#decloak

[renthewerecatboi]

made a guy mad at me today for having enough braincells to recognize that we don't have a medic and that if i *do* see one, i should shoot it

[soundwave-starlight]

Achievement Unlocked: Get called a slur in TF2!

[therealaves-blog1]

Being Trans on DS9 would be so difficult because one minute you're trying to make it with a space shorty by the replicator on the Promenade and then Dr. Bashir has wandered over to friendly chat and asks if you need any follow ups. And now you have to explain to the shorty that this English loser is the one that got you your custom genitals while he sits down, complimenting his work and trying to chat up your prospective date.

Now Chief O'Brien has run over to get Dr. Bashir out of there and not ruin your moment and you have to stare as they start arguing about something completely unrelated and your Pagh just wont leave your body even when the gay tailor war criminal comes over to snipe at Julian. The Chief just looking you in the eye with that gentle Irish gaze, sorry that he couldn't stop this and that you both now have to tolerate the fake not-flirting because everyone knows those two are dating even if they pretend they're sly.

When you try to salvage things you discover the science officer is sitting with you now and trying to get a three-way going that you and the shorty are both kind of into it, but also its weird cause technically she's your boss and Worf is staring D'k tahgs at you from a different table. And finally the red alert klaxon goes off and you can see a D'derdix Warbird decloaking and lighting up the shield over the Promenade and you know the Prophets are real because they have given you an out as you run to duty stations.

Absolutely embarrassing.

[geordikisser]

sharkweek. shawpack + house of solaire

synopsis you woke up on you period & bled through the sheets

characters david, asher, milo, sam, vincent, & porter

content contains gender neutral language, mentions of a uterus, slight implications of blood play

david

♥︎ it’s.. david? he’s grown, he’s very normal about the situation. he smells the blood initially and woke up based on fear but to his relief, it’s just ur period.

♥︎ before he awakes you, he prepares a shower, pain killers and some water for you

♥︎ it’s helping & reassuring you out of bed that was more of the struggle..

♥︎ very reassuring, doesn’t want this to be an embarrassing moment for you since you’re in your most vulnerable state right now & as your boyfriend, he just wants you to be ok and clean

♥︎ scrubs your back in the shower and massages your lower back with his thumbs within the warm water

♥︎ it’s to be expected he handled the bedding situation quickly as you were getting dressed from your shower

♥︎ it’s a quick cleanup as he doesn’t want you to think about it to hard. it’s to be expected he brings you breakfast in bed afterwards & showers you in love ♡

asher

♥︎ HE was the mortified one obviously. this man is to much of an airhead to think before he acts

♥︎ “BABE OH MY GOD ARE YOU OK??”

♥︎ cue to you hiding away under the bedsheets as tears prick from your eyes in embarrassment..

♥︎ asher begins to caress you gently from above the blanket & whispers sweet nothings to you, also whispering apologies for his inappropriate reaction

♥︎ he helps you up obviously & kisses your temple as you two make your way to the bathroom for you to wash up

♥︎ as you shower, asher runs the washer with all the bedding & prepares some snacks & medication for you, similarly to david. shockingly, it’s not just hair under that hat.

♥︎ he helps you get dressed & relaxes with you on the couch, watching your favorite silly movies as he also massages your hips to help you relax & fall asleep.

milo

♥︎ milo dgaf. he loves everything about you, including impromptu blood spillages from your uterus.

♥︎ immediately after he noticed it, you cloaked. took about 10 minutes for you to decloak back. the power you have to hold that for 10 minutes ON YOUR PERIOD has mr. greer gagged

♥︎ “i’m a big boy, a little blood won’t freak me out.”

♥︎ a very direct and sweet sentiment. you shortly offered him to join you to clean up & he couldn’t say no of course.

♥︎ kisses on kisses and touches on touches. milo has a hands problem obviously & when you cried about how your feet hurt from standing, he made no delay to rush out of that shower with you

♥︎ he removes the bedding and puts a new, clean one on the bed you both share. as you two lie back down, he massages the small of your back & kisses your neck. assuring if this situation finds itself to repeat he will never make you feel judged or embarrassed. he desires to foster comfortability between you two with ‘awkward’ things like this

sam

♥︎ being a vampire, he clocked the blood smell quickly. thinking you did something stupid to injure yourself but to his surprise & relief, it’s just your period

♥︎ peppering kisses on your shoulder to awake you, he’s greeted with a not so savory grumble. he soon informs you on the incident under the covers

♥︎ you turn pale, paler than him.

♥︎ “darlin’ it’s okay. it’s not like i’m squeamish, i’m a vampire.” he says in a low growl

♥︎ as much as you loved the kisses being peppered upon you, you wanted to settle this and clean up. his eyes scream hunger & his face heats up before he offers a quick solution to this.

♥︎ he tugs at the brim of your underwear as his eyes meet yours, dimly lit. his breath is heavy & hitching with every heave of his chest.

♥︎ “i—.. i can handle this. only if you’d let me.” he mutters shyly, swallowing sharply.

♥︎ you can assume what happens after. this isn’t a common occurrence so don’t expect to be hunching everytime your end of the sentence stirs up, he isn’t a newblood (^_^)

vincent

♥︎ do vampires still experience periods? i mean im assuming not & so did you until your vampire lover awakes you, mortified

♥︎ i think he was under the same impression you were..

♥︎ “l—lovely? are you ok? are you hurt?” he isn’t stupid, he obviously can make the guess it’s your period but how are you on your period

♥︎ after a quick chat with a vampire special gynecologist, you learn that your uterine lining can still shed. unfortunately you still can experience your period but thankfully it’s more lighter than it would be as a vampire than a human.

♥︎ after that panic, vincent helps you clean up. he never had to experience something like this so.. his reaction was rather similar to sams. he felt a tad excited about the whole thing

♥︎ until you expressed the discomfort you were in & the desperate want to rest after everything so he made quick work of cleaning everything for you of course.

♥︎ as you showered, vincent did thorough research for what aids period cramps. shortly after, he prepared a heating pad, chocolate, pain killers & water

porter

♥︎ being a vampire, the blood smell stabbed him right in the nose. it was obnoxiously strong & impossible to sleep off so he awoke.

♥︎ “holy hells.”

♥︎ he gulps & sits up, looking around awkwardly. does.. does he wake you up? he doesn’t know. he lies back down. that doesn’t feel right, he sits back up

♥︎ porter within his time hasn’t had the displeasure of dealing with a period & if he had, it’s been years.

♥︎ you still being asleep, he uses your phone to google what to do as vincent did. soon after, he awakes you gently. his voice soft and gentle as he did.

♥︎ “treasure. there’s a bit of a bloody mess below us.. now, before you overr-“ POW. right in his nose goes your head as you sit up horrified.

♥︎ spewing out apologies, you feel your heart race intensely. porter instantly shushes you & caresses your cheek, a sincere look in his eyes.

♥︎ he gently reassures you that it is ok and he does not mind & if anything it’s just a learning experience for him to soothe your worries. despite his discomfort of the smell of the blood killing his nostrils, he wanted to ensure your own comfort beforehand.

[skmhlml]

Could you please write an elder yautja x male reader ×∆×

Date requested: 7/2/2025

Fandom: Predators

Elder Yautja x M!Reader

The jungle was alive, thrumming with heat and whispers.

You had tracked strange movement for three days now—disturbances in the brush, corpses of apex predators torn in half and strung up in trees, and a heat shimmer that never quite vanished from your peripheral vision.

You thought you were clever. You were wrong.

The Elder had watched you from the moment your boots touched soil.

An experienced killer, revered and feared among his kind, he had passed down his teachings to many youngbloods. But this hunt was his. You had caught his eye—a rare creature. Not just because you were human, but because you were stubborn, reckless, and unafraid. Even when alone. Even when the shadows hissed around you.

He let you run. Let you believe you were evading him. He liked the way you moved—sweaty, wild-eyed, all sinew and stubborn muscle. You reminded him of prey that fought tooth and claw before it died. Or better yet—before it was taken.

⸻

You were setting up a trap when the net struck…

High-tension wiring clamped your limbs in place, digging into flesh. You struggled, cursed, roared into the jungle—but your cries were drowned by the heavy footfalls of something… massive.

He decloaked.

And your breath caught.

Towering over you, his mandibles flared, ancient armor gleaming, body scarred and massive. His dreadlocks swung as he knelt to your level. And he sniffed you—low and deliberate—his inner tusks brushing your cheek.

“F̸u̴l̷l̸ ̵o̵f̴ ̷f̸i̷g̷h̴t̸,” he growled in broken English, voice deep enough to shake your ribs.

“Go to hell,” you spat.

He chuckled.

⸻

His ship was a metal cathedral of heat and shadows. You were shackled in a stasis cell, but only briefly. He didn’t want a prisoner. He wanted a mate. And his patience had already worn thin.

You fought as he released you.

You kicked, bit, punched—but he grabbed you by the waist with one hand and slammed you onto the padded floor of what could only be described as his den. The room reeked of musk and death.

“I choose you,” he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours with a forceful grunt. “Not weak…not soft… Strong enough to last.”

Then he shoved you down.

⸻

You barely had time to breathe before his massive, clawed hands ripped your shirt, shredding it like paper. His other hand yanked your pants down, exposing your half-hard cock to the cool air of the ship.

His size dwarfed yours.

Everything about him was monstrous—his cock was thick, ridged, and leaking dark fluid. It twitched as he loomed over you, watching your face with rapt attention. Almost… reverent.

“You struggle. Good.” he rumbled, stroking himself lazily with one hand while the other gripped your thigh. “I claim you. Now.”

Before you could snarl a reply, he was between your legs—not entering, not yet. No. He bent down and devoured you.

Your mind went white.

That monstrous tongue lapped at your cock, hot and textured, curling around the shaft and sucking it into his mouth. You thrashed, gasping, hips bucking—only to be pinned harder.

You came fast. Too fast.

And the Elder growled with satisfaction, savoring it.

But that was only the beginning.

He flipped you with ease, dragging your hips up. You tried to crawl away, nails clawing at the padded floor—but his claws dug into your waist.

“Little male… mine now.”

He pressed in.

You screamed—back arching, muscles locking—as his thick cock stretched you open. The pain was blinding, but his grip was tight, unrelenting. Every inch forced its way into you until your stomach clenched and your eyes rolled.

He mated you like a beast.

Pounding into you with brutal rhythm, grunting, snarling against your back, tongue dragging across your nape. His body was burning-hot, sweat dripping onto you as he thrust, over and over, until the bed rocked and your voice gave out.

He whispered in his language—ancient, guttural things you couldn’t understand. But the meaning was clear:

You are his.

He bit into your shoulder as he came—deep inside you, so hot and heavy it made you moan despite yourself.

He didn’t pull out.

He just lay there, still inside you, panting like a satisfied predator. One massive arm wrapped around your chest, dragging you back against him like a prized catch.

“Good mate,” he purred.

You could barely keep your eyes open.

“You run again…” he murmured, mandibles clicking against your ear, “I break legs. Keep you still.”

And the terrifying part?

You believed him.

And even worse?

Somewhere deep down, in your overstimulated, broken mind…You wanted him to.

[tf2incorrectquotes]

Medic: *walks into the sitting room, yawning loudly* Well, I'm gonna go to bed early tonight.

Heavy: *pauses in the middle of polishing Sasha*

Heavy: *whips around to grab Medic by the throat and slam him against the nearest wall*

Medic: Ack-

Heavy: Who are you and what have you done with Doktor?

Medic: *decloaks to reveal an enemy Spy, wheezing* How did you-

[anonomi]

Everytime I see sniperspy, it's usually opposite teams, which is lovely but I also believe in same team sniperspy, because of this match I had while playing Sniper on Thunder Mountain. I was using the bullshit countries away sightline by the BLU spawn on the first stage, the one on the rocks. I can't see shit but I feel like every sniper needs to use a bullshit spot at least once in their life so I'm sticking to it. Though I can't hit shit. Anyway I hear a spy decloak behind me and I turn, ready to throw hands.

But the only spy there is my team's, and he's busy running to the fight. I feel like he glances at me a bit, but he's gone before I can think about it.

I feel silly but I figure he's just testing his cloak, because I don't hallucinate decloaks, not yet anyway. A few minutes later, and there it is again. Someone decloaks behind me. This time I turn and there is my spy, but he's acting very suspicious. Has a mask on and everything. I run over to rip him up, and he starts dancing around, dodging me and feinting. We're jumping around for at least a minute before I run right into and through him.

It's my fucking spy. I've been juggling around for the past minute with my own spy.

He realizes the jig is up and he looks at me for a long moment, probably laughing at me behind his impassive face, before he's running off to fight again.

I go back to sniping, feeling horribly embarrassed. I move around and eventually get caught by a scout. After coming out of spawn, I go to stand on the rocks again to check things out. Can you guess what happens next?

I hear a decloak behind me and I'm sure this time this is the enemy spy. It has to be. No way my spy would still be screwing with me this deep into the match. I turn, and yep, there's a spy, wearing a mask and everything. Knife at the ready, I take a few steps forward.. before I just stop.

I stare at this spy. He stares at me. I look at him for a looong moment before I grab my rifle back and turn around. He comes up to my side and I tense, because shit maybe it is actually the enemy spy, but the stab he hits to my side bounces right off.

My team's spy looks at me, opens up VC and chuckles, before telling me in this smooth, soft little voice, "Sniper you should move up. You're not gonna hit anybody from here."

And he runs off again. Bastard.

[rwbyvein]

Double Rainbow: Secrecy

Nora: *busts into Jaune's room*

Nora: Leader?!

Jaune: *groans*

Nora: Are you all right?

Jaune: Ohh - yeahh.

Nora: You're sure?

Jaune: Nora, what's up?

Nora: We just heard noises last night.

Jaune: I'm fine, Nora.

Nora: You're sure.

Jaune: Ohh, yes.

Nora: Okay, then, Ren's making pancakes.

Nora: *leaves and closes the door*

Jaune: She's gone.

Ilia: *decloaks next to him in bed, her hand visibly moving under the covers at his crotch*

Jaune: They are going to figure it out, eventually.

Ilia: Ren probably has. Nora probably won't.

Jaune: Just get down there before they get suspicious.

Ilia: *moves her head under the covers*

Nora: *opens the door*

Jaune: Nora!

Nora: It's just.

Jaune: It can wait until I'm - oooh - dressed.

Nora: 'K.

[vdragon57]

two sides of the same coin (w/o coins and notes under the cut!

i'm not super happy with it, but it's gone from my sketchbook to cardstock to digital so i think i should stop messing with it decloaked sif cuz. i ain't figuring that out. also it emphasizes their similarities or smth idk i HAD to draw smth for twohats i couldn't not uhhh coins i just kinda. guessed. what a coin looks like.no reference whatsoever they're meant to be from their country yeah :D

[thethecamthe]

spy taunt idea:

he pretends to surrender, and pulls out a white flag. However the flag then gets the decloak effect and sound to reveal it's a team colored flag saying "sike"

[numberonechesnaughtfan]

deadringer decloak sound

[hypernova-writes]

KinkTober Day 10

[Mirrorsex - Spy][Plus sized!S/O]

“Ah Ah..Eyes on me ma fleur..I want you to see how you look..”

You were preparing for a date with Spy. He allowed you to get ready in his smoking room, as he had laid out a dress, heels, and perfume he wanted you to wear.

You worked alongside the mercs as an assistant to Ms. Pauling and the Administrator.

You were suprised when Spy started showing interest in you, because before he was definitely kind of an asshole..but then he started coming around, showing that he could be a gentleman. When he wanted to.

And the sex was amazing…he’s brought you to heights you never thought you could reach before him. He worshipped your body and surely made sure you felt like you were loved when you were intimate with him.

But even still, with all that, you still felt like you were..not right for him.

Whenever you went out places outside of the base, you could feel people staring at you, as if they were judging a woman like you for being next to someone like Spy.

You shook your head as you got dressed, pulling on the dress, it was a silky, red bodycon dress. It hugged your curves, and it was strapless, showing your arms.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, sighing softly. The dress was beautiful, and it definitely looked expensive..but you didn’t feel beautiful?

“Why..am i so big?..how does he even like me?..” You mumble softly as you run your hands across your body. You sigh as you look into the mirror.

You were so distracted with judging your body that you didn’t hear the sound of Spy decloaking, but you jumped when you felt hands on your waist.

“..Correction, I love you. And I love you because you are you.”

You yelp and lock eyes with him, he was already dressed as well, a nice matching red and black suit to go with your dress. He runs his hands along your body,before letting them lay on your stomach.

“Who convinced you that i didn’t love you huh?”

“S-spy..I-“

“Hush. I love all of you. Every. Single. Part.”

Spy says with a smirk.

“from your face..” He raises his hand to caress your face.

“To your full, and oh so pretty breasts.” You tell as he lowers his hands to fondle both of your breasts through the dress.

“Down to this soft stomach I love to hold after a rough day..” He made sure you were watching in the mirror as he caresses your stomach.

“And finally..this Lucious thighs..that conceal that beautiful..needy pussy of yours, mon chéri..” You whimper as Spy bunches up the dress.

“And it seems like I have been lacking on showing how much i love you.” He says as he pulls his armchair over, but kept you looking in the mirror.

“don’t take your eyes off that mirror.”

“But Spy..t-this is embarrassing..”

“Embarrassing?”

Spy smirks as he sits back on armchair, you blushed as you notice him pull his pants down, his boxers followed, and you whimpered as he was holding his cock in his hand.

“Non, nothing is embarasssing about this. It’s showing that i haven’t be showing you how much i love you..”

Spy beckons you towards him, you sit on his lap, your back against his chest, he moves your panties to the side. He then guides his cock to your cunt before placing his hands on your hips.

“You’re going to ride me..While in front of this mirror..”

You gasp out as he helps you lower yourself down on his cock. “Mhm..You’re already so wet..I slid in so easily..Such a naughty little thing you are.”

You slowly start to riding him, as his hands reach up, to pull down the top of your dress, he groans as he takes one breast into his hand, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

“Mhm..there we go..you see how well you take me, no one else could ever replace you.” Spy mumbles and he watches your face in the mirror, you were flustered, he could tell you weren’t going to last long, especially when he started bucking his hips up into you.

He brings you back so you could brace yourself up against him, he wraps his arms around you as he fucks up into you. You struggled to keep your eyes open, it felt so fucking good, he seemed to find that angle that had your head spinning.

He grips your chin, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. “Don’t you dare look away..” Spy growled as he began fucking up into you at a rougher pace.

You couldn’t speak, only thing that fell from your lips was moans of name.

“I want you to watch how beautiful you look when you fall apart on my cock..I want you to see it with your own eyes, darling.”

You whine as you locked eyes with him, seeing the full blown look of desire and want in Spy’s eyes was enough to push you over the edge. You moaned out, it borderlines on a scream with how loud you were as your body trembled from your orgasm.

Spy groans as he watches as your expressions change, his movements become erratic before he finally stills his hip. “That’s right..take it all beautiful..mhm my beautiful woman..”

Spy mumbles as he places kisses to your cheek.

He doesn’t rush to move you,, and he stops you whenever you try to move.

“I hope you know, I truly do love you..not just to fuck either..” Spy says softly as he helps you move, so that you were now face him, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck.

“I can see myself spending the rest of my life with you..”

You smile against his skin, you would speak, but you were tired, so you just placed a kiss on his neck in return.

He chuckles as he kisses your forehead. “Just relax mon ange..we’ll reschedule our date..”

You nod as he rubs your back, lulling you into safety and security in his arms.

To everyone who checked on me and wished me well, thank you so much!!! I'm getting around to requests and other things okay 💞

[mercurysmaelstrom]

Bite the Hand

pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Knight!Reader

summary: Labelled as a kinslayer, you flee from your city, finding solace in a seaside town. Years later, Gwayne Hightower, an old friend whose house is allied with your own, comes in search for you now that your house is in need of a new head.

or

Gwayne looks for you in hopes of rekindling the relationship you ran away from.

contains: angst, smut (18+), no use of y/n.

word count: 3.1k

notes: this is for my service tops. reader is gender neutral. also reader is more of an ex-knight. happy reading!

You poured a tankard of ale into your cup as your crew conversed.

Your table sat all the way in a far corner of the wharf-side tavern, a booth you swiftly suggested when you and your fellow dock workers first arrived. With the full room in view, your eyes glided along the area, observing the several port laborers and merchants—most of them rowdy men, as to be expected.

You took notice of the tavern waitress and the blank expression on her face as the very same men harassed her, indicating that she was used to it. Thus, the next time she approached your booth, you flipped a gold coin in her direction, following it with a small nod as her eyes briefly widened at you.

She smiled tightly, grateful, yet confused, then walked away when she realized you had no intention of asking for anything.

“How gracious of you,” you heard a voice in the booth behind you, the one spot out of your line of sight.

The soft look you’d presented to the waitress hardened once you recognized who the voice belonged to.

You continued to look forward as you spoke. “What are you doing here?”

Gwayne Hightower slurped the rest of his wine before returning his cup to the table. “I could ask the same of you. Your house is missing an heir.”

The redhead wasn’t worried about being heard. The myriad of voices in the room easily flushed out his own, including yours.

You snorted. “If that were true, I would have claimed it long ago.” You took another swig of your ale. “My father was not particularly keen on passing it on to me.”

“Perhaps I need to speak more bluntly.” He leaned closer to you. “I would not be here if your father were not desperate for his heir. Age has caught up to him.”

Finally, you turned toward him with a furrow in your brows, seeing the face of a childhood companion. No cloak hid his armor, not that anyone paid him any mind. Many knights came and went in this town.

“The Stranger has taken him?” Was it relief or grief you were feeling? You weren’t sure.

“Not yet,” Gwayne answered. “But he is weak.”

You turned away, wretched memories furiously swimming their way to the surface. Even after all these years, the truth of your doing was not any easier to accept. It mattered not if what you did was right or wrong. Guilt had a way of latching onto you and never letting go.

You stood up, your crewmates much too distracted with their beer-medicated laughter to notice you. You momentarily scanned the room before looking down at Gwayne you peered up at you expectantly.

“Let’s speak elsewhere.”

The two of you pushed past the cramped room, exiting the tavern and its slippery concrete floors. When you decided speaking outside a lively business would be reckless, Gwayne followed on foot with his horse by his side as you reluctantly led him to the small cottage you owned not far from the wharf.

“Have a seat,” you told him once the two of you escaped the cold wind of the coast, entering your home.

While you decloaked, Gwayne unsheathed his sword, laying it on the gray wooden table you had handcrafted yourself.

The moon beamed through the kitchen window, enough to help you see where you were going as you headed for the makeshift altar you had set above the fireplace, lighting a few of the candles you used more for reading than praying, although your first year in this town mustered more prayers from you than your life in Ecraen altogether.

You occupied your focus on the hearth below as Gwayne removed his pauldron and arm braces, the metal clanking against the table until he was left clad in a dark green gambeson and leg armor. He did not sit after, but instead roamed curiously around the small kitchen dining room, examining nothing of importance.

“This place—no one’s suspicious of your ownership?”

You stoked the now-crackling fire. “No one’s been here. Except you.”

Gwayne cleared his throat, remembering why he was here in the first place. “As I said, your father needs an heir.”

Your brow twitched. “What of my cousin?”

“You truly believe your father would rather his brother’s son become head of your family house? Regardless of your…” he paused for a moment, treading lightly as he looked out the window, “familial matters and, of course, his pride, he would rather foresee his own.”

“My cousin should be of age in a year,” you disregarded his answer.

“I do not trust that your father has a year.”

“Hm.”

Gwayne turned to face you, your back still in his direction. “Are you not even the least bit eager to claim your position?”

You sighed, setting down the stoker and facing the Hightower. “I am not fond of the reasoning, no. And even in Ecraen, I failed to see my father glance at me for consideration. And now he’s old. And gray. And desperate for the spare he cared not for all those years ago.” Now that Gwayne was in front of you, your mouth regrettably couldn’t stop running. “And you: why even send you? Of all people in my family- oh, unless the dishonor of the kinslayer was all too much, they had to send a Hightower instead.”

“You know I am much more than that,” Gwayne gruffly retaliated, taking a step forward. You could see he had lost his patience. “I was your companion, was I not?”

You swallowed.

“Before you left. Without a word. Not a whisper, nor a note.” He took another step forward. “We were close, you and I.”

Recollections of breathless sparring lessons between you and Gwayne when you were only squires ran through your mind—wooden swords clacking roughly against each other before you graduated to the sharp clangs of iron. You remembered joining your cups together, laughing with fellow young knights. And you remembered the redhead taking your lips with his own behind a tavern in Oldtown after more than enough drinks, drunk yet chaste.

Then you remembered his lack of remembrance for that kiss.

You never blamed him for it, though you certainly never reminded him either, even as you endured the heartache before disappearing.

You tore your eyes away from him, anxious to face the flame again. “I fear you may have wasted your journey here.”

Before you knew it, the knight had made his way closer, only an arm’s reach away.

“If you think I’ve traveled all this way simply on your father’s volition, you are mistaken,” replied Gwayne.

His gaze flustered you just as he did in your youth. And you loathed it; honeyed words that never meant what you shamefully hoped they meant.

With that, you sidestepped from him and the hearth, positioning your body to catch sight of him through the edge of your eye as you busied yourself with needlessly adjusting the tapestry of the seven-pointed star.

You were never heavily spiritual, not really. Neither was your father. Your mother was a different story. But time alone in this coastal town eventually pushed you toward the Faith.

You spoke again, your voice weaker than intended: “What other reason would you have for being here?”

“I came to see an old friend,” he answered earnestly.

An old friend.

You continued to fidget with the wool. “Alright then. You’ve seen me. You’ve spoken about my father; my house needs a new head? They can find that in cousin Alren. You’ve done what you needed, you may leave now.”

The knight’s lips parted at the haste of your words, his head tilting before his mouth closed. He moved close to the furnace, staring into the swirling fire.

Gwayne chuckled humorlessly. “Is that all?”

You could no longer see him, your back once again faced to him. You didn’t know how to feel. In this moment, you weren’t certain if you truly wanted him far away from you. Not when a part of you itched for the opposite.

“I have a life here, Gwayne,” you said, your focus still on the dimly lit tapestry.

He scoffed, his focus still on the flame. “And what life is that? Port labor? Drinks with a crew whom you hardly acknowledge? Days with no one but yourself?”

Gwayne lifted his head to see the seven candles above the hearth.

He knew your relationship with the Faith lacked stability. Frankly, he could not recall your faith being firm enough to see you in a sept, much less creating an altar for yourself, an attempt at one that is. Seeing one here made him wonder how desperate you were for the company of another that you seemed to have finally leaned on the presence of the incorporeal.

You sniffed. “‘Tis better than a life of shame.”

He spun his incredulous gaze to the back of your head. “Shame was your punishment in Ecraed. Yet you’ve told me no one has been in this sullen home of yours before me. Do you not see how you’ve isolated yourself? You traveled far to distance yourself from shame only to carry the damned thing with you all the way here!”

Frustrated, he furthered himself from you, drawing closer to the dining table with a hand on his hip and the other wiping down his mouth.

He tittered, eyeing the floor. “Better than a life of shame.”

“Do not mock me,” you spoke gutturally over your shoulder, dropping your hand from the tapestry.

“‘Tis but a repetition of your own words.”

The fire sputtered, its sizzling hum filling the room when you had nothing else to say, because as much as you hated to admit it, Gwayne was right, and all you could do was sit with the hard truth.

You glanced up at the seven-pointed star, embarrassed. Ashamed. Always ashamed.

Fuck, it was exhausting. Most of all, it was distracting.

You heaved out a sigh and looked to see the side of Gwayne’s face. The flame warmly flickered on his skin. You hadn’t taken the time to process how much older he had become since you last saw him.

Your stare broke when Gwayne turned suddenly, his face out of view as he went to retrieve his armor.

In fact, he wasn’t sure why he removed it in the first place.

“Mayhaps…you were right. I’ve done what was needed.” He lifted the pauldron over his head, proceeding with the rest of his protective plates. “Now I shall take my leave. Send a raven if you’ve changed your mind.”

“Gwayne.” You took a step toward him. Regret quickly seeped into you like venom from a snake.

“You live your shameless life hiding in this town.” He worked on his arm braces, moving much too fast to buckle smoothly. “And I will journey back to Ecraen.”

Your feet moved faster than you could think—you grasped his forearm. “Don’t.”

He tried to pull out of your hold, but you remained firm, pulling him toward you. Again, he tried to pull away until you confessed, “You’re right!” putting his movement to a halt. “You’re right. I know not how to live without shame.”

Gwayne’s body stilled. He only looked at you with sternness on his face.

Your eyes flickered between each of his, seizing his braced arm in anticipation that he would leave at any moment.

“Even before my brother fell from my sword,” you carried on almost hurriedly, “I knew shame all too well. But that is no excuse for how I’ve…for how I’ve treated you, I-I see that now. But you must understand, I was young; tunnel-visioned. I could only see so much, and all I could truly see…” you peered at your hand on his relenting arm, “was my own guilt—the disappointment I brought to my house.” Then you peered back up into his eyes, blue with tinges of orange that gleamed from the hearth. “I am truly sorry I did not see you.”

Gwayne didn’t move as he took in your confession; your realization.

In retrospect, he understood why you left. He understood the weight of your crime, and he understood why you did what you did. He recognized why you left your house and Ecraen; he recognized why you broke your knightly vows.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t understand how you left him, as selfish as it sounded. At least not at the time. But seeing crinkle in your brows and hearing the desperation in your voice, he realized that mayhaps he had been thinking too much of himself as well.

Gwayne looked down at the small space shared between the two of you.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“You’re sorry,” he murmured.

You angled your head to see Gwayne’s face and moved your hand from his forearm to his elbow. “I am.”

His eyes glided to your hand. This close, the redhead could smell saltwater off of you, a scent you lacked in Ecraen. He did not mind it.

He swallowed. “I suppose…I did not see you either.” He raised his head and your own followed as he returned his gaze on you. “And it seems I am not the only one in need of an apology.”

You scoffed softly. “I don't believe I want an apology.”

“What is it that you want then?” Gwayne whispered.

With no words left to say, you took hold of the back of his neck and pulled him in, pressing your lips onto his. Despite the small pause of shock, Gwayne didn’t fail to reciprocate. Both of his hands shot for the sides of your face as he inhaled, breathing you in.

Gwayne consumed you, chasing for a flavor he hadn’t remembered lingered on his tongue. The taste of your lips rang bells of familiarity, and even lost in your touch, he hazily wondered why that was.

Ignorant of what occurred in Gwayne’s mind, you took in the feel of him, remembering what you thought you had long forgotten.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, and he parted his lips, allowing your tongue to enter. His allowance didn’t end there. It didn’t end when you guided him to the table and it didn’t end when you started to remove his armor all over again, sneaking in kiss after kiss as you pulled the pauldron over his head. You lowered it to the ground as Gwayne unbuckled his gambeson, revealing a beige tunic beneath.

You returned to kiss him again, laying a hand on his hip before hesitantly sliding it toward his groin.

You pulled away again. “Can I…?”

“Yes,” Gwayne answered breathlessly, chasing for your lips again.

A muffled moan escaped his mouth when you cupped him, trailing your lips to his jaw and down his neck, snaking a hand under his pants. Gwayne murmured your name groggily as you grabbed hold of his stiff cock, rubbing up and down, feeling him out. Then you pulled your lips away from his neck and lowered his pants, the knight intently watching you. He continued to watch when you spat in your hand and grabbed him once again, and in response, a whimper released from the back of his throat.

You stared back at him, reveling at the sight of his mouth parting wordlessly as you rubbed your thumb over his leaking tip. You enjoyed having him here, eager for your touch; his member in your hand as he gazed at you with so much anticipation. Equally as eager to please him, you moved your fist up and down his length, slowly first, just to witness him writhe.

You didn’t fail to notice his hand tightly holding on to the edge of the table, his body more sensitive than you expected, presumably from his days on the road.

He dropped his head between your neck and shoulder. “Please.”

You couldn’t help but place your hand on the back of his head, lightly tugging at his red hair while you quickened the pace. You hadn’t expected to hear the vulnerable whimpers from a man you’d seen in battle, killing men left and right, especially when you twisted your hand near the tip of his cock.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“Don’t tell me you're nearly there already?” You teased him, smearing pre-cum along his length to help lubricate him even more, earning more profanities from his tongue.

A subtle smile appeared on his lips, though you couldn’t see it. “No time for sex.”

Your pace began to slow, hoping to prolong this moment with him. “I don’t recall you taking a vow of chastity in Oldtown.”

“Don’t…”

“Mm?”

“Don’t…don’t slow down.”

You tilted your head. “Look at me and I’ll do as you say.”

Gwayne obeyed, lifting his head with no reluctance.

Your hand snaked around to his face, and you patted his flushed cheek. “There we go,” you told him, keeping your hand on his jaw as your other hand jerked him faster. “There we go, Gwayne.”

Soon after you spoke, he grunted.

You licked your lips as you watched him squeeze his eyes shut, his mouth wide open as he came. Simply listening to him—gods, the sound of him, you never wanted it to stop. And so you kept rubbing, milking him of all his worth.

“Shit.” Gwayne’s body squirmed, but you continued, dropping your other hand on the table beside him.

As smooth as your hand moved, from your spit or his own bodily fluids, there was something about the calluses on your palm that added to the sensation; calluses that stemmed from the hilt of your sword. Feeling that you still had them, somewhere in Gwayne’s disheveled mind, he put together that you hadn’t put down the sword completely.

Memories of you swinging your sword almost sent him over the edge again right then and there.

“Want me to stop?” You leaned in. “I can stop.”

There was a smugness in your tone that took him back to your sparring lessons; you used to ask him the same thing when he seemed too tired to fight back.

“No, don’t.” He lifted his head to the ceiling. “Keep going,” he requested and you listened.

You could feel your hand start to cramp, but you ignored it, too enthralled by Gwayne moaning your name. You kissed his neck initially, then sucked, smoothing over newfound bruises on his skin with your tongue before he lowered his head, impatient to claim your lips right as he came again, light splatters of additional cum inevitably landing on your fingers and pants.

You pulled your lips away, your body still pressed against his as you snickered. Gwayne’s forehead landed on your shoulder again as he came back down to earth.

You caressed the back of his neck. “Feeling alright?”

Gwayne hummed, lifting his head back up, still somewhat high from your cramped hand.

“Interested in me returning the favor?” He tugged at the hem of your trousers.

“Very.”

[mothmansbakery]

Decloaking spy for comic con✨

[danshive]

Towels Are Illogical

A Star Trek: Lower Decks fan fiction inspired by speculation about the lack of shame and modesty in the lower deck bunk corridors.

This story is tame, does not include detailed physical descriptions, and, with creative directing, could even be in an episode of Lower Decks.

Nonetheless, it has characters in casual states of total undress, and some suggestive moments.

Therefore, reader discretion is advised. Story after the “Keep Reading”.

Towels Are Illogical

By Dan Shive

Boimler’s troubles (or, at least, these specific troubles), began with the arrival of provisional officer T’Lyn.

As Boimler understood it, T’Lyn had transferred from a Vulcan vessel, and was Tendi’s “bestest science buddy”. T’Lyn didn’t look to Boimler as though she returned Tendi’s enthusiasm, but it was hard to tell with Vulcans. Boimler took Tendi’s word for it.

All of which was fine. Boimler was always happy to meet a new crewmate. He welcomed T’Lyn with open arms kept at a respectable distance.

No, the problem for Boimler was that T’Lyn turned out to be a trendsetter.

Naturally, not long after T’Lyn’s arrival, she made use of the sonic showers. As she set out to do so, however, she didn’t wrap herself in a towel. She simply undressed, stored her uniform, and started walking.

Changing clothes out in the open wasn’t unusual in the bunk corridors of the lower decks, nor was it that strange to not be in a hurry to get dressed again. 

It was not uncommon, for example, for Tendi and Rutherford to get distracted in the middle of changing, and to have lengthy conversations while remaining in various states of undress.

It was, however, unusual to leave one’s bunk while still undressed as T’Lyn had done.

Mariner, with her usual lack of a filter, caught up to T’Lyn, and walked along next to her while wearing a towel. “Whoa, whoa, T’Lyn! You’re really going decloaked?”

T’Lyn raised an eyebrow. “Why would I have a cloak?”

“Sorry, sorry, turn of phrase,” While still outgoing and assertive, Mariner was a little awkward around T’Lyn. “A towel. I meant a towel.”

“Are these not sonic showers?”

“Well, yeah, they are, but…”

“To dry oneself off is unnecessary after a sonic shower, and it is illogical for me to cover myself. I feel no physical shame. Even if I did, we are about to shower together.” With what might have been a smile, T’Lyn said “decloaking is an inevitability.”

“Yeah… Yeah! You’re right!” Mariner declared. “I don’t need this!” She boldly whipped off her towel, and flung it over her shoulder. “I mean, I’ll hang on to it for now, don’t want to leave towels lying around the corridor, but yeah!”

Aside from a distracted ensign walking into a wall, this moment had little-to-no impact on others in the lower decks. It was later, after Tendi loudly expressed agreement with T’Lyn, and declared them to be “no-towel buddies,” that the idea started to spread.

As though it were the latest fashion, lower decker after lower decker stopped bothering with towels when walking to and from the sonic showers.

Even “towel guy” was now just “guy,” though he was still referred to as “towel guy.”

Tradition is a powerful thing.

Only one ensign, Ensign Boimler, was sticking to last season’s fashion. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he meant to go to the sonic showers, but was hesitant.

Everyone else not wearing towels bothered Boimler, but not for the reasons one might expect. Boimler was not, for example, overwhelmed by the sight of his exposed crewmates.

Back at his family’s raisin vineyard, Boimler was the most eligible bachelor around. Absurdly attractive women, often in states of partial, if not total, undress, threw themselves at him.

Boimler, hyper-focused on his future in Starfleet, and lacking patience in any failure to properly raise the raisins to be, remained completely oblivious. Without even meaning to, he had formed a callous around being affected by the nudity of others.

Tendi, Mariner, Rutherford, T’Lyn, or anyone else walking around in their birthday suits wasn’t going to power Boimler’s lust above impulse.

No, what bothered Boimler was he was the only one keeping himself covered at all times.

He’d mastered changing clothes without dropping his cloak.

His towel shields were up well before the eyes of others could impact his hull.

Not even Section 31 could know the secrets of Boimler’s hips.

But now, Boimler was the only one staying covered. He felt like a coward, and cowards had no place in the captain’s chair.

“A captain wouldn’t be afraid to drop the towel,” Boimler thought to himself. “A captain wouldn’t even bring a towel! They’d sit in the captain’s chair, naked as the day they were born, and do! Their! Duty!”

Unbidden, an imagined scene of Captain Freeman bravely commanding the Cerritos in such a manner played out in Boimler’s mind.

Boimler, his face red, quickly sat down. He hurriedly thought of other things, like the Niners playing baseball in a holosuite.

As it turned out, nudity combined with competent Starfleet officers on missions actually could awaken something in Boimler.

“Bases loaded, Rom bunts…” Boimler whispered, casting away the sexy demons.

Boimler, deliberately lost in thoughts of the Niners losing at baseball, and trying to remember how baseball was played, failed to notice T’Lyn.

T’Lyn was fresh from the sonic showers, and, as per usual, not wearing a thing.

She observed Boimler. His discomfort about the towel situation had not escaped her notice. While she felt her actions logical, she knew it was her influence that had resulted in his current dilemma.

T’Lyn felt… Found it logical to help Boimler.

“May I join you, Mister Boimler?”

“EZRI ON FIRST!” Boimler blurted, bumping his head on the ceiling of his bunk as he sat up straight.

T’Lyn raised her eyebrows, her expression otherwise unchanged. “My apologies. Are you injured?”

“No, no, I’m fine! Sit, sit! What’s up?”

T’Lyn sat on the end of Boimler’s bunk closest to the viewport.

“You are uncomfortable with the idea of not covering yourself.”

“Whaaat? Why would you… Why would you think? That?” Boimler’s smile would have earned him an invite to many a Ferengi’s poker table.

T’Lyn said nothing.

“Okay, fine, yes,” Boimler admitted. “I know it’s the 24th century, and it’s illogical, but—“ T’Lyn calmly interrupted with a raised hand.

“It is logical for me to not cover myself because I do not feel discomfort in this situation. Context, however, is relevant.” In a shocking display of expressiveness, T’Lyn gestured with one arm, indicating the bunks of the lower decks.

T’Lyn then used both hands to draw attention to her own torso. “Were I in this state of undress at a meeting with the senior staff, and they were fully dressed, I would find it…”

Almost imperceptibly, T’Lyn’s head tilted, and her face scrunched the tiniest of bits. To Boimler, this somehow conveyed a shudder.

“Illogical,” T’Lyn finished. She rested her hands in her lap, their shameless, illogical gesturing for emphasis complete.

Boimler imagined himself in T’Lyn’s place in that hypothetical situation, followed by Worf catching a flying ball.

“You, Mister Boimler, are not me. You should do what is right for you,” she said, imperceptibly gentle. “Discarding your towel as an act of conformity is illogical. It is only logical if you truly wish to do so, and only if you are comfortable being uncovered.”

Boimler smiled genuinely this time. “Thank you, T’Lyn. You’re right. I think I really needed to hear that.”

T’Lyn smiled. It was barely perceptible, but it happened. “You are welcome, Mister Boimler.”

“And you know what?” Boimler said, quickly standing, “I shouldn’t be ashamed! I’m not doing this for peer pressure! I’m doing this for me! Bold Boimler!”

Boimler triumphantly cast aside his towel, standing fully exposed in the lower decks corridor, hands on his hips.

Right as Beckett Mariner, fully dressed, had turned the corner.

“NOPE,” Mariner loudly declared. Turning around, her hands raised, she quickly departed the way she came. “Nope. Nuh-uh. No way.”

Boimler felt a bit less triumphant. “Well, that was…” his hands fell from his hips as his posture slumped. “Discouraging.”

T’Lyn looked towards the parting Mariner.

“I believe she does not wish to think of you in certain ways, but does so under certain circumstances,” T’Lyn dryly hypothesized, a hint of jealously in her voice that only a Vulcan could detect.

“And what does that mean?” Boimler asked, not getting any of it.

T’Lyn stood. “Take it as a compliment, Mister Boimler.” With images dancing in her mind of a cute, flustered Mariner reacting to T’Lyn’s state of undress instead of Boimler’s, T’Lyn left to get dressed.

[skymallnine]

Holodecks are far too dangerous to run inside a delicate starship, which is why I will be strapping mine to the outside of my ship.

Everyone feeling real confident until I decloak with a full array of physics-defying fantasy weapons and all the safeties turned off. How far does my holodeck extend? How long has it been running? How certain are you that every panel in your hull is a real, physical object?

Computer 😎 end program