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[feyburner]

This is part of a longer thing I may post on ao3 at some point but here’s some silly little Jaytim texting AU. I use this format as a writing warmup.

EDIT: This has been posted on AO3.

[Unknown] »

Hey. This is Jason. 

I have a favor to ask. You can say no.

« tim

uh

1. i’m aware of how favors work  

2. what is it?

« tim

?

« tim

hey are you like. good

J »

Yeah fine 

Sry. Rethinking this maybe

« tim

what, do you need a kidney or something?

i can’t give you a kidney.

i don’t have any organs to spare.

J »

What ? 

« tim

what’s the favor?

J »

I wouldn’t ask if it wasnt important

I’d ask Roy but hes in star city 

or Kori but shes off world

I tried dickhead but hes in haven. Cant get away tonight

« tim

yeah jason i get it lol

J »

So Im currently in the cargo hold of a private yacht

« tim

what >?

J »

We’re caught in the storm thats hitting the city its a whole thing. 

« tim

are you in the cargo hold of your own volition or did someone put you there

J »

So I dont think I can get back t

No its on purpose

« tim

hang on. you’re in gotham bay right now? in a boat?  

jason this storm is really bad.

it’s already sunk a houseboat and a fishing boat at the marina

J »

I dont think I can get back totown toni

Christ you type fast 

Shut up for a sec. Clam down

Clam*

*Calm fuck me

Thought I was gnna be back tonight but bc of storm its not looking great.

Can you feed my sourdough starter 

« tim

what

J »

4511 overhill apt 6D 

Key under the neighbors mat. 6H

« tim

hey to clarify. “its not looking great” ← what does that mean

J »

Starter is on counter. in glass jar 

Should just need one feeindg. Maybe 2. depending 

« tim

on???

J »

On wwhen I get back?

« tim

so you do plan on coming back

J »

Yeah timothy I’m in a boat not the heart of Mount Doom

« tim

yeah? vaders not there? so that means everything’s fine? 

J »

Did you

jst say Vader

As in Darth

« tim

??? 

J »

Oh my god

« tim

jason are you in peril or what.

J »

No im not in “peril” lol.

Did you see the thing I said about my sourddough starter

It needs to be fed

« tim

wtf is a sourdough starter

nvm i googled it

J »

Its a live bacteria colony you use to m 

Oh ok

Yeah so it just needs 50g lukewarm water + 50g flour

Theres a scale next to the jar

Stir until it looks like hummus

Put lid back on

The end

« tim

the internet says if you put it in the fridge it doesn’t need daily feedings

J »

Sure. But that would mess up my bread schedule

« tim

your bread schedule 

J »

Man are gyou gonna fuckin feed Breadie Mercury or should I find someone else

« tim

im already en route. 

J »

Oh

Ok

Thank you.

Wtf dont text and motorbike  

« tim

how about you dont text and Sinking Boat

J »

Hey its not like I’m gonna cause a boat crash

« tim

i was stopped at a red light 😐

anwyay i’m at your place.

1. why do you not have a security system. when you said key under the neighbor’s mat i thought you were joking. 

2. how warm is lukewarm

J »

1. I’m the security system

« tim

just rolled my eyes so hard it actually physically hurt

J »

God youre annoying

2. ? Its lukewarm

« tim

ohhhhh thanks! that’s so helpful :) here i am trying not to murder your incredibly important bacteria colony that i just drove across town for but no thats great jason very descriptive thanks :) 

J »

Like warm but not too wram, nothing you’d want to take a bath in

Can you fucking

I TYPE SLOW.

« tim

ok.

[Image Attached]

he is fed

J »

Thanks man.

Sincerely.

« tim

so hows the cargo hold going

still intact i assume? 

J »

Mostly ya

« tim

pardon? 

J »

Slight leakage. Nothing major

« tim

oh? are you a boatologist now? 

i dont think you’re qualified to judge that?

J »

Moving right past “boatologist” out of the goodness of my heart.

Chill lol. If it was rly bad thered probably be some sort of alar

Hm.

« tim

did an alarm just start going off

J »

Dont worry about it

« tim

im not. 

did it though

also which yacht? im in the marinas scheduling dtabase

blue miracle, serendipity, carp-e diem? which one

« tim

jason?

« tim

if this is a joke it’s not funny

oh cool you’re not on comms either. great.

hey if youre dead again and i just fed your stupid starter for nothing im gonna be soooo mad just fyi

« tim

ugh.

*

J »

Hey

Thanks again for the

I’m not gonna say “save” bc I was doinf just fine on my own.

But thanks for the backup.

Lmk when youre home

Nope sorry lol you dont have to do that.

Night.

« tim

home

J »

Also I just saw your messaages from

Ah. 👍

From earlier. 

« tim

you mean from when you said “huh, this boat seems to be filling with water” and then disappeared? those messages? 

J »

Those were not my exact words.

« tim

right. your exact words contained somehow even less information 

J »

Shut up

I just wanted to 

You know. Youre the only one who jokes about it

The only one in the family I mean

your family, I mean

The bats.

« tim

? 

the only one who jokes about what

J »

Me being dead

« tim

oh. 

ok. well

its not like. actually funny to me. i was just annoyed. sorry i guess

J »

No thats not 

Tim. Shut up.

I dont mind. I like that one of you does. 

Its better than people talking around it. Like its this big shameful thing I did.

One of many

If I mention it in front of dickhead he does the face

the :~{ face

« tim

wow its uncanny

uh. for the record. 

i don’t think that’s the reason people talk around it

if im correct in thinking that by “people” you mean “one specific person whose name rhymes with Rat Can” 

 

J »

Yeah well

I just

Christ never mind. Im sorry. You are not the person to be sayign this to.

Im gonna shut the fuck up I think. 

Goodnight.

« tim

oh what, you can’t talk to me about being dead bc of that one time you tried to kill me? 

and failed btw :/ 

J »

Tim

Not to be so unchill

But you know how me being dead isnt actaully funny to you

« tim

…got it. sorry

J »

No. don’t apologize to me

Ever

I’m serious 

« tim

like for anything? 

what if i killed breadie mercury 

J »

You didnt. He is thriving

« tim

he is?

wait. really?

you can tell?

J »

[Image Attached]

Hes doubled in size since you fed him.

« tim

whoa

J »

Yup. Thanks again for thattoo.

*that too

Its stupid but hes kinda my son.

« tim

wouldn’t he technically be like, 10 billion sons

J »

He is my 10 billion sons.

« tim

lolol

wow. why am i so pleased hes thriving lol 

J »

Right

« tim

jeez

i was so worried about the water temp

google said lukewarm is 98-105 so i did 98 to be safe

J »

You used a thermometer? 

« tim

your instructions were vague!

i didnt want to kill your bacteria colony!

J »

Thanks Tim.

« tim

? you already said that lol

i gotta pass out btw

glad you didnt die: the sequel in a yacht

that would have been so cringe

night jason

J »

Night

*

J »

You up?

« tim

obviously

why

J »

Could use your eyes on something.

[Image Attached]

« tim

morse code but the dots and dashes are reversed and its spelling backwards in russian, ASTITP AYALEB AVD RTSIRP → PRISTR DVA BELAYA PTITSA → PIER TWO WHITE BIRD

J »

Bc it looks like morse but its not, its kind of scrambl 

Ok jesus christ . 

30 seconds? Seriously? Fuck me

Can I hire you? Jesus lol

« tim

that depends. do you pay more than batman?

J »

The fuck? Does he pay you guys now?

« tim

no.

J »

Then yes. I do pay more than batman.

« tim

how much more

J »

One coffee per codebreak? 

« tim

:\

J »

Two coffees per codebreak

Two and a loaf of sourdough

« tim

sourdough from breadie mercury?

J »

Ya

« tim

done

J »

Damn. I feel like you should have higher standards

« tim

i mean i was already gonna do it for free

now i have successfully negotiated coffee & sustenance 

im on a roll. nothing but Ws 

J »

Ws?

« tim

its young people slang you wouldn’t get it ❤️

J »

I am barely 3 years older htan you.

It could be argued, considering certain events, that we’re basically the same age.

« tim

and yet you text like an old, old man

J »

I do not

Would you rather I texted like “idk brb lmao roflcopter”

« tim

ROFLCOPTER?

oh my god. ohhhhhh jason. oh my god

that is absolutely not what the kids are saying these days. oh my god

J »

Ok you know what. At least I know Mount Doom isnt a Star Wars thing

« tim

? 

oh, is it star trek? 

J »

I’m 99% sure youre antagonizing me on purpose

But have you seriously not read or watched Lord of the Rings

« tim

no i have not.

J »

Hm.

« tim

what

J »

Nothing.

« tim

……….what

*

« tim

did you NARC on me

to BRUCE

about LORD OF THE RINGS?????

J »

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

« tim

WHY DO I NOW HAVE 3 SEPARATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON “HOUSE MEETINGS” BLOCKED OFF IN MY CALENDAR, JASON? 

WHY ARE THEY EACH 4 HOURS LONG?

WHY ARE THEY LABELED “CULTURAL EDUCATION (MANDATORY)”? 

J »

I can’t pretend to know what goes on in B’s mind.

That said, I have reason to believe he and Alfred take lotr pretty seriously.

« tim

its a TWELVE HOUR MOVIE

about GOBLINS

J »

I’m not gonna respond to that bc I know youre just lashing out.

« tim

if youve sentenced me to 12 hours of a movie i hate i’m gonna hack everything you own. 

im gonna mass text the entire cape wearers community the footage of that time condiment king kicked your ass so bad he felt guilty and offered to personally help you out of the mustard pool 

J »

What the fuck

How do you fuckig know about ?????? that???????? 

Not that ithahpened 

What hefuckk ??

« tim

ooooooooo you better hope i love these goblins!

J »

Why are you?? evil??

« tim

you should have killed me when you had the chance!!

sorry.

J »

Its ok. That one was pretty funny tbh.

Oh hm shouldnt have laughed just then. Bad timing on my part

Brb

« tim

uh

« tim

ok…….. getting reports of a “disturbance” at pier two…….. 

« tim

sorry were you texting me *mid-standoff* with the russian mafia

« tim

ugh.

*

« tim

you know tracking your location would be so much easier if i didn’t have to hack into your comm sys every time

luckily your encryption is garbage but still. its 2 minutes of my life i wont get back.

J »

Not sure I recall giving you permission to track my location?

« tim

oh i’m sorry. next time i will simply leave you to go down with a texas oil magnate’s incredibly tacky yacht, or get swiss cheesified by mobsters 

J »

Hey I wrapped up the russians myself 

« tim

yeah? 

J »

…

Yeah….

« tim

so you thought the 12-minute universal signal jam was the act of a benevolent god? 

J »

:-|

« tim

im just saying it would be significantly more efficient if you agreed to a tracker

just one little tracker. you wouldn’t even notice it’s there.

think of all the time and energy you’d save me

J »

I feel the need to point out that you don’t have to repeatedly hack my comms system.

« tim

i mean it’s that or monitor sightings on the gocitizen app

i have an algo that texts relevant pings to me, which is super helpful for when i want an inbox full of random people talking about how hot you are. less helpful for literally every other circumstance 

J »

Uh

What

« tim

how hot *red hood is. to clarify

in their opinion

the people’s opinion

J »

?

« tim

the people of gotham city

J »

The people of Gotham city do not think Red Hood is hot lol

« tim

wait 

i cant tell if you’re being serious

J »

Uh? Yeah Im being serious? Lol tf

Why would they think hes hot 

They dont think Batman is hot 

« tim

o…kay…

huh.

how to… hmm

J »

Like nightwing sure

And the girls. Bc of objectification of women

« tim

oh wow

J »

Red Robin. If i had to guess

But when people see Hood its definitely not… that kind of response lol

« tim

what kind of response, exactly

J »

You know like saying “Hey Hood youre hot” 

« tim

oh, wow. 

okay. ummm

hmm. one sec.

J »

?

« tim

check your email 

J »

Ok…? 

J »

Oh my fucking god.

« tim

yeah

J »

Oh my god?

« tim

yeah

J »

This document is fucking 45 pages long?

« tim

its everything from the past 30 days yeah

J »

The past

Whaht the fuck

Ok some of these people definitely got hit by Poison Ivy.

This is . Tim wtf. I havent even heard of some of this stuff. 

« tim

oof are you on page 14

J »

Im on page 3???

« tim

oh my god

J »

What the fuck

Please please tell me its not like this for Batman too

Tim

« tim

its not like this for batman :)

J »

Ok. Jesus. I would genuinely have to move cities.

« tim

its worse :)

J »

Oh what the fuck

Oh my fucking god page 14.

You get this shit TEXTED to you?????

Ohm ygod. You read this?????

« tim

i mean

no

i glance at it

for security purposes.

i dont like, read it read it

anyway did you seriously not know? haha

J »

No??? Again its not like people tell me

« tim

yeah but

like

theres a certain level of objectivity involved, here

yknow

sorry im trying to find a non awkward way to be like “have you looked in a mirror lately” 

« tim

sorry

that was in fact awkward!

nvm

just let me know if you’d be ok with the tracker. its fine if not

i was mostly joking about the hacking

J (From Work) »

No you weren’t.

« tim

no i wasnt

i dont mind though. its like a brain teaser

anyway im going dark for patrol, later

*

J (From Work) »

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

Question. why is the average Gotham citizen a raging horndog 

« tim

oh my god

you know i can tell you searched “red robin hot” right

J (From Work) »

Figured it was only fair

[Screenshot Attached]

This persons got some mad zoom lens skills

I’d think it was you, if it wasnt, yknow, you

« tim

wow. that is certainly a photo of my ass

…a stellar photo of my ass. wow. 

do you have a direct link? i gotta send this to steph

J (From Work) »

goctz.app/user/3824973/post/29348230df3

Haha

I kinda thought you and blondie broke up

back on again?

« tim

no lol we are very much just friends

she has a thing going with someone who shall remain nameless but suffice to say it’s Going

anyway we just send each other gocitizen vigilante ass shots 

its a whole genre

they’re like trading cards

J (From Work) »

Guess everyone’s got a hobby?

« tim

the only rule is no nightwing

J (From Work) »

Do I want to know why

« tim

he accounts for a frankly overwhelming percentage of vigilante ass shots

so its too easy

you’d THINK we’d have a no-batman rule, because ew, but due to the cape and his sixth sense for cameras pointed at him, a qualifying shot is actually extremely rare. 

← only guy who ever managed to take quality photos of batman 

anyway, we put it to a vote. i lost.

J (From Work) »

A vote between you and Steph? 

You lost a 50/50 vote?

« tim

i dont wanna talk about it.

J (From Work) »

Right. 

So what I’m getting from this is you have Red Hood ass shots in your phone.

« tim

no

J (From Work) »

No?

« tim

well

J (From Work) »

Yeah?

« tim

we don’t like, save them

that would be weird

we just notify each other. professionally, as colleagues 

and keep an ongoing points tally

thats all

so i do not currently have photos of your ass in my phone. thank you

J (From Work) »

How many points is my ass worth

« tim

i hate everything about this conversation

J (From Work) »

Its 100% your own fault, answer the question

« tim

if you must know. 

points are awarded based on a series of objective scoring criteria.

J (From Work) »

Uh huh. Like what

« tim

technical excellence

composition. lighting and color balance. 

dynamism 

J (From Work) »

Dynamism…

« tim

creativity

umm

emotional impact

and 

subject matter

J (From Work) »

I see.

« tim

ok i know it sounds bad

J (From Work) »

It sounds fucking hysterical Im near tears 

« tim

but if you think abou

oh

okay, well, great

J (From Work) »

I’ll let you know if I stumble on any more. 

Or is that cheating

« tim

its totally cheating

please do

J (From Work) »

You got it red. 👍

« tim

:)

[hoe4hotchner]

Extra Credit | [A.H]

Pairing: Professor!Hotch x fem!Reader CW: 18+, MDNI, coerced sexual activity, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, dubious consent, degradation and humiliation, age gap, student/professor, dom/sub dynamic, praise, (L/N) used once, no use of (Y/N). The smut in this is "just" a blowjob. WC: 2,9k

My dumb ass had to look up the american grading system cause we use a 7 point grading scale of numbers where I'm from. ---- Also alsoalso, i feel kind of evil with this one 😅

@ssamorganhotchner my love I will dedicate this fic to you cause your scream into the void made me finish it. 🤭🤭

           The lecture had been another brutal session, his lectures were always hard to get through, and you could still hear Mr. Hotchner’s voice echoing in your mind, sharp and cutting. His presence dominated the room - a force impossible to ignore - and it rattled you in a way no other professor ever had. Every question he posed felt like a challenge, every glance in your direction seemed to monitor your every move. The pressure in his class had been mounting for weeks now, suffocating and relentless as you tried your hardest to keep up with your studies.

           The other students had already packed up and left, the sounds of hurried footsteps and rustling papers fading as they filtered out of the lecture hall. You were just about to follow when his voice called out, stopping you in your tracks.

           "Miss (L/N), a moment, please."

           His tone was steady. There was no warmth, only command - one you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you wanted to. Swallowing thickly, your pulse quickened as you turned to face him. Mr. Hotchner stood at the front of the room, his eyes locked onto you, persistent and unreadable. You’d seen that look before - the one that pierced through you, as if he were dissecting every inch of your character, sizing up your worth.

           "Come to my office," he continued, already gathering his notes. "There’s something we need to discuss."

           You nodded, a knot forming in your stomach. You knew exactly what this was about: the last test. The one you felt like you'd bombed so spectacularly, despite staying up all night cramming. Panic twisted in your chest as you hastily grabbed your things, every step toward his office feeling heavier like you were marching to your doom.

           When you arrived at his office, he was already seated behind his desk, his posture straight, his face calm yet calculating. His office was an extension of him - neat, organized, cold - the only warmth coming from the mahogany furniture decorating the room. You hesitated at the door, but when his eyes met yours, pinning you in place, you stepped inside without a word.

           "Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

           Your legs felt weak as you obeyed, sinking into the chair. The room seemed smaller now, the silence oppressive. The only sound was the rush of your own panicked heartbeat in your ears.

           Mr. Hotchner reached for the paper on his desk - your test - and slid it across the table toward you. Your eyes dropped to it, the red ink scrawled across the page like a string of wounds, culminating in the bold, unforgiving "F" circled at the top. The sight of it made your stomach drop.

           "Care to explain this?" His voice was low and direct, but there was an edge to it: disappointment, authority, judgment maybe.

           You opened your mouth, but no words came out. What could you say? You had failed. There was no excuse, no way to justify how badly you’d done, no matter how hard you’d tried.

           "I... I’m sorry," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I really did try, I-"

           His sharp gaze cut you off before you could finish. His expression hardened. "Trying isn’t enough, Miss. In this class, you’re expected to succeed. Effort without results means nothing to me." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes boring into you. "You know that, don’t you?"

           You nodded quickly, your throat tight with panic. "Yes, Professor. I just... I don’t know what happened."

           Mr. Hotchner sighed, sitting back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk as his eyes flicked over you, assessing your every reaction. "This isn’t the first time your performance has been subpar," he mused, almost to himself. "But I’m not inclined to hand out second chances freely. You understand that, don’t you?"

           Your pulse quickened, and you grabbed the edges of the chair, trying to steady yourself. You needed this class to pass. Your entire academic path hinged on it. "Please, Sir," you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. "I’ll do anything to make up for this. I just..."

           Hotch raised a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though it held no warmth. "Anything, Miss?" His tone shifted, becoming darker, more sinister. He leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the desk, fingers steepled in front of him, his eyes locking onto yours.

           You froze, the weight of that single word hanging heavy in the air between you. Something in his gaze made your skin prickle, a cold realization settling over you, though you still didn’t fully understand what he meant.

           "There are ways," he said, almost absently, his eyes never leaving you. "To improve your grade. But... no, you wouldn’t want to do that."

           The soft, almost indifferent tone only made the tension worse, as if he were toying with the idea, considering something dark and unspoken. His eyes - steady and determined - never left yours, trapping you beneath the weight of his scrutiny. A shiver crawled up your spine, the walls of the small office seeming to close in as his stare held you in place, daring you to speak, to challenge the unspoken hint buried in his words. The air thickened, stifling, and at that moment, you realized you were no longer sitting across from your professor but a man who held all the power - and he knew it.

           "Please, Sir... anything." Your voice lingered on the verge of tears. Your stomach churned as you began to realize the gravity of the situation, the dark current running beneath his words. But it was too late. You’d already sealed your fate.

           The tension in the room thickened as Mr. Hotchner leaned back in his chair, his eyes eyeing you, estimating just what he could get you to do. His silence stretched, but you felt the shift - something in him had clicked, and it set your pulse racing with a mix of fear and something unnameable.

           He moved slowly, deliberately, pushing his chair back just enough to make space. He gestured to the small gap between him and the desk. "Come here," he said, his voice low, the command unquestionable.

           You hesitated, your legs trembling slightly as you stood, heart pounding so hard you swore he could hear it. He didn’t rush you, just watched as you took one small, uncertain step forward, then another, until you were standing directly between his legs. His proximity sent a jolt of awareness through you, your body hyperaware of the heat radiating from him - too close.

           Mr. Hotchner's hand reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric of your skirt before settling on your hip, guiding you into place with a firm grip. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt trapped, pinned between him and the desk, with nowhere to escape as his other hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you even closer. The space between you vanished, and you swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat.

           You could feel his gaze, assessing, waiting for you to protest, to pull away - but you didn’t. Something about the smoothness of his words kept you intrigued. His control was absolute, the imbalance between you undeniable, and yet… you found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to think of anything but him and the way his hands felt against your skin.

           "There are certain things you’re willing to do," he said softly, his voice carrying a darker edge now. "Aren’t there?"

           You nodded, barely able to find your voice, the room spinning as his hand slid lower on your back, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, suffocating, and you realized with a sinking feeling that you were already too far gone to turn back now.

           Mr. Hotchner's gaze remained fixed on you as he maneuvered you with practiced ease. His grip on your hip tightened slightly, guiding you down until you were kneeling on the floor before him. The cold tile pressed against your knees, sending a shiver through you, but Mr. Hotchner's presence was a warm, commanding contrast.

           “That’s it,” he said, his voice rich with approval as you settled into the position he directed. “You’re doing well.”

           The praise made the tension more bearable yet, it came with an edge of something darker, something that made you shiver despite the heat pooling between you. You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes, and saw the way they softened just a touch, but only enough to keep you vulnerable.

           His hand moved with deliberate care, stroking the length of your hair. The soft, almost caressing touch was a strange contrast to the authority he exerted. “You’re very obedient,” Mr. Hotchner said, his tone almost gentle now, but there was an unmistakable command in his words. “And you know, I do appreciate that.” The warmth of his hand was soothing but carried with it an undercurrent of power, leaving you both comforted and apprehensive. “I can see you’re trying to do what it takes to improve.”

           He shifted slightly, his chair creaking as he leaned forward a bit, the fabric of his suit brushing against you. “You’re very dedicated,” he said softly, his eyes roaming over you with a mixture of satisfaction and something else you couldn’t quite place. “And I have to admit, it’s not something I see in my students very often.”

           Your breath quickened as his praise continued, his words a strange mix of encouragement and control that made you feel simultaneously uplifted and trapped. It confused you. The power he held over you was noticeable, his authority unchallenged as you knelt before him, feeling the weight of his gaze.

           “You’re willing to do whatever it takes,” Mr. Hotchner continued his hand now gently stroking the top of your head. “That’s very impressive. Most students wouldn’t go this far.”

           The air between you was thick with his dominance, the atmosphere heavy with the unspoken promises and threats that lingered in his words. His praise was both a comfort and a chain, binding you to him in a way that left you breathless and anxious for what was to come.

           Mr. Hotchner guided you to unbuckle his belt, watching as you hooked your fingers through the loop, carefully removing it and unzipping his pants. You kept looking up at him for reassurance, waiting for a nod of approval to continue. You gently grabbed the elastic waistband and slowly pulled his underwear down, revealing his thick, erect cock. It sprang free, long, and veined, with a bulky head already glistening with pre-cum. You couldn't help but let out a soft gasp at the sight of it.

           “Go on,” he urged. “Show me how much you want that grade.”

           With a slight nod, you leaned forward and extended your tongue, delicately licking the tip of his cock, tasting the salty sweetness. Mr. Hotchner let out a soft groan, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. Encouraged by his reaction, you opened your mouth and took just the head into your warm, wet mouth, swirling your tongue around it.

           “Fuck, that’s it,” he whispered, his hand gripping your neck, guiding your movements. “Suck it, take it deep.” He growled.

           You obeyed, slowly taking more of his length into your mouth, your lips sliding down his shaft. You moaned softly around his cock, the vibrations driving him wild. Mr. Hotchner's hand moved to the back of your head, gently holding you in place as he began to thrust his hips, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes.

           “You’re doing so well,” he praised, his voice hoarse with desire. “But I want more. I want to feel that tight throat of yours.”

           Eager to please, you relaxed your throat and took him deeper, your nose pressing into his pubic hair. You felt his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged and coughed around him. Mr. Hotchner stilled for a brief moment as he let you adjust to the new position of his cock in your throat.

           As Mr. Hotchner's hand started gently caressing your hair once again, his other hand slowly shifted, a deliberate movement that drew your attention away from the soothing strokes. He let you take over, expecting you to continue pleasuring. His fingers, initially tender and reassuring, began to trace down the side of your neck, brushing lightly against the fabric of your blouse.

           “You’re doing very well,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. The praise seemed to be more about control than genuine encouragement, keeping you bound in a trance by his spell. The warmth of his hand became more insistent.

           You felt a shiver run down your spine as his hand moved with purpose, sliding along the curve of your shoulder and then lower. His fingers grazed the edge of your skirt, teasing the hem as they explored the fabric. The contact was both alarming and electric, the smoothness of his touch in stark contrast to the pressure of his gaze.

           “Such dedication,” Hotch continued, his tone almost contemplative. His fingers lingered at the edge of your skirt, the touch becoming more deliberate as he traced along the hem. “It’s rare to find someone so willing to go above and beyond.”

           The way his hand inched closer to the soft material of the front of your skirt, it made you acutely aware of the shift in the atmosphere. His touch, though light and seemingly casual, was charged with an intensity that left you on edge. The skirt felt suddenly like a barrier between you and him, a fragile line that he was now exploring with calculated movements.

           He pushed his fingers past the waistband; they were cold as they brushed against your stomach, slowly moving down toward your clothed heat. Mr. Hotchner tutted as he brushed his fingers against your folds, the soaking wet fabric leaving a slick trail on his fingers.

           “You naughty girl,” he mocked. “Do you feel that? The way your body reacts to my touch? How long have you been aching for this kind of attention?” He grinned, his fingers expertly drawing out mewls from you as you tried to keep your focus on the task at hand.

           You felt the way his cock twitched against your tongue, convulsing with every movement, every lick and suck. Mr. Hotchner could feel it too, his climax nearing. He moved his hands to the back of your head, holding you still as he flexed his muscles. You whined around him at the sudden loss of touch on your pussy.

           “Don’t be greedy,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fucking your mouth with such force that all you could do was stay still and relax your throat, trying your best to keep breathing through your nose.

           “Yes, that’s it, take it all,” he grunted, his hips moving faster now, driving his cock down your throat with each thrust. “Oh fuck, I’m close,” Mr. Hotchner groaned, his hips jerking as he came, emptying himself down your throat. You swallowed around him, taking every drop, your eyes never leaving his, a satisfied smile on his face.

           “Look at this mess you made,” he tutted, pulling his cock out of your mouth. The few drops of cum mixed with your saliva glistened under the light. “Now, clean it up.” He scooted his chair closer to the desk, effectively caging you in. “I have papers to grade.”

           You slowly started licking the shaft with small kitten licks as you made your way from the base to the head. You were scared he wouldn't pass you if you didn't follow his orders. Mr. Hotcher paid no attention to you whatsoever. You felt humiliated as you sat under his desk, his thoughts elsewhere as you mindlessly followed his demands. The sound of your tongue mixed with the slight scratching of his pen scribbling on the papers in front of him were the only sounds in the room.

           When you finished, the room seemed even smaller than when you'd entered, the walls closer than before. You sat back on your haunches, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as you tried to process what had just happened, your mind swirling in confusion and shame.

           Mr. Hotchner leaned back, his expression calm, his eyes glittering with a smug satisfaction that made your skin crawl. You were about to ask what he would change your grade to, feeling you had at least deserved a D for the effort. But Mr. Hotcher sensed your question before you even opened your mouth.

           “Don’t think so fast, dear,” he said smoothly, his voice like ice on your skin. “Good grades cost more than that.”

           Your stomach twisted painfully, and you glanced up at him, unsure how to respond, your voice catching in your throat. You wanted to believe this nightmare was over, that you’d somehow paid your dues and could walk out of his office with your dignity intact.

           But Mr. Hotchner wasn’t finished with you. He regarded you coolly, one brow arching as he tilted his head slightly, watching your every reaction with dark amusement.

           “Same time next week?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question - it was an expectation, a demand disguised as a polite inquiry.

           You nodded, the movement slow and uncertain, the weight of his gaze making you feel trapped, cornered. “Okay… sir,” you whispered, your voice small and fragile.

           His smile deepened, satisfied, and gently patted your cheek. “Good girl.”

[hmmarble]

HMMARBLEDESİGN - DRAGON+ (2)

Marble Bathroom Sink

When it comes to home design, few materials evoke a sense of luxury and timeless beauty quite like marble. A marble bathroom sink not only serves as a functional wash basin but also elevates the overall aesthetic of your space. The elegance of marble exudes sophistication, turning an ordinary bathroom into a serene oasis.

Marble Bathroom Sink

A marble bathroom sink is not just a functional component of your bathroom; it is a statement piece that adds elegance and luxury. Marble, known for its unique veining and rich texture, brings a timeless charm to any space. When choosing a marble bathroom sink, there are several factors to consider to ensure it complements your bathroom design.

First, consider the style of your bathroom. Whether you are going for a modern, classic, or rustic look, a marble sink can fit seamlessly into any theme. The color palette of the marble also matters; white and cream marbles can lend a fresh and airy feel, while darker hues can create a dramatic effect.

Maintenance is another important aspect to consider. While marble sinks are stunning, they do require some care to maintain their beauty. Regular sealing and careful cleaning will help prevent stains and etching, keeping your sink looking pristine over the years.

Installation is another key consideration. Marble is heavier than other materials, so ensure that your cabinet and plumbing can support your chosen marble bathroom sink. Consultation with a professional can help you navigate this aspect of your renovation.

Ultimately, a marble bathroom sink is an investment in both aesthetics and functionality. By choosing the right type, color, and maintenance plan, you can enjoy the beauty of marble in your bathroom for years to come.

Wash Basin Sink

A wash basin sink is an essential fixture in any bathroom, offering both functionality and style. When selecting a wash basin sink, it is important to consider various factors such as size, design, and material.

One popular choice among homeowners is the marble bathroom sink. Known for its elegance and durability, marble sinks can elevate the aesthetic of your bathroom. Their unique veining patterns ensure that no two sinks are alike, providing a one-of-a-kind centerpiece for your space.

When choosing a wash basin sink, you will encounter various types including undermount, vessel, and pedestal sinks. Each design has its own benefits and can enhance the overall look of your bathroom. For instance, vessel sinks are often mounted on top of the countertop, making them a stylish option that complements modern decor.

Aside from aesthetics, the wash basin sink should also offer practical features. Consider looking for a model with easy-to-clean surfaces and a design that accommodates your bathing and grooming needs. The right choice will not only enhance your bathroom’s style but also improve daily usage.

In terms of installation, make sure to consult with a professional if you are unsure. Proper installation of your wash basin sink will ensure that it functions efficiently and lasts for many years to come.

Lastly, don't forget to incorporate additional features such as stylish faucets and accessories that complement your wash basin sink and add to the overall design of your bathroom.

Ancient Roman Baths

The Ancient Roman Baths were an essential aspect of Roman culture, reflecting the importance of hygiene, social interaction, and relaxation in ancient society. These baths, also known as thermae, were large public bathing complexes that served as a social hub for citizens of all classes.

Typically, the layout of a Roman bath included a series of rooms with varying temperatures and functions. The caldarium (hot bath) heated the water through a sophisticated system of hypocaust, allowing steam to rise and warm the space. Next to it was the tepidarium (warm bath), which served as a transitional room, and the frigidarium (cold bath), where bathers would plunge into cooler waters to invigorate their bodies.

In addition to hygiene, these baths featured amenities such as libraries, gymnasiums, and gardens, encouraging a sense of community and leisure. Romans often visited to socialize, conduct business, or simply enjoy the art and architecture that adorned these luxurious facilities. The decorative mosaics and grand columns were not only functional but also represented the wealth and sophistication of the society.

The significance of the Ancient Roman Baths can also be seen in their architectural innovation. The Romans mastered the use of concrete and arches, allowing for grand open spaces and intricate designs. These structures have inspired modern spa designs, embodying the idea of relaxation and wellness.

Despite their popularity, the fall of the Roman Empire led to the decline of these spectacular sites. Many were repurposed, and their intricate plumbing systems fell into disrepair. However, remnants of these ancient baths still surface in archaeological sites, offering a glimpse into a fascinating aspect of Roman life.

Today, while we may not indulge in the same communal bathing practices, the legacy of the Ancient Roman Baths endures. Their emphasis on hygiene and social engagement continues to influence how we design our own spaces for relaxation and community interaction.

[mediumgayitalian]

“I’d pick you up at the airport.”

“What?”

“If we were normal. I would — have one of those signs, you know. When you came back from your adventures.”

“Oh.” Nico snorts. “I’m still fucking off all the time when we’re normal? And you’re not coming?”

“It is woven within your very soul to fuck off as you please,” says Will sagely. “You get antsy. You know, like a house cat.”

He laughs when Nico shoves him. Less when he loses his balance and rolls into a tree, but he crawls back, anyway, kicking Nico’s ankle as he lies back next to him, folding his hands over his ribs. Nico watches him for a moment, tracing the round edges of his knuckles, until Will’s smile begins to twitch with him knowing, and he looks hastily back to the sky. It’s embarrassing, Will’s snorting huff of amusement, but more than that it’s electrifying, zapping a trail down Nico’s spine and making him shiver.

He can feel the heat Will is always throwing off, blazing every centimetre from his shoulder to his heels, a hair’s breadth away, a millimetre of distance.

“What else would it look like?” He clears his throat. “Our, um. Our normal?”

Will hums. “New York, probably. Big-ass penthouse with your trust fund.”

“I’m a trust fund baby?!”

“Hey, Nico, how much does dish soap cost?”

Nico opens his mouth, and closes it again. Will’s snickers get louder. Is it considered bad etiquette to banish one’s significant annoyance to the Underworld? Only permanently, probably. If he only keeps him there for a couple weeks it should be find. A couple weeks would be appropriately humbling.

“And what do you contribute?” Nico asks, instead of answering. (Not because he doesn’t know. Obviously. Because he is dignified, that’s why.) “Your dimples and boyish charm?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Well.

“…Okay, fair.”

Will snickers triumphantly.

“You still a doctor?”

“Mhm.” Will shifts, mouth curled in amusement. “Paediatric in Mount Sinai. We live close, by the way. You said it’s cause it’s close to Central Park but really you like to hide my lunch in the mornings to have an excuse to come see me.”

“Sounds like you forget your shit a lot, actually.”

“That, too.”

He looks over and smiles at Nico and for a moment he is convinced, wholly genuinely and truly, that the sun that’s been hiding behind the clouds all day has finally peeked out, because he can actually feel his whole body warm, in that slow-rising, penetrating way; he can actually smell the surge of sunshine in the air, feel the red glow in the backs of his eyelids, taste the brightness of the light. Every one of his neurons sinks into his system, sighing, cells reacting to thousands of years of memory of the gentle warm of the Earth’s closest star.

But the sun is not shining, and there is only Will, and his too-big teeth brush against the bottom of his lip, and his dimples show, and his eyes crinkle, and he is more radiant in even his old stained camp shirt and fraying jean shorts than his father has ever been and could ever hope to be. A thousand planets could thrive under a hundred blazing stars and none could come close to him. He knows it, how those ancients felt, the drunken surety as they stood and challenged the gods, swore up and down that their beloveds outshone Venus, Diana, Juno; Will does, Will does, and Nico understands intimately the hubris in a way he scoffed at as a child, because the words bubble and boil and threaten bursting inside of him now. What claim have the Olympians? Over sunlight? Over beauty? Over Will?

“We’re happy?” he says instead, choking hoarsely over the veneer words, over the blocked desperation, truth. “In our normal, we’re happy?”

“Always,” Will whispers. He twists onto his knees, crawling the two inches over to press close, close, closely, hand gentle on Nico’s stomach when he tries to sit up, and presses his lips to Nico’s cheek, dry, twitching with his smile, shaking with his laughter. Nothing is funny, and he isn’t joking, but Nico can feel the giddiness bubbling up and out of him the way sadness flows out in tears; when Will is giddy he giggles, constantly, hiding it barely in his hands, and now he presses it into Nico’s skin, because he knows how Nico aches to hear it, how he watches him like he’s burning it into the ridges of his brain. “I am always happy with you, Niccolò.”

“I love you,” Nico says, fiercely, and it will never be enough, not in English, not in Italian, not in Greek, but he will try. “Te amo. Capiscimi? I love you, Will, I —”

“I know.” The tiny little vibrations of his laughter are — intoxicating; Nico is drunk, ascending. “I know, di Angelo. Sap. I love you, I know.”

He dissolved into giggles into the crook of Nico’s neck, and Nico is lying, still, facing the clouds, and he is warmed, and he is warmed, and he is warmed.

[ross-hollander]

The prevailing wisdom...

...among any who have encountered them and survive is always, no matter what threats appear to be on the field, shoot the FrankenMech first. If whatever you are facing- be it a ragtag insurrectionist Lance, or a privateer crew attacking your base, or just one drunk dischargee who has been spoiling for a 'mech fight in the long years of involuntary retirement -includes a FrankenMech, that FrankenMech becomes the focus of all firepower at your disposal.

This is not because every FrankenMech is a killing machine of dangerous, haphazard but absurd efficiency; this is because just enough of them are that it is a serious problem. Belt-fed LRM launchers. Enough lasers to turn a heat sink into molten slag combined with a duct-tape-and-prayer system that spews molten heat sink slag at anyone in range. Anti-'mech landmines welded directly to Battlefists as a kind of single-use, 'mech-scale brass knuckles. Cockpit glass sawed open and a backblast chimney added to put in a holdout shoulder-mounted SRM launcher in case enemies close to melee.

The reason you shoot the FrankenMech first is because with the toughest, most vicious regulation 'mechs, with Mastodons or an Ares or whatever you might round a corner in a war zone and find yourself face to face with, there is only so much it might have. With FrankenMechs, there are no limits, and that is what makes running into one a fight for your life.

[sadgi]

compiling information about the kineema, because I'm normal

hi. you may remember me from this post talking about how the kineema doesn't have a hood. I've decided to compile all the *other* info I can get on the kineema and comment on it. hopefully this is okay to read

---

let's start with what I could find on fayde

INTERFACING - With its air-cooled, rear-mounted twelve cylinder compression ignition engine driving the rear wheels through a four-speed manual gearbox, the Kineema is able to reach 100 kilometres per hour in 13.5 seconds. And go on to a top speed of 180 kilometres an hour. YOU - Won't it roll over in the first sharp corner? INTERFACING - The high centre of balance is offset by a large battery bank mounted at the bottom of the cabin, feeding all the auxiliary systems and making the Kineema effectively a mobile power plant.

air-cooled: no radiator. I assume this is what those big heat-sink looking things on sides of the engine are for

compression ignition engine: diesel, no spark plugs (diesel engines are named after a guy, rudolph diesel, so I guess in elysium they didn't do that)

rear wheel drive: this is pretty obvious just looking at the thing

100 kilometres per hour in 13.5 seconds: not very fast acceleration compared to modern cars, but the history of cars in elysium is obviously very different to irl

battery bank: this is the only thing keeping the kineema from tipping backwards onto its ass as soon as you accelerate

YOU - "What's it packing there?" (Point to the engine.) KIM KITSURAGI - "Hundred-and-thirty." INTERFACING - I reckon that's a seven-litre V12 there. ENCYCLOPEDIA - Man, that's got to be a major advancement over the KR18GU engine on the old Coupris 40. YOU - "Wait, hundred-and-thirty what?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Kilowatts," the lieutenant replies laconically.

130 kilowatts: ~174 horsepower

YOU - "That's what..." (Rub your chin.) "... a seven-litre V12?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Seven-point-two. Supercharged." The lieutenant is trying to suppress a smug smile. Unsuccessfully. EMPATHY - Saying these words brings him immense joy.

7.2 litre engine: space inside the cylinders. 7.2L/12 = 600cc per cylinder

supercharged: has a supercharger. forces more air into the engine, powered by the crankshaft (as opposed to turbochargers which are powered by the exhaust)

YOU - Run your fingers over one of the steering levers. COUPRIS KINEEMA - The white suede feels luxurious under the touch and the metal clutch handle so very familiar in your palm... INTERFACING - Your fingers waste no time closing around the handle. Clutch disengaged. Release the handle -- clutch drops -- right foot yearns for the familiar touch of the accelerator pedal. You have synced with the machine's mechanical circulation.

YOU - "A *driver* would wear down their right shoe before the left -- the accelerator is on the right. And remember that abandoned lorry cabin we found?"

steering levers: instead of a steering wheel. not exactly sure how they'd work. I *really* don't want it to have differential steering like a zero-turn mower looking at this video of kim driving it looks like the front wheels are the ones steering

clutch handle: instead of a pedal, the clutch is a handle on one of the levers. seems that accelerator and (probably) brake are still pedals

accelerator is on the right: does everyone left-foot brake??? I guess if the clutch handle is standard then that would make sense

ABANDONED LORRY - The glass on the side windows is tinted and covered with dust. You can barely make out the shape of a seat and two steering levers. [...] YOU - Check the pedals. ABANDONED LORRY - You wedge yourself under the steering-wheel to get a better look. Seems like the few tools lying around here -- a hammer, a pair of pliers, a rusty wrench -- have been casually thrown there by the disorganized driver. ABANDONED LORRY - But one odd detail does catch your eye: A piece of sandpaper has been glued to the throttle.

STEERING WHEEL TYPO

---

alright, let's actually take a look at this thing

two door: the kineema has a single driver's seat and two seats in the back. looks like you'd need to move the front seat forward to let anyone else in

suspension: the back wheels look like they have some sort of spring (the axle is connected to it, so how are the wheels being driven??? same with the coupris 40). I assume the front arms also act as a spring

rear view mirror: looks like there's no rear view mirror, since you wouldn't see shit

aerodynamics: bad

seat belts:

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[thatsdemko]

they want us to be - m.mount

masterlist

pairing: Mason mount x fem!reader

warnings: angst + me having a lack of knowledge of the transportation systems of Europe

a/n: yeah I’m sorry about this one..

the train ride in from London to Manchester was long and brutal. you’d think somewhere along the lines you’d just move half way in between your best friend and your current job, but moving in this economy was proven to be rather difficult. so the train it was.

the cities and empty towns pass by you in a whirl and before you know it you’re the next stop: Manchester. you’d gathered an overnight bag that feels weightless as you pick it up and move out of your seat towards the exit. you thank the man who helps you off and find his car. it doesn’t take long, it’s the most expensive one in the parking lot.

“hey!” his head snaps up from his phone, whatever it was becomes completely irrelevant once you’re in the warm car and tossing your back in front of your feet.

letting out a long sigh you take a look over at him. his hair still has patches of blond showing and the buzz cut is much shorter than you last had seen it. “hey,” you let out finally. leaning over the center counsel you wrap your arms around him, “why’d you cut your hair?” you gently run your finger tips over the rough ends of his hair before he quickly pulls away, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

“you don’t like it?”

“I’ve expressed my dislikes for it many times.” you’d recall for him the last time he’d cut it short, you couldn’t look him in the eyes without laughing and you’d think he’d learned his lesson that the look wasn’t meant for him, yet without your supervision Mason still went ahead and did so.

“yeah well you’re not my girlfriend so you don’t make the calls.” his bitter tone shuts you up. you result back into looking out the window much like you did the whole train ride here. was this how it was going to be?

LAST TIME | Manchester

“come on, come on! say it again, please.” you laugh, your body leans forward against the wooden table tops as you wait for masons giggle fit to end before he turns serious and does his best impression of his coach on the sidelines.

“you’re getting really good at it.” you lie, or maybe it was flirting. the alcohol in your system had you looking at Mason differently than normal, and it’s not you to blame when he wears a tight black shirt and grey sweatpants that could have any girl swooning in admiration of his biceps.

“am I? I only learn from the best impersonator myself.” he gestures to you in front of him, “give me your best Ben impression, I forgot what he sounds like.”

“you chatted with him on the phone two hours ago!”

it’s his turn to lean in, his hands pressed against the cool table tops as he watches you take a swig from your pint of beer, “and I’ve seemingly forgotten what he sounds like! come on, do it!”

rolling your eyes you give him what he wants and a roar of laugher escapes from him. the sound fills your heart and makes your chest feel fuzzy and your head starts to spin. was this what it felt like to fall in love? was the feeling of falling supposed to be this intoxicating?

“is it crazy I miss London?” he looks up from the empty pint in front of him, his hands awkwardly cup the glass trying to find anything to occupy the numbness in his chest when he mentions his previous home. while Manchester was beautiful and different, you didn’t live here. you lived a train away and that killed him.

“I don’t think it’s crazy, mase. this was a big change— and may I mention a good change.” you reach across the table, your sweaty palm touches the back of his hand and pulls his attention away from the table.

“I guess I just miss you.”

oh. you feel a tightness in your chest as you pull your hand away and sink against the back of the chair.

“I shouldn’t of said that I’m sorry—“

“no. don’t apologize.” you cut him off, “I miss you too.”

a relief washes over his face to hear the words back. there’d been plenty of new friends and faces for him to kindle a connection with, but no one could hold a candle to what you two had. there was an undeniable chemistry that sparked since your teen years and carried on, it’s what made you two inseparable despite the commute.

“I’m sorry, I’m being like the worst drunk ever.”

you shake your head. reaching your hand across the table again, “don’t say that. come on, let’s just go to bed? maybe we just need sleep.” you suggest and he agrees. he trails behind you into his master bedroom that’s practically untouched. the space is so clean and barely lived in, it’s almost uncomfortable to look at.

“will you sleep with me? I don’t think I can be alone right now.” his finger tips grab a hold of your hand, the warmth sends a shock wave through your body making you turn in his direction. he’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his large body blocks you from seeing the rest of the room as his eyes plea for your attention.

“mase, that’s dangerous.” you warn. the last time you’d slept in the same bed was the same night he’d gracefully taken your virginity and ever since then you could never see him naked without your ovaries having a reaction to him.

he wets the bottom of his lip with his tongue, his beautiful brown eyes are glassy and convincing, you press your lips against his for a brief second, “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

“can’t you stay with me forever?” he whispers half jokingly but half serious. you pretend you don’t hear him and just climb into his bed while he undresses himself.

“I mean what I said. I want you with me forever.”

NOW | Manchester

“pint or glass?”

“glass.” you say setting your things down into the living room and waiting for Mason to come back in. you stare out the large floor to ceiling windows out at the city. the grey clouds and dark skies feel different here, in London you felt safer from the storms, but here? there was something chilling about the look.

“how’s Ben? anything new happening with Chelsea?” he moves into the living room and sets your glass down on a coaster. he takes the seat closest to where you’re standing and watches your eyes move from cloud to cloud and person to person.

“joão left.”

“so I’ve been told.” he says making your head turn in his direction and offer him a small smile before taking the seat next to him.

“but Bens good, he just moved into my building.”

a shocked expression lights his face making you snort, “what? you’re surprised we get along now?”

he nods his head enthusiastically, “yes! it took months for you two to get along!”

“months?! I’d say weeks, he always had a problem with me.”

it’s masons turn to snort making you give him a look of surprise, “he just had a thing for you and then he realized you only like me so he gave up.”

you fight the urge to tell him it wasn’t true. you fight the urge to tell him the reason Ben moved in was because he was with you. the reason you couldn’t stay with Mason forever was because Ben chilwell was your idea of forever.

“well I think he still has a thing for me.”

Mason rolls his eyes whipping out his phone from his pocket, “you want me to tell him off? I can tell him you still have feelings for Christian—“

“no! oh my god one time! I said one time I liked Christian for a week!” you launch your body onto his and try to fight him for the phone while he types and clearly whoever it was, it wasn’t Ben. because the person on the other end responded faster than your boyfriend actually would.

“who are you actually texting?” you press, a cheeky grin on your face, “come on, I know it’s a girl none of your mates respond that fast!”

he puts his hands up as a white flag and admits from start to finish about the new girl he was talking to. he’d mentioned how she was awfully similar personality to yours and how he really liked her, but he fails to admit she’s not you. he likes her enough to keep things going, but she lacks the personality you have.

“I’m so happy for you.” you whisper, voice sounding breathless and a mixture of emotions settled into your chest. you’re happy for him, and this is exciting news, but why did it hurt? Ben was your boyfriend who you so dearly loved, but why was Mason moving on the worst thing you could ever hear.

you guess it’s true, maybe you two were meant to be but you’d never know until you stop loving others and love each other.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: cowboy to the rescue

pairing: nash hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you’re having a panic attack and losing control but nash is there to help you through it

warning: mentions of a panic attack

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍 and sorry it’s a little short, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather - a very special thank you to you all for wanting to be on my tag list :)

No this couldn’t happen, not here and not now. But it was happening here and now. Your chest is tight and you could feel your palms sweating. Breathe. You try to tell yourself. Just breathe. But you couldn’t. It was like your lungs had lost the ability to and your brain wasn’t functioning as it should. You sink to the floor, now unable to keep yourself up straight, the panic seeping into every pore and cell of your body. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Your heart was thumping loud and fast and out of control. Any faster and you thought it might explode. Your ears begin to ring and you’re aware you’re shaking. Colours and sounds are all blurring into one merged mess and you’re petrified because you can’t get back to normal. You’re begging your brain, sobbing and praying, for normal to arrive again but time and time again your system fails and gives in to an overriding panic.

You felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around you and you’re guided onto someone’s lap. As soon as you smell the blend of smoke, leather and cologne you know exactly who it is and your heart rate slows just a tad. Nash takes your hand into his and gently draws spirals on each of you palms, methodically, rhythmically. He hums a recognisable but undefined tune rocking back and fourth slowly.

“Breathe darlin’,” he whispers in your ear, “I got you.”

But you couldn’t. It wasn’t that easy. Breathing was now seemed the equivalent of climbing Mount Everest.

“C-can’t,” you manage to say, through heaving breaths.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, “I know it’s hard but you have to try, for me okay?”

You nod shakily.

“In,” he instructs, squeezing your hand, “and out,” he says loosening his grip, “your turn now.”

You look into his eyes, showing him the fear and vulnerability written in them. His face softens and he delicately traces a thumb across your jawline. You exhale slowly and take his hand.

“In…. and out. In… and out.”

You squeeze his hand and let go, in a pulsating manner. For every breath in and out, for every hand squeeze, your heart slowed just a little, the knot in your chest loosened slightly.

“You’re doin’ so good darlin’, keep goin’,” he replies, stroking your cheek.

You keep doing the same, little by little. One baby step at a time. You stay in Nash’s strong arms, your hands in one another’s.

“You’re doin’ so well,” Nash tells you, kissing your temple gently, “feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.”

His voice was so soothing, so calming.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He puts his palm over your racing heart, and presses firmly. Not so much as to hurt, but enough to let you know he was there. That he wasn’t leaving. And that’s what you needed. Someone to stay.

a/n: credit to @strangergraphics-archive for the divider

if you want to find more stories like these, why don’t you check out my TIG masterlist ??

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

STORMBRINGER

Shift. Breathe. Move. Breathe. Turn. Breathe. Fire. Breathe.

Lux had been trained to always keep a particular mantra in mind: "Space buys time, time buys options, options buy victory."

[TARGET LOCKED]

[SHARANGA MISSILES ARMED]

Combat in a hard vacuum turned this mantra on its head.

In hardvac combat, space bought time, but the more time you had, the more problems you had. In hardvac combat you were on a time limit. Every breath of oxygen was precious; every bit of inertia needed to be metered out. Sure, you had the heart of a star and were powered by a series of cascading nuclear reactions that were for all intents and purposes providing infinite fuel, but if you were light-years from the nearest station, you'd run out of oxygen long before you got back into a pressurized environment.

If combat was a dance, hardvac combat was trapeze. One wrong move in your performance and you would break your neck.

[RADAR LOCK WARNING]

Lux wove right, narrowly avoiding a ship-scale laser. She could nearly feel the heat on her flesh; she could certainly feel it on her metallic skin.

[JAVELIN ROCKETS ARMED]

[FIRING JAVELIN ROCKETS]

Explosions rippled across the outer hull of the Calamity Supreme as Dawn Always Comes soared up the spine of the ship, scattering missiles across the railgun mountings, hoping to destroy or at least disable something important to lessen the storm of incoming fire that her battlegroup's Huron-class frigate. I Refuse To Sink was, at least, weathering the storm.

[TARGET LOCK]

[SHARANGA MISSILES ARMED]

Dawn Always Comes danced sideways once more and unleashed a barrage of self-guiding missiles against one of the ship-scale magnetic rails. Electricity ran along the rails as another slug prepared to fire; Lux found something that looked like an exposed support section and imagined it burning.

[TARGET LOCK]

[GANDIVA MISSILES ARMED]

It was like she was handing out explosive party favours, or lucid-dreaming. She closed her eyes and the target exploded in her mind, then she opened her eyes and saw twisted, burning metal. Energy continued running down the magnet lines; far down the railgun barrel a metal slug was slotted into place.

[WARNING - WITHIN APOCALYPSE RAIL BLAST AREA]

Lux darted upwards into a lag roll, spinning sideways and spiralling low until she was running alongside the hull at barely [ALTITUDE, ALTITUDE] ten metres. With but a thought and a muscle twitch, she targeted two laser-defense turrets, closed her eyes, and fired.

[TARGET LOCKED]

[SHARANGA MISSILE ARMED]

Flames leapt and devoured the metal like greywash. Lux paid them no mind and sped further down the hull [RADAR LOCK WARNING], rolling right and [CHAFF / FLARE, CHAFF / FLARE] firing countermeasures to disrupt a hostile fighter's targeting lock, dancing along the golden path like a tightrope walker at ten million metres in the sky.

Another laser passed close, superheating metal, causing no damage. Lux kept striding the golden path. Breathe in, breathe out.

"Captain Korai to ALLCOM. We're holding steady but taking a beating--if you could focus on disabling weapons systems, it would save a few lives."

Lux smiled despite herself, then refocused. She knew how to do this, even as point-defense formed a web around her and she continued to dance along the tightrope, finding every hole and slipping through like rainwater caught in a net.

Breathe in, breathe out. Dawn Always Comes strained against inertia as it shot upwards in a clean Immelmann turn. As she rose she looked at the Calamity Supreme, taking it in, analyzing all angles.

She closed her eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out.

She imagined it in every light. Every angle. She saw the crew onboard. The miles of circuitry. The guns, half-loaded. The broken armor panels. The ones still holding strong. The shattered hulls. The vented compartments. Those rooms that still teemed with life. The bunks within which the crew slept. The locked bulkheads. The engines, roaring and ready at combat speed. The bridge, from which the captain organized the entire ship.

She imagined the perfected ship. She held it in her mind. Silvery strips of metal chaff framed her like twinkling stars; flares formed an afterimage of wings.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Sacrifice time to expedite victory. Do it right. Breathe in. Breathe out.

[AVENGER SILOS ARMED]

On Venus, a thunderstorm began to form. Convection cells rose and cooled; lightning coiled and prepared to leap. Lux reached up and held the clouds tight.

[SHARANGA MISSILES ARMED]

Raindrops gathered in those heavy clouds. Wind began to speed up. Animals covered their patches of grass.

[JAVELIN ROCKETS ARMED]

Karateka sat at the centerfold of the storm, watching the rain swirl around her.

[GANDIVA MISSILES ARMED]

With a deep breath, she focused on the wind as it began to howl, the rain as it began to fall, the force of a hurricane all around her. She took it, focused it, let it flow through her. A thousand-thousand-thousand raindrops fell away from her palms as she released the stormclouds from her grasp.

[DIVINE PUNISHMENT PROTOCOL ACTIVE]

Raindrops that, taken together, could carve away the earth.

[knightprincess]

No Matter What (Crosshair x Reader) - Platonic

Words: 1.3k Warning: Fluff with a little bit of hurt/comfort. Synopsis: After settling on Pabu with Clone Force 99, (Y/N) goes on a self-given mission with Crosshair to bring their lost brother home. Standalone Sequel: Silence

After the assault on Mount Tantis and the death of Hemlock, things had been different for Clone Force 99. Echo had refocused his efforts on helping the build Clone Rebellion, taking with him Emerie and some of the clones rescued from the Advanced Science Division, among them Comet. Omega had seamlessly adjusted to life on Pabu once more, happy to be just another kid, growing up peacefully until she was ready to join the fight once more if she did.

Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair would take care of Jax, Bayrn, Eva, and Sami until they could be returned to their families. Each had decided it was time to retire, to discover who they were outside of being soldiers, and to find out what adventures life had in store for them now. However, they’d always be on call if Echo ever needed them.

(Y/N) on the other hand, would use her skills as a bounty hunter to help provide for the people of Pabu and help clones across the galaxy find their way once they were freed from the empire. Although she loved the peace Pabu offered and the small family unit she had gained with Clone Force 99, she wasn’t ready to settle down completely. Not when she still had questions that needed answering. Not when she still needed to find closure.

“I miss him too,” said Crosshair, picking up Tech’s broken goggles from the dashboard of (Y/N)’s ship. Seconds later, a sigh escaped him, hidden within it, regret and grief. The last time he’d spoken to Tech was on Kamino; once again, they’d gone their separate ways. If only he’d chosen differently. “You have to let him go (Y/N). He wouldn’t want you to hold on like this.”

“I can’t,” whispered (Y/N), stopping what she was doing and allowing Crosshair’s words to sink in. “I have to bring him home, even if I have to say goodbye one last time,” she added, admitting she knew there was a chance Tech was truly gone, but she couldn’t allow herself to believe it, not until she found him. “He never gave up on me when I was lost. Neither of you did. I won't give up on him now until he’s home.”

“Then I’m going with you,” said Crosshair, putting the broken goggles back on the dashboard, moving to sleeping racks, and setting another up, if only to make his point clear.

“Omega and the kiddos need you here,” commented (Y/N), attempting to protest. Although she already knew it was pointless. Crosshair was one of the most stubborn people she knew. Once he made up his mind, there was little that could change it.

“Hunter and Wrecker can handle things here until we get back,” declared Crosshair, turning to face (Y/N) before crossing his arms over his chest. “Right now, you need me more,” he added, although he did not admit he’d thought about going out there to look for his brother. Something didn’t sit right with him, leaving Tech out there.

“I’m not going to win, am I?” asked (Y/N), sighing as she walked the length of her ship. Filled with memories of the past, her life as a Jedi Knight that felt like a lifetime ago, and her new life as a bounty hunter and protector.

“Nope,” simply responded Crosshair, “You’re stuck with me this time Shortfire.”

The moment Crosshair entered the cockpit, he pushed the red button, activating the com channel. He spoke to Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega there, informing them of his impromptu decision to join (Y/N) on her journey. Framing it to make sure she had backup and would come home again.

“It wasn’t your fault (Y/N),” said Crosshair when (Y/N) entered the cockpit, following the routine she’d once taught Tech, checking over all the systems. There’s nothing either of us could have done to stop him from using Plan 99.”

“If I was there, I could have stopped him from falling,” admitted (Y/N), finally opening up about the guilt haunting her. When her family needed her most on Eriadu, she was across the galaxy, hiding from her past and the Jedi Hunters that had seemingly appeared overnight.

“You were protecting them. No one could have predicted Saw being on Eriadu, and no one could have predicted Tech sacrificing himself. Blaming ourselves won’t change the past (Y/N). It will only prevent you from finding peace and happiness, whatever that looks like.”

“For what it’s worth, Fortune Cookie, I’m glad you’re coming with me,” admitted (Y/N), bestowing Crosshair with a new nickname, replacing the old one of Snarky Sniper. “I don’t think I could do this alone.”

“We’re family until the end,” Crosshair replied, pulling (Y/N) into himself and wrapping her in a warm embrace that seemed foreign but familiar to them both. “Where do we start?”

“Where our fight ended,” responded (Y/N) with a shakey voice, recalling when she’d gone to Eriadu, risking everything to follow the monorail track in search of Tech. She’d found the car's wreckage but no sign of Tech. If there was any blood, the rain had long since washed it away; there was no body to be found or any trace that he was even there, just what remained of the car.

“Tantis?” questioned Crosshair, confusion evident in his quiet voice as he took up the co-pilot’s seat.

“Hunter said Hemlock was the one to return Tech’s goggles; there’s got to be some trace, a lead to follow somewhere,” replied (Y/N), a slither of hope present in her otherwise whispered voice. She dared not speak louder in case her fears grew stronger and became her cruel reality.

“Setting course for Tantis,” worded Crosshair as (Y/N) piloted the ship safely away from the small island. As per tradition, the people waved goodbye, Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega among them.

“Take good care of them, Gonky,” spoke Omega through her com, receiving a simple gonk! in confirmation.

“We’ll see when you come home,” added Hunter, his voice filled with acceptance as if he knew the day would come when (Y/N) went in search of answers. As if he knew one day she’d go on the self-given mission to bring Tech home. “Stay safe out there.”

“You got it, Havoc #1,” replied (Y/N).

“I’ll make sure she comes home in one piece,” declared Crosshair, resting the stump of his wrist on his lap, grabbing onto the handle beneath his seat as he prepared for the rough climb out of Pabu’s atmosphere, “Our family’s been through enough. None of us can handle another loss.”

“We’re not losing anyone this time. We’re bringing our lost brother home,” replied (Y/N), determination alight in her voice. One way or another, the small family unit was going to be reunited again, no matter how long it took.

“Remind me again,” started Crosshair, fiddling with Tech’s broken goggles; now they’d left Pabu’s atmosphere. A smirk appeared across his lips as he remembered Tech’s hobby of recording everything—even the little things. “What you told us before we went into our first battle.”

“No matter what, I’ve got your back. I’d take a bullet for you if it comes to that. In the bitter end, we’re gonna be the last one standing.”

The holoclip appeared before the two, glowing blue and fuzzy. Of course, Tech had recorded it. They were so young back then, naive to what would happen when the war ended, unprepared for the cruel galaxy they lived in.

“Looks like Tech knew you were going to ask,” commented (Y/N); the smallest of grins appeared across her lips as she launched them into hyperspace. “Do you think Omega knows it?” she asked, curious if the boys would have shared the almost promise with Omega, the brave little girl growing up far too quickly, growing up to be a fighter no less—the best of all of them.

“She knows. Hunter would have made sure of it,” replied Crosshair, hope flooding his voice despite the uncertainty they both faced. “No matter what, Shortfire, I’ve got your back until the end.”

KnightPrincess Masterlist

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Rifleman

The definitive anti-aircraft 'Mech, the Rifleman was first fielded in 2505, making it among the earliest 'Mechs ever built. Designed as a medium fire-support platform, the Rifleman was plagued with a variety of problems since its debut and was ill-suited as a front-line combatant. However, its combination of long-ranged weaponry, including rapid-fire autocannons, and its excellent targeting and tracking system ensured it would remain a viable battlefield unit through half a millennium of combat.

Kallon Industries built the first RFL-1N Rifleman for the Hegemony Armed Forces, but chronic overheating problems forced a return to the drawing boards, with an improved RFL-2N introduced fifty years later. Kallon's engineers still believed the 'Mech suffered too much from overheating, and tried to fix the problem with the definitive RFL-3N by replacing some of its heat-intensive energy weapons with autocannons. Although a marked improvement, the engineers were still not satisfied with the end result and tried to produce a 'Mech which would address the issues of heat management, protection and endurance which continued to plague the Rifleman. Their response, the JagerMech, featured several improvements over the older 'Mech but did not wholly replace it, instead complementing it whenever the two served in the same unit together.

With the collapse of the Star League and start of the Succession Wars, the Rifleman was scattered amongst the militaries of the Successor States. House Davion fielded the largest concentration of Riflemen and used them to good effect in their battles with House Kurita. Unfortunately, combat losses increasingly forced many Riflemen to be deployed directly on the front-lines, where their deficiencies in close combat against similar-mass 'Mechs were apparent. After the recovery of the Helm Memory Core, rediscovered lostech was used in an attempt to improve upon the venerable Rifleman, with manufacturers deploying a number of new variants around the time of the Clan Invasion.

By the time of the FedCom Civil War, new prototypes of Rifleman variants were still being worked on, but the aging 'Mech had since acquired a poor reputation due to its weak protection and bad heat management. The 'Mech experienced something of a revival though when Kallon's factory on the moon Talon was subjected to a blockade by the 7th FedCom RCT, disrupting production of the newer JMS-7 JagerMech. The company brought up their experimental RFL-8D Rifleman to full-scale production as just a temporary measure, but the improved 'Mech wound up being fielded by both Loyalist and Allied forces during the civil war. Additional variants were introduced since then, with both the Free Worlds League and Word of Blake making use of advanced Riflemen during the Jihad.

The Rifleman's focus on fire-support and anti-aircraft work dictated a heavy load of long-range weapons to the exclusion of everything else. It carried a particularly heavy battery of two Magna Mk. III Large Lasers paired with two Imperator-A medium autocannons, one of each mounted in each arm. Two Magna Mk. II medium lasers were split between the side torsos to provide backup. One ton of autocannon ammunition was carried in the center torso, enough for short, sharp engagements but not enough for extended periods of combat. The 'Mech's ten heat sinks were grossly inadequate for constant fire, but in an anti-aircraft role, the Rifleman was expected to have time to dissipate heat while the target aircraft turned for its next pass.

The Rifleman suffered from a miserly amount of armoring - just seven and a half tons total - with its rear torso particularly thin. It also lacked hand or lower-arm actuators, hampering it in a melee confrontation, and was not particularly fast, with a cruising speed of 43.2 km/h. When operating in its intended role of providing overwatch for other 'Mechs, these deficiencies were not terribly noticeable, and it could still overpower lighter opponents by dint of its size. These drawbacks did mean that a commander would only commit their Riflemen in a head-on confrontation with heavy enemy forces as a last resort.

An exceptional piece of electronics, the Garret D2j targeting-tracking system allowed the Rifleman to maintain an accurate lock on swift-moving aerial targets and achieve excellent accuracy. The Garret T11-A was equally impressive as a communications system, although its distinctive wing-shaped design tended to draw the enemy's attention...and their fire.

The Rifleman was limited to turning its torso 40° to either side, seemingly presenting a significant blind-spot in the rear to exploit. However, its ability to flip its arms over and use those weapons to target enemies behind it presented a nasty surprise for an enemy attempting to come up and engage the 'Mech from the rear.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 7, MDNI

You awaken early in the morning with warm sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a soft, dappled glow across the room. As you sit up and stretch, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, your feet bump into something soft. You draw your knees back to your chest. Simon has also fallen asleep in your bedroom. He is curled at the foot of the bed. His fingers are wrapped around your shin and your sock is rolled down to your ankle. In his other hand, he is clutching a knife. You can't help but wonder how he managed not to cut himself while sleeping.

You try to pry the blade away from his clenched fist. But your touch stirs him up from his unconscious state. His fingers tighten around the handle of the knife. Simon yanks your arm towards him. His movements are rapid and forceful. The confusion swirling in his eyes is tangible. Yet, upon seeing your face, his frantic gaze softens, and he relaxes. He releases his hold on the blade, allowing you to slide it out of his hand. His body sinks back onto the mattress. As he blinks groggily, trying to adjust to the bright light, he wipes the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

For a few hours, an uneasy silence hangs between you both, heavy and palpable, like a thick fog. It's clear that you and Simon are teetering on the edge of voicing your thoughts. The only question is who will dare to shatter the fragile stillness first. After breakfast, consisting of nothing more than stale bread, a slice of aged cheese, and a shared large cup of tepid tea, you summon the courage to speak. Your words cut through the mounting tension.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?"

"Do we have to?" Simon replies without looking at you. He smokes while leaning against the window that's barely ajar. The half-finished cigarette that dangles in his fingers, somehow, has survived the night. After falling to the floor, it had miraculously avoided being crushed under your feet.

"Yes," you say, moving towards him. You press your shoulder against the cool wall. The chill seeps through your clothing and sends an icy shudder skittering down your side.

You refuse to forget about yesterday's event. You need answers to the questions that have been plaguing you since you saw the light flashing at the end of the street. The harsh realisation that those people who you thought were your family coming home were, in fact, just strangers, is a bitter pill to swallow. But you are certain that Simon knows who they were and where they came from.

"Fine," he says through the gritted teeth. His fingers race through his hair, messing it up. You notice it has grown out and make a mental note to ask him later if he wants you to trim it. "Before the disease spread and everything went to hell, I was a soldier in the Special Forces."

His confession fills in the gaps that have been puzzling your mind since the day you met him: his muscular physique, his proficiency with firearms, and his combat skills that could only come from years of experience in the battlefield. It also explains his fearlessness and recklessness, which now appear not as erratic traits, but as the hardened exterior of a soldier.

Simon recounted how the dead attacked him and his team during what was supposed to be a routine mission. Upon returning to the base, they discovered they had been bitten. Likely during the chaos of the attack. His teammates' skins were littered with scratches and bruises. During the incident, Simon was separated from the group. As a result, when a small horde of biters cornered his squad, he managed to evade any injuries.

Rumours of a deadly disease began to circulate, amplified by the constant news cycle. The media showed footage of people in a rabid state. They behaved like wild animals and attacked everyone with a pulse and a beating heart. As the situation deteriorated and communication systems collapsed, the severity of their predicament became starkly evident to Simon and his team. The world as they knew it seemed to crumble around them. His team, once confident and composed, had to face the grim reality of their fate.

The final blow came when a group of outlaws attacked their base. Simon was faced with a decision that still haunts him to this day. His captain, bitten and doomed, like the rest of his teammates, ordered him to leave, as he was still unharmed. Torn between guilt and duty to his team, Simon was reluctant to abandon his friends and leave them to face the outlaws alone. But his captain didn't give him a choice. He packed Simon's duffel back with a few spare guns, some food, and then basically pushed him through the gates.

"I'm tired of fighting, of constantly putting my life on the line because I believe it's the right thing to do," he sighs. His shoulders slump, bearing the invisible weight of his internal struggle. His body folds inwards. "I didn't understand it before, couldn't comprehend it, but after meeting you... now I do. Even though part of me yearns for revenge, I can't risk dying because of you."

A sudden fluttering sensation fills your chest, like the delicate wings of a butterfly trapped within your rib cage. You swallow, but your throat feels parched, as if no amount of water could ever quench the dryness.

"I-I don't know... what — Do you think those strangers will return?" You find it hard to form a coherent sentence. There's so much you want to say right now. But you struggle to find the right words.

"If we are lucky, we won't see them again."

Throughout the rest of the week, you are on a constant edge. You are afraid that at any moment someone will march down the street, knock on the front door and when you open it, after aiming a gun at your head, will put a bullet through your skull before going to track Simon. A part of you wants to confess your dreadful thoughts to Simon. But you hold your tongue back. You don't want to add to his worries. Because even if he says nothing to you either, you see the pain in his eyes each time you look at him. Talking with you brought back a lot of awful memories to him. But the main reason you say nothing is because you don't want to appear weak in front of him.

Supplies are dwindling at an alarming rate. When Simon addresses the need to venture outside in search of more before you have a chance to ask if you can tag along, he makes the decision for you.

"You are coming with me. I don't want you to be alone in the house while I'm gone."

* * *

You are curled up in a bed, buried under a pile of heavy blankets. The harsh, biting cold from outside has seeped into the room. It turns your breath into small clouds of vapour that dissipate into the frigid air with each exhale. The chill is so pervasive that sleep becomes an elusive entity. Despite being swathed in layers of clothing and having your feet tucked into not one, but two pairs of socks, your teeth still chatter. The end of summer is near, and you can feel it as each night grows colder and colder.

Simon is downstairs. The distinct sound of his pacing reverberates through the silence of the house. Driven by the need for warmth and company, you extricate yourself from the mountain of blankets, leaving the relative warmth of your bed behind, and descend the stairs.

Upon entering the kitchen, you find Simon perched on the wooden table. His attention is engrossed in his blade. The faint moonlight filtering through the closed blinds illuminates His silhouette.

"I'm cold," you say, causing his focus to shift to you.

He looks at you. His gaze is so intense that you feel as if he's trying to read your mind. For a moment, the silence settles in. You half expect him to order you to go back to bed. Instead, he slides off the table and intertwines his fingers with yours. After leading you to the living room, he sits down on the couch and pulls you into his embrace. Your body tumbles on top of him. You bite the inside of your cheek when you feel your face turn bright red.

Once you stop your fidgeting and get comfortable, he swathes both of you in a soft blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. You snuggle up to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. When the icy tip of your nose presses against his skin, he squirms a little, causing a low giggle to slip past your lips. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. His body is like a furnace, so it isn't long before you feel the warmth seeping into your bones, driving away the chill.

"Thank you," you mumble, the words barely escaping your mouth as you feel the sleep tugging at your consciousness. Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second.

Just before you close your eyes — Simon thinks you are already asleep — he presses his lips to your forehead. You try to suppress a smile, but the corners of your lips betray you, curving upward involuntarily.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69, @browtfyoudoing If you want to be added, let me know!

[luanaartemyse]

Rosé f*** her BIL

W: 1 5 5 9

T: Cuckold, big cock, creampie

“My younger sister has been married to her husband for a few years and he has been going through a change in the last year or so. I recently spent a weekend at their house just relaxing, drinking and enjoying the pool.

The second night we had a few too many drinks and my sister passed out early, forcing her husband to take her to bed. I also went upstairs to start getting ready for the night. After about 20 minutes, I heard some moaning coming from their room. So I went to listen on the other side of the door when I accidentally opened it. When I looked inside, I noticed my brother-in-law quickly hiding his penis; it was obvious that he was masturbating.”

Without saying a word, Rosé entered the room, took off her blouse, revealing her small, dark breasts, and as she approached the bed, she pulled the sheet and smiled when she saw Chase's erect cock. She smiled and let her thin shorts fall to the floor, leaving only her panties on.

Rosé mounted him, and her damp panties were pressed against his erection as Chase pulled her towards him in an intense kiss. She moaned into his mouth as he groped her ass and pushed himself inside her. Her conscience was begging her to stop, but her lust was increasing by the second. She imagined him ripping her panties and sinking his big cock into her needy pussy, which was now drooling with anticipation.

"Fuck…" She whispered, her voice trembling, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

The situation was really risky, Rosé was about to fuck her brother-in-law next to her sister, who was unconscious from the alcohol.

She nearly came right then and there, having been so thoroughly manipulated into such a compromising position. Their genitals were crushed together, both hot and lubricated and aching with need. One small movement and he could be inside her.

“Chase… Fuck…” Rosé’s face was contorted with lust, with a noticeable hint of internal conflict.

“Shhh. Don’t overthink it. Let’s end this date right, kiss me.”

He slid a hand down her back and flattened his palm between her shoulders, then pulled her down until the tips of their noses touched. They closed the gap in unison and their eager tongues clashed as if it were a fight to the death.

The two of them kissed hard with unbridled lust, clawing at each other’s skin and moaning as Rosé’s soaking wet pussy soaked her panties with her viscous juices. Still locked to her lips, he gently found her wrists and maneuvered them behind her, pinning them together against her lower back. Rosé moaned loudly and gasped for air when he broke the long kiss, she glanced to the side without worrying too much, but just checking, and she caught a brief glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he mouthed his way down her neck and onto her soft breast, which he attacked hungrily. The young woman felt helpless and exposed with her useless arms firmly pinned in place. She was an open buffet of treats for her brother-in-law to do whatever he wanted, and he feasted.

Rosé was on top, but Chase was still in complete control, and she could do little more than bite her tongue in an attempt to keep from screaming in pleasure as he sucked and nibbled on her breasts. At this point she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to, but deep down Rosé knew what she was doing when she entered his room, she had been desperately craving his primal masculine energy, and now that she was in his clutches once again, her nervous system was firing on all cylinders. She rubbed her creamy pussy against his fat, meaty cock, and couldn’t wait to feel him stretch her open again.

Chase was in heaven, his succulent roommate finally back in his bed after weeks of waiting. He savored every intoxicating detail of the moment: her perfect, naked body on top of him, the feel of her supple yet perky breasts against his face, and her silky pussy dripping invitingly all over his cock. His patience was about to pay off, and he prepared himself to skewer her tight folds. He was going to fuck Rosé tonight, except this time he wouldn’t be honoring his silly “I’m not the one doing this” mind game. This time she would have to accept the fact that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He wouldn’t accept anything less than her complete submission to him, to finally become the willing slut she was built to be. With those thoughts reaffirmed, he pulled her forward a little and lined himself up for the entrance.

“Do you want it, Rosé?” - They stared at each other, neither of them daring to blink, and both of them gasped in unison.

She nodded.

"Say it…"

"I want it."

"You want what?"

Chase's hand grabbed Rosé's ass and sternly pulled her panties to the side, she almost screamed,

"Yes! I want your cock fucking my pussy!" she whispered in his ear.

She tried to throw her ass back and swallow him, but he easily held her in place by her still-bound wrists. Then, he smiled and finally gave her the break she had been fighting for and her soaking wet pussy swallowed his cock whole, one pleasurable inch at a time. It felt even better than she could remember, that throbbing piece of meat forced its way into her deepest reaches, filling her to the hilt, until her swollen clit rested on his pubic bone. With all the anticipation and built-up tension that had occurred, it was all she needed to reach her peak.

Chase thrust up and down her in slow but strong movements, making her body vibrate above him. He could feel her clit being stimulated repeatedly, and the sensation of her pussy pulsing around his cock was so good that he could have come right then and there if he wanted to. He grabbed her wrists and spread them apart a little, making her back arch and her chest exposed. Her breasts bounced as she trembled above him, and he squeezed one of them with his hand, delighted by the harmony between their bodies. He loved the fact that she came so quickly with him inside her. "Look at me," he said, releasing her wrists, which made her fall forward and clutch his chest.

Rosé opened her eyes, as if waking from a dream, lost in pleasure. She met Chase's intense gaze and realized how surrendered she was.

She dug her nails into his chest to make sure he was real. "Holy shit…" "Have you forgotten how good this feels?" "Yes… You fuck me so good…" "Now climb on my cock, just the way I know you like it." He gave her ass a hard slap to punctuate it. "Oh! Yes, sir…" Rosé could hardly believe what she was saying, but she was so caught up in the moment that she let it flow. She began to move her hips and moan as his cock stayed firmly inside her. "Mmm, your tight pussy feels so good…" "Ngh, really?" "Yeah. Keep it up, you're amazing." His words encouraged her, and she began to move harder, rocking her hips back and forth. Soon, his cock was sliding in and out of her with ease, and she found a nice rhythm.

Chase murmured praise, and it made her want to try even harder, bouncing more enthusiastically on his lap. Soon, she was feeling most of his length sliding inside her, and her orgasm was already approaching.

"Are you going to cum, my slut?" "Yes! Yes, yes, yes!"

Chase lifted his hips and began to thrust hard into her.

"OH MY GOD! YES, HARDER!" Rosé screamed in her mind, her body shaking with intense pleasure as he thrust harder and harder.

Her moans and the sound of skin slapping echoed through the room, drowning out all other noises. Her eyes rolled back in her head with pleasure as her body gave in completely to the moment. Chase continued to thrust into her, holding her body tightly as he released all his lust. He fucked her hard, determined to fill her with his passion, he thrust deep inside her and held on as his cock exploded, releasing all of his semen.

Rosé, already exhausted, felt his heat spreading inside her. Her orgasm was still vibrating throughout her body, and she moaned as she felt every drop filling her. She fell forward into his arms and, her head still spinning, found her lips on his, and they kissed deeply as the last waves of pleasure passed. Rosé stood up and stood beside the bed, she ran her long fingers over her pussy and brought them to her mouth, she smiled and blew him a kiss, took his clothes on the floor and closed the bedroom door when he left.

Damn huh… - Chase sighed.

Buzzers - Madelyn said as she stood up - it's good that this dick is still hard.

Do you think so? - Chase smiled and went over to his wife.

Do you think she's naive enough to think that I don't know about you two?

Maybe, but fucking next to you makes things even hotter…

[ross-hollander]

Take a moment and think...

...about the waste. The junk, the scrap, the wreckage. Have you seen how much of it there is? Nobody ever has: it's scattered across dozens of systems, pockets here, pockets there. Landfills, junkyards, recycling plants, old battlefields that nobody was alive to clean up after. If you took it all together, swept it all up into one great heap, you could probably melt it down and armor-clad an entire planet, an entire solar system with the sheer amount of metal that's been poured into the war machines.

Have you seen a man fishing out of a boat made from an autocannon cut in half, relaxed as though it were the most mundane thing in the world? Seen gardens where flowers bloom in missile pods, each slot packed in with dirt for the roots to sink into? Have you ever seen a roof patched with armor plates, the shell puncture providing just the place for the chimney to fit through?

After all, there's so much of the stuff. And for some people, for the class of people who can't afford to think about shuttles offworld and prices for salvaged components, it can't go anywhere. So they build it into their lives. The battered frame that once held the glass of a cockpit becomes a rack for draping laundry over. Tactical panels, displays long dead, mounted on walls to serve as simple shelves.

They construct their lives around, or within, intertwined with these titanic war machines. We all do, really: sometimes it's just harder to see.

[vexwerewolf]

hey, I’m a friend of @bulletkin on discord and I was wondering if you have a good Enkidu build in mind. We are a team of five, with a risky close range (me, enkidu) a support (swallowtail) a long distance big guns (deaths head), a mid range NHP and pilot duo (Pegasus, it’s complicated but I am happy to elaborate) and a tech attacker (hydra). you may have noticed that I am the only (full) close range mech, and unfortunately I am really good at exploding. Do you have higher level Enkidu routes/suggestions? I’m trying to get my movement up and be more debilitating when in close combat. Thanks!!

-- HA ENKIDU @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] HA Tokugawa 3, IPS-N Tortuga 3 [ CORE BONUSES ] Reinforced Frame, Heatfall Coolant System [ TALENTS ] Nuclear Cavalier 3, Hunter 2, Skirmisher 2, Combined Arms 1, Duelist 1 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:28 ARMOR:0 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:10 REPAIR:5 TECH ATK:-2 LIMITED:+1 SPD:4 EVA:10 EDEF:8 SENSE:5 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] Integrated: Plasma Talons Integrated: Fuel Rod Gun FLEX MOUNT: Torch FLEX MOUNT: Assault Rifle [ SYSTEMS ] Personalizations, HyperDense Armor, Deep Well Heat Sink

I call this one War Without Reason. It might not hit your "movement up" goal, but it will hopefully fix your exploding issue.

The maths works out like this: frames with 0 or 1 Armor don't benefit as much from the +1 Armor that Sloped Plating gives as much as they do from the +5 HP given by Reinforced Frame. We're going to pump Hull to 4, which in addition to +8 HP gives us that sweet +2 Repair Cap as well, and stacked with the +2 HP from Personalizations and the +3 HP you get from Grit, that takes us up to a truly absurd 28 HP.

Then, we use HyperDense Armor from the IPS-N Tortuga. This gives us Resistance to both damage and heat from all sources beyond Range 3 - which is the effective range of our Plasma Talons. Against enemies who don't have a way of Shredding us or otherwise bypassing Resistance, we effectively have twice as much HP. Sure, it leaves us Slowed, but once we get into the Danger Zone we have Speed 7 so it barely matters. It also protects us from heatgun enemies trying to slag our reactor.

Speaking of which, once we get into the Danger Zone - which we can do reliably and safely given that we have a Torch and our Overcharge never goes above 1d6 - our build really gets going. The first two ranks of Nuclear Cavalier turn on, we gain access to Plasma Talons and if we start a turn still in the Danger Zone, we gain Resistance to heat from Deep Well Heat Sink, meaning we can overcharge on the cheap and our Torch only gains us 1 heat.

We have two reliable sources of soft cover: whenever we're engaged with an enemy, we gain it, and whenever we take a turn without harming anyone, we gain it. This increases our survivability against ranged attacks.

We have Hunter 2 for one specific reason: you can now throw your fucking Plasma Talons at people, effectively extending their range by 2 spaces. Since Thrown weapons are still melee attacks, this doesn't violate the prohibition on ranged attacks from All Fours.