#Protective Fabrics Market Share

[oatmealwrites]

JJK Warming You Up!

how they warm you when the heat is out! [NSFW]

non-curese au ig -> let me be happy

regular master list | JJK masterlist

Tags: established relationships, oral (m & f receiving), p in v, creampies galore, no protection, couch sex, semi public sex, car sex, breeding kink [sukuna], pure filth, maybe there's some plot [not rlly], 18+, MDNI, im so sorry in advance fr

Characters: Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Toji, Kamo Choso, Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Higuruma Hiromi, Ryomen Sukuna, Shoko Ieiri

not proofread

word count: 5.2k [IM SORRY OK im ovulating it's not my fault]

~~~~~~

Nanami Kento -> the heater is out!

The shared apartment is colder than you expect when you and Kento return home from a long day of work. Kicking your shoes off and heading for the thermostat to check the frigid temperature, you move to prepare dinner while your husband calls the heating company– confirming your suspicions that it was down for the whole neighborhood given the winter storm. You both eat a warm meal while heavy snow falls outside the window and the temperature remains steadily dropping. 

After finishing dinner, you lay against his chest in a cuddled position on the couch beneath several layers of throw blankets. Kento always insists on watching the evening news to stay up to date on current events while you nuzzle into his neck in an attempt to stay warm. 

His gaze is intently focused on the news anchor going over the current stock market reactions to geopolitical tensions, but his hand falls from your waist to play with the hem of your work skirt. It’s a long, professional, knee-length fabric that he pushes up slightly to rest his hand in between your plush thighs.

“Kento– your hands are cold.”

“Hmm?” he hums, clearly not caring. “But it’s so warm here.”

You can’t see his fingers underneath, but you can certainly feel them. He keeps kneading and pinching the flesh as you paw at him to keep his cold hands to himself. Kento keeps up his ministrations for a few more minutes until he eventually guides you to lay flat against the sofa cushions; without a word he plants a quick kiss to your lips before dipping under the blankets.

It’s his favorite to warm you up, so why not do it now when you really need it the most? ;)

He takes his time eating you out from underneath the fuzzy fabric; your skirt is hiked up to your waist and he simply pushes your panites to the side to make room for his mouth. Breath hot on your weeping cunt, his nose ruts against your puffy clit as his tongue works its way inside. The sighs escaping your lips are a siren’s call as he pathetically grinds into the cushions in a poor attempt to relieve the erection hard in his slacks. 

No matter how many times you and Kento get physical, it always feels so fresh and erotic. The messy french kiss he’s giving your pussy leaves a pool of saliva and slick staining the fabric of the couch beneath your hips. Slipping in a slim long finger, he drags his tongue further up to lick and suck at your clit.

He continues pumping his finger in and out, adding in a second one to grind against your walls in search of your g-spot; the way you whimper and twitch is indication when his finger pads rub against it. The feeling is euphoric and the temperature no longer causes you discomfort. Sweat beads at Kento’s forehead and pulling back and up from the blankets, his hair is slicked back from the heat generated.

He doesn’t let you pout long, upset at your denied orgasm, before he shimmies down his slacks and boxers and kicks them to the living room floor. Delicious length grinds on your lower navel a few times, admiring the way his length measures to just how deep it’s about to be inside you, before he slaps your clit with his flushed tip for good measure and slides in.

Sex with Kento when it’s cold out is never one round; his stamina keeps up as he’s determined to make sure you keep warm. And the best way to do that? With your feet on his shoulders as he pumps you full of multiple loads of his hot cum. He’s not satisfied until he’s shooting blanks, there are fat tears coating your eyelashes, and there’s so much cum leaking from your pussy it makes you groan at the sensation of being so stuffed. 

What a gentleman~

Fushiguro Toji -> no cold feet!

It’s impossible to get warm at all as you shuffle beneath the covers of your shared bed. Your knees are originally tucked into yourself for warmth, but when your back hurts from the angle, you kick them out again with a shiver. You’re tucked into Toji with your back nuzzled in his chest, but the body heat isn’t enough to ease the chill in your bones. With a gruff sigh, you frown when he holds you still as if the temperature doesn’t affect him at all.

Though you’re pretty sure he’s the one who forgot to pay the heating bill.

You shuffle around once more before a strong forearm holds your waist firmly into him.

“Stop fucking moving.”

With a sigh, you halt your squirming; the deep and tired sound of his voice making you feel a little guilty for the way your movements have woken him up. But it’s no use, the cold sheets keep you shivering despite the way his hot breath pants on your neck.

You wait to hear his light snores even out before shuffling once again; the grip on your hips tightens to a vice.

“Stop putting your cold feet on me.”

“Ughh, Tojiii” you whine out and place the soles of your feet on his hot calves again. “I can’t help it.”

An annoyed sigh escapes his lips and with minimal effort he flips you over and onto your back; a strong muscular thigh splays your legs with his knee grinding into your cunt. A whimper escapes you at the movement. 

“S’to keep your damn feet off mine.”

You furrow your brows at him and he responds by peeling an eye open and smirking devilishly at you. He flexes the muscles of his thigh to pulse against your clothed pussy and leans in to place a few hot open mouth kisses along your neck.

“Toji–” You warn.

He chuckles into your throat and lifts himself up to hover over you; his leg still between your own. “Hmm? Not my fucking fault, you’ve been grinding your ass into my crotch all night.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down a bit, a bratty look on your face. “I can’t help it! It’s too cold!”

He latches his lips to yours and slowly replaces his thigh with the erection pulsing in his gray sweatpants; a small stain of precum already pooling from arousal. A calloused hand pinches your pajama pants and tugs them down and off your ankles before tossing them to the floor.

The coolness makes you shiver and huddle into yourself while Toji tuts in disappointment before splaying you open once more. Impatient hands tug down his own sweatpants and kicks them off somewhere under the sheets before a long finger dips to slide up and down your slick folds.

“Shiiiit, you all worked up already? Did you plan this?”

You roll your eyes and tug him down to kiss you again, that way his cocky mouth wouldn’t piss you off anymore. He chuckles a few times before sitting back on his heels to peel off his boxers and free his cock from the confines of fabric; instead of reaching forward to place himself at your hips again, he throws your calves over his shoulders.

“S’the only way to keep those fucking ice cold toes off of me.”

The rest of the night he ensures each position he fucks you in is one where your feet are no where near him. Over his shoulders, behind him when he pounds into you in doggy, even in a mating press he ensures your icicle-like appendages are nowhere near him. Even when you're both panting, covered in sweat, and loads of hot thick cum is seeping pathetically from your abused cunt, Toji ensures when you lay back down for bed, your cold feet are as far away as possible. 

Kamo Choso -> matching sweatshirts look better on the floor!

When your boyfriend initially invited you to his and his brother’s apartment, you figured it would be like any other casual movie night. Instead, you sit shivering at the kitchen island while Choso and Yuji try to figure out why the central air is stuck on ‘cool’ instead of ‘heat’, and Nobara and Megumi move to turn the oven on in an attempt to get some sort of hot air. 

Arms tucked into yourself, you’re beyond grateful for wearing a hoodie to the apartment and not the original tee you had initially planned on. It’s a sweatshirt that matches with Choso, having exchanged them during the holidays as a cute couples gift; though now the fabric barely warms your chilled skin up at all. 

“Here, let’s get you something thicker to wear ok?”  Choso’s voice mumbles concern in your ear as strong arms wrap around your waist; gentle kisses litter your neck in a silent apology for the temperature. 

You hum in agreement and hop off the island stool while Nobara, Megumi, and Yuji head over to the couch to start a movie and collect every throw blanket available. Choso’s room is slightly messy, his bed unmade and some clothes littering the floor, but you don’t mind as he digs through his drawers in search of sweatpants. 

When he tosses them to you, you don’t hesitate to slide down the cool fabric of your jeans and kick them to the side; Choso stands idly by the door eyeing the way your purple panties hug your ass just right.

“Take a photo perv, it’ll last longer.” You muse while holding up the sweatpants to see how long they might fall on your legs.

Choso laughs gently before twisting the lock on the bedroom door and pushing down the fabric in your hands, preventing you from putting them on.

“Hm? What are you doing Cho?”

He hums and reaches up to pull the elastic bands from his hair; ears pink from the cold and now hidden from his shaggy hair falling freely down. It’s a move he only does when he wants you to notice him, and with a knowing smile you wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head to the side. “Oh, what are you thinking?”

Warm hands rub circles on your pelvic bones before dipping down to knead the flesh of your ass. “Just that I know another way to warm you up…”

“Really? What’s gotten you so suddenly in the mood.”

Choso leans down to sucks gentle marks on your neck above where the fabric of your sweatshirt rests; his hands peel back the waistband of your panties before releasing the elastic band to smack against your hips. “Just really like seeing you in that hoodie… s’cute when we match.”

Ever the possessive boyfriend, you giggle at his honesty and drag him backwards until the back of your thighs meet his disheveled bed; he tugs off the matching sweatshirts from both of your bodies. Planting a few more kisses to your neck before pushing you flat against his comforter and tugging the wet gusset of your panties down slightly. Large dark eyes bat innocently at you in a silent request for permission.

As soon as you rest on your elbows and nod, the fabric is tugged down your ankles and thrown with the other pile of clothes that litter his floor. Sinking immediately to lean against the bed, Choso throws a leg over his shoulder and attaches his lips to your cunt like a starved man. He doesn’t stop until your hands are nearly ripping out chunks of his hair and his chin is shiny with your slick painting his flesh.

Choso just likes to make sure you’re comfortable in this cold weather is all! He may be a bit jealous, overprotective, and possessive…but it’s just ‘cause he loves you so much. He just wants you to be warm– so he leaves your pussy dripping out loads of his cum while you all watch a movie. Sitting on the couch in his sweatpants, pussy aching from the abuse and rounds it just took, Choso keeps his hands under the blankets and cupping your cunt, pushing his seed back inside when too much leaks out. 

Geto Suguru -> steamy shower sex!

It’s sooo damn cold in his apartment to the point you’re wondering if you two should call a friend to stay somewhere else. Your flat’s electricity went out in the winter storm and it seems like the heat in Suguru’s building has just cut as well. Your boyfriend sits at his laptop in the kitchen while you shiver at his side, convinced you can see your breath in the room.

Suguru has already recommended you simply head to bed, but the cold sheets without your personal space heater left you wandering back to the kitchen after only 5 minutes. Peering at his laptop screen, you notice the way his work load seems to be more intense than initially anticipated and with a small sigh, you head to take a warm shower.

Steam pouring up from the glass wall of the shower door, you shut your eyes and enjoy the boiling water that provides warmth to your skin. The feeling is so comfortable that you remain in the bathroom for longer than you had anticipated, jumping at the sound of Suguru opening the door.

“Hey, I just gotta brush my tee–” He pauses in front of the half fogged wall and raises an eyebrow while letting out a low whistle. “You’re naked.”

Rolling your eyes, you wipe away the condensation as he wolfishly smiles at you. “Yea, how ELSE do you shower?”

Your boyfriend ignores your tease and steps back to peel off his layers and kick them haphazardly to the floor. Steam escapes when he pulls the shower door back and steps in, crowding you to the cool tiles of the opposite wall. 

“Need some help?”

Giving Suguru a knowing smile that his ‘help’ was more than simply washing your back, he lazily smiles and grabs your hips to press against his own. Nipples hard from the cool temperature of the wall and the arousal of your boyfriend’s touch, you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him into the water. 

It starts off tame, kissing under the water and giggling when you’re both nearly waterboarded from the pressure, until he slicks your soaked hair back and gently guides you to your knees. Dark pubes tickling your nose and his weeping cockhead scraping your throat, Suguru sighs pathetically above you at the pleasure coursing through him. 

Gently face-fucking you under the water, he guides your mouth off him before he can cum embarrassingly early and lifts you to your feet to push you flush against the glass door. It’s the easiest way to warm you up of course– from the inside out.

Tits squished against the glass, Suguru guides your ass back and guides his cock up and down your drenched folds a few times before sinking in. It’s the same delicious stretch your poor cunt can never get used to; the length of his shaft is held in a vice grip as you flutter around him in an attempt to accommodate his size.

It’s the warmth you’ve been needing this cold evening, and Suguru is more than happy to provide it. Skin against skin under the hot stream of water, he’s dead set on making sure you won’t be complaining about the temperature again. And if the generous load of cum he pumps into you happens to drip from your swollen pussy and get washed down the drain…he’ll have to be a good boyfriend and simply fill you up again. 

Gojo Satoru -> fogged up windows, even though the heater isn't on!

You’ve told Satoru a million and one times before to get his car checked out before the winter storm, and every single time he’s waved you off. Insisting that he can only get his car serviced at Mercedes dealership mechanics, he put off getting his air system fixed and now they’re booked for the next two weeks. In the middle of a winter storm. 

The two of you sit in Nanami’s work parking lot, waiting for him to finish so you three can meet Suguru, Shoko, and Haibara for a group dinner. 

“It’s freezing” you complain in the passenger seat, shivering despite your puffer coat and scarf.

Satoru tries to act as nonchalant as possible, as if the cold wasn’t that bad, though the puffs of his breath you can see in the air prove otherwise. Before you can mumble another ‘i told you so’, there’s a ping on your phone from the communal group chat. 

From: Nanamin–

Sorry, it will be another 20 minutes. I’ll try to finish as soon as possible. 

You sigh and Satoru moves to shut the engine to save gas; the two of you sit in a small silence scrolling on your phones until your boyfriend has seemingly had enough and unclicks his seatbelt.

“Are you going in to get Na–”

“Backseat.”

An eyebrow raising at the command, Satoru pleads his eyes into yours while plastering a partial smirk on his lips. “We can warm the car that way. If you want to, princess.”

Biting your lip and thinking about it for a moment, you nod and follow him over the center console and to the back row of his car. It starts with you on his lap, grinding on his lap through the denim on his thighs while he pushes your skirt up to your waist. Sloppy kisses are exchanged as his hands squeeze and grab at the plush flesh on your hips and ass until neither one of you can wait any longer.

Satoru guides you off him for a moment to hastily release the button and fly off his jeans before shoving them and his boxers down to his mid thighs. He grabs you by the hips to reclaim your previous seat before whining at the sudden hindrance of your heat-tech tights blocking him from your pretty pussy.

“Ah, I forgot… it’ll be hard to get them off in here..”

Lips pursed in frustration, you don’t notice when Satoru reaches forward to the console cup holder to grab his car keys; sitting back down, he grabs the fabric around your crotch and tears through it with the metal ignition key.

“H-Hey!”

“I’ll buy you new ones. 10 more. Whatever you want…just–just sit. Please baby.” He begs in a desperate breath; needing to feel your cunt wrapped around him now, as if waiting until after dinner might kill him. 

The way you ride him is enough to cause employees getting off work to raise an eyebrow at the way the white Mercedes seems to rock in the parking lot. Windows fogged up from the body heat, Satoru keeps desperate hands on your hips to rock back and forth while his feet are planted firmly to thrust up into you deeper. 

He’s doing his loving boyfriend duties– ensuring the car will be nice and warm for you ;)

It’s mind numbing, and no coherent thoughts can form on your lips when the pace increases to bully your g-spot over and over again. Hips twitching as you grind further to rub your swollen clit on his pubes, the friction makes you fall forward as your orgasm washes over you. 

Satoru throws his head back; Adam’s apple bobbing sluttily as he groans your name like a mantra as he stuffs your cunt full of hot ropes of cum. Panting to catch your breaths, the ping of the group chat leaves you both scrambling back to the front seats.

Your skirt is barely on by the time Nanami opens the back passenger door and clicks on his seat belt. “Oh, did you get your heating fixed, Satoru?”

Higuruma Hiromi -> offering you his jacket!

It’s hard to hide your shivers as you sit across from your lovely boyfriend at dinner; the front door to the restaurant opens every few minutes as people come in and out and cause gusts of cold wind to fill the air. Hiromi had reserved a table with the best view of the city, and unfortunately that also meant being seated near the exit. 

You wave it off at first, not wanting to spoil the evening and just enjoy the night with your boyfriend who was finally able to get out of work early for once. He frowns at each of your shivers and surveys the restaurant in case any other tables might be open; frowning when he sees the place is totally booked. He had planned for this evening to be perfect– he wanted to show you how much your company means to him and ask if you would like to move in with him.

When the door opens again and lets in another cold breeze from outside, Hiromi swallows hard as your nipples harden through the flimsy fabric of your satin mini dress. How you can call it a dress is beyond him– your tits are basically spilling out of it. 

Coughing slightly, he stands up and shimmies off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders to assist in warming you up. The musky cologne he always wears leaves you sighing into the fabric while Hiromi only realizes how fucked he is…you’re even sexier wearing it. 

Wondering if maybe he should just propose to you instead, he snaps out of his thoughts when your heeled foot grazes his thigh from under the table. Before a word can leave his lips, the tip of your shoe playfully pushes on his erection; a coy smile adoring your lips while blink at him. 

The entire moment is too much for either one of you; the door opening every minute and the both of you dripping in primal desire. Naturally, being the doting and devoted boyfriend he is, Hiromi offers to meet you in the single-room bathroom to ‘warm you up’.

That proposition is how you end up with hands on the marble sink counter top, dress hiked up to your waist, and suit jacket still on as your boyfriend fucks you from behind. The intensity of each thrust leaves your acrylic nails painfully bending at the way your fingers attempt to dig into the marble for support and Hiromi doesn't let up the pace when you whimper in pleasure as his tip bullies against your g-spot.

The hand on your mouth to keep you quiet does little to deafen the way his heavy balls smack into your ass and the squelch of your pussy from your prior orgasm. (Hiromi can’t fuck you without eating your cunt out and grinding his nose against your clit– it would be like eating the main course before the appetizer if he didnt.)

His cock reaches deep in your womb as Hiromi is babbling about a million different thoughts from behind you; drunk on the way your pussy wraps around him so perfectly, like it was made to take him. Stuttering his hips and throwing his head back in desperation, Hiromi thrusts a few more times before hot cum spurts into your pussy– all the while he’s begging you to finally move in with him… that way he can always make you warm and full ;)

Ryomen Sukuna -> sharing the bed in his childhood bedroom!

A favor to Jin to watch over Yuji for the weekend leaves Sukuna in his childhood home as a winter storm roars outside; complaining the entire first day, stating Yuji was old enough to be alone and that Jin was being ‘too soft’ on him. Though when his nephew begs to have his friends stay the night, Sukuna snatches the opportunity.

“You can have your stupid friends over… as long as my girl can come by too.”

Yuji rolls his eyes and makes a disgusted face with his tongue out. “Fine, deal.”

It’s freezing by the time you arrive, several inches of snow piled on the roads, and Sukuna doesn’t hesitate to pull you aside as soon as you enter the home. He had proposed you come over to entertain his nephew and friends with movies and cookies, though you knew it wasn't the real reason he called you over after 8pm.

With Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi asleep on the couch not even halfway through the movie, you and Sukuna sneak upstairs and into his childhood bedroom. Any other time you come to Jin’s house, you would spend time cooing at all the photos and memorabilia from years ago; tonight you’re being guided to the twin bed with impatient fervor.

Lips against his in a desperate manner, Sukuna whispers a few scolds when you moan just a little too loud when his mouth sucks fat hickies into the delicate flesh of your neck. Clothing peeling off to take advantage of the opportunity that the group downstairs was asleep, Sukuna pushes you flat onto his colorful childhood comforter. He places kisses down your navel and drags down your jeans and panties in one tug before settling comfortably between your thighs.

“Promise to take extra care of you later– just gotta be quick this one time, ok?”

Drunk in lust, you aren’t really sure if the man between your legs is speaking to you or your pussy, but you don’t care regardless. Sukuna sits forward to plant a few kisses to your puffy clit before rocking back onto his ankles and guiding his cockhead up and down your folds.

A knowing smirk on his face, he sinks in each of his nine inches inside, cursing with furrowed eyebrows at the immediate pleasure coursing through his veins. It’s a familiar stretch your poor pussy can never get used to, though he gives you a few moments to accommodate his splitting size before rocking in and out. 

The small twin bed frame rocks into the wall with each thrust and Sukuna gives up on trying to keep it quiet– too focused on reaching both your highs than what his stupid nephew might think downstairs. It’s a disgusting thought that passes through his head really; fucking his cock deep in your pussy while your slick pastes his pubes to his pelvis, that in his childhood bedroom, the two of you could make a child. 

That would warm you up right? All the times he can’t be there to keep you company while he’s at work– his kid in your stomach could. 

Moans escape your pretty lips while Sukuna places his hands under your plush thighs and pushes them to fold into your chest; tits squishing from the pressure of your knees against them. It’s a mean mating press, and the image of you plump and swollen with his kid unleashes a fetish Sukuna didn’t think he had.

Thrusts sputtering at the image, Sukuna exhales pathetically and rocks his hips into yours a few more times before cumming embarrassingly early. Cum pouring from his weeping cock as he pumps his seed deeper and deeper, you wearily look up at him in shock and longing for your own release.

Sukuna’s a caring boyfriend who makes good on his promises though, and he pulls out before shimmying back down between your thighs. His erection is slowly softening despite his mind not any clearer post-nut; the sight of his cum dripping from your cunt has him reaching forward to push it back in with long fingers.

He mutters about cumming prematurely since you both hadn’t seen each other in a few days, but the way he eyes the photos of Jin and baby Yuji in the hallway later make you question his real motives. 

Shoko Ieiri -> why is the doctor's office always so cold??

Why all medical buildings are freezing cold is beyond you– and your girlfriend’s office is no exception. Sitting in a swivel chair next to her as she fills out mountains of paperwork, you hug your arms into yourself at the frigid temperature. Maybe it’s your fault the cropped and tight baby tee you’re wearing isn’t the most appropriate given the weather, but it’s too cute not to wear. Besides, as much as Ieiri chides you for complaining, you can tell the way her eyes linger on your perky nipples through the fabric that she’s secretly enjoying the show. 

“Ieiriiii”

“Hm?” She hums, not looking up from her patient’s file.

“Are you almost done? I’m freezing and hungry.”

She notes down a few symptoms of her current patient and types a few memos into her desktop computer; a coy eye lingers on your chest once again. “Yes I am. And don’t worry– I’m hungry too.”

Before you can pull up your phone for nearby restaurants, Ieiri is pushing back from her desk and sliding her chair away from both of you. Dropping to her knees, she grabs the bones of your knees and spins you to face her crouched body.

“Ieiri?”

“Mmmm– said I was hungry, didn’t I?”

In a simple motion, she splays your legs apart and peers up your skirt to admire the small arousal stain forming on your cute pink panties she had bought you last Valentine’s Day. You can’t even shut your legs in embarrassment, her strength keeping them open, and her hot breath fanning the flesh on your thighs. 

Ieiri only looks up once with pupils blown wide before she pushes up the fabric of your skirt and happily inserts herself right in front of your cunt. The tip of her nose grinds against your clit through your panties while she licks hot stripes up and down the gusset to taste the slick that’s already been soaked through.

Hands in her hair and hot pants leaving your lips, you arch your back into the seat and shiver from the sensation and cool air of the office. Tugging your panties to the side, she repositions herself to allow her tongue to thrust in and out of your tight hole while an index finger rubs circles on your clit just the way you like. 

It’s a disgusting french kiss she’s giving your cunt; occasionally spitting onto your pussy and using the mixture of saliva and arousal to insert her index and middle finger to replace her tongue. Her name leaves your lips in a desperate mantra as deft surgeon hands massage the rough spot in your cunt that leaves you twitching your hips into her mouth. 

Ieiri peels back to watch your face as you come undone, loving the way that only she is the one making you feel so good; your hands are tugging at the hair on her scalp in a not-so-subtle way of letting her know of your impending orgasm. With a few more grinds of her fingers on your g-spot, you’re cumming hard onto her hands.

She doesn’t stop when you whimper in overstimulation, her lips attaching to your cunt again to lap up all the cum, until you tug her back wearily. Pussy drunk eyes gaze lazily at you through hooded lids as she rests her head onto your thigh; a smirk on her lips and cum coating her chin.

Ieiri is just being the good girlfriend she always wants to be for you. Eating you out in her office to keep you warm is just another task she’s happy to fulfill. ;)

i have no excuse for this fr...

a/n: am i behind on posting? yes. am i too busy watching got7 promotions for their new comeback? yes.

i really do mean to stay focused but it's hard when you're ovulating these fine ass men are posting for their new comback ok?

anyway~ sorry for the pure filth, I promise im working on finishing holiday hoes and the next chapters for da usual series

also: i need to reply to all the nice comments you all leave on here! i promise i see them and want to respond to each one bc YOU ARE ALL SO SWEET IT HURTS <333

comments/likes/reblogs all appreciated

i luv u sluts -oatmeal

[quitefawnish]

the prize of prey

knight!au, simon riley x reader, kyle garrick x reader, johnny mactavish x reader, brief soap x gaz, mentioned john price x reader

cw: noncon/dubcon, abuse of power

word count: 3.6k

synopsis: this is inspired by one of my classes actually, where we discussed how knights in the middle ages only had to court noble women, whereas any peasant woman was open to their desires, and they were in fact encouraged to do so. while this is disgusting as a concept, i am also disgusting, so ofc i wrote this..

Everyone in the kingdom knew to stay out of the way of the knights. It was a common sight to see a vendor being heckled by a group of knights while many people walked by without sparing a glance. So you were well aware of how fucked you were when a group of them approached you at the market.

They were in their casual wear but the scabbards at their hips spoke to their knight status. The first one that started the conversation had tanned skin and a crooked grin that caused the edges of his stark blue eyes to crinkle.

His brown hair was styled in a mohawk, with the hair on the sides of his head crudely shaven away, and by the nicks that were spread across his scalp, you guessed he did it himself.

“Well, hello there, bonnie,” he practically whispered in your ear.

His hands gripped your waist as he pulled himself to stand closer to you with his chest against your back.

You stiffened, turning your head slightly backwards to peer at him. You had seen the group of them wandering the market earlier and you had hoped that’s the last you would see of them. You were not so lucky.

The second one, to your relief, pulled Mohawk off of you.

“Don’t crowd her, ye git” He gave you a grin, acting as if his friend hadn’t just groped you a second ago, but you had to admit, he was so pretty, it almost worked.

He had brown skin and tight curls that were close-cropped to his head. His facial hair was neatly trimmed, and his brown eyes sparkled with a mirth you didn’t share.

“I’m Gaz” he said, then he pointed to Mohawk, “he’s Soap.”

“But ye can call me Johnny, if ye like,” Soap interrupted, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

Gaz just shot him a glare and then pointed to the last man who had just been observing this whole interaction, “and this is Ghost.”

Ghost was a hulking creature of man, and if he wasn’t intimidating enough, he had on a skull-painted balaclava. Through the gap in the fabric you could see just his pale skin and soulless dark brown eyes that were boring into your soul.

You introduced yourself as they all stared at you expectantly.

“‘s a pretty name fer a pretty lass” Soap practically cooed at you.

This made you tuck further in yourself, wishing you could just disappear on the spot, “I.. don’t think this is appropriate.”

Gaz cocked his head slightly, “And why is that?”

You swallowed thickly, “B-because I don’t think my husband would approve.”

It was a complete gamble, maybe these knights would leave you alone if they thought you had a man to protect you. Problem is, you were decidedly not married, and all you could do was hope they wouldn’t see through your bluff.

“Husband?” Soap made a show of looking around, “if ye’re married, then where is he?”

“A man shouldn’t leave his woman to fend for herself in such a dangerous place, especially not one as beautiful as you, someone might try to take advantage,” Gaz said in a worried tone, but it was ruined by the slight grin on his face.

“He.. he went home already, I told him I needed to get one last thing, and I would be right home,” your lie was falling apart as soon as it left your mouth.

“He should have waited, no sense in making your woman walk home alone,” Soap grumbled.

By now, they had almost backed you into a corner, both literally and figuratively, as they advanced forward, forcing you to inch back towards the fruit stand behind you.

“He-he knows the people in the community, they would never do anything to me,” you managed to stammer out.

“If this husband o’ yours is real, where’s your ring?” You were startled as Ghost finally spoke up, his voice deep and rumbling as he glared at you with accusing eyes.

You put your right hand up and looked at it, faking bewilderment, “Oh! I must have left it at home this morning.”

“Ah, right, sorry for pestering you, then,” Gaz said, bowing slightly for emphasis, the other two following suit.

You gave them a small, nervous curtsy in response and smiled awkwardly at the three of them, “It’s quite alright. If you’ll excuse me, I think I should head home now.”

You started to walk away when Soap put out an arm to stop you, “Aye, but it wouldnae be right of us to let a woman walk home by herself.”

Your heart plummeted to your feet and your eyes involuntarily widened with horror.

“I should be okay walking by myself, thank you for the offer, sirs,” you said as you attempted to shoulder past Soap.

He just moved closer to you, “It wouldnae be right,” he said in a darker tone, implying this wasn’t up for debate.

You looked between Gaz and Ghost, who had blocked your other exits, and it didn’t seem like they were willing to budge on this either. You swallowed nervously, “R-right, let’s go, then.”

When you made it to your house, you had half-hoped for them to bid you a good night and go on their way.

They, of course, insisted on meeting your so-called husband and giving him a good talk about respecting his wife. You were fairly certain that at this point it was like a game for them.

It was obvious from the start that they never believed you and they knew you knew that, but that didn’t stop them from continuing this ruse, they were having too much fun.

You opened the door to an empty and dark house, it being abundantly clear that no one had been in the place since you left that morning.

“O-oh, I don’t know where he went, he must have gone looking for me since I took so long,” you lied, but winced at your wavering tone.

“Lass, we would have run into him on the way,” Soap said, making you turn around to face the three of them.

“He knows some different paths, maybe he took one of those,” you continued lying, knowing that it was never going to convince them, but you needed to keep talking or you were going to cry.

Noticing the devastated look on your face, Gaz walked forward and took your face in his hands, “It’s alright, luv, we’re not going to hurt you.”

You were shaking so bad that your teeth were practically rattling out of your skull, “You’re not? You’re.. going to leave me alone?”

Soap just shook his head, tutting at you, “We didnae say that, just that we aren’t gonna hurt ye, in fact, you’ll probably like it.”

The grin on his face made your stomach churn, and you stepped back from Gaz’s hands, backing up until you hit your bed frame. It startled you as you stumbled back into the wood, and you looked back to see what you had run into before trying to steady yourself.

When you turned back around, Gaz and Soap were practically face-to-face with you, Ghost choosing to settle in a dark corner of the room, settling into a chair as it let out a big creak of stress under his weight.

You turned your gaze back to the two knights in front of you who both have matching looks in their eyes, a mix of lust and excitement, as they eye you up and down.

“P-please don’t” you managed to stutter out.

Soap just pressed a finger to your lips, “Shhh, you’re okay. We’re going to take good care of you.”

You tried to lean out of the way as Gaz’s lips came towards yours, squeezing your eyes shut as if you could pretend all of this wasn’t happening.

Rough hands gripped your head, pulling your face towards Gaz, who captured your lips in his. As your eyes flew open, you saw that it was both Gaz and Soap’s hands that were holding you steady. Gaz’s other hand settled on your waist, gripping at the soft flesh underneath the fabric of your dress.

He leaned into the kiss, being somewhat gentle, as if he didn’t want to scare you off just so soon. You gasped softly into his lips as you felt Soap’s tongue on your neck, licking a stripe from your neck up to your face, ending it with a wet kiss to the apple of your check.

Gaz pulled away, staring blatantly down at your body before he began to undo the strings at the back of your bodice.

You tried to pull away, muttering out a soft “no” in protest, but Gaz worked efficiently enough that he was able to pull the piece over your head before you could do much else. Soap grinned down at your body, the top half of your thin chemise having been revealed.

Your hardened nipples poked through the sheer clothing, your body having betrayed you in response to Gaz’s kiss. Soap seemed transfixed as he palmed at your breast through the material, cupping both hands underneath your nipples.

“So bonnie, and just for us to see, aye?” he asked.

You couldn’t even move your mouth to answer and you just remained rooted to the spot no matter how much you wished you could move, fight them off, anything.

Soap didn’t seem to mind your lack of response, carrying on fondling your tits. While Soap was transfixed, Gaz slipped off your skirts, leaving you now with one practically translucent layer, which he was now starting to pull off as well.

That was when you got the courage to move, attempting to cover your body while also trying to keep your chemise on. Instead of grabbing your arms like you thought they would, Soap simply pushed you backwards so you landed with an ‘oof’ on your bed.

You tried to scramble away, slipping over your sheets in your desperation but Soap yanked you back towards them, “Behave.”

You swallowed nervously and stopped trying to struggle away, actually finding yourself nodding to his command.

He grinned, “Good girl.”

His words sent shivers down your body, ending with a fluttering in your cunt.

“Told you we were gonna make you feel good, yeah?” Gaz said, positioning himself in the space between your legs, gripping your thighs open with an ease that betrayed just how strong he was compared to you.

“I don’t want this,” you surprised yourself when you said this, having been frozen in fear just moments before.

Soap, who was now positioned in the space above your head, smiled down at you, brushing your hair back against your scalp, “Dinnae say that just yet, think ye’ll like this next part.”

Knowing that your protests would fall on deaf, uncaring ears, you shut your mouth and looked back down at Gaz who had now pulled the bottom part of your chemise up to reveal your pussy to the night air. Once again, you tried desperately to have some remaining decency and pulled your dress back down, only for Soap to grab your hands and pull them back to your chest.

He held them in an X formation with one hand gripping around both of your wrists, “Och, dinnae be naughty, lass. Wouldnae want for Ghost to have to punish ye.”

Your eyes flicked over to the man who was sitting in the corner who was staring over at the three of you, and you noticed him lazily palming at a bulge in his pants. You swallowed nervously and shook your head, looking back at Soap, “I’ll be good, I promise.”

He seemed satisfied and nodded to Gaz, who had flipped the bottom half of your chemise up once again. He pressed gentle kisses to your inner thighs, trailing up until he reached your entrance. It was horrible because even though you wanted them to stop, you needed for Gaz to hurry up and put his mouth on your aching bud.

As if sensing your thoughts, he put his lips to your clit and sucked. You couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped from your lips as he did this, your face flushing at the realization of the obscene noise that you had made.

It only egged Gaz on more as he began to practically make out with your pussy, wet smacking sounds echoing around the room.

Soap, meanwhile, had shifted your hands to pin them above your head, therefore giving him unobstructed access to your tits. He latched his mouth to your right nipple, sucking through the fabric.

He used his free hand to grope at your other breast, practically kneading it like a cat. All you could do was whimper softly, your arms and legs both being restrained. It wasn’t long before you could feel a pressure building between your legs, feeling the pleasure crescendo until it hit its peak and your body started shaking uncontrollably.

You could dimly hear Soap praising you with his mouth still on your nipple with your ears ringing slightly.

As the wave overtook you, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes back into your head. Gaz unsucked with a loud popping noise, and as your sight returned to normal, you saw him grinning triumphantly between your legs.

Soap had already unlatched from your tit, the sheer fabric that covered it being almost translucent from the saliva. Now that you had finally relaxed, or rather, was too tired to move or try to struggle, Soap let go of your arms. You left them where they were hanging above your head as you tried to catch your breath.

At that moment, Ghost stood up from the chair, startling you, as you had almost forgotten he was there.

“My turn,” he said gruffly, which made both Gaz and Soap complain loudly.

“Och, but I’m achin’ LT,” Soap complained, almost whining as he gestured to his dick which was straining against his pants.

“‘ave Kyle take care o’ you” he said matter-of-factly.

Although you weren’t sure of their ranks within the knight’s guard, it was clear that these two readily deferred to him as Soap reluctantly slipped off the bed.

Ghost walked towards you, looking you up and down with almost calculating eyes. All you could do was whimper softly as he approached you, half paralyzed from fear.

His eyes softened slightly as he looked down at you, and although you flinched as he outstretched a hand, he simply stroked your cheek with a softness you didn’t know he was capable of.

“Poor thing, probably scared out o’ your mind.”

You nodded meekly, hoping maybe he would take mercy on you and leave you alone.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good, yeah?”

He then undressed his lower half which was littered in scars and which also freed his erect cock, one that looked like it could split you in half, precum glistening at the tip.

Your eyes widened at the sight of it, “I.. I don’t think it’s going to fit.”

He shook his head, “It’s gonna fit, don’t worry, ‘sides, my boys warmed you up for me, didn’t they?”

You looked over at Gaz and Soap, the former helping Soap out by stroking along his cock with spit-slicked hands, making Soap moan out words in a language you didn’t understand. You stopped looking when Ghost’s hands found your jaw and turned your face back to him.

“Asked you a question, love.”

You nodded, but your lower lip wobbled slightly.

That just seemed to egg him on more, and his eyes crinkled through the gap in his mask. He repositioned you so you were facedown on the bed, legs dangling off the side so your ass was level with his pelvis.

He pulled up your chemise, and once again, your pussy was exposed to the night air. He sucked in a breath at the sight of it, dragging one finger up through the folds and dipping it into your hole. You inhaled sharply at the intrusion, clenching slightly on his finger in shock.

He just laughed, “Careful you don’t squeeze like that while I’m inside, yeah? ‘fraid I’d never pull out.” You took the message and forced yourself to relax, knowing that it was happening either way and it was best just to make things easier on yourself.

You tried not to jump again when he dragged his tip down your pussy, gathering the come that had collected in between your folds. Then he pressed into your hole, it traitorously sucking him in with ease.

He was able to get it in a good amount of inches before your insides started to ache. Sure, maybe you’d had a couple of fingers in there before but nothing like this, certainly not this length or girth.

You whimpered softly as he pressed in further and he soothingly pet your hair as he paused for a moment.

“You’re okay, I know, I know” he said, soothingly, “Just a bit more, okay?” You nodded weakly, knowing that it wasn’t an option to back out now.

“Good girl” he murmured softly as he pressed inch by inch into you.

You whined pitifully as his pelvis pressed against your ass, his cock now fully inside you.

It hurt, but what was worse to you was that this hurt felt.. good. You hardly had a second to take all of him before he slowly pulled out again, and stupidly, you began to hope he was done.

Those dreams were dashed the second he slammed back into you, making you cry out in surprise. He continued this, rocking back and forth into you, his cock dragging in and out of your hole as you gripped the sheets beneath you for stability.

Then, he lowered himself on top of you, bending over at his hips to press himself against your back. All you could hear were his grunts and the sound of his balls slapping against your pussy as he pounded into you.

Even though tears were building up in your eyes, you could also feel pleasure building between your legs at the continuous thrusting. Your body tensed up as you felt another wave overtake you, the sensations making your legs shake uncontrollably underneath Ghost’s.

Your breathy moans earned an even faster pace, causing a slight staccato in your breathing.

Now that your orgasm had ended, the pleasure bordered on painful and with the increased thrusts, you whimpered softly, “It hurts.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your head and through his panting he said, “I know, I know, just a little longer. ‘m almost there.”

You felt another wave building, this time it felt too intense, too painful, but you couldn’t stop it from overtaking you just as Ghost slowed above you, grunting in your ear as he finished inside you. You couldn’t breathe for a terrifying moment, your lungs drawing in no air as your vision darkened. The ringing in your ears grew louder as you lost sensation, and eventually, lost consciousness.

When you woke up what you assumed to be a few seconds later, Ghost had pulled out of you and you were laying on your back on the bed. You could feel his and your come dripping out of your pussy which was still fluttering around nothing.

He had pulled his pants up and redone his belt, now fully dressed again.

He looked over at you, “Lost you there for a second, that good, am I?”

You didn’t really know what to say in response, sure, he was good, but he also forced his way into your home and your body. You weren’t about to praise the man that violated you. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind your lack of response, looking over to Soap and Gaz who had both finished, seeming both literally and figuratively.

Soap gave you a lopsided grin, “Put on quite a show, lass. Told ye we’d take care of ye.”

“Will you leave me be, now?” you asked bluntly. Now that they had all had their fair share, all you wanted was for them to leave so you could tend to yourself and lick your wounds.

Gaz raised an eyebrow, “Rid of you? Who said anything about that?”

Your heart sank, “I.. I just assumed that once you got what you wanted, you’d leave.”

Ghost shook his head as if you had said something egregiously stupid, “Don’t you get it? You are what we wanted, and we’re not letting you go that easily. From the moment we laid eyes on you, we had to have you.”

You looked between the three of them, this hadn’t been a spur of the moment thing, they had planned this. You knew all along that they knew you weren’t married, but you didn’t think they had planned this, all for them to take you like some unruly spoil of war at the end.

“You can’t do this, someone will wonder where I am,” you mustered the energy to sit up in bed, glaring at the three of them.

“Really? From the looks of it, you live alone, no one knows who you are, and we’re knights. It’s our duty to take things like you home, protect you, take care of you” Gaz said, taking on a more serious tone.

“Y-you can’t do this” you helplessly repeated.

“Oh, lass, we can, and we will. Dinnae worry your pretty little head about it. King John already said he would be very interested in meeting you, doubt he would be too happy if you refused,” Soap’s grin seemed almost malicious now in this lighting.

“It’s time to go home,” Ghost said, scooping you up from the bed.

You were unable to do anything but cry weakly into his shoulder as they brought you to their horses, knowing this would be the rest of your life and there was nothing you could do about it.

a/n: ah ok! first fic on this acct and actually, my first fic writing smut 🫣 so lmk what you guys think, maybe i can write a part two if you’re interested??

sword divider by @/sister-lucifer

[timefall-if]

DEMO (prologue / 11th of January 2025) || see disclaimers, TWs & more below!

Time does not wait for anyone, even for the one that controls it.

After the bloody aftermath of Draeken's rebellion against Delphora, you're left an orphan. Your mother lies dead beneath a pile of bodies, crushed under the boots of the Time Watchers, and your older brother, Mylo, is nowhere to be found. Bruised and scared, you're taken in by Marek, your mother's friend, together with a few other strays he managed to catch hiding in the shadows of the night.

As Marek tends to your wounds and wipes away your tears, the Council of the Eternals, forever holed up in their lavish upper city, is falling apart. They are in complete mayhem and disarray as, unbeknownst to you, one of the five time shards that keep the heart of the city—the Clocktower—working in tune with time's balance has been stolen.

Oddly enough, that lost shard looks suspiciously similar to the strange shiny stone your mother gave you and your brother right before the doomed uprising. With it gone, the flow of time grows slippery and erratic, as the Clocktower starts to decay without its missing piece.

Life in the undercity of Draeken, also known as The Depths, is brutal enough. But when an ill-fated encounter leaves you forever altered—your blood itself changed—you’ll soon realize that time is strange, and the thin fabric of reality a fickle thing. Even more so when it’s something you can no longer just witness ... but may be forced to control.

༒︎ Fully customizable MC including: pronouns, gender, physical appearance, personality, sexuality etc.

༒︎ Choose 1 out of 5 occupations for your MC: underground pit fighter, street artist, black market medic, inventor, or dingy bar singer.

༒︎ Romance 1 out of 4 love interests, all of which are gender-selectable. Engage in hookups with other side characters.

༒︎ Find your brother, or let him find you.

༒︎ Go through an unimaginable physiology-changing experiment and manage to keep your sanity, or become completely unrecognizable to those closest to you.

༒︎ Betray the people you care about or protect them at all costs.

༒︎ Explore the dual state-cities of Delphora and Draeken on a steampunk/cyberpunk background.

༒︎ Become the hero everyone wants you to be, a new world order dictator, or God :D

Maddox / Maxine (M/F) - Rough around the edges and with a body built for combat, M's very demeanour and appearance reflects years of hard living together with you in Draeken. Taken in by Marek after the failed uprising, M had grown overbearingly protective of you on the very first night of sharing a bed with each other as kids. Now, all grown up, M fights in Marek's underground fighting pit to earn their keep, but with every bloodied knuckle, their anger at the scraps their people are handed by Delphora’s elite grows. M is ready to make a change. Are you?

— Possible (romance) routes: Best Friends to Lovers / Best Friends to FWB to Lovers / Best Friends to Lovers to Enemies / Best Friends to Enemies

Riven / Raven (M/F) - A street-smart wildcard loyal only to the highest bidder, R lives by a simple rule: survive and have a good time while doing it. So they smuggle goods and sell information to whoever pays the most. R is not above double-crossing anyone, and they don’t pretend to be. Always charming, confident, and looking at you like they want to take your pants off any second, you’ll have to find out if R is worthy of your trust, or if they’re truly incapable of not betraying those they care about.

— Possible (romance) routes: FWB to Lovers / FWB to Friends / Lovers to Enemies / FWB to Enemies

Seraphim / Seraphina Vaughn (M/F) - The strangest person you have met down in The Depths, and that’s saying something. S is sweet, about as intimidating as a puppy, with a wide and bright smile and … clothes with golden silky linings that make them stand out in ways they’re trying to hide. They’re a people pleaser at heart, but S’s thinly veiled ambition and naivety about the streets of Draeken makes you wonder about their intentions. They seem to be attached to you from the moment you meet. Can you figure out the catch, or will your trust come back to bite you?

— Possible (romance) routes : Friends to Lovers / Lovers to Enemies / Friends to Enemies

Cassian / Calypso Kazimier (M/F) - C’s deep sense of superiority and disdain for The Depths is reflected clearly on their sharp and cold face, their commanding presence demanding respect and authority with every move. As the most influential member of the Order of the Eternals, C makes it their very purpose to ensure that no one can challenge their rule, and that any threat to their control is dealt with swiftly and without mercy. What happens when that threat might be you? C is untouchable, they will make sure to squash you with their own hands. Unless …

— Possible (romance) routes : Corruption Arc / Enemies to Lovers / Enemies to Lovers to Enemies

DISCLAIMER: An IF based on & inspired by the show "Arcane". Time Fall is a drama interactive fiction story with steampunk & cyberpunk elements, set in the dual state-cities of Delphora and Draeken, also known as The Spire and The Depths. It's meant to follow complicated relationships, complicated choices, and complicated consequences. It is written with an 18+ audience in mind due to heavy themes and topics such as death, use of drugs and alcohol, swearing, violence, (optional & skippable) explicit sexual content etc. || this is a project in early progress, meaning that there are things that might be subject to change later on.

LINKS: cog forum || ROs physical descriptions || neon dividers credits

[tinydefector]

Human's effects

More a silly little thing that I had to write out.

Warnings: talks about sex, xenophilia, kinks

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

Next

Human Effects 2 - characters

Request are open

____

There were a lot of things that fascinated the cybertronians over humans. Their size, body types, skin tones and those soft they are. 

So many of them become so fascinated over the fact that such small and fragile creatures don't have plating to protect themselves but only wear soft fabrics. 

And it slowly leads a lot of Cybertronians to realising they were Xenophiles. 

A list of kinks and fetishes cybertronians discovered from it. 

-size kink 

-skin fetish 

- hair pulling 

- silk and ribbon play

- cum inflation 

-breeding

-pet play

- vore

-fluid play and consumption 

- spiking warming

- Heart and spark syncing 

- new spike and Valve modifications to test on their human lover

There's originally a lot of unknowns about humans, and cybertronians are rather intrigued, for one the first times the a lot of the crew of lost light had encountered them was on black market and high priced pets, and companions. 

There were exceptions such as Perceptor, Ratchet and Megatron who had been around humans before but for a lot of the bots this was their first time seeing them. that is until they are assigned a human communications, relations Ambassador/ liaison. 

But after the black market incident it had led a lot of bots into research over humans. And it just spirals more with them discovering some rather dark history with cybertronians keeping humans as playthings. And finding out their ‘interface equipment’ isn't that different from their own, just more organic and smaller.  

A late night of drinking at swerve slowly devolved into conversation over their local human. Brainstorm sits nursing his drink of engex while he and others of the ship chat away. "So does it fascinate anyone else over the fact that humans don't have natural plating or any kind of protection for their squishy form?" He brings up, he himself had fallen down the rabbit hole of human porn but didn't quite know how to breach the subject with anyone else. 

"Oh Primus, look who decided to join us, thought you were holding up with your Conjunx Chrome!" Swerve said with a chuckle, placing more drinks down. He hopped up onto one of the bar stools and leaned in eagerly, His attention flicks to Brainstorm. "You bring up a good point, Brainstorm," Swerve replied.

 "Those squishy humans are really something else, ain't they? No armour, no defences - I'd be scared outta my circuits if I was just soft protoform all the time!, like i’m so surprised squishy hasn't been stepped on yet" 

Rodimus nodded in agreement. "Yet they've managed to survive just fine so far. There's obviously more to them than meets the eye. Like i've seen some of the things our ambassador can do like the strange stretching"

"I dunno," Skids chimed in. "Seems pretty fraggin' reckless if you ask me. One good shot and it lights out!" 

Rewind shuddered. "Ugh, don't remind me. Just thinking about all those organics and tubes and who knows what else squishing around in there makes my fuel tank turn." He made a dramatic churning sound effect.

Riptide laughed. "I saw a nature documentary once about these hairless ape creatures the humans evolved from. Now THOSE guys were squishy."

“What in Primus have you been watching?!” 

“some old earth docs that Percy’s has, bots got a lot of info on Terra and the planet's history” The bots shared a collective laugh at the image. Swerve took a swig of his energon. "Frag, maybe there's something to be said about living on the edge like that! Sure keeps things interesting, its still strange that they are somehow one of the top predators of their planet yet are smaller than half the things they eat"

Brainstorm goes quiet for a moment. "Have you seen how flexible they are?"

Swerve nearly spit out his energon. "Whoa hey, I don't need those kinds of vivid imagery floatin' around my processor thank you very much!, keep the squishy interface vids to yourself" he said, waving his hands animatedly. 

"You have to admit, the way those fleshbags can contort themselves is pretty impressive," Skids added. "Must come in handy for.. maintenance." He waggled his optical ridges suggestively.

Brainstorm nodded pensively. "Indeed. Their non-metal structure allows for feats we could never replicate by ourselves." He took a sip of his energon. "Always makes me curious what other evolutionary adaptations they've developed to compensate for such vulnerability. The potential for scientific discovery is endlessly fascinating with their species and ancestors."

Riptide shrugged. "As long as they don't expect ME to try any of their bone-breaking yoga moves," he laughed. "This chassis is meant for tough stuff, not Twister!"

"You think they would be soft, you know if you interface with one?" Brainstorm asked while downing his drink, the engex was slowly going to his processor loosening his lips. 

"Oh don't give me that look I know for a fact you all have thought about doing with a human at least once! Rodimus I know for a fact you eye them up everytime our little liaison walks past you" He calls out Rodimus. 

Rodimus nearly choked on his energon in an attempt to look innocent. "Wh-what? That's not - I never -" he sputtered in protest, flustered optics darting around at the other bots.

Brainstorm smirked as Rodimus squirmed uncomfortably on the stool. "Oh please, don't try to deny it, Captain. You're about as subtle as a combiner in a supply closet." 

"Roddy's got the hots for squishy, who knew!" Swerve giggled uncontrollably. 

Skids nudged Riptide playfully. "Hey, maybe we got a xenophiliac on the ship!" 

"Alright alright, knock it off you glitches," Rodimus growled, though the blue flush across his face said otherwise. "I was just... curious, that's all. They ARE a strange species."

Swerve tried to contain his laughter. "Ohhh I bet you are more than curious, if you catch my drift!, wanna get up close and personal" More raucous peals of laughter from the group.

Brainstorm stroked his chin in thought. "They do feel intriguingly delicate. I wonder if their flexible frames would be more pleasurable to interface with than our own rigid forms..."

"Have you seen videos of them, they stretch a lot, like a lot, like I know human skin is resilient but i didn't think they were that resilient " Brainstorm states remembering some of the videos he had seen online. Other bots peak up intrigued. 

Swerve choked again as his fuel tank nearly turned inside out. "Brainstorm! That's... more than I needed to visualise, thank you very much." 

Skids seemed a bit less phased. "Fleshbags gettin' their twist on, huh? Can't say I'm not curious now." 

Even Rodimus seemed intrigued despite his earlier protests. "Resilient is an   understatement. I've seen some of the contortions that humans can do - it's astounding that their protoforms don't tear apart." 

Brainstorm nodded enthusiastically. "Precisely! With the right lubrication and technique, I hypothesise an interface with a limber human form would provide entirely novel sensory data."

Riptide shifted uncomfortably. "Not sure I'm ready to dive into the fleshy deep end just yet.”  

Swerve shot him a sly grin. "Aw c'mon Rip, live a little! Where's your sense of adventure?" 

Rodimus tried to steer the subject elsewhere. "Let's maybe change topics before someone needs a wipe down. Or Primus forbid, Magnus overhears you lot"

"I hope I did not hear what my processor just heard" Ultra Magnus states while staring down at the group of drinking mechs. A Lot of bots in the bar snicker at the group getting in trouble. 

"Come on Sir, get that wrench out of you aft, join us!" Skids called out.

Swerve let out an audible squeak at Ultra Magnus's stern tone, almost dropping his engex in panic. "U-Um, Magnus sir! Fancy seeing you here. We were just, uh, discussing..." 

He shot desperate optics at the others for help, but they all seemed to shrink down in their seats under Magnus's disapproving glare. 

Rodimus flashed an uneasy grin. "Just having a friendly debate about alien species, you know how it is. Brainstorm was bringing up some, er, interesting biological points..." 

Ultra Magnus sighed wearily. "I'd rather not know the details, thank you. Some topics are best left undiscussed in public."

The whole bar erupted into laughter at the group's misfortune. "Ah lay off em Magnus!" one patron called out. "They're just havin' fun!"

Another bot piped up. "Yeah, loosen up that rusty chassis and join us! One drink won't hurt." 

Magnus scowled, unamused. But as the encouragement grew louder, he glanced around hesitantly...

Swerve spotted an opening. "C'mon Magnus, live a little! I'll even give you a two-for-one special." He flashed a hopeful grin.

The enforcer grumbled but his resolve was cracking. Against his better judgement, he pulled up a stool. "One drink." Swerve whooped and poured him a double.

They cheer as Magnus sits down to drink with them. Skids speak up. "So brainstorm you saying you'd hook up with a fleshy, get nice and personal with a human" he calls out with a laugh.

Brainstorm leaned forward eagerly. "Why of course! The pursuit of scientific knowledge knows no boundaries. Though upon further review, direct interfacing with an organic might require certain, ah, safety protocols." 

Skids peered at him suspiciously. "Exactly what kind of 'research' are you plannin' on doing Brainy?"

Swerve nudged Riptide with a smirk. "I'll bet ya 20 shanix Brainstorm's just trying to find an excuse to get jiggy with the humies!"

Riptide snorted. "No way, I ain't takin' THAT bet!" 

Rodimus dropped his face in his palms with a groan. "can we PLEASE stop picturing Brainstorm fragging humans?" 

Ultra Magnus coughed on his engex, catching the comment he'd really rather not have heard. 

But Brainstorm paid them no mind, lost in scientific contemplation. "The human capacity for sensory input and feedback would provide a rich study on cross-species interface protocol adaptability..."

"INTERFACE PROTOCOLS?!" Swerve shrieked. The table erupted into howls of laughter at Magnus's deeply uncomfortable expression. It was going to be a LONG night indeed.

“Primus Brainstorm you kinky fragger” 

"Fine then everyone servo up if your not at least somewhat curious or thought about it at least once" Brainstorm calls out to all of Swerve's bars patrons

"Oooh, Brainstorm's putting us all on the spot!" Swerve giggled with gleeful mischief. He raised his servo without hesitation. 

Skids was quick to follow suit, slamming his half-empty glass down. "Frag it, I'll admit it! Those soft squishy bodies got me wonderin' what else they're good for." 

To everyone's surprise, Rodimus sheepishly lifted a servo as well, avoiding optic contact with Ultra Magnus. Riptide shrugged and joined in the show of servos, if only to blend in. 

The majority of bots in the bar started raising their hands amid roars of laughter and drunken encouragement. Only a select few hesitated, shooting nervous glances at Magnus. 

The enforcement officer's expression cycled through outrage, resignation and back to outrage as his gaze swept over the forest of raised servos. "I cannot condone such deviant interest in alien biologies," he protested, voice stiff. 

But as more servos stayed stubbornly aloft, Magnus sagged with a weary sigh. After a long moment, he slowly, begrudgingly raised one massive hand as well. 

The bar erupted into ear-splitting cheers. Swerve howled with glee, banging his fists on the counter. "Look's like we've all got a bit of xenophile in us after all! Even you, Magnus my mech!" 

Magnus buried his faceplate in his servos as Brainstorm cackled maniacally. Once the bar settles back down its Swerve who speaks up with a smirk on his faceplate. "So... which one of you charming mechs are gonna be the first to try and get our lovely Liaison?" He teases. 

Rodimus sputtered into his drink at Swerve's question, flushing brighter. "W-what? I never said anything about actually doing anything!, it's all just fantasies Swerve!" he protested in a hissed tone. 

Skids rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, well they do have a cute lil' figure. Bet they'd be a wild ride..." 

Swerve grinned slyly at Rodimus. "Aw c'mon Captain, don't tell me you ain't thought about it at least once! I bet they'd be real fun to break in, get all soft and pliable..." 

Rodimus smacked Swerve upside the helm. "Knock it off!" He shot a pleading glance at Ultra Magnus as if begging for rescue.

But unexpectedly, Brainstorm was the one who spoke up. "While the organic's flexibility is intriguing, directly interfacing could introduce unknown health risks or cultural taboos. Outside the fact our people have kept humans as pets and companions in the past. A more ethical approach would be gaining consent for strictly observational research."  

Riptide frowned. "Not sure the liaison would go for that either Storm" 

Swerve sighed dreamily. "Just imagine wrapping those soft squishy bits all around you though... bet they'd feel amazing..."  

"SWERVE." Magnus's warning tone silenced the cheeky bartender immediately. He turned back to Rodimus with a sigh. "Despite certain... Curiosities, directly engaging an organics  such a manner would be unwise, dangerous even, not to mention our form are much larger and could harm a human."

Rewind nodded gratefully at Magnus, relieved the subject was shifting. But the mischievous glint in Swerve's optic suggested his teasing wasn't over yet. It was going to be a long night indeed.

"Relax Mags I'm just riling these drunk mech up. Unless you're interested in our sweet little ambassador" he teases, making other bots choke on their drinks. 

Ultra Magnus's icy glare could have frozen Swerve's energon. "Need I remind you this conversation is highly inappropriate and unprofessional," he said sternly. 

But to everyone's surprise, Rodimus let out an undignified snort of laughter. "As if Magnus would ever break protocol like that! He'd probably recite the entire Autobot code of conduct while fragging."

The whole bar erupted in howls of mirth at the mental image. 

Swerve was nearly rolling on the floor. "Can you imagine?! 'Paragraph 3, subsection B clearly states interfacing with sentient aliens requires prior diplomatic clearance forms in triplicate!'" he cried in a mockingly stiff voice. 

Skids were wiping away fuel tears. "Primus if MR. RULES AND REGS ever broke the rules, it'd be one for the history archives!" 

Riptide jabbed Skids in the side. "Ten shanix says he'd have them memorising regulations the whole time!" 

"Twenty shanix says they'd run screaming first!" Swerve shot back. 

The bets and ribbing escalated as more mechs joined in. Across the table, Rodimus shoved Magnus playfully. "C'mon Magnus, live on the wild side for once!" 

Magnus's rumbling huff was the only response. Watching his rigid commander finally loosening up filled Swerve with delight. Somehow, some way, he'd find a way to get Magnus to break protocol yet! It was shaping up to be the best night ever.

"Ohhh let's make this fun. I list some bots and you say if you think they would hook up with a human" Riptide states. "Rung, Drift and Ratchet" he calls out the names.

Swerve let out a dramatic gasp. "Ooh spicy!"

"Rung is definitely curious but way too professional. Might let loose over a couple cubes of engex though!" 

Skids broke into hysterics at Riptide's suggestions. "Rung and a HUMAN?! Rung doesn't even touch his OWN interface panel!" 

Rodimus snorted. "Can you imagine? 'My dear, it seems you're experiencing some psychological interfacing blockers. Please, tell me how that makes you feel.'" 

"Drift guy's definitely intrigued by other species, if you know what I mean. Plus he's artsy so he'd probably appreciate the 'aesthetic'." Swerve responds

"Drift might go for it, he's open to new experiences," Rodimus mused with a grin. 

Brainstorm nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, his spiritual philosophies suggest an openness to cultural exchange that others may lack. I think if he and ratchet weren't together its something he might try" 

"Ratchet. bah! As if that grumpy old rust-bucket would try anything so illogical. Unless she's a doctor too and starts quoting his favourite protocols... then all bets are off!" Skids laughed. 

"Ratchet? Nah, too much of a hard aft. He'd just bitch about human biohazards the whole time," Swerve giggled. 

"Well if Drift was interested I'm pretty sure that mecn could get ratchet to do anything with the bat of his optics" Rodimus remarks.

The table erupted in raucous laughter. Swerve took a playful bow. "Alright bring on the next victims!" 

Riptide rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, how about...Tailgate, Cyclonus, and Whirl?" 

Swerve cackled wickedly. "Tailgate would be way too nervous but he'd try for his Conjunx Cyclonus. Cyclonus would 100% use his broody vibes to charm her pants off but only for Tailgate. And Whirl? He doesn't interface, he destroys! So that liaison better watch her interfacing ports around that lunatic!" 

Chromedome interjects stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Tailgate would be way too nervous and shy, I think. He'd probably short-circuit just from holding hands!" 

Riptide nodded. "Cyclonus has always struck me as the kinky type. Wonder if he's into those squishy bits like Brainstorm thinks..."

"Whirl would frag anything that moves," Rodimus interjected with a grimace. "But I don't think an organic would survive the experience!"

Brainstorm stroked his chin. "Indeed, Whirl's interfacing protocol subroutines seem rather...enthusiastic. Consent might be a fleeting concept. Better to observe from a safe distance." 

Swerve shuddered. "Ugh, don't make me picture that psycho getting 'friendly' with a human! I'm tryna keep my fuel down y'know." 

The names continue being dropped. 

 " First Aid! I don't know if the medic-bot's got it in him to break the rules. But I betcha if he did, he'd be real gentle and caring-like. He'd have them feelin' better than new in no time!" 

Skids grinned devilishly. "Yeah but would they feel better? Aid's so straight and narrow I bet he'd put em in stasis lock from boredom!" 

"Now Perceptor on the other hand..." Swerve tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Bookish type, but you know there's a passionate scientist in there waiting to experiment. Think he'd go slow and methodical, really take his time 'exploring the specimen'." 

"his thirst for organic sciences might overpower his good sense," Rewind remarks. 

“optimus prime, Prowl and bumblebee ” Chromedome interjects with his own inquiries. 

Swerve pretended to wipe away exhaust fumes. "Primus help me, this is gonna be good... Optimus Prime is obviously Mister Morality himself, but you know he's got a secret wild side under all that virtue signalling. Just imagine how freaky he could get with some alien nookie!" 

The bar erupted in incredulous, drunken laughter and cheers. Swerve grinned impishly. 

"As for Prowl, I'm telling you that stick up his tailpipe is begging to come out and play. One roll in the berth with a naughty fleshy and he'd loosen up reeeal nice!" 

"And Bee? He's a sweet kid, but you know what they say, it's always the quiet ones! Between his cute lil' face and that tight chassis, he'd have the human lining up to frag that glitch right into stasis!" 

The bar absolutely lost it, bots falling over each other in drunken hysterics. Even Mirage was struggling not to fall off his chair. Swerve took an exaggerated bow as his audience howled. 

"Thank you, thank you! I'll be here all cycle! Now who's ready for the next round?" More shouts and clanking glasses answered his call. It was shaping up to be the wildest night at Swerve's yet!

 Magnus dropping Megatron's name that really sent them over the edge.

"Megatron?! With the liaison?!" Rodimus howled with laughter, nearly spitting out his drink. "That's the funniest thing I've heard all cycle!" 

But Swerve wasn't done. "Megatron? Now THAT'S an image! 'You pathetic fleshbag, you DARE try to mount the great Megatron?! Grovel before my interface array!'" 

Magnus adds more information which makes everyone surprised " He and the ambassador are rather close" He states

Rewind speaks up from Chromedome’s side. "Y'know... they do have a certain chemistry. I'll bet under all that scowling and chipped armour there's a softie just waitin' for the right tender touch to melt his spark. And they have got sass to spare  bet they could handle Megatron's brooding and snarl!" 

"Twenty shanix says he'd have them trembling and beggin' for mercy in no time flat!" Skids bet eagerly. 

"You're on!" crowed Riptide. "But I still think Perceptor's the real dark horse..."

[stylesispunk]

Silent strain | part iv

outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: Time passes by and Joel still doesn't come back. The baby arrives and you feel lonely.

w.c: 10,5k

warnings: angst, mentions of birth, fluff, mentions of blood, not proofreading. Paragraphs in bold indicate flashbacks & paragraphs in cursive indicate journal entries. Reader cries a lot in this one, we didn't have a good week.

a/n: chapter four is here! Thank you to everyone who take their time to leave comments and share this story, which was supposed to be only 3 chapters but became longer. I hope you like this one. Reblogs and comments are appreciated. Happy reading. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Since you had met Joel, this was the first time you had ever been in a room without him. You were surrounding by walls in a safe place that it was foreign for you, sitting alone on the edge of a bed that you had just shared with Joel the night prior, now feeling impossibly lonely without him around. The weight hit you all at once, the quiet, the loneliness, the reality that Joel had left and you didn’t know if him and Ellie would be alright.

The weight of it hit you all at once, the quiet, the loneliness, the overwhelming reality that Joel had left. That you didn’t know if he and Ellie were alright. If they ever would be. A tight knot formed in your chest, pulling tighter with each passing minute.

Your mind raced, thoughts of where Joel might be gnawing at you. Were they already on the road? Were they safe? Had they run into trouble? You tried to push the thoughts away, tried to convince yourself they were fine, that Joel would protect Ellie like he always had. But the fear lingered, gnawing at you in the quiet of the room.

You stood abruptly, the need to do something, anything, to shake off the growing anxiety driving you to your feet. Pacing around the bedroom, your hands trembled slightly as you ran them through your hair, trying to think, trying to breathe through the tightening in your chest.

But no matter how hard you tried; the worry wouldn’t leave. Each time you circled the room, it felt as though the walls were closing in a little more, trapping you in this unbearable uncertainty.

And then, as you turned again, your eyes landed on something that stopped you cold.

There, on the chair by the window, was Joel’s shirt. Not just any shirt—his favorite one, the one he always wore, the one that had become your favorite too. The sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stepped closer, almost as if in a trance, and your trembling fingers reached out to touch the fabric.

The scent of him still lingered in the material, that familiar mix of worn cotton, faint sweat, and the earthy scent that was unmistakably Joel. The tears that had been building in your chest all day finally broke free, spilling down your cheeks as you clutched the shirt in your hands.

Life in the QZ didn’t leave much room for joy. Every day was a struggle, ration cards barely covering enough food, let alone anything extra. But you had managed to save up just enough to get him something special.

The shirt.

You had seen it hanging in the back of a small booth during one of your shifts at the QZ market. It wasn’t much—faded, a little worn—but it had a softness to it that you thought Joel might appreciate. He never said it out loud, but you could tell his clothes were becoming threadbare, the weight of the world making even the little comforts seem unattainable. You wanted to change that, even in a small way.

The look on his face when you handed it to him had been one of complete confusion, like he didn’t quite know what to do with kindness anymore.

“Why’d you get me this?” Joel had asked, his brow furrowing as he held up the shirt, inspecting it like he thought there was some kind of catch.

You shrugged, trying to play it off casually, but your heart was pounding in your chest. “I just… thought you could use something new. You’ve been wearing the same damn thing since I met you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, but his eyes were still guarded, suspicious. “You used your rations for this?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice a little softer, more vulnerable than you intended. “It’s no big deal. Just… thought you deserved something nice.”

Joel stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the shirt like he was afraid to accept it, afraid of what it meant. His gaze flickered to yours, and you saw something there, unreadable.

“Why’re you doing this for me?” he asked quietly, his voice rough, almost accusing, as if he couldn’t believe that someone would care about him enough to make such a gesture.

You took a step closer, your heart hammering in your chest. “Because I want to, Joel. Because you matter to me.”

His eyes darkened, the weight of your words settling between you like a heavy fog. You could see the battle he was waging within himself, the walls he had built so high, trying to protect himself from feeling anything. But the look in his eyes softened, if only for a moment, and something shifted.

Before you could say anything else, before you even had a chance to breathe, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hand cupped the back of your neck, rough but gentle, and then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t soft or slow. It was raw, desperate, as if he had been holding himself back for far too long. The kiss stole the air from your lungs, a surge of warmth flooding through you. He kissed you like he needed it, like he couldn’t hold back anymore, and in that moment, you knew that this was more than just a Kiss, it was the first crack in his armor.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Neither could you.

“You shouldn’t be wastin’ rations on me,” he muttered, but his voice was softer now, almost tender.

You smiled, your hands still clutching the fabric of his shirt. “Not a waste. Not at all.”

Joel’s lips twitched, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a small, real smile.

From that moment on, the shirt had become his favorite. He wore it often, and every time he did, it reminded you of that day, of the first time he had let you in.

From that moment on, you had become the most precious thing he had in the world.”

Tears blurred your vision as you sobbed into the fabric, holding onto it as if it were him, as if it could somehow bring him back. The ache in your heart was unbearable, the reality of his absence crashing over you like a tidal wave.

You whispered his name through your tears, wondering where he was, if he was thinking of you too. If he missed you, and of course he did, you thought. But what was really eating you was his safety. The fear clawed at you, the unknown hanging over you like a dark cloud.

"Please come back," you whispered to the empty room, your voice breaking. But the only answer was the silence, the vast, aching silence that now filled the space Joel had left behind.

+

At the same time, miles away, Joel lay on the cold floor of an abandoned house, his body limp, covered in sweat and blood. His breath came in ragged gasps, barely enough to keep him conscious. The world around him blurred, the edges of his vision darkening as pain coursed through his body. His grip on reality was slipping, but one thing remained constant in his mind: you.

He tried to focus, tried to stay awake, but it was getting harder. The wound in his side throbbed with every shallow breath, blood seeping through his clothes and pooling beneath him. The searing pain was relentless, but what hurt more was the thought of you, alone, without him.

Ellie was beside him, frantically trying to stop the bleeding, her hands shaking as she applied pressure to his wound. "Joel, stay with me," she pleaded, her voice trembling.

Joel’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, his gaze unfocused. He could hear her voice, but it felt distant, muffled, like she was speaking through water. His thoughts drifted to you—how you had always been the one to keep him grounded, to remind him there was something worth fighting for.

He thought of your smile, the way your eyes would light up when you laughed. He thought of the shirt you'd given him back in the QZ, how he hadn’t understood why someone like you would care for someone like him. He thought of the nights you spent together, wrapped in each other’s arms, and how your belly had grown your baby inside.

The thought of not having the chance of meeting his baby was pulling the string to life now.

"Joel, stay with me!" Ellie’s voice broke through the fog again, more urgent this time. She was crying now, her hands stained red as she tried to keep him alive. She had seen too much death, lost too many people, and she couldn’t lose him too. Not now.

Joel’s breath hitched as his body fought to stay conscious. He thought of you one last time, of the child growing inside you, the life he had left behind to protect Ellie. He had made a choice, but now, as the darkness threatened to pull him under, all he could think about was getting back to you.

His hand twitched, reaching for something—anything to hold on to—but all he felt was the cold, hard floor beneath him. His eyelids grew heavier, his body weaker, but somewhere deep inside, he clung to the hope that he would see you again. That he would make it back to you.

"Please," he whispered, though it was barely audible. He wasn’t sure if he was begging Ellie to save him or if it was a prayer to the universe to bring him back to you.

Ellie’s hands didn’t stop, her desperation fueling her as she fought to keep him alive. "I won’t let you die," she swore, her voice raw with emotion. "I won’t."

But as Joel’s world faded to black, the only thing on his mind was you, and the sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch, everything that had kept him going. The thought of you was his last tether to the world, the only thing he could hold onto in the darkness.

And then, there was nothing.

you stirred awake to the soft light filtering through the window, your body still heavy with exhaustion and the weight of your sorrow. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of Joel’s shirt, the scent of him lingering in the fibers, a bittersweet reminder of his absence.

A gentle knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts, the sound echoing in the quiet room. You sat up slowly, wiping the remnants of tears from your cheeks, the reality of the past few days crashing back over you like a wave. “Come in,” you called, your voice hoarse from crying.

The door creaked open, revealing Tommy standing in the doorway, a worried expression etched across his face. “Hey,” he said softly, stepping into the room. “I thought I’d check on you.”

You forced a small smile, but it felt fragile, like it might shatter at any moment. “I’m okay,” you lied, though the truth hung heavily in the air between you.

Tommy’s gaze fell to the shirt in your hands, his expression shifting to one of understanding. “You miss him,” he stated rather than asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, the tears welling up again, and you quickly blinked them away. “Of course I miss him. And I don’t know if he is okay.”

Tommy moved closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I wish I could tell you he is. But… we’ve been through a lot, and sometimes, we have to trust that they’ll come back to us.”

His words brought some comfort, but it was fleeting. “What if he doesn’t?” you whispered. “What if he and Ellie are hurt?”

You wanted to believe him, to cling to that hope, but the uncertainty gnawed at you. “I just want him back,” you admitted, the ache in your heart making your voice crack. “I want them both back, we were supposed to be a family.”

Tommy’s expression softened; the concern etched on his face deepening. “I know,” he replied, his voice steady. “You’re right. You three are a family, and it’s not fair for you to feel this way.”

The raw emotion in your words hung heavy in the air. You could feel the tears welling up again, threatening to spill over. “It just feels so empty without him.”

He nodded in understanding, his gaze unwavering. “Joel’s a fighter, and so are you. Just hold on to that. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that hope can keep us going even when things seem dark.”

“But what if hope isn’t enough?” you asked, frustration creeping into your voice. “What if he’s out there, and I’m just stuck here waiting?”

Tommy sighed, leaning forward slightly. “You’re not just waiting. You’re doing something important right now by taking care of yourself and that baby. Joel would want you to stay safe and strong. You’re both his world.”

His words made you pause. You had been so consumed with worry that you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider what Joel would want for you, for the baby. You needed to honor his love by taking care of yourself, even if it felt impossible at the moment.

“I know you’re right,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “It’s just hard to think of anything else when all I want is to be with him.”

Tommy reached over, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, you have to keep yourself strong for my baby nephew or niece there” he said pointing at your belly, “And I heard that there is a delicious breakfast waiting for you at my house.”

A small smile broke through your sadness at Tommy's words. The thought of food, especially something delicious, made your stomach rumble. “Breakfast, huh?” you said, attempting to lighten the mood. “Is it worth the trek over there?”

Tommy chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. “You bet it is. Maria’s been in the kitchen since sunrise, whipping up all sorts of goodies. You can’t say no to her pancakes.”

The mention of Maria made your heart feel a little lighter. She always had a way of brightening your day, and the thought of spending time with her and Tommy brought a hint of normalcy back into your chaotic world. “Alright, I guess I can be tempted by pancakes,” you said, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath. “Just give me a moment to get ready.”

As you stood up and moved towards the small mirror on the wall, Tommy turned to leave, but not before he added, “And remember, you’re not alone in this. We’re all here for you, and Joel will come back. You have to believe that.”

You nodded, feeling the flicker of hope ignite once more within you. “I will, Tommy. Thank you.”

As the weeks passed, life in Jackson continued to move forward, albeit without Joel. You immersed yourself in the routine of the community, trying to find solace in the familiar faces and daily activities. However, your heart remained tethered to the memories of him, each thought a bittersweet reminder of what was lost.

Paul’s presence became more pronounced during this time. His visits were frequent, and he often lingered a bit longer than necessary, his laughter ringing through your home, filling the silence left by Joel. At first, you welcomed his company, finding comfort in his kindness, but gradually you began to notice the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his touch was a little too warm, a little too intentional.

You were oblivious to his growing intentions, too consumed by thoughts of Joel. Every time Paul made a gesture that hinted at something more—like the way he’d offer to carry things for you or the way his smile seemed to brighten when he caught your eye—you brushed it off as friendly camaraderie.

But in the quiet moments, especially as your pregnancy progressed, you couldn’t help but wonder what Joel would say or do. You often imagined him here, by your side, offering his protective presence and the warmth of his love.

One afternoon, while you were resting on the porch, Paul joined you, bringing along a small basket of fruit. “Thought you might like a snack,” he said, settling down beside you. “You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

“Thanks, Paul,” you replied, taking a piece of fruit and munching on it absentmindedly. Your mind drifted, imagining Joel’s voice teasing you about how much you were eating, and you couldn’t suppress a smile at the thought.

Paul watched you, his expression softening as he leaned a bit closer. “You know,” he started, hesitating for a moment as if weighing his words. “You’re pretty amazing. I admire how strong you are, going through all this without—”

“Without Joel?” you interjected gently, your heart clenching at the mention of his name. “I don’t really feel strong. I just… I’m doing what I have to do.”

Paul nodded, a hint of disappointment flickering across his face, but he quickly masked it with a smile. “Right. Just know I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need.”

You offered him a grateful smile, but inside, the ache for Joel was relentless. You wanted to believe that everything would be okay, that Joel would come back, and that you could return to the life you had built together. But every passing day made the reality of that hope feel more distant.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow across the horizon, you felt the familiar pang of loneliness creeping back in. You were in Jackson, surrounded by people, yet the emptiness inside you was profound. No amount of comfort from Paul could fill the void that Joel had left behind.

February 15

It’s been weeks since Joel left, and I’m still struggling to accept it. I find myself waking up each morning, hoping that it was all just a nightmare, but the empty side of the bed reminds me of the truth. I miss him more than I can put into words.

Tommy and Maria have been amazing, and I’m grateful for their support. They try to keep me distracted, to make me feel like I’m not alone, but the truth is that every moment feels heavy without him here. Even the laughter we share feels tinged with sadness. I want to be strong, for my baby and for Joel, but some days, it feels like an impossible task.

And then there’s Paul. He’s kind and thoughtful, and I can see that he cares about me. I appreciate everything he does, but it feels wrong to let myself lean on him. My heart belongs to Joel, and nothing will change that. I’m still waiting for him to come back, to hold me again and make everything feel right.

I can’t shake the fear that I might never see him again. What if something happened? What if he’s in pain? My heart aches with every unanswered question. I wish I could tell him that I love him, that I’m thinking of him every second of the day.

But then, I think of the baby. The baby needs me to be strong. I need to focus on keeping myself healthy for them, even when it feels like my heart is breaking. I can’t forget about them in the midst of all this pain.

I keep reminding myself that I’m not alone. I have Tommy and Maria, and even Paul, though it feels complicated sometimes. I just wish I could feel whole again.

As I sit here writing, holding onto this shirt of Joel's, I hope that wherever he is, he knows how much I love him. I hope he’s safe and that he’s thinking of me too. I’ll keep writing until he returns. It’s the only way I know how to keep our story alive.”

It was one of those quiet evenings when the weight of Joel's absence seemed unbearable. You hadn’t seen much of Tommy or Maria that day, and Dr. Paul had stopped by as usual. This time, though, he lingered longer, suggesting he bring you dinner to keep you company. You hesitated, but the idea of eating alone in the house that felt more like a stranger’s shelter than a home wore on you. So, reluctantly, you agreed.

The two of you sat across from each other at the small table, plates of food in front of you, but you barely touched yours. Paul, on the other hand, seemed relaxed, making light conversation about the community, about his work. You nodded along, offering small smiles, but your mind wandered, as it always did, back to Joel.

After a while, Paul cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between bites. His eyes lingered on you, a softness there that made you shift uncomfortably in your seat. "You know," he began, his voice gentle but carrying a certain weight, "you won’t be able to do this alone forever."

You furrowed your brows, not quite following. "What do you mean?"

Paul leaned forward slightly, his expression serious, yet warm. "Raising a baby... it’s not something you should have to handle on your own. You’ll need someone by your side. Someone who can help you, take care of you and the baby."

Your heart skipped a beat at the insinuation, and for a moment, the room felt too small. The air thickened as you stared at him, realization dawning slowly. He wasn’t just offering help out of kindness. There was something more to his visits, to his attentiveness, something you hadn’t seen until now.

You swallowed hard, a flash of anger mixing with the ache of missing Joel. You pushed your plate away, your appetite completely gone now. "Joel’s gonna get back," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. "He’s coming back."

Paul blinked, taken aback by your response. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours as if trying to figure out how to respond. "I understand that you care for Joel," he said carefully, his tone measured, "but he left, didn’t he? He made a choice."

Your jaw tightened, defensive walls going up. "I don’t care about Joel. I love him. I’m in love with him. He’s doing what he has to. He’s coming back for us. I know it."

Paul’s gaze softened, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes—concern, perhaps, or frustration. “I just don’t want you to set yourself up for heartbreak. You deserve to have someone who’s here for you now, not just someone you hope will come back.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “You don’t know what we have, Paul. You don’t understand the bond we built, the things we’ve been through together.”

His expression shifted slightly, a mix of empathy and something you couldn’t quite place. “And I respect that. But you also need to think about your future—about your baby. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he’s...”

“Stop,” you interrupted, the word bursting from you like a shield. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. I won’t allow myself to entertain that thought. Joel will come back for us and before the baby arrives.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the only sounds coming from the gentle crackling of the fire in the corner and the distant hum of life outside. You could feel the weight of the unspoken hanging between you, a chasm created by the gulf of your differing hopes.

Paul opened his mouth, clearly torn on how to respond. “Look, I’m not trying to come between you two. I just—”

“I know,” you interjected, your voice calmer now, but still firm. “You care. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, for the baby. But my heart belongs to Joel, and it always will. It’s not fair to me or to him to act like that connection doesn’t exist just because he’s not here right now.”

Paul sighed, leaning back in his chair with a resigned expression. “Okay. I hear you. But just know that I’m here for you, no matter what. Whether it’s just as a friend or... more. Just think about it, alright?”

You nodded, though your heart felt heavy. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he wanted to help. But every time you thought of Joel, a warmth spread through you that no one else could replicate.

“Thanks, Paul,” you said quietly, forcing a small smile. “But I think you should go.”

Paul's face fell at your words, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. The warmth that had been there moments before faded, replaced by a guarded expression. “I understand,” he replied softly, his voice steady despite the obvious hurt. “I just wanted to help you, to be there for you in any way I could.”

You felt a pang of guilt for turning him away, but you had to be firm. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Paul. Really. But from now on, I think it’s best if we keep things more... professional. I need to focus on me and the baby right now. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

He nodded slowly, processing your words. “Of course. I can respect that,” he said, though the disappointment lingered in his eyes. “I’ll check on the baby and make sure you’re both doing okay, but I won’t push for anything more.”

“Thank you,” you said, relieved that he seemed to understand. “That’s all I need for now. Just someone who can help with check-ups and advice. No more dinners or flowers or anything like that. I need to keep my mind clear.”

Paul inhaled deeply, nodding again. “I get it. I really do. Just know that if you ever change your mind or need anything, I’m here.”

As he stood up to leave, the atmosphere in the room shifted, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging heavily in the air. You felt a mix of sadness and relief wash over you, knowing that you had made the right choice for your heart, but also recognizing the friendship that was slipping away.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softening again as he moved toward the door. “And take care of that little one. I’ll be around to check on you both.”

“Thanks, Paul,” you replied, forcing a smile even though your heart felt heavy. As he stepped outside, the door closing gently behind him, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You stared at the empty chair where he had just sat, the silence of the room settling around you. The reality of your situation loomed large; you were alone in a world where you were still waiting for Joel, still holding onto hope. The ache of missing him was as familiar as the beating of your heart, a constant reminder that some connections could never truly be replaced.

As you turned your gaze back to the window, you let your thoughts drift once more to Joel, the warmth of his memory wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You closed your eyes and whispered his name, hoping with all your heart that he was safe, that he was thinking of you too, and that one day soon, he would return to fill the void in your life.

You were about to give birth and Joel would be here by then.

The day had finally arrived, but as you lay in the infirmary, the pain of contractions rippled through you, sharper than you could have imagined. Each wave of discomfort was accompanied by a fresh wave of disappointment and anger, emotions that seemed to swirl together in a chaotic dance within you.

You gripped the edge of the bed, trying to focus on your breathing, but it felt impossible to push away the nagging thought that Joel should have been there. This was a moment that deserved his presence, his strength. You had envisioned him by your side, his reassuring voice guiding you through the pain, just as he had done so many times before. But instead, you were alone, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and the sterile smell of antiseptic.

“Just breathe, you’re doing great,” Paul said, trying to offer comfort as he checked your progress. His voice was calm and steady, but it did little to soothe the tumult inside you. You could sense his concern, but all you could think about was Joel, his absence a heavy weight on your chest.

“Where is he?” you gasped, the question slipping from your lips, filled with a mix of desperation and fury. “He should be here! He promised... he would be back.” The words came out more like a plea, the frustration boiling beneath the surface as you fought against the pain.

Paul exchanged a worried glance with the Tommy and Marie before looking back at you. “I know you’re scared. But you need to focus on the baby right now. You can do this.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to focus on the here and now, but every wave of pain brought Joel’s face to your mind, and with it, a sharp pang of grief. Tommy’s hand was on yours, a steady, reassuring presence. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, though his voice sounded distant, almost muffled. “Just a little longer.”

You barely heard him, your thoughts swirling. The pressure built, and a cry escaped your lips as another contraction tore through you. Maria was on your other side, her face tight with worry. "Just breathe," she urged. "You're almost there."

You squeezed Tommy's hand harder, your nails digging into his skin, but he didn’t flinch. Finally, there was a moment of stillness, a pause in the storm of pain. You felt the baby slide free, and then there was a new sound, thin and high-pitched, cutting through the air, the cry of a newborn.

But instead of relief, a hollow feeling settled in your chest. Your breath hitched, and your eyes remained tightly shut, refusing to open, refusing to acknowledge what had just happened.

Maria moved quickly, wrapping the baby in a soft blanket, her eyes filled with tears as she turned to you. "It’s a girl," she whispered, her voice soft, almost reverent. "A beautiful, healthy girl."

You didn’t look. You couldn’t. “No,” you muttered, shaking your head weakly. “I… I don’t want to see her.”

Maria hesitated, a look of confusion flashing across her face. “But… she’s your baby,” she urged gently. "She's right here. She's perfect."

Tommy glanced at Maria, then back at you, a look of worry crossing his face. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, “what’s going on? You’ve been waiting for this, for her. She’s your daughter.”

You felt a sob catch in your throat, the words clawing to get out. "I can’t… I can’t do this," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Not without him. I can't..."

The room fell into a heavy silence, Maria and Tommy exchanging a look filled with unspoken concern. Tommy’s face softened, his grip on your hand tightening. “He’ll come back,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “Joel will come back. You know he would never leave you like this… not for good.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. "He left," you murmured, your voice trembling. "He left, and I don't know if he’s ever coming back. I don’t know how to do this without him. I don’t want to… I can’t look at her."

Maria’s expression softened, and she gently handed the baby to a nearby nurse, who took the little girl away for a moment. "It’s okay,” Maria whispered, sitting closer to you. "It's okay to be scared. It's okay to feel lost."

Your chest tightened, a sob breaking free from your lips. “I just… I needed him to be here,” you confessed, your voice small and broken. “I needed him, and he’s gone.”

Tommy rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, his eyes filled with empathy. "I know," he said quietly. "I know it hurts. But you’re not alone, okay? We’re here, Maria and I… all of Jackson is here for you. And Joel… I believe he’ll come back. You have to believe that too."

You closed your eyes again, feeling the exhaustion settling over you like a heavy blanket. "I don’t know how to feel," you whispered, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

Tommy sighed, nodding slowly. “Take your time,” he murmured. “We’re not going anywhere. And when you’re ready… your little girl will be here, waiting for you.”

Maria reached out, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered softly. “And she needs her mom. But we’ll take care of her for now. We’ll make sure she’s safe. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You nodded, barely, a sense of numbness spreading through you. Somewhere, deep inside, you wanted to believe that Joel would walk through that door any second now, that he’d see his daughter, hold her, and everything would be okay.

But until then, all you could do was wait.

A few hours later, the room had quieted down, the dim light from a nearby lamp casting soft shadows on the walls. You felt a heavy exhaustion weighing down on you, a bone-deep tiredness that seemed to seep into every part of your being. The adrenaline from the birth had faded, leaving you with a hollow ache that was more emotional than physical.

The door creaked open, and you heard the footsteps before you saw him.

Paul stepped inside, a gentle smile on his face. “Hey there,” he said softly, his voice low to avoid startling you. “How are you holding up?”

You nodded slightly, trying to muster a smile despite the emotional weight in your heart. “I’m okay. Just... tired.”

He moved closer, clearing his throat, looking down at you with a polite but firm expression. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low in the quiet room. “I know it’s been a lot, and you’re tired… but your baby girl needs to be fed.”

You turned your head away, staring at the wall, trying to ignore the tightening in your chest. You weren’t ready. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He took a step closer, his voice growing softer, almost coaxing. “She’s hungry. And the sooner you start, the better it’ll be for both of you. I know this is hard, but…” He hesitated, a slight frown creasing his brow. “She needs her mom.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling a spark of irritation at his words. "I can’t," you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. “Not now.”

He sighed, moving to the edge of the bed, his eyes searching your face for something, understanding, maybe. “Look, I get it,” he began, his tone more insistent. “But you can’t just leave her to starve. You’re all she has right now. You’re her whole world.”

You shot him a sharp glance, your frustration bubbling up. "I said no," you replied, your voice firmer this time. “Get someone else to feed her.”

Paul’s expression tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "There isn't anyone else,” he pressed. “We don’t have a lot of resources here, and formula is limited. You have to do this, or she’ll suffer.”

The weight of his words hit you, but so did his tone. The way he seemed to be blaming you, as if it was your fault that you were too broken, too overwhelmed to even look at your own child.

Maria, who had been hovering nearby, stepped forward, placing a calming hand on the doctor’s arm. “Paul, give her a minute, okay?” she said softly but firmly. “She’s just been through a lot. Let’s give her some space.”

He nodded, reluctantly stepping back. "I’m just saying,” he muttered, his gaze flicking back to you. "She’s going to need her mother sooner rather than later."

He turned and left the room, his footsteps fading down the hallway. Maria watched him go, then turned back to you, her eyes filled with empathy. She reached out, gently squeezing your hand. “I know he can be a bit… pushy,” she said quietly, “but he’s right about one thing. She does need you.”

You swallowed hard, tears stinging your eyes again. “I just… I can’t face her, Maria,” you confessed, your voice breaking. “Not when I feel like this. Not without Joel.”

Maria nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I get it,” she whispered. “But you’re stronger than you think. And that little girl… she’s a part of you. And Joel, too.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you felt the weight of them settle in your heart. You were afraid — of loving this child, of losing her, of losing another part of yourself if Joel never came back. But there was also a flicker of something else, something deep and primal — the instinct to protect, to care, to nurture.

“I’ll bring her in,” Maria offered gently, “just for a moment. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Just… see her. That’s all.”

You hesitated, then slowly nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. Maria gave you a small smile, squeezing your hand again before leaving the room.

A few moments later, she returned with a tiny bundle in her arms. Your baby. So small, so fragile. The baby’s eyes were closed, her tiny mouth opening and closing in search of comfort.

Maria carefully placed her in your arms, and for the first time, you looked down at your daughter. Her face was so small, her skin so soft, and suddenly, without warning, a sob broke free from your chest. The sight of her, the feel of her warmth against you, tore through all the walls you’d built.

She was a piece of you. And a piece of Joel. And despite everything, despite the pain, the fear, the uncertainty, she was here, and she was yours.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the tears flow freely down your cheeks. “Hey, little one,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

The baby stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open for the briefest moment, and in that instant, you felt a small spark of something in your chest, a tiny flicker of love, a tiny piece of you.

"Hi, baby Rosie," you whispered softly, naming her after the flowers you’d always loved, the ones that somehow still managed to grow even in the worst conditions. The name felt right, like a promise of something beautiful amidst all the harshness. Rosie shifted slightly, her tiny fingers curling against your chest, and a small, tender smile broke through your tears.

Maria’s smile widened, a warm, proud light in her eyes. "That’s a beautiful name," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "Rosie… it suits her."

Just then, Tommy stepped into the room, his footsteps soft but purposeful. His gaze fell on you, cradling Rosie in your arms, and his face softened into a gentle, almost surprised smile. "Well, look at that," he said quietly, moving closer, his eyes never leaving the small bundle in your arms. "That’s my niece."

He came to your side, glancing at Maria for a moment, then back to you. There was something in his expression — a mix of relief, pride, and a kind of cautious joy. He looked down at Rosie, and you could see his eyes glisten just a little. "She’s beautiful," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat.

You nodded, your own emotions swirling, a strange mix of overwhelming love and the lingering ache of uncertainty. “She is,” you agreed softly, glancing down at your daughter. “She’s so… tiny.”

Tommy chuckled, his smile growing wider. “Yeah, they start that way,” he teased gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before his hand lightly brushed Rosie’s head. “Hey there, Rosie,” he murmured. “You’re gonna be just fine. Got your mama right here… and your uncle Tommy, too.”

Maria moved closer, wrapping an arm around Tommy’s waist. “We’re all here,” she added, her voice soft but firm. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it. You’ve got us.”

You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, grateful for their presence, their support, and their love. It didn’t erase the pain or the uncertainty, but it made it a little easier to bear. Holding Rosie closer, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel the warmth of this moment, to hope — even just a little — that things might be okay.

Rosie let out a tiny yawn, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a small smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you whispered, glancing up at Tommy and Maria. "For being here… for everything."

Tommy gave a slight nod, his expression tender. "We're family," he replied simply. "That’s what we do."

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. Rosie began to fuss in your arms, her tiny mouth opening and closing, searching. You glanced at Maria, who gave you an encouraging nod. "It’s okay," she whispered. "She’s hungry."

You adjusted your position on the bed, feeling a mix of nervousness and instinct kicking in. As you began to unbutton your shirt to feed Rosie, you noticed Tommy standing awkwardly nearby, his eyes wide as he realized what was about to happen.

His face turned a shade redder, and he quickly looked away, trying to give you privacy. “Uh… yeah, I’ll just… I’ll, uh… step out,” he stammered, taking a step back toward the door. He paused for a moment, then added with a slight grin, “And don’t worry, I’ll never tell Joel I saw this.”

Maria burst out laughing at his awkwardness, shaking her head. “Oh, come on, Tommy. It’s just feeding a baby. You’ve seen worse.”

Tommy’s smile widened, though he kept his gaze firmly on the floor. "Yeah, but Joel’s my brother, and I don’t think he’d appreciate me having a front-row seat to… this," he muttered, his voice light with humor but his discomfort still clear.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, a bit of tension easing from your shoulders. “Thanks, Tommy,” you said, grateful for the attempt at levity in such a raw moment. “And yeah, maybe keep this one to yourself.”

Tommy gave you a playful salute. “You got it,” he said before slipping out of the room, leaving you with Maria and Rosie.

Maria moved closer, her smile warm and understanding. “You’re doing great,” she murmured. “And don’t mind Tommy. He’s just being… well, Tommy.”

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease. Rosie’s small movements brought your attention back to her, and you focused on the task at hand. You guided her to latch, feeling a mix of discomfort and wonder as she began to feed. For a moment, all the noise in your mind quieted, and there was just the steady rhythm of her tiny breaths, the rise and fall of your chest, and the warmth of her against you.

Maria watched with a soft smile, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding. "See?" she whispered. "You’ve got this."

You nodded slowly, a small, tentative smile forming on your lips. Maybe, just maybe, you did.

A month had passed since Rosie was born, and the world outside felt heavier than ever. Each day, you rose with the sun, cradling your baby and navigating the delicate balance of motherhood in a world that seemed intent on breaking you. But the absence of Joel loomed larger than any other burden. His absence echoed through the quiet of your days, a painful reminder of the love you’d lost amid the chaos.

As you paced the small living space, the walls felt like they were closing in on you. The gentle cooing of Rosie contrasted sharply with the storm brewing in your heart. Every time you glanced at her, you felt a pang of anger bubble up — anger at the universe for taking him from you, anger at yourself for being so vulnerable, and anger at the endless cycle of survival that left little room for hope.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, Rosie cradled against your chest, her tiny fingers clutching your shirt. She was so innocent, so unaware of the weight that pressed down on you. You fought back tears as you watched her, the small signs of growth reminding you of everything you wished could be different. It felt unfair that she had to grow up in this world without her father, without the love and protection he could provide.

A knock at the door jolted you from your thoughts. You looked over, half-expecting to see Joel standing there, but when you opened the door, it was Tommy. His face bore the lines of concern, but you couldn't muster the energy to reciprocate his warmth.

"Hey," he greeted softly, stepping inside and glancing at Rosie, who had fallen asleep against you. “She’s getting so big.”

You forced a smile, but it felt like a mask over the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Yeah," you said, your voice lacking its usual warmth. "She is."

Tommy shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s been tough… I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.”

You couldn’t hold back the anger any longer. “What I’m feeling? I’m feeling like a single mother in a godforsaken world with no sign of the man I love! He should be here with us, Tommy!” Your voice raised, the emotion pouring out like a floodgate unleashed.

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” he replied, his tone gentle but firm. “But we’re doing everything we can to find him. You have to believe that.”

You shook your head, stepping away from the door, feeling the walls close in even more. “What’s the point? What if he doesn’t come back? What if he never gets to meet Rosie? I can’t keep living in this limbo, waiting for something that might never happen.”

Tommy’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “You’re not alone, you know? Maria and I are here for you. We want to help however we can.”

You huffed, crossing your arms defensively. “Help? You can’t bring him back. No one can.” You paused. “Maria is carrying your child, Tommy. You must worry about her.”

“I do. And I also care for my niece and my sister-in-law” he answered.

You could see the sincerity in his eyes, but your frustration bubbled just below the surface. “That doesn’t change the fact that Joel should be here. He’s missing, and I can’t just sit back and pretend everything’s fine while you and Maria are about to become parents. It feels… unfair.”

Tommy’s expression grew serious. “I know it’s not easy, but you can’t push us away. We want to be here for you and Rosie. And just because Maria and I are starting a family doesn’t mean we care any less about you. We’re all in this together.”

You turned away, staring at the wall, feeling the weight of his words. Part of you wanted to reject his offer of support, to wallow in your pain and anger, but another part craved the connection and the reassurance that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you felt.

“Why can’t you just understand how hard this is for me?” you said, your voice trembling. “Every time I look at Rosie, I see everything I’ve lost. I can’t bear the thought of loving her and then losing her too.”

Tommy stepped closer, his voice lowering to a gentle tone. “You’re not going to lose her. And you’re not losing Joel either. He’s out there, and we’ll do everything we can to bring him back. But you have to let us help you through this. It’s okay to be scared, to feel overwhelmed. You don’t have to go through it all alone.”

You met his gaze, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you found was unwavering support. Taking a deep breath, you let the anger fade just a little, allowing the vulnerability to seep in.

“Okay,” you said quietly, finally letting the walls you’d built start to crumble. “Maybe I don’t know how to be strong all the time. Maybe I do need help.”

Tommy’s face broke into a warm smile, relief washing over him. “Good. Let’s take it one day at a time. I’ll help however I can. We can figure out feeding routines, and I can take care of some chores around here. Just… don’t shut us out.”

You nodded slowly, “Thank you.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the past month’s isolation slowly lifting. It wasn’t that you didn’t want help; it was that the fear of losing Joel had wrapped around you like a shroud, making it hard to see a way forward. But with Tommy’s support, a small crack of light broke through.

“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggested, his voice lightening a bit. “How about I take Rosie for a bit while you get some rest? You look like you could use it.”

You hesitated, glancing at the tiny bundle in your arms. “Are you sure? I don’t want to overwhelm you with her.”

Tommy chuckled softly, a hint of warmth in his voice. “I promise, I can handle a baby. Besides, I want to get to know my niece. Just give me a moment.”

You reluctantly handed Rosie over, your heart fluttering with both anxiety and relief. Watching as Tommy cradled her, a gentle smile on his face, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort in knowing she was with family.

“See? She’s in good hands,” he assured you, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “I’ll take good care of her. You just take some time for yourself.”

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease. “Okay. Just for a little while.”

As Tommy settled into the rocking chair with Rosie, you stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind you. The moment you were alone, you felt the remnants of tension seep from your body, leaving you a bit lighter.

You made your way to the small bathroom, splashing cool water on your face and letting the sensation ground you. Your reflection in the mirror was a reminder of the past weeks — the sleepless nights, the tears, the fear. But beneath it all, you also saw a flicker of resilience.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped back into the living area, where the sounds of Tommy cooing at Rosie filled the space. It was a simple moment, but it felt monumental. You could see how much Tommy genuinely cared, and the thought made your heart swell.

As you joined them, settling onto the couch across from him, you watched the two of them. “What are you talking about?” you asked, a playful curiosity tugging at your lips.

Tommy looked up with a grin. “Just telling her all the stories about her uncle. I was quite the troublemaker, you know.”

“Oh really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine that.”

He laughed; the sound infectious. “You should have seen me. I could charm anyone out of trouble… except for Joel. He always saw right through me.”

You felt a small smile break through as you listened to him reminisce. It was a distraction you desperately needed, a chance to be reminded of the good things in life even amidst the chaos.

As the minutes passed, you began to feel a shift within yourself — a softening of the hard edges that grief had carved into your heart. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they once seemed. Maybe, with time and support, you could learn to navigate this new chapter alongside Rosie, surrounded by family who cared.

And as you watched Tommy bounce Rosie gently, you allowed yourself to entertain a sliver of hope. Perhaps Joel would find his way back to you, and until then, you had a new purpose to embrace, even in the absence of the one you loved.

A few days later, the air in the infirmary was thick with the familiar scent of antiseptic and the quiet hum of muted conversations. You sat on a worn-out chair, cradling Rosie in your arms as you watched Paul examine her. The little one was wrapped snugly in a soft blanket, her tiny features serene as she slept.

Paul, focused on his task, checked Rosie’s vitals, his brow furrowed in concentration. You could see the care in his movements, the way he gently examined her delicate limbs and listened to her heartbeat. After a moment, he straightened up, turning his attention to you.

“She’s doing well,” he said, a hint of relief in his voice. “Gaining weight, which is a good sign. Just keep an eye on her feeding schedule.”

You nodded, feeling a swell of pride. “I’ve been trying my best.”

Paul offered a small smile before his expression shifted, becoming more serious. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Okay,” you replied, bracing yourself for what might come next.

Paul’s gaze dropped, and he took a deep breath before speaking again. “See, I told you he wasn’t going to come back.”

The words struck you like a blow, igniting a spark of anger deep within. “What do you mean?” you snapped, your voice rising. “You’re just going to give up on him like that?”

“I'm not giving up,” Paul said quickly, his tone defensive. “I’m trying to prepare you for the reality of this situation.”

“Reality?” you echoed, disbelief flooding your voice. “You think I don’t know what reality is? You think I want to believe he’s gone? I can’t just accept that!”

He held up his hands, trying to calm the storm brewing inside you. “I understand. But holding onto hope for too long can be dangerous. It can lead to more pain.”

“More pain?” you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “You think I haven’t felt pain? You think it doesn’t hurt to think about him every single day, wondering if he’s, okay? Wondering if he’s thinking of us?”

Paul’s expression softened, but the seriousness remained. “I just don’t want you to be hurt even more when the reality sinks in.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks, frustration and sorrow bubbling beneath the surface. “You don’t get to dictate how I feel, Paul! You can’t just stand there and tell me to give up on someone I love. Joel is out there. I know he is. He wouldn’t leave us. He wouldn’t abandon me and Rosie.”

“I wish I could believe that as much as you do,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you need to face the possibility that he’s not coming back. It’s not about giving up; it’s about being realistic.”

“Realistic?” you shot back, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “You think being realistic means I should stop hoping? That I should stop fighting for him? You’re wrong. If there’s even the slightest chance that he’s out there, I’m not going to let it go. Not now, not ever.”

Paul stepped closer; concern etched on his face. “You can’t do this alone. You need support, and right now, your focus should be on Rosie. She needs you.”

The mention of Rosie made the anger in your chest swirl into something more painful—guilt. “I know she needs me,” you said, your voice dropping. “But how can I be there for her when a part of me feels like it’s dying inside? How can I pretend everything is okay when I’m terrified of what the future holds without him?”

Paul’s expression softened further, and for a moment, you could see the struggle in his eyes. “I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m just trying to help you navigate this. You’re not alone in this fight, and we’re all here for you, ready to support you.”

Taking a deep breath, you felt the walls you had built around your heart beginning to crack. “I don’t want to lose him, Paul. I can’t. Not now, when I finally have a family of my own.”

“Then let us help you,” he urged, his voice earnest. “Let us be your family. We’ll do this together, one day at a time.”

You met his gaze, searching for a glimmer of hope, and found only sincerity. “I don’t know how,” you admitted, feeling the weight of your despair.

“Just start by being present,” he said gently. “For Rosie. For yourself. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. You’re stronger than you think, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

You shook your head, “No. I will never going to feel love for you, Paul”

Paul’s expression shifted, a mix of surprise and hurt flashing across his face. “I wasn’t asking you to love me,” he said, his voice steady but laced with disappointment. “I’m just trying to be here for you, to help you through this.”

“Help? You mean take Joel’s place?” you shot back, frustration bubbling over. “I can’t just forget about him, Paul. I won’t. I loved him, and I still do.”

“I get that,” he replied, his tone softening. “But you need to start living for yourself and Rosie. Holding onto Joel’s memory is one thing, but shutting everyone else out is another. You’re pushing away the people who care about you.”

You carefully shifted Rosie in your arms, holding her close as you locked eyes with Paul. “It’s her and me and Tommy and Maria; they are my family,” you said firmly, the protective instinct for your little girl rising within you. “You will never be part of that.”

Paul’s face fell, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air. “I understand that you feel this way, but it doesn’t mean you have to shut everyone out,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness.

“I’m sorry for being honest about it,” you continued, feeling a mixture of regret and resolve. “But having a daughter and being alone doesn’t make me a damsel in distress. I’m doing the best I can, and I won’t pretend to want something I don’t.”

His brows furrowed, and he took a step back as if your words had physically struck him. “I never thought of you as a damsel in distress. I see your strength, but it’s hard to see you pushing away those who want to help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I appreciate that you care, Paul, but I don’t want help that comes with strings attached,” you insisted. “You may want to be there for me, but I’m not ready for that. My focus is Rosie, and I need to figure this out on my own.”

“I just want to be a part of your life, to support you both,” he replied, his voice softening. “I know it’s not easy, but I can be there for you without trying to replace Joel. I can respect that.”

You felt your heart ache “I said no.”

You felt your heart ache as the weight of his words hung in the air. “I said no,” you reiterated firmly, standing up from the chair, cradling Rosie closer to your chest. “I can’t do this right now, Paul. I need space.”

Paul opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, but then he hesitated, the look in his eyes shifting from concern to resignation. “I get it,” he said softly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just want what’s best for you and Rosie.”

You turned away, the tears threatening to spill over as you fought to keep your composure. “What’s best for me is to be left alone to figure this out. I have to focus on my daughter.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and tense. You could feel Paul’s gaze on you, a mix of hurt and confusion in his expression, but you steeled yourself against it. You couldn’t let the guilt of his disappointment sway your decision.

“I’ll come back for the check-up,” you said, your voice shaking slightly. “But I need time to breathe, Paul. Please respect that.”

As you moved toward the door, you felt a pang of regret and relief. You opened the door, taking one last look at him. His expression was concerned and sad, but you knew this was what you needed.

As you stepped back into your small, cozy home, the door closing softly behind you, the weight of the world seemed to lift, even if just for a moment. You looked down at Rosie, her tiny eyes fluttering as she began to settle in your arms. Her soft breath was a reminder that despite everything, there was love and hope right here in your arms.

“Shh, Rosie. We’re home now,” you whispered gently, brushing your lips against her forehead. “It’s just you and me, baby girl. We’re gonna be okay.”

Her little hand gripped your shirt, and the corners of your mouth tugged into a small smile. The bond you felt with her was something no one could break. As you moved toward the rocking chair by the window, the soft glow of the setting sun bathed the room in a warm light. You gently lowered yourself into the chair, cradling Rosie close, rocking her slowly.

"You're so beautiful, Rosie," you murmured, watching her tiny face relax into sleep. "Your daddy would love you so much. He'll love you so much when he gets back. He’s coming back, sweetheart. I know he is."

The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that usually made your heart ache with Joel's absence. But tonight, with Rosie in your arms, that silence felt different—more peaceful, fuller. You hummed softly, rocking back and forth as Rosie’s breathing became steadier.

A melody drifted from your lips, a lullaby that Joel had once hummed to you on restless nights:

"Hush now, my darling, close your eyes,

The world is waiting, but not tonight."

Your voice trembled at the end, a lump forming in your throat as you pictured Joel. You imagined him here, sitting beside you, watching Rosie with that rare, soft smile he reserved for moments when his guard was down. He would hold her, kiss her tiny forehead, and tell you everything was going to be alright.

But as you sang, the warmth of Rosie’s little body against yours made you feel stronger than you thought you could be. She was the piece of Joel you held onto, the reminder of the life you were fighting to build, even if he wasn’t here now. You kissed her head, breathing in her soft baby scent, as you whispered the last words of the song:

"Sleep now, my love, you're safe in my arms,

One day you'll see all the world’s gleams.

But for today's, it's just you and me,

And we’ll wait for him, just wait and see."

Tears pricked your eyes, but this time, there was a sense of peace. You had your daughter, and she had you. For now, that was enough.

You rocked Rosie gently, her tiny body sinking deeper into sleep with each passing minute. Her soft breathing was steady, and her hand had finally relaxed its grip on your shirt. Carefully, you rose from the rocking chair, cradling her to your chest as you walked across the room to her crib.

“There you are, baby girl,” you whispered as you placed her down, tucking a blanket around her small form. Her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, her little face serene in the dim light of the room. For a moment, everything felt calm, as though the world outside didn't exist.

Just as you turned, a quiet knock came from the open door. You spun around to see Tommy standing there, a small smile on his face.

"Hey," he whispered, but the sound was still too loud in the quiet room.

You held a finger to your lips, motioning toward the crib. "Shh, Rosie just fell asleep," you murmured, stepping toward him.

Tommy nodded, lowering his voice further. “Sorry ‘bout that. I was just checkin’ in…”

Before you could respond, you noticed someone, standing behind Tommy, half-hidden by the doorframe. You blinked, your breath catching in your throat, your heart pounding in your ears.

It was Joel.

Your mind struggled to process the sight of him, standing there, looking worn and weary but alive. The moment stretched out as if time had slowed. His eyes, filled with an intensity you hadn’t seen in months, locked onto yours. It was as though the entire world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

Ellie was there too, just behind him. Her gaze seemed lost and weary.

Joel took a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours, but before he could come closer, you found yourself speaking, your voice sharp and surprising even to yourself.

“No.”

He stopped, his expression shifting from relief to confusion. Ellie, standing behind him, looked just as surprised, her eyes wide, and the exhaustion in her posture deepened. The room felt tense, charged with emotions you weren’t ready to face.

“No?” Joel repeated softly, his brows furrowing, unsure of how to respond.

You shook your head, taking a shaky breath. “You left,” you whispered, feeling the weight of months of fear, anger, and hurt bubbling to the surface.

Joel took another cautious step forward, his eyes never leaving yours, searching for any sign of rejection. When he saw none, he closed the distance between you in an instant, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame. The familiar warmth of his embrace washed over you, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

You buried your face in his chest, the weight of everything finally crashing down. His heartbeat was strong and steady, grounding you in a way you had been desperately missing. Joel’s arms tightened around you as if he were afraid to let go, his grip protective, comforting. He pressed his face against the top of your head, exhaling a shaky breath.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered against his chest, your voice breaking. The tears came then, spilling over as months of fear, anger, and loneliness poured out of you all at once. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with guilt. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Tags 💌: @jasminedragoon @orcasoul @missladym1981 @hiroikegawa @eleganthottubfun @lumpypoll @cuteanimalmama @thespookywookies @goodvibesonly421 @karaslqve @greenwitchfromthewoods @somedayheaven @bambisweethearts @joelsteinfeld @guelyury @biapascal @picketniffler @mrsyixingunicorn10 @httpvomitello @kulekehe @callmecath1 @persephone-girl @colmiillo

If you want to be removed, feel free to tell me.

[writingwisterias]

Day 1: Breeding Kink

DI! Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Breeding Kink, Mentions of Pregnancy, Body Changes, Masterlist Day 1! Let's go! Hope you enjoy ~ Mads <3

At first, both of you hated the idea of going to your cousin's wedding. The two of you would much rather stay at home than endure the small talk of the family. Your dress clung to the curves of your body in such a perfect way it almost made Leon fall to the floor when he saw you leave the bedroom this morning. The ceremony was beautiful, held in such a magical place he loved seeing you take mental notes throughout the day fiddling with the expensive ring on your finger. The same one everyone had fawned over all night, prying for details about the intimate moment you both shared. You smiled at him from across the room, the small children surrounding you as you took turns dancing with them. He couldn't help but wonder about the future of you two and the way you would act with your children. “She’s a natural they always love their auntie” Your mum spoke from beside him. He was impressed by the woman's ability to sneak up on him despite his year's worth of training, perhaps he was just too smitten with you. “She sure is” He responded. Your mother just chuckled, not failing to notice the expression on Leon’s face as he watched you play with the children. The smile on your face was bright enough to light up the room. 

He watched as you twirled each child around, making sure they all had their moment. He barely heard your mother’s dismissal, her laugh fading to the background as he made his way across the dance floor to you. Your eyes lit up as he presented his hand to you, a dramatic bow followed as the children laughed at his antics. “May I have this dance?” He spoke, his signature grin spread across his face as his eyes flicked up towards you. Your hand was small and gentle in comparison to his.“You may” You chuckled as he whisked you away. His arm encirling around your waist tugging you close to him. Your head rested on his chest as you swayed to the slow music. Both of you fade amongst the crowd of the other couples. 

Leon rested his chin on the top of your head, placing a small kiss against your crown. “I’ve been thinking” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the night. “That’s never good” You retorted, a giggle leaving your lips as he feigned offence. “What if we had one?” He asked. The question was lost to you for a second, the intention behind his words unclear until you turned towards where the children were now running around playing tag together. You had never spoken about this before, always opting for him to approach you with the topic when he was ready. “I wouldn’t object” Your reply was simple, and straight to the point. It left him thinking as he continued to hold you close, allowing him to process the information and take the lead on the subject as a whole. 

As the night continued the more he thought about it. He watched you flutter around the room with your siblings. He found himself imagining what your frame would look like with a swollen belly, which is evidence of his claim on you. His jealousy always ran hot whenever someone would approach you, his deep routed insecurities of never deserving someone as good as you. The ring was evidence that you weren't on the market but never stopped people from trying. There was always an endless supply of men to ward off when you both were out in public. His touches and protectiveness were never enough to show the greedy suitors that you were his and he wasn’t sharing. By the end of the night as you both walked through the corridors of the hotel his cock was already at half mast as he lost himself in the thoughts of impregnating you. 

Leon sat on the bed watching as you slowly began to wind down. His cock throbbed in his restraints as he watched you pull the fabric down your body, your hips shimming as you struggled to get it past. You turned to him in your underwear, a faint blush spreading across your cheeks at his intense stare. “What are you thinking about Leon?” You smiled as you walked over to him now standing between his legs. You could feel his erection through the trousers where it poked at your thigh. Your hands slid underneath the collar of his blazer, taking it off slowly whilst squeezing his biceps. He could see the lust in your eyes - perhaps you were thinking of the same thing? Craving his desires that haven't left his mind since he had started to think about them. “What if we were to try tonight? For a baby I mean” He questioned. You hummed as you pretended to think about it, your answer was clear physically as you began to undo the buttons of his shirt but he needed to hear it verbally. A smile grew on your face you looked down at his eyes maintaining contact as you replied, “Yes, I think that would be great” 

Leon smirked as he stood up from the bed, his form now towering over you. His hands were cold as they caressed your shoulders, moving down to hold your hands. His chapped lips encased your own, pouring love and passion into the kiss as he turned you around. Your knees hit the edge of the bed as you fell backwards onto it, taking his hint and began crawling backwards to the headboard. You watched as he finally shed his clothes, an obvious tent in his boxers as he made his way around the bed towards you. Leon captured lips again in a heated kiss, a small damp spot on his boxers appearing as his cock dribbled out pre cum. “I love you” He murmured into your neck. Your heart swelled with love as he continued his kisses down your body. Sucking soft marks against the curves of your breasts, you arched your back against him, his fingers making quick work on the clasp of your bras as he freed them. “God I can’t wait for these to grow” He chuckled, taking them in his hands and kneading them as he watched your face contort in pleasure. His teeth grazed against the stiffened peaks of your nipples. “What about you love?” he added, stopping his actions as he waited for your reply. “Yes…I want it too…please Leon” You whined your chest arching into your hands desperate for him to continue. Satisfied he continued his journey down towards your pussy, smirking as he saw the outline of your lips from where the fabric began to stick to it. His breath fanned against your clothed pussy cooling your arousal-slicked underwear and making you squirm against the sheets. He pulled his boxers down, smirking as your head popped up to take a look at his length as it sprang free. 

The tip was beading pre cum, the substance wasted as it dribbled down his cock. His fingers slipped underneath your waistband shimmying the underwear down your thighs. He watched as you spread your legs for him, your pussy covered in your own juices just from the ideas he was planting in your head. You felt pressure at your entrance as he lined himself up, his tip slowly entering you as he let out a low groan. Leon felt your velvet walls flutter around his length, it felt like you were moulding for him, eagerly clenching around his shaft as if they were already trying to milk him. “God baby… you're already so prepped for me” He groaned as he looked down at you, meeting your lust-blown eyes. “I’ve been craving this Leon…you spilling so deep inside me” You rambled, your words coming out in small pants as he began to thrust inside you, admiring the white circle that formed at the base of his cock. “I want you to cum inside me and make everyone know who I belong to as my body changes because of what you did to me” 

You felt his cock twitch inside you, his groans now falling into your ear as he pressed himself even further into you. His brain slowly imagines what you would look like as you changed because of what he did. What he was going to do to you. He lifted your leg over his shoulder, the stretch adding an ache that soon washed away to the pleasure at the new angle. His eyes screwed shut as he focused on driving himself into you. The guilt kept trying to creep in at his lack of pleasuring you, focusing only on himself. However, to you seeing him so desperate for this; his mind solely focused on his release inside of you made it so much hotter. With a final groan, he spilled himself inside, his load coating your walls spreading warmth throughout your body. Your orgasm followed shortly after as he continued to bury his seed inside. He wasn’t even pulling out the whole way anymore, just thrusting inside you. He smiled down at you, his grin infectious as he looked at your flushed cheeks. He pulled you in for a kiss, holding you close as he relished in the post-orgasm feeling. Refusing to let his cock slip out of you despite the cum dribbling down his balls from where he remained. You could still feel him twitching inside of you evidence to his brain not leaving the train of thought. “Guess I’m in for a long night?” You chuckled. Leon grinned down at you. “Long night? Baby, I’m not stopping until this takes” 

His fingers caressed your stomach, smiling down at it as his thoughts ran wild.

Taglist: @kasueli @luvrgreyy @michellekmsh @miss0giarra @cinnabunnysavvy @redollface @my-loved-figure-skates @drawboo22 @luvlouiee

[inspireartnotwar]

Art. Can. Die.

This is my battle cry in the face of the silent extinguishing of an entire generation of artists by AI.

And you know what? We can't let that happen. It's not about fighting the future, it's about shaping it on our terms. If you think this is worth fighting for, please share this post. Let's make this debate go viral - because we need to take action NOW.

Remember that even in the darkest of times, creativity always finds a way.

To unleash our true potential, we need first to dive deep into our darkest fears.

So let's do this together:

By the end of 2025, most traditional artist jobs will be gone, replaced by a handful of AI-augmented art directors. Right now, around 5 out of 6 concept art jobs are being eliminated, and it's even more brutal for illustrators. This isn't speculation: it's happening right now, in real-time, across studios worldwide.

At this point, dogmatic thinking is our worst enemy. If we want to survive the AI tsunami of 2025, we need to prepare for a brutal cyberpunk reality that isn’t waiting for permission to arrive. This isn't sci-fi or catastrophism. This is a clear-eyed recognition of the exponential impact AI will have on society, hitting a hockey stick inflection point around April-May this year. By July, February will already feel like a decade ago. This also means that we have a narrow window to adapt, to evolve, and to build something new.

Let me make five predictions for the end of 2025 to nail this out:

Every major film company will have its first 100% AI-generated blockbuster in production or on screen.

Next-gen smartphones will run GPT-4o-level reasoning AI locally.

The first full AI game engine will generate infinite, custom-made worlds tailored to individual profiles and desires.

Unique art objects will reach industrial scale: entire production chains will mass-produce one-of-a-kind pieces. Uniqueness will be the new mass market.

Synthetic AI-generated data will exceed the sum total of all epistemic data (true knowledge) created by humanity throughout recorded history. We will be drowning in a sea of artificial ‘truths’.

For us artists, this means a stark choice: adapt to real-world craftsmanship or high-level creative thinking roles, because mid-level art skills will be replaced by cheaper, AI-augmented computing power.

But this is not the end. This is just another challenge to tackle.

Many will say we need legal solutions. They're not wrong, but they're missing the bigger picture: Do you think China, Pakistan, or North Korea will suddenly play nice with Western copyright laws? Will a "legal" dataset somehow magically protect our jobs? And most crucially, what happens when AI becomes just another tool of control?

Here's the thing - boycotting AI feels right, I get it. But it sounds like punks refusing to learn power chords because guitars are electrified by corporations. The systemic shift at stake doesn't care if we stay "pure", it will only change if we hack it.

Now, the empowerment part: artists have always been hackers of narratives.

This is what we do best: we break into the symbolic fabric of the world, weaving meaning from signs, emotions, and ideas. We've always taken tools never meant for art and turned them into instruments of creativity. We've always found ways to carve out meaning in systems designed to erase it.

This isn't just about survival. This is about hacking the future itself.

We, artists, are the pirates of the collective imaginary. It’s time to set sail and raise the black flag.

I don't come with a ready-made solution.

I don't come with a FOR or AGAINST. That would be like being against the wood axe because it can crush skulls.

I come with a battle cry: let’s flood the internet with debate, creative thinking, and unconventional wisdom. Let’s dream impossible futures. Let’s build stories of resilience - where humanity remains free from the technological guardianship of AI or synthetic superintelligence. Let’s hack the very fabric of what is deemed ‘possible’. And let’s do it together.

It is time to fight back.

Let us be the HumaNet.

Let’s show tech enthusiasts, engineers, and investors that we are not just assets, but the neurons of the most powerful superintelligence ever created: the artist community.

Let's outsmart the machine.

Stéphane Wootha Richard

P.S: This isn't just a message to read and forget. This is a memetic payload that needs to spread.

Send this to every artist in your network.

Copy/paste the full text anywhere you can.

Spread it across your social channels.

Start conversations in your creative communities.

No social platform? Great! That's exactly why this needs to spread through every possible channel, official and underground.

Let's flood the datasphere with our collective debate.

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Hi. Can you write something spicy with Wrecker x f! reader with the prompt 62. “Is that my shirt?” Maybe reader needs new clothes during a mission and she forgets her spares on Kamino, leading her to wear Wrecker's. She takes advantage of the situation to tease him a little, but we know Wrecker is a little innocent, until Crosshair opens his eyes.. "If you don't fu** her, I will." 😂

Hi,

Thank you so much for this request, I absolutely loved writing it!

What's Mine is Yours

While working on a mission on Corellia, a clothing mishap leads to much more than you anticipated.

Pairing: Wrecker x F!reader

Word count: 4.2k

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!

Warnings: accidental clothes sharing, reader described as busty, lewd comment as motivation (one guess who it comes from…), confession of feelings, idiots in love, first kiss, oral (f!receiving), face sitting, fingering, semi-clothed sex, unprotected PiV, squint for size and strength kink.

“Where the hell is it?” You huff, hands scrambling through your backpack as you pull out your belongings, scattering them across the dresser in the dingy hotel room.

You and the boys had been sent to Bela Vistal, a small mountain city on Corellia. The Jedi had caught wind of a shady auction, with whispers of a Holocron up for grabs. It was your job as a squad to scope the place out, gather as much intel as possible, and strike and extract the Holocron if the opportunity presented itself.

By now, you’re used to working with limited information. As a civilian handler, it was your job to fill in the blanks and help the boys with anything they needed to successfully complete their missions – something you’d spent over a year doing remarkably well at. Today that had included wandering around the city with Tech, pretending to be together – out of them all, his appearance was less likely to arouse suspicion. You’d conversed politely with market vendors and cantina owners, asking subtle questions to discover more about the auction.

Ultimately, it had been a fruitless endeavour, and the pair of you had returned to the hotel as the sun had been setting, food in hand. You’d excused yourself after eating, slipping back into your room via the door connecting the two rooms you’d rented for a quick shower.

And now here you were, furiously rifling through your belongings for a clean shirt. You’d packed one; you swore you had. Fingers finding soft fabric, you let out a small noise of triumph, prying the material from your backpack. Towel falling to the floor, you shimmed on a clean pair of panties and some sleep shorts before dragging on the top. Only once it was over your head did you realise something was off. Either you’d suddenly lost a lot of weight or…

Scrambling for the neckline, you twist and turn until you can see the tag and the large ‘W’ sewn into it. “Dank farrik.” You mutter, teeth sinking into your lower lip at the realisation that you’d somehow packed Wrecker’s shirt instead of your own.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at yourself in the mirror on the back of the fresher door. The oversized garment hit mid-thigh, the sleeves extending far beyond your hands. The only saving grace was that your boobs took up enough room that it gave the shirt a little bit of shape. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

The thought of going out into the field wearing Wrecker’s clothing was hilarious, but your laughter soon subsided as you really looked at yourself. Oversized it might be, but it almost…suited you. And though it was clean, you lifted the collar to your nose and inhaled, picking up on a sweet scent that seemed to linger on all of Wrecker’s belongings.

You’d found great comfort in that scent over the last few months, drawn towards Wrecker and his infectious grin. Lips tugging into a smile, a tender warmth spread through you as you thought about the countless times Wrecker had been there to lighten the mood with his quips and laughter and how his protective nature made you feel secure amid the uncertainties of life.

The realisation of what your feelings meant hit you like a wave, and as you stood there, a myriad of emotions swirled within you. The laughter that had filled the room moments ago was replaced by a soft, introspective silence. As you continued to gaze at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but acknowledge the depth of your connection with Wrecker. It went beyond the professional companionship forged across dangerous missions. It was something more personal, something that had quietly grown amidst the chaos of your work.

“Oh, kriff…” You whisper, staring at your own wide-eyed reflection. The sound of a knock on the connecting door interrupts your thoughts. Startled, you turn towards it, momentarily forgetting about the shirt you were wearing. Smoothing down the fabric, you move across to open the door, revealing Hunter.

“Thought you might’ve drowned.” He quips as the door opens; your showers never usually take so long. Gaze dropping down, Hunter takes in the sight of you, chuckling. “Well, looks like you’re drowning, alright.”

“I must’ve grabbed the wrong shirt in our hurry to leave Kamino.” You admit sheepishly, feeling warmth in your cheeks as Hunter steps aside, revealing you to his brothers.

To his credit, Tech offers you a reassuring smile while Crosshair snorts in amusement. But it’s Wrecker’s reaction that catches you off guard the most.

Wrecker’s eyes widen as his gaze rakes down your body. “I-Is that my shirt?” He asks, swallowing thickly. Heat creeps across his cheeks as he admires you, the curves of your body making it look entirely different than it did on him. He can feel the heavy thud of his heart, and for a moment, the room is filled with an almost tangible tension. Wrecker stands frozen, his eyes locked onto you.

“Yeah, I, uh, must’ve grabbed it by mistake.” You stammer, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze.

Wrecker blinks, tearing his eyes away from you to glance at Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair. Hunter raises an eyebrow, clearly finding the situation entertaining but not commenting further. Tech adjusts his goggles, a knowing glint in his eyes, while Crosshair smirks, thoroughly amused. Clearing his throat, Wrecker manages to break the silence. “Well, it looks... good on ya.”

The sincerity in his voice surprises you, and you catch a flicker of something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. You give a nervous laugh, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. “Thanks, Wreck. I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”

“Nah, keep it.” He says quickly, almost too quickly. “Looks better on you anyway.”

The room falls into another awkward silence as Wrecker scratches the back of his head, unsure how to navigate the sudden shift in the atmosphere. It’s rare to see the big, boisterous man at a loss for words.

Hunter, always the pragmatist, breaks the tension. “Alright, enough of the fashion show. We’ve got a mission to focus on.”

The seriousness of the mission looms over the room, momentarily overshadowing the awkwardness. You gather around the table, holomaps of the city and your datapads spread out as you discuss the action plan.

As the discussion progresses, Wrecker finds his eyes straying to you often, trying to commit the vision of you in his clothes to memory, the way it drapes over your frame and the subtle scent of your shampoo that he knows will linger on the garment now too.

The realisation hits him like a ton of bricks – the feelings he’s been trying to suppress, the concern that goes beyond the missions, the warmth he feels when you’re around – it’s all there, staring him in the face.

Wrecker clears his throat again, attempting to focus on the plan you’re all hashing out, not the crazy beating of his heart. He chimes in enthusiastically, but his mind keeps drifting back to you. As the planning continues, Wrecker catches the knowing look Tech throws him. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to concentrate. He wonders if you feel the same, if the newfound awareness is mutual.

Finally, the planning ends, and with your usual round of goodnights, you’re back in your room, the connecting door firmly shut. Only once you’re gone does Wrecker feel like he can breathe again.

“Real subtle there, big guy,” Hunter comments, giving Wrecker’s shoulder a pat as he passes him.

“What?” Wrecker questions, playing dumb. He’s not quite ready to admit his feelings to his brothers; he’s just starting to come to terms with the recent revelation.

None of them are fooled. Tech reaches up, adjusting his goggles. “You were admiring her quite intently.” He points out.

“I would, too, if she were wearing my shirt.” Crosshair chimes in, leaning back on the small couch in the room, propping his feet up on the table as he feels Wrecker’s eyes narrow in his direction. “But hey, if you won’t kriff her, I will.” He comments, unafraid to poke the bear.

In sync, Hunter and Tech facepalm.

A flash of anger courses through Wrecker. “You wouldn’t.” He growls, hating the very idea. 

“Wouldn’t I?” Crosshair goads. “She’s a pretty little thing. Bet she’d looked even prettier underne-“

“Hey!” Wrecker’s sharp shout cuts him off. “You don’t talk about her like that. She deserves better, and I won’t let ya disrespect her. Not when she’s the best thing to happen to us in a long while and always lookin’ out for us.”

Amusement curls at Crosshair’s lips. Truth told, forcing those words out had been horrible – he respected you too much – but it had given him the ammunition he needed to make his point. “Hm, sounds like you might have some feelings there, Wrecker.”

Realising he’s been caught in one of his younger brother’s traps, Wrecker groans in frustration, shooting Crosshair a glare that bounces straight off him. With a sigh, Wrecker’s shoulders sag, and he glances over his shoulder towards the connecting door to your room.

Worry curls through him. He did have feelings for you, that much he’d realised, but he wasn’t sure how you felt. The thought of making things awkward or disrupting the dynamics of the squad by introducing personal feelings weighed heavily on Wrecker’s mind.

Hunter picks up on his brother’s internal struggle. “Wrecker, if you’ve got something to say to her, just say it. We’re all adults here. We’ve faced worse than admitting feelings.”

Wrecker sighs. “I just don’t wanna mess things up, y’know? What if she don’t feel the same way, and it makes things weird?”

Tech chips in with his usual logical perspective. “Statistically speaking, relationships formed within a close-knit team can enhance cooperation and overall performance. Emotional bonds can be beneficial.”

Wrecker shoots Tech an incredulous look. “You suggestin’ I tell her I like her ’cause it’s statistically beneficial?”

Tech pushes his goggles back up his nose. “I am merely presenting a logical argument in favour of expressing one’s emotions.”

A noise of frustration slides from Crosshair’s lips, and he pushes himself off the couch. Grabbing Wrecker by the arm, he drags him over to the connecting door, banging his fist against it a few times. “She was eyeing you up, too. Don’t overthink. That’s Tech’s job.” He insists, returning to the couch, shaking his head while muttering about Wrecker’s lack of game.

Hearing you say the door was unlocked, Wrecker takes a deep breath before pushing it open, sliding into your room, letting it click shut behind him.

With Wrecker gone, Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair exchange glances before arranging themselves on the couch to play Sabacc. “You swapped her shirt out of her pack,” Hunter comments as Tech deals the deck, his eyes darting over to Crosshair.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Crosshair doesn’t bother answering; instead, he picks up his cards. Hunter couldn’t prove anything.

Looking up from the dresser, where you’d been trying to organise your belongings back into your backpack, you smile at the sight of Wrecker standing with his back pressed to the door. “Hey, Wreck. Everything okay?” You ask, abandoning your repacking to give the gentle giant your full attention.

Wrecker’s heart pounds in his chest as he steps further into your room, the weight of the revelation he’d shared with his brothers settling in his chest. He grapples with the best way to express his feelings to you, scratching the back of his neck out of nervous habit.

“Uh, yeah, everything’s fine.” He mumbles, avoiding direct eye contact for a moment. “I, um, just wanted to talk to ya about somethin’.”

You tilt your head curiously, a small smile playing on your lips. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Wrecker took another deep breath, his gaze finally meeting yours. “Well, it’s about... us. I mean, you and me. I’ve been feelin’ things, and I just gotta say it. I really like you. I like ya a lot.”

The sincerity in his voice is unmistakable, and your heartbeat quickens in response. Surprise paints your face, delight seeping into your veins that your feelings were returned – that he’d come here to share them with you.

“Wreck.” You begin, your voice soft. “I’ve... I’ve been feeling the same way. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Relief washes over Wrecker’s features, and a wide, genuine smile spreads across his face. “Really?” he asks as if confirming that he wasn’t dreaming.

You nod, your own smile mirroring his. “Really.”

Wrecker chuckles nervously. “Well, guess Crosshair wasn’t entirely wrong about us eyein’ each other up.”

Your jaw drops a little. You’d thought you were being subtle, but you should’ve known the man with super-human vision would catch you out.

Wrecker takes a step closer, gently cupping your face in his large hands, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. “I’m not great with words, but I really do care about ya.” He confesses.

“I care about you too, Wreck. And you don’t need to be great with words.” You reply, your eyes locked with his. “Actions speak louder.”

“Then let me show ya.” Wrecker murmurs, head dipping down to kiss your lips tenderly. Large hands move to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. One of your hands finds home at the nape of his neck, keeping his lips against yours as the other settles on his upper arm.

You taste like heaven, like everything Wrecker has ever wanted and dreamed about. His grip on you tightens ever so slightly, but he’s cautious, not wanting to accidentally hurt you. The kiss breaks a moment later, eyes locked on one another as you pull apart, chests heaving. Desire swirls in your gaze, and Wrecker wants to worship you. But he’s conflicted – is this too soon? Do you want this too?

Palms smoothing across Wrecker’s body, you take his hands in your own, walking backwards the few steps to the bed. Sinking to sit on the edge of it, you guide Wrecker down with you, a thrill zinging through you as he wraps an arm around your middle and hauls you further up the bed before settling above you. With one hand supporting most of his weight, you marvel at how warm and broad he is, your body hidden under his as he presses against you, lips finding yours again for a searing kiss.

You’re so small beneath him, so delicate and so pretty, with your hair fanned across the sheets, your beautiful eyes looking up at him with such adoration. Wrecker can’t resist kissing you again, savouring your shared feelings. Tentatively, his hand roams to your thighs, large palm smoothing across soft skin, creeping up, ruching his shirt as his fingers skim under the edge of your sleep shorts.

The gentle touch makes your breath stutter, a low noise sliding from your lips, muffled by the kiss.

Wrecker pulls back, watching as your eyes flutter open. “Too much, babe?” He asks quietly, unsure whether the noise is good and not wanting to push too much.

Shaking your head, you lean up to pepper kisses across his jawline. “More. Please.” You ask, heat building in your belly.

Thrilled, Wrecker breaks out into a grin, shivering as your hands pry his shirt up and off his body. Your fingers fan over his bare chest, tracing every muscle and scar. His pants are next to be discarded, your sleep shorts joining them on the floor before your lips meet again in a needy kiss. Your panties go, followed by his boxers, but as you go to remove his shirt, Wrecker’s fingers still the action.

“Leave it on, babe.” He admits, a flush on his cheeks. There was something so intrinsically hot about you wearing his clothes.

A noise of delight leaves you, followed quickly by one of surprise as Wrecker rolls you both, placing himself beneath you. Straddling him, it’s impossible to ignore the press of his thick, hard cock. It feels enormous, and you’re almost afraid to look down.

Thankfully, you’re spared as Wrecker grabs your ass, huge hands dwarfing it as he hauls you up his body.

Wrecker groans, hands squeezing as he draws you further up. “Want you to sit on my face, babe. Lemme eat that pretty pussy before I kriff ya.”

Heat strikes through you, pussy clenching around nothing at Wrecker’s request. “I-I don’t wanna suffocate you.” You worry as you’re lifted over his face, knees on either side of his head. Warmth blossoms across your cheeks as he stares right at your cunt.

“Ya won’t. And even if you do, what a way to go.” Wrecker growls, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he gazes up at your pussy. Gently, he encourages you down, groaning in satisfaction as you rest lightly against his face – nose and mouth brushing against your slick folds. “That ain’t sittin’.” He grumbles as he notices you trying to hold up some of your weight. Using a little more of his strength, he pulls you down until you’re firmly against his face, his nose pressed to your clit as his tongue laves over your entrance.

“Oh, hells…” You cry out, holding onto the headboard with one hand while the other lands on Wrecker’s head. That first lick of his tongue had felt incredible.

Wrecker feasts, your pussy his new favourite meal. The taste of you fills his mouth, and he moans, dragging his nose across your clit, tongue sloppy as he laves at you before pointing it and pressing it into your hole. He takes a breath whenever he can, drawing the flat of his tongue up through your folds to flick across your clit, lips latching around the sensitive bud so he can suck on it, brushing his tongue over it at the same time.

White hot pleasure is all you can feel, hips rocking as you ride his face, chasing your high. Your hand strokes across his head, fingers gliding over scarred skin. “Kriff, Wreck. Yes. Just like that.” You encourage, pleasure building quickly.

The stretch catches you off guard, two of his thick fingers pressing into you, crooking, as his mouth focuses on your clit. Head thrown back, his name falls from your lips as you come, thighs shaking and pussy spasming around his fingers as the pleasure rolls through your body.

Working you through the high, Wrecker gently pries his mouth off your clit, fingers slowly scissoring as he stretches you out a little more now that you’re more relaxed. He knows he’s big, and the last thing he wants is to hurt you.

Your hips roll slowly, grinding lazily against his face once again as he continues working you open, another thick finger joining the two already buried inside you. Biting down on your lower lip to muffle your moan, the trembles from your orgasm subside.

Fingers slip from you, hands finding your hips. Lifted, you’re moved back down Wrecker’s body until he can kiss you, mouth and chin covered in your juices. You gasp at the taste, at the way his tongue presses into your mouth, and you lazily make out.

Slowly you draw apart; Wrecker’s fingers that weren’t buried in your pussy move to push your hair out of your face tenderly.

The throb between your thighs intensifies, and you lift your hips, shifting until you can grind down against Wrecker’s cock. The rumble in his chest does funny things to your inside, and you smile. “I wanna ride your cock, too.” You state sweetly, enjoying the delight that flares in Wrecker’s eyes.

Scooting back just a little so you rest on his thighs, you drag your gaze from his face to finally take in his cock. It’s much thicker than any you’ve seen before – in person and on the holonet – and longer than average.

He curves a little to the right, the tip flushed a deep red, a bead of pre-cum in the slit. Taking him in hand, his groan reverberates through the room, and you can’t help but dip down to lap at him, the tang on your tongue dragging a sound from you that Wrecker echoes.

Your fingers don’t touch around him, and for a moment, you worry you won’t be able to take him. Shuffling forward a tiny bit until you’re back in your previous position, you line him up with your entrance, pressing just the tip in, and slowly start to sink down, letting gravity do the work.

Wrecker’s pretty sure he’s shaking – from anticipation or barely-there control, he’s not sure. All he does know is that his hands are wrapped around your hips to help guide you but not force you down, and inch by agonising inch, his dick is slowly being enveloped in the heat of your pussy.

The stretch burns a little, even after an orgasm and three fingers working you open. Taking your time, you let out deep breaths as you sink down until you’re finally flush, feeling fuller than ever. 

“Stars above, Wreck.” You pant, holding his gaze as you adjust to the feeling. His jaw is clenched, soft brown eyes looking at you with such profound adoration, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. His hands on your hips slide upward, under the edge of his shirt, until he’s grasping at your waist.

Steadily, you give a small roll of your hips, rising ever so slightly before sinking back down. The action pulls a moan from you, Wrecker’s head tilting back against the bed, his groan mingling with your needy sounds. Finding a rhythm, you lean back a little, hands resting on his muscular thighs as warmth builds in your belly with every rise and fall. The burn of the stretch dissolves into pleasure.

Chin tilting down, Wrecker watches as you ride him, how your lips part with every little whimper and sigh, and your tits bounce beneath his shirt. The sight goes straight to his cock, hand sliding up from your waist until he can palm your breasts under the garment, fingers pressed against soft flesh. You’re a handful, even for him, and he grunts, thumb and forefinger tweaking your pebbled nipples.

The whine you let out is delicious, and his gaze roves down your body, settling on where the two of you are connected, watching how he slides in and out of your pussy. The sight, the sounds, and the feeling of you around him push him closer and closer to the edge. Fingers smoothing back down your body, they press against your clit, firm circles rubbed against the sensitive nub.

“Kriff. Kriff. Kriff.” You curse, eyes screwed shut as the warmth grows towards an inferno. Pitching forward, you change the angle, hands resting against his broad chest, providing better leverage as your pace quickens. Your thighs start to ache, but you’ll be damned if you let that stop you.

“That’s it, babe. Hells, your pussy feels so kriffin’ good.” Wrecker pants, his words helping push you over the edge. Your body goes taut above him, pleasure contorting your face as you clamp down around him, coming on his cock with a cry of his name. He keeps his fingers moving, working you through the high until the tremors in your body stop and your hazy eyes open to meet his.

You share a soft smile, and Wrecker surges up, lips meeting yours for a passionate kiss as he grasps back at your hips. Holding you in place, his hips snap quickly as he fucks up into you, chasing his high now you’ve been satisfied.

Tongues meeting, the kiss is frantic and messy, noises muffled by each other’s lips. You pull back just enough to gaze down at him. “Come in me. Please.” Your needy whine reverberates around the room.

You were perfect. So perfect. Your pleading words, the grip of your tight pussy around him… Wrecker’s thrusts falter, and with two more sharp snaps of his hips, he pushes himself deep inside you, growling out your name as he’s swept into pleasure, filling you.

The room falls silent except for your harsh breaths, gazes locked before you steal another kiss. Slower and softer, the lust dissolves into something sweeter. Strong arms wrap around you, and you’re rolled onto your side, pulled flush against Wrecker’s body as he pries his lips from yours. He smiles, and you can’t help but match it, a giggle bubbling up and out. The sound of Wrecker’s chuckle melds with yours, happiness simmering between you.

“You okay?” Wrecker asks, one hand smoothing across your cheek, cupping your face.

You lean into his touch with a small nod, eyes fluttering shut. Wrecker’s hand is warm against your face as he caresses you, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your cheek. The aftermath of shared intimacy leaves you feeling content and connected.

Overjoyed, Wrecker presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, hand sliding down your body to wrap back around you as he holds you close. Now he has you, he’s never going to let you go.

In the cocoon of his embrace, you slowly drift into a serene slumber, knowing you’ve found a sanctuary that feels like home in his arms.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal

Sign up for my tag list.

[mapsthewanderer]

Caleb’s myth -

The Vermillion bird

AU: You are at the Vermillion bird’s court. Captive? (Mid+. Hello batsh*t craycray Caleb. He’s possessive and protective aka 100% delulu. Suggestive language, you are warned.)

Sullied goods

You and Caleb stroll hand in hand through the lively market, the world around you humming with energy.

The air is thick with the mingling scents of fresh herbs, rich spices, and fragrant blooms that seem to float on the warm breeze. Colorful silk fabrics sway in the air, their vibrant hues dancing like a painter’s palette, while intricate stoneware glimmers in the sunlight. Booths overflow with glittering jewelry and beautifully embroidered textiles that catch your eye at every turn.

Your heart races with delight as you sip from a takeaway cup of chilled oolong tea, the cool liquid refreshing against the heat of the day, the bamboo straw pressed gently to your lips. Caleb watches you with an intensity that makes your cheeks flush, his gaze never leaving your face, his lips curling into a tender smile as you take each delicate sip.

“Caleb, would you please stop looking at me like that?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them, your voice a playful mix of embarrassment and affection.

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm, his laughter like a secret shared between the two of you. A slow, teasing finger brushes over your chin, his gaze soft yet filled with something deeper, something fond. “Oh, come ooon,” he coos, his voice like velvet, “How could I not look at you when you’re so adorable?”

But then he pauses, his eyes darkening with mischief, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Especially when I think about how your lips were gracing something far larger than a bamboo straw this morning.”

Your body freezes, and a hot blush creeps up your neck. “Caleb! We’re in public, you bird-brained dum-dum!” you exclaim, nudging his hand, half-shocked, half-laughing, your words dripping with mock disapproval.

The fire in his eyes ignites with playful defiance, and without another word, he bolts, his movements lazy yet teasing, as if savoring the chase. You watch, laughing, as he stumbles slightly, running with a slow, exaggerated gait, as if pretending to escape your lighthearted judgment.

Caleb turns back with a grin, still laughing, and shouts over his shoulder, “Please, be just as cute tonight, little sun!”

You laugh, chasing him for a few moments before coming to a sudden halt at a booth where the most magnificent fan lies on the seller’s table.

Its delicate bones are carved with intricate designs that shimmer in the sunlight, and the fabric of the fan itself catches the light like a woven tapestry of a setting sun.

You reach out, your fingers barely brushing the edges, mesmerized by its beauty, the playful chase momentarily forgotten.

Caleb immediately notices your detour, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he slows to a stop. With deliberate ease, he wraps a hand around your hip, pulling you close as he presses a soft kiss to your hair. His gaze narrows, suspicion flickering across his features as he watches the seller closely, silently assessing his intentions. His eyes return to you, a silent question lingering in them, as you resist the temptation to grab the fan.

The seller, sensing your hesitation, eagerly exclaims, “Oh, young one! Please, feel free to try it out. Experience the lightness and beautiful craftsmanship in your hands.” With that, the seller picks up the fan, extending it toward you, a hopeful glint in his eye.

Caleb observes intently, his instinct sharp as he studies the situation, searching for any sign that might feel off. His eyes never leave you, even as you carefully reach for the fan, feeling the coolness of its delicate bones beneath your fingertips.

You lift it, swaying it gently upward, the sun catching the fabric, making it shimmer like a cloud of stars in your hands. Your eyes gleam with admiration as the fan’s beauty seems to match your own. Caleb’s lips curl into a smile, his voice a soft murmur in the warm air. “You like it?”

You nod, your smile reflecting the same sense of awe.

The seller, watching with delight, exclaims, “A fan fit for such a beauty.” He turns, as if struck by another idea. “But such a magnificent fan must be adorned with suitable jewelry,” he adds, picking up a piece of jewelry that catches the light—a simple yet stunning golden bracelet, glistening with a single ruby, a small apple charm glimmering in the sunlight.

The seller steps closer, moving around the booth with quiet intent. His gaze locks onto yours, his steps slow and deliberate as he approaches you. Caleb’s watchful eyes follow his every movement, a protective tension coiling in the air between them.

The seller is just about to reach for your hand, when Caleb intercepts with swift precision.

“That's fine, thank you. I’ll take it.” Caleb says firmly, his voice laced with authority, but the seller ignores him, grabbing your wrist with more force than necessary, attempting to fasten the wristband onto you.

Caleb’s wrath is inevitable. He moves swiftly, grabbing the seller by the shoulder. In the ensuing commotion, your iced tea slips from your grasp, spilling onto the ground, the cool liquid splashing across your robe and Caleb’s.

A muscle twitches in Caleb’s jaw, his eyes dark with fury. “I said: That. Is. Fine.” He snatches the wristband from the seller’s hand and pushes him away, his strength sending the seller stumbling back.

“Lord… I… I meant no harm,” the merchant stammers, but Caleb’s deathly stare silences him. The seller, at a loss for words, retreats slowly, his face pale as he returns to the confines of his booth. He’s no longer a man, just a thing before Caleb's wrath.

“Don’t. Ever. Touch her again” Caleb says with icy finality, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His words hang heavy, each syllable weighted with an undeniable threat that seems to freeze time itself. “Unless,”

Caleb leans in, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Unless, of course… you’d rather test how well you can count your profits without fingers.” He tilts his head, watching the merchant’s throat bob in fear, then chuckles, low and dangerous. “… I’m willing to bet you’d lose track after one.”

“Ca—!” The syllable barely escapes before he stops you, his thumb pressing softly yet firmly against your lips. The touch is warm, reassuring—an unspoken command. His gaze remains locked on the seller, unwavering, sharp with authority, yet when he turns to you, his expression softens. A silent plea, a quiet insistence. “My precious little sun,” his voice a low, steady anchor.

With a flick of his wrist, Caleb places a handful of golden coins on the desk, the weight of the exchange unmistakable. The discussion is closed, the matter settled. He meets the merchant’s shaken gaze, a slow, razor-sharp smirk stretching across his lips—cold, amused, and utterly merciless. “Enjoy counting while you can,” he hums, tapping a single coin with deliberate ease. “Might be your last chance to get the numbers right.” Then, without another glance, he turns away, leaving the weight of his presence lingering like a shadow.

He takes your wrist, the same spot where the seller’s hand had briefly lingered, his touch tender. His amber eyes flicker with something much softer now, a hint of genuine worry. “Are you okay, little sun?” he asks, his gaze searching yours, as if trying to read every flicker of emotion.

You throw up your hands, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you for real?! Of course I’m fine, Caleb.” You smile faintly, easing his concerns. “The seller was just—”

But Caleb stops you, his thumb gently tracing your lips, silencing your words. He shakes his head, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and concern. “Of course, you’re not fine,” he whispers, his eyes darkening into voilet as he steps closer. “You’ve been…” His voice falters, and for a moment, he hesitates, as if the words taste bitter on his tongue. “Sullied,” he finally murmurs, the word heavy with distaste.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then his tone softens, “Let’s get you cleaned up,”

Caleb casts one final, warning glance at the booth, a last reminder to the seller. He then turns back to you, his gaze softening, lips brushing against your hair. “How does a bath sound, little sun?” he whispers, his voice laced with a playful promise.

“Let see how much foam it takes to flood the bathroom”

Writer’s note: Ye I live for crazy Caleb. This is ofc inspired by how insanely authoritative he was in the Fleet and against Viper. And crazy Caleb gives me the butterflies ngl send help

[seriouslycalamitous]

Dumb question, but im super slow! Do both Slayer/Gem and Furioso/Joel have hero costumes, or are they more like uniforms they are mandated to wear to show their association

for who they work for? Do they share some of the same features/ color pallets on their suites, or are they completely unique to their own fighting style/person. I know for sure that Furioso weilds dual swords and that Slayer specializes in the crossbow, but I was wondering if you could ever be so kind and expand on the details on each of their weapons in depth and how they look like, if they're unique to their own person. You've mentioned their armor being "heavy plating" and "orange and green," but I was wondering if that applied to both or just one of them? I just think it would be so awesome if you could tell me more about the cosmetics of their suites and weapons! If you end up answering this, I really appreciate you taking time out of ur day to answer this silly question!

AAAA i typed a whole like page long response and tabbed away to grab a reference picture and tumblr deleted EVERYTHING. I’m falling to my knees. i’ll do my best to remember what i wrote.

So, not a stupid question, i do want to answer it. I have actually talked about Joel’s costume in this other post before, but I’ll revisit some of it here too!

Just to preface though, I’m really really shit at fashion in real life and it kinda bleeds into my writing if i try to describe things in detail, so please excuse how little logical sense this is about to make

So, the Agency does have standards when it comes to costumes. Costumes usually have to be identifiable and easily differentiated from that worn by villains to prevent false reports from civilians, confusion during fights, accidental reactions from law enforcement, and so forth. It’s also good for marketing, though they wouldn’t mention that part in an interview.

They also have to have a certain amount of armor plating to protect themselves. Some heroes have to follow this rule less than others, typically the heroes whose powers affect the parts of the body.

Joel, for instance, has a costume that mainly prioritizes the protection of his upper body, since his legs need to be able to move for his high jump. Gem, however, has plating all over her body, as well as weapons and a quiver built into her suit.

Her suit is best explained as something akin to that of Black Widow in the MCU, but less risqué and with armor plating. The armor is orange with her suit beneath being more of a forest green. It doesn’t match heavily and that does kind of bother her, but it works with the Agency’s rules of being identifiable from a distance.

She has, as mentioned prior, a crossbow mounted on her arm. This is a bit clunky during battles, so she compensates for that by being a hard hitter who values lighting-fast movement. Her aim is impeccable, but villains recognize this, so it isn’t often she is able to fire off shots.

It resembles something similar to the picture above, compact enough to only inhibit her movements a little bit, but still large enough to fire off effective bolts. There is a fabric quiver sewn onto her back to make for easy access.

As for her hair and face, she few a bit more liberties there. Her hair has a lot of leaves and flowers braided into it, and is kept in a high bun atop her head. I cannot off the top of my head recall if i mentioned what covers her face (keeping up with this stuff is hard without help) and i’m too scared to exit out of the app now because it might delete my hard work. For the time being though, if I said nothing, let’s just state now that she has a green mask covering her eyes, her upper nose, and a bit of her cheeks, which spirals out into the shape of vines and leaves.

[mossybee-exe]

Solaprunk Worldbuilding 1 - Eco-Cities

I've been working on worldbuilding a solarpunk setting for a slice of life story I'm writing and thought I'd share some of my ideas to maybe inspire other people!

In this world there is no government, no rules, no pressures or bad people. Just society working together after a global crash. A second chance to do things right this time.

(Mind the spelling mistakes)

Although far and few in between, big cities and towns still exist in this universe. However, they've all worked hard to keep it as eco-friendly as possible and still choose to live alongside and work with nature rather than fight it.

Trash and recyclingcans can now be found almost everywhere, giving no one an excuse to litter. Community composters are also a thing.

Skyscrapers, now skeletons of the old world, are draped in thick ivy vine walls, native flowering vines, moss panels, and vertical hydroponics that wrap around the metal and glass bones. These help regulate temperature, absorb CO2, and create habitats fors birds and insects.

Former office buildings and shopping centers like malls have been repurposed into shared living spaces, community markets, workshops, and event areas. Floors have open walls and breeze tunnels to reduce reliance on cooling systems. Those can be shut during colder months.

In taller districts, tree houses extend from reclaimed buildings, blending organically with planted rooftop forests. Rope bridges and wind-activated elevators made if recycled parts help people travel between vertical spaces.

Cities are completely walkable and don't require transportation. Streets are narrow and shaded with plant canopies. Most paved areas are soft permeable cobblestone or moss-tile paths that allow rain to soak through instead of pooling or flooding.

Painted murals double as maps - bold, hand-painted designs show landmarks, walking trails, tram routes, and local art projects. Updated regularly by volunteers.

Giant sculpted trees or mushrooms function ad rainwater collectors, solar lanterns, or even mist sprayers during hot days. Children often climb on them or gather nearby to play. They can also provide shade.

Metal "bike trees" hold dozens if free-to-use bikes, all maintained by volunteers. Bikes come in all colors and sizes, some decorated with flowers or art to reflect the community's personality.

Solar Trams glide quietly on narrow tracks. They're sleek but not flashy, designed with recycled metals and glass. Inside, seats are made from reclaimed wood, each with a small solar lamp or charging port. Solar Buses work in a similar fashion.

Public Plazas now have eco-escalators that are powered by pedaling like on a bike.

Interactive screens at intersections and stops show local events, weather and climate, community votes or messages, and tutorial videos on composting, repair, herbal medicine, or art-making. Digital marketing and advertisements are no more.

Most people carry small, solar-powered devices that have replaced phones called "Data Stones" - slate-like digital notebooks that sync to the city's mesh network. People use them for Journaling, mapping, music, or community messaging, but never for mindless scrolling. Digital use is intentional, not addictive.

The internet exists, but it's localized. Instead of one global net, each town or city has a mesh intranet. Communities upload and share stories, tech guides, magazines, songs, and documentaries- all accessible for free.

At every city node is a "Commons Booth"-a repurposed phone booth now used for small trades, gifts, or lost-and-found. You might find a hand-knit hat, seeds, poems in a bottle, hand-bound journals, or a small bag if dried herbs for tea.

Public parks host weekly workshops: mushroom log inoculation, fixing Guardianers, upcycling old tech, dyeing fabrics with natural materials, and crafting musical instruments from trash.

Fireflies are protected and welcomed into urban life with dedicated "nightlight gardens"- small glowing sanctuaries that bloom under moonlight (usually a mix of regular and bioluminescent plants). People sit quietly here, reading or singing. Festivals are celebrated not with fireworks, but light dances, candlelit parades, or bioluminescent art. It's also a romantic place for a date.

Children and adults alike use "Learning Loops"- open-air circles of benches and tree stumps near gardens and community spaces where mentors teach based on skills, not age. There's no formal school system. Learning is woven into life.

On a certain day each month, citizens volunteer to teach something for free-sailing knots, solar repair, compost chemistry, storytelling, mediation, bird language. The city slows down that day. It's treated like a holiday.

In addition to tire-posted Little Libraries (where people can take a book and leave one in it's place), entire alleys have been converted into "Book Gardens"- free libraries under pergolas or vines, surrounded by reading hammocks and native wildflowers.

Local businesses and shops are still a thing, but are not kept up by money. Money has no use in this world anymore. Businesses upkeep it themselves and will happily trade their wares for something in return. For example, a bakery can trade a cake for something in return like a jar of jam or something else. It's like that everywhere.

Citizens enjoy solar-charged cooking stoves, clean water from centralized purification systems, access to upcycled tech, 3D-printed tools, and digital artist hubs.

Markets overflow with herbs, handmade instruments, mushroom leathers, fermented goods, and hand-bound books from across the region. Some city dwellers specialize in creating high-tech eco-dafe goods to trade with the countryside.

Most people live in co-housing clusters or share entire floors of old skyscrapers converted into lush indoor gardens and social spaces. They might not know everyone, but each block has caretakers and community gatherings.

They're alive with creativity and innovation. Mural projects, street musicians using windows instruments powered by movement, and holographic poetry displays powered by pedals or solar generators.

With more people comes more variety in skills. It's common to find classes in herbalism, robotics, or solar carpentry happening daily in public courtyards.

The ideas are free to use for whatever you want or use for inspiration! All I ask is that you CREDIT ME! And feel free to send me an ask on more details to this lovely world :)

[viktorarcanedeservesbetter]

whimsy jayvik drabble???

pls <3

Viktor loved the farmers market.

It was his favorite thing in this little grassy land town, besides the fact he and Jayce were accepted into the population with no question at all. The market reminded him of early Zaun, of being carried on his mother's and father's back, as they shopped in the small stalls of the lanes.

When he got older those trips died, both due to their increase in workload and the increase in enforcers, and he hadn't realized how much he missed it.

This shopping trip wasn't for anything important. They had enough seeds and small plants in their garden for herbs and vegetables, their chickens had been producing enough eggs, and Betsy gave them enough milk to make butter and cheese.

So, this was what Jayce liked to call a "sweet treat" trip.

One of the first booths was a little pottery sale, bowls, plates, pots. Viktor stopped, shouldering his tote, and picked up a small bowl. It was cute, made from clay and painted in blues and greens. With a start, he jumped, and held up the bowl to Jayce when he realized what shape it was.

"Jayce, look!" He said, holding it in front of his partner's eyes. "A turtle bowl!"

Jayce took it from him, rolling it in his hands. "Cute," he decided. "What would we put it in though? We only have one set of keys, and we put those on a hook."

Oh yes, their key hook, which they'd also found at an antique store. Whenever you hung something, it would lower the mechanism, and a cat would pop out! Jayce had refurbished it to be like new, turning the cat from rusted white to orange. He said it matched their personalities.

A million different uses passed through his mind. Coins, nails and screws, ticket stubs from their trips to the theatre, all other small things. They had a ton of stuff lying around they could put in the small bowl.

"We could use it for things, Jayce!" He argued. "We have many things lying around that could fit in it."

Jayce looked at him from the corners of his eyes. "We could always organize our things?"

Viktor blinked at Jayce.

Jayce blinked back.

His partner turned to the owner, handing over the bowl. "We'll take this." Viktor beamed, wrapping his hand around Jayce's elbow. His partner kissed the side of his head, then leaned, plucking up a teapot. "This one is fun," he said, showing it to Viktor. "Elephant."

It was fun. It was bright blue, molded into the shape of the animal, with the nose acting as the spout and the head as the lid. Two large ears stuck out from the side. It matched none of their dinnerware. Nodding, with an even bigger smile, Jayce handed the teapot over.

"This one as well."

They watched as the woman running the booth beamed, wrapping the item in newspaper and tying it up gently. She slid her card into one of the folds, then wrapped it in a large cloth, tying up the ends. Jayce handed her a wad of cash.

"Thank you!" She smiled, as she traded the items for the money. "By the way, the cloths I wrapped your things in have many uses. I use them as napkins, I wrap breads in them, I use them to decorate. They're scraps from my quilting."

Viktor carefully placed both at the bottom of his tote, placing his own protective cloth he kept inside over them. He watched as she calculated their change, handing over the rest of the bills, and nodded at them both.

"Do you sell quilts as well?" Viktor asked. "I quite like your clay, as you can see."

"I only do commission work," she told him. "My address is on my card. I run a shared shop with a few other creators. You can stop by any time and place an order for a design. Takes me two weeks to a month."

Jayce pocketed the rest of their money back in his wallet, dropping it in his own bag as he wrapped an arm around Viktor's waist. "We will certainly stop by this week. We're needing a new quilt for the winter. Do you do any design?"

"I try!" She said. "I've done dragons, chevron patterns, swirls, suns and moons, you name it! If I can find the fabric, I can do it!"

"That is wonderful." Viktor stepped aside with Jayce, allowing more people under the tent and into the booth. "We cannot wait. Thank you again!"

"You're welcome!" She waved, as he and Jayce walked down the path again. Jayce leaned into him, smiling, and rubbed his back up and down as they passed multiple soap and candle booths. That was Jayce's no for today-they had three baskets full and did not need any more.

"What kind of quilt were you thinking?" Jayce asked him. "I kind of want something celestial. Stars, planets, the like."

Viktor hummed in agreement. "It will look nice, I think. Perhaps we can find fabric for her, if she uses outside sources. Maybe real constellations."

"Won't match anything in our bedroom, though."

Viktor nudged him gently in the ribs, grinning when Jayce peered down at him. "We just bought a turtle bowl and elephant tea pot," he said. "Neither of which match the flower plates we have been using or the marble-green tea cups."

"Yeah," Jayce said, lifting his scarred hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. "You're right."

[theposhsworld]

Why is the bag and being materialistic so important in a marriage or sexual relationship but irrelevant when single or starting to date? Ladies focusing on the bag isn’t about the bag, it’s about reciprocity in a marriage so don’t get divorced.

Bags are not important and after you buy your first one they don’t mean much. In fact you will view it as a stupid purchase and probably sell it to go on vacation or keep it as a milestone memory and use the rest for travel. In your thirties and up if you work in sales it may help buy you don’t see the point in buying more.

I loved Katharina comment about her suitor not caring about luxury after he could afford it. An ex boyfriend of a friend would buy a Ferrari and get bored of it after a month, sell it, buy something else, get bored, sell it. Without people luxury is empty.

Without hypergamous and traditional dating there is no point to jewelry stores or the luxury market.

When you are single you need a small logo carrier like a pin or sunglasses or a twilly. Keep the rest of your outfit natural fabrics. As you are older 30+ you can get what makes sense on your salary but just enough to show you like the finer things in life but not enough to kill your travel or fun budget with the girls.

When you are married or have a serious relationship when you sleep with someone being materialistic determines if you appreciate or will resent and leave long term.

Stoic masculinity means gentlemen should not be materialistic so they are ready for war and can protect and have resources to provide for a family. A family or a wife gives money meaning to gentlemen.

Stoicism is about harmony with nature. In women being materialistic means harmony with nature like Audrey Hepburn having breakfast in front of Tiffany’s. Why is materialism stoic femininity? Women get pregnant and need to eat for two or three or four if you factor children. This is our wiring.

We are the descendants of women who copulated with generous good hunters who have a deep biological instinct to leave stingy or incompetent hunters. So if you don’t have a love for materialistic things you are a deep discount on a hot Ferrari that he takes bad care of because it’s on discount. Eventually he makes more money then when he can afford it trades his worn out badly maintained old Ferrari for a new Ferrari full price and proud he can finally get a Ferrari.

After being married when I had a misunderstanding with my husband and he went off to work I felt a primoral rage like the fires of hell. A tsunami of anger. My poor husband would come home when I was in a murderous rage and I asked him what he said and what he meant by it working very hard to stay calm. It turned out I misunderstood him so I called down fast like nothing happened. It was like I was possessed by a demon and it ran.

Ladies don’t sleep outside of a proper commitment like engagement and put your mental health first. My husband loves me and I know I am safe. But imagine sleeping with a boyfriend faking a relationship to get laid with a hottie just because he can. It’s a complete disaster for your mental health and you will need medication like Xanax or Prozac to recover.

If you are not sleeping with someone and feel unfairness you get mildly annoyed and replace him with someone else on your rotation. You get over it by the end of the day. You sleep with them your body and brain are designed to drive you pyscho to leave him.

You need chunks of wooly mammoth from someone you are sleeping with from time to time or your brain is wired to make you hate him, resent him and leave him. Being married you have feelings you don’t understand and can’t control.

Listen to Aunty Maria. I had an aunt in Moscow when I was in my 20s who commented on my date. She was so wise. He looked like Leonardo de Caprio with bright green eyes, had worked as a diplomat in Japan in addition to being an artist and was working for the Russian ministry of foreign affairs. Cultural attaché. We shared a love of classical music, gourmet cuisine, opera and the ballet and he played piano.

If you know me you understand why I was crazy for him.

Now. He was a vegan Russian liberal at the time… my aunt asked what car did he bring me to the theatre in, was it a Ferrari, bmw or a Mercedes or Lamborghini? I said we took the metro, the Moscow metro is so beautiful. My aunt scolded me. This is my one aunt who didn’t get divorced. She said I will have a miserable marriage of a struggle life with him.

I thought she was materialistic and cared about stupid furs and designer rings, especially emeralds, and shallow and it put me off as a naive young fool. Shouldn’t it be discussing Nietzsche, Tschaikovsky, the ballet genius of ballacine.. a romantic walk on the beautiful streets of Moscow after a most delightful vernissage where we celebrated his art with brilliant friend. Oh the fun we had … until he left me for some materialistic ballerina he finally got with his charm… and married her .. then she left to go to Egypt and found her sheikh and divorced and dumped him.

He saw I had leveled up since and reached out to me but I was married. He lost half of his hair and started eating meat. Being married I can see why his wife fell if him then left him. He was all about ideas and women needed to feel provided, protected & cherished to stay.

Neither him nor his ex girlfriend were originally materialistic but the marriage made her resent him. He was a great provider as his father past away early so he took care of his mother but he hated spending money. He had a clever way in dates that lunches were fancy and in the evening it was the theatre or a vernissage timed so there was no dinner before or after and I had to be home early.

In the arts I knew many female artists who fell for male artists because they could form a deep friendship with so many things in common but it would burn 🔥 down in flames because the main of struggling financially when sleeping with someone runs deep and nature is meant to sabotage it.

I will call her Aunt Larrissa. Aunt Larissa predicted my ex suitors divorce one for one and told me not to accept him when he runs back to me. I was besotted with him. She met him and wasn’t impressed at all. She said he might be responsible with helping his mother get back on her feet because she is his mother but he is a bohemian who abhors responsibility and thinks ideas can pay for diapers. You will be arguing over toilet paper and you will forget about your love of art and ballet very fast.

She said when you are with these artsy types you have to survive on this earth and struggle while their head is firmly perched in the clouds. If you like nice things you will attract someone you won’t resent, won’t divorce and will stay married to. Look at all the romantic Natasha’s in our family, almost all divorced raising children alone. Look in your Arabia. Your mother says not many are divorced but they wear lots of gold.

This suitor was a male catfish. A pretty boy who was a great conversationalist but not partner nor spouse material because he didn’t take providing and protecting seriously. He knew every like of Pushkin but not how to care for a woman’s heart.

He reminded me of Tolstoy whose wife helped him write and rewrite war and peace who was deeply in love with him but he decided to give his wealth to the poor and deprive her and her daughters and prevented the daughters getting ball gowns to be presented at court to find a suitor, and gave money to the poor instead. Finally she could not stand him and kicked him out of the house and Tolstoy died walking to a rail road station.

Ladies ideas don’t pay for bread or diapers.

Being boujee protects you from the leading cause of divorce in the West.

At the same time put your mental health first. Don’t give up your dignity for a handbag. It’s important to have a boujee taste and used to being spoiled in courtship so you don’t haggle over toilet paper in marriage where when kids are born or when you have to get Botox everything is a fight.

Like in lady d’s story don’t be the hot Ferrari on a discount someone couldn’t pass up on but didn’t like.

You have to look out for your self interest. If you do all the things you do at home you have to get reciprocity to stay.

Obviously respect his budget & be fair.

Fairness and reciprocity is key to a lasting marriage.

Don’t undersell yourself in courtship when you don’t cook or clean but have the power, so that when you have less power as an older married housewife especially saddled with kids that you negotiated a terrible deal for yourself.

In a courtship don’t negotiate based on when you are right now with no marital responsibilities and all the power but for when you will have far less power as a dependent with all the responsibilities. Now you see why Arabs have dowry, and the elaborate courtship rituals of the east where marriages last longer.

I was lucky I listened to my dad at least though ignored my aunt Larissa.

My dad picked my husband for being responsible which is why the marriage works.

Ladies listen to Aunt Maria that you have to look out for financial reciprocity and your self interest long term. Don’t cook and be intimate for free or you will resent him and leave. It’s biology.

Stoicism means also harmony with nature. Don’t fight biology if you want to be happy.

The bag doesn’t mean anything outside the context of a healthy loving fair reciprocal committed intimate relationship.

The bag is a tool to balance the relationship and keep it reciprocal. Don’t hurt yourself or others for trinkets.

Credit Maria Al Massani

[stargazersunit]

THE LONG WAY TO YOU

PART 2 : IGNIS VULNERATUS

Summary : She was a ghost in the arena. A name without a face. A warrior the crowds called Bellona, but Rome never truly knew who fought beneath the helmet. Until one victory too many unmasked her. Until her father- the Emperor himself- recognized the daughter he thought he'd buried in silence. Now hunted and nameless, she vanishes beyond the reach of the Empire. Beyond the reach of anyone. Until Berk. A distant land of dragons, strangers, and one quiet boy with clever hands and guarded eyes. He doesn't ask about her past. She doesn't offer it. But the truth has a way of circling back. And freedom, she's learning, is far more complicated than escape.

PAIRING ➺ Hiccup Haddock III x OC

TROPE ➺ SLOW BURN / STRANGERS TO LOVERS

MASTERLIST

Contents/Warnings : Blood, graphic description of injuries, thats pretty much it honestly...

word count : 4k

Author's note : finally getting into the httyd universe with this chapter! i loved writing this chapter so much, and it's a very important part of my oc's story for me, so hope you guys enjoy this!

The night was cloaked in silence, broken only by the soft crunch of her worn boots on the gravel road. Above her, the stars glittered cold and distant, indifferent to the flight of a girl who was no longer a princess, no longer Bellona the gladiator—but only Octavia, lost and unbound.

She kept her head low beneath a rough-spun cloak that had once belonged to a merchant from the outskirts of Rome. Its fabric was coarse against her skin, far removed from the silks and linens of her former life. Yet it was a good enough protection against the chill wind that gnawed at her bones as she moved steadily away from the marble and flame of the empire's heart.

Freedom was an elusive shadow, slipping just beyond reach, but she chased it still.

Days blurred into one another, marked only by the changing landscape and the shifting faces of the people she met along the way.

In a small market village nestled between rolling hills and olive groves, Octavia found herself among traders speaking a dozen different tongues. The stalls were crowded with colorful fabrics, pungent herbs, salted meats, and pottery glazed in bright hues. The air was thick with the smell of roasting fish and the acrid smoke of fires burning low.

Her Latin tongue was a faded melody here—only fragments were understood, and even then, hesitation curled in the eyes of those she approached.

She clutched a bronze medallion hidden beneath her tunic, the image of a roaring lion stamped into its surface. It was a token from her past, a symbol of her secret identity as Bellona. She had carried it for luck once. Now, it was currency for survival. At a shaded stall, a wiry man with sun-bleached hair and deep-set eyes examined the medallion with care. His skin was cracked and sunburned, his hands calloused from years of toil.

"You carry a lion's mark," he said in halting Latin, voice rough but tinged with curiosity.

Octavia nodded, fingers tightening around the coin. "I seek food. Grain or dried figs."

The man considered her carefully, then reached beneath his counter and produced a thick woolen cloak, folded and worn. Without a word, he slid it across to her.

She hesitated. This was a gift, not a trade. Her throat tightened.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He shrugged, eyes steady. "A warrior's road is hard. May it shelter you."

That night, Octavia curled near the edge of a campfire where a handful of merchants shared their own tales—tales she drank like water in a desert.

The firelight danced across faces weathered by sun and wind. Some spoke in laughter; others in hushed reverence. One old man told of sea spirits who sang sailors to their deaths; another swore he had glimpsed shadows that flitted on winged feet over the mountains.

And then, a woman wrapped in violet wool, her voice soft and knowing, leaned toward Octavia and whispered in perfect Latin: "The road ahead eats the past. Let it."

Octavia stared into the embers, tasting the weight of those words.

Let go. Move forward. Live.

She left the village before dawn, the woolen cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The hills stretched before her, a mosaic of green and gold under a sky beginning to pale with morning light. The path was treacherous and narrow, winding through thickets of wild thyme and clusters of brittle oak. Every step tested her balance; every breath reminded her of the life she'd left behind. She moved like a ghost through forgotten places, where shepherds' dogs barked at shadows and the wind carried the scent of distant seas. Days passed with little more than her thoughts for company. She pondered the faces of her family, the battles fought under the helmet of Bellona, and the cold fury in her father's eyes the day she fled.

One afternoon, near a crossroads marked by an ancient stone, she encountered a caravan of merchants unloading crates of exotic goods—spices, glass beads, and bolts of silk dyed in brilliant blues and reds. Their leader was a broad-shouldered man with a scar tracing his jawline, eyes sharp and calculating.

He approached Octavia with measured steps.

"You travel alone," he said, voice low and wary.

"I do."

"The road grows dangerous ahead. Bandits, wild beasts... and worse."

She met his gaze, steady. "I am not afraid."

The man studied her, then offered a small pouch of dried herbs. "For healing, if you need it."

Octavia accepted with a nod, tucking the pouch into her cloak.

"May the gods watch over you," he said.

Weeks slipped by like water. The seasons began to shift. Cool rains soaked her clothes, turning the earth beneath her feet to mud. Mornings brought frost that bit her fingers and stung her cheeks. Her body ached from the constant strain—muscles tight and bruised, skin red where her armor had rubbed raw. She learned to listen to the rhythms of the road—the call of birds at dawn, the rustle of leaves, the distant bark of wolves in the twilight. She grew cautious, hiding by day, traveling by night.

And always, the same question echoed in her mind:

Where does freedom lie?

On a morning washed in mist, Octavia found herself standing at the edge of a world unlike any she had known. The path she'd followed twisted down sharply beneath ancient pines and cypress, the scent of salt thick in the air.

Octavia's breath caught in her throat as she stared down from the cliff's ragged edge. Below, the world seemed impossibly vast and still—the sea stretching out to the horizon like a sheet of molten steel, waves pounding the shore in relentless rhythm.

But it was not the ocean that held her gaze. It was the creature sprawled in the sand, broken and battered—a dragon, real and terrifying.

Its scales were dull, the color of sun-bleached sandstone, cracked and streaked with dust and dried blood. One massive wing lay twisted, the membrane torn and stained a deep crimson where it caught the light like liquid fire. The other wing was folded beneath its body, as if guarding what little strength remained.

Octavia's eyes locked with its own—amber and sharp, blazing with pain and wary intelligence. The dragon's breath came ragged, ragged like a storm struggling to break free. A low hiss escaped the creature's throat, smoke curling from flared nostrils. Her hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of her gladius. The instinct to fight, to protect, surged through her veins, but she fought it down. Not yet. Not now.

She found a steep passage within the rocks of the cliff, slowly lowering herself in it, in hopes to reach the beach below her. As she managed to make her way down, it's like fear and excitement were battling in her mind, half of her telling her to flee the dangerous beast, the other screaming at her to approach it. It is in no surprise that the second half of her adventurous mind won this battle. As she made her way towards the sandy reptile, she slowly lowered herself to her knees, careful not to startle the wounded beast. Her cloak pooled quietly on the rocky ground behind her. Every movement was deliberate, calm.

"I am not your enemy," she whispered, voice soft but steady.

The dragon's eyes narrowed, and for a long moment, they simply regarded one another—two wild souls suspended in fragile understanding.

Octavia reached into a pouch at her belt and withdrew a piece of salted fish—dried and tough, but enough to tempt even the most desperate hunger. She laid it on the sand, a careful distance away, and retreated a few steps. The dragon's nostrils twitched, smoke drifting in the cold air. Its head dipped slowly, inching toward the offering. Then it paused, claws digging shallow trenches into the sand, before finally snapping the fish between jagged teeth.Octavia let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She may not have realized in the heat of the moment, but this was the first crack in the wall.

Hours passed. Octavia remained nearby, sitting as still as the stones beneath her, watching the dragon's slow, uneven breathing. She knew she could not approach again so soon; wounds like those bred fear, pain, and instinctive aggression. The sky shifted from pale morning to golden afternoon, sunlight filtering through restless clouds.

Carefully, she gathered herbs from the scrubby brush—sage, willow bark, and wild thyme—the kind of simple medicines she had learned in the arena's shadowy corners. She crushed leaves between her fingers, the scent sharp and green. With tentative steps, she returned to the cliff edge, lowering a small bowl of fresh water. The dragon's head lifted, eyes locking with hers again, filled with cautious suspicion.

Slowly, it moved toward the water, its tongue flicking out in quick, sharp strokes.

She remembered reading about dragons during her childhood. Dragons were to most a myth, a legend, but the most seasoned travelers, and elders, spoke of the days were they roamed the world freely. One day, as she made her way back to the nearest market to gather supplies, a book caught her eye, one of leather cover, marked with a symbol she recognized instantly ; a dragon. With her current situation, she had to snatch it for herself. As she flipped through the pages, she recognized it immediately; a Sand Wraith, the sandy reptile that was currently occupying most of her mind.

Over the next days, Octavia's visits became ritual.

At first, the dragon watched with narrowed eyes, muscles tensed for flight or fight.

She spoke in low Latin, fragments of lullabies and battle prayers, the only words she could think to offer beyond silence.

"I do not mean to harm you."

"I am here."

Her hands moved carefully, never reaching out, only offering. She cleaned the wounds when the dragon flinched but did not strike. She applied balms made of pine resin and crushed herbs, singing softly through the pain.

Their bond was forged in patience and quiet resilience.

Night fell. The dragon nestled close to her fire, the heat radiating warmth that seeped deep into Octavia's chilled bones.

She leaned against the rocky walls of the cliff's edges, listening to the slow breathing of the lizard-like creature next to her, and the soothing sounds of the sea, a sea that seemed so calm, yet frightening at night.

"I am no longer Bellona, or even a princess" she whispered, voice thick. "But maybe I am more than what I was."

The dragon rumbled—a low, sonorous sound that felt like the first true word of a new language. Under the vast sweep of stars, a fragile trust was born. And the road ahead, once so dark, gleamed with the faintest light of hope.

The days that followed the dragon's acceptance of her presence passed slowly, marked by fragile progress and quiet moments carved out beneath endless skies. The cliffs, wild and lonely, became their sanctuary, a place removed from the empire's shadow and the ghosts of the past. Octavia woke each morning to the muted crash of waves below and the sharp scent of salt carried in the wind. She moved carefully, mindful of the silence that stretched between her and the creature she had named Duneveil — a name that spoke of desert sands and veiling secrets, of strength hidden beneath vulnerability.

At first, every approach was an exercise in patience and restraint. The dragon's amber eyes flickered with wariness, muscles taut and ready to snap at any wrong move. Yet, beneath that armor of fear and pain, Octavia sensed a profound loneliness — a kinship she could not deny.

Each morning, Octavia began by bringing water — fresh and cool from a hidden spring she'd discovered nearby. She placed it in a shallow bowl carved from wood, setting it down at a respectful distance before retreating and watching for the dragon to drink. This simple act became a ritual. It was the first thread woven into their fragile tapestry of trust.

Next came the treatment of wounds.

Her hands, steady from years of gladiatorial discipline, moved slowly and gently. She cleaned torn flesh and applied salves of crushed herbs, pine resin, and lavender — all scents sharp and green, reminders of life beyond blood and battle. The dragon flinched with every touch, nostrils flaring, smoke rising in thin tendrils. Sometimes it hissed; other times, it only watched, muscles coiled like spring steel.

Octavia spoke softly, her voice a low hum beneath the wind's mournful song.

"You are not alone. I will stay."

Days folded into one another like the pages of a worn manuscript, their language made up of glances, gestures, and shared stillness. Octavia learned to read Duneveil's subtle signals — the flick of an ear, the twitch of a tail, the slow narrowing or widening of those molten eyes. She mirrored his breathing, slow and deliberate, grounding herself in the moment. At times, she sat with her back against the dragon's rough flank, feeling the slow beat of life beneath her palms. It was warmth both physical and spiritual — a tether to a world she no longer dared to trust.

On the seventh day, when the sky burned with the first fierce light of dawn, Octavia reached out — not with words, but with a hand. Her fingers trembled as they hovered inches from the dragon's snout. The scales were rough, each one edged like a stone worn by centuries of wind and sand. Duneveil's nostrils flared, smoke curling softly in the cool morning air.

For a moment, the world held its breath.

Then, with the slowest movement, the dragon lowered his head until his snout met her palm. The shock was electric — a pulse of life and pain and fragile hope. Tears pricked at Octavia's eyes, blurring the cliff's sharp edges.

"I see you," she whispered. "And I am here."

From that day, their companionship grew — not in leaps, but in careful, patient steps. Octavia began to share her food. She crushed figs and softened dried bread, offering morsels from her own meager stores. Duneveil accepted them — sometimes hesitantly, sometimes with quiet gratitude. She spoke to him of the world beyond the cliffs: of Rome's marble columns, of the roar of the crowd in the arena, of the weight of a name she no longer bore with pride. In turn, she listened to the silent language of the dragon — the shifting of his weight, the flicker of his eyes, the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath her fingers.

Days passed. Weeks.

The dragon's wing grew stronger, mending slowly beneath the ministrations of salves and rest. Octavia watched with awe as he tested it—stretching and folding the damaged limb with tentative grace. One afternoon, as the sun dipped low, Duneveil lifted his great body, dust swirling in a golden haze. A gust of wind caught him as he rose, wings beating slow but sure. He circled the cliffs once, twice, then descended in a soft, shaking landing near Octavia.

She laughed — a sound like a bird freed from a cage — and reached out, pressing her palm to his chest.

"We are not so different," she said.

At night, the two became shadows intertwined by firelight.

Octavia lay curled beside the dragon's massive form, shielded from cold by the warmth radiating from his body. The sound of his breathing was a lullaby, the slow rising and falling a promise of survival. Sometimes, when the stars wheeled overhead, she whispered stories of her childhood, of her dreams and fears, of the girl who had fought behind a helmet and the woman who now sought something more. Duneveil's rumble was an answer — a deep, resonant sound that spoke of ancient wisdom and newfound friendship.

One morning, as the cliffs glistened with frost, Octavia awoke to find the dragon watching her — alert, calm, almost... trusting. She smiled softly, the weight of the past lifting from her shoulders like morning mist. Together, they stood at the edge of the world, two wounded fires burning against the cold.

The cliff side was alive with the scent of salt and pine, the air sharp and bracing as the wind swept over the jagged rocks. Morning light spilled like molten gold across the landscape, catching the shimmer of waves far below. Octavia stood at the edge, heart pounding not from fear or battle, but from the promise of something new. Beside her, Duneveil stretched his great wings wide, the massive membranes catching the breeze with a fragile grace. The damaged wing, once twisted and torn, had healed remarkably under her care—though still thinner, weaker, vulnerable. He flexed it carefully, testing the strength, muscles trembling beneath his sand-colored scales. Octavia swallowed hard. To fly with a dragon was not a dream she had dared speak aloud, let alone imagine. Yet here, with Duneveil's patient gaze meeting hers, that impossible dream felt close enough to touch.

Their journey to flight began with trust—a bridge built slowly, moment by moment.

She had learned from watching him: how he shifted his weight, how the muscles beneath his wings tensed and relaxed, how the rhythm of his breath aligned with the wind. The dragon was a creature of air and power, but also of delicate balance. Duneveil lowered his massive head, nudging Octavia gently as if to say, "Are you ready?" Her fingers trembled as she reached up to touch the coarse scales at his neck, the warm roughness grounding her.

"I'm ready," she whispered, voice steady despite the flood of nerves.

With deliberate care, she climbed onto his back. The first contact was a shock of heat and weight—a living, breathing mountain beneath her. Her hands found the ridges of his spine, gripping tightly as he shifted beneath her.

At first, the sensation was dizzying. The world lurched and swayed as Duneveil began to move—each step heavy, deliberate, shaking the ground beneath them. Octavia's heart hammered as she struggled to find balance, arms gripping instinctively.

"Relax," came a low rumble from the dragon, almost like a wordless encouragement.

She exhaled slowly, matching her breath to his steady rhythm. Duneveil crouched, muscles coiling like springs. Then, with a powerful thrust of his wings, he leapt into the air. The ground fell away. The cliff's jagged edge slipped beneath them, swallowed by a cloud of spray and wind. Octavia's stomach churned—part fear, part exhilaration. She clung tighter as Duneveil beat his wings slowly, fighting gravity with ancient strength.

For a moment, they hovered, suspended between sea and sky.

Octavia's breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide with wonder and terror. The wind tore at her cloak, whipping her hair into a wild halo. The sun's warmth was distant, replaced by the rush of cold air that stung her cheeks. The dragon banked, wings folding and stretching in graceful arcs. The world tilted beneath her, a swirling canvas of blues and greens. Her heart was a wild drum in her chest.

But flight was not easy.

The first attempts were clumsy and fraught with peril. Duneveil's wings faltered at times—buffeted by sudden gusts, his damaged wing trembling under the strain. Octavia felt herself slip, heart leaping as her hands slid on his scales.

"Hold!" she gasped, tightening her grip.

They spiraled downward briefly, the roar of wind deafening in her ears. The dragon righted himself with a powerful surge, wings beating a desperate rhythm. The cliff's jagged rocks rushed up to meet them, but with a final mighty thrust, they soared back upward. Octavia's scream turned into a breathless laugh.

Each flight lesson was a test of patience and trust. Duneveil learned to trust her balance, her presence, her touch.Octavia learned the rhythms of his breath and wing beats—the subtle shifts that signaled a turn, a dive, a lift. She learned to read the wind, to lean into it, to move with it rather than against it. Slowly, their dance became more certain—less a struggle and more a harmony.

One golden afternoon, after hours, days even, of practice, Duneveil lifted Octavia higher than before. The world below was a sprawling tapestry of earth and sea, tiny and distant. She stretched her arms wide, letting the wind carry her. For a moment, she was weightless—more than free, more than alive. The dragon's rumble beneath her was steady, comforting.

"You fly," she whispered, tears prickling her eyes.

"And you fly with me," came the unspoken reply.

Landing was gentle, almost tender. The cliffs welcomed them back with the familiar scent of salt and pine. Octavia slid from Duneveil's back, legs shaky but heart soaring. She knelt beside him, hands resting on his scales, breathing in the raw power and warmth. They shared a moment of quiet connection—two wounded fires burning brighter together.

No words were needed.

At night, bundled up near the makeshift bond fire, that's when the realization came to Octavia ; they had found freedom not just in flight, but in each other.

The dawn stretched across the cliffs in muted shades of pink and gold, the sea beneath shimmering with the first light of day. Octavia stood at the edge, her breath steady, her heart pounding with anticipation. Beside her, Duneveil flexed his massive wings, the sinews rippling beneath sun-bleached scales. Today was the day.

She slid onto his back, fingers curling tightly around the ridges along his spine, seeking the firm grip that steadied her. The wind caught her cloak, whipping it into a wild banner behind her, as if urging her onward. The cliff loomed beneath them, the jagged edge sharp against the swirling mist. With a powerful push, Duneveil launched into the air. The ground fell away beneath them, cliffs giving way to rolling forests, winding rivers, and distant mountains rising like ancient sentinels. The world unfolded—a vast, untamed expanse, wild and full of secrets. Octavia gasped, her eyes wide with wonder. The wind tore at her hair, kissed her cheeks with icy fingers, but inside, a fierce warmth bloomed—a fire that no cage could smother. Duneveil banked gracefully, wings beating with a steady rhythm. Below, the forests shimmered like emerald waves; the rivers glistened like threads of silver pulled taut by the sun. She stretched her arms wide, feeling the pulse of the wind beneath her palms, the surge of flight lifting her beyond fear and doubt.

With the dragon beneath her, the sky was no longer a limit—it was a beginning.

As they soared higher, Octavia's thoughts drifted to the life she had left behind. The marble halls where her name was both crown and chain; the roar of the Colosseum crowd where she fought to survive beneath a mask; the fury in her father's eyes when he learned of her secret rebellion. But here, above the world, none of that mattered.

With Duneveil, she was free.

Free to be herself—not a princess, not a gladiator, but simply a girl who longed to roam.

She leaned forward, resting her cheek against the warm scales of the dragon's neck, and whispered, "Thank you."

His deep rumble was the only answer she needed.

They flew for hours, tracing the coastline as it twisted like a serpent beneath the sun. They glided over forests thick with ancient trees, their canopies weaving a tapestry of shadow and light. Octavia spotted villages nestled in valleys, their smoke curling skyward like soft invitations to stories she longed to discover. Duneveil's wings beat steadily, powerful and sure. Occasionally, he dipped low, skimming the waves so closely that the spray kissed Octavia's face like salt and freedom. The world stretched wide and wild, and with every mile, her soul expanded, breathing in the boundless possibility of what lay ahead.

At one point, they soared over a vast mountain range, the peaks crowned with snow that sparkled like diamonds. The air was thin and cold, but the view was breathtaking—valleys carved by rivers, cliffs shattered by time, skies so vast they seemed to swallow the sun.

Octavia felt the fierce thrill of discovery surge through her.

"This," she thought, "is what I was born for."

As twilight crept across the sky, painting it in hues of violet and gold, Octavia and Duneveil returned to the cliffs where their journey had begun. The world below was hushed, wrapped in the quiet of coming night. She slid from the dragon's back, knees trembling, heart soaring.

Together, they stood at the edge—two souls bound by scars, by flight, by the fierce hunger for freedom.

Octavia looked up at the stars emerging, infinite and bright, and felt a fierce certainty bloom inside her. No matter what chains the past had tried to bind her with, she was no longer captive.

She was the sky's daughter now—wild, unbroken, and soaring.

With Duneveil beside her, the world was theirs to explore.

And this was only the beginning.

[steveharringwhore]

The Moon and the Midsummer Sun

Benedict Bridgerton x Princess! Reader

Chapter Two: New Faces, Old Duties🪞

The morning sun cast a soft glow over London as Cassandra and Darius stepped out into the bustling streets near their new home. The city’s charm was different from the calm French countryside, but there was a warmth beneath the stone and brick, a hum of life that felt promising despite the uncertainty.

They wandered together through narrow alleys lined with market stalls, where vendors shouted over one another, offering fresh fruit, embroidered gloves, and delicate trinkets. The air was fragrant with the scent of spiced bread and fresh flowers.

Cassandra paused often, her eyes drawn to the small details—the vibrant colors of woven ribbons fluttering above a fabric stall, the aged leather of a stack of books displayed on a vendor’s cart. She touched a fragile page of an open book with reverence. Reading was her refuge, her joy—the way she understood the world’s stories without needing to speak them aloud.

Nearby, Darius’s gazed on a gentleman playing a small piano in the corner of the square, fingers gliding gracefully over the keys. The melody was soft, wistful—a perfect contrast to the city’s clamor. Cassandra noticed his quiet appreciation and smiled; music, like her books, was another language they shared.

~~~~~

Later that afternoon, a carriage bearing Queen Charlotte herself arrived at the Darlington estate. The family gathered in the drawing room, a light and airy chamber bathed in pastel yellows and greens, where floral tapestries hung between tall windows and fresh pink roses spilled from silver vases.

The Queen’s presence filled the room with solemn dignity. After brief greetings, she requested a private audience with the family.

In the adjacent library, walls lined with ancient tomes and gilded portraits, Queen Charlotte’s voice was steady but firm.

“Princess Cassandra,” she began, “your bloodline is a precious thread in the fabric of this crown’s future. You must marry, and soon, to bear the heir we so desperately need.”

Cassandra’s chest tightened as the weight of this duty settled heavily upon her.

The Queen continued, “While it is preferable your suitor hold title, it is the production of an heir that is paramount. Should one of my own children marry and bear an heir before you, this obligation may be delayed, though it is unlikely.”

The room was thick with tension. Sebastian’s stern gaze softened as he placed a protective hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. Amalia’s eyes shimmered with pride and unspoken worry.

Cassandra absorbed the news in silence, her thoughts swirling with the heavy realization that her future was no longer her own.

~~~~

That evening, the Bridgerton estate was alive with light and sound. The grand ballroom was a spectacle of refinement: towering ceilings painted with cherubs and golden clouds, crystal chandeliers refracting warm candlelight onto gleaming marble floors. The air was fragrant with jasmine and freshly cut roses.

Guests swirled in gowns of blush pinks, soft yellows, and delicate greens, their laughter and chatter filling the expansive room. The Darlington siblings arrived one by one—Darius calm and graceful, Frederick with a mischievous sparkle in his eye, and Euphemia—whom the family affectionately called Effie—in a soft lavender gown that shimmered with every shy smile she gave.

As the footman announced each of the younger siblings to the gathering crowd, anticipation built quietly. Then, the music softened, and all eyes turned to Queen Charlotte, who stepped forward with regal poise.

“May I present,” she proclaimed, “Princess Cassandra Darlington—future queen, and mother of the next crown’s heir.”

A ripple passed through the crowd. Whispers filled the air as men’s eyes lingered longer on Cassandra, their interest shifting from mere curiosity to something sharper, more calculating. The weight of her title settled visibly on her shoulders, a mantle both splendid and suffocating.

Suitors approached with practiced smiles, their words laced with ambition. One gentleman barely glanced at her face, speaking only of sons and legacies. Cassandra danced with polite detachment, her spirit restless beneath the surface.

Seeking respite, she slipped away from the crowd, wandering down a quiet hallway lined with ancestral portraits and a stunning gallery of paintings. The works ranged from serene landscapes to dramatic scenes full of emotion—each one telling a story.

Her eyes caught on a painting she didn’t recognize—dark, enigmatic, and captivating. As she studied it, a voice startled her.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen that one before, either,” said a man stepping into the soft glow of the corridor. Benedict Bridgerton, unaware of her royal identity, as he hid from his mothers matchmaking eye, spoke with genuine curiosity.

They fell easily into conversation, both lovers of art, sharing impressions and favorite painters. The unexpected connection felt like a brief escape from the demands of their lives.

Suddenly, faint music drifted from the ballroom. Cassandra’s foot began to tap almost involuntarily.

Despite his usual reluctance, Benedict offered his hand. “Would you care to dance? Just a few turns.”

She hesitated, then allowed herself the rare lightness of the moment as he spun her once then twice, laughter mingling with the music.

Their conversation paused when a servant appeared, seeking Benedict—Anthony Bridgerton wanted to speak with him.

Benedict excused himself, and Cassandra returned to the ballroom, breath catching in her chest.

Feeling overwhelmed, she slipped outside into the cool night air and found Eloise Bridgerton seated on a stone bench, a book in one hand and a delicate pipe in the other.

Eloise looked up, her expression frank and welcoming.

“You seem like someone who doesn’t need all this fuss,” Eloise said, gesturing at the glittering house behind them.

Cassandra smiled gratefully. “You’re right. I want to be seen for myself, not my title.”

The two quickly found common ground in their love of books and a shared weariness of society’s expectations. Eloise’s candid humor and fearless curiosity felt like a breath of fresh air.

“I’ll show you the real London,” Eloise promised. “No crowns, no rules.”

Previous | Next

[guard-dog-boyfriend]

Welcome to Darling DIY's #1!

Are you creatively inclined? Do you identify as a yandere or darling? Do you just like giving gifts? This is for you! Darling DIY's will be a mini series I'm doing of fun arts and crafts projects for any obsessive lover.

If that interests you please click read more! And if you want to see more later on, reblog, comment, like, and share! I put a lot of work into these posts.

Credit to Roman from @theycantfwroman for help with some of these ideas. Go check them out!

Personalized Poppets

This is a DIY I have personally done and was the starting point of My Goddess being my muse. It's a doll meant to represent that person, and you can fill it with herbs, or other symbolic charms to help fully embody your beloved. You can use it in spiritual practices, place it on your shrine, or simply just make a plush of your beloved! You can get cheap fabric and basic sewing supplies from Dollar Tree which is the material I used, but you can make poppets from a variety of materials. Feel free to get creative with it.

Poppet Ideas:

Make a fabric doll with herbs inside for protection, so your beloved is safe thanks to you!

Make a mosaic stone of them and place it in the garden, to bless your plants.

Make them into a marketable plush! Just kidding. But seriously. Just make them into a really cute plush. This is especially nice for long distance relationships for cuddling potential.

Make them a custom painted doll, from an old monster high doll, and sew them tons of outfits. Dress up doll of your beloved achieved! I wont tell if you put them in silly outfits you've always wanted to see them in but they would never let you put them in :)

Make popsicle stick poppets of your beloved's exes and burn them!

Victorian Hair Art

The Victorians were obsessed with death and mourning. and this was born from those practices. However, they also simply did this for people they loved! Linked below will be a DIY article explaining it better than I ever could. You can also use brushed out yarn for this if you have no way to obtain enough of your beloved's hair for this.

Tutorial One Tutorial Two Article One Article Two

Pressed Flowers Portrait

What it says on the tin! Get some flowers that you associate with you and your beloved and press it! TL;DR to pressed flowers, place them in between sheets of parchment paper, and then place it between two heavy flat objects. Most commonly done using books, but there are flower presses sold specifically for this. Leave it for a few months, and once they're flat and dried out place it in a glass frame and display them.

Pressed Flower Ideas:

Grow the flowers yourself! Make it a long haul project to grow the flowers then press them then frame them.

Place other paper goods in the frame to signify certain events! Did you buy your beloved a bouquet and take them to dinner? Frame the bouquet and the receipt. Did you go out to a park and then see a movie? Pick some of the flowers and dry them out, then display with your movie tickets! Has your beloved literally EVER picked you a flower and given it to you? You better be pressing it.

When you and your beloved get married (if you want to get married obviously lol) preserve some of the wedding flowers with a wedding invite as a nice wedding memento

Press a small flower and cover it in resin, make a small resin necklace out of it for your beloved!

Hand Print Art

This is an idea I got from a pinterest post I got where you and your beloved place both your hands on a canvas overlapping like below:

However there's a variety of alternative things you can do with this to give it a more obsessive spin!

Hand Art Ideas:

Paint a sigil on the canvas before painting the background, then cover it up! This sigil can be anything but I prefer a binding sigil that represents something like "We are forever bound together"

Do thumb prints instead in the shape of a heart! More individualized and love themed.

This can be done with multiple people if you're polyam! And you don't have to pick these very gendered colors either.

You guys therians? Use stamps representing your chosen animals paw.

Scented Paper Flower Bouquet

There's tons of tutorials and ways to make paper flowers, but make sure to scent these guys with a signature scent! This can be anything from a scent that reminds you of an event, a specific date, or your darling's own cologne or perfume.

Scented Paper Flower Bouquet Ideas:

Have your darling buy you a scent for a specific date. Give them the paper flowers scented with the same scent after the date as a memento of the night.

Choose a scent based on the season you met them! Scents have seasons attached to them, and a quick google will explain what scent is what but here's a quick guide breaking it down! I personally am a big cologne nut, and my most notable scent is my bourbon cologne I wore in the winter the first time I met My Goddess in person and I scent nearly everything I give Her with it.

Make the flowers out of fabric, and turn it into a patch of any size! The fabric will hold the scent for longer, and now it's wearable!

Learn flower language. If you're gonna make paper flowers give them meaning! Quick breakdown guide to flower language here.