaft — and did i tell ya' what the crura is?"

you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you rut against choso's handsome nose for some delicious friction, and he clearly seems eager to indulge you, though he's still lost in academic thought, "right. i guess, baby, you could say the crura are kinda' like the legs for the clitoris. and they extend allll along the pelvic bones."

choso's marvelling the glossy, sheer slick coating his fingers. licking a flat stripe right against your swollen, eager cunt, "and the glans, well, my extended answer needs to mention how they, uh, damn, baby. you're soaked." he's shaking his head again, "i keep getting distracted. the glans — they're the ones with the alpha-delta, and c-fibres, and that's what makes you feel so good. transmitting sensations y'see, i get extra marks for mentioning that."

you hazard a glance to the shining pages of the new textbook that choso's kept on his shelf all semester, "and the, uh, the pudendal reflex? you got a sticky note on that one, babe?"

choso smiles, slowly flicking your clitoral hood in up and down motions, each movement sending simmering pleasure through your groin, "a spinal reflex, m'love. helps with the involuntary muscle contractions, like when i do this —," flatting the pad of his thumb against your clit to run tighter circles against the aching nub, watching as your hips jolt up further against his face. coating the lower half of his features in translucent arousal.

"now, my favourite part," choso says, grinning as he turns his attentions elsewhere, to your dripping entrance pooling such a mess over his sheets. and your boyfriend's tugging at his grey sweatpants, "the grafenberg spot. i don't think my fingers will be enough to stimulate it properly."

[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

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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 :)

[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

[cryptotheism]

have you already gone over what kind of rigs sanitation workers would have? 🤔 i imagine theyd have power hoses

I have so much lore for sanitation rigs.

The Utivel Urion-7 "Mole Rat" Sanitation Rig is a common middle chassis that blends design elements from several urban construction frames. They are notable among medium frames for boasting a full hermetic seal (although it's optional, and rarely used bc it eats through power.), and an advanced olfactory sensory array.

While not particularly fast or strong, The plating is a dense, shock-resistant bioplastic that can repel acids, biohazards, and as of the most recent model run, small animal attacks. They tend to be equipped with long polearm-like tools for fishing through trash and clearing drain blockages, as well as chemical thrower with a variety of solvents.

They are often paired with the Utivel Lavion "Washing Woman" ultra heavy duty waste management mech. These green steel goliaths are the largest, strongest, mechs most people are going to see outside of a military engagement. They are cumbersome, slow, beasts with a huge tower-shield like forklift and manipulator arm for managing dumpsters. Their name comes from their massive back-mounted trash compactor and incinerator, which resembles a large laundry basket. Their large angled cockpit gives them a distinctly buxom appearance.

Additionally, the Urion-7 can be quickly refitted with more advanced parts, and used as the vanguard of a biohazard response unit. The Hazard Response helm, with it's shoulder-width white hood and rigged bubble dome helmet, have tragic associations. It is the rig of plague wardens and body cart drivers.

[mihii-i]

silver bullet.

Pairings: jinx x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, vampire jinx, vampire hunter reader, graphic violence, blood, reader fucking HATES jinx in the beginning, but this ho has a crush on her implied, I use more foul language than usual uh oh, jinx is too silly for reader’s gloomy ass, my girl gets lowk messy with drinking blood cause whys it getting everywhere, part 2 (pending), collab fic, I was leaping up and down like a baby writing this god, proud of this one, the way I want to give isha another sibling holy shit, licking up the green tea today, not proofread.

A/N: now playing touchin’ me by chandler leighton—oh yall KNOW I have to do another collab fic with her come on @kadriss-loves-gifflars anyway I loev jinx so yes this woman makes me a total 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 also lowkey this kinda works cause silco reminded me of a vampire when I first saw him and post shimmer jinx? Yeah definitely 🕯️

Heavy onslaughts of rain poured in a fervent wash of deafening white noise circling you as your drenched form stood upright in the frigid shower, droplets dribbling down the protruding jugular veins of your throat with your teeth bared in a rugged scrape against each other. Days. Weeks. Months. You don’t know how long you’d feel the numbing shivers crawling up your spine as a product of your unending weariness, head swerving weakly from side to side in caution to make sure that a pair of fangs didn’t tear away at your flesh from behind.

The torture was unbearable for you. Countless nights of lost sleep lingered in the fury of your sanity slipping past the fingertips of any ground of stability, fingers buried deep into the plush of the pillow to crease as it sank under the weight of your thumb pressured upon it. How long had you truly spent hunting down this blood sucking demon? How many more lives had to be lost for you to finally put an end to her advances chewing up the city you resided in?

Every awful detail of her face was etched into your mind, sticking in like a leech as you memorized those deep, pink eyes flaring with their sights set on you, stray strands of turquoise blue locks framing her face whenever she poked out from the engulfing darkness of a hallway. Much worse, she didn’t even take the potential of you ending her life seriously at all. Likely taunting you further at the prospect of her dying at your hands, as if it was an absurd idea. Occasionally even throwing up a finger gun with that shit eating grin on her face to mock you, the same grin she had on her face when she devoured another innocent soul with specks of blood decorating the corner of her lip.

Heavy breaths rumbled out of your throat in accordance with your twitching eyelids, jerking with each descending droplet over water plinking against the metallic nub lodged between your bare fingers, peeking out from the bumps of fabric crowned with dark leather sheathing the palm and dorsal side of your hand. Sharply inhaling through your nose, you idly dragged your thumb along the intricate carvings scratched into the steel bullet hemmed in the grasp of your fingers slowly rotating it like the digits of a combination lock.

This would be the time. You swore. You’d bury that bullet in her skull and wipe that grin off her face if it was the last thing you’d ever fucking do.

You’d murder Jinx if it was the last thing you’d do.

You carefully drew in another breath of the pungent air sided, with the specks of rain landing onto the black leather coat draped over your shoulders, the foul stench of dried blood dissolved into rainwater stung your nostrils in a near assault as your shoes imprinted an outline of blocky lines into the thick mud. The rusted brass of your pistol rested against your hip with your hand hovering over the drenched gunmetal, rapidly yanking it out and slamming the bullet to load into it as if you were resolute on a definite decision to put down this killer.

What a shame. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself weakly in the midst of your pathway to Jinx, teeth dragging up your bottom lip to bite off the loose skin chapped along the soaked, dull tint of your lips. Even through this endless cycle of hunting her and losing her, braids falling behind her every time she shot you a glance upon emerging victorious, you couldn’t help but grow fond of this particular undefeated vampire.

The lingering status as a supposed ‘mortal enemy,’ if that’s what you could call it, only resulted in a bond stemming from this constant interaction that pumped streams of adrenaline across the tensed veins of your body. And strangely enough, you found yourself attached to the very person you hate, gaining a peculiar thrill from the rush of hunting her down. Relishing in the way her sharp, painted nails would lightly tap the barrel of your gun with a smile of feigned innocence, before spiraling past you at a speed you couldn’t keep up with.

Well, looks like you’ve grown attached to the vamp after all. You’ll miss her after you’ve buried that fancy silver bullet in her cranium.

Choking up at the diffusing clouds of dust sealing your airways, you firmly planted your palm against the drenched, slippery leather clothed over your left breast, avoiding the familiar shiver that racked your body as the familiar scenery unfolded before you for the umpteenth time. As you caught sight of the dark, extravagant mansion unfolded before you, a whirlwind of determination seared up within you as you took in the stygian architecture towering over you.

Of course. The countless number of times you could roll your eyes at the fact that this unkempt vampire had such an opulent living space, with the furnished decor seeming like it was left to rot for eternity, probably because she wouldn’t even bother to clean it. It was ridiculous at how this sloppy ass vampire could have everything in the world, and still prefer to toss it aside like a spoiled child. Personally, you couldn’t help but scoff internally at the immaturity exhibited by the very woman who had mauled hundreds, the only vampire you couldn’t kill so far.

A quiet cough was expelled from your lungs as the sole of your glossed boot tapped against the creak of the dusted floorboards, the dim glow of writhing candlelight flooding your vision as slivers of melted wax skipped along the little bowls that held them. Waves of apprehensive caution locked you into place as your vision wavered in the unusually dim sights of the mansion, breath coming out in shallow, rapid expulsions of air forcing their way out of your chest. It was the same as usual you could handle it. You wouldn’t let this stupid girl have her way this time.

Your expression contorted into a scrunched up picture of repulsion painted across your features as that sinister giggle bellowed in your ears in a dreadful reverberation, the frequencies of her voice cutting through any possible sense of tranquility you had left. The lingering vibrations soon faded into the pits of shadowy darkness swallowing the hallways and crevices of the area, the near colorless candlelight seeming like the only safe space that would hold you from dissolving into the belly of nothingness.

“Gotta hand it to you. You’re still chasin’ after me for what? Millions of years now?”

A swift click echoed across the confined of the enclosure, accompanied by the tiny flames burning along the candle wicks inclining in a lean to the side as if perfectly matching your every move. Jinx’s piercing eyes were practically illuminated by the little candlelight there was in a deathly glow of reddish pink, eyeing the smallest jerk of your body with a petrifying precision.

“I know you’ve got that damn grin plastered across your face even in those shadows like a coward.” You spat, your hand ghosting along the wavering, cold trigger as you rose the gun to aim into the lurking depth of pitch black.

You were aiming at nothing, the anxious lump lodged in your throat refusing to go down at your limited periphery fogging up your senses with a lurch of unusual panic.

“You won’t be running around like a moron once I rip your heart out and blow your brain out.” You added, attempting to calm your nerves with any ounce of confidence.

Jinx merely rolled her eyes, emerging into a sliver of light briefly illuminating a thin strip along her pale complexion where that messy side bang fell over her face.

“Oo. Scary.”

Her mocking tone only aggravated you further, using the remaining sanity you had bottled up left to keep yourself from folding your index finger like a trigger happy maniac.

“Come onn! Lighten up! I wore something special for our thousandth anniversary!”

“Oh? You wanna die fancy? I can respect that.”

“By dying you mean you ending up on the floor with that little gun of yours unable to clicky-clicky?”

“Shut your mouth. We’ll see who’s laughing when I squeeze your heart in my fucking hands.”

“Huh. That sounds romantic. You like me trying to chomp down on you this bad?”

You breathed out exasperated sigh, cracking your voice as your eyes flitted along every corner of the mansion hall, gripping along the swirled carvings of the worn brass tighter as to not let it clatter to the ground from the sweat of your palm mixing with the slippery drops of rainwater. Your sigh was quickly substituted with a dry laugh of choked back loathing, seething across your tensed forearms in an attempt to keep your cool in case she hurls another one of her cheap tricks at you.

“Mm. I’ll admit. I’ll miss that rush I get when I try to tear you apart with the stake, Jinx.” You mention, earning an equally amused laugh from Jinx, a flash of her faux sweet demeanor splayed along her features.

Suddenly, a swift wave seared across the blank air in an incomprehensible speed, gentle waves of a synthetic breeze caressing the exposed skin of your face as that unmistakable chill shot along the rigid column of your spine once more.

“Yeah. ‘Ts been tempting to kill you too. But hey, looks like you hit the jackpot. I’m having too much fun to drain you dry.”

Her warm breath fanned across the shell of your ear as your chest heaved up and down, blurry vision finally adjusting back into focus within the span of a split second as you realized she was right behind you, hands dug into your leather coat as the fun blue and pink of her nails contrasted the gloomy black. She wasn’t wearing her usual clothes. It was more..formal. A white button up and black pants like you initially thought vampires dressed when you were a child.

“See? Told ya’ I wanted to dress nice. I wanna see how your blood looks all over this shirt.” She muses, gesturing to the clean white fabric clinging to her stature.

Cringing at the thought of deep red stains dirtying the white shirt without even a speck of dust, you couldn’t even have a moment to yourself in thought as Jinx slowly walked in front of you, lengthy braids trailing behind her like streaks of blue lightning emanating off of the vampire before you. Her eyes transfixed onto your fear laced pupils momentarily flickering down to her muted lips before losing yourself in the deep pools of violet red.

The silence of her staring dead through the window to your soul overtook the clearing, the only noise being the little squeaks of mice, or the howl of air fostered in the tension of the clearing.

Was this it? Was she actually going to kill you now-?

“Catch me if you can.”

Her whisper hushed past her her pointed fangs barely registered through your cloudy thoughts as she disappeared into the engulfing shadows surrounding you, gaze shifting over periodically to every time you saw the small pinkish glow faintly peeking through the void.

You fired a bullet.

Nothing.

Three rounds left.

You held your hitching breath as you frantically scanned the clearing for any hint of Jinx appearing in any way shape or form. Setting your aim against the little glow once more, you could make out the slight outline of a person’s silhouette, firing your pistol once more. Only to be met with a drawn out clatter of metal rolling along the floor.

Two rounds.

“Too slow.”

God, you wanted to shut her up. As pretty as she fucking looked, as excited as she made you with the chase each time. As absolutely ravishing as she was whenever her slender fingers ran along the small of your back whenever she sped past you.

You clicked the trigger again in a chain of a loud bang, resulting in a worse shot than the last as the bullet couldn’t even penetrate whatever you shot at, fearful gaze running across the nugget of silver rolling in an echo of your trepidation before ceasing its momentum at your feet.

One round. One shot.

“Come on, (Name). What was all that blabbing about you ripping my heart out? Shooting me in the head with a silver bullet?”

Carefully, your fingers coiled against the brass handle once more, teeth grit together as you took full focus on the sights of the vampire flashing in rapid movements through you.

Bang.

A choking noise suddenly rang in your ears, accompanied by the oozing squelch of a substance dripping onto the floor. Your eyes widened at the sight of the little stream of red pooling from the shadows to trickle in a branched line to the tips of your feet, your heavy breathing more ecstatic at the realization that you have in fact, finally killed Jinx. Elated, you slowly slid your now empty pistol back into the respective loop of your utility belt, a maniac grin crossing your face.

Seriously, did you think it would be that easy?

A hand suddenly brushed along you from behind, a wash of despair, enveloping you as the familar strands of blue tickling your cheek hummed alongside the familiar cracking veins sprouted from her eyelids resided behind you.

Fuck. Had you shot a bloodbag instead? Her cheap trick of fake choking playing out?

“Gotcha.”

It was too quick before you could even think. All you could feel was the side of your neck breaking under the pressure of her fangs abruptly sinking into your throat as a splatter of crimson adorned your cheek, seeping in little red tears along the two holes Jinx had just stabbed into your skin. The messy streaks of her usual sloppy eating habits were evident as you caught sight of the vermillion splatters panned out across the once perfectly clean white of her shirt—you swore you felt her smile against your throat while keeping those fangs buried inside you to lap up the saccharine of your blood.

“Hah. What do you know? Your blood does look pretty all over my shirt.”

—

A/N: oh my fucking goodness you don’t know how much fun I had writing this giggling kicking my feet crawling up the wall I apologize for the excessive foul language I don’t want to be a vivziepop episode

Also, part 2 is going to be nsfw and I contemplated putting nsfw for this one, but that would be like tumblr clickbait so i didn’t BUT I entrust my collab monkey (friend guys I can call her a monkey) to feed you guys the nsfw.

ANYWAY YIPPEE part 2 is pending because of this goldfish sooo @kadriss-loves-gifflars

I want to save hex with her.

…I mean save the hextech gemstone from going back to piltover.

[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.

[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."

[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Previous part | Part 2 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6,5k

Synopsis: Y/N adjusts to her new life in Giselle’s cold, opulent world, where every moment feels like walking on a tightrope.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The streets blurred outside the cab’s window as Y/N stared at the bustling cityscape. The contract she had signed felt like a phantom weight in her bag, an ever present reminder of the choice she had made.

It was a strange feeling, this mixture of apprehension and determination. She had spent the past few days packing up what little she owned, saying goodbye to the familiarity of her old life. The tiny apartment she had shared with her family, filled with secondhand furniture and fading wallpaper, now felt like a lifetime away.

When the cab pulled up to the building, Y/N’s breath hitched. The high rise towered above her, a gleaming monument of glass and steel. The doorman opened her door with practiced precision, offering a polite nod as she stepped out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said, taking her single suitcase with ease. “Miss Uchinaga is expecting you.”

The words sent a chill down her spine. Y/N forced herself to nod, clutching her bag tightly as she followed the doorman through the grand lobby. The space was vast and pristine, with polished marble floors and soaring ceilings. Even the air smelled expensive, a faint mix of fresh flowers and something clean and metallic.

Her nerves prickled as she stepped into the private elevator. The doorman pressed the button labeled “PH” and offered her a brief smile before stepping back.

“Have a pleasant evening,” he said as the doors slid shut.

Y/N wasn’t sure if “pleasant” was the right word for what awaited her.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing a space so grand it momentarily stole Y/N’s breath. The penthouse was a masterpiece of modern design. Clean lines, muted tones, and carefully curated art pieces gave the space an air of effortless sophistication.

The living room stretched out before her, dominated by floor to ceiling windows that framed the city skyline like a work of art. Sleek furniture in neutral shades of gray and cream was arranged with precision, and every surface seemed to gleam under the soft, ambient lighting.

“Miss Y/N.”

The voice was unmistakable, sharp, composed, and commanding.

Y/N turned to see Giselle, she was dressed impeccably in a black blazer and tailored trousers, her hair pulled into a low ponytail. She moved with an air of authority, each step deliberate, her movements fluid and purposeful against the polished wood floors.

“You’re late,” Giselle said. Her tone wasn’t scolding, but it carried a weight that made Y/N’s cheeks flush.

Y/N fumbled to pull her phone from her bag, typing quickly before showing the screen to Giselle.

“I’m sorry. There was traffic.”

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the screen, her expression unreadable. “Follow me,” she said curtly, turning on her heel.

Y/N followed, her footsteps hesitant as Giselle led her through the expansive penthouse. The space was larger than anything Y/N could have imagined. Every corner seemed to radiate wealth, from the sleek, minimalist kitchen to the artfully arranged bookshelves lining the walls.

“This will be your section,” Giselle said as they stopped at a hallway branching off from the main living area.

Y/N peeked inside as Giselle gestured toward the rooms. The bedroom was impossibly large, with a king sized bed dressed in crisp white linens and a plush gray headboard. A soft rug covered part of the hardwood floor, and a floor-length window offered an unobstructed view of the city skyline.

Next to it was a bathroom that looked like something out of a magazine. The marble countertops gleamed under recessed lighting, and the oversized tub practically invited her to sink into it and forget the world for a while.

“There’s also a small sitting area,” Giselle continued, motioning to a cozy space with a loveseat and a sleek black coffee table. “You’ll find it adequate for your needs.”

Y/N nodded, pulling out her phone to type a response.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Giselle glanced at the phone briefly, her expression betraying no emotion. “Dinner is at seven. Don’t be late.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her posture as straight and poised as ever.

Y/N stood frozen in the doorway of her new room, her suitcase still clutched in her hand. The space was undeniably luxurious, but it felt... cold. There were no personal touches, no warmth. It was a far cry from the chaotic coziness of her family’s apartment.

She set her suitcase down and perched on the edge of the bed, staring out at the glittering city beyond the window. For a moment, the surrealness of it all washed over her. She was here, in Giselle Uchinaga’s penthouse because she had agreed to a life she didn’t fully understand.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled out her phone again and opened the notes app.

“I’ll make this work.”

The words felt like both a promise and a challenge. Sliding her phone back into her bag, Y/N stood and began unpacking, the faint echo of Giselle’s footsteps lingering in her mind.

By the time she finished unpacking, the clock on her phone read 6:57 PM, just enough time to head to the dining room.

The dining room was as grand and intimidating as the rest of the penthouse. A long glass table stretched across the room, its polished surface reflecting the cold, sterile light of a modern chandelier that hung above it. The chairs, sleek and minimalist, seemed almost too pristine to touch, their design a perfect match for the rest of the penthouse’s austere elegance.

Y/N hesitated in the doorway, feeling small and out of place in the cavernous space. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag, which she still hadn’t put down since unpacking. Across the room, Giselle was already seated at the head of the table, her posture impeccable, a glass of deep red wine cradled elegantly in her hand.

She didn’t look up as Y/N entered, her gaze fixed on a tablet resting on the table beside her. The faint glow of the screen illuminated her sharp features, making her seem even more untouchable.

Y/N’s stomach churned as she glanced at the chairs lining the table. Each one seemed too formal, too far removed from the world she knew. She fumbled to pull her phone from her bag, typing quickly before holding up the screen.

“Where should I sit?”

Giselle’s eyes flicked up briefly, her gaze cool and assessing before it dropped back to the tablet. She gestured to the chair directly beside her.

“Here. Always next to me, for appearances.”

Her tone was as measured and detached as ever, but the command in her voice left no room for hesitation.

Y/N nodded, swallowing hard as she slid into the chair Giselle had indicated. Her movements felt awkward, as though she were trying not to disturb the air in the room.

Moments later, the housekeeper appeared, moving with the quiet precision of someone well accustomed to working in the shadows of power. She placed a plate in front of Y/N with a practiced grace that made the act seem almost ceremonial.

The meal was exquisite. The duck was perfectly seared, its skin crisp and golden, while the roasted vegetables were arranged in an artful pattern around the plate. A delicate drizzle of sauce completed the dish, its aroma tantalizing.

But Y/N could barely taste it.

The tension in the room was suffocating, wrapping around her chest like a vice. She cut into the duck with careful precision, her hands trembling slightly as she brought a bite to her mouth. The flavors, though extraordinary, felt muted against the backdrop of her nerves.

Across the table, Giselle ate with the same calculated precision she seemed to apply to every aspect of her life. Her movements were methodical, her gaze focused on her plate or her tablet, as though Y/N wasn’t even there.

The silence was unbearable. Y/N glanced at her phone, considering typing something to break it, but the thought of interrupting Giselle’s icy composure made her hesitate.

Halfway through the meal, Giselle set down her fork with a soft clink. The sound, though subtle, made Y/N’s heart jump.

Without a word, Giselle reached into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out a small black velvet box. She placed it on the table between them, her movements as smooth and deliberate as always.

Y/N stared at the box, her heart racing as Giselle flipped it open to reveal a dazzling diamond engagement ring. The light from the chandelier above caught the stone, sending tiny rainbows scattering across the table.

“We’ll need to make this believable,” Giselle said matter of factly, her tone devoid of emotion.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she stared at the ring. It was stunning, far more extravagant than anything she had ever imagined wearing. She fumbled with her phone, typing quickly before holding it up.

“You’re giving me this?”

Giselle arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk. “It’s not yours,” she replied. “It’s a prop. You’ll wear it at all public appearances, starting tomorrow.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as she reached out to take the ring. The velvet box felt soft against her skin, a stark contrast to the weight of the moment.

She slipped the ring onto her finger, her breath hitching as it slid into place. The diamond sparkled brilliantly, catching the light with every slight movement of her hand.

“It fits,” Giselle observed, lifting her glass of wine and taking a slow sip. Her tone was neutral, as though she were commenting on something as mundane as the weather.

Y/N hesitated, then typed another message, her thumbs moving quickly over the screen.

“Does it look convincing?”

Giselle’s eyes flicked to Y/N’s hand, her gaze sharp and calculating. For a moment, she seemed to study the ring as though evaluating its worth before leaning back in her chair.

“It will suffice,” she said simply. “Just remember, this is for appearances only.”

Y/N nodded, her chest tightening at the reminder. She forced herself to take another bite of the duck, but it felt like swallowing stones.

When the meal was finished, Giselle set her napkin down. She rose from the table with effortless grace, smoothing the front of her blazer as she turned to address Y/N.

“My assistant will contact you in the morning to finalize preparations for the Lueur gala. Be ready.”

Her tone was calm and detached, as though she were delivering instructions to an employee rather than speaking to the person who was now supposed to be her fiancée.

Y/N nodded quickly, fumbling to pull out her phone. Her fingers moved across the screen, typing out the expected response.

“I’ll be ready.”

Giselle’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, sharp and assessing, as if she were scrutinizing Y/N for any sign of weakness or hesitation. Y/N felt her cheeks warm under the weight of that stare, but she held her ground, her back straight and her expression composed.

After what felt like an eternity, Giselle gave a faint nod of acknowledgment before turning on her heel and walking away. Her steps were soft against the polished floor, the sound fading as she disappeared into the shadows of the penthouse.

And just like that, Y/N was alone.

The silence in the dining room was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the chandelier above. The table, with its sleek glass surface and untouched place settings, felt impossibly large.

Y/N’s eyes drifted down to the ring on her finger. The diamond caught the light from the chandelier, scattering tiny rainbows across the table. It was stunning, a perfect piece of craftsmanship, its beauty undeniable. And yet, all Y/N could see was the lie it represented.

It was beautiful, flawless and completely fake.

Her chest tightened as she studied the ring, her thumb brushing absently against the cold metal band. The weight of it was heavier than she’d expected, a constant reminder of the role she had agreed to play.

For a moment, the enormity of it all threatened to overwhelm her. The contract, the charade, Giselle’s icy demeanor, it felt like stepping into a world that didn’t belong to her, a world where warmth and sincerity were replaced by calculated appearances and unspoken expectations.

Taking her phone, Y/N opened the notes app with a trembling hand. Her vision blurred slightly, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess of doubt and determination.

“I’ll make this work.”

She stared at the words, her lips pressing into a thin line. They felt like both a mantra and a desperate plea. She didn’t know if she was trying to convince herself or simply reminding herself of why she was doing this.

She thought of her mother, whose hands had grown rough from years of endless work, and her siblings, whose laughter had become rare under the weight of their struggles. They deserved better, a future free from the shadow of her father’s debts.

The coldness of the penthouse, the sharp edges of Giselle’s personality, the suffocating pretense of their arrangement, it didn’t matter. As long as it helped her family, she would bear it all.

Y/N closed the app and slipped her phone back into her pocket, her fingers lingering on the device for a moment as though it were her lifeline. She took a deep breath, the action doing little to calm the storm inside her.

Rising from her chair, she pushed it back gently and glanced around the dining room one last time. The space felt cavernous, the cold light of the chandelier only amplifying its emptiness.

Her footsteps echoed softly as she walked back toward her room. The penthouse was eerily quiet, the silence pressing against her like a weight. The city lights glittered beyond the windows, but they felt distant, like a world she could see but never truly be a part of.

When she reached her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, her eyes drifting to the skyline visible through the large window.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to wonder what Giselle was thinking. Did the CEO feel the same weight, the same sense of isolation? Or was this world so familiar to her that she didn’t even notice?

Y/N shook her head, pushing the thought away. Giselle’s world wasn’t hers to understand. All that mattered was playing her part and doing it well.

She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, her hands resting in her lap as she stared out at the glittering city beyond. The faint reflection of the diamond ring in the glass caught her eye, and she tightened her fists slightly, grounding herself in the decision she had made.

“For them”, she reminded herself again.

She exhaled slowly, lying back on the bed and closing her eyes. The city lights flickered against the walls of her room, but Y/N didn’t look at them. Her thoughts were already focused on the day ahead, on the expectations waiting for her.

Tomorrow, her new life truly began.

Morning sunlight poured into the penthouse, streaming through the towering windows and casting long streaks of light across its sleek, sterile surfaces. The golden glow softened the sharp edges of the modern furniture, but it couldn’t warm the cold, impersonal atmosphere of the space.

Y/N stood by the window in her room, staring out at the sprawling cityscape below. The world outside felt impossibly far away, the lives of the people bustling in the streets below so different from her own. Her reflection in the glass stared back at her, small, uncertain, and out of place in the luxury surrounding her.

Her phone buzzed, breaking the silence. She glanced down at the screen.

“The stylists will come to your room at 3pm. Your gown has been delivered at your doors.”

The message from Giselle’s assistant was as curt and professional as ever, but it sent a jolt through Y/N. She turned to look at the gown hanging on the hanger by her door.

It was stunning.

The gown was a masterpiece of shimmering fabric and intricate detailing. The deep emerald green material caught the light, shifting between shades of forest and jade with every movement. The neckline was elegant, dipping just enough to be daring but not over the top, and the intricate beadwork along the bodice shimmered like tiny stars.

Y/N hesitated, stepping closer to run her fingers lightly over the fabric. It was unlike anything she’d ever worn. It felt delicate, almost too precious for her to touch, let alone wear. The sight of it filled her with conflicting emotions, excitement at the thought of stepping into a world she’d only seen in magazines, and dread at the realization that she didn’t belong there.

"What if I embarrass her?"

The thought crept in unbidden, making her chest tighten. Giselle had been clear, this was business. A performance. Mistakes weren’t an option.

The hours leading up to the event passed in a blur. Y/N barely had time to think as a team of stylists and makeup artists descended upon her room, transforming her into someone she barely recognized.

A stylist stood behind her, carefully curling her hair into sleek waves that fell over her shoulders like liquid silk. The faint smell of hairspray lingered in the air, mixing with the soft hum of conversation from the team. A makeup artist leaned in close, her brush sweeping over Y/N’s cheekbones to highlight them with a subtle glow.

“Hold still,” the artist murmured, tilting Y/N’s chin slightly as she worked on her eyeliner.

Y/N obeyed, her thoughts spinning as she stared at her reflection. The girl in the mirror didn’t look like her. She looked polished, sophisticated, a version of herself that belonged in Giselle’s world. But beneath the makeup and carefully styled hair, Y/N still felt like an outsider.

When the team finally stepped back, murmuring their approval, Y/N slipped into the gown. The cool fabric slid over her skin, fitting her perfectly. The weight of it settled around her like a reminder of the role she had to play.

She took a tentative step toward the full length mirror, her breath catching as she saw herself fully for the first time. The emerald gown clung to her figure in all the right places, the shimmering material accentuating her every movement.

“You look incredible,” one of the stylists said, their voice filled with genuine admiration.

Y/N gave a small nod, her lips curving into a polite smile, but inside, her nerves were fraying.

When she finally stepped out of her room and went into the living room, she froze.

Giselle was waiting for her, standing by the massive windows that framed the glittering city skyline. She was breathtaking.

The CEO was dressed in a fitted black evening dress that hugged her figure with an elegance that seemed effortless. The gown’s neckline plunged just enough to command attention, while the intricate detailing along the sides shimmered faintly under the light. Her dark hair perfectly straightened, framing her face.

For a moment, Y/N forgot to breathe.

Giselle turned at the sound of Y/N’s heels clicking softly against the floor. Her sharp gaze swept over Y/N from head to toe, taking in every detail with a calculating air.

“You’ll do,” Giselle said simply, her tone brisk but not unkind. She extended her arm. “Let’s go.”

Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second before looping her arm through Giselle’s. The contact sent a jolt through her, but she quickly steadied herself, her heart pounding as they walked toward the elevator.

The mirrored walls of the elevator reflected their image back at them. Y/N glanced at their reflections, Giselle, poised and commanding, and herself, trying not to let her nerves show.

“Smile,” Giselle said softly, her voice low but firm.

Y/N turned her lips up into a small, tentative smile, hoping it would be enough.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped into the underground garage, where a black car was waiting for them. As they approached, the driver opened the door, bowing slightly as he gestured for them to enter.

Y/N slid into the car first, her gown rustling softly against the leather seat. Giselle followed, settling beside her with the kind of grace Y/N could only dream of emulating.

As the car drove further into the city, Y/N stared out of the window, her fingers tightening in her lap. The city lights blurred together, their glow reflecting in the glass.

Tonight, she would step into Giselle’s world, a world of power, elegance, and scrutiny.

Her heart pounded with anticipation and fear.

The car was enveloped in a heavy silence, broken only by the faint hum of the engine and the occasional soft sound of the tires rolling over uneven pavement. The dim glow of passing street lights flickered across the interior, casting fleeting shadows on the leather seats.

Giselle sat beside Y/N, her posture impeccable as always, her gaze fixed on the window. She seemed completely at ease, her sharp features illuminated by the city lights streaking past. To Y/N, Giselle’s composure felt almost otherworldly, a stark contrast to the storm of nerves building in her own chest.

Y/N reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, clutching it tightly as if the device might somehow anchor her racing thoughts. Her fingers hovered over the notes app. She wanted to type something, anything, to break the silence. But what could she say? Giselle had made it clear that this was business, and Y/N worried that even the smallest misstep might chip away at the carefully constructed façade they were about to present.

Her thumb brushed the screen, but before she could decide, the car began to slow.

After putting her phone back in the bag, Y/N’s breath hitched as she looked out the window. The grand entrance of the venue loomed ahead, its golden lights spilling onto the red carpet that stretched toward the towering double doors. Paparazzi crowded the sides, their cameras already flashing like strobe lights in the dark. The muffled hum of voices filtered into the car, growing louder with each passing second.

The driver exited and circled around to Giselle’s door, pulling it open with practiced precision.

Giselle moved first.

As she stepped out of the car, her expression transformed in an instant. The cool detachment she had worn moments ago melted away, replaced by a radiant smile that lit up her face. It was as though she had flipped a switch, her entire demeanor shifting to exude warmth and confidence.

Y/N watched in awe, momentarily stunned by the sheer charisma Giselle seemed to radiate. This was the Giselle the world knew, the poised, charming CEO who could command attention with just a glance.

Giselle turned, extending a hand toward Y/N.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice warm and inviting, as though she had been waiting for this moment all her life.

Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. She slipped her hand into Giselle’s, the coolness of Giselle’s skin sending a small jolt through her. She pushed the feeling aside as she shifted toward the open door.

The moment her feet touched the ground, the flashes erupted in a frenzy. The noise was deafening, cameras clicking, voices shouting questions, the murmur of admiration spreading through the crowd.

“Giselle, who’s your stunning date?” “Giselle, over here! Look this way!” “You two look incredible!”

The chaos of the moment was overwhelming, and for a second, Y/N froze, her body stiffening under the onslaught of attention.

Giselle’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, grounding her. The older woman leaned in just enough for her voice to reach Y/N’s ear without being overheard.

“Remember to smile,” Giselle murmured, her tone low and intimate, as though they were sharing a private joke. “They’re watching everything.”

Y/N nodded, forcing her lips to curve into a soft smile. Her heart raced as the cameras continued to flash, capturing every step they took together.

Giselle’s hand rested lightly on the small of Y/N’s back as she guided her down the carpet, her movements fluid and confident. She stopped occasionally to pose, her expression never faltering, her smile effortlessly charming.

Y/N followed her lead, doing her best to mimic Giselle’s ease. The weight of the ring on her finger felt heavier now, a tangible reminder of the role she was playing. She glanced briefly at Giselle, who turned to meet her gaze with a look so convincing, so full of warmth and affection, that Y/N almost believed it herself.

As they posed for photos, Giselle’s hand lingered on Y/N’s waist, her fingers brushing the fabric of her gown. Y/N’s cheeks burned under the scrutiny of the cameras and the admiring whispers of the onlookers.

“She’s stunning, Giselle!” someone called out from the crowd.

“Congratulations to the happy couple!”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a brief moment, but Giselle’s subtle squeeze on her hand brought her back to focus. She took a deep breath, her lips curving again as she stood a little straighter.

Finally they reached the doors of the venue, a staff member opened them with a bow, gesturing for the pair to step inside. The noise from the paparazzi faded slightly, replaced by the hum of conversation and the soft strains of a live string quartet playing in the background.

Giselle turned her head slightly, her lips brushing close to Y/N’s ear as she spoke. “That’s the easy part. Now the real work begins.”

Y/N’s heart sank slightly at the words, but she nodded, her fingers tightening around her purse. The cameras outside might have stopped, but inside, the eyes of the city’s elite were already on them.

When they stepped into the grand hall, Y/N felt every gaze in the room land on her. Her smile remained, but the weight of their attention was suffocating.

Giselle led her further into the room, her hand never leaving Y/N’s back. To the world, they looked every bit the perfect couple. Poised, elegant, and untouchable.

Inside, Y/N’s nerves roared, but she kept moving forward, staying close to Giselle. She reminded herself again of why she was here, of the family she was doing this for, and of the promise she had made to herself:

The venue was even more dazzling than Y/N had imagined. The grand hall seemed to glow, its golden lights reflecting off the cascading crystal chandeliers that dripped from the vaulted ceiling. Every detail spoke of extravagance, from the polished marble floors to the intricate floral arrangements that adorned each table. The faint sound of a string quartet filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she took it all in. This was a world she had only ever glimpsed through the glossy pages of magazines. Everywhere she looked, people moved with an effortless confidence, their designer gowns and tailored suits exuding wealth and influence.

Giselle’s hand rested lightly on Y/N’s back, the subtle pressure a constant reminder of her presence. It was an unfamiliar gesture, not cold, but not exactly comforting either. It was calculated, like everything else about Giselle.

They moved through the crowd together, Giselle’s elegance and poise drawing every eye in the room. Heads turned as they passed, whispers trailing in their wake.

“Is that Giselle Uchinaga?” “And who’s she with?”

Giselle handled it all effortlessly, her charming smile never faltering as she exchanged pleasantries with the city’s elite. Her voice was warm and polished, every word perfectly chosen to leave a lasting impression.

“This is Y/N,” Giselle said smoothly as they stopped to greet a particularly curious couple. Her hand lingered on Y/N’s waist as she added, “My fiancée.”

The words sent a ripple of surprise through Y/N, even though she had known they were coming. It was the first time she’d heard Giselle introduce her that way, and it felt strange, like a borrowed identity she wasn’t sure how to wear.

As the conversation continued, Giselle effortlessly guided it, ensuring that Y/N wasn’t left behind. She wove their story together with precision, painting a picture of a devoted couple with a seamless blend of truth and fabrication.

“She’s been an inspiration to me,” Giselle said at one point, her voice carrying just enough sincerity to make the lie convincing. “Her strength, her resilience, it’s one of the things I admire most about her.”

Y/N glanced at Giselle, her heart twisting at the ease with which she spoke. It was all an act, of course, but Giselle played the part so well that even Y/N found herself momentarily believing it.

A small group began to form around them, drawn by Giselle’s magnetism and curiosity about her fiancée. Y/N responded with simple gestures and soft smiles, her hands moving in small, precise motions whenever someone asked a question she could answer through sign language.

“She’s charming,” someone murmured from the group.

“Giselle’s so protective of her,” another whispered.

The words floated around Y/N like a cloud, both flattering and suffocating. She focused on keeping her smile in place, knowing that every movement was being scrutinized.

The chatter of the crowd had softened to a hum, the buzz of voices fading as the evening began to wind down. Y/N found herself drawn to one of the grand windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The view was breathtaking, a vast expanse of glittering city lights that seemed to stretch endlessly, like a sea of stars scattered across the night.

She pressed her fingertips lightly against the cool glass, her reflection faintly visible against the dazzling skyline. For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe, her chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. This quiet moment felt like a fragile bubble, separate from the noise and expectations of the evening.

Her eyes dropped to the diamond ring on her finger. It caught the faint glow of the lights outside, its brilliance reflecting in the glass. She lifted her hands to adjust it, the smooth band sliding slightly against her skin.

The weight of it was grounding, a constant reminder of the performance demanded perfection, every movement, every smile, every interaction carefully measured to fit the image Giselle wanted to project.

Y/N’s chest tightened slightly as she stared at the ring. "This is my life now," she thought. A life of pretending, of fitting into a world that didn’t feel like hers.

The sound of footsteps behind her broke her reverie, the sharp yet soft rhythm unmistakable. Y/N didn’t turn right away. She didn’t need to. Giselle moved with a kind of precision that was impossible to miss, her presence filling the space without effort.

“Tired?” Giselle’s voice was low, pitched just enough for Y/N to hear and no one else. There was no warmth in it, but it wasn’t cold either, it was neutral, like an observation rather than a question.

Y/N turned to face her, her gaze meeting Giselle’s. The older woman’s expression was as composed as ever, her sharp eyes studying Y/N with an intensity that made her chest flutter uncomfortably.

For a moment, Y/N hesitated, unsure how to answer. Her hands instinctively moved to sign, but she stopped mid motion, her stomach twisting. "She doesn’t understand," Y/N reminded herself.

Instead, she nodded, a small, hesitant motion.

Giselle’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her expression didn’t shift, but something flickered in her gaze, a brief, almost imperceptible pause as though she were processing the unspoken response.

“We’ll leave soon,” Giselle said, her tone neutral, as though discussing a routine matter.

For a moment, Y/N thought that was the end of the conversation. But then Giselle added, almost as an afterthought, “You handled tonight well.”

The unexpected comment made Y/N blink, her lips parting slightly in surprise. She had expected critique, not praise, and the words, however simple, made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t quite name.

Her mouth opened as if to respond, but she closed it again, unsure what to do. Instead, she offered a small, uncertain smile, hoping it would suffice.

Giselle’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before she turned away slightly, slipping seamlessly back into her composed demeanor. “We can’t go yet. Not before we say goodbye to the hosts,” she said.

Giselle extended her arm, her posture as poised and effortless as always. Y/N hesitated for a heartbeat before looping her arm through Giselle’s. The contact was still unfamiliar, but it steadied her, giving her a sense of direction as they moved back toward the crowd.

As they walked, Y/N caught glimpses of people turning to look at them, their gazes lingering with admiration and curiosity. 

“You’re doing fine,” Giselle murmured under her breath, her voice so low it was almost lost in the hum of the room.

Y/N glanced up at her, catching the way Giselle’s eyes remained forward, her expression unreadable. Was that reassurance? A reminder to stay in character? She couldn’t tell.

The hosts stood near the center of the room. The couple, a man in a sharp tuxedo and a woman in a flowing burgundy gown, exchanged delighted glances. Their smiles widened as Giselle and Y/N approached, and Giselle’s charm seemed to amplify.

“A pleasure to meet you,” the man said, extending a hand toward Y/N.

Y/N hesitated for a brief moment, then reached out and shook his hand, offering a polite smile. Her voice might have been silent, but she had learned long ago how to let her body language speak for her.

Sensing the unspoken question in their expressions, Giselle spoke up. “Y/N doesn’t speak,” she explained gently, her tone perfectly pitched to avoid making it seem like an inconvenience. “But she communicates beautifully in other ways.”

The woman’s curious expression softened into something warmer. “Oh, how lovely,” she said. “Do you use sign language?”

Y/N nodded, her movements measured and fluid. She lifted her hands and signed a response, her fingers forming the words. “Yes, I do.”

The woman’s eyes lit up, and she signed back slowly, her movements deliberate but kind. “Your dress is lovely.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a genuine smile, her hands moving again. “Thank you. Yours is beautiful too.”

The woman’s expression softened, her smile widening. “She’s wonderful,” she said to Giselle.

“She is,” Giselle replied, her voice carrying just the right amount of affection to make the act convincing. “I’m lucky to have her.”

The words hung in the air, stirring something in Y/N that she couldn’t quite name.

Before leaving, Giselle exchanged a few polite words with the hosts, her poised demeanor drawing admiration. Once their brief conversation concluded, she maintained her air of elegance, guiding Y/N with a light touch on her back. 

The whispers followed them out, blending with the fading music and laughter.

When they reached the car, Giselle opened the door for Y/N, the action smooth and automatic.

As Y/N slipped inside, she caught a final glimpse of the grand venue. She exhaled softly, her body sinking into the leather seat as Giselle slid in beside her.

The door shut, sealing them in silence once more.

By the time they returned to the penthouse, Y/N felt like she could finally breathe again. The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and she stepped out into the expansive living room, her legs aching from the unfamiliar heels and her face sore from maintaining a perfect smile all evening.

The silence of the penthouse enveloped her immediately, stark and unyielding compared to the vibrant hum of the event. The cold, polished surfaces of the furniture and the vast emptiness of the space made it feel less like a home and more like a museum.

Giselle, however, looked as composed as ever. Her expression was unreadable, and her posture as impeccable as it had been when they left. She strode into the living room with the same controlled grace she always carried, her movements precise and deliberate.

“Good work tonight,” Giselle said, her back still to Y/N. Her voice was calm, devoid of the warmth she had displayed at the event. The affectionate tone and radiant smiles were gone, replaced by the cool professionalism Y/N had come to expect. “The media will eat it up.”

Y/N hesitated in the doorway, her fingers brushing against the strap of her clutch. Her phone felt heavy in her hand as she pulled it out and began typing, each word deliberate and slow.

“Do you think they believed us?”

Y/N stepped closer and lightly tapped Giselle on the shoulder to get her attention. Giselle turned, her sharp gaze locking onto Y/N’s. For a moment, she said nothing, her eyes scanning Y/N’s face as though searching for something. Then, with a faint nod, she replied, “Of course. They believe what they see.”

Her tone was matter of fact, but there was an edge to her words, a quiet confidence that left no room for doubt.

Y/N nodded slowly, her chest tightening as she typed another message.

“You’re very convincing.”

Giselle’s lips curved into a faint smirk, the expression barely touching her eyes. “It’s what I do,” she said simply, as though her ability to manipulate perception was as natural as breathing. Without another word, she turned and strode past Y/N, disappearing into her private quarters.

Left alone in the vast emptiness of the penthouse, Y/N remained standing near the elevator, her phone still in her hand. The cold, clinical silence of the space pressed down on her, amplifying the faint hum of the city outside.

Y/N sank onto the couch slowly, her body sagging under the weight of the evening. The cushion beneath her felt far too soft, the stark contrast to the hardness of the night catching her off guard. She slipped off her heels, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud. Her bare feet tingled as they pressed against the cool surface of the rug, a small relief from the ache that had settled in her legs.

For a moment, Y/N stared down at her phone, her thumb hovering over the notes app icon. Her mind replayed the night’s events in vivid detail, Giselle’s touch on her back, the way she had leaned in with whispered reassurances, the convincing affection in her gaze as she introduced Y/N to the crowd.

It had all felt so real.

But now, in the cold emptiness of the penthouse, the illusion was gone. The Giselle who had smiled at her so warmly, who had acted as though Y/N were the center of her world, had vanished the moment they’d stepped through the door.

The disconnect left a hollow ache in Y/N’s chest. She had known it was an act, of course, but seeing the shift so starkly still unsettled her.

Y/N opened the notes app and stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance.

Finally, she typed a single sentence.

“I’ll keep up the act.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the words, the weight of their meaning settling over her. She didn’t have the luxury of faltering. Her family was depending on her. For them, she would endure the coldness of this world, the carefully constructed lies, and the unrelenting presence of Giselle’s scrutiny.

With a heavy exhale, she closed the app and set her phone down on the coffee table.

Her gaze drifted toward the window, where the city lights twinkled in the distance. They felt so far away, as though they belonged to another life entirely. A life where she didn’t have to carry this weight, where she wasn’t bound by a contract or a diamond ring.

But that life wasn’t hers.

Sliding back against the cushions, Y/N closed her eyes. The quiet of the penthouse seemed colder now, but she reminded herself of the promise she had made.

"For my family," she thought.

And as the tension in her body eased slightly, she let herself drift into an uneasy sleep, the weight of the diamond ring still heavy on her finger.

[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.

[earthlybeam]

https://www.tumblr.com/earthlybeam/773181417454731264/could-i-request-how-glorfindel-celebrimbor-and?source=share

Please Thranduil, Gil galad and Adar version.🙏🏻

How would Thranduil, Gil-Galad, Adar react to a reader who possesses magical healing powers similar to Rapunzel in Tangled?

The you the reader’s long as (your own hair colour) but turns golden and glows when you sing a special song, releasing healing magic that can heal wounds, cure sickness, and even restore life. Their magic, known as “Healing Magic” or “Sun Magic,” is connected to the power of the sun and can even reverse aging.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The battlefield was chaos incarnate, a cacophony of screams and the relentless clash of steel against steel. The once-pristine forest now bore the scars of war—trees felled and splintered, their ancient roots charred by fire; the earth trampled and soaked in blood. Smoke hung low over the field, thick and suffocating, carrying with it the acrid stench of burning flesh. Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, stood at the heart of the fray, a vision of deadly grace. His twin swords gleamed silver, moving with an elegance that belied their lethality. Each stroke was precise, each step deliberate, his cloak of rich green and gold billowing as he cut through the oncoming horde of orcs. He was a storm given form, the light of his kingdom’s ancient glory flickering amidst the dark tide of death.

His every movement was a dance, his swords singing as they found their mark in one foe after another. The king’s fair face was streaked with ash and blood, his long platinum hair pulled back and gleaming even in the dim, smoke-streaked light. But even he, for all his centuries of skill, could not outpace every shadow on the battlefield. It happened too quickly. A hulking orc, its monstrous figure obscured in the gloom, stepped into view behind him. Its mace—a jagged, cruel thing bristling with spikes—rose high into the air. Thranduil sensed it a moment too late, the looming presence casting a shadow that fell across him like a shroud. He turned, his blades already lifting to counter, but the swing came faster. The weapon descended with brutal force, slamming into his side.

The sound was awful: a wet, crunching thud as the spikes of the mace punctured his armor, rending both metal and flesh. The impact sent him flying, his body twisting through the air before he hit the ground with bone-jarring force. Pain exploded in his ribs, sharp and unrelenting, spreading through him like wildfire. His breath left him in a choked gasp, the coppery taste of blood rising in his throat. For a moment, the world tilted, the edges of his vision darkening as the cacophony of battle grew muffled. Thranduil’s silver and leafed crown, once a proud emblem of his majesty, was knocked from his head, tumbling into the dirt and disappearing amidst the debris of war. The blood pouring from his side stained the fine emerald and gold embroidery of his robes, the fabric now torn and clinging to his trembling frame. He lay there for a moment, his hands clutching at the earth beneath him as he fought to draw breath. The air felt thick, heavy with smoke and the weight of his wounds.

But Thranduil was no ordinary elf. Pain did not cow him; it only sharpened the fire that burned in his heart. With a groan that turned into a snarl, he forced himself onto his knees, though every movement sent searing agony through his battered body. His twin swords, once extensions of his will, now lay discarded in the dirt mere feet away. He reached for them, but his hand faltered, trembling as his strength waned. Blood dripped from his fingers, mingling with the darkened earth. His vision swam, but he refused to fall further. Raising his head, he cast his gaze upon the enemy advancing toward him. His ice-blue eyes, piercing and unyielding, burned with a fury that not even the weight of his injuries could extinguish. His face, marred by streaks of blood and ash, was a portrait of defiance—a king who would not bow, not even at the edge of death. His lips curled in a snarl, sharp and regal, a promise of retribution to all who dared cross him.

The orcs closed in, their grotesque laughter and guttural snarls filling the air as they saw the king of the Woodland Realm kneeling, vulnerable yet unbroken. His breath hitched, each intake shallow and ragged, but his eyes never left them. He would not beg. He would not surrender. He would face them as he always had—unyielding, even if the next moment would claim him. The ground beneath him was stained with his blood, but it would not claim his spirit. For even in his pain, Thranduil was a king, and his defiance was eternal.

But then, through the din of battle, a sound reached him—faint at first, like a thread of light breaking through a storm. It grew louder, clearer, cutting through the oppressive haze of pain clouding his mind. “Thranduil!” It was your voice. Desperate, raw, and filled with something that pierced deeper than any blade. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, opened just enough to see you. You were a vision amidst the chaos, a beacon of light in a world consumed by darkness.

Your hair, flowing behind you like a cascade of starlight, caught the faintest glimmers of light from the fires raging around you. You ran toward him, the edges of your robes sweeping over the blood-soaked ground, heedless of the danger that surrounded you. “No,” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the chaos. The word tore from his throat, hoarse and pained. “Stay back… it’s not safe.” His chest heaved with the effort, the agony radiating from his wounds threatening to pull him back into darkness. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t falter. His warning fell on deaf ears as you reached his side, dropping to your knees with a grace that seemed incongruous amidst the destruction around you.

The sight of him—the proud Elvenking brought so low—struck you like a dagger to the heart. His once-pristine armor was battered and streaked with blood, rents in the metal exposing pale skin that now glistened with sweat and the crimson stains of his own lifeblood. His hair, always so immaculate, was matted with ash and dirt, tangled around his face. His ice-blue eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, were dulled by pain, their focus flickering. And yet, even in his broken state, there was a defiant beauty to him—a majesty that the battlefield could not entirely strip away.

You bit back a sob, your hands trembling as they reached out to him. Gently, you cupped his face, your fingers brushing away streaks of dirt and blood. His skin was unnaturally cold beneath your touch, and the realization sent a jolt of fear through you. “Thranduil,” you whispered, your voice breaking with the weight of your emotions. “Hold on. I can save you.” His brows furrowed faintly at your words, his expression softening into something almost apologetic. He tried to shake his head, but the effort was weak, a mere twitch against your hand. “Futile,” he murmured, his voice rough, a shadow of the commanding tone it once held. “You cannot—”

“You can’t tell me that,” you interrupted, your voice fierce despite the tears that threatened to spill. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Thranduil.” Your fingers moved to your hair, trembling but determined, brushing through the silken strands as if seeking something. “Trust me,” you whispered, your tone laced with an urgency that left no room for doubt. For a moment, he looked at you—truly looked at you, as though seeing you for the first time. He wanted to argue, to demand that you leave him, that you save yourself and let him face whatever fate awaited him alone. But there was something in your eyes, a conviction so powerful that it stilled the words on his tongue. He exhaled shakily, his gaze softening, the fight leaving him as he closed his eyes. “Do… what you must,” he whispered, his voice so faint that it was almost lost to the cacophony of the battle raging around you. His head fell forward slightly, resting against your hand, as though surrendering to the only hope left to him—you.

You pressed a section of your hair to his wound, your hands trembling as the silky strands turned dark with his blood. The sight of it—the contrast between the glowing silver of your hair and the deep crimson staining it—was almost too much to bear, but you steeled yourself. Your heart thundered in your chest as you leaned closer, your lips parting to release a melody that seemed to rise from the very depths of your soul. The words were ancient, a song of healing passed down through countless generations, yet it felt as though they were yours alone in that moment. “Flower, gleam and glow, Let your powers shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates’ design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine, What once was mine…”

As the melody spilled from your lips, it seemed to weave itself into the very air around you, a thread of light in the darkness. The battlefield, filled with the clamor of swords and the screams of the wounded, seemed to fade away, drowned out by the power of your voice. The air shimmered, bending to the ancient magic that laced your words. Your hair began to glow, softly at first, then brighter, golden and radiant as though a thousand stars had descended to touch the earth. The light spread from the strands touching his wound, rippling outward in waves that illuminated the battlefield in a warm, otherworldly glow. It wrapped around Thranduil like a cocoon, the edges of the light flickering and pulsing in rhythm with your song.

Thranduil gasped softly, the sound almost imperceptible beneath your melody. His breathing hitched as the warmth of your magic seeped into him, driving out the icy chill that had begun to spread through his body. He could feel it—the jagged edges of his wound knitting together, the sharp agony replaced by a gentle tingling warmth. It was unlike anything he had ever known, this power—ancient, unyielding, yet impossibly tender. It felt as though it carried not just magic, but the essence of you: your love, your hope, your determination. You continued to sing, your voice unwavering even as tears slipped down your cheeks. Each word carried a piece of your heart, the raw emotion of your plea saturating the melody. The light around him grew brighter, until it was as if the darkness of the battlefield had been banished entirely.

When your voice finally faltered, the last notes of the song lingering in the air like a soft sigh, you opened your eyes. Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away, desperate to see him. The sight before you stole your breath. Thranduil lay still for a moment, but the deathly pallor of his skin was gone, replaced by a healthy, luminous glow. His face, once twisted with pain, was now calm, his breathing steady and deep. The terrible wound that had marred his side was no longer there; in its place was smooth, unbroken skin, as if the injury had never existed.

He stirred, his body shifting slightly as a soft groan escaped his lips. Slowly, his lashes fluttered, lifting to reveal the piercing blue of his gaze—those sharp, icy eyes that you had feared you’d never see open again. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world stilled. The chaos of the battlefield, the distant cries of war, the acrid stench of smoke—all of it melted away. There was only him, alive and breathing, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that made your heart ache. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken feelings. Then, tentatively, his hand lifted. His fingers, long and elegant despite the strength they carried, brushed against your glowing hair. There was a reverence in his touch, a gentleness that seemed to belie the fierce warrior you knew him to be. His fingers lingered, tracing the silken strands that still shimmered faintly with the remnants of your magic.

“This power,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and heavy with wonder. “It is… beautiful.” His gaze softened as his fingers continued to brush through your hair. “You are beautiful.” The sincerity in his voice broke something inside you. A laugh, shaky and raw, escaped your lips, but it was edged with the sob you were desperately holding back. “You scared me,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I thought I’d lost you.”

He exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You saved me,” he said, his tone soft but filled with a gravity that left no room for doubt. “You brought me back from the edge.” His hand moved from your hair to cover your own, where it rested against his chest. His touch was warm and steady, grounding you in a way nothing else could. “You are a light in this dark world,” he continued, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. “A gift unlike any other.” The intensity of his words stole your breath. His gaze held yours, unflinching and full of a gratitude so profound it felt almost sacred. For a moment, the battlefield felt like a distant memory. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of your magic and the bond that had grown between you—stronger now, forged in the crucible of pain and salvation.

With a quiet groan, Thranduil began to sit up, his movements slow but steady as his strength returned. You instinctively reached out to steady him, your hand brushing his arm, but he managed to rise on his own. Once upright, he turned to you, his face inches from yours, and cupped your cheek in his hand. His palm was warm against your skin, the touch as tender as it was deliberate. “I owe you my life,” he said, his voice low but resolute, the words carrying the weight of a vow. “And I do not give my loyalty lightly.” His thumb brushed gently against your cheek, the gesture almost reverent. “Whatever happens next, know this—you will always have my gratitude…” He hesitated, the pause laden with emotion. “And my heart.”

The breath hitched in your throat, his words wrapping around you like a promise. Your lips parted to respond, but no words came. What could you possibly say to match the depth of what he had just given you? Before you could find your voice, the distant clash of swords and the roar of battle intruded, reminding you both that the world outside this moment still burned with chaos. Thranduil’s gaze shifted briefly toward the horizon, his expression hardening as he returned to the present. He rose to his feet fully now, the regal air of the Elvenking settling over him once more. Reaching down, he retrieved his twin swords, the blades gleaming wickedly in the faint light. Yet even as he turned his attention to the battle, there was a tenderness in his movements—a lingering connection that tethered him to you.

He looked back at you, his expression fierce but softened by the depth of feeling in his eyes. “Stay close to me,” he commanded, his voice carrying the authority of a king but tempered with a warmth reserved only for you. “We will finish this together.” You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you rose to your feet. The faint glow of your magic still clung to you, casting a soft light around the both of you as you prepared to rejoin the fray. As he turned and led you back into the chaos, his steps sure and steady, you knew this moment had irrevocably changed everything. Thranduil, the proud and unyielding Elvenking, now carried a piece of your light within him. And as you followed him into the darkness, you knew that bond—born in pain and sealed in magic—would endure, unbroken, through whatever trials lay ahead.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The battlefield sprawled endlessly, a bleak wasteland of shattered bodies and broken steel, shrouded in a choking veil of smoke that turned the midday sun into a faint, amber glow. The acrid stench of blood mingled with the sharp tang of burnt wood and ash, thickening the air with the weight of destruction. The earth beneath your feet was churned and uneven, soaked with the lifeblood of countless warriors. Broken banners lay tangled in the debris, their colors dulled and meaningless amidst the carnage. The distant clash of swords, the guttural cries of orcs, and the anguished screams of the wounded faded into a dull, unrelenting roar, like the heartbeat of the dying world itself. Yet none of it mattered.

Your eyes locked on the crumpled figure just ahead, half-hidden in the shadows cast by a shattered marble column. The remnants of the once-proud structure jutted into the ashen sky, stark against the ruin, a silent testament to the fury of the battle that had raged here. And there, slumped against its jagged base, was Gil-galad. His silver armor, which had once gleamed like starlight, was a grim ruin. Deep rents marred its surface, the intricate etchings of elven craftsmanship obscured by the soot and blood that coated every inch. The flowing blue of his cloak was torn and blackened, clinging limply to his frame, weighted down by dirt and gore. His once-proud form, so commanding and unyielding in the heat of battle, now seemed small and vulnerable, as though the world itself had turned against him.

A jagged gash tore across his chest, the edges of the wound raw and angry. Blood pooled beneath him in dark, viscous streaks, soaking into the dirt and spreading like an ominous shadow. Each shallow rise and fall of his chest was an agonizing labor, his breath coming in uneven, rasping gasps that rattled through his body. His head, once held high with the regal bearing of a king, rested limply against the column, his hair—normally as radiant as molten silver—now clinging to his face in damp, matted strands streaked with grime. “Ereinion!” you cried, your voice breaking as you rushed toward him, your heart pounding with a desperate urgency. Dropping to your knees beside him, the impact sent a jolt through your body, but you hardly noticed. Your hands hovered over him, trembling, as you struggled to comprehend the sight before you. The image of him—majestic and unshakable—was seared into your mind, making the frailty before you all the more unbearable.

His head lolled weakly toward the sound of your voice, the faint motion almost imperceptible. The once-brilliant light of his eyes, so piercing and filled with unyielding resolve, was dulled and unfocused, shadowed with pain. His gaze flickered, struggling to find you through the haze that clouded his vision. “You…” he rasped, his voice faint and broken, barely louder than the rustle of the wind through the battlefield. “You shouldn’t… be here.”

Each word was a laborious effort, his breath hitching between syllables, as if even the act of speaking threatened to drain the last reserves of his strength. His lips, cracked and pale, trembled as he tried to form more words, but the effort was too much. He winced, a low, pained sound escaping him as his body sagged further against the column, his armor groaning faintly with the movement. “It’s… not safe,” he managed at last, his voice no more than a whisper. His eyes met yours for a fleeting moment, and in their depths, you saw a desperate mixture of fear and defiance—a king still trying to protect his people, even as he lay broken and bleeding on the battlefield.

Tears stung your eyes, blurring the devastation around you, but you refused to let them fall. Shaking your head fiercely, you denied the weight of his words, even as they pressed down on your heart like a stone. “I couldn’t leave you,” you whispered, your voice trembling but steady, a quiet plea wrapped in defiance. The quiver of emotion was undeniable, yet behind it burned the resolve of someone who would not—could not—abandon him. “Not like this,” you added, your fingers curling into fists at your sides.

For a fleeting moment, a faint, shadowed expression crossed his features. Was it a smile? Or a grimace of pain twisted by fading humor? It was impossible to tell, and yet it brought a flicker of warmth to the icy fear that gripped you. His lips, pale and bloodied, twitched faintly. “Stubborn,” he murmured, his voice rasping and soft, as if the word cost him more strength than he could afford to lose. There was a glimmer in his dimmed gaze—a whisper of the man you knew so well—but it was fleeting, almost drowned beneath the sheer effort of staying conscious. His hand moved, a barely perceptible twitch at first, his gauntleted fingers trembling as they struggled to lift from the bloodstained ground. The motion was agonizingly slow, faltering and weak, but it was unmistakable—he was reaching for you. The gesture, though small, carried with it the weight of his unspoken thoughts: a need to hold on, to connect, to find something in you that could anchor him to the rapidly slipping thread of life. Yet his strength failed him, and his hand fell limply to his side with a soft, metallic clink, his breath hitching as the motion sent a fresh jolt of pain through his body.

For Gil-galad, each breath was a battle, a desperate effort to push against the darkness that loomed closer with every passing moment. The gash across his chest throbbed with unrelenting fire, the raw edges tearing at his resolve with every shallow rise and fall of his lungs. The world around him felt distant now, muted and slow, the roaring of the battlefield reduced to a dull hum in his ears. Even the smoke-filled air seemed to press down on him like a suffocating weight. Yet through the haze of pain and weakness, there was you. Your voice, tremulous but determined, broke through the fog, and it grounded him, calling him back from the brink. He wanted to tell you not to waste yourself on him, not to sacrifice anything for a life that was already slipping through his fingers. But even as he tried to speak, his chest tightened, the words caught somewhere between his heart and his throat, where they burned unspoken.

He felt the warmth of your presence, the way your trembling hands hovered near him with desperate purpose. It cut through the cold spreading through his limbs, a fragile thread of comfort in the encroaching void. He couldn’t see clearly anymore; his vision blurred with pain and fatigue, but he thought he caught the golden shimmer of your hair, bright even in the smoky gloom. And then, a strange sensation stirred within him as you began to move, deliberate and measured, as if you were preparing for something monumental. Through the fog of his thoughts, he felt the lightest brush of your fingers against his chest, the silken strands of your hair brushing the edges of his torn armor. It was a delicate touch, gentle but unyielding, and somewhere deep within him, the faintest flicker of hope awoke—a fragile thing, like a single spark in a vast, dark void.

For Gil-galad, it was a strange mixture of sensations a deepening awareness of his own fragility, the oppressive weight of his injuries, and yet, beneath it all, the soft hum of your power stirring against his skin. It was faint at first, like the distant rush of water in a still forest, but it began to grow—a steady, rhythmic pulse that reached into him, seeking out the places where he was broken and fragile. He wanted to speak again, to ask what you were doing, to tell you it wasn’t worth it. But even as he opened his mouth, the words faltered. Instead, he let himself drift into the sensation—the warmth of your gift pushing back the cold, the hum of life within your golden strands, and the steadying presence of your will. For the first time since he had fallen, the pain seemed to recede, just slightly, and in its place was the faintest whisper of hope. It was fragile, precarious, but it was there.

Closing your eyes, you drew in a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your emotions to settle into stillness. The noise of the battlefield, the lingering cries of the wounded, and the acrid scent of smoke and blood faded into the background as you turned your focus inward. And then, without thought or effort, a melody welled up within you, rising like the dawn. It was ancient and familiar, as though it had been etched into your very soul, waiting for this one moment to emerge.

Your voice, soft and hesitant at first, trembled on the first note, the words tumbling forth like a fragile stream. But with each passing breath, it grew, steadied, and strengthened, carrying with it all the love, hope, and fierce determination that burned within you. “Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, Change the Fates’ design. Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine… What once was mine.” The melody swirled around you, weaving itself into the air like a living thing, delicate and ethereal yet unyielding in its purpose. As the song poured from your lips, the very world around you seemed to hold its breath. The clash of swords and the distant cries grew faint, the weight of the battlefield retreating, as though time itself had slowed to honor your plea.

A faint, golden light began to bloom, first from the tips of your hair, then spreading outward like the first rays of sunlight piercing a heavy fog. It was warm and luminous, chasing away the gloom and shadows that clung to the edges of the ruined field. The glow radiated through each strand, spilling down to your hands where they hovered over Gil-galad’s broken body. The light wrapped around him, tendrils of golden radiance curling and twisting, seeking the places where his wounds ran deepest. Slowly, the glow seeped into the jagged tear across his chest, its soft, unyielding warmth mending torn flesh and shattered bone with a gentle but deliberate grace. It wasn’t harsh or sudden—it was like the steady growth of a tree, natural and full of purpose, filling the spaces where death had begun to creep.

As the magic coursed through him, you felt his body stir beneath your hands. A low, pained groan escaped his lips, weak but unmistakably alive. The tension in his frame, once so taut with pain, began to ease as the warmth suffused him, chasing the chill from his limbs. His breathing, shallow and labored only moments before, grew deeper and steadier, each breath less of a struggle. Color returned to his pallid face, faint at first but spreading with every moment, a soft flush blooming in his cheeks. The harsh lines of anguish etched into his features began to soften, his expression relaxing as the weight of his injuries faded. And then, slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, revealing silver-grey eyes that shone brighter than you had dared to hope.

His gaze found yours almost instantly, locking onto you with an intensity that sent a tremor through your chest. There was clarity in his expression now, a sharpness that had been dulled by pain and exhaustion before. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the world around you forgotten. His eyes, still lined with the echoes of his ordeal, held a silent question, a mixture of awe, gratitude, and something far deeper. You didn’t need to answer him—not with words. The glow that lingered in the air around you spoke for itself, as did the steady hum of life now coursing through his body. He was whole again. He was alive. And for the first time, you dared to believe he would stay that way.

“What…?” His voice, though hoarse and still faint, carried a steady strength now, a grounding quality that hadn’t been there moments before. He struggled to lift his head, his gaze trailing over the glowing strands of your hair, then settling back on your face with a look that made your heart ache. “Your light…” he murmured, awe thickening his tone. “It is like the Silmarils… like the Trees of old.” His voice faltered, not from pain but from reverence, as though he were speaking of something sacred. The wonder in his eyes was enough to take your breath away.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, unchecked, a mix of relief and the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume you. The fear, the helplessness, the agonizing moments where you thought you would lose him—all of it fell away, replaced by the quiet, profound joy of seeing him alive. “You’re safe now,” you managed, your voice breaking and trembling under the weight of your relief. “You’re going to be alright.” For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if trying to reconcile the miracle of what had just happened. Then, slowly, his trembling hand lifted. Though the movement was unsteady, it was deliberate, his fingers brushing gently against the strands of your hair. The light still lingered there, soft and radiant, casting a warm golden glow over his pale skin. His touch was barely there, reverent, as if he feared disturbing the fragile magic that had just saved his life.

“You…” His voice broke, thick with emotion. He swallowed hard, his silver-grey eyes never leaving yours. “You are a miracle,” he said finally, his tone raw, each word weighted with meaning. “I thought I was lost. I thought I had fallen too far. But you…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line as though words could never fully express the depth of his gratitude, or the wonder you had awakened in him. Your hand found his, stilling its trembling with your touch as you brought it to rest between you. “You owe me nothing,” you said softly, the sincerity in your voice unwavering. Your other hand still rested over his chest, where the wound had been, as if grounding yourself in the knowledge that he was whole once more.

“Just stay with me. That’s all I ask.” His eyes searched yours, deep pools of emotion swirling in their depths. There was pain there, yes, but also resolve and something else—something fierce and unbreakable. “I will,” he promised, his voice quiet but filled with a steadfast determination. “For as long as I draw breath, I will stay by your side.” The words settled into your heart like a vow, binding in their simplicity and power. Around you, the battlefield remained—a grim tapestry of ruin—but in this moment, it felt as though the world had stilled. All the pain, the chaos, the shadows of despair fell away, leaving only the connection between the two of you.

The golden glow of your hair began to fade slowly, retreating into the silken strands until it was just a memory of warmth and light. Yet even as the light dimmed, its presence lingered—soft, radiant, and unforgettable. Gil-galad’s hand tightened slightly over yours, his strength returning, a silent reassurance that he was still with you, that he would not leave. You gazed at him, the bond between you forged anew, stronger now than it had ever been. It felt eternal, a connection born not just of love, but of trust, of sacrifice, and of something neither of you could fully name but both understood. You knew, with every beat of your heart, that this bond would endure, unyielding even in the face of the storms that lay ahead.

🔥𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓻

Adar was not one to show weakness easily. His centuries of life had been filled with war, loss, and burdens that would break lesser beings. He had carried the weight of kings and battles, the anguish of personal sacrifice, and the scars of old wars. Yet, now, as he staggered back from the sharp blow that had struck him, a gnawing realization crept through him—the inevitable truth that perhaps this time, his strength might not be enough. The gash across his side was deep, the jagged edge of the wound still bleeding freely, crimson staining his armor and the ground beneath him. It was a pain unlike any he had known before, not just from the physical injury, but from the suffocating weight of something far more pressing—the slow, creeping sensation of his life force ebbing away with every labored breath. His body, usually a pillar of endurance, now felt fragile, betraying him in a way he could not ignore.

His hand, once steady and resolute, trembled as he pressed it to the wound. His fingers, slick with blood, failed to staunch the flow. Each pulse of his heart sent a sharp pain through him, as though his very veins were protesting. He could feel the coldness creeping up his spine, seeping into his bones, and it was as if every fiber of his being was being pulled toward the ground, toward something darker, something final. His breath grew ragged, his chest heaving in shallow gasps, as though he were trying to hold on to something that was slipping further out of reach with each passing moment.

The battlefield around him—once so vivid, filled with the sounds of clashing steel, shouts of victory and defeat, and the sharp cries of the fallen—now seemed distant, muffled, like the echoes of a dream fading with the dawn. The smoke, thick and choking, hung in the air, curling around him like tendrils, making the edges of his vision blur and shift. The screams of the dying seemed far away, as though they were happening on another plane, not here where he stood. His world was narrowing, his mind sinking into a fog as the weight of his years and the exhaustion of the battle pressed down on him. For the first time in centuries, Adar felt the unmistakable pull of mortality—of being human again. In his long life, he had endured so much, but this wound, this agony, seemed different. The sensation of his life slipping from him wasn’t just physical—it was spiritual, as though he were being drawn into the shadows, away from the living, from the war, from everything he had fought for.

He staggered slightly, trying to hold himself upright, his knees buckling as the world around him seemed to tilt. His once-proud stature faltered, and he could feel the weight of all his choices pressing down on him, the ghosts of his past whispering in his ears. Yet he fought to hold on, to remain anchored to the world he had fought so hard to protect. But the cold was relentless now, and his vision—already clouded by the growing darkness—began to fade. His body felt heavy, as if it were made of stone, and every movement, every breath, seemed like a struggle against an inevitable force. For the first time, Adar wasn’t sure he could fight it.

But then, like a beacon cutting through the storm, you appeared. Through the haze of blood and exhaustion, Adar’s bleary eyes strained to make sense of what he was seeing. His body was failing him, but still, there you were—moving toward him with a grace that seemed to defy the chaos of the battlefield. Your presence pierced the dissonance around him, a light that cut through the crushing darkness, a warmth he hadn’t known he still longed for. His heart, which had long since learned to steel itself against all emotions, gave a weak flutter at the sight of you. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to pull you close and shield you from the brutality that had consumed him, but his body refused to obey. The gash on his side burned with a ferocity that seemed to steal what little strength remained in him, and the darkness, relentless in its grasp, began to creep back over his vision.

Through the fog, he heard your voice—a sound like the calm before a storm, full of resolve and something else he couldn’t quite place. It was a lifeline, a tether pulling him toward the last remnants of himself. “Adar!” you called again, your voice edged with fear, but not for him. No, it was the fear of what was to come, the fear of losing him. He tried to speak, to reassure you, to tell you that this burden was not yours to bear. But the words, the familiar comfort of his own voice, refused to come. His throat felt like dry stone, his breath shallow and ragged. Instead, he could only manage a faint sigh, a sound that conveyed the weight of everything he couldn’t say. His body was failing him in ways he had never imagined, yet in that fleeting moment, as he lay there before you, there was something else—a flicker of hope sparked within him, kindled by your unrelenting presence.

You didn’t hesitate. There was no fear in your gaze, no hesitation in the way you moved toward him with such purpose. It was as though nothing else in the world mattered except reaching him, saving him. And there was something else there too—something deep in the way you looked at him. Something ancient, something far beyond the mortal realm. In that moment, the pain of his wound faded into the background, overtaken by the force of that unspoken connection between you.

You knelt beside him, your hands steady despite the storm of emotion swirling in your eyes. Your touch, gentle but firm, brushed against his bloodied side. Adar’s breath hitched at the contact. The tenderness of your touch sent a shiver down his spine, and for a brief moment, he forgot the battlefield, forgot the war, and forgot the agony wracking his body. It was as if you had reached into the very core of him, grounding him, reminding him of what it felt like to be human again, to be cared for, to be seen. “Hold on,” you whispered, the words soft but filled with a power that seemed to resonate with something far beyond your years. Your voice was a balm, and despite the dark tide pulling him under, he felt a warmth spreading from the place where your hand rested on him, steadying him in ways that no blade could ever do.

His heart raced, a desperate echo of life, fighting against the pull of oblivion. But with you there, with your gaze unwavering and your touch so sure, he felt the stirrings of something—something more than hope. It was as if, in that moment, he was no longer alone. And though he could not move, though his vision blurred and the cold crept in, he found a new strength rising in him, a quiet defiance against the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. It wasn’t just a flicker anymore. It was a spark. And that spark, ignited by your presence, was enough to keep him tethered to this world—at least for a little while longer.

You reached for his injury with the care of someone who had touched the very fabric of life itself. Your hand brushed lightly against his bloodied side, and the sensation of your touch sent a tremor through his body, a shiver that wasn’t born from cold but from the sheer force of the energy you radiated. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he was imagining it—the way the light seemed to gather around you, how the very space around you seemed to hum with something beyond him, beyond anything he had ever known. His breath stilled in his chest as he watched, wide-eyed, as your long, (your hair colour)—once lifeless and heavy—began to shimmer. The strands of it caught the dim light of the battlefield, then glowed with an ethereal radiance, soft and vibrant like starlight reflecting on the still surface of a deep lake. The glow pulsated gently, almost as if it had a life of its own, curling in the air around you like an extension of your being.

With a steady, graceful motion, you leaned closer, the light from your hair wrapping around his wound like a warm, shimmering ribbon. It was as though your hair itself had become an extension of your will, an instrument of healing—its glow bathing him in a tender warmth, coaxing his body to respond, to fight against the ravages of injury. Your voice broke through the chaos, a soft yet powerful melody that seemed to echo in his very soul. “Flower, gleam and glow, Let your powers shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine, Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates’ design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine, What once was mine.” The words, unfamiliar and yet oddly comforting, seemed to wrap around his heart, wrapping him in an embrace that transcended the physical realm. As you sang, he could feel the magic pouring through him, like a river of light and warmth filling every corner of his being. The wound on his side, deep and cruel, began to respond to the energy surrounding him. The jagged edges of his torn flesh smoothed themselves, the bleeding slowing and then ceasing altogether. It was as if time itself bent to your will, erasing the pain, erasing the damage, and with each passing second, the agony that had once clung to him began to fade away. The blood-soaked fabric of his tunic no longer clung to his skin, the crimson stain receding as though it had never been.

Adar could feel the weight lifting from his body, the exhaustion that had pulled at him for so long beginning to ease. His breath, which had been shallow and labored, slowly began to even out, the tightness in his chest loosening with the soothing magic you invoked. The light from your hair wrapped around him like a blanket, gentle but insistent, coaxing the wound closed, mending what had been broken. Each pulse of the glow seemed to pull him further from the edge of darkness, and though he could barely grasp the magnitude of what was happening, he felt the healing begin to take root in him.

The gash that had once seemed so insurmountable was now no more than a faint line across his side, the skin already knitting itself back together, leaving only a trace of the injury behind. His body, once heavy and unresponsive, now felt lighter, as though the burden of the battle had been lifted from his shoulders. And though the pain still lingered at the edges of his awareness, it was no longer the consuming force it had once been. Instead, there was a quiet calm that settled over him, a peace that only deepened as the last notes of your song faded into the air. His breath, once ragged and strained, grew more steady and assured with each passing moment. Slowly, the fog of exhaustion began to clear, replaced by a sharpness that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. The clarity in his mind came as a surprising relief—like the mists parting to reveal a sky he thought he’d never see again. Adar blinked, feeling the weight of his body ease, but he was still weak, still trembling slightly from the ordeal. And yet, he could now focus, his eyes locking onto yours.

The glow from your hair bathed you in an ethereal light, casting a soft radiance that made everything around you appear to fade into insignificance. It was as though you were not entirely of this world, something more, something beyond. In that moment, as he looked at you, there were no words that could encompass the depth of his feelings. He had lived a life filled with loss, pain, and the burdens of responsibility, but in this instant, before him, was something he had long ago abandoned—a flicker of something beautiful, something sacred. Something that made the world seem just a little more bearable.

“You…” His voice came out hoarse, weak from the strain of the battle and his body’s fragile state. He cleared his throat, trying again, but the words felt too small, too inadequate for what he was experiencing. “What are you?” It was a question born from awe, from confusion, and from something deeper—something that had stirred in him the moment your magic had touched him.

You smiled softly, your lips curving into something gentle, something reassuring. Your hair, still glowing faintly, pulsed in time with your heartbeat—a rhythm that somehow felt like a promise. “I am just someone who won’t let you fall.” The sincerity in your words struck him with the force of a thunderclap, and something in his chest clenched painfully. The raw, unguarded emotion in your voice—how it came from a place of such quiet strength—made his heart ache in ways he had long forgotten how to feel. In all his years, he had seen many faces of suffering, many moments of hopelessness, but never had he encountered something so purely selfless. The magic you wielded, the way it flowed from you with such ease, was beyond anything he could comprehend. It was not just a force of nature—it was a gift. A gift so rare that it seemed as though it had no place in the broken world they lived in.

Adar’s trembling hand reached out instinctively, as if drawn to you, as though he needed to touch you to make sure you weren’t some fleeting illusion. His fingers brushed against the soft strands of your hair, and a strange sensation washed over him, as if by touching you, he was touching something far older than even himself. It was as though the very fabric of the world itself had passed through him in that brief connection.

“I owe you my life,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion—rare, raw, and unguarded. The words felt foreign on his tongue, yet they were the truest he had ever spoken. He had always been one to carry his burdens alone, to face the storm without ever asking for shelter, but now, in the wake of your magic, there was no denying it. He owed you more than he could ever express. You shook your head, a soft, almost imperceptible motion, and gently, your hand closed around his. “No,” you murmured, your voice tender and firm. “You owe me nothing. Just live, Adar. That’s enough for me.” The weight of your words settled into his chest, heavier than anything else, and for a moment, the world seemed to still around him. In that quiet space between the past and the future, he felt the enormity of what you were offering him—not just life, but the chance to live without the burden of guilt, without the crushing weight of a world that had never been kind.

He couldn’t speak at first. The words that hovered on his tongue felt too insignificant to capture the depth of what he felt in that moment. But when they came, they were a whisper, barely audible yet clear in their sincerity. “I will stay, for as long as you’ll have me.” And in that moment, surrounded by the ruins of a battle, amid the wreckage of war, there was a warmth that seemed to push back the cold shadows that had once threatened to consume him. The light of your hair, still glowing softly in the aftermath of your magic, seemed to envelop them both. The world outside seemed distant, almost irrelevant, as the promise in your eyes shone brighter than any star could. Whatever came next, whatever storms the world would throw at them, it no longer seemed like an insurmountable challenge. Not with you by his side.

[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.

[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. 

[ritualcaster]

Spoilers for objectified ep 68. Frustration

YIKES.

I'm just gonna start pointing shit out.

^me when im mad for no reason

Although i mean its probably just his starsheet advancing like in the release art and in his eye in the last panel

See but like its hard not to feel like this is still "his" character, like brandy has always felt like he was just a hair away from doing this shit.

Like when he broke minty's hand he just stares, it's not a process or even an emotion, just unfiltered reflexive action, thats what psychosis feels like and starsheet is just amplifying that.

And as for minty, although he cheated...

Yeah no I think he just needs to stop being so agressive thats like it

Brandy shouldn't have brought up his eye, something accidental, as if that was comparable to breaking his hand while minty was trying to reconnect with him.

Minty DID save brandy's life, and its not unreasonable for him to feel like he deserves recognition for that, even if he did it mockingly, brandy's reaction was telling if nothing else.

Brandy flicks back an forth between being sympathetic and apathetic with minty just, constantly, it's honestly hard for me to understand.

Looks like minty is ALSO confused.

Me when the guy who broke my hand asks me if i'm cold and now i have no idea what comes next (a haymaker)

Maybe brandys weird apathy has been starsheet the whole time, it would make sense why his actions are so inconsistent.

Also im mad it just ends there i hope next chapter picks up literally the same frame no timeskip, brandys reaction after this is really important cuz its like the deciding factor, like if he snaps out of it and wakes minty up we're well and dandy, but if he just steels up and goes to sleep, minty might actually have to like, lock him up. Like that means it will happen again and he won't be able to stop it i think. Like i just want to preface that that kind of outburst isn't fully tied to the matter itself, that anger is cold, and it makes you act.

If this forced proximity goes on too long, it could be sugarcube on the floor instead.

"I would love to see a heartfelt discussion of feelings!" I says to the horror webcomic "Knuckle sandwich.." Says the webcomic who's was actually the fuck you comic now