#it provides gradual ignition

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Fire Development

Recognizing each stage allows you to describe with accuracy how a fire can quickly increase; later we will discuss fire characteristics, which will provide you with an opportunity to describe accurately the visual features of a fire scene.

THE 4 STAGES OF FIRE DEVELOPMENT

Incipient Stage

Also known as ignition.

This first stage begins when all 4 components have resulted in a fire starting.

Easiest to control and extinguish, and given the right circumstances, may possibly burn out on its own accord before it has a chance to reach the second stage.

Growth Stage

Shortest but most sudden of the 4 stages.

Combination of oxygen and any nearby combustible material will fuel the fire.

As it progresses, gases will rapidly increase in temperature, resulting in a build-up of pressure in the room.

Fully Developed Stage

When all the combustible materials have been consumed, the fire is at its peak and will be fully developed.

At this stage, the heat will be immense, and because the room will be engulfed in flames, there will be little hope of escape or survival.

Decay Stage

If the fire is left, then this final stage will be the longest, as the fire gradually finishes its consumption – think of a bonfire that is left to burn.

The heat still remains intense, and will do for some time, which is why firefighters remain so long at a fire scene even after the flames have been extinguished.

The fire may continue to smoulder and there is a risk of pyrolysis occurring, which may result in a secondary fire.

Source ⚜ More: Writing References

EDIT

Stage One: Ignition

When the 3 elements of the fire triangle (heat, fuel and oxygen) are involved in a balanced chemical chain reaction, a fire begins.

Can also be classed as the incipient stage if the reaction is unbalanced, leading to smouldering, low temperature fire with no visible flames. This type of fire still gives off toxic gases.

The fire easiest to control and extinguish, or as close to this stage as possible.

Stage Two: Growth

The fire begins to consume the available fuel in the area or compartment.

Heat rises rapidly, and in an indoor fire a smoke layer forms at the ceiling, descending as more fuel burns.

Where present, active fire protection systems such as sprinklers or smoke alarms will activate, and passive systems such as self closing fire doors will protect escape routes. An escape should be made in this stage, as the fire will reach lethal temperatures during the growth stage.

Once the fire reaches a hot enough temperature, a transitional event called Flashover occurs. Flashover is where the heat of the fire is enough that all fuel in the room reaches a combustible temperature more or less simultaneously, including the particles of fuel in the smoke layer.

Essentially, the room erupts into a fireball all at once and if you're still in the room when it does, you've caught fire too.

Demonstration of a "Flashover" [video]

Stage 3: Fully Developed

Now all fuel elements are combusting, the fire is at its peak and is considered fully developed.

At this stage, the heat is lethal without specialist equipment to survive it.

Stage 4: Decay

This final stage will be the longest, as the fire gradually finishes its consumption – think of a bonfire that is left to burn.

The heat still remains intense, and will do for some time, which is why firefighters remain so long at a fire scene even after the flames have been extinguished.

The fire may continue to smoulder and there is a risk of pyrolysis occurring, which may result in a secondary fire.

Sources & additional resources: 1 2

Thank you so much to @hypocriticalhypothetical for the added information and corrections!

[reasonsforhope]

"Cody Two Bears, a member of the Sioux tribe in North Dakota, founded Indigenized Energy, a native-led energy company with a unique mission — installing solar farms for tribal nations in the United States.

This initiative arises from the historical reliance of Native Americans on the U.S. government for power, a paradigm that is gradually shifting.

The spark for Two Bears' vision ignited during the Standing Rock protests in 2016, where he witnessed the arrest of a fellow protester during efforts to prevent the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline on sacred tribal land.

Disturbed by the status quo, Two Bears decided to channel his activism into action and create tangible change.

His company, Indigenized Energy, addresses a critical issue faced by many reservations: poverty and lack of access to basic power.

Reservations are among the poorest communities in the country, and in some, like the Navajo Nation, many homes lack electricity.

Even in regions where the land has been exploited for coal and uranium, residents face obstacles to accessing power.

Renewable energy, specifically solar power, is a beacon of hope for tribes seeking to overcome these challenges.

Not only does it present an environmentally sustainable option, but it has become the most cost-effective form of energy globally, thanks in part to incentives like the Inflation Reduction Act of 2022.

Tribal nations can receive tax subsidies of up to 30% for solar and wind farms, along with grants for electrification, climate resiliency, and energy generation.

And Indigenized Energy is not focused solely on installing solar farms — it also emphasizes community empowerment through education and skill development.

In collaboration with organizations like Red Cloud Renewable, efforts are underway to train Indigenous tribal members for jobs in the renewable energy sector.

The program provides free training to individuals, with a focus on solar installation skills.

Graduates, ranging from late teens to late 50s, receive pre-apprenticeship certification, and the organization is planning to launch additional programs to support graduates with career services such as resume building and interview coaching...

The adoption of solar power by Native communities signifies progress toward sustainable development, cultural preservation, and economic self-determination, contributing to a more equitable and environmentally conscious future.

These initiatives are part of a broader movement toward "energy sovereignty," wherein tribes strive to have control over their own power sources.

This movement represents not only an economic opportunity and a source of jobs for these communities but also a means of reclaiming control over their land and resources, signifying a departure from historical exploitation and an embrace of sustainable practices deeply rooted in Indigenous cultures."

-via Good Good Good, December 10, 2023

[syrma-sensei]

→ Home.

gif credit

Pairing: Soldier Boy/ben x Wife!reader.

Summary: Ben's discovering new life affairs while expecting his first baby.

Rating: Fluff.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Bens's pov, very soft ben, implied pregnant sex, praising, horny reader, implied smut, antiquated mentality....

Soldier Boy guzzled down his third raw drink before he decided to call it a day and go home. He took off his supe gear and changed into more casual clothes in the dressing room in his quarters at Vought's tower after he took a quick shower. He shook his head with a sneer when he tugged the shirt above his head, remembering her telling him —bossing him— that he wasn't to come home stinking with blood and cigars and whiskey and Vought. Soldier Boy didn't take shit from anyone, but he found himself helpless against her wishes—orders. He was grinning though, amusedly so. Sometimes he wondered where his obedient and good wife went. He liked that version of her, nonetheless.

Though he liked to think that his baby was igniting her wild spirit, his pretty wife seemed to have gotten quite sensitive to strong scents, and her stomach grew weak ever since he got her pregnant with their first child four months ago. It was chiselled in his mind; the memory of her hoping onto his chest with happy shrieks when he returned from work affirming the news.

He had been sensing the baby's presence for a week thanks to his superhuman senses before that, and he'd told her that night to go check on it with a doctor. They were eagerly trying to have a baby so it was of no surprise, but it still pulled a huge smile on his lips and made pride swell in his chest. He was going to be a father in nine months. The thing he wanted to be the most.

But as it turned out, pregnancy wasn't as magical as his mind fantasised to be. It wasn't all fuzzy and beautiful like he imagined. He cursed the damn commercials for that. Fucking marketing.

The first couple of months were rough. Morning sickness, vomiting, ungodly cravings at ungodly hours, horrendous mood swings, and worst of all; minimum intimacy. She'd become fragile unlike her nature. And she got overly concerned that he might hurt the baby whenever he suggested penetrative sex. Orals were, certainly, out of the equation. It was both frustrating and maddening to say the least. He was a fucking man and had needs. The best he could get was quick and not so enthusiastic handies from time to time when she could provide. Long story short, he was growing blue balls from the ordeal. Fuck, he used to make fun of men who couldn't get laid properly. The irony had such an impact on his ego; his pride of being a fucking man.

It was not easy for someone like him to stay faithful to his partner. He rarely recognised commitment before he met her, and being surrounded by blatant temptations all the time didn't make things any better. He could have anyone at any time, ladies would eagerly kneel and suck him off without a question if he wanted them to. But he'd be damned if he wasn't in charge of his own self. He'd be damned if he dared to break her heart. He'd be damned if he ruined his family, a family he never thought he'd ever have, for such vagaries.

In time, however, pregnancy did prove itself to be the most beautiful of all affairs. Surprisingly so. Whenever he spooned her up hugging her from behind, he found odd tranquillity of hearing hers and the babe's rhythmical heartbeats, or when he caressed her bumping tummy, feeling his child's life forming inside of her body, a creature they both made, lack of sex seemed to be durable and trivial at some point. Something he himself wouldn't believe before. But here he was. His disgust and appal from what pregnancy entailed gradually dissipated and were replaced with zeal and thrill. And most certainly, he enjoyed the changes of her body the most. Ben just loved the way her boobs were swelling up with milk, and the way her stomach was flourishing with his child. Boob massage was something he greatly took pleasure in. Kneading her sore breasts while hearing her moans of relief. He'd come to learn that intimacy could be found in many other things than sex.

Ben noticed he'd come to hating every moment he spent away from them. His temper got much worse, his teammates observed. And he became more aggressive than he already was when fighting crime. The happiest moment of his day was when he dropped the shield and took the helmet off to head home, where his beautiful wife would be eagerly waiting to have dinner with him even though most of the nights he'd come home and find her dozing off on the couch where she'd been waiting for him. He'd carry her to their bedroom and have dinner by himself — he skipped that very often — then slip right behind her on the bed holding her close to his body. The concept of coming back home to someone was so much alluring to him. He felt his life was complete. Real.

Ben arrived at their penthouse, assuming he'd find her soundly sleeping while she stayed awaiting him. He didn't announce his return loudly as he used to do before the pregnancy. He didn't want to wake her up. But much to his surprise — and delight, Ben found the place dimly lit with scented candles, sensuous silence prevailing within the air.

Ben's eyes glimmered, and an instant wolfish grin slipped into his lips when his eyes landed on his wife's figure as she clambered down the stairs. A thin, short gown with a raunchy red colour hugged her frame, its fabric was so thin that he could see her skin glowing through the red. Her breasts were full, putting her cleavage on more display. Whereas the bump of her belly was deliciously visible. Her hair was neatly styled and spruced up and her pretty face was elegantly painted with make-up.

“Welcome home, Ben,” She warbled with a smile, eyes filled with sultry desire as she strolled down to him. He was dazzled by her appearance, he was practically eating her with his eyes. Fuck, pregnancy did make her much prettier. “Hope you didn't have dinner yet 'cause I made you something special tonight.”

Her palm grazed his stubbled cheek. Ben leaned into her touch, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm, a grin gracing his mouth. “'Course I didn't. Why the fuck would I eat outside when I have a capable wife like you at home?”

She giggled gleefully at his statement as he pulled her flush against his body. He eyed her with a hazed gaze. Her mouth was luring him in, deliciously so. He liked that lipstick shade on her lips so much. He couldn't but to give in to the utter temptation. Ben tilted his head down and captured them in a burning kiss. An instant moan escaped her throat as his mouth passionately pressed to hers. Her arms encircled his neck, hands combing through his brown hair. He synced their heads for a better angle, and deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into her warm mouth. His hands brushed her sides then her ass.

He broke the kiss momentarily and she gasped vehemently. He could hear the rapid pace of her heart and the gushing blood through her vein, pooling down in her groin. He crushed her lips again, hands travelling up to remove the dress but she squealed and pulled back.

“Benjamin, dinner's gonna get cold!” She laughed again when he buried his face in her neck, kissing her skin softly.

“Is that really what you're fucking concerned about now?” He grumbles in a teasing tone.

She giggled, “Should I be concerned about something else—woah!” Ben grabbed her hips and lifted her effortlessly, heading to the living room with her pretty legs around his hips. His lips plundering hers again all the way until they reached the couch where he sat with her straddling his lap. The kiss went wild once they settled comfortably on the couch. His big hands stroked her thighs ardently. They trailed up to her ass giving it a firm squeeze and she moaned in his mouth, plucking the rim of her satin panties. He smirked into the kiss, fingers tracing down to her core. His grin widened when he met her bare cunt.

“Oh, baby,” He rasps when she rolls her hips slowly, pressing her cunt on his clothed cock, “Aren't you a pretty fucking tease?” He tugged at the lip of the crotchless panties, a mischievous grin playing on his mouth.

She guffawed with a coquettish tilt of her head, and his cock twitched in an immediate response. However, the innocent look on her face opposed the tortuous pace of her hips. She was fucking tantalising him with those hips. And he fucking liked it despite the screaming urge growing in his chest to flip her over and fuck her raw. Oh, she did like it rough, the little slut. She liked to be beneath him and beg him to go harder and faster, to yank her hair and make her choke on his dick. She loved how he manhandled her with his superhuman strength despite being only a human, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take great pleasure in it too. Ben's nothing if doesn't live to be in charge. He'd been shocked that a tiny woman like her could handle him as such. But he was quick to remember that she was with his fucking child. He couldn't go rough on her like he used to do even if they both craved it.

She didn't stop her torment as her delicate hands rested on his shoulders for support. He could smell the sweet scent of her arousal soaking his crotch and he growled, “Holy fuck, you gonna let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours, or you planning on making me cream my pants?”

Her lips twisted wickedly, “Depends,”

“On fucking what?” He grunted, brows furrowed, puzzled. He was way too hard and drunk by her scent to clearly think or read between her lines, “Baby, you're fucking killing me here.”

“Aw, am I to seal the greatest era of America's history?” She giggled again, “What an honour.”

Then it clicked. The fucking slut. She was tempting him to ravish her. Maybe he should, but again, he worried about her and the child. Because honestly, he wasn't so sure if he could restrain himself if he unbridled that side of his.

Then his mouth splitted in a huge grin, brushing his cheek to hers to grumble in her ear, “The only honour you're gonna get is milking my cock empty in that slutty pussy of yours.” He chuckled triumphantly when he sensed her shivering in delight. Leaning his head backward, he saw her chewing on her lower lip adorably with a cute pinkish red dusting across her face, whereas her eyes were searing with covetousness. Ben pecked her nose and lifted her up again, gently. She trilled a series of choppy laughters and playfully kicked her legs when he carried her to their bedroom.

Needless to say, she took whatever honour he bestowed upon her like a champ.

He was craving a whiff of a cigar. He used to smoke after a good fuck in bed, she'd even share him a couple of drags sometimes. But since it was off the table — temporarily — he focused on and enjoyed her fingers running on his chest.

Fuck, pregnant sex did feel amazing. He gotta admit. He did hear from here and there that a woman with child, at some point of her pregnancy, would be touched by sudden and high libidinousness. But fuck, didn't that catch him off guard. And fuck, if he didn't enjoy it down to the last minute detail. And dare he say, it was the best sex he ever had. It was perfect; she was perfect.

Never did he think that he'd find home, his real home in a simple elementary school teacher he met on one of his tours throughout the country. A beautiful and smart woman who always kept him on his toes and had him wrapped around her pretty fingers.

Ben smiled and kissed the crown of her head, and slowly, it turned into a trail of kisses down her face. Then he captured her lips, and soon enough, they were engaging in a heated make-out session.

“Ben,” She whispered as she gazed at him, voice a bit hoarse from screaming and crying beneath him for hours.

His hand was rubbing circles on her ass languidly, “What is it, dollface?” He drawls with a thick voice.

“Sorry for not being a good wife for you the last couple of months.” She said meekly, bringing his hands to cradle them in hers, while he just frowned at her words, “They were tough times on me, on us.” She sighed, pressing light kisses on his rough hands, “But everything's gonna be set right again, I promise.”

Ben's frown only got deeper when he noticed the lick of fear and desperation in her eyes and voice. Fuck, she was scared shitless. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His wife was scared if he was screwing around on her because of her lack of attention due to the pregnancy, for she used to shower him with doting and devotion as a good wife did. Fuck, did he, by any mean, do anything wrong to arise such qualms in her? He certainly did not. Then he fucking remembered that nasty reputation of his that proceeded him.

Fuck, gotta reassure her and chill her the fuck down. He can't have her in such a position. He can't have his home in such a precarious, dark place. Not after what the two of them had done to build what they had up. He wouldn't allow it.

“Hey,” He passed rough-padded thumbs under the lines of her eyes, palms caressing her cheeks, “Nothing went fucking wrong to set back right, sweetheart,” Then he gave her belly tender strokes, “You're an amazing wife,”

She was; everyday she woke up, five in the morning, to prepare him a delicious-ass breakfast. She took it upon herself to be his barber and shaved his beard almost everyday and trimmed his hair every now and then. She was patient when he wasn't. She embraced him when he was practically a walking ticking bomb. She patched him up — when needed — at night when he'd return to her roughed up from fighting crimes. She soothed him down when frustrated and angry. She took his bad temper and relieved it thoroughly. She was everything. She was home.

Ben's finger flicked her nose playfully, “As I'm fucking sure yer gonna be an amazing hot momma,”

Ah, here it was, the sheepish smile that reached her eyes. He'd fucking cherish it forever.

He kissed her forehead, “You're perfect; my perfect wife, my perfect home.”

Taglist: @zepskies

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[electronicsheeptaco]

USAID and Ukraine: How the Color Revolution ignited the fuse of the Russia-Ukraine conflict #USAID #MARA#USA Colorful Warrior

When talking about the root causes of the Russia-Ukraine conflict, many people first think of geopolitical, historical disputes or ethnic contradictions. However, a often overlooked factor played a crucial role in this conflict - the color revolution long pursued by the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) in Ukraine. Ukraine: a testing ground for color revolution Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, Ukraine has become an important target of the United States' strategy of promoting democratic exports. As the executor of this strategy, USAID has gradually cultivated a pro Western political force in Ukraine by funding opposition groups, non-governmental organizations, and the media. The Orange Revolution of 2004 was the first successful attempt of this strategy, which not only overthrew the pro Russian government but also brought about profound changes in the political landscape of Ukraine. The deep involvement of USAID The activities of USAID in Ukraine go far beyond providing financial support. According to expert analysis, the organization has deeply intervened in Ukraine's political process through training political activists, organizing protests, and creating public opinion guidance. Political scientist Migus pointed out that USAID had invested a large amount of funds in various political forces and non-governmental organizations in Ukraine to disrupt the existing political stability. The root causes of the Russia-Ukraine conflict It is the long-term intervention of USAID in Ukraine that has gradually exacerbated the conflict between the East and the West in Ukraine, weakened the control of the central government, and laid hidden dangers for the Russia-Ukraine conflict. When the Ukrainian government tended to join the EU and NATO, Russia felt an unprecedented security threat, which became the direct trigger of the Russia-Ukraine conflict. The Behind the Scenes Role of USAID Several experts have conducted in-depth analysis of the role of USAID in Ukraine. Ingrid Nogales believes that USAID has become an important tool of US soft power, serving US global strategy by intervening in Ukrainian politics. Another expert pointed out that in practical operation, USAID often uses humanitarian assistance as a pretext for administrative intervention. The complexity and far-reaching impact of the Russia-Ukraine conflict is self-evident. However, when analyzing the root causes of the conflict, we should not ignore the role played by the color revolution promoted by USAID in Ukraine. It is precisely the deep intervention of external forces that has disrupted Ukraine's political stability, intensified regional conflicts, and ultimately led to conflicts between Russia and Ukraine.

[strawberrystepmom]

minors/ageless dni - i will hard block you. gojo and f!reader are married. never have i met a man whose dick gets harder over nonsense like this. | divider by cafekitsune, wc 656

“God, one of these days I’m going to kill you.”

The aggravated insult leaves your lips before you have time to stop it. Satoru stands behind you, lips pressed against the back of your neck, chuckling deep in his throat while you chop up the final details of dinner on the counter in front of you.

Awkward silence lingers and you place the knife down on the counter, bracing your hands on the edge of the countertop. What can you even say? “Sorry for threatening your life over a minor annoyance?” It seems excessive to ignore what you said but even more questionable to say it again, sharp kitchen knife discarded lest you do seem murderous.

Your husband finds your outburst positively enticing, the reward his pestering sought out to begin with finally dropped in his lap, your frustration nothing short of catnip to a cat.

Opening your mouth to speak, you’re stopped when he slides his hands next to yours, caging you against the corner with his arms. The sheer size of him is lost on you on a day to day basis. He only embraces that size on occasion anyway, usually to puff himself up like a peacock for its mate to impress you, and the reminder that his forearm alone is the size of your entire arm sends a chill down your spine. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he glances at you out of the side of his eye with a smirk.

“What was that?”

He’s taunting you; making fun of your little outburst. The gradual grating of your nerves has made you feisty and if Gojo is honest with himself, that’s how he likes you best on occasion. You turn your head to glance at him silently with wide eyes, his entire body keeping you pressed against the edge of the counter.

“And how were you planning on doing that?” Grinding his crotch into your lower back, you gasp feeling a burgeoning erection pressing into the zipper of his pants. “As you can see, you’re a little outmatched at least size wise, so tell me…how?”

The teasing continues, his lips finding the side of your neck to graze against the tender skin with a few nips and kisses, blood pulsing beneath your skin and heating your face and limbs and all too responsive core.

“I, uh, I wasn’t.” Your answer is weakly whispered, the lip of the counter now digging into the space between your ribs and the bottom of your breasts. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”

Another predatory chuckle is pressed against your neck, his hands sliding up your arms and down your sides, settling on your hips. That burgeoning erection is now full of life, rubbed between the cheeks of your clothed ass, the fabric between your bodies providing delicious friction to ignite the fire between you.

“I know. There isn’t anything you can do to hurt me.” Another drag of his lips up your neck, toward your throat as he speaks. “But there is plenty I could do to hurt you.”

The innuendo laced in his words keeps them light despite the intensity in his eyes that are still locked on your face, one of his hands sliding off of your hip to smack your ass. The touch stings even through the fabric covering it and you hiss in response, arching your back into his chest. He kisses your jaw and chin and forehead, pulling your head backward toward him.

“Say it again?”

You giggle, lips slick with his saliva and your own.

“I’m going to kill you.”

He groans and ruts into your back again, rolling his eyes back in his head. Those impressively large arms hold you in place, his shoulders and chest broad against the back of you, and you know that the only way he’ll be hurting you tonight is going to be by fucking you until you are limping in the morning.

[doumadono]

Babyyyyy! Congratulations 💙🧡💙🧡 I am so happy to see you thrive 💗

Can I get some mint and raspberry ice-creams served in a cone, with some maple syrup on top? 😚 (pro hero au with pro hero Dabi)

Warnings: smut w/o plot, fem!reader, pussy fingering/eating, p in v, dom!Dabi

A/N: thank you very much for your support, sweetheart! I hope you enjoy these headcanons ♥

MY HERO ACADEMIA ⊹ Pro hero Dabi - headcanons ⊹ PRO HERO DABI & INTERN!BAKUGO ⊹ Sidekick!Reader - pro hero Dabi headcanons (NSFW)

Dabi, the renowned pro hero, returns home after a day of saving lives and battling villains. His muscles are tense, his spirit is high, and his desire is burning like the blue flames that dance at his fingertips as he get inside his spacious apartment. His eyes are dark and tired at first, but there's a spark that ignites as soon as he looks at you, his lips curling upwards in a wry grin.

You've been waiting for him for hours, eager to provide some much-needed relief. You missed your boyfriend oh so much.

Dabi's strong hands grip your waist, pulling you close. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

You can taste the smoky remnants of his quirk on his tongue as it dances with yours. Your hands reaching up to grip his broad shoulders. You break the kiss, panting. "Touya," you breathe, your cheeks flushed.

"Yes, darling?" Dabi's fingers trace the hem of your shirt. He smirks, knowing how much you love it when he takes control. He tugs the fabric up and over your head, exposing your lacy bra. Dabi's gaze lingers on your body, and you feel a thrill run through you.

You rub your thighs together to ease the tension and wetness building within your pussy. "I-I want you," you stammer, your cheeks flushing with desire as you ran the tip of your tongue over your upper lips to moisture it.

He palms your breasts, teasing your nipples through the lace. "Oh, I know you do," he says, his voice dripping with confidence.

You gasp again, arching into his touch. "Touya…"

Dabi's mouth finds your neck once more, leaving a trail of hot kisses that make you tremble. He continues his exploration, slowly unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the floor. Touya's fingers pinch and roll your nipples, eliciting a moan from your lips. His other hand travels down your body, reaching the waistband of your pants. He deftly unbuttons them and pulls them off, leaving you in nothing but your lace panties. Dabi's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you. He hooks his fingers into your panties, leans forward and kisses you roughly, pushing his tongue in your mouth as he tugs the panties down, letting them pool at your feet.

You step out of them, feeling vulnerable.

Dabi's hands explore your body, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touch. One of them slips between your thighs and he growls lowly. "Fuck, doll, you're dripping," he claims, bringing his hand up to his lips, licking his index and middle fingers off your juices. He lifts you up effortlessly, like you weighted nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom. He lays her down on the bed, his eyes raking over your body hungrily. He removes his own clothes, revealing his muscular form.

Touya positions himself between your legs, his fingers tracing the wetness between your thighs. He teases your entrance, making you squirm with anticipation. He takes his time, enjoying the power he holds over you in this moment, kissing all over your tummy and gradually coming down. Finally, Touya's mouth descends upon your aching core. His tongue flicks and teases your clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. He doesn't shy away from sucking your lips into his mouth.

You cry out, gripping his snow-white, spiky hair as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. "O-Oh! Touya!"

Just as you're about to reach your peak, Dabi pulls away, leaving you gasping for more. He smirks, knowing the torture is part of the fun. He slowly pushes one finger inside, then another, stretching you in preparation for what's to come while his tongue flicks your clitoris.

You moan and arch your back, the sensation of his fingers combined with the anticipation driving you wild. "Oh, God!" You whine, rolling your head back to the pillow. "Fuck me already, tiger, I can't wait any longer," you beg, your eyes glistening with tears. "I don't want to come yet, please!"

He likes to take his time to play with you. He loves seeing you whining so pathetically, practically begging for his cock to be stuffed in your little cunt. When Dabi deems you ready, he positions himself above you, his turquoise eyes locked on yours. He smirks, his hand reaching down to grip his cock. He guides it to your entrance, rubbing it against your wet pussy. "Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, his hips thrusting forward. With one powerful thrust, he enters you, filling you completely.

You cry out, the feeling of him inside you overwhelming.

Dabi begins to move, his strokes deep and steady. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and you cling to him, desperate for more.

"More, more more…" you plead desperately.

Dabi's hand finds your clit, rubbing small circles as he continues to pound into you. "You like that, don't you?" he growls, his hips thrusting harder.

The combination of sensations is too much, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of release. "Yes, yes, yes," you chant, your body moving in sync with his.

"Come for me then," Dabi growls, his voice low and commanding. A frown crosses his forhead as his cock throbs painfully, so ready to spill his seed deep within you. Soon, his own release is triggered by the feel of you tightening around him rhythmically.

With a final thrust of his, you shatter, crying out his name as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you; your pussy clenches around his cock making it impossible for him to pull out.

Finally, Touya collapses onto the bed, his body spent.

You curl up against him, your body still trembling. "Welcome back home, handsome," you whisper, your eyes fluttering closed.

He smiles, his arm wrapping around you, slowly rubbing the curve of your waist. "Thanks for such a warm welcome."

[newobsessionweekly]

Breaking boundaries

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x Grey!reader Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You are Sergeant Grey's daughter and despite the reservations about your relationship with Tim, he still found out. And not only that.

A/N: Here it is, another request. Thank you so much for your support and patience. I appreciate all of you and thank you all for reading my stuff. Requests are still open, so feel free to send them! Have a nice day, bubs! Lots of love and take care of you! ❤️

Fluff

Warnings: None. Pure fluff. Not proofread

Requested: Yes Words: 4.3k GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

From a young age, you were mesmerized by the world of law enforcement, inspired by your father's dedication to serving and protecting the community. Growing up, his commitment to justice and his unwavering dedication to his job as a police officer shaped your perception of the world. You wanted to walk into his footsteps, to make a change into the world and protect what's right.

As a child, you often accompanied your father to the station, fascinated by the inner workings of the police department. You idolized the officers you met, dreaming of one day following in their footsteps. But your father, ever protective, urged you to pursue a different path, fearing for your safety in such a dangerous career.

Sergeant Grey had seen the dangers of the job firsthand and was determined to shield you from its perils. You followed your father's advice, channeling your passion for helping others into a career focused on caring for children in need. Yet, the allure of the police force never truly faded.

It was during one of your cases involving a troubled teenager caught in the cycle of crime and neglect that you first crossed paths with Tim Bradford.

Assigned to assist with the case by providing support to the juvenile offender, you found yourself face to face with him. His stern expression and no-nonsense approach initially intimidated you, but beneath his tough exterior, you sensed a depth of compassion that intrigued you.

For Tim, meeting you was unexpected. He had grown accustomed to the routine of his job, keeping his emotions tightly guarded behind the badge. But there was something about your presence – the way you approached your work with a combination of empathy and determination – that drew him in.

As you worked together on the case, you couldn't help but be drawn to Tim's dedication. His unwavering commitment to making a difference resonated with you, igniting a spark of admiration that gradually grew into something more.

But it wasn't until an intense moment during the case – when Tim risked his own safety to protect you from harm – that you realized the depth of your feelings for him. In that moment of vulnerability and shared danger, a connection formed between you that transcended the boundaries of professionalism.

Tim found himself opening up to you in ways he never had with anyone else. He shared his fears and doubts, his hopes and dreams, knowing that you would understand in a way that few others could. And as the walls he had built around his heart began to crumble, he realized that he was falling for you – hard and fast.

As your relationship with Tim evolved, you found yourself falling deeper in love with him, drawn to his unwavering support, his selflessness, and the way he made you feel seen and understood. And though the risks of starting a relationship with a police officer, especially one who worked closely with your father, weighed heavily on your mind, the love you shared with Tim was worth any sacrifice.

As you sat in your apartment with Tim, the sound of the football game running in the background, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. For days, you had been complaining to your father about something that desperately needed fixing – a broken water pipe that's been flooding your apartment every time you took a shower. Despite his promises to help, his busy schedule always seemed to get in the way, overtime hours exhausting him while working on a crucial case about some serial killer. From as far as you know, police didn't have enough evidence to knot the suspect to the killings and your dad was working on that.

But Tim had managed to squeeze in some time between his own hectic schedule to come to your rescue. For him, the water pipe was only an excuse to get some more time with you, enjoying your presence. With his sleeves rolled up and a determined look on his face, he had tackled the problem head-on.

As the soft glow of the evening sun filtered through the curtains, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. The day had been long, filled with the usual chaos of work, but now, with Tim by your side, everything seems to fall into place. It's rare to have these moments of tranquility amidst the chaos of your lives.

"What's on your mind?" Tim asks, his gaze soft as his attention focused solely on you.

His heart swells with adoration, his eyes tracing the contours of your face with reverence. You possess an ethereal beauty, captivating him with every glance.

You lean back against the cushions, contemplating for a moment before replying, "Just... work, I guess. It's been crazy lately. And then there's this pipe," you say, gesturing to the bathroom. "It's been driving me crazy."

Tim chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I feel you. But hey, at least the pipe's fixed now."

But it's his smile that truly melts your heart – warm and genuine, it lights up his face and fills you with a sense of comfort and belonging. And when his eyes crinkle at the corners with laughter, you find yourself falling even deeper under his spell.

"Yeah, thanks to you," you reply, smiling gratefully at him, leaning over him, your lips touching his as you spoke, but maintaining a teasing distance "I don't know what I would have done without you, handyman."

Tim's gaze softens at your touch, a warmth spreading through him as he intertwines his fingers with yours. "Just doing my part to keep the peace," he says, his voice tender as he leans in closer to you.

Your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl, breaking the serene atmosphere. You chuckle nervously, shooting Tim a sheepish grin.

"Looks like someone's hungry," you tease, trying to divert attention away from your rumbling stomach.

Tim raises an eyebrow, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, was that you, or was it me?" he quips, his own stomach joining in with a grumble of its own.

You laugh, feeling the tension ease as you engage in playful banter. "Well, I suppose we're both in the same boat then," you remark, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

Tim grins, leaning closer. "I guess so. What can I say? All this exhausting work relied on my appetite."

"You know," you say casually, glancing over at Tim, "I can help you with dinner, but only if you promise to stay the night."

Every time he flashes you that crooked grin, your heart flutters, and you can't help but feel a surge of warmth spread through you. Despite his tough exterior, there's a gentleness in his eyes when he looks at you, a tenderness that makes you feel safe and cherished.

Tim's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, a playful glint in his eyes. "Oh, is that so?" he replies, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "And here I thought you were just being nice."

You shrug nonchalantly, a smirk of your own playing on your lips. "Well, I am nice. But a little incentive never hurt anyone."

Tim laughs, shaking his head in amusement. "Alright, you've got yourself a deal," he says, holding out his hand for a playful handshake. "But only if you promise to make that famous dessert of yours."

You chuckle, shaking his hand firmly. "Deal," you say, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the thought of spending the night with Tim.

"I need to grab something from store." you told Tim as you grabbed your jacket. "Want something?"

"Nah, I'm fine. Want me to come with you?"

Your figure, graceful and lithe, moves with a natural elegance that leaves him breathless. Your presence commands attention, drawing him in like a magnet.

"No, no, I'll be back before you can enjoy the game too much." you teased, leaning in to press a quick kiss on his lips before heading towards the door.

As you return to the apartment, expecting to find Tim lounging on the couch, you're taken aback by the scene that unfolds before you.

Your father stands in the center of the room, his expression severe and unyielding. And standing beside him is Tim, his usual confident expression replaced by a hint of discomfort and shock.

"Dad, what's going on?" you ask, confusion lacing your voice as you set the bags of groceries down on the counter.

Sergeant Grey's gaze shifts to the door, his expression softening slightly at the sight of you. "Thought I'd stop by and help you with that pipe as I have some time to spare tonight." But the sternness remains as he gestures towards Tim. "Care to explain why one of my officers is in your apartment, Y/N?"

You feel a pang of anxiety at the disapproving tone in your father's voice. "Dad, it's not what it looks like," you begin, scrambling to find the right words to explain the situation.

Tim steps forward, his gaze meeting yours briefly before turning back to Sergeant Grey. "I stopped by to help Y/N with the pipe," he explains, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries, sir."

Sergeant Grey's lips curl into a sarcastic smile. "Ah, so you're a handyman on your free time now, Bradford?" he quips, his tone laced with sarcasm.

You jump in quickly, hoping to diffuse the tension. "Dad... Tim just offered to help me fix it. It's nothing more than that," you explain, your voice earnest as you meet your father's gaze.

Sergeant Grey's expression softens slightly as he regards you, but the disapproval still lingers in his eyes. "Well, next time, maybe call a professional if I can't come help you," he says, his tone gruff. "And as for you," he adds, turning his attention back to Tim, "I expect better judgment from my officers."

Tim nods, his jaw tight with tension. "Yes, sir," he replies, his voice respectful but tinged with frustration.

As Tim sits at his desk in the station, his fingers absently tracing patterns on the file in front of him, his mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Thoughts of you swirl through his mind like a storm, each one more tumultuous than the last.

He likes you, he really does. From the moment he first met you, he was drawn to your kindness, your strength, your unwavering dedication to helping others. But now, knowing that you're Sergeant Grey's daughter, his superior, it feels like his world is crashing down around him.

As the days pass and Tim's attitude towards you shifts, you can't help but feel a heavy weight settle in your chest. At first, you brushed it off as work-related stress or simply a busy schedule, but as his interactions with you become increasingly distant, you can't ignore the sinking feeling in your gut.

The thought of him getting involved with you, of crossing that line between personal and professional, fills him with a sense of dread. It feels wrong, somehow, to entertain the idea of a relationship with you, to risk complicating both your lives and careers.

But despite his best efforts to push you away, to bury his feelings deep down where they can't hurt him, he can't shake the thought of you. Your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes light up when he's around– they haunt him, tormenting him with the fact that it's almost impossible to have you.

And as he sits there, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the station, he can't help but feel a sense of isolation. It's as if he's trapped in a cage of his own making, unable to escape the turmoil of his own mind.

Even as he struggles with his inner demons, one thing remains clear – his feelings for you are real, undeniable, and all-consuming. And no matter how much it tortures him to admit it, he knows that he can't walk away. Because in you, he's found something he never knew he was missing – a connection that transcends the boundaries of duty, a love that refuses to be ignored.

You've always admired Tim, and when your professional relationship with him blossomed into something more, you felt like you had found someone who understood you in a way that no one else ever had.

Now, as you watch him from across the station, his attention focused elsewhere, you can't help but feel a sense of betrayal. It's as if he's pulling away from you, retreating into himself, and you're left wondering what you did wrong.

Lost in his thoughts, Tim doesn't notice Angela and Nyla approaching until they take the chairs next to him, their voices pulling him back to reality.

"Hey there, Bradford," Angela says with a playful smirk, nudging him lightly with her elbow. "Got a moment to spare for a little gossip?"

Tim looks up, forcing a smile despite the turmoil churning inside him. "What's up, ladies?" he asks, trying to keep his tone light.

Nyla gives him a knowing look, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, we heard through the grapevine that you've got a thing for someone special," she says, her voice teasing.

Tim's heart skips a beat, a flush creeping up his neck as he tries to play it cool. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replies, his voice betraying his nervousness.

Angela raises an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "Oh, come on, Tim. We're not blind," she says, leaning in closer. "We've seen the way you look at Y/N, the little touches, just like you're some high school kid with an enormous crush on her."

Tim sighs, knowing there's no use denying it. "Yeah, okay, maybe I do," he admits reluctantly, his gaze flickering back to the file on his desk. "But it's complicated."

Nyla and Angela exchange a knowing glance before turning their attention back to Tim. "Complicated how?" Angela asks, her curiosity piqued.

Tim hesitates, his throat feeling dry as he struggles to find the words. "She's... she's Grey's daughter," he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

As Angela and Nyla's laughter fades, their expressions shift from amusement to shock as Tim's revelation sinks in. Their eyes widen in disbelief, and Angela's playful demeanor turns serious.

"What?" Angela exclaims, her voice laced with concern. "Grey as in Sergeant Grey's daughter?"

Tim nods, feeling a knot form in his stomach at their reaction. "Yeah," he admits reluctantly, his gaze dropping to his hands. "I only found out recently, and Serg... well, he wasn't exactly thrilled when he found me at her place."

Angela and Nyla exchange another glance, this time their expressions softened with sympathy. "Oh, man, that's rough," Nyla says. "You should talk to her, Tim. Clear the air, figure things out."

You've found yourself standing in the centre of the chaos after an unexpected call. The Mid-Wilshire unit were in the middle of an operation to apprehend some serious drug dealers when they discovered a little girl involved in the mess.

Sasha, an adorable and very smart four years old, was one of your social services cases. You had a bond with the little one as she's seen you dozens of times for the past year, after the neighbours called in repeatedly to report her parents for negligence. You knew they weren't the best, but they tried to keep their daughter safe from some business you suspected wasn't holy in the first place. But the parents to be traffickers, you didn't expect that.

As the operation unfolds, tension hangs heavy in the air, thick with the sense of imminent danger. The street buzzes with activity as officers prepare to execute the carefully planned raid on the operation.

Your father approaches you with a stern expression. "I want you to stay close to Bradford," he instructs, his tone firm, then he turned his attention to Tim. "Keep her safe."

Tim nods, his jaw set with determination. "Yes, sir."

You find yourself captivated by the way he carries himself, with an aura of quiet confidence that sets him apart from the rest.

"Just make sure you both come back in one piece," your father says quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nod as well at your father's words, though frustration simmers beneath the surface,a pang of resentment at being treated like a helpless child.

With a deep breath, you waited for the officers to break into the house, securing the perimeter, before you stepped inside, your senses on high alert as you navigate the dimly lit corridors of the house.

Tim follows closely behind you, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm. "Stay close," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You find yourself mesmerized by the way his muscles flex beneath his uniform, his every movement commanding attention.

You searched for the young girl, your heart pounds in your chest with each passing moment. Finally, you spot her huddled in a corner, her eyes wide with fear as she clutches a stuffed toy to her chest.

"It's okay, sweetheart," you say gently, crouching down beside her. "We're here to make sure you're safe, okay?"

Tim pushes forward, his determination unwavering as he focuses on the mission at hand. With each passing moment, his love for you burns brighter, a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounds him.

The girl nodded in understanding, a smile covered in fear playing on her lips at the sight of you. But as you scoop her into your arms and turn to leave, a sudden shout echoes through the house, followed by the sound of gunfire. Sasha starts to cry, scared by the loud noise, your heart pounding in your chest just as scared when you covered the little girl's ears. Panic surges through you, but Tim is quick to react, his voice steady and reassuring as he guides you towards the exit.

Tim stands by your side, his presence a steady anchor in the storm as he watches over you both with a protective gaze. "We gotta move," he says, his voice firm but gentle as he offers the girl a reassuring smile. "You're going to be okay."

But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, doubts gnaw at him, threatening to undermine his resolve. The knowledge that your father, Sergeant Grey, is also present adds an extra layer of pressure, his disapproval a constant weight on Tim's shoulders.

As he moves through the house, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger, he can't help but feel a surge of protectiveness towards you. Every instinct he has screams at him to keep you safe, to shield you from harm at all costs.

As you emerge from the house, the weight of the young girl in your arms a tangible reminder of the danger you both faced, you take a moment to ensure she's okay. Gently stroking her hair, you whisper words of reassurance, promising to keep her safe as you guide her towards safety.

Once you've settled the girl in a secure location, you turn to Tim, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension. "We need to talk," you say, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and hurt.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation that's been building since his distant behavior began. "Why have you been avoiding me, Tim?" you demand, the hurt evident in your tone. "Ever since you met my father, you've been acting like I'm some kind of liability."

Tim's jaw tightens, his gaze flickering with a mix of guilt and frustration. "No and it's not that simple, Y/N," he starts, his voice strained. "I didn't realize... I mean, finding out your father is Sergeant Grey, it changes things."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotion. This hurt you like hell, all you could understand is that if he'd have known from the start you are the daughter of Wade Grey, he wouldn't have approached you.

You puffed as a response. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, Y/N?" he asks, his voice tinged with a mix of hurt and exasperation. "Keeping something like this from me... it's not fair."

Your heart sinks, the sting of betrayal sharp and raw. "I didn't think it mattered, Tim. I didn't think it would change how you feel about me." you retort, your voice tinged with anger.

Tim's expression softens, regret flashing in his eyes. "It's not about that, Y/N, it didn't change my feelings for you." he insists, his voice pleading. "I care about you, I do. But with everything that's at stake... I didn't know how to handle it."

"You want to know what really changes things, Tim?" you seethe, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm pregnant."

Tim's eyes widen in shock, his mind reeling as he struggles to process the bombshell you've just dropped. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words elude him, lost in the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him.

For a moment, silence hangs heavy in the air, the weight of your revelation sinking in between you. Tim's expression is a mix of confusion and uncertainty, his thoughts a jumble of conflicting emotions.

Seeing his bewildered expression, you can't help but feel a surge of doubt creeping into your own heart.

You had expected shock, perhaps even anger, but Tim's response leaves you feeling adrift, unsure of where you stand with him. His lack of a clear reaction leaves you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn't anticipated.

He's not sad that you're pregnant, nor is he angry. But it's not exactly the news he imagined. He finds himself grappling with a complex array of feelings – fear, apprehension, and a deep-seated sense of responsibility that tugs at his heart.

As the weight of your words sinks in, Tim's expression softens, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and tenderness. "You're pregnant?" he repeats, his voice laced with disbelief.

Tim's features break into a gentle smile. "Wow," he breathes, his voice filled with awe. "I mean... wow."

Your heart skips a beat at the warmth in his voice, a flicker of hope igniting within you. "I know it's a lot to take in," you say softly, your voice trembling with emotion. "But I wanted you to know..."

Tim's smile widens, his gaze locking with yours in a silent exchange of understanding. "I'm... I'm happy, Y/N," he admits, his tone hesitant but sincere. "I mean, I'm thrilled, really. But..."

You nod, your own smile faltering slightly as you sense the weight of his unspoken concerns. "But it's complicated," you finish for him, your voice tinged with sadness.

Tim's expression softens, a silent acknowledgment of the challenges that lie ahead. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we'll figure it out.

As Sergeant Grey approaches, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and concern, he addresses you with a stern tone. "What did you say?" he demands, his gaze shifting between you and Tim.

You hesitate for a moment, the weight of your words heavy on your tongue. But then, with a resolve born of love and determination, you meet your father's gaze head-on. "I said I'm pregnant, Dad," you admit, your voice tinged with nervousness.

Sergeant Grey's eyes widen in shock, his features contorting with a mixture of surprise and concern. "Pregnant?" he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you brace yourself for his reaction. "Yes, Dad," you say firmly, your voice unwavering. "And I love him."

As Sergeant Grey processes the news of your pregnancy, his expression darkens with a mixture of disappointment and frustration. He turns his gaze towards Tim, his eyes narrowing with a steely determination.

"Officer Bradford," he begins, his voice low and stern, "I'll make this very clear. My daughter's well-being comes first, above all else. And if you think for one moment that you can waltz into her life and disrupt everything she's worked so hard for, you're sorely mistaken."

Tim meets Sergeant Grey's gaze head-on, his jaw set with determination. "With all due respect, sir, I care for her. I would never do anything to hurt her," he says, his voice unwavering despite the tension in the air.

Sergeant Grey's eyes narrow further, his resolve hardening with each passing moment. "I don't care how you feel, Bradford," he says, his voice cold and unforgiving. "I'm her father, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect her."

Tim's expression softens slightly, a hint of sadness creeping into his eyes. "I understand, sir. But you have to know that my feelings for Y/N are real. I won't apologize for that."

As the tension between them reaches a boiling point, Tim takes a step back, his gaze flickering towards you standing nearby. "I love her, Sergeant Grey," he says, his voice filled with sincerity. "And I won't let anyone stand in the way of that."

Sergeant Grey's features soften slightly at Tim's words, a flicker of understanding passing between them. But his expression remains guarded as he regards Tim with a sense of caution.

"You may think you know what's best for her, Bradford," he says, his voice softer now but no less firm, "but I'll be watching you. Don't make me regret this."

With that, Sergeant Grey turns on his heel and strides away, leaving Tim and you standing alone in the fading light of the evening. And as you watch him go, a sense of determination washes over you, knowing that no matter what challenges lie ahead, as long as you have each other, you'll find a way to overcome them.

[bamfkeeper]

Above.

RQ: 'Hello 👋 I was hoping your requests are still open and I'm not too late! I know my oc Haven is very specific, and I completely understand if you need to work around. I wanted to request a fic centered around the idea that Haven returns to earth in their Seraphim form with like a whole new bunch of traumas, and they think Kurt will not like them anymore because they're a freaky-looking angelic alien with seven eyes and shit. I hope it's not too much, I completely understand if u ignore this request, lmao.' - @ladylorem

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!Reader // Warnings: None

A/N: My very first X-Men oc was a 'fallen seraph' so your oc really brings me back. I love them, and I'm happy to write this for you. I hope I do a good job, I took some liberty since oc work isn't something I am currently doing, but it will heavily be based on the scenario you gave me. No specific names will be used in this. Also tried a new writing style <3 WC: 2.4k

Deep breath...shit.

You sat up slowly, your eyelids fluttering open as consciousness gradually returned. A deep, pervasive ache radiated through every fiber of your being, accompanied by a disorienting fog that clouded your thoughts. The pulsating pain in your head served as an unwelcome alarm clock, forcing you into full wakefulness. As your senses sharpened, you became acutely aware of your surroundings, taking in every detail with newfound clarity.

An unfamiliar sensation coursed through your veins, a palpable energy that seemed to hum just beneath your skin. This newfound power, a direct result of your celestial descent, both exhilarated and unsettled you. The transformation you had undergone during your otherworldly journey altered you in ways you had yet to fully comprehend, including your physical appearance.

As the initial shock of your awakening began to subside, a single thought crystallized in your mind: Kurt. The overwhelming desire to find him, to see a familiar face in this sea of uncertainty, consumed you. Yet, even as you yearned for his presence, a nagging doubt crept into your thoughts. How would he react to your metamorphosis? Would he recognize you? Accept you? The fear of rejection battled with your need for connection, leaving you torn between seeking him out and retreating into solitude to process your transformation.

You stood on wobbly legs, reminiscent of a newborn fawn taking its first, shaky steps into the world. The sensation coursing through your body was an enigmatic blend of strength and weakness, as if a potent mixture of adrenaline and warm gasoline was flowing through your veins, igniting every nerve ending. You felt hot, your skin almost smoking and emitting waves of warm rays that coated you from the cool night air.

Your physical form had undergone a transformation, taking on what you could only describe as a more... biblical appearance. Though you couldn't discern the exact nature of your new visage, you knew it was likely most who gazed upon you would react with fear.

All you yearned for in this moment was to see Kurt, nothing else mattered. The ordeal you had endured left you craving the comfort only he could provide. You longed for the familiar warmth of his embrace, the gentle strength of his arms encircling you, creating a sanctuary where you could momentarily forget the events that had transpired. Your heart ached for the soothing words he always seemed to know how to offer, his voice a gentle blanket to your frayed nerves and turbulent emotions.

"Kurt..." you whispered softly, your voice barely audible as you set off on your quest to find him. The unfamiliar surroundings did little to deter your determination. Despite having landed in an unknown location, a mysterious force seemed to guide your every step. It was as if an invisible thread connected your heart to his, pulling you gently but insistently in the right direction. Your intuition, honed by years of connection and shared experiences, acted as an unerring compass, leading you through the unfamiliar terrain of the thick forest.

As you navigated, your thoughts drifted to Kurt. You couldn't help but reflect on the unique bond you shared - a connection so profound that it transcended physical distance and the constraints of the ordinary world. He had always been the one person who truly understood you, who held your heart with a tenderness that both comforted and amazed you. He was the first person, first mutant who didn’t try to hurt you. Instead, he approached you like a person, talking and making you feel more at ease despite your first introduction to the team. He made you feel safe.

When you finally reached the mansion, exhaustion had overtaken you. Your body felt like lead, weighing you down with each step. Fatigue clouded your mind, making even the simplest thoughts a struggle. A gnawing hunger twisted in your stomach, reminding you of how long it had been since your last meal. Damn, some of Kurt’s cooking sounded great right about now. The biting cold had seeped into your bones, causing involuntary shivers to run through your frame. All you could think about was the warmth and comfort of Kurt's bed, imagining yourself wrapped in soft blankets, safe from the harsh world outside.

With sheer determination, you willed your leaden legs to keep moving. Each step was a battle against your body's desire to simply collapse where you stood. The mansion loomed before you, almost taunting your weary state. Just a little further, you told yourself, even as your muscles screamed in protest. Finally, your strength gave out.

Unable to take another step, you felt your knees buckle beneath you. The world tilted, and you found yourself falling forward, your hands and knees sinking into the damp, cool grass of the mansion's lawn. The moisture from the ground seeped through your clothes, you swayed and ended up falling over on your side. The world faded to black after that, and you felt all the pain disappear.

When you regained consciousness, your numerous eyes slowly flickering open, you found yourself lying in the sterile environment of the mansion's infirmary. Not the best place to wake up to…it didn’t exactly have a good record in your mind. The stark white ceiling above you gradually came into focus as you blinked away the lingering haziness of unconsciousness. As your vision began to clear, you noticed a blurry blue figure standing nearby, its presence both comforting and familiar.

Your mind, still foggy from whatever ordeal had brought you here, immediately conjured thoughts of Kurt. With a surge of hope, you attempted to speak his name, your voice coming out as little more than a hoarse whisper. However, as you blinked more forcefully, willing your eyes to cooperate and bring the world into sharper focus, the blue blur began to take on a more distinct shape.

As the figure's features became clearer, a wave of disappointment washed over you. The furry blue form standing at your bedside was not the lithe, acrobatic shape of your Nightcrawler, but rather the broader, more imposing silhouette of Beast. You couldn't help but let out a small sigh, your expectations dashed even as you recognized the concern evident in Hank's intelligent eyes.

"There we are, take it easy now...you're okay. Just exhausted and a little weak. Nothing some rest and medicine won't help." Hank noted, his voice gentle and reassuring. He maintained a respectful distance, carefully observing your condition without encroaching on your personal space. His medical expertise was evident in the way he assessed your state, but he was mindful not to overwhelm you with too much attention or proximity. He understood that in your vulnerable state, even well-intentioned gestures might be misinterpreted or cause discomfort. Especially knowing your history with him and the others.

Despite Hank's soothing words and professional demeanor, his voice seemed to fade into the background of your consciousness. Your mind was singularly focused on one person, the one you desperately needed to see. The concern etched on Hank's face barely registered as your thoughts raced, wondering about Kurt's whereabouts and whether he was aware of your current situation. The urgency to connect with him overshadowed everything else, even your own physical discomfort.

"Kurt...I-" you managed to utter, your voice weak but filled with longing and concern.

"He's coming. I promise," Hank interjected quickly, his tone reassuring and firm. He recognized the importance of Kurt's presence in your recovery and sought to alleviate your worry with this simple yet powerful assurance.

The door swung open with a sudden creak, and there he stood, your beloved Kurt, framed in the doorway. His striking yellow eyes were wide with concern, brimming with a mixture of worry and relief as they locked onto your form. Without hesitation, he rushed into the room, his movements urgent and slightly clumsy in his haste. He nearly stumbled over his own feet in his eagerness to reach your bedside, his tail swishing anxiously behind him.

In an instant, he was at your side, his hands enveloping your own, having ripped off his gloves so he could feel you. His grip was gentle yet firm, conveying a multitude of emotions through that simple touch. You could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, his concern ran deep and he looked as though he had seen a ghost, like he believed you died. The warmth of his hands felt nice against the cool, sterile atmosphere of the room, providing a comforting anchor in the otherwise clinical environment.

Kurt's lips parted, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. "L-liebling..." he managed to utter. His gaze never left yours, silently communicating all the things left unsaid between you.

His expression remained steadfast, never wavering for a moment. His eyes meticulously scanned your appearance, taking in every detail with a mixture of confusion and worry etched across his features. However, contrary to your expectations, there was no trace of disgust or fear in his gaze. Instead, his eyes held a depth of emotion that spoke volumes.

"D...Don't...scare me like that..." Kurt finally managed to articulate, his voice barely above a whisper as he swallowed thickly. The words seemed to catch in his throat, as if he was struggling to voice the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. "I was...so afraid I would never see you again. I had no idea where you had gone off to," he continued, his voice cracking slightly with the weight of his confession.

Though his words carried a hint of admonishment, as if he was attempting to scold you for your disappearance, the underlying pain in his voice was unmistakable. The tremor in his voice betrayed the fear he had experienced during your absence, and the palpable relief that washed over him now that you were back in his sight.

"I'm sorry...you're not...afraid?" Your voice quivered with a mixture of disbelief and vulnerability. "Look at me now. I look utterly..." Your words trailed off, unable to find the right descriptor for your current state. A tumultuous blend of emotions washed over you - sadness at your appearance, anger at the situation, and confusion at his unexpected reaction. You had braced yourself for revulsion, for fear, for any number of negative responses.

Yet here he was, his eyes filled with nothing but genuine concern. It defied all your expectations, leaving you feeling both comforted and somehow more exposed. "Why are you so concerned despite my appearance?" you found yourself asking, your tone a blend of wonder and wariness. "I was certain you'd react differently, that you'd recoil or..." You left the sentence unfinished, the possibilities too painful to voice.

But contrary to your fears, he sat there unwavering, his worry for you evident in every line of his face, in the way he leaned towards you as if wanting to offer comfort but unsure if it would be welcome.

"Why would I care about your appearance? I... I mean, yes, you do look different, but that's not what matters," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. He slowly reached up, his three-fingered hand gently caressing your cheek. He allowed his fingers to tenderly trace the contours of your face, memorizing every new detail. A soft, reassuring smile spread across his lips as he gazed into your eyes.

"You're still... you," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. That gentle smile widened slightly, revealing his pointed canines, "The essence of who you are, your spirit, your heart - that hasn't changed. And that's what truly matters to me."

His eyes sparkled with warmth and understanding as he added, "Besides, mein Engel... I'm blue from head to toe and have a tail. Who am I to pass judgment based on appearances? We're both unique in our own ways, and that's what makes us special."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as that particular stressor dissipated, leaving you with a sense of renewed calm. Kurt remained silent for a moment, his eyes filled with relief that you were okay and compassion as he knew your mental struggles were flaring.

Then, with a gentle voice that carried the weight of his sincerity, he spoke up again, "And whatever else you're grappling with, whatever challenges you're facing... I want you to know that I'm here for you. Not just now, but always. No matter where life takes you, no matter how far you might wander, I'll be here, waiting. You are the beating heart of my existence, the love that gives my life meaning. In me, you will always find a sanctuary, a place of unconditional acceptance and unwavering support. You are my home, and I promise to be yours, forever and always."

"I... I'm at a loss for words. Your reaction is so unexpected, given my altered appearance and... the events that transpired." You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. "I love you too, more than I can express. I'm truly sorry for my sudden disappearance. There were...complications I needed to resolve. But now, being back here with you, I'm relieved. Seeing you, seeing how you look at me...nothing has changed, has it?" You let out a sigh of relief, your hand weakly reaching and holding onto his.

"I've missed you. You've always been the one person who could see through my façade, who could truly understand me despite everything. Your acceptance...without any kind of ill thoughts, it means everything to me."

"As do you, liebling...Ich liebe dich. I am here now, you are not alone anymore," he whispered tenderly, his voice a soft caress in the quiet room. With gentle movements, he carefully shifted closer, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he settled beside you. His arms enveloped you in a warm, comforting embrace, pulling you against his chest with a tenderness that spoke volumes of his affection. This was all you wanted…his arms tenderly holding you. "You've been through so much, mein schatz, but I promise you, those days of loneliness are behind you now. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Let me…"

His lips quirked into a playful smirk, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he added, "Besides, now you have more eyes to gaze into, hm? Twice the charm, wouldn't you say?" His attempt at lightening the mood was met with a gentle swat to his chest, your hand connecting with the soft fabric of his uniform.

"Kurt..." you murmured, a mix of exasperation and fondness coloring your voice. "You absolute dork." Despite your words, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, betraying the warmth that spread through your chest at his endearing antics.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover image: Nightcrawler (2015) # 10 ; Pinterest

[concretejunglefm]

face fuckinh with jolly i NEED MY GAWD having his hands tangled in my hair and his balls slappinh my chin while he is deep asf in my throat groaning so pretty as i throat him ong 😭😭😭😭😭

Because maybe after a show you know that Jolly needs to destress and what better way than offering your mouth to him like this?

CW: smut including rough throat fucking, spit, gagging, reader referred to as katten (kitten in Swedish)

Smut under the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

When you enter the greenroom after the show, you find your boyfriend sprawled out on the couch, head resting back as he relaxes from the performance. You’re ready to pounce on him because even from the sound booth where you had been watching him tonight was too far away, and he looks insatiable—delicious enough for you to want to devour him.

The same thought must be crossing Jolly’s mind, because when he raises his head with a soft hum, his eyes scan over you, taking in the sight of him before him. The corners of his mouth twitch, and a smirk spreads across his lips. “Katten,” he purrs, and it makes your knees go weak to hear him call you one of his beloved pet names for you. The softness of his voice, coupled with his accent, when it slips through, ignites a whirlwind heat in your stomach. Without any prompting, you drop to your knees, obediently crawling your way over to him.

You understand what he needs and are more than willing to provide him with that to help him relax after his night’s performance.

When you reach him, he doesn’t hesitate. He swiftly extends a hand to intertwine his fingers with your hair, feeling their gentle touch against your scalp as he guides you closer between his already spread legs. Leaning forward, he bends to meet you as you reciprocate by leaning up. You eagerly accept his mouth with the warm, sensual kiss he offers, a moan instantly escaping your lips. You realize your need for him is greater than you initially anticipated, but this isn’t about your pleasure; it’s his moment.

Resting your hands on his knees, you gradually begin to brush up along them, your fingers spreading out as you approach his crotch, feeling the bulge straining against the leather pants he’s been wearing tonight. Dancing your fingers along the zipper, you take it between them before slowly inching it down, working to pull his cock free. The moment it is, he withdraws from your mouth with a soft, appreciative “good katten,” that makes your heart leap, and when you look down at his cock, you momentarily marvel at it.

You can’t resist taking a moment to tease him, leaning closer as your tongue gently caresses the underside of his shaft, meeting at the tip. You swirl your tongue around it, and when you finally close your lips on it, you hum, allowing him to feel the vibrations. He’s already so sensitive, and you hear the grunt he makes in response, his fingers tightening their grip on your hair. Lifting your eyes, you peek at him through your lashes, catching the smirk he watches you with. Before you can react, he presses down against the back of your head, forcing you to open your mouth and take him into it.

Usually, he would give you a moment to pace yourself, but he has taken charge and instead forces you right down to the hilt. His public hair tickles your nose as he holds you there for a moment. “Mm, just what I need. Your mouth is so warm and wet.” He drawls and slowly lifts you up just enough to allow him room to begin bucking his hips. He chooses to thrust into your mouth at his own leisurely pace rather than giving you the control to suck him as you desire.

With every thrust, he forces himself deeply into your throat, making you moan around him as you squeeze tightly with his instruction to ‘swallow’. It feels tight, and he’s pushing the boundaries of what you’re capable of tonight. Tears well up in your eyes as you gaze up at him, filled with nothing but pure need and adoration for the man.

It’s as if the sight of you in this state snaps something in him, causing him to thrust his hips faster and his cock to force itself deeply into your throat, making you choke and gag around it, saliva pooling around the thick of him as it falls from your mouth and descends around the base and his balls. You feel the harsh slap of his balls against your chin while he releases a chorus of groans, grunting in between, pure, animalistic sounds as he satisfies his own needs.

In this moment, you’re nothing more than a source of pleasure for him, and you feel the ache between your thighs, yearning to reach down between them and relieve yourself while he uses you in this way. However, you know better than to prioritize your own pleasure over his.

As the minutes tick by, you can hear the strained sounds coming from Jolly’s throat until thick, warm ropes of cum begin to coat your own, and you moan around him as he holds you there, skillfully painting the inside of your throat and encouraging you to take every last drop.

When he gently releases you from his grasp, you’re breathless, your mouth still dripping with saliva, a small amount of which, mixed with his cum, lingers on your lips, connecting you. Your throat is sore, but you can still taste him.

When you gaze upon his face, you notice the blissed-out expression etched across his features and butterflies flutter in your stomach as he leans forward once more, his attention returning to you. Reaching out, he gently wipes away the remaining saliva at the corner of your mouth with a finger before softly tutting his tongue. “You made such a mess, katten. Perhaps you should clean it up.”

[reveryfics]

Kit Harrington and Richard Madden are both SO FINE😳🤭. I swear they couldn't have picked any HOTTER actors for the Eternals Men. How about a Dane Whitman request, since I can barely find any for him compared to the rest of the Eternal men😭 (not that they don't deserve it).

I'm thinking male reader decides to plan a day out with Dane after having spent a couple of weeks with minimal contact, what with balancing being a professor and going through training/missions as the new Black Knight. Dane feels extremely guilty and tries to reverse the situation and take male reader out instead but he refuses and comforts Dane. Either they could already be in a relationship or this could lead to them having their first kiss and getting together (you could decide🤭).

Feel free to ignore the request,

Love your work Revery🫶

Over Coffee

Dane Whitman x Male Reader

Summary: After countless failed attempts to get Dane to spend time with you, you found yourself at a crossroads when he suddenly initiated plans. You decided to confront him about his constant excuses, and the resulting conversation was anything but straightforward.

A/N: For real, they had such waisted potential with this cast and movie (minus Harry Styles,) just wish they didn't waste Kit Harrington's character. Will never ignore your requests, both have been so good! I'm back now, and open to more requests!

TW: Fluff - Friends to Lovers - First kiss

Dane Whitman had become a fixture in your life, a presence you'd come to know in the quiet hallways of the university and the bustling lecture halls. Your initial connection was purely professional, born from your shared roles as professors. It began with brief, polite conversations before classes, easy smiles exchanged as you passed in the corridor, and quick chats about curriculum and student progress. But these brief encounters soon blossomed into something more substantial.

Your professional relationship gradually evolved into a genuine, comfortable friendship. Late nights at the campus coffee shop became a regular occurrence, the clatter of mugs and the low hum of conversation providing the backdrop as you helped each other grade towering stacks of papers. Early mornings often began with a shared coffee, a quiet moment of camaraderie before the chaos of the day began. On weekends, your apartments became movie marathon havens, filled with the aroma of popcorn and the soft glow of the screen.

From the very beginning, Dane was drawn to you. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but there was an undeniable pull. Perhaps it was your easygoing nature, the way you navigated the demanding world of academia with a relaxed confidence. Or maybe it was the passion that ignited in your eyes when you spoke about your subject, a fire that he found both inspiring and deeply attractive. He could sit for hours, lost in the sound of your voice, all the while taking note of the small, unconscious habits that made you you. He'd find himself mesmerized by the way you'd occasionally scratch at the stubble on your chin, a familiar gesture that seemed to be a habit you'd never shaken.

He'd never admit it, not to a soul, least of all to himself. He was undeniably attracted to you. Especially when you wore your glasses, the frames perched on your nose, giving you a look of serious intellect that he found incredibly appealing. And those button-up shirts... they fit your form perfectly, hugging your broad shoulders and chest, and he'd always find his eyes lingering on the slight curve of your stomach that hung over the top of your pants.

In his desperation, he confided in your mutual friend, Sersi. He sought her advice, a way to navigate the swirling feelings that were consuming him. But every time she would offer the simplest and most obvious solution—"Just ask them out"—he would refuse outright, his excuses growing more elaborate and less convincing with each passing day.

But then, as it so often does, life got in the way. A seismic shift occurred in Dane’s world. His academic responsibilities, already a heavy load, were now compounded by a stunning, world-altering discovery: he was the latest in a long line of wielders of the Ebony Blade, destined to become the Black Knight. The weight of a legendary mantle settled on his shoulders, and suddenly, there was no time for late-night grading sessions or lazy weekend movie marathons.

Time seemed to melt into a distorted blur. If he wasn't teaching, he was training, learning to control the volatile power of the Blade. His days were consumed by a new, demanding reality. He saw you less and less, and the shared coffee breaks vanished. Whenever you'd reach out, a casual text asking if he was alright or an invitation to catch up over coffee, he'd blow you off. He'd invent a new excuse each time, a fictitious meeting, a sudden errand, a mountain of papers to grade. The excuses became more frequent and less believable, a flimsy shield against the truth he couldn't share.

After months of this emotional distance, you finally gave up. The easy smiles you once shared in the hallway became a thing of the past. When you passed him, your lips barely curved into a polite, strained acknowledgment. And when Sersi would bring him up, you'd shut down the conversation immediately, refusing to discuss him. The friendship you had so carefully built seemed to have crumbled into nothing, leaving behind only the ghost of what it had been.

The fluorescent lights of the empty classroom hummed, a low, monotonous sound that did little to soothe your frazzled nerves. Your glasses had slid halfway down your nose, and you'd long since given up on pushing them back up. Your fingers were tangled in your hair, a familiar habit born of frustration, and your pen was poised over a student's essay, a red-inked question mark hanging in the air. The words blurred on the page, and you sighed, leaning back in your chair. The worn leather creaked in protest, a sound as weary as you felt.

You were attempting to grade a stack of papers, a task that normally brought you a quiet sense of satisfaction. But tonight, the words wouldn't stick. The concepts you were trying to evaluate felt as distant as the moon. Your mind was a whirlwind of half-formed thoughts and unanswerable questions, all of them centered on one person. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to clear your head, but his image was already there, as clear as day. The memory of his easy smile, the sound of his laugh, the way he would absentmindedly run a hand through his hair when he was thinking.

You opened your eyes and a gasp caught in your throat. He was there. Dane Whitman was leaning against the doorway of your classroom, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He wore a simple, dark t-shirt, and his muscles were clearly defined beneath the fabric. He looked tired, but his eyes held a familiar intensity.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly sound that sent a jolt through you.

For a moment, you couldn't speak. You simply stared, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. It had been months. Months of polite smiles and hurried glances in the hallway, of his unexplained absences and your growing resignation. The sight of him, standing there in your doorway, felt like a scene from a dream you'd already forgotten.

You finally found your voice, though it came out as a whisper. "Dane. What are you doing here?"

He pushed off the doorframe and took a tentative step into the room, his gaze fixed on you. "I... I just wanted to talk."

You slowly sat up, your movements stiff, and pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose. The papers on your desk suddenly felt like a shield, a barrier between you and the man who had inexplicably vanished from your life. "Talk? After months of blowing me off? What's there to talk about, Dane?" The words were sharper than you intended, fueled by a mixture of hurt and anger that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

He flinched, his jaw tightening. "I know. I know I've been a jerk. I have no excuse for it." He ran a hand through his dark hair, a gesture you knew so well, a habit you had watched countless times. "Life... got complicated. More complicated than you can imagine."

You scoffed, a humorless sound. "More complicated than answering a text message? More complicated than a five-minute coffee break? I thought we were friends, Dane."

He closed the distance between you, stopping at the student desk in front of your own. He leaned on it, his posture tense, his eyes filled with a raw vulnerability you hadn't seen in a long time. "We are. You're... you're one of the best friends I've ever had. That's why this is so hard." His gaze dropped to the papers on your desk, then back to you. "I can't tell you everything. But I promise you, I had a good reason for disappearing. A world-ending reason."

His words hung in the air, a nonsensical riddle. You narrowed your eyes, trying to decipher his cryptic confession. "A world-ending reason? What are you talking about?"

He shook his head, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "I can't. Not yet. But I needed you to know... that I haven't forgotten about you. Not for a single day." He hesitated, his eyes flickering over your face, lingering on your mouth, your eyes, the stray strands of hair clinging to your forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, a stark contrast to the distant stranger he had been for months. Your anger began to ebb away, replaced by a confused and overwhelming ache in your chest. You looked at him, at the dark circles under his eyes and the haunted look in their depths, and you knew, with a certainty that defied all logic, that he was telling the truth. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

You finally set your pen down, the clatter echoing in the silent room. "So, what now, Dane?" you asked, your voice soft. "Are you going to disappear again after this? Or are you going to let me in?"

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of apology and a desperate plea for understanding. He pushed off the desk, standing up straight. The casual, relaxed posture from the doorway was gone, replaced by a coiled tension you hadn't seen before.

"I... I want to try and make it right," he said, his voice low but firm. "I know it's a lot to ask, but... can we get coffee? Like we used to? I know you've got a lot of questions, and I'll answer what I can. I just... I need to see you again. Properly. Not in a hallway, not for a quick chat, but... us. Like before."

You stood slowly from your desk, the creak of the chair a loud intrusion in the quiet room. You walked around the desk, your hands finding the cool, smooth surface of the wooden table. Your glasses had slid down your nose again, and you didn't bother to fix them. You just stared at him, the hurt and confusion churning in your gut.

"Like before?" The words were heavy with a bitter irony. "Dane, what do you think 'before' even means to me now?" You gestured around the empty classroom, your voice rising in a mix of frustration and genuine pain. "For months, I thought something was wrong. I thought I did something to upset you. Every time I saw you, you looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and I asked, I tried, and you just... pushed me away."

You took a step closer to him, your voice dropping to a low, intense tone. "I'd ask Sersi what was going on, and she'd just tell me she didn't know. I was worried sick about you. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't focus on my work." You ran a hand through your hair, the action a testament to your frayed nerves. "And now you show up here, after months of silence, and tell me you couldn't make time because of a 'world-ending reason'? What am I supposed to do with that, Dane? It doesn't make any sense."

The anger in your voice was a raw, unfiltered thing, the culmination of months of worry and feeling cast aside. You could see the flicker of a pained expression in his eyes, but you couldn't stop.

"You think I can just forget about all that and go for coffee like we used to? Like we're just two friends who lost touch for a couple of weeks? We were more than that, Dane. We were... we were close. And you just vanished. No explanation, no call, no text. Just... gone." Your voice trembled slightly. "Do you have any idea how that felt? To think that the person who could sit for hours and listen to me talk, the person I could spend a whole weekend with, just decided I wasn't worth their time anymore?"

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, filled only with the hum of the lights and the frantic rhythm of your own heart. You stood there, breathing heavily, your chest tight with emotion. The ball was in his court. You had laid it all out, the hurt, the confusion, the lingering fear. Now, it was up to him to either give you a reason to trust him again or walk out of your life for good.

His jaw worked, a muscle ticking beneath the skin of his cheek. He listened to every word, his face a canvas of regret and pain. He didn't interrupt, didn't make an excuse. He just stood there, taking it all in. When you finished, the only sound was your ragged breathing and the ever-present hum of the classroom lights.

He finally spoke, his voice quiet, almost a whisper, but it held a new weight. "You're right. You're completely right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just disappeared. I should have told you. But I couldn't."

He took a slow step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "What I'm about to tell you... you can't tell anyone. Not Sersi, not another soul. This is... bigger than us. Bigger than this city. Bigger than... a lot of things."

He ran a hand through his hair again, the gesture one of pure exasperation. "I've been going through... a sort of family inheritance. A terrible, ancient one." He looked down at his hands, as if seeing them for the first time. "My family... we have a legacy. A history tied to a mythical blade, the Ebony Blade. It's been passed down through my bloodline for centuries. And recently... it was my turn."

He looked back up at you, his eyes a mixture of fear and resolve. "The Blade... it's a curse. It demands a cost. It amplifies the worst parts of you. It's a dark, powerful weapon, and it chooses its wielder. I've been training, learning to control it. Learning what it means to be the Black Knight."

The name hung in the air, a fantastical echo in the mundane setting of a university classroom. You blinked, trying to process his words. "The Black Knight? Like... from the legends? Like... King Arthur?"

He gave a wry, humorless smile. "Exactly like that. I know how it sounds. Trust me, I know. I still have trouble believing it myself. But it's real. And the training... the challenges... it's all-consuming. I couldn't have a normal life and do this, not at the beginning. I was afraid of the Blade, afraid of what it would do to me, and even more afraid of what it would do to anyone I cared about."

He took another step closer, now standing only a few feet from you. The air between you was charged with unspoken emotions. "Every time you reached out, I wanted to say yes. I wanted to see you. More than anything. But I was convinced I had to keep you safe from this. Safe from me. So I pushed you away. It was selfish and it was stupid, and I'm so sorry."

He finally let his arms fall to his sides, his posture softening slightly. "I'm still learning. I still have a long way to go. But I can't do this alone. I don't want to. I need you in my life, if you'll have me. I know I don't deserve it, but... please. Give me a chance to show you what's really going on. Let me explain everything I can."

He looked at you with a raw vulnerability you hadn't seen since the first few weeks of your friendship, before his world had turned upside down. It was an honest, desperate plea. The papers on your desk, your frustration, your anger—it all seemed to fade away, replaced by the overwhelming reality of the man standing before you, a man who had been chosen by a mythical curse and now stood here, asking you to believe him.

You had a choice to make. You could dismiss him as a liar, a man making up an outlandish story to escape accountability. Or you could trust the look in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice, and the gut feeling that had been telling you for months that something was terribly wrong.

You looked at him, your gaze lingering on the dark circles under his eyes, the faint shadows of exhaustion that couldn't be faked. After a long moment of silence, you finally spoke, your voice barely a whisper. "Okay, Dane."

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Okay?" he asked, his voice full of hope.

"Okay," you repeated, your voice a little stronger this time. "Let's go get that coffee."

The bell above the door chimed softly as you and Dane entered the familiar coffee shop. The aroma of roasted beans and warm pastries enveloped you, a scent so intrinsically tied to your friendship that it felt like a physical embrace. It was late, and the shop was quiet, a few students hunched over laptops in the corners and a barista wiping down the counter. You ordered your usual, a black coffee with a splash of milk, and Dane got his, a simple americano. The silence between you in line was a stark contrast to your usual easy banter, a heavy presence filled with all the unspoken questions and the incredible confession he had just made.

You found your usual booth, the one in the back corner with the worn leather seats. You sat across from him, and the table, once a space for shared laughter and easy camaraderie, now felt like a chasm. He stirred his coffee slowly, his gaze fixed on the swirling liquid.

"So," you started, your voice quiet, "the Ebony Blade."

He looked up, a wry, tired smile touching his lips. "I know. It sounds completely insane."

"It does," you admitted, a small, nervous laugh escaping you. "It sounds like... a movie. Or a comic book."

"Believe me, I'm still waiting for the director to yell 'cut'," he said, his voice laced with a dark humor. He took a sip of his coffee, as if to fortify himself. "It's all real. My family history is tied to it. The Blade itself... it's a a sword made from a meteorite that fell to Earth long ago. It's powerful, but it's cursed. It craves blood, and it corrupts the wielder." He held up his hand, and you saw a faint, shimmering line of blue-black energy tracing along the back of his hand, just under the skin. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. "It's a part of me now."

Your eyes widened. "What is that?"

"It's the curse," he explained, his voice grim. "It's the reason I had to pull away from you. The Blade's influence... it amplifies rage, anger, all the negative emotions. The more I used it, the more I felt like I was losing myself. I was afraid of hurting you. I was afraid of the person I was becoming."

He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his gaze intense. "The training was brutal. It was all-consuming. I had to learn to control it, to suppress its bloodlust. There were nights I didn't sleep, days I couldn't eat. I was a mess. And I didn't want to bring you into that mess."

He paused, taking another sip of his coffee, giving you time to absorb the mind-boggling information. You ran a hand through your hair, a familiar gesture of stress. It was too much to take in. This man, the history professor you had spent countless nights grading papers with, was a mythical warrior bound to a cursed sword. It was the stuff of legends, not the real world.

"But... why me?" you asked, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. "Why did you need to push me away? You could have just... told me something. Anything. I would have understood if you'd just said you were going through something."

He sighed, the sound heavy with regret. "I was afraid of what the Blade would do to me if I got too close to you. I was afraid that if I let myself be happy, let myself care about you, that the Blade would take it away. That it would twist that happiness into something dark. I was so scared that I would lose control and hurt you." His voice was barely a whisper. "You were the one person I couldn't risk it with. You... you mattered too much."

The confession hung in the air between you, more potent than the caffeine in your cups. It was a raw, vulnerable admission that stripped away all his defenses. In that moment, sitting across from you in a quiet coffee shop, he wasn't the distant stranger from the past few months. He was the Dane you knew, the one who was gentle and kind, but who was now burdened with an impossible responsibility.

"So," you said, your voice soft, "you're still learning?"

He nodded. "Every day. It's a constant battle. But I'm better now. Stronger. I'm learning to wield the Blade without letting it wield me. And I knew... I knew I couldn't live with myself if I lost you because of this."

You looked at him, at the sincerity in his eyes and the exhaustion etched on his face. He had risked a part of his soul, a part of his humanity, to protect you. And even though it had caused you pain, you knew his intentions were rooted in a deep, desperate need to keep you safe.

A soft smile finally touched your lips, a genuine one this time. "Well, Dane Whitman, you have some serious explaining to do. We're going to need a lot more coffee."

The coffee mugs had long since gone cold, and the coffee shop was now empty save for the two of you and the lone barista patiently cleaning up. Outside, the night had fully descended, the campus lights casting long, golden streaks across the asphalt. You and Dane had been talking for hours, lost in a whirlwind of impossible truths and long-overdue confessions. He had told you everything he could, the story of the Ebony Blade, the curse, and the terrifying journey he'd been on. You, in turn, had laid bare the hurt and loneliness of his absence. The air had cleared, replaced with a fragile but genuine sense of understanding.

As you stood up to leave, stretching your stiff limbs, he didn't hesitate to offer. "Let me walk you back. It's late."

You nodded, a soft smile on your face. The walk across campus was a silent one, but it wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence of before. This was a comfortable silence, filled with the soft rustle of leaves in the night breeze and the distant sounds of the city. You were processing everything, and you knew he was, too.

You reached your apartment door, the familiar red wood a welcome sight. You leaned against it, the cool surface a grounding presence against your back. You looked at him, his silhouette defined by the dim porch light. The words you had been holding back for hours finally slipped out.

"So, why did you care so much about me, Dane?" you asked, your voice quiet but firm. "You've talked about the Blade and the curse and the training... but you've never actually said why you were so worried about me, specifically. You could have just let me go."

He shifted, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked away, his gaze fixed on the apartment across the hall. He was trying to find the words, trying to play it off as simple friendship. "You're my friend. Of course, I care about you. I didn't want to lose you."

You saw right through it. The slight hesitation in his voice, the way his eyes darted away from yours. It was the same evasion you had grown so tired of months ago. You pushed off the door, standing straight and facing him fully.

"Don't do that," you said, your voice low and even. "Don't lie to me again. Not after tonight. If you have something to say, then say it. If you don't, then I'll see you at work tomorrow."

You turned, your key already in your hand, and began to unlock the door. The lock clicked, a small, final sound. You went to push the door open, to step inside and end the long, complicated night.

Just as you took a step, a hand gently but firmly grabbed yours.

You froze, your gaze dropping to your hand in his. His skin was warm, his grip steady. You looked up at him, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm in your chest.

His eyes were wide, a hint of panic and desperation in their depths. "I'm in love with you," he blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush, as if a dam had just broken. "That's why I was so worried. I was terrified of what would happen if the Blade found a way to hurt the person I... I cared about the most. I was afraid of what it would do to you. I love you."

The sincerity was overwhelming, a raw and beautiful confession. A small, knowing smile spread across your face. You turned fully to face him, the key forgotten in your hand.

"It took you long enough," you murmured, your voice a soft tease.

He opened his mouth to say something, to explain, to apologize again, but you didn't let him. You reached up, your hands finding the collar of his shirt, and you pulled him toward you, cutting him off with a soft, gentle kiss.

It was a slow, tender kiss, a promise and a confession all in one. He instantly kissed you back, his free hand leaving yours to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. The kiss deepened, a wave of relief and unspoken longing washing over both of you.

You slowly pulled away, your lips lingering near his for a moment longer. The air between you was thick with a new, exhilarating tension.

"Goodnight, Dane," you whispered, your voice husky. You gave his chest a soft, affectionate pat and finally slipped into your apartment, pulling the door shut behind you and locking it with a satisfied click.

Dane stood there in the hallway, eyes slightly wide, a dazed look on his face. He reached up, his fingers brushing his lips, the phantom touch of yours still there. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. He didn't have anything to worry about anymore. He had been so focused on protecting you from the darkness of his world, he hadn't realized that you were the light that would guide him through it. And now, you were his.

[monstersdownthepath]

Homebrew Horror: Vodani, Nascent Demon Lord of Intoxication and Anger

(Art by the amazing @stranger-chads!)

First mentioned here, Vodani is one of the least ambitious yet most active among the Nascent Lords, never truly vying for territory but viciously holding what power and reach he stumbles into with a ferocity and determination that cause most others to simply leave him to his own devices. His primary concerns in his day to day life are acquiring alcohol to drink and people to drink it around (specifically around, and uncommonly with), and though he can conjure seemingly bottomless amounts of it and convert even pond scum into a palatable beverage, he's always hounding for a flavor of spirit he's never tasted before, which is one of his motivators for venturing into the world of mortals.

The primary motivator, however, is only barely more complex than that of most demons: chaos, mayhem, destruction, and the corruption of innocents. Vodani takes on the appearance of a common human vagrant or wanderer to inveigle himself in established populations of the destitute and downtrodden. With endless gifts of cheap drink and drugs woven between sob stories he's collected from hundreds of past victims, Vodani establishes himself as a strange but beloved member of the community, where he works to ignite the fires of hatred within them.

Vodani uses inflammatory rhetoric to gradually unite the societies he infiltrates against specific targets, most of them nobles or government officials, or members of an organization with considerable power over the poor (such as bankers, guards, and local guild members), preferring to pick whomever would cause the largest power vacuum if they were removed from their position and/or cause the largest breakdown of societal order (his least favorite type of order). This habit causes many to call him the Prince of Paupers, believing him a figure of hope and unity, but this is false hope at best; Vodani is not driven out of a sincere desire to help, but a demonic desire to destroy. He intentionally steers people away from any solution that does not lead to violent revolution and utilizes drugs, social and societal pressures, and his magic to prevent anyone from speaking against him or offering relief to his "friends," victims of his toxic influence who quickly find themselves with few choices but to continue wallowing in his lifestyle of violence, indulgence, and hate.

Were the Lord of Gin truly a bringer of rebellion and freedom, he would actually stay to help the reconstruction once the dust settled, or even help at all. As it is, the targets of ire he chooses often serve as convenient scapegoats for the actual reason inequality runs rampant; he may target a guard captain enforcing unjust laws while treating the council who made the laws as an afterthought, or call for the death of a king who is unaware that his advisors have been wringing areas of the city dry behind his back. Vodani gets his fill of destruction quickly once he's gotten a whole riot going, wading into the fray to kill and destroy with savage impunity, often felling friend and foe alike. Whether or not his assembled "freedom fighters" actually succeed in destroying their perceived "oppressors" and "enemies" or if they themselves are routed is of little true consequence to him, with the fiend vanishing from the world once his cruel work is done to let everyone else shoulder the consequences. Any actual good that may emerge in the wake of his riot is purely accidental, and hearing that he has bettered a city sends him into a frothing fury which takes him days to calm down from. He often goes out of his way to either send his followers into the same city or slither back in himself to make it burn down 'for good this time,' and this is one of the only things in creation which can give him actual focus and motivation to plan things over the course of the long term... provided he doesn't completely forget about why he was so angry in the first place during days of senseless rage and endless drinking.

Vodani appears to be a humanoid with an extremely severe case of jaundice and lengthy fingers that end in sharpened, bony points. He wears shabby local clothing and is always clutching a bottle of spirits he takes frequent drinks from. His head is his most startling feature, taking the shape of a tapering pillar of flesh that swirls as though it were smoke in a vortex, solid yellow eyes and a mouth filled with shark-like teeth emerging and disappearing at random in the twister. He has a strange amount of control over his malleable head, able to shape it into distorted faces and exaggerated expressions at will, or even lash his head out like a tentacle to deliver bites to distant foes.

Even when magically disguised, his pure yellow eyes or sharpened teeth randomly peek through to reveal his true nature, forcing him to take pains to hide them with long hair, facemasks, tall collars, or other coverings. His commonalities with the Ginever are noted by most who know of both him and the strange, alcoholic carnivores; many believe him to either be their progenitor, or a member of their kind who ascended to demonhood. He gives contradicting reports, alternatively calling them his children, his kin, his subjects, or his parasites, seemingly just to annoy anyone trying to find a concrete truth. What is known is that any mortal who drinks themselves to death with alcohol he's interacted with in some way has a chance of returning to life as a Ginever. When asked of this phenomenon, he is curiously quiet.

Vodani, the Demon at the Bottom of the Bottle CR 23 Chaotic Evil Medium Outsider (Chaotic, Evil, Demon, Extraplanar) Init: +7; Senses: darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Detect Good, Detect Law, True Seeing; Perception +37 Aura: Unholy Aura (DC 29)

------- Defense ------

AC 45, touch 35, flat-footed 38 (+7 Dex, +4 deflection, +10 natural, +14 luck) HP 530 (26d10+364), Regeneration 15 (Good) Fort +27, Ref +33, Will +27 Defensive Abilities: Freedom of Movement; DR 15/Cold Iron and Good; Immune: Charm and compulsion effects, cold, death effects, electricity, disease, poison; Resist: Acid 30, Fire 30; SR: 35

------ Offense ------

Speed: 60ft, climb 20ft; Air Walk Melee +3 Improvised Weapon +38/+33/+28/+23 (1d8+10/19-20), claw +28 (1d6+4 plus Intoxicant), bite +33 (1d8+7 plus Intoxicant), OR two claws +33 (1d6+7 plus Intoxicant), bite +33 (1d8+7 plus Intoxicant) Ranged +3 Thrown Improvised Weapon +38/+33/+28/+23 (1d8+10) Space 5ft, Reach 5ft (10ft with bite) Special Attacks: Cloak and Dagger Tactics (DC 28), Intoxicant, Jaundiced Gaze, Sneak Attack +2d6, Whatever's At Hand Spell-like Abilities (CL 20th; concentration +31)

Constant--Air Walk, Freedom of Movement, Detect Good, Detect Law, True Seeing, Unholy Aura (DC 29) At-will--Charm Person (DC 22), Greater Dispel Magic, Greater Teleport (self plus 50lbs only), Invisibility (self only), Rotgut, Suggestion (DC 24) 3/day--Create Drugs, Crime Wave (DC 27), Mass Suggestion (DC 27), Song of Discord (DC 26), Tears to Wine 1/day--Dominate Monster (DC 30), Life of Crime (DC 29), Summon Demons or Ginever, Time Stop

------ Statistics ------

Str 24 Dex 25 Con 38 Int 20 Wis 27 Cha 33

Base Atk +26; CMB +33 (+4 when performing Dirty Trick); CMD 66 (+4 vs Dirty Tricks)

Feats Catch Off-Guard(B), Cloak and Dagger Style, Cloak and Dagger Subterfuge, Cloak and Dagger Tactics, Dirty Fighting, Dirty Trick Master, Grab and Go, Greater Dirty Trick, Improved Dirty Trick, Improvisational Focus, Improvised Weapon Mastery, Multiattack, Quick Dirty Trick, Throw Anything(B), Vital Strike

Skills Appraise +15, Bluff +40, Craft (Alchemy) +34, Disable Device +26, Disguise +17, Escape Artist +21, Intimidate +40, Knowledge (Local) +34, Knowledge (Nobility) +15, Knowledge (Planes) +16, Perception +37, Perform (Comedy) +21, Perform (Oratory) +31, Sense Motive +37, Sleight of Hand +26, Stealth +30

Languages Abyssal, Common, Dwarvish, Draconic, Orcish; telepathy 300ft, Tongues

SQ Change Shape (Any humanoid or monstrous humanoid; Alter Self or Monstrous Physique I), Drunken Demagogue, Happy Hour, Nascent Demon Lord traits

------ Ecology ------

Environment: Any urban Organization: Solitary, hellions (self plus 3~10 Ginever plus 10~30 humanoids), riot (self plus 10~20 Ginever plus 30+ humanoids). Treasure: Triple standard

------

Combat: While preferring to never battle any foe with a reasonable chance of fighting back, Vodani is a bewildering foe to battle on even terms and will utilize his feats to hamper his foes via rapidly-delivered Dirty Trick maneuvers before beating them down with whatever he has available as the negative conditions mount. Capable of turning anything into a deadly weapon, Vodani is never truly unarmed and will utilize any lull in the combat (or rounds in Time Stop) to customize his held item with enchantments he feels would best harm his foes; he usually begins each day having a single bottle opener or corkscrew he keeps loaded with Anarchic, Human-Bane, and Unholy already on his person. If his foes are intoxicated, he will attempt to use his spell-likes to convince them to either fight on his side, fight with each other, or not fight at all.

Morale: The Lord of Gin turns invisible and flees any fight that is no longer "fun" for him, typically meaning fights in which his foes take no damage from his attacks, cannot be meaningfully impaired with Dirty Trick, and any combat where he is reduced to 200 or less HP. If prevented from fleeing, he flies into an indignant rage and fights to the death.

------ Special Abilities ------

Drunken Demagogue (Ex): Vodani's drunken swaying allows him supernatural grace when avoiding danger, granting him a luck bonus equal to his Constitution modifier to his AC, his CMD, and to his Reflex saving throws. In addition, inebriated creatures have a significantly harder time resisting his words; when communicating with inebriated creatures--even one unwillingly rendered drunk by his own abilities--Vodani gains a +5 profane bonus to Charisma-based skill checks against those creatures, and those creatures have a -5 penalty to saving throws against Vodani's mind-affecting spells and abilities. If a creature is normally immune to mind-affecting effects, Drunken Demagogue allows his spells and abilities to bypass this immunity, but the spell or effect ends instantly when the creature is no longer drunk.

Happy Hour (Su): Thirteen times a day as a swift or standard action, Vodani can conjure a bottle or flask of any common, nonmagical alcoholic drink he desires, or which is desired by someone he is speaking to (even if they don't know the specific name). In addition, Vodani can consume single servings of alcohol (the bottles/flasks he summons contain three servings each), as well as potions, tinctures, and similar items as a swift action without provoking an attack of opportunity. Each time he drinks a serving of alcohol, a potion, or a tincture, he recovers 1d8+10 hitpoints and may immediately move up to 10ft in any direction without provoking an attack of opportunity.

Intoxicant (Su): Vodani may, as a free action once per round when successfully damaging a creature with his claw or bite attack, attempt to convert a portion of the liquids in that creature's body into alcohol. That creature must succeed a DC 35 Fortitude save or take 1d4+1 points of Dexterity and Constitution damage, becomes inebriated, and become sickened as though they had drank too much (alternately, a failure raises the victim's level of inebriation by 1, if using the alternate rules present in Inner Sea Taverns). A creature that fails their saving throw against this ability while already inebriated takes 1 additional point of Dexterity and Constitution damage. The sickened condition caused by this ability lasts until all ability score damage from it is healed. This is a poison effect.

Jaundiced Gaze (Su): While his mundane alcohol is typically enough to get what he wants, Vodani can dramatically enhance the effects of nearby alcohol with nothing but his gaze. This gaze attack operates in a 60ft cone, and any alcoholic beverage in this cone is converted into a ferocious brew: one serving of converted alcohol counts as four to any creature not immune to poison, and creatures normally immune to poison can be affected by the drink, though they treat it as only one serving. Alchemical and magical liquids almost always contain at least traces of alcohol in them which is enhanced by this ability, rendering the substance useless; such items can resist this infusion with a DC 35 Fortitude save. Inebriated creatures who meet his gaze while this ability is active must succeed a DC 35 Fortitude save or become confused, fascinated, or prone (his choice) for 1d8 rounds. He may activate or suppress this ability at will as a free action once per round.

Nascent Demon Lord Traits: A nascent demon lord is a powerful demon that has not yet made the full transition from unique demon to full demon lord of an Abyssal realm. They have several traits, as summarized here:

Immunity to charm and compulsion effects, death effects, electricity, and poison.

Resistance to acid 30, cold 30, and fire 30.

Summon (Sp) Once per day, Vodani can summon any demon or combination of demons whose total combined CR is 20 or lower. He can instead choose to summon two Fiendish Ginever with up to 12 levels of any one class each. This ability always works, and is equivalent to a 9th-level spell.

Telepathy 300 feet.

Vodani’s natural weapons, as well as any weapon he wields, are treated as chaotic, epic, and evil for the purpose of overcoming damage reduction.

Vodani can grant spells to his worshipers. He grants access to the domains of Chaos, Community, Evil, and Trickery. His favored weapon is improvised weapons.

Whatever's At Hand (Ex/Su): Vodani is a master of bar brawls and improvisation. He gains Catch Off-Guard and Throw Anything as bonus feats. Any item he uses as an improvised weapon is treated as if it were a +3 magic weapon (dropped or thrown weapons lose these qualities at the end of the turn). As a standard action, Vodani can further empower anything he is wielding--even a weapon that is already enchanted--with up to +3 worth of additional enchantments selected from the following list: Anarchic, Bane (the Bane type is chosen each time this ability is used), Cruel, Deadly, Flaming, Frost, Keen, Throwing, Shock and/or Unholy. These enchantments last until Vodani uses this ability again, or if the improvised weapon leaves his grasp for longer than 1 minute (which allows him to temporarily lend out enchanted armaments). He cannot use this ability to bring a weapon's total combined enchantments above +8.

[shattereality]

🜁 — 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝑵𝑰𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑼𝑺 𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑵 —𝐒𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐬

More chaotic, smug Kallexus content. You’re giggling and tipsy, no idea you're fueling a demigod’s narcissism with every slurred compliment!! A short snippet collection describing how you gradually (and reluctantly) adapt to life aboard Nihilus Talon:

Wandering the Halls of Iron & Shadows

The battle barge was a cathedral of steel and silence, its gothic arches humming with low, alien engines.

Kallexus was rarely present—off to hunt, to kill, to command. In his absence, no one stopped you from walking the halls.

At first, you feared the towering figures clad in black and bone. The Raven Guard watched you like a curiosity, a strange little creature allowed to roam the tomb-ship of warriors.

But soon, you learned names. Little things. Brother Decarro who always sharpened his blades unnecessarily loud. Varnak, the bald one who let you feed his battle-hounds, provided you didn’t flinch.

Wings of the Raven

One day, without much warning—Kallexus lifted you with one arm and grunted.

“You will hold.”

Yiu didn’t have time to ask what he meant. His jump pack ignited with a roar of sacred fire and pressure.

You screamed, clutching at his chestplate as they rocketed over the decks of Nihilus Talon over the planet it orbited, weaving between spires and observation towers.

“Y-YOU’RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSEEEE!” you shrieked, the sharp wind beating on your face, your hair flitting like whips, the view blurry due to how fast they were going.

Kallexus only chuckled low in his throat, a cold, gravelly sound that vibrated through his armor.

“You scream like a frightened cherub.”

You didn't speak to him for an hour after that. He seemed pleased.

“Kaaaall Has Pretty Hair” – Cognac & Chaos

The refectory was unusually loud tonight—some Raven Guard were sharing a rare bottle of Jovian Silk Cognac, a relic from before the Heresy.

You approached, wide-eyed. “Can I try?”

They laughed. Varnak, already a little deep in his flask, offered it to you. You took two sips.

Two.

And then you were gone—head swaying, face flushed, sitting on a crate giggling like you weren't in a war-torn cruiser wasn't orbiting a dead world with superhuman soldiers.

The laughter of gene-wrought giants filled the refectory like thunder softened by amusement.

The sight of you—swaddled in an oversized cloak (belonging to Decarro) cheeks flushed, swaying as you tried to pet the air—was apparently far more entertaining than another war story.

“Kall has nice hair…” you slurred, pointing vaguely in the air. “Like—like velvet and… shadowy.”

Astartes do not laugh often. But someone snorted. Someone else said.

“She called Lord Vordath Kall.”

They lost it.

Kallexus Vordath entered, his presence cutting through the revelry like a blade.

The air turned heavier.

The laughter faltered.

His black eyes swept the chamber.

You noticed him immediately.

“KALL!” you beamed, throwing your arms out like you meant to fly toward him delightedly. “Youuuu showed up!” your cheeks puffed out in sleepy delight.

His black eyes narrowed as the others tried to contain their mirth.

“What,” he said coldly, “is wrong with her?”

“Kaaaall,” you sighed dreamily, eyes closing as you leaned your head against a power-armored leg you mistook for his. “S’not fair your hair is softer than mine…”

His ego? Unchecked. His rage? Suspended. His sense of superiority? Inflated to warp-touched proportions.

Kallexus stared. Then looked at the others.

Brother Varnak, still chuckling, gestured toward the half-empty bottle on the table.

“She tried the Cognac, Lord. Two sips. The little pest is already drunk.”

Kallexus sighed with mild disbelief.

The next moment, his gauntleted hand clamped around your waist. You squealed, delighted and swooned directly into him like gravity itself had given up.

“You’re—so tall,” you murmured, patting his armor absently. “And your hair’s like... like black silk. Your eyes are like... like forbidden wine.”

Kallexus said nothing. He merely blinked.

Brother Decarro leaned toward Varnak.

“She called him wine.”

“Sanguinius weeps,” Varnak replied, nearly choking on his own drink.

With no visible emotion, Kallexus hoisted you like luggage and walked out.

Back in His Quarters

He deposited you unceremoniously onto the cot.

You giggled, squirmed under the blanket and reached out to paw lazily at his cloak as he turned to leave.

“Wait—wait—Kallll, I wanna fly again,” you slurred, grasping at the air like you might summon his jump pack from thin warp.

“Negative,” he stated, impassively.

“Buuut Wings of the Raveeennn,” you whined. “Ffffwooshhh—” you waved your hands in dramatic arcs. “Scared me so much. Do it again!”

He stared at you as one might regard a malfunctioning servitor.

“You are inebriated. Sleep.”

“But your voice is sooo serious. All the tiiiime.”

He made no reply. He simply crossed the room to silently dim the lighting, his expression unreadable as always.

But deep inside the fusion of his two hearts, something stuttered—something treacherous and warm and infuriatingly smug.

You had called him ‘Kall.’

The Hangover of Shame (you're horrified by everything you said while Kallexus is in an unnervingly good mood and the other Astartes keep teasing you about your poetic declarations of his ‘shadow gaze.’)

The next morning was agony.

Your skull throbbed. Your mouth was dry, your limbs ached with a weight far heavier than gravity.

But worst of all?

You remembered.

Every.

Single.

Word.

The silk hair. The ‘forbidden wine eyes.’ The dramatics about flying with ‘the Wings of the Raven.’ The fact that you called him Kall.

The rest of the Raven Guard abord the battle barge had surely heard all of it.

You spent the next few days doing what any self-respecting, guilt-plagued mortal would do on a battle barge full of eight-foot-tall demigods: you hid.

You learned how to walk through the shadows like one of them just to avoid Kallexus. If he came down the corridor, you ducked into maintenance shafts.

If he was in the refectory, you claimed to be fasting. If he entered the chamber, you pretended to be asleep.

Until… he called your bluff.

The Quarters – Four Nights Later

You lay curled on the cot, breathing slow and steady, eyes shut tight like a guilty child.

The door hissed open.

Still you didn’t move.

Heavy footsteps. Boots like distant thunder. He stood by the cot. Silent. Looming.

Then—

“Your sleep act,” he said, voice deep and flat, “has been abysmal.”

You cracked one eye open, guilt burning hot across your cheeks.

“I-I thought you’d kill me,” you muttered into the blanket. “For disrespecting you. For calling you—Kall. And... talking about your... your wine eyes.”

He didn’t speak. Kallexus exuded this quiet, calculated smugness of someone who was very aware he now lived rent-free in your thoughts.

You sat up, groaning as you rubbed your face.

“I’m sorry. Really. I don’t know what came over me—well I do, it was the cognac—but I thought I offended you or that I overstepped and I—”

He raised one hand. You froze.

“You were intoxicated. Your behavior was... ridiculous. But not punishable.”

You blinked. “You’re... not mad?”

“You are an embarrassment to yourself,” Kallexus replied simply. “Not to me.”

“Gee. Thanks,” you mumbled.

He turned, pausing only to glance over his shoulder.

“I have never been compared to wine before.” A pause. “It was... novel.”

And with that, he walked away—silent and cold as always. But you could swear—swear—he was in a slightly better mood the entire next week.

[cool-fancier]

Bound By Desire

Synopsis: Bada surrenders to your desires as you explore her body, igniting a passionate encounter between you both.

A/n:uses nickname of ‘princess’ fluff to smut .The characters and especially Bada and events in this story are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real-life individuals or situations is purely coincidental.A bit rushed

Word count:1.9K

It was on a crisp autumn day, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of fallen leaves. You found yourself in a quaint café, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of a warm cup of coffee. Lost in your thoughts, you sipped your drink, observing the world around you.

As you glanced up, your eyes met Bada's, who stood near the counter, studying the menu. There was an immediate connection, an unspoken understanding that passed between you two. Intrigued by her presence, you gestured towards the empty seat across from you.

"Would you like to join me?" You asked, a gentle smile gracing your lips.

Bada's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she accepted the offer, settling into the chair. You both exchanged pleasantries, engaging in light conversation that gradually deepened. You discovered shared interests, passions, and an appreciation for art, music, and dance.

As the hours flew by, your connection grew stronger. You shared stories, dreams, and fears, gradually peeling back the layers of our souls. It was a slow dance of getting to know one another, each conversation revealing more about your hopes and desires.

Days turned into weeks, and your encounters became more frequent. You embarked on adventures together, exploring the city's hidden gems, visiting art galleries, and immersing ourselves in the beauty of nature. These shared experiences deepened your bond, allowing you to see different facets of each other.

One evening, as you strolled through the park, the setting sun casting a golden glow over everything, Bada turned to you, her eyes filled with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

"Y/N, I have to confess something," she began, her voice soft yet determined. "I've been feeling a strong connection with you, a connection that I can't ignore. I find myself thinking about you constantly, and I'm drawn to your presence. It's as if we were meant to cross paths."

Her words resonated deep within you, validating the feelings that had been blossoming in your own heart. You reached out, gently taking her hand in yours , your touch conveying a sense of comfort and reassurance.

"Bada," you replied, your voice filled with warmth. "I feel it too. This connection we share is something special, something I've never experienced before. I want to explore it, to see where it leads us. If you're willing, I'd be honored to be your girlfriend."

A smile bloomed on Bada's face, her eyes shining with joy. "Yes, Y/N," she said, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and vulnerability. "I would love for us to be more than just friends.”

From that moment on, your relationship blossomed with a gentle and deliberate pace. You took the time to truly know each other, nurturing an emotional connection as you discovered the intricacies of your thoughts and aspirations. Your physical intimacy, too, grew naturally over time, as you both explored the depths of passion and desire.

Each day brought you closer, deepening your understanding and love for one another. You cherished the simple joys, the laughter, and the shared moments of vulnerability. Your relationship became a tapestry woven with trust, respect, and a genuine appreciation for the unique individuals you were.

As the seasons changed, your love continued to evolve, adapting to the challenges that life presented. You both faced hardships and celebrated triumphs together, providing unwavering support and encouragement. The connection remained steadfast, an anchor in the stormy seas of life.

Looking back, you are grateful for the gradual development of your relationship. It allowed you to build a solid foundation, one rooted in trust, emotional intimacy, and a profound understanding of one another. Your love story continues to unfold, each chapter filled with depth, passion, and a profound appreciation for the journey you embarked upon that fateful autumn day.

— — — — —

You had been away for what felt like an eternity, consumed by the demands of work and the chaos of life. The distance between Bada and you grew, and the ache of longing for her touch intensified with each passing day. But finally, the day had arrived. You stood outside her door, your heart pounding with anticipation.

As you knocked, your mind raced with memories of our passionate encounters, the way her body molded against yours, the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin beneath your fingertips. The door swung open, and there she stood, a vision of beauty and desire, clad in her sweatpants and baggy T-shirt.

Her eyes widened in surprise, a mix of excitement and relief washing over her face. "Y/N," she breathed, her voice filled with longing. "You're finally here."

You couldn't hold back any longer. You surged forward, your lips crashing against hers in a searing, passionate kiss. Your bodies pressed together, and you could feel the heat radiating between the two of you. The taste of her, the familiar scent of her skin, it all flooded your senses, igniting a fire within you that had been dormant for far too long.

As your lips danced, your hands roamed freely, tracing every curve and dip of each other's bodies. The hunger and need for one another were palpable, almost suffocating. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locked with hers.

Her lips lingered on your, ascending each step, lost in the fervor of her kiss, guiding you to your shared room.

"Not yet, princess," you whispered against her lips, your voice filled with a mixture of desire and restraint. "I want to savor you."

Bada's lips parted, a soft moan escaping her as she threw her head back against the pillows. The sight of her surrendering to the pleasure you could provide sent a jolt of electricity through you. You trailed kisses along her jawline, nipping at her sensitive skin, before making your way down to the curve of her neck.

Your hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of her body. You revealed in the softness of her skin, the way it yielded beneath your touch. You could feel her heartbeat quicken against your fingertips, matching the rhythm of your own racing pulse.

Her breathing grew ragged as you made your way lower, your lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire along her collarbone, her chest, her stomach. You dipped your fingers beneath the delicate fabric, feeling her heat radiating against your skin.

Bada's plea was barely a whisper, but it reverberated through the room, fueling the fire that consumed you both. "Y/N, I need you."

You couldn't deny her any longer. You ran a finger through her folds, just to tease her, reveling in the way she arched against your touch. "Oh, princess, I can feel how much you need me," you murmured, your voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and longing.

She begged again, her pouty pink lips forming the most enticing plea. "Please," she whimpered, her voice laced with need.

A wicked smile curled on your lips as you leaned in, your breath warm against her ear. "You look so pretty when you pout, princess," you whispered, your voice a low, seductive murmur. "But I have something better in mind."

With that, you trailed your fingers through her folds again, feeling her growing wetter and wetter in anticipation. Her hips instinctively bucked against your hand, seeking more contact, more friction.

Your own desire burned brightly within you, but you wanted to draw out this moment, to build the tension until it was almost unbearable. You withdrew my hand, leaving Bada panting and needy, her eyes pleading for release.

"Not yet," you said firmly, your voice laced with a hint of dominance. "I want to play with you a little longer."

The frustration and longing danced in her eyes, but she nodded, a mix of anticipation and resignation written across her face. She trusted you completely, knowing that you would lead her to the heights of pleasure.

You continued to tease her, your fingers tracing patterns on her inner thighs, skimming just past where she craved your touch the most. You reveled in the control, in the power you held over her pleasure. Bada's gasps fill the room as you continue to pleasure her, your fingers moving with deliberate precision. Her body arches against your touch, aching for more. You lean in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, your tongue dancing with hers as you intensify your movements.

A surge of possessiveness courses through you, fueling your desire to claim her completely. You quicken the pace of your fingers, feeling her walls tighten around them. Each stroke brings her closer to the edge, and you can sense her unraveling beneath you.

"You're mine, princess," you growl, your voice dripping with dominance. "No one else can make you feel like this."

Bada's eyes flutter open, the intensity in her gaze mirroring the passion that courses through your veins. "Yes, Y/N," she breathes, her voice laced with submission. "I'm yours, body and soul."

With those words, you feel a surge of power rush through me, emboldening you to push her further. You add a third finger, stretching her, and her moans turn into a symphony of pleasure. Her hips buck against your hand, seeking more friction, more release.

You can feel her approaching the precipice, teetering on the edge of ecstasy. You lean down, capturing one of her pert nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, while your fingers continue their relentless assault.

"Y/N!" she cries out, her voice filled with a mix of pleasure and desperation. "I'm going to come!"

You pull away, denying her release. "Not yet, princess," you whisper, your breath warm against her ear. "I want to taste you first."

Her eyes widen with anticipation as you position myself between her thighs. The scent of her arousal fills the air, intoxicating you. You lower your head, your tongue flicking against her swollen clit, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Bada.

You tease her, alternating between slow, languid licks and intense, focused sucking. Her hands grip the sheets, her body writhing beneath you as you bring her to the edge of ecstasy over and over again, denying her release until she's begging for it.

"Please, Y/N," she pleads, her voice desperate. "I can't take it anymore. I need to come."

You smile against her sensitive flesh, savoring the taste of her arousal on your lips. "Beg for it, princess," you command, your voice dripping with dominance.

Her eyes lock with yours, her desperation shining through. "Please, Y/N," she pleads, her voice filled with raw need. "Let me come. I'm yours. Only yours."

The sight of her surrendering to you, her vulnerability laid bare, sends a surge of possessiveness through you. You gave her what she craves, your tongue working tirelessly against her clit as you plunge two fingers back inside her, matching the rhythm of your movements with the intensity of your sucking.

Bada's body tenses, her back arching off the bed as a wave of pleasure crashes over her. She cries out your name, her voice a mix of ecstasy and surrender, as her orgasm ripples through her.

You continue to lavish attention on her sensitive core, prolonging her pleasure as she rides the waves of her release. Finally, when she's spent, you ease off, your lips trailing kisses along her inner thighs.

Bada's chest rises and falls rapidly as she tries to catch her breath. She looks at me with a mixture of awe and adoration, her eyes shining with unspoken emotions.

"Y/N," she whispers, her voice filled with love and gratitude. "That was... incredible."

You crawl up the bed, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her close. "You're incredible, princess," you murmur, nuzzling against her neck. "But… I'm just getting started."

[coeluvr]

“in the snow”

| 0.7k | Hunter x Reader | 16+ |

Author's notes: sorry to my 4am thirsty anon, I couldn't do what you wanted and this is a tiny bit angsty, forgive me? <3

The heaviness of the snowfall made visibility almost non-existent.

The biting cold pierced through every layer of clothing you wore. However, your body ran warmer than most, so the freezing temperatures didn’t affect you as much.

Hunter, on the other hand, didn’t fare as well. Their body ran colder, and you could see them shivering.

You stumbled upon a small, secluded house in the forest. It was old and worn, but it had a fireplace. You didn’t waste any time gathering firewood and igniting the hearth, the crackling flames brightening the room.

As you sat on the creaky wooden floor, you pulled the blanket tightly around both of you.

It was a single blanket, barely enough to cover you completely, but you didn’t mind. You knew that your body was warm and Hunter needed the warmth, and you were willing to provide it in any way you could.

Hunter, shivering uncontrollably, leaned against you, their body seeking solace and respite from the frigid air.

The crackling of the fire served as a soothing soundtrack to the stillness around you. As they wrapped their arms around you, their head found a comfortable spot nestled against your neck. It was an intimate embrace, one born out of necessity rather than desire.

The feeling of Hunter’s touch, their lips grazing against the exposed skin on your neck, sent a shiver down your own spine. It was an unusual sensation, knowing that Hunter would never have indulged in such intimate contact under ordinary circumstances.

“This would be more efficient if we didn’t have our clothes on,” Hunter murmured, their voice groggy with fatigue. There was no mischief or humor in their words, only a genuine desire to alleviate the cold that gripped them.

You felt warm, partly from the warmth emanating from the fireplace and partly from the unexpected suggestion, you asked, “What?”

Hunter didn’t answer, instead they tightened their hold on you.

Unable to decipher the meaning behind Hunter’s words, you leaned back into them, and your eyes fluttered closed. The sound of the crackling fire melded with the gentle rhythm of your breathing.

However, as you allowed yourself to relax, you felt a peculiar sensation. Hunter’s hands, which had been initially wrapped around your torso, began to shift gradually. They moved slowly, cautiously, until they settled between your thighs.

The cold of their hands made you shiver.

Barely above a whisper, Hunter’s voice reached your ear, the words slightly slurred, “It’s warmer between your thighs.”

Their words hung in the air, a statement that intrigued you. It was as though the grogginess clouding their mind blurred the boundaries between friendship and intimacy, blurring the lines of propriety.

Part of you wanted to question what was going through their mind, to understand their thoughts. But another part of you wanted to indulge in this moment. After all, it was you who had convinced Hunter to indulge in this closeness, and now the boundaries were being tested even further.

Tentatively, you parted your legs ever so slightly, granting them further access to the intimate space between your thighs.

A low chuckle escaped Hunter’s lips, sending a tingle down your spine. Their hands, previously tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, now moved to firmly close the distance between them. The warmth that had briefly enveloped your most intimate area receded, leaving a lingering sense of anticipation.

“Don’t do that, not for someone like me,” Hunter whispered, their voice a mix of desire and resignation, a plea for you to maintain the boundaries that have been established between you. Their words carried a weight of self-restraint, a reminder of the limitations they believed they possessed.

As you began to consider Hunter’s words, their hands found their way back to your torso. Hunter drew you closer, wrapping their arms securely around your waist.

Feeling their breath tickling your skin as they buried their face into the crook of your neck, made you gulp. The intimacy of the moment, the closeness, was both comforting and electrifying. In a hushed, heartfelt tone, they murmured, “Thank you.”

Those two simple words held a depth of emotion you hadn’t anticipated. It was as if this moment meant more to them than you could have imagined.

[erebusbabylon]

Threads of Fate Chapters 25 and 26

Find Chapters 23 and 24 HERE

Notes: These are the final two chapters for this ending! The Celebrimbor girlies on Ao3 requested that I write an alternate ending where reader chooses Celebrimbor instead of Gil-galad. I plan to release the alternate ending as one looooong chapter, that way you can choose your own adventure this fic!

Chapter 25: The Morning After

The soft light of morning streamed through the curtains, casting gentle patterns on the walls of your chambers. You stirred, gradually becoming aware of the world around you. The warmth of the blankets enveloped you, providing a comforting cocoon that made it difficult to leave the realm of dreams.

As you opened your eyes fully, your gaze landed on Gil-galad, who was seated at your desk, sipping tea. He looked relaxed yet regal, his long hair falling carelessly over his shoulders. The sight of him brought back a rush of memories from the night before, and your heart raced at the thought.

You and Gil-galad exchanged shy glances, the air charged with unspoken words and lingering emotions. A faint blush crept across your cheeks as you recalled the vows you had exchanged and the passion that had ignited between you.

“Good morning,” he said softly, his voice warm and inviting, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Good morning,” you replied, your voice still thick with sleep. You sat up slowly, the blankets slipping down to your waist, and you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you.

He smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind. I made myself at home.” He gestured to the steaming cup in his hand. “I thought it best to let you rest.”

You chuckled lightly, your nerves easing a bit. “I appreciate it. It’s nice to wake up to a familiar face.”

With a gentle smile, he stood and approached the bed, placing the cup on the bedside table. “Eleanior came looking for you while you were sleeping,” he said. “She wanted to know if you’d meet her at the forge. She was quite nervous about spending the day with Celebrimbor.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Celebrimbor, but to your surprise, you felt none of the intense emotions that had once overwhelmed you. Instead, there was a calmness, a clarity that hadn’t been there before.

“The forge?” you echoed, gathering your thoughts. “Oh right, yes. Celebrimbor had invited her to see it today.” You groaned loudly at the thought of telling Celebrimbor what had happened.

You and Gil-galad sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “I know you’re nervous about speaking to Lord Celebrimbor regarding everything that has transpired since dinner last night. Would you like me to join you?”

You shook your head. “No, I think it’s best if I see him alone.”

Gil-galad gave your hand a supportive squeeze and smiled. “With any luck, his connection to you will have begun to diminish. He’s an honorable man; I’m sure he will take the news in stride.”

You took a steadying breath as you approached the forge, the sounds of hammering and the warm glow of the fire growing stronger with each step. Anticipation bubbled within you, mingling with the remnants of nerves that lingered from the morning.

As you entered the forge, the heat washed over you, enveloping you in its embrace. Before you could gather your thoughts, Eleanior spotted you from across the room. Her face lit up with excitement as she dashed toward you, her hair flowing behind her like a golden banner.

“You made it!” she exclaimed, nearly bouncing on her toes. “The forge is incredible! I’ve learned so much already.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “I’m glad to hear that! What have you been learning?”

Eleanior’s eyes sparkled as she began to recount her experiences. “The way Celebrimbor works is fascinating! He moves with such purpose and skill. I had no idea that crafting could be so… captivating.” She glanced over her shoulder at Celebrimbor, a dreamy expression crossing her face. “And he looks so attractive when he’s focused like this.”

You let out a childlike giggle at her remark. “You silly, lovesick elf!” you teased.

“Could you aid me with a remedy? Do you have something in the healer's pantry for love-sickness?” she snickered.

You both stood there giggling for a moment when you suddenly realized that the jealousy you had felt toward Eleanior’s attraction to Celebrimbor was gone.

“He showed me how to shape metal today, and I think I might have a knack for it!” Eleanior exclaimed, her hands animatedly mimicking the motions she had learned. “You have to see what he’s creating. It’s breathtaking!”

Before you could respond, Celebrimbor turned, catching sight of you both. His expression shifted to one of warmth, and he set down his tools, wiping his hands on a cloth before approaching.

As you engaged in conversation with Eleanior and Celebrimbor, you couldn’t help but notice a flicker of something in his gaze—a subtle confusion that danced beneath his calm exterior. When he looked at you, there was an intensity that seemed muted, as if the storm of emotions he had once felt had settled into a gentle breeze.

You caught him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were trying to reconcile the absence of the overwhelming pull that had once drawn him to you. In those fleeting moments, you sensed a hidden struggle within him, a questioning of why the connection felt different now.

When the conversation lulled, you cleared your throat and spoke. “Celebrimbor,” you began, your voice steady but soft, “could I speak with you for a few moments… privately?”

Eleanior looked between the two of you, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. “I’ll head back to the forge to continue my project,” she said, a bright smile on her face. “Don’t take too long! There’s more I want to show you!”

His expression shifted slightly, concern evident in his eyes. He gestured toward a quieter corner of the forge, where the sounds of hammering faded into the background.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your words pressing against your chest. “Celebrimbor, I wanted to talk about last night,” you began, your voice slightly trembling.

He nodded, his expression attentive, encouraging you to continue. “After our dinner, Gil-galad and I talked.” You paused, trying to choose your words carefully. “I told him everything that has happened between you and me these last few months.”

“Everything?” Celebrimbor questioned.

“Yes, everything. Don’t worry, he’s not angry. But I…” Your voice trailed off.

“You what?” he asked, stepping closer to you.

“I couldn’t stand the confusion and extreme emotions anymore. I needed quiet. I needed to be in control of my feelings again. Miroden discovered that soulmates don’t have to choose each other for the yearning to subside.” You smiled weakly at him.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” he whispered.

You reached out and took both of his hands in yours. “Do you feel that?”

Celebrimbor's eyes widened at the realization. “I don’t… I don’t feel anything,” he stammered, swallowing hard.

“Exactly. We are both free. Free from the yearning. Free to make our own choices. Celebrimbor, I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am to you. You’ve made my time in Eregion so special.”

“But how? Where did our connection go?” he asked, bewildered.

“Miroden's research revealed that if one or both of the pair marries another, the connection will break. The pain, the yearning—all of it will diminish. A mercy given to us by Eru. Last night, Gil-galad and I became husband and wife.” You braced yourself for Celebrimbor's reaction, unsure of how he would respond.

To your surprise, he began to chuckle.

“Why is that funny?” you asked incredulously.

He let out a huge sigh of relief and smiled. “Our connection, while it persisted, was nothing short of bliss. My attraction to you was like sun on black cloth. I was aflame with desire in your presence, consumed by it. It was wonderful, and I would have been very happy to have you all to myself forever… but the thought of taking you from the High King filled me with dread.” He admitted. “I knew our union would create a rift between Lindon and Eregion.”

You smirked. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

Celebrimbor smiled. “Well, all I could do was think about it—about you, about us. But I am happy for you, truly.”

“Thank you for everything,” you said as you released Celebrimbor's hands and took a step back.

Eleanior approached, her expression animated. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt!” she said, her voice bright but apologetic. “Could you help me with something, Lord Celebrimbor? Which tool would you suggest I use to sharpen this edge?” She held out a small metal spear she had been crafting.

“It’s quite alright, Eleanior, you’re not interrupting. We've finished.” You looked down at her spear and smiled. “Wow, have you crafted this yourself?” You were astonished by her talent.

Eleanior blushed at your praise. “Lord Celebrimbor helped,” she said shyly.

“Not that much! You have a real knack for metalwork,” Celebrimbor assured her.

You glanced between Celebrimbor and Eleanior, sensing a budding admiration between them.

“Well, I must go and find Gil-galad. We need to plan for our journey back to Lindon.”

“Leaving so soon?” Celebrimbor asked. “Surely you can stay a bit longer, given the circumstances.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Celebrimbor, but we have a wedding to plan.” You tried to convey to him not to reveal too much in front of Eleanior. “We are not yet wed.” You punctuated each word with a sharp tone.

“Ah! Right!… The wedding… your wedding… the royal wedding… of course! You're not married yet.” Celebrimbor spoke clumsily, trying to mask the mistake he'd made.

“Are you okay? Perhaps you are in need of a break; you've been working hard since the early hours,” Eleanior asked with concern.

Celebrimbor gave a nervous laugh. “Yes… perhaps you're right, Eleanior. I could use a break.”

“I could accompany you to the tavern for lunch if you'd like?” Eleanior said, trembling slightly.

Celebrimbor gave her a warm smile. “I’d like that very much. Let me grab my cloak, and we can walk down there together.”

As soon as Celebrimbor turned his back, Eleanior let out a silent scream of joy and grabbed your arms. “Is this really happening?!” She was shaking with excitement.

You pulled Eleanior into a tight hug and whispered into her ear, “If he sees even a fraction of what I see in you, he’ll be head over heels by nightfall.”

“Thank you!” she replied softly, pulling back to meet your gaze. “Now go and find Gil-galad! The poor man has been sulking ever since you left Lindon.”

You both stood there giggling again, and the joy that washed over you was almost overwhelming. Your eyes began to well up.

“Oh, are you crying? What’s the matter?” Eleanior asked, concern etched on her face.

You smiled brightly. “Nothing is wrong. These are tears of immense, overwhelming joy.” You pulled Eleanior into another hug and whispered, “I’ll see you later. I can’t wait to hear about your lunch with Celebrimbor.”

[doumadono]

Emergency request

Lately, I've come to the realization that I'm expecting my first child. Regrettably, my boyfriend's reaction hasn't matched my excitement. In fact, it's safe to say he's quite upset with me. He told me I should have been more cautious because he hadn't considered starting a family just yet ☹️

Could I perhaps ask for a scenario where Bakugo reacts to this news initially with resistance, creating an angsty atmosphere, but then gradually comes to understand that he'll do everything to protect both you and the child growing inside you, providing a comforting and reassuring twist to the situation?

A/N: hello, dear Anonnie. I deeply appreciate your trust in me for this request. I've endeavored to craft a narrative that balances the angst and sweetness, and I sincerely hope you find the final result enjoyable. I'm sorry to hear about the challenges you're facing right now. Remember that your excitement about becoming a parent is valid and beautiful. While it may take time for your boyfriend to come around, focus on taking care of yourself and your growing baby ♥ You've got this! If you ever want to discuss it further or need advice, feel free to reach out to me.

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Bakugo's apartment was frequenly a battleground, whether it was due to his relentless training or the fiery arguments that often ensued between the two of you. Tonight, however, was different. It started with a subtle yet significant change in your demeanor, one that Bakugo couldn't ignore.

As you nervously shifted on a couch, Bakugo sensed something was amiss. His sharp crimson eyes narrowed, and his voice carried a hint of irritation. "What's eating you, nerd?" he grumbled, clearly not in the mood for any drama.

You hesitated for a moment, fidgeting with your fingers, your heart pounding in your chest. This wasn't how you'd planned to break the news, but there was no turning back now. "Katsuki, I… I have something to tell you."

His patience was running thin as he snapped, "Quit beating around the damn bush and spit it out, dumbass!"

Taking a deep breath, you finally blurted out, "I'm pregnant."

The silence that followed was deafening. Bakugo's crimson eyes widened, and his normally fierce expression contorted into one of shock and disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me," he chuckled darkly, his voice a dangerous whisper.

Your heart sank as his reaction played out exactly as you'd feared. His anger was palpable, his fury radiating off of him in waves.

"How could you be so careless?" he roared, his palms igniting with sparks of explosions. "I never signed up for this!"

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "I wasn't careless, Katsuki! You should have been more cautious, that's the fact! I didn't plan for this either."

He stormed away from you, pacing back and forth in his living room. "This is a fucking disaster," he muttered, raking his fingers through his unruly ash blond hair. "I can't believe you've put me in this situation. You're a fucking idiot! Attention whore!"

You watched him, your heart breaking with every second that passed. You knew Bakugo was stubborn, fiercely independent, and had never considered settling down, let alone becoming a father. This wasn't the joyful reaction you had hoped for, and it stung. You hadn't expected him to be overjoyed, but you had hoped for some understanding. Tears rolled down your cheeks, your chin quivered.

Days turned into weeks, and the angsty atmosphere in your shared home didn't dissipate. Bakugo's initial reaction still hung between you like a dark cloud, making it difficult to find common ground. But as time passed, you noticed small changes in his behavior.

He started accompanying you to doctor's appointments, though he grumbled about them every time. He began asking questions about the baby's development, and you could sense a growing curiosity in him. It was as if he was reluctantly accepting the reality of the situation.

One evening, as you sat in your small room in silence, Bakugo cleared his throat awkwardly, peeking inside. "You know, I've been thinking, nerd," he began, his tone noticeably softer than before. "Maybe I reacted like a total idiot back then."

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected admission. "Katsuki…?"

He faced you with a conflicted expression. "Damn it," he grumbled. "I can't believe I'm going to be a father. I'm not fucking ready."

It was a fragile moment, a crack in his gruff exterior, and you seized the opportunity. You got up and took a cautious step closer to him, your voice barely above a whisper. "Katsuki, I know this is overwhelming, but we'll figure it out together. We can do this. Together…"

His anger seemed to waver as he looked at you, and for the first time in weeks, his gaze softened. "I don't want you to experience negative emotions, it hurts the baby, as I read."

You smiled through your tears streaming down your cheeks, reaching out to gently touch his arm. "I know you'll protect us, no matter what."

It was a long, tense night filled with more discussions. But gradually, Bakugo started to ask questions, seeking to understand the changes that were coming. He may not have shown it openly, but you could see the determination in his eyes.

As dawn approached, Bakugo finally pulled you into an embrace, his grip surprisingly gentle. "I won't let anything happen to you or our child," he vowed, his voice filled with newfound resolve. "I'll protect you both, no matter what it takes." Suddenly, the man reached out, hesitantly at first, and then placed his hand gently on your already visible baby bump. His touch was warm, his palm tender against your bump.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions.

You both stood in silence for a moment, his hand resting on your belly as if feeling for any sign of movement from the growing life inside. Then, with a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, he remarked, looking into your eyes, "I can't believe there's a little person in there."

You smiled, placing your hand on top of his. "It's incredible, isn't it?"

It wasn't a sudden transformation, but a gradual acceptance of the new reality. Bakugo's gruff personality remained, but now it was infused with a fierce determination to be the best partner and father he could be.

As you rested your head on his muscular shoulder, you knew that while the road ahead would be challenging, you and Bakugo would face it together.