#take away invasive argument

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Your Five Truths

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: You have five simple truths. But when your relationship and your life are put on the line, you start to question what you believe in anymore. Warnings: reader is a bau tech analyst, serious angst, aaron is being mean, big argument, mentions of haley's death, references to foyet arc, home invasion, graphic descriptions of violence Words: 3.5K

Masterlist

a/n: there will be a part 2.

1. Aaron doesn't yell at you. 

If all else was unsure, then this was one of the five things you knew for certain. You weren't sure if he yelled at all. Maybe at work with criminals, but never with you.

This was still true.

Right now, he wasn't yelling at you. He was speaking in an even tone, but you knew him well enough to notice the difference. His voice was as cold as his rigid stance, like ice ran through his veins. His arms were crossed, and so, even if you weren't a criminal—even if you knew you were his fiancé—you sure as hell felt like one.

Standing on the other side of the kitchen island, you were in opposition of each other in every sense of the word.

You took a deep breath before speaking. "Aaron—"

He cut you off before the words could even leave your mouth. "We've had this conversation before. I've already told you how I feel about it."

You repressed the urge to take another breath, knowing he was a profiler. Knowing he could profile the discomfort all over you, regardless. But you picked up a few profiling tricks, too.

You could see the way he was staring at you. Like you were an idiot.

Maybe you agreed on that.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot— 

You took the breath, anyway. "Aaron, I said I'm sorry."

You tried to step closer to him, and he didn't move away. But he didn't usher you into his arms, either.

And despite the fact that Aaron doesn't yell at you, you could tell he really wanted to.

"And I'm saying you shouldn't have to say sorry. We shouldn't be having this conversation because you shouldn't have done it," he scolded.

You took another step closer, rounding the counter like your body was trying to get him to physically understand, to remind him that you were on the same side.

"What was I supposed to do?" Your voice was desparate now, almost like you actually wanted him to answer. "You were working. I had to work. You weren't picking up the phone—"

"That's right," he cut you off again. This time, he stepped closer to you. "I was working. You weren't."

2. You have an equal relationship.

The second truth was what had you tilting your head. You were already flushed from the heat of the argument, but now you could feel yourself getting a little angry.

"What do you mean I wasn't working?" you questioned. "Yes, I was. Garcia said you called everyone in; you said to get there stat."

He was quick. "I meant everyone that was necessary. You aren't."

You could feel the cut immediately, etched deep into your skin. It didn't matter how he said it, frivolous or not—the words were sharp enough to cut you effortlessly.

You aren't necessary.

The words echoed through your head. Words you'd heard before, but never from him. Never from the man who swore to be better than everyone else who ever hurt you.

Yet, no matter how much you'd been hurt in the past, it hurt a thousand times more to come from him.

You waited for him to say something else, waiting for any sign of regret to cross his face.

Nothing did.

There were many times when you wished you had Aaron's poker face, but right now, you didn't have to try. The sadness flooding your body remained internal; the only thing that showed on your face was rage.

Your eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hotch doubled down, staring you right in the eye. "It means your job is an accessory. Garcia does the same job as you—you aren't needed."

That was a lie so blatant it made you scoff. You were a technical analyst for the BAU, and you'd proven yourself time and time again. Hotch was the one that hired you—he's the one that said he saw something in you.

Apparently not.

"I'm not needed," you echoed, sarcasm lacing your voice. "Right. So when an alert comes out that there is an active hostage situation and a potential terrorist threat, what do you expect me to do? Not come into work?" 

"Yes," he deadpanned. "Not when you're picking up my son."

You ran a hand through your hair, stuck in disbelief. "You can't be serious—"

"When you're picking up my son, what I expect is for you to take him home."

You spoke over him, countering, "I brought him to a place where I knew he'd be out of harm's way. You weren't picking up the phone. I did what I thought was best—"

"You brought him to Jessica—"

"I brought him to his aunt—"

For the first time since the conversation started, Aaron raised his voice just enough for it to stop you dead in your tracks. "You don't get to bring him to his aunt. You are not his mother!"

3. You are not Jack's mother.

You knew that. God, you knew that. You were there to see the carnage in the Hotchner household after Haley's death. The blood that splattered the walls. The boy who was too young to spell the word devastation but still felt it in his bones.

You knew you were not Jack's mother. You lived in a house with her pictures on the wall. Jack was a mirror image of her; he was her son, and you knew that. It was one of the truths you held the most conviction in.

It was the truth.

But you still recoiled, almost like Aaron had slapped you. A part of you thought maybe that would've hurt less.

All the fire you had was extinguished. You didn't have a rebuttal for that. What could you say? It didn't matter if you loved Jack like he was your own—that didn't change the fact that he wasn't.

You avoided Aaron's gaze, choosing to stare at the pattern of his tie instead and trying not to succumb to the sting in your eyes. You liked this tie; it was one of your favourites. You were close enough to him to see all its beautiful details.

But, at the same time, you'd never been further away from him.

Aaron still hadn't said anything, and out of fear that the dam would break if the silence continued, you spoke up. "I—" your voice cracked. "I know I'm not Jack's mother, and I'm not trying to be." You paused. "I was just doing what I thought was best."

You left it there, not knowing if the right words to say the right thing even existed. Saying the right thing was always Aaron's thing, not yours.

But whatever words he was going to say were cut off by the shrill pinging of a cellphone. Two cellphones.

Aaron picked up his first, sighing immediately. You didn't have to guess what it said. "We have another case." The heat in his voice was gone; he sounded like himself.

That didn't mean you felt any less burned.

"Okay, um—" you couldn't stop yourself from sniffling even if you tried. "I'll stay here and watch Jack. You go."

Another sigh left him. "Y/N—"

The sound of your name leaving his mouth almost made you cry, but you persisted, "No, you can go, it's fine." You chuckled if not just to make light of it for yourself. "I'm not needed there, anyway."

"Y/N."

"Aaron." You fingally looked up at him, and you saw it. Remorse swirling in his brown eyes. The same eyes that crinkled at the sides when you said you'd marry him. Somehow, that made it worse, knowing that it was the same person who said both of those things. Who built you up from scratch just to bring you right back to the bottom. 

You repeated yourself, "Go." The team needs you, you wanted to say. The only reason you didn't say it was because he'd already accused you of trying to be his past wife; you didn't need to prove him right.

You could practically hear the churning of his inner turmoil, torn between staying and leaving. It was pointless; you both knew what his decision would be.

When he reached for his go-bag, it was final. And in some ways, he was leaving more than just the house.

As if he could sense that, he turned around. "We'll finish this discussion when I'm back," he said. That was an anchor: telling you something about the present by talking about the future. When I'm back meant that he'd be back. Discussion meant you had something to talk about, a two-sided activity. We meant you were still one unit; you were still a we.

Maybe that's what he meant by it. If you scoured through his words and read between the lines, maybe you'd find the beginnings of an apology—in his own way, at least. But he wasn't sorry, not for what he said. If anything, he was only sorry that he said it.

You wouldn't profile him and ascribe meaning to words that didn't mean anything. We'll finish this discussion when I'm back meant you'd finish the discussion when he was back. 

When you replied, that was what you were replying to. "Okay."

You weren't okay.

This wasn't okay.

Aaron cast one last look at you before he crossed the threshold. You looked away.

And then he was out the door, leaving you in a house that no longer felt like your own.

—

"Y/N, my love, I thought I'd die without you!"

Penelope was on you as soon as you walked into the bat cave, shooting up from her chair and hugging you so tightly that you would've thought you'd been gone for ages. Really, you were only gone for a night.

You told Aaron that you wouldn't be coming in, and you were holding true to that, but you weren't gonna make Garcia work alone if she had to, even if she was perfectly capable of it.

You knew you weren't needed. Hotch was right: this ship could sail just fine without you. But you could help.

You'd just dropped Jack off at school, so now you were here, ready to work until you had to pick him up again.

You forced yourself to laugh at her words, causing her to hit your back. "No, I'm being serious! You're my oxygen—I can't live without you."

At that, you snorted. "Okay, Penelope."

She pulled back, resting her hands on your shoulders. "Seriously, though." She looked deep into your eyes, seeming to be looking for something. "Are... are you okay? I don't even think you've taken a sick day since... since forever."

You smiled at her exaggeration, even if it didn't really reach your eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine, P. I just have to leave early to go get Jack, and um... I'm gonna stay off camera today. And off the phones." You shifted your weight. "Not like it matters or anything, but I just don't really want Hotch knowing I'm here. I just want to stay in the background today, if that's okay?"

Her brows raised, but she quickly affirmed, "Yes, that's okay! Totally okay. We'll keep this 100% incognito."

It was in Garcia's nature to ask questions, so you knew she had them, but she didn't voice a single one.

You talked about work, and new bureau technology, and your next girls night, and everything but what you asked of her.

You'd never been more grateful.

—

It'd been two days since the team left, two days of bouncing back and forth between the office and back home with Jack. The son that wasn't really yours. The son that felt like yours, anyway.

If you were doing as good as you thought you were, then nobody knew you were even there. Garcia was telling the rest of them that you were sick. Your phone had been flooded with get well soon messages from everyone except the one person you really wanted one from.

Aaron hadn't spoken to you since he left. You wished it didn't hurt as badly as it did.

"Okay, Jackers! I think it's time we head to bed."

"What?" You held back a laugh at the incredulity in his voice, knowing that—for an 8 year old—this was a very serious matter. He looked at you with traces of shock, somehow looking everything and nothing like his father at the same time. "But it's only ten o'clock!"

"Ah, and yet it is still past your bed time. Mine, too."

Jack frowned—and there it was. There was that bit of Aaron you were looking for. "You say that, but you're just going to stay up after I go to sleep."

You couldn't suppress the smile on your face any longer. "No, Jack. I promise you I'm so tired, I'll be out as soon as my head hits the pillow." You ruffled his hair, your smile becoming a grin as he groaned. "Now go brush your teeth, little man."

Jack got up from the table, his little feet pitter-pattering across the floor as he made his way to the stairs. It didn't sound much like a pitter-patter anymore now that he was getting older, but he would always be the same little boy to you. So, "pitter-patter" it was.

Until suddenly, you heard a different noise.

Not pitter-patter.

The door.

Your eyes darted to Jack as he stopped in his tracks, then they darted to the door. The knob, turning lightly, gold glinting in the light. The sound of your own heart beating was just as loud as the turning. The person got impatient, the knob turning faster now, like someone was trying to pry it open.

Fuck. Fuck.

Your mind ran a mile a minute. That wasn't Hotch. You weren't expecting anyone, and whoever was at the door certainly wasn't asking for an invite in.

They were trying to force their way in.

Somebody was breaking in to the house.

With that realization, you were moving. "Jack." You caught his attention easily, spotting the fear on his face right away. More than fear. 

Familiarity.

He went through his before. Oh, your Jack. He'd been through this before, and he would know what to do. You did.

Conversations with Aaron flashed through your head, just-in-case scenarios, if then statements. Emergencies.

You knew what to do, too.

You just never thought you'd have to.

You grabbed onto Jack's shoulder, immediately feeling how his body was trembling. "Jack, I need you to listen to me." The knob got louder. You lowered your voice. "I need you to work the case, okay? Like with your dad. Do you understand me?"

His eyes went wide. "Wait, Y/N. What about you—"

"Jack. Do you understand me?" He went quiet, and then he nodded, making you sigh in relief. "Okay, take my phone. Call 911, but don't make a sound." You handed him the phone, and then you let go of him. "I love you." Your throat closed up. "Now go."

Jack ran up the stairs, and you were up automatically, trusting he'd do as you said.

It was like someone else was in your body, telling you what to do. You opened the pantry, looking where you'd never looked and typing numbers into a keypad you'd never touched.

Why do we need a safe in the kitchen? you had laughed at the time.

In case of an emergency, Aaron had said. You thanked his forward thinking.

The only way you knew that you were still there was by the violent shaking of your hands as the cool metal touched your skin. You'd only ever operated a gun once or twice. Did you even remember how to load it?

The door banged, making you jolt. You had to remember now. Come on, Y/N. Load the fucking gun. 

You thrusted the magazine into the well and then pulled back the slide. Another bang. You turned the safety off.

Hold the gun with both hands.

God, Hotch, when will I ever need to do this?

Well, I hope you never have to. But we can never be too safe.

Another bang hit the door, this time more forceful. We can never too safe. Tears flooded your eyes, and you promptly blinked them away.

Then. There was another bang, and this time, the door hit the wall.

You intook a sharp breath, hearing footsteps thump against the floor. You closed your eyes, focusing on the noise. One set of footsteps. 

Aaron's voice echoed throughout your head. Are you sure?

You screwed your eyes shut tighter, straining your ears. Yes. One person. Loud. Heavy. Male.

Okay, that's good. What else do you know?

You knew they spent a long time fiddling with the door knob before busting the door open. That could either mean they lacked physical strength or they were trying to taunt you. The second option. You knew this was a low-risk neighbourhood. You knew your car was out front. This wasn't about money. This was personal. Intentional.

You knew this was an FBI agent's house. You knew—

Wait. You strained your ears more, following the footsteps. They weren't heading for your direction. No. No, no, no, no.

Jack was upstairs.

You couldn't let this man go up there.

4. You love Jack Hotchner unconditionally.

Knowing number four makes you act fast with a determination you'd never felt before. The pantry door swung open as you left the enclosed space, instantly raising the gun in the air like it was weightless. 

You pointed it at your stairwell where a masked man stood, motionless. 

"You better stop right there, you son of a bitch," you threatened, cocking the gun like it was second nature to you.

The man raised his hands into the air slowly. He tilted his head at you as if he was trying to mock you.

And then he smiled.

Before you could even realize what was happening, he was running at you. Your eyes widened, pulling the trigger. You barely got to see if your shot made it before he was tackling you to the ground, knocking the gun out of your hands.

The back of your head hit the ground, making a sickening crack. You gasped for air, and then you were wheezing as the man's hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing tightly.

You looked up into his demented eyes, hearing not the sound of your own voice but Hotch's. Use what you see. Frantically, your eyes flew all over the unsub's body until you saw red staining black, right at his shoulder. 

Without thinking about it, you stuck your finger into the wound, hearing him scream. He was stunned enough that he loosened his grip, giving you the chance to kick him off of you.

You scrambled to your feet, searching for the gun and finding it in the middle of the living room floor. You dove for it right as he got back up, getting to you before you could try shooting again.

His hands wrapped around yours, trying to wrestle the gun from your hands. You held on like your life depended on it because it did. Your life depended on it— Jack's life depended on it. 

You fired a shot into the ground and then another into the wall as he fought you, knocking a picture frame off the mantle. You couldn't see where the gun was pointing anymore, but then, suddenly, pain radiated throughout your lower abdomen, and you knew it was pointed at you.

You gasped, looking down and seeing blood spreading through the white of your tank top.

You looked back up, seeing the asshole smile at you with his teeth. They were pearly white. So clean for a man so dirty.

You sought to make them red, too.

In a surge of energy, you twisted the gun out of his grasp and didn't think before pointing it at his head and firing.

You watched the bullet penetrate his skull before he fell to the ground. Like a domino, you followed, crumpling against the couch.

The gun slipped out of your hands and they immediately went to your wound, making you hiss in pain. You pressed down on it, feeling blood flow between your fingers like a river. 

Keep swimming. Keep your eyes open.

The fatigue hit you like a train. You blinked, trying to keep your eyes open, but they felt so heavy.

Jack. Jack was upstairs. He called the police.

He was okay.

You heard sirens in the distance. The police were coming.

You could sleep now.

And so, as you remembered your fifth truth, your eyes started to flutter closed.

5. You love Aaron Hotchner. And he loves you.

You let yourself fall into a dreamless sleep, hoping that somehow, on some plane of consciousness, he could hear you say I love you one last time.

You loved Aaron Hotchner. You knew that for certain.

You just hoped he still loved you.

[tiramissyoucake]

Oooooo I have a viltrumite mark request! How would he and the reader handle having kids? As a viltrumite I assume it would be on the agenda, but how exactly do you think that would go?

Vomitted a small blurb. i apologize. But absolutely, I think Viltrumites want heirs. In this scenario where earth is destroyed, reader is obedient under Mark's affection because there's nowhere to go. It's either death in space or him.

So they'd change the subject or divert his attention to avoid talking about it, having kids was a huge thing and you don't fake-love him enough for that, he'd catch on to the stalling game at some point.

Reader manages to evade him in this blurb, lmk if you want another where Mark finally gets to mark it

Here you go:

"I need your answer, NOW." He'd demand with folded arms, staring down at you as your back was facing him in the bed, dressed in sleepwear while Mark stood above you, shirt was thrown aside, only in comfortable pants. "I asked you multiple times, and you keep changing the subject. When will you give me heirs?"

The way he phrased it disgusted you, maybe if you spoke honestly now, he'd understand. "I don't think I'm ready." You'd explain as you sat up, the sheets slipping down to your waist. "Mark, kids are... a huge responsibility, who's to say we can take care of them properly?"

He seemed to take the bait, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing you with a stoic expression. "I understand you're scared, but we have everything we need, a powerful empire, a comfy bed, clean clothes and warm meals, what more could a child need?"

He dismantled your arguments so impatiently and was closing you in a corner, you had to think of a way out. Fast.

"... y-your.. conquests." You mumbled, the excuse building itself in your head quickly. "... dear, you've been so absent and neglectful recently." A glimmer of hope appears as his expression shifts to guilt.

"Our children should have present parents, parents who aren't busy with invasions." You glance away, keeping your expression away from his eyes. "I know it's your responsibility, but I can't accept, it's not a good time."

His hands clutch the sheets, frustrated as you illustrated your point. "Sweetheart, is that how you really feel? Have I been neglectful?" He cups your cheek and makes you look at him, your eyes downcast as you nod, ensuring to stab the guilt into his heart as you pouted and looked at him with your most vulnerable, saddened, kicked-puppy look.

Mark sighs, hugging you closely, his bare skin warm against you as he caught a whiff of your scent; he's come to associate it with home. "... I'm sorry, I really am. You know I love you, don't you?"

"I love you too dear, but..." You didn't know if he was rambling or if he wanted a response, nonetheless you absentmindedly replied, he continued. "Listen, let's compromise; okay?"

Too much resistance would raise alarm, you listened. "I'll agree to postponing, I have a few more invasions to carry out for the next 2 months, that should be plenty of time for you to think, don't you agree?"

You bought yourself 2 months successfully, nodding twice, although his smile said he expected a yes after those 2 months.

"Good..." his defined hand trailed up your thigh gently, pushing up the cloth and revealing your skin. The mattress sunk down as he pulled you closely, his heartfelt smile turning into an lustful grin. "Now, come here. I missed you."

[bluecrusadearcade]

Terrorism has no religion

Attacks on Hindu Religious Sites and Pilgrims-

2006 Varanasi Bombings

2002 Akshardham Temple Attack

2000 Amarnath Pilgrimage Massacre

Massacres of Hindu Civilians -

1998 Chapnari Massacre

2006 Doda Massacre

1993 Kishtwar Massacre

2001 Kishtwar Massacres

1998 Chamba Massacre

And ofcourse, how can we forget, Pahalgam 2025.

Me spewing hateful comments???

Ok, then why did the terrorists ask the hindu men to remove their pants? To check if they had an aadhar card? Why did they ask them to recite the kalma?

It was a religion based attack, and if you don't think so, you're delusional and completely wrong. And its not the first of its kind.

Terrorism doesn't have a religion yet somehow only one religion is unaffected by terrorism.

[deathbxnny]

Can I request angst for arcane characters x reader. Where they argued with each other and then later on reader is hanging on to dear life (READER SAVE ISHA FROM DEATH PLEASE! IM COPING-)

Arcane women with an s/o that dies after an argument. | Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn x Gn!Reader

So I may have taken this idea in a more extreme direction, ahaha... Anyway, thanks for the great request and I hope you'll enjoy!!<3

(I'm sorry in advance-)

Content: Heavy angst, arguments, spoilers for season 2, established romantic relationships, blood, fatal injuries, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VI

Your argument was a petty one. At least in her humble opinion, at least. She warned you not to push her too far, to not bring up Caitlyn when it wasn't needed. But you ofcourse refused to listen, and it ended in a full-blown screaming match she wasn't proud of. You were just looking out for her, scared she'll lose herself under the bright lights of the fighting pit and the flashing bass of the clubs. The alcohol consumption was destroying her, too, and you wanted to get her out of this hellscape.

You were always so kind and patient with her, something she was always so grateful about. So why did she tell you that she hated you? That you were overbearing? That Caitlyn was far better than you ever could be? She didn't know. She really didn't.

And any apology she may have had died on her tongue when you ran out of her dingy little showroom in tears. Oh, how her heart ached at the sound of YOU apologizing for not being good enough. The clarity of what she had done hit her like a truck then, making her finally see what she had become.

The shame made her turn even worse, your warnings and pleas feeling undeserving to follow. Days turned into weeks, then months, and she eventually forgot all about everyone... except for you. The image of your brokenhearted figure haunts her at every moment. Especially her dreams.

So when Jinx came to her for help, she saw it as a sign. She needed to apologize and get you back. She was desperate for it. She couldn't take it any longer without you. But alas... karma was an odd thing. Instead of hitting her like she wished, she found you being the victim of it instead. Whatever God was out there must've hated her terribly.

You were fighting with the Enforcers during the invasion of the Noxians and the Herald. Battle was never your strong suit, but you were never the type to back down from anything. Especially not when it came to the defense of your home. You had the option to leave. In fact, Caitlyn was the one to give you it. Yet, instead, you grabbed a uniform and headed to the Frontlines at her side. You were always so loyal, so goddamned good.

It was, therefore, not surprising that you threw yourself over Vi when she was being shot at. You had only briefly seen each other before it was time to move, and you gave her a welcoming, weak smile that made her heart hammer against her chest. She wasn't deserving of you. "Why... Why the fuck did you do that?!" She yelled over the sound of chaos above her, when she was finally able to get you somewhere safe. Giving her a bloody grin, you flinched a little at the pain in your chest, an arrow protruding from it. The crimson liquid drenched the blue of your uniform and Vi's palm that she desperately pressed against it. But there was no hope. It was over.

The gods wanted you dead.

Placing your hand over hers, you stopped her frantic movements with a chuckle turned cough. "I... I'm sorry-" "-Stop apologizing! I should be the one doing that! I'm the reason this all happened, I... I'm so fucking sorry." Her tears dropped onto your face, and you reached up with the last of your power to wipe them away. You couldn't breathe anymore. Your heart was beginning to fail, and the primal panic set in in the face of death. Intelligible words spilled out of your mouth, not making any sense to anyone but you. You wanted to tell her how much you still loved her.

But with a deep, rattling breathe your suffering was finally over, and your hand dropped to your side limply. Vi could only stare at you in horror, unable to say a word anymore, before she was dragged away by some Enforcers. She tried to fight her way back to you, yet there was no use.

The last thing she saw was your body being covered by debris from the falling ceiling.

》JINX

You and Jinx had gotten into an argument in the Herald's weird compound over Vander's well-being. Whilst she, too, didn't trust Viktor, she ultimately had no other ideas on how to turn him back to normal. And that's all she really wanted. She wanted her father back so badly that she and Vi were both too blinded to see how odd this entire thing really was. And it didn't help that you were worried about Isha's safety too.

Everyone here felt too robotic to be human. They didn't have real emotions or motivations other than what their leader had already preached about. It all felt superficial and lifeless, like they were husks and empty shells of people. But alas, you were the only one who saw it. Everyone basked in the warm sun and heavenly aura, never daring to glance into the darkness around them in fear of what they may see. The people that were "healed" didn't seem really healed. And you wondered if the Herald himself was blinded too.

Either way, it led to a huge argument in which you asked her to get Vander and everyone else rounded up to leave immediately. She was confused at first, but it started to frustrate her how you couldn't understand how much this meant to her. This was the first step to freedom and having her family back. A family she always wanted to have with you. Jinx got a small taste of that with Isha around now and never wanted to lose it again. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something really bad was going to happen if you didn't get out of here now. It ended with you both going your separate ways for the time being, mainly because you refused to argue in front of the poor small girl.

You avoided each other like the plague in the compound, and Jinx ignored you out of pettiness when you tried to reconcile. The safety of the family you've created was also important to you. More than she'll ever understand. But alas, no one could convince the blue haired girl of talking to you again. Not Vi. Not Isha. Even Vander tried his luck by slightly pushing her towards you. She always took everything so personally. So much so that her stubbornness often caused the death of others she cared about.

And just as she thought that she might have finally escaped that fate, the world had to once again prove her wrong.

The Noxians were attacking, wanting to get ahold of Vander, who had gone crazy and aggressive in response. Calming him down was impossible, and fighting off an entire army of trained warriors even harder. Jinx was panicking, trying to look for you and Isha in the dense, chaotic crowd, until she saw the small girl sprint towards the crazed Warwick with her gun in hand. She was quick to understand what she was trying to do and attempted to stop her, but Vi held her back. But the girl wouldn't die today. No, at least that part of her wish would come true, as she wouldn't lose her family today... just you. Her entire world.

You came sprinting out of the masses, practically tossing Isha into safety as you grabbed the gun from her. Aiming it up at Vander, things slowed down around you when your eyes met Jinx's horrified ones. Her screams echoed in your mind whilst you mouthed "I love you" to her and pulled the trigger, hoping that everyone made it out safe in the end.

》CAITLYN

The funerals of the deaths that were caused by Jinx's actions were all cold and grim. All of them evoke deep hatred in Caitlyn, who now stood at her last one, most guests having cleared out by now in grief. Looking back, she wondered when everything went wrong. After careful analysis, she came to the conclusion that your argument sparked most of the events in a way.

You were feeling betrayed by her lack of presence in her relationship ever since she and Vi had a mission to complete. She never let you in on what exactly they were up to, and she now realises that it was wrong of her. Cait could see how you might have thought that she had something with Vi that was never there. Sure, she was a pleasant company, and the only thing she had in very dangerous moments... but it was never more than that. She was a friend and that's it.

You, on the other hand, were her betrothed, the person she swore her life to and wanted to marry in the coming spring. Her mother had always approved of you two and practically pushed her to the next step, especially at how close she was with you. Cassandra had adopted you as your mother in law from day one, to say the least. And yet... she had disappointed her with the way she yelled at you to get a grip. Caitlyn was so stressed and exhausted in that moment that she couldn't think straight and let it out on you. Something she regrets deeply, perhaps even more than never being able to tell you how sorry she was now.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, her mother’s stern, yet sympathetic expression greeting her. "It's time." She said, confirming the closing of your casket. Yes, this was your funeral. You had thrown yourself on top of her mother once the ceiling came crashing down. She lived with minor injuries whilst you were crushed by the debris. It was all so fast. Your reflexes were impressive as always. And it cost you your life. You were dead. Gone. She still couldn't believe it, even after gazing at your body for hours on end now.

The rage and anger turned into unspeakable hatred, one she could never shake for as long as she lived. She'd get her revenge one way or another. Even if it means to burn the entirety of Zaun down in your name to achieve it. But instead of voicing it, she took a deep breath and nodded. "Very well." She whispered, not trusting her voice anymore. The guilt was eating her alive, and she couldn't help but sway a bit on her feet at how nauseous she felt. You were always so scared of the dark and tight spaces. This was your worst nightmare, and she couldn't stop thinking about how scared you must've been in your last moments. Her mother said that you cried out Caitlyn's name before you stilled.

And so, as the casket's lid began shifting over your cold, stiff body, she stretched herself ever so slightly to catch last glimpses of your slumbering expression.

She may never forgive herself... but she'd make the undercity beg for her forgiveness instead. It was time for justice to prevail at last.

[thepitlanepress]

PUT ME DOWN –

↳ max verstappen + gf!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: i come back from the dead!! jk lol the hiatus was good and it is nice being here but lets be fr i only came back for the fics. part 3 of the lando fic will be out soon !!

max is a stubborn man.

you know that. what you also know is that you're a stubborn girl.

so when you hurt your ankle on the stairs leaving some event you weren't paying attention to, you don't tell max, simply smiling through the pain and limping slightly, not wanting to bother max on his night.

the only problem was that max could tell something was off, turning to look at you every so often with a concerned look in his eyes as you made your way through the crowd of people, and whispering occasionally, "is everything alright?"

you tell him that you're fine and to stop worrying but again something about your act is off and max can clearly tell something is wrong.

so right then amidst the swarming crowd of fans and paparazzi he - gently - pulls you along, back into the building and away from the prying eyes of the public.

"what is wrong schat?" his voice is quiet and the dip between his brows only increases when you lower yourself onto the stairs trying not to wince.

"i knew something was up," he murmurs sitting down beside you. "what happened liefje?" he says wrapping an arm around your shoulders and rubbing softly.

"i fell on the stairs earlier, some asshole dropped an oyster on the floor and i slipped on it," you say grimacing and trying to lift your foot to see what the damage is.

max lets go and drops down a few steps then, gently lifting your dress up and inspecting your ankle. you wince when he touches it and he definitely has a frown on his face now.

"how did you manage to walk on this liefje? its purple."

"magic?" you try and joke to lighten the mood, but from the prominent concern on his face it didn't help much.

"yn, you can't walk on this," he says looking up at you from where he's crouched.

"but i have to, we have to get to the car," you say trying to shake his touch off, trying to ignore how how loving and gentle it is to stand up.

"i'll carry you."

"the car is like halfway down the hill! and there are too many people outside for you to carry me," you protest, but before you can get another word out he has scooped you into his arms and started towards the door. "max! put me down!" you squeal.

"no, i will not be putting you down until you're safely in that car okay? liefje, i love you, let me take care of you," he murmurs placing a kiss to your forehead and pushing the door open with his shoulder.

"i could say the same for you," you mutter rolling your eyes, knowing just how stubborn max can be after a tough race. he eventually caves though, for you. and only for you.

"thats an argument for another day," he chuckles as you round the corner and head straight into the crowd.

max true to his word, doesn't put you down until the car, fending off the invasive paparazzi and fans like he promised, careful not to hurt your foot anymore than it already is.

"see its not too bad letting me take care of you is it?" he smirks as he exits the larger crowd and now just dodges the few fews that wait for a glimpse of him, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder.

"i still vote you put me down."

"oh hush."

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

[lorelune]

(michael kaiser x reader // 18+ MDNI // cws: yandere kaiser, stalking, reader smokes cigarettes, toxic behaviors // wc: 2.2k)

"so you really did it?"

"did what?" you ask, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke into the frigid air. your fingers are numb.

"break up with him!"

"kaiser?" you snort, taking another drag before speaking. "i guess? i called things off earlier today, but we weren't actually dating. so it's not like it's really a breakup."

"... sure."

your friend on the line hardly sounds convinced. but it is... true. you and michael kaiser never dated. you never had a label, never discussed any type of commitment or potential future together. though you had spent more than one weekend (try a dozen plus) at his apartment, oscillating between cuddling, fucking, and being in each other's presence's in a way that was distinctly not platonic—

you and michael kaiser were never dating. you were not together. (Regardless of him flying you out to one match in Vienna, and the another in Rome—) you weren't dating.

you never were.

you never expected to either. michael kaiser was transparently damaged, and handling it in an unproductive, destructive manner. you saw this from a mile away, but entertained your chemistry regardless. maybe it was the influence of a few drinks and a few heated arguments that got you in bed with him to begin with, despite clocking his toxic tendencies early on.

you fought a lot, for not being a couple.

care made kaiser squirrely and angry. kindness made him snap. aggression, biting and clawing— angry sex that metastasized into something carnal and closer to a fight resonated with him far more than little affections. you only saw moments of vulnerability from him when you were both fucked out and exhausted. or, when he thought you weren't looking. you felt him pet through your hair while he thought you were asleep, more than once.

you broke up with kaiser because you couldn't handle things as they were anymore.

maybe you wanted to be loved. maybe you wanted to be held, openly and tenderly. maybe, you wanted a partner and not a man with an ego problem who fucked like a god and treated you like invasive creature nine times out of ten when you showed him affectionate.

(you just want to be loved.)

the luxuries and innate chemistry of your relationship simply wasn't worth it.

so, you broke things off. over text, because it seemed the least messy.

[you]: hey, what we have isn't working for me anymore. i don't want to see you any longer. i care about you a lot, but what we have is not sustainable. i wish you all the best, michael.

(you try not to be too affectionate with your message, lest you rile him up. you want to be gentle, but not too... emotional. it's better this way.)

you block him after sending the text. clean breaks— it's kinder in the long run, isn't it? even if it hurts more in the moment.

you sigh into the receiver, tossing your cigarette butt to the side, "i mean it, we weren't ever serious."

"if you say so."

you kick at the snow beneath your feet. there's an inch or two of it on the ground, coating the cobblestones of the path you walk on. the river that cuts through your city runs, despite the cold. there's no one around, and it's peaceful beneath the amber-tinged street lights.

"you don't sound convinced."

"because i'm not." your friend pauses. "... have you seen his instagram story from today?"

"nope," you pop the word from your lips. "i blocked him."

"already?"

"immediately."

"damn. that's cold of you."

"you don't know kaiser like i do," you shake your head. it's better this way, to be cleaner.

(you have always been able to foresee the way that man would tear you apart, if you misstepped too grievously.)

"well regardless," a notification comes up on your phone. your friends has sent a screenshot of kaiser's story. "look. he flew out to your city."

your stomach drops. sure enough, the screenshot has a location stamp over a photo of kaiser's deft hands, twirling a flute of champagne from what is clearly a first class seat.

"... maybe he has a match."

(he doesn't. you know this; there's no league that plays in your city.)

"or, he's coming to see you!"

"that would be insane," you laugh. that bastard... wouldn't, would he? he is... was halfway across the world.

"it would be romantic."

"it would be insane," you repeat.

you turn on your heel, back the way your came through the parkway. your apartment is... about a mile away, maybe. it's dark and cold, but you can probably get back there quickly. you're not sure where this particular sense of haste comes from—

but it's a frantic sort of feeling.

your friend pouts, "you have no sense of romance then, i guess."

(and your friend doesn't know michael kaiser.)

anxiety pitches around between your stomach and lungs. you swallow, and it feels too dry.

"i promise i do," you shake your head. "that's the problem."

"sure. tell me more about it later, 'kay? i gotta get ready to go out. let me know if your man shows up!"

your stomach rolls. "gotcha."

"bye bye!"

the line goes dead. your drop your arm to the side, your phone like a deadweight in your hand. you take a few steadying breaths, looking out at the rush of the river. the roar of it is just far enough away to not be overstimulating. the rest of the night is blanketed in snow and stillness.

you nearly trip as you begin to walk again, panic unfurling in your chest with each step.

(there's no way michael came all the way to your city, on a fucking last minute flight no less, for you. there's no literally no fucking way.)

why would he anyway? to try and salvage your not relationship? that hardly logical. there has to be another reason— his team has had him in a few PR campaigns lately, maybe... maybe that's it.

(you know that you are lying to yourself.)

you slip, just for a step or two, on some ice that's beneath the layer of fluffy snow. barely, you keep yourself upright, your arms flying up to find your balance once more. you take a steadying breath, pressing a hand to your chest.

"you should be more careful."

the blood in your veins freezes, numb and chilled like the air around you. your head jerks up.

kaiser sits on a bench, about ten paces in from of you. his arms are spread out over the back of it. he regards you with a tilt of his head, almost playful.

he looks you up and down, voice full of poison, "you could have hurt yourself."

"why the fuck are you here?" your voice barely manages to stay steady.

"why wouldn't i be?" kaiser shakes his head, a laugh bubbling in his chest. the cadence of it makes you feel nothing but unease. "i've got a match in London. i'm just picking you up."

"what are you talking about?" you swallow, audibly. you know that he hears it.

"don't be obtuse." he stands up. your stomach fills with leaden dread.

"you don't be obtuse," you snap back. "we're done. this—" you point between the two of you, "— is over."

"that's a mutual decision." he steps toward you.

you step back. "no, it's not."

kaiser is faster than you, he's up against your front in a moment. it makes you stumble back, nearly falling on the same patch of ice as before.

deftly, he gets an arm around your waist. the force of it is immediately too much, too tight, too hard. you're pulled against him, chest-to-chest. you brace your hands on his shoulders, some attempt at distance, but he doesn't budge. he stares down at you, the cold heat of his own presence engulfing you effortlessly.

"i-it's not," you whisper, voice wobbling. "you need to leave."

"you're an idiot."

"please let go."

"now, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" kaiser smiles, something acidic that you can almost taste.

he bends the two of you, so your back arches. you scramble against him for some purchase.

"there's nothing to 'let go'," his sneers. you hit your fist against his shoulder. "you're coming with me to London, and you'll stop throwing this tantrum now, or along the way."

"it's a not fucking tantrum!" you snap at him. your voice matches the roar of the river. you meet his gaze, angry slipping into your tone as it so often does with him. "we are done. i don't want anything to do with you, michael— especially now. i can't believe you hopped on a fucking plane to, what, harass me on my own turf?"

his palms circles your jaw in a swift, uncomfortably fast movement. the pressure of him is unyielding. you can't look anywhere other than him.

the way he looks at you scares you, now more than ever. the frigid blue of his eyes is haunting and as hollow as it is full of vitriol. anger. all directed at you.

"i 'hopped on a plane' to take you home," kaiser dips you further. if he wasn't holding you, you'd crash to the ground. "i should've done so earlier, but i didn't expect that you'd lose your shit so quickly."

you weren't—, "i’m not—"

his grip on your jaw grows tighter. from a distance, this may look romantic to an onlooker.

from your position, you are in the jaws of a beast that you thought you had escaped.

"you're mine—" he pats your cheek, hard, as he tells you. the angle is bad, given it's with the same hand that's holding your jaw. your brain rattles inside of your skull. "don't think you can run away just because you got a bit scared."

"that's not why i broke up with you—"

"but, it is."

you want to cry, run away, jump in that goddamn fucking river. "no—"

"i get it," kaiser noses into your cheek. he's just as cold as you are. his voice is too soft; it unnerves you. "it's scary, loving someone. i'm scared too"

"i—" you don't love him, you can't love him—

he pulls back just enough to dip your body as far as it can go, and look into your eyes, his own pupils blown.

"let's be scared together," he says, just above a whisper, before slotting his lips against yours.

you slam your fist on his shoulders, his chest, the back of his head— you don't fucking care. whatever you can reach. kaiser doesn't relent. instead, he licks into your mouth. kisses you filthy in a public park just because he can.

maybe his words seem romantic, if you were to recount them to someone else. maybe. maybe someone could read his plane ride to you as a grand, romantically-driven gesture.

but, as he holds your head squarely in place, and fucks your mouth with his tongue, stealing your words and breath in tandem— you know, so lucidly, that none of kaiser intent here is 'romantic'. not in a way that's normal, that's sane.

no, this is the only way a deeper connection can exist for him, you think. the hand on your jaw slips down to your throat, holding you there. it's a collar and kaiser's holding the leash.

you whimper; you feel so foolish. you feel so fucking stupid for thinking you could disentangle yourself from him so easily.

"do you get it now?" kaiser says against you lips.

all you can do is nod, it's all the action he allows you.

all of the fights and tension that made connection between you before so intoxicating— it evolved into this. it was always destined to. you've been ensnared since day one, but didn't have the foresight to see you.

kaiser did, though.

as he pulls away, you're light-headed. he rights you and steadies you at the waist. he pats your head and even coos at you.

"are you done now?" he begins to walk you with a hand at your lower back— back in the direction you came. probably toward the nice hotel in the center of town where he undoubtedly has a suite. where he'll fuck you stupid into the king mattress. "if you cry, i'll just make it worse."

'worse'.

you shake your head, hard and fast, and suck down any tears beading at the corners of your eyes.

he seems pleased. "good."

there's nothing you can do but walk by his side. this has always been his design, even if you couldn't see it. regardless of any attempts to sever things and run off, even cleanly, this is where you'll end up.

hip-to-hip, with his hand on your lower back. with the promise of pain and pleasure doled out to you in equal measure.

as you step through the doors of the, as expected, upscale hotel, a wave of warm, fragranced air hits you. and with it, some part of you sags, defeated so simply. crushed. you sniffle and rub at your eyes.

(you don't see kaiser smiling at your side. you don't see the way he slips the concierge a wad of bills with the understanding that he'll be given a room far away from others, and that you won't be disturbed.

he has work to do. you— were going to fucking leave him? he— he needs to make sure that you understand that that is not your choice to make.

and, as he sees you, stifling tears and shaking like a leaf, your little act shattered so seamlessly, he thinks you really are starting to get it.)

you are his.

[sweemmy]

⋆｡ﾟIn their love, they bloom like a dark rose, its thorns only striking those who try to escape. ﾟ｡⋆

— Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, and Jinx.

VI.

Vi would do anything to protect you, but her obsession consumes her, driving her to see threats in every corner, even where none exist. In her mind, danger lurks in the shadows, always watching, and you are the only one who can escape this threat... even if it isn’t real.

Her irritable nature compels her to act impulsively, before her mind has the chance to halt the torrent of emotions. She doesn’t hesitate to confront anyone, even if they are just a stranger who has approached you out of curiosity, convincing herself that anyone who crosses your path is a danger, no matter how harmless they seem.

Vi clings to her justification, arguing that her control is merely an expression of love, that everything she does is for your own good. But beneath those words lies a dark echo, as if she cannot fathom a world where you don’t need her, where her influence is not vital to your survival.

Her gestures of affection, far from being tender, are invasive and violent. Her hugs, excessive and tight, feel as if she could crush you. The words she whispers in your ear, filled with intensity, steal the air between you, with a fervor bordering on obsession, as if she’s marking you, immortalizing you in her world, only for herself.

Though her exterior is one of hardness, beneath that mask beats a deep fear: the fear of losing you. She knows that without you, her world would crumble, empty, incomplete. “If you don’t want me near, just tell me… but don’t expect me to stand idly by while someone tries to take away the only thing that gives my life meaning.”

CAITLYN.

Caitlyn becomes ensnared in her own whirlwind of thoughts, convinced that her obsessive love is the only thing capable of offering you the care you deserve. She sees herself as the only one who can truly understand and protect you, regardless of the boundaries she must cross to keep you by her side.

With a sharp, calculating mind, Caitlyn weaves invisible threads around your life, orchestrating every detail so subtly that you're barely aware of her control. From the people you allow into your circle to the places you step foot in, everything is meticulously designed to keep you under her sway.

Using her charm, Caitlyn spins a web of carefully chosen words, manipulating your perception with a smile that conceals the darkness lurking inside her. She has no qualms about distorting the truth, lying, and creating parallel realities, all to ensure you remain bound to her, oblivious to the trap you've fallen into.

Her control over you goes beyond the physical; Caitlyn becomes an emotional necessity, feeding your dependency with gestures that seem loving but are, in reality, invisible chains. She makes you feel as though you cannot breathe without her presence, turning herself into an irreplaceable part of your life, a constant shadow you cannot escape.

Anyone who dares to get close is seen as an immediate threat, and Caitlyn doesn’t need to resort to open violence. Her deadliest weapon is her influence, capable of destroying slowly, without anyone suspecting a thing. "Why waste time with them, darling? I’ll handle everything. It’s much better if you follow my suggestions; I promise everything will be fine."

SEVIKA.

Sevika sees you as hers—like a treasure no one else deserves to touch. Her obsession is a dangerous blend of control and overbearing protection. Should anyone dare to put you in harm's way, she will become the shadow that eliminates any threat, without remorse and with brutal precision.

Any intruder who gets too close will be stopped by her mere presence. The intensity of her gaze and the unyielding strength of her stance instill terror in even the bravest hearts. She needs no words: her silence is a warning, and her actions, the verdict.

Believing the world is a deadly trap for you, she begins to build a cage of isolation. Every argument she makes is wrapped in false sweetness: "It’s for your own good, trust me," while the chains of her obsession tighten a little more with each passing day.

Flowers and sweet words are not her style, but her actions speak louder than anything. The moment she senses you’re in danger, she will unleash an inhuman fury, showing just how far she’s willing to go to protect you.

Her emotions are a storm hidden beneath a mask of cold serenity. Every action is calculated, every decision made with precision. "I don’t need to shout to show you how much I love you. You see it in what I do, don't you?" she murmurs, her voice calm yet carrying a weight that leaves no doubt about the intensity of her devotion.

JINX.

Jinx would always watch you with eyes filled with obsession, as if you were her precious toy, meant only for her. Her love is no simple feeling: it’s a wild, unpredictable whirlwind, packed with emotional explosions and flashes of madness. She cannot stand anyone else getting your attention, and her “jokes” toward those who dare to come close often end in a macabre, lethal spectacle of destruction.

Within her chaos lies a desperate search for stability, and you are her anchor, but always on her terms. Trying to pull away or challenge her twisted world only triggers a collapse in her mind and a violent need to reaffirm her control over you.

Her love manifests in disturbingly creative forms: bombs adorned with hearts, explosive devices bearing your name, or "trophies" taken from those she deems rivals. Each one is a sickening declaration of how deep and dangerous her affection runs.

Her greatest fear is abandonment, trapped in the loneliness that haunts her. If she senses even the slightest hint that you might leave, she’ll do the unthinkable to make sure you stay by her side. It doesn’t matter if she has to chain you—literally or figuratively; in her mind, the end always justifies the means.

Jinx won’t hesitate to destroy—even herself—to keep you close. Her desperation drives her to dark extremes, hurting others or putting her own body at risk. “Do you see this? I did it for you. Now you can’t deny how much I care. You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

[shimmershifts]

Hi ! Shifting didn't make much sense to me , but you explained everything so well and now I get it 🥺 You're one of the bloggers I would trust without questioning 🥹

Can you explain what what happens in detail when you shift ? Like what are the sensations you feel and what happens , in order ?

I'm sorry if this is invasive to you 😅 I'm just curious.

hii thank you so much! i do feel like you should always question everybody but i understand and appreciate the sentiment 🥹💕

i'm fine with sharing how i shift, because i think it is valuable to hear how shifting feels for others. but i do feel that no matter how much i say not to people will think they have to do it the exact way i do and then they'll shift. this... is not the case (probably.) we're entirely different people, and what works for me might not work for you! and shifting might "feel" totally different to others.

my method (down below the cut) is currently is a lot simpler than it used to be. when i was initially relearning how to shift, it was a process, to say the least. i also happened to be getting heavily into meditation already at the time. i was meditating for about 8 hours a day (broken up, not in a row.) you do not need to do this, and i wasn't just doing it for reality shifting reasons, but for healing and growth. i used meditation to process trauma, somatic experiencing, and exploring states of awareness and understanding the universe around me and the dimensions its made of. as a bonus, i do think learning to meditate helped me in my personal journey with reality shifting, but that's probably because meditation is something that works for me. i try to mention lots of methods that require 0 meditation because it's not the only way! this is all to say, "the shimmer method" if we can call that is highly specific to me personally.

how i shift:

first, i find a comfortable place and time when i feel like shifting. sitting, laying down, it doesn't really matter. i personally prefer to have a fair amount of "free time" ahead of me, because i like to shift back here to the moment i left and have time before i have to do anything else. like i don't wanna shift back here and have to go straight to work. or worse, shift back while at work.

next, i take three deep breaths. it sounds cheesy almost, but it helps me regulate my breathing and the overall tension in my body. i only need three to do this, but i used to do more.

then i do a simple body scan. this helps me detach my awareness from my 3D body. i move from toe to head, focusing my awareness on each area, and acknowledging whatever sensation is there without the need to change it. i move my awareness to the next section, letting go of the previous. i used to do this process much more slowly, but now id say it takes me a handful of minutes. now, here's the important bit, how does it feel? sometimes after this i feel completely "numb" and lose all awareness of my body. sometimes i begin to experience hypnogogic symptoms right away. and sometimes i dont. sometimes i feel "normal" after. it doesn't matter. my body can feel whatever it's feeling. i gently direct my awareness, and i move on.

next, i focus on my stream of thoughts. personally, i have adhd and intrusive thoughts, and a very active internal monologue. it's honestly so so rare for my brain to be quiet. i was literally surprised to find out that some people don't have an absolute constant stream of thoughts. but it's completely okay, because my brain doesn't need to silent. my thoughts can continue, just like feet probably still feel my socks. my thoughts don't get to demand my awareness. at this stage, i do like to visualize, but for a "visualization", it's not very visual. its more idea of it. if i have any really intense or bothersome thoughts or worries, i direct them into a mental box or current, or toss them off a mental cliff. work tomorrow? tax forms? argument? embarrassing moment of the day? i direct them into the box. i don't need to be aware of those thoughts right now, but they are perfectly ok to continue being. i can get them back out later. sometimes it helps to count, or imagine something, to give my awareness something to focus on. sometimes i don't need to. how does it feel? my brain continues doing all that thinking. it's a thinking machine, that's what it does, and that's okay. i'm shifting my awareness into a different 3D brain anyways. sometimes i get hypnogogic symptoms, sometimes i don't. sometimes i can still "hear" the mental chatter that im not focusing on, sometimes i can't.

now, i used to feel more comfortable shifting from the state of pure awareness, so id drop into that. but i generally don't feel the need to when im reality shifting now, so i don't bother. sometimes i experience other meditative states, sometimes i experience hypnogogic symptoms, sometimes none at all. i think because i've really practiced with everything and i have experience shifting from any of these states of awareness, it is no longer as consequential for me which destabilized state of awareness i'm in. like, initially, hypnogogic symptoms were really overwhelming for me, and even scary. i couldn't shift from hypnogogia because id panic and ground myself to my CR 3D, ending the attempt just to stop the hypnogogia. now, im more comfortable with it and i can unfocus my awareness from it like any other sensation.

i start to direct my awareness towards my DR, from whatever state of awareness i'm in (usually some form of destabilized awareness). how does it feel? i start visualizing or thinking about my DR, and the first change is that at some point, i start thinking as my DR self. this comes more naturally to me after i've already shifted somewhere before, but it can happen for a "new" DR as well. there's not a distinct moment, and i usually wouldn't notice it happened until looking back on it. this is important i think, as i feel some people expect their 3D to change first, like they're expecting to start feeling their DR with their CR body or something, which (for me) has never been the case. my awareness shifts first. i relax my awareness, and slip into my DR. if feels kind of like waking up, even if im already awake there. it's not a long dramatic journey of traveling, but sometimes there is a sense of.... "falling" is the best way to describe it, though to be clear it is not a physical sensation. it's not like i'm falling through space, it's like if your awareness could sink in a metaphorical or poetic sense.

and then i'm there. so, in a simplified way: i relax, i visualize, i repeat. my awareness shifts first, and then im in my DR 3D.

[homunculus-argument]

One thing that can save you from so much needless bickering online is always taking an "innocent until proven guilty" approach about whether or not somebody is an idiot. If something that a person you don't know is doing, thinking, or saying makes no sense to you, it's better to assume that your initial assumption of what's going on is wrong, and that there's some additional element in this that you're unaware of, and what they're up to makes sense in context.

Let's say that someone posts on tumblr: "oh great, there's a fucking crocodile on the backyard. Hope it goes away before I have to let the dog out." Talking about it in a very casual way like that's just shit that happens sometimes.

And this is read by someone whose first assumption is that everyone online comes from a similar background and cultural context as they do, and thinks: Well, if there was a crocodile on my backyard, that would mean there's something horribly wrong, and I would be unsettled indeed. As this person does not seem appropriately freaked out about this, then clearly they must be an idiot.

And so they swoop in to scold the OP for being so casual about something that must clearly be a dire situation, an apex predator like a crocodile roaming around is an emergency worse than any regular invasive species, they must immediately find out where that creature escaped from and not let it out of their sight!

And meanwhile, the original OP argues that every single step of that plan is insane and they are not going to do that. And they continue arguing like this, because one is correct in their stance that an escaped crocodile in an environment it doesn't belong in is a dire and serious situation, and the other one is correct in their stanse that it would be ridiculous to call animal control over simply seeing a wild animal naturally chilling in its native environment.

And this whole argument could have been avoided if the responder had taken the alternative route: Concluding that since behaving the way OP does in their own environment would be idiotic, then clearly they must be living somewhere else.

And a simple question of "are crocodiles normal where you're from?" could have settled this immediately, as the two would have immediately come to learn that one of them is from Australia and the other one is from France.

[saminsecret]

I'm not the same anon that asked for that deep male reader, but I loved the idea of it. Could you make a similar headcanon, but with the sinclair brothers?

Slashers dating a male!s/o with a deep voice part 2

I didn’t see this ask until now so sorry anon! Hope you like it >.< I love writing for the Sinclair brothers honestly but its been a while since ive watched the movie so excuse my mistakes!

Characters include the Sinclair Brothers!

Male reader!

Vincent Sinclair:

He has to get used to it. He's used to being in the basement alone, surrounded by silence for most of the days as he's working on another art piece. He likes the peace, away from the screams of tourists or arguments with Bo or the confusing chatter from Lester. So when you try to make conversation with him....he's not ignoring you, he just kind of...doesn't know what to think. You speak softly, but your voice is so deep it kind of throws him off his game for those first couple of weeks of being with you.

He wants you to talk more. Eventually, he can't get enough of you and your voice. He'll often sit you down near his desk while he's working on something and just listen to you talk about whatever. Ever so often he'll turn to you and nod to show that he is listening to you so that you don't stop. On the odd day that you are doing something that stops you from being able to sit with him downstairs, he'll find himself restless and unable to create anything worthwhile.

Easily flustered. You say literally anything that has a hint of a flirty undertone and this man is bright red under his mask, fumbling with his hands as he tries to sign back to you. If you whisper something in his ear, flirty or not, he's going to have a heart attack. You have a lot of fun teasing him. He likes it, too! (But he's too embarrassed to admit it)

Bo Sinclair

He tries to deepen his voice around you. It's obvious that he's a bit intimidated by how deep your voice is, but he'll call you an insecure pussy if you try to talk to him about it. He has to be the most intimidating/sexy guy in the room, y/n. Ambrose isn't big enough for the two of you!

He'll pretend to hate your voice, but really he finds it attractive. He'll still tease/bully you to no end about your voice, but once you've started dating he'll slow down the insults considerably (but not entirely). Hopefully your not insecure about it, because he certainly will use anything he can to keep you complacent/with him. "You think you can find anyone else that'll want you with that voice? I'm the best you'll ever hope to have, sweetheart."

He gets PTSD whenever you yell. Whether your joking or actually mad at him, your voice lowers even more when you yell and then suddenly he's a little boy again getting screamed at by his sonofabitch daddy. A switch will flip and he'll go into a rage, cursing you and anyone else out and pushing you out of the way to be alone with his cars. Give him a few hours to himself. Eventually he'll come back to you like it never happened, and if you really loved him, you'd play along.

He gets insanely jealous when tourists comment on your voice. He keeps a cool front, but inside he's already thinking about how the wax will look on their skin. You're voice is attractive, yes, but they aren't allowed to think about his boyfriend, period. If you want the tourists to not die in an extra painful manner, you'd best stay in the house where no one can see hear you.

Lester Sinclair

"Woah! You alright, mister?" He thinks you're sick the first time you meet, and when you explain that that's just how your voice is he'll bombard you with semi-invasive questions. "Did ya' always sound like that? Does it hurt to talk like that?" He literally will grill you in the truck the entire time to Ambrose, ignoring anybody else you might've been with. Lester doesn't do social cues very well, so hopefully you don't take any offense to his questions. At least he's being genuine?

Loves it when you sing. He ain't good at it, but anytime he hears you singing he'll join you, belting out the worst fucking singing you've ever heard in your life. He thinks you'd make a great singer, y/n! You could be a duo! Jonesy could make it a trio! This guy is a riot, y/n.

Gets a little insecure around tourists. As you both escort the newest batch of victims to town, the girl in the back seat just will not shut the hell up about how sexy she thinks your voice is. He tries to laugh it off, but he can't help but think about all the better people you could be with. "I know I ain't no catch, y/n..." You have to reassure him at night about how amazing he is and how much you love him. And if that doesn't work, just remind him that he's the only person who gets to hear your voice in bed and you've got him smiling from ear to ear again.

Jonesy barked at you when she first heard you talk. She's never heard someone so baritone before! Of course, now whenever she hears your voice, it's all tail wags and kisses! Lester loves when the three of you get to finally turn in for the night, cuddled up into a little pile of love.

[passengerprincessblog]

“Breaking Point” ~ Pt 4 Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: SMUT, NSFW, angst, arguments, sleepy oral? Idk.

Summary: When Lewis shows up unannounced at Y/N’s filming location and follows her back to her LA home, unresolved tensions boil over, sparking an intense argument that exposes the growing rift between them. As they clash over misunderstandings and unspoken resentments, Y/N struggles to hold her ground, refusing to melt under Lewis’s charm, even as he tries to bridge the distance in his own stubborn, unrelenting way.

The silence in the car is suffocating, thick with all the words left unsaid between us. We’re heading back to my house in LA, and the tension stretches like an invisible line, taut and fraying. Every time I glance his way, I catch Lewis staring, his gaze heavy, filled with something that feels like disappointment or maybe just frustration.

It’s strange having him here, in my city, in my space. He’s never part of this life—my world where I’m more than his girlfriend, more than a footnote in his racing saga. Today, he got a glimpse of me with my crew, laughing, bantering, a side of myself he barely knows. A side that doesn’t revolve around him. And maybe that’s why this hurts so much. He’s so supportive of everything about me… except this. My career. The one thing that pulls me away from him.

I feel his hand settle on my thigh, his fingers warm against my skin. Instinctively, irritation flares up. I want to shove him off, to shake his hand away, but I don’t. I know it’ll only set him off, and I’m too tired for another argument. Instead, I focus on the passing streets, letting the city lights blur together, pretending not to notice his fingers tracing idle circles. He reaches over, grabbing my hand, playing with the rings on my fingers like I’m his personal stress toy. The sensation is grounding, sure, but also infuriating. Does he even realize how invasive this feels? How much he takes from me without even realizing it?

When we finally arrive at my house, I pull away the second the car stops, sliding out and thanking James, my driver, with a quick “Goodnight.” Lewis lingers, watching me with that unreadable gaze, like he’s studying me. I feel exposed, as if I’m a stranger he’s trying to understand, trying to fit into some mold that doesn’t really exist. It’s clear he’s not used to seeing me here, in LA, in the life that belongs to me.

I walk up the steps to my front door, feeling his presence right behind me. My house is beautiful—sprawling, a mix of modern LA glamour and Spanish-style architecture, spacious and luxurious. It’s mine, yet not entirely mine. After all, it’s Lewis who pays for it. I hadn’t wanted his money in the beginning, fought him on it, but he insisted, saying that rejecting his help felt like rejecting him. So here I am, living in this house he gifted me, a reminder of his presence even when he’s not here.

I unlock the door and step inside, throwing my keys on the table in the foyer. The house is decorated to my taste—soft hues, eclectic art pieces, warm textures that make it feel like home, my sanctuary. I walk into the living room, hearing his footsteps close behind me. He glances around, taking in the space, a look of faint surprise on his face.

“Wow… did you change it?” he asks, looking genuinely intrigued.

I shrug, not bothering to hide my irritation. “Not really… well, kind of.” I don’t give him much more. He hasn’t been here in nearly a year. Of course he wouldn’t remember.

He huffs, following me up the stairs, his footsteps deliberate, like he’s pushing through the tension hanging between us. I can feel the irritation rolling off him, the way he’s holding himself back, and it makes me want to push even harder.

“Are you gonna be like this all night? Y/N?” he says, his tone laced with barely restrained frustration.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn to face him, crossing my arms. “Yes.”

His jaw clenches, and he lets out a frustrated sigh. “Why can’t you have a normal conversation with me? Why is that so hard?”

I roll my eyes, throwing my hands up. “It’s not a ‘normal’ conversation, Lewis.” I can’t hold back anymore. “I can’t believe you just showed up like that,” I blurt out, the annoyance bubbling over.

His eyes narrow as I open the door to my bedroom, stepping into the softly lit space. My room is intimate, filled with small decorations and touches that feel so personal, so me. It’s like a slap in the face to him, a reminder that he doesn’t see my life like this enough, that he doesn’t really know this part of me.

“Because I love you? Because I wanted to surprise you? And support you?” he scoffs, almost as if my irritation is absurd.

I throw my bag at the end of my bed, barely glancing at him. “Okay… well, thanks. You can go now… I’m so surprised and supported. Mission accomplished.” My tone is dripping with sarcasm. “You can go back to your life.”

He stares at me, his eyes flashing with anger, a dangerous edge simmering beneath the surface. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m trying.”

“Cool. I’m so impressed… you’re so impressive. Mr. champion, millionaire, stupid playboy. Is that what you want? Me to praise you for your attempt? You’re so fucking amazing, Lewis!” My voice rises, my irritation finally spilling out in sharp, pointed words.

He takes a step toward me, his gaze dark and intense. “You’re really pushing it. You know what I mean… I’m trying to make you feel loved. What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re what’s wrong.” I snap back, feeling the weight of my resentment boiling over. “Just leave now. I know you’re gonna leave in the morning anyway… with your stupid race on Sunday.”

He sighs, exasperated but unwilling to give up. “I don’t have to leave until Wednesday night,” he says, his tone hardening as he steps closer. “I’m staying.”

I roll my eyes, brushing past him into my bathroom. “No. Just leave.”

He follows me, his voice low and demanding as he steps into the room behind me. “I said…” he grabs my arm, pulling me toward him, his hand firm on my chin as he tilts my face to look at him. “I’m staying.”

My stomach flips, a mix of nerves and something else swirling inside me as I meet his intense gaze. His eyes are smoldering, his jaw tight, and I can feel the determination radiating off him, daring me to challenge him.

“Fine,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper, trying to sound annoyed.

He lets go of my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek in a gentle, almost tender gesture that makes my heart ache. I can tell he wants more, that he’s craving some kind of reassurance, something from me, but I can’t bring myself to give in. Not yet.

He starts to step back, but I turn to the mirror, trying to compose myself, pretending his presence doesn’t affect me as much as it does. But he doesn’t move far; instead, he leans against the counter, his gaze fixed on me.

“Give me a kiss,” he says softly, his tone almost pleading.

I glare at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Give me a kiss…” he repeats, his voice coaxing, insistent.

I continue to glare, refusing to budge, letting the silence stretch.

“Y/N…” he murmurs, his tone dipping, a hint of something darker beneath it. “I’ll be getting a lot more than a kiss when we get to bed, so you better just give me one now.”

I furrow my brow, stubbornly refusing to indulge him. “You’re not forgiven. You don’t get a kiss… and you don’t get to stay in my room.”

He groans, rubbing his eyebrows in frustration. “Oh my god. You’re such a brat. Why are you like this? I’m trying to fix things.”

“They aren’t fixed. Leave me alone,” I mutter, turning back to the mirror, focusing on brushing my hair, anything to avoid the pull of his gaze.

He steps closer, his expression softening, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I love you, baby girl. Please… stop being like this.”

I narrow my eyes, knowing exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to be all soft and sweet, pulling at my heartstrings, hoping I’ll melt and give in. But it’s not going to work. Not this time.

“Goodnight. The guest bedroom is perfect for you,” I say, flashing him a sarcastic smile.

He glares at me, his expression hardening in irritation. With a heavy sigh, he finally turns and leaves, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving me alone with the hollow ache that always seems to linger when he’s gone.

It’s late—sometime in the early hours, I’m sure—and I’ve barely settled into sleep when the faint sound of my bedroom door clicking shut pulls me out of my dreams. I stay still, eyes closed, hoping it’s just my imagination. But then I feel the bed shift, the mattress sinking slightly as a familiar warmth slips in beside me.

A heavy arm drapes over my waist, and I instinctively make a soft, annoyed sound, shifting away, but he just tightens his grip, pulling me back. His presence is warm, enveloping, and for a moment, I consider giving in, letting his touch soothe the tension between us. But I can’t quite shake my irritation, even through the haze of sleep.

“Baby… baby girl… shh…” His voice is soft, a gentle murmur as he leans in, pressing feather-light kisses along my neck and cheek. Each kiss is an apology, a quiet plea, and I can feel his regret seeping into each touch.

I hum in response, somewhere between annoyance and surrender, too drowsy to put up much of a fight. His hand slips under my shirt, his fingers gliding over my skin in slow, soothing circles, as if he’s trying to coax the tension out of me, to ease the edges of my frustration.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl…” he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. “I love you so much… please don’t be mad at me.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep within me, a part of me that’s been holding onto my anger, but now feels it starting to crumble. I want to hold onto it, to let him know how much he’s hurt me, but his gentle touch, the warmth of his apology, makes it hard to keep the walls up.

I sigh, barely able to form a coherent response, the words slipping out in a quiet murmur. “Lewis…”

His fingers trail lower, caressing the curve of my hip before slipping beneath the waistband of my panties. I squirm at the intimate touch, a shiver running through me despite my lingering irritation. His hand settles between my thighs, and I can't help but part them slightly, allowing him access.

"Let me make it up to you, baby girl," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Let me show you how much I love you."

I'm too sleepy to protest, the warmth of his touch lulling me back towards unconsciousness. My body responds to him, a soft moan escaping my lips as his fingers begin to move, stroking me gently, coaxing me towards arousal.

"That's it, baby," he whispers encouragingly. "Just relax for me. Let me take care of you."

His words wash over me, soothing and seductive, and I feel myself melting into his touch. My hips begin to move of their own accord, squirming against his hand as he works me closer and closer to the edge.

I'm lost in a haze of pleasure, the earlier argument fading away as his skillful fingers bring me to the brink of climax. Just as I'm about to fall over the edge, he withdraws his hand, leaving me frustrated and wanting more.

"Lewis..." I whine, my voice thick with need.

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as he shifts position. "Not yet, baby girl. I'm not done apologizing."

With that, he moves down the bed, settling between my legs. I feel his breath ghosting over my sensitive flesh, and I can't suppress the moan that escapes my lips. He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, before he leans in, his tongue sliding over me in one long, slow lick.

I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair as he begins to work me with his mouth, his tongue delving deep, stroking me in all the right places.

He continues his ministrations, his tongue swirling around my clit, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through my body. I can feel myself getting wetter.

"Fuck, Lewis," I moan, my hips squirming against his face. "Don't stop."

He obliges, doubling down on his efforts, his tongue delving deeper, his lips sucking harder. My fingers tighten in his hair, holding him in place as I grind against his mouth, chasing my release.

"You taste so fucking good, baby girl," he groans, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. "I could eat this pretty little pussy all night."

His words are filthy, but they only serve to turn me on more, spurring me towards my impending climax. I can feel it building, a coil of tension in my lower belly, winding tighter and tighter with each flick of his tongue.

"Lewis, I'm gonna... I'm gonna," I pant, my body tensing, my thighs quivering around his head.

He doesn't relent, his mouth working me feverishly, his tongue flicking rapidly over my clit, pushing me over the edge. I come with a cry, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me.

He laps it me up eagerly, prolonging my orgasm until I'm a trembling, boneless mess beneath him. Only then does he pull away, crawling back up my body to claim my lips in a deep, passionate kiss, sharing the taste of my own arousal with me.

"I love you, baby girl," he murmurs against my lips, his eyes shining with adoration.

I whimper slightly, the fleeing still lingers. I look at him as I become fully awake. Is he serious? Only Lewis would try this…

“‘Mmm…” I hum in response, not giving him the satisfaction of saying it back. He’s not forgiven, not matter how good he makes me feel.

His eyebrows furrow at me as he looks down at me. He sighs heavily, looking and sounding annoyed. He lays down next to me, cuddling close. I close my eyes… I’ll let him stay the here.

————————————-

Thank you for the appreciation on my posts!

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[muxshwriting]

stained flagstones

Leto Atreides x reader

summary: an attempted invasion of House Atreides has leto running through the halls to find you || warnings: set before dune, Paul is your son, fighting, spying, murder, injuries, blood trails, over-protective leto, yelling || word count: 1259 || masterlist

The whole planet seems to be in pandemonium as spies infiltrated Caladan and set their sights on the Atreides palace. Guards raised the call close to midnight and the hallways seemed to be filled with people since.

"What's going on?" You call after Leto who's donning his armour.

"Spies."

It's only one word but the gravity of the situation comes crashing down on you. Without another word, you jump out of bed and begin hurriedly begin changing into clothes easier to fight in, tucking blades and daggers into the folds of your clothing.

Leto frowns at your actions. "You're staying here."

"If there's a fight, I'm fighting."

"I don't want it to come to that. You're staying here."

"No." There was no changing your mind as the argument bounced between you. "I'll stay away from the frontline of fighting but I won't stay put."

Leto sighed, reaching for your hand. "Okay. Go to Paul?"

"Of course."

A minimal portion of tension slips from Leto as you pull him forward into an embrace. It's the small things you value between the pair of you. There are some things that you never need to say to him and vice versa. Stay safe, come back to me alive.

"I love you." That was something that would always be said. It was known, but it could never be overstated.

The pair of you shared a kiss before parting your separate ways down the corridor, weaving between guards and Atreides fighters. As you parted, you couldn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach that something was terribly wrong. In all your experience of conflicts and fights, this feeling had ever made itself known.

You're running before realisation sets in, drawing a blade to sit in your hand. There are four soldiers stationed outside Paul's room and they move aside as you approach. "Is all clear in this area?" You ask quietly to one.

"Yes Duchess. Your son has been confined to his chambers, all entrances are being watched."

"Thank you."

You slip through the doors, scanning the room for your son. "Paul?"

The reply comes instantaneously. "Ma?"

"I'm here."

"Where's Father?" Paul asks, glancing behind you to see if Leto followed you in. It was rare to see the two of you apart, even on the battlefield.

"He's gone to find the attackers."

Paul nods, turning away from you and moving to his window. The rain batters the glass, hiding outside from view. He looks stressed, like he's carrying a weight o his shoulders and bearing a secret.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?" You press gently, knowing Paul would tell you when he was ready.

Paul shook his head then nodded. "It's my dreams. They've become more real than dream-like."

"The past or the future."

"Both."

You're about to answer, reassure him that all would resolve itself and the world would be righted once again but a crash outside the door stops you. It's followed by shouts and cries of soldiers being slain and your grip tightens on your blade.

"Ma?" There's a tremor in Paul's voice that breaks your heart.

Your voice is a murmur as you answer. "I want you to hide. Don't come out until you hear me or your father, understood?"

Paul swallows the lump in his throat, taking the dagger you offer him as he turns and runs to another part of his chambers.

You take a shaky inhale to steady your breath as you ready yourself for the fight that is to come. You have to protect Paul, that's the only objective in your mind. Find the attackers and lead them away from Paul. The crashes in the hallway grow closer as you slip out of the door and join your remaining soldiers. The stench of blood hits you immediately as you notice soldiers lying dead, scattered in front of you as an group of attacker approach.

"Lead them away from here." You sign your instructions to the guard beside you and he nods in understanding.

He calls out orders as you head the pack, facing your attackers head on. The group of your fighters lead the attackers down the maze of corridors until you're far away from Paul. You catch a glimpse of the attackers: Harkonnens. Of course it was, they had been fighting the Atreides for centuries.

You turn to face them with no option but to fight. One visibly pales, glancing to his companions to see if they should run themselves. You're like a raging bull as you stride towards them, anger dripping off your skin and exuding from your bones. These Harkonnens dare to come to your house, on your planet and they have the nerve to run from a fight they started?

Your knife slices through the air, cutting through supple flesh and knocking Harkonnens to the floor. But they keep coming, fighting harder and fighting faster with every second that passes. A sense of dread replaces the anger you held, sinking deeper and deeper.

The guards behind support you but the intruders manage several hits and slashes past your shields. There's blood dripping from your wounds, leaving a trail behind you on the stone floor. The sight of it drives your panic higher as the bleeding wouldn't stop, no matter how hard you tried. It's dripping down you fingers, leaving your grip slick as you reach for your knife once more.

There's blood dripping from your wounds, leaving a trail behind you on the stone floor. The sight of it drives your panic higher as the bleeding wouldn't stop, no matter how hard you tried. It's dripping down you fingers, leaving your grip slick as you reach for your knife once more.

You can't stop now, there might still be Harkonnens within your walls. There was no telling if Leto was safe, if Paul was safe. You couldn't stop now. You're aware you might be leading the spies towards you, leaving a path directly to you in your blood. But it's a risk you're willing to take, a fight you'd bet on winning despite your injuries.

Time passes strangely in your shadowed mind. It's all a haze as you creep through the hallways of your home, pausing to listen for unfamiliar steps. The chaos of the invasion turns into coordinated noise of marching and shouted orders.

But it's Leto's voice that cuts through the commotion, calling your name with increasing panic. He draws closer, and you let yourself breathe for the first time in hours. You turn, just as Leto rounds the corridor and sees you standing. Your side is soaked in blood, clothes ruined with a blade still in your hand. The blood had led him here, running through the hallways followed by his men in search of you.

"Paul?" Leto commended how your first concern was always your son, not yourself.

"He's alright. The Harkonnens never got near him."

As the adrenaline wore off, the pain and fatigue of your injuries began to hit you with full force. "Thank goodness."

"Are you alright my love?"

You're leaning on him, putting more and more weight on him as your strength finally fails you. "I don't think so. But I'll be okay. It's not as bad as it looks."

"Okay." His voice is quiet as he takes in your state. "Let's get you to a medic then we'll talk, yeah?"

"Yeah."

He pressed his forehead to yours and says with a whisper, "I love you." It would always be said. It was known, but it could never be overstated.

[ladykailitha]

The Last Dragon Slayer Part 4

Things are really heating up now and I have been sitting on this reveal for ages. I can't wait for you too read it!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

~

Steffan and Mira began talking and filling each other in on what they had done in the intervening years.

“So the Sir Steffan who had been the slayer of many a dragonkin was you?” she asked sorrowfully.

Steffan could only nod, hanging his head in shame.

“But only the evil ones!” Edwin cried. “I checked. Both him and his master, Iago were very strict about that. Any dragon who was minding their own business or made only reasonable demands, were left alone, but those who made the life humans hard or were straight up murdering, pillaging, and destroying the country side were killed.”

Mira turned to Steffan. “Is this true, son?”

Steffan looked up at her, eyes brimming in gratitude for Edwin sticking up for him. “Yes, Mother.”

“Then we dragons are in you and your master’s debt,” she said solemnly. “By dragon slayers such as yourself taking on such a burdensome task, we were able to to further drive away those that caused trouble providing a peaceful relationship with the humans.”

Edwin nodded. “It’s true.”

“Where did you go after Father gave me away?” Steffan asked quietly, again looking down, picking at the skin around his nails.

“This is where it will become painful,” she said gently, “for us both.”

Steffan looked up at her curiously and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Your father must have taken another baby from one of his subjects and passed the boy off as you,” she explained. “So thinking that that boy was you, I stayed nearby. As close as dared without alerting your father I was there. But I stayed to watch you grow. Only for Edwin to come to me with your locket, proof that the man masquerading as the prince was an imposter and that I had wasted my day looking after the wrong boy.”

Steffan blinked at her, emotions warring for dominance across his face before settling on something like dismay. “There is no way that he would let the mother live to go telling tales, is there?”

Edwin and Mira exchanged a pained glance.

“No,” Mira confirmed. “The sins of your father are compounded every day and in every way. I’m sorry.”

Steffan shook his head. “I never did hold fondness for a man who would willing give away his own flesh and blood. To hear his misdeeds is to court something like relief if I am honest.”

Edwin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Mayhaps it is time we did to King Dylan that which dragon slayers did to those evil dragons and remove the festering pustule.”

Mira and Steffan looked at each and grinned.

“Mayhaps indeed,” Mira agreed.

~

Steffan borrowed a horse from the king or rather Edgewraith did. A dragon at your doorstep is a persuasive argument indeed.

Then Mirrorwing and Edgewraith flew behind Steffan as he rode into town. The people who were alive to remember the death of Queen Mairwen hid in their homes in terror, while the other townspeople looked on in curiosity.

Steffan rode all the way up to the main gate of the castle. It was drawn as if to ward off an invasion, but the dragons flew past it as if it was mere fog on the banks of a river. Mirrorwing perched on top of one of the tallest towers, while Edgewraith curled up in the courtyard, like a contented house cat.

Steffan and the brave horse, who managed the whole ride there without trying to dash its brains out in terror of his riders traveling companions, stood outside of the gate in full armor and called out to the king to meet him.

King Dylan had no choice but to walk past the dragon sentries to the front gate to meet the knight at his doorstep. He road out in gold armor on white horse, sword in hand.

“You come to my home and make demands with dragons at your beck and call,” King Dylan snarled. “Have you no knowledge of what has transpired here?”

“More than the good people here,” Sir Steffan snarled. “I know that the prince is a foundling and not the true heir.”

“You blaspheme!” King Dylan bellowed. “Prince Steffan is my flesh and blood and I will call upon God as my witness!”

Edgewraith chuckled darkly. “Your God is dead if he ever existed in the first place.”

*giggles, followed by shushing noises*

“And he would not aid a deceiver such as yourself, Dylan, were he able to do so,” Mirrorwing scoffed.

King Dylan froze in his saddle. He turned slowly to the bronze dragon in mounting horror. He knew that voice as well as his own.

“Mairwen?” he breathed. “Have you escaped justice for what you have done? You call me a deceiver but you have sinned far worse than I!”

“Yes, loving you was always a sin,” Mirrorwing sighed. “But that was my only sin. You have stolen, murdered, deceived, and you have turned away your own flesh and blood.”

“You are a beast!” King Dylan snarled, rounding his horse around to face the bronze dragon. The horse neighed and bucked but the king got the animal under his control again. “You feel no love, you deserve no quarter.”

“But you do not deny giving your son away,” Edgewraith noted dryly. “That is a greater sin.”

“Bah!” King Dylan scoffed. “That half-breed is probably dead by now. Sir Iago is a drunkard and a coward, he probably drowned him days after I gave him away.”

It was then that Sir Steffan removed his helm and tossed it at the ground at King Dylan’s horse’s feet.

“He cared more for me that you would have in a thousand lifetimes,” Sir Steffan intoned. “He raised me with morals and integrity, something you clearly lack.”

“He looks like the old queen!” one of the guards at the gate gasped.

“Whoa!”

“Shut up and let him finish!”

“Yeah, it’s getting good!”

King Dylan whirled around again and the horse was not having it. It began bucking again, and this time the king came crashing to the ground. Then there was the sounds of the gate being raised. But before the king could even call out stop, Sir Steffan had slipped under the portcullis and the king’s horse ran out of the gate past him.

“I am the true prince!” Sir Steffan called. “I am the son of King Dylan and Queen Mairwen! Me! Not some imposter in the high tower! Where is the interloper? Where is the coward?!”

Suddenly all the guards fanned out pointed their swords at not Sir Steffan, but King Dylan. Sir Steffan shared a look of sheer panic with Edgewraith. What was going on?

Then out stepped a man from the doors to the castle who could have been the king in his younger days. He had dark hair and eyes, a slim build and a pleasing countenance.

The guards bowed to this newcomer.

“What is the meaning of this!?” King Dylan bellowed, grasping at his sword as he tried to get up at the same time.

“Forgive me,” the newcomer said to Sir Steffan, “I am Prince Steffan, or that is who I was told I was my whole life. As for what is going on, I’m afraid this is me speeding up your deposition. I had been plotting your removal from the throne for a least a year.”

“Traitor!” King Dylan cried, struggling to get to his knees. “I am beset on all sides! Forsaken by all, but especially God!”

Prince Steffan shook his head. “I’m afraid God does not help the sinner commit more sins.” He turned to the guard who had said that Sir Steffan looked like the old queen. “Seize King Dylan and toss him the dungeon to be dealt with at a later time.”

He looked up at the dragons. “There is a back way, may I recommend it for us to speak more privately.”

Edgewraith and Mirrorwing nodded and then took to the air.

The two Steffans looked at each other.

“My dragons are gone,” Sir Steffan growled. “You could kill me right here, right now and no one would bat an eye. The throne would yours and no one would be the wiser, nor would they care.”

Prince Steffan scoffed. “As if your dragon friends would let me live to see the sun set this day if I did so. Same with throwing you in the dungeon and throwing away the key. No, Sir Steffan. I must treat you like the honored guest you are or all that I have toiled for these many years will be for naught.

Sir Steffan bowed his head. “Then show me to a place we may speak privately, your highness.”

The prince nodded and then turned to lead the way back into the castle of his birth.

~

When the prince led him to a small copse where they could converse he was shocked to see the old queen and a young man with long dark curls and piercing black eyes.

The prince whirled around to make sure Sir Steffan had not changed as well.

But the knight remained as ever human.

“What sorcery is this!” the prince cried. “Where have the dragons gone? Who are these people?”

“I’m Mira,” the queen said softly. “I am a dragon who fell in love with King Dylan and changed her form to be with him. I stayed with him until the breech birth of my son caused me to turn back into my dragon form.”

“Oh gods!” Prince Steffan cried, whirling around to look at all three of them in turn. “And he had you banished, the midwife slain, and his true heir sent off to learn to kill dragons and for what?”

“So that I might accidentally kill my own mother,” Sir Steffan said with a sigh. “And once the king learned of her death he would throw it in my face, the grave sin I committed. But dragon slayers don’t work like that. We follow the knight’s code. She had done no one harm, but by accident. No slayer would have come near her.”

Mira’s eyes glistened. “I thought you my child, I had not known of King Dylan’s betrayal and swapping the two of you at birth. You have no claim to the throne of this kingdom.”

“He wasn’t my father?” the prince cried. “Was that why he was so cruel?”

“No,” the dark haired youth said, speaking for the first time. “He was always that cruel. You are just a mere stepping stone in a long line of his road to hell.”

The prince let out a sob. “But I love these people, I have grown beside them and they care for me, too.”

“I have no desire to rule,” Sir Steffan said. “I will swear an oath to never lay claim to the throne. A blood oath if need be. I just have one request.”

“Anything!”

“That I be the one to execute the king for his crimes.”

Yes, yes, yes!

~

It took a week for everything to be sorted and then Sir Steffan stood in front of the townspeople with his sword out.

“I was raised to believe that I was the true child of King Dylan and Queen Mairwen, but it was lies of evil men to sow discord and cast doubt on the legitimacy of Prince Steffan’s line to the throne. I denounce all claim to the crown. But to end the reign of tyranny Prin–no. King Steffan has granted me a boon, that I may be the force of which to end him once and for all!”

The crowd roared and Steffan brought the sword down on the old king’s neck, severing his head. The new king picked up the head and placed in on a spike so that all that came to the kingdom would know what happened to those who did evil.

“And then Edwin and Steffan went back to the village where they found out that the stupid King Richard had died and his son the new King Caradoc was much nicer guy and the town prospered under his rule.

“Edwin and Steffan are like super happy because even though he can’t change into a dragon, he’s still a half dragon. Which means he’ll live for a super long time and they live happily ever after. And years pass and they had a clutch of eggs. Those eggs hatched into young that resembled more of a full dragon than that of a half.”

“After generations, they brought raise to those who would be the dragonborns, descendants of the original two. So that’s the story of the linage of Killian Bloodwraith, my dragonborn knight!” Eddie concluded with a flourish.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mike huffed. “How do two boy dragons have babies anyway?”

Eddie just shrugged. “Magic.”

“I don’t care that it’s two boys,” Dustin huffed. “I more concerned that a lawful good bronze dragon and a chaotic evil black dragon were even friends let alone in love!”

“Plus that’s not how dragonborn work, anyway,” Lucas said, pulling out his rule book. “They’re created by Bahamut!”

Eddie crossed his arms and threw himself back against his chair. “I like my version better!”

Jeff rolled his eyes and turned to Will. “It’s up to you, man. You’re the DM if you want to allow it...”

Will thought about it for a moment. “Let me look at your character sheet.” He waved his fingers Eddie’s direction.

Eddie handed it over. “It’s a monster build. I made sure it wasn’t too OP.”

Will nodded sagely. “I’ll allow it.”

The three other boys looked as though they were going to protest, but one look at Will’s happy face and they folded faster than a deck of cards.

Will clapped his hands together. “Let’s get started! I call to order the first session of the Hellfire Club of 1985-1986 school year!”

~

Part 5

*Cackles as she runs away*

Tag List: TWO SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs @chaotic-waffle

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @cryptid-system @kultiras @themoonagainstmers

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @wheneverfeasible @notaqueenakhaleesi @stripey82 @estrellami-1 @irregular-child

10- @steddieislife @ollyxar @eyehartart

[radawaycunt]

A Quick Fix

“Trust me, if you find some lucky guy to try this with, you’ll be on him like a crazed Yao Guai.” 

-

Also on AO3

Pairing: Charon x Fem!Lone Wanderer (reader)

WC: 3.1k words

Summary: You -- the lone wanderer -- are persuaded by a Rivet City vendor to buy some Ant Queen Pheromones to try out with Charon... what's the worst that could happen?

Warnings: use of aphrodisiac (queen ant pheromones), so like sex pollen trope basically, pre-established (though secret) relationship, smut, very enthusiastic consent, unprotected p in v, irradiated creampie, oral (m receiving), ghoul sex, swearing, biting, sillyyyy ending, and uhhhhh i think thats it but lmk if anything else!

————

You weren’t sure why you’d let Cindy Cantelli talk you into buying it. You were just trying to get regular medical supplies, declining her offer of high-quality chems as usual. But then her eyes slyly drifted to Charon, your constant shadow, and she leaned in conspiratorially.

“I’ve got something pretty rare that you might be interested in trying,” she whispered, raising an eyebrow slightly. “You might even thank me later.”

You raised your eyebrows as well, bemused. “What is it?”

“Ant queen pheromones,” she said. “Strongest aphrodisiac there is. Nearly impossible to find, but I got lucky enough to get my hands on some.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you gaped at her, but damn it if you weren’t hooked on the idea already. It took all your willpower not to look back at Charon and basically confirm her suspicions. The sort of, ah, relationship you had with him was usually frowned upon, so it was better to keep it lowkey. Not that you gave a shit what others thought, but your business was your own, and you wanted to avoid any more disrespect directed at him.

“Trust me, if you find some lucky guy to try this with, you’ll be on him like a crazed Yao Guai.” She winked.

You considered her words and narrowed your eyes at her suspiciously, unsure why she was being so insistent. “Why offer it to me?”

She raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, a girl’s gotta have her fun from time to time. You sure look like you need it.”

After that, you’d grumbled something about blatant invasion of privacy, but you didn’t really have an argument to contradict her. And so, a whopping ninety-five caps later, you secured a small vial of the amber-and-green nectar.

Charon was none the wiser, but he had been curious as to why you were so quiet when you’d gone to get dinner at Gary’s Galley, avoiding his eye. Even a casual hand on your leg under the table had felt like too much, a strange anticipation setting you on edge.

Still, you continued not to say anything and decided to experiment with it first. You had to make sure you hadn’t been scammed, and if you had, you’d rather take that loss without being silently judged for your rash – and not to mention horny – decisions.

Later, back in your room at the Weatherly hotel, you’d locked yourself in the bathroom and stared at the vial on the counter for an ungodly amount of time. Fuck it. What exactly did you have to lose? Your dignity? That was long gone already. Might as well try to have some fun, as Cindy had so delicately suggested.

The ant nectar almost tasted like honey sliding down your throat, but it was also strangely earthy, like dewy grass. You stuck your tongue out with mild displeasure and shuddered, hating the slightly slimy consistency. Then, you stared at your reflection almost accusingly, expecting to feel the effects right away. 

But no, it was much more gradual than that. 

You took off your vault suit for the night, remaining in a tank top and underwear, which was usually what you slept in. You came out of the bathroom already feeling half defeated, sheepishly smiling at him as you crossed over to sit on the mattress. Charon was already familiar with the sight of you like that, so he didn’t look up twice from his task of cleaning his shotgun. 

You quietly watched him work for some time — the flex and roll of his arm muscles with every swipe of the rag, his slight frown of concentration, and the casual way he sat with his legs spread. Almost like an invitation to sit on his lap… 

You hummed softly in thought. It wasn’t hard for you to be affected by him on a regular basis, but you couldn’t yet discern if the pheromones were doing anything extra. You stretched out on your side on the mattress, propping your head on one hand and drawing idle circles on your hip with the other. 

Heat began to slowly creep upwards from the tips of your toes. Your vision sharpened to the point where you could discern even the smallest details of things around you. Your skin prickled with hyperawareness, your body feeling more and more sensitive as the minutes ticked by. Soon enough, you were absently rubbing your thighs together like a languorous cricket, your eyes straying lower and lower on Charon’s body.

The slight movements and your soft, ill-concealed sighs caught his attention, and he looked over at you with one brow muscle raised. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said all too quickly, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

He narrowed his eyes, noticing your flushed features, shallow breaths, and hardened nipples poking through your thin tank top. He shifted in his seat, hips lazily bucking upwards, your eyes immediately following the movement. Your breathing hitched. 

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Are you teasing me right now?” You countered, flustered, and crossed your arms over your chest. 

You sucked in a breath at the small contact with your breasts, which were so sensitive it was almost painful. One corner of his lips tugged up in a small, intrigued smirk, and you swallowed hard. Your mouth seemed full of saliva all of a sudden, a thin string of it connecting your lips even as they parted. A heavy, incandescent ache had settled between your thighs, throbbing with every beat of your heart.

Well, fuck. So it is working, after all.

“Charon,” you breathed, already so much like a plea, though it was laced with slight panic. 

“If you want me, all you have to do is ask,” he said evenly, catching a strong whiff of your arousal. “No need to beat around the bush.”

Oh, he wanted to play it that way, did he?  Well, you would make it crystal clear for him, then.

You stood up and approached him, slotting yourself between his strong thighs. Your pupils were blown wide with desire, like two chasms swallowing your irises. You placed your hands on his shoulders, humming pleasurably at the unnatural warmth he radiated.

“I need you,” you said, voice thick.

Despite the interested twitch of his cock in his pants, he was slightly worried at your sudden wantonness. Not that you hadn’t very happily jumped his bones before, but he sensed there was something more he couldn’t quite put his finger on. After all, you were literally looking at him as though you might die if he didn’t plow you like a fertile field right then and there.

“You’re shaking,” he noted, large hands resting on your hips in an attempt to stabilize you.

“You’ve never complained about that before,” you joked half-heartedly, licking your lips. 

“Because I’ve never seen you like this before,” he countered, one hand roaming up to experimentally pinch one of your nipples over the dirty cotton, making you cry out. He hummed in thought, assessing your body almost like he did a target.

“Please, don’t be mean today,” you whined, feeling like your blood was boiling, thighs rubbing together in a futile attempt to ease some of the ache. “Don’t tease me.”

His milky blue eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark humor swimming within them. “You have never complained about that before.” 

Your grip on his shoulders tightened. “Charon.”

He huffed with amusement, but relented. “How exactly do you need me?”

“Break me, bend me, rip me apart with your teeth, I don’t fucking care,” you urged, surprising him once again. “However you want to do it, just take me.”

There was a low growl in his throat as his own fire was stoked by your blunt words. But before he gave into the siren’s call of your soft flesh, he needed to know just what the hell had gotten into you first. The hand that was still on your chest crept up to your throat, not squeezing but merely holding you in place as he gave you a stern look.

“What did you do?” He asked.

You huffed indignantly and looked away. “Why are you assuming I did anything?”

He narrowed his eyes, his fingers tightening on your windpipe slightly in warning. You grasped his wrist as your mind went a little hazy, your eyes heavy-lidded. 

“Mmm, yeah, do that harder,” you purred, thoughts drifting down a darker, headier path.

“Stop it.” He bared his teeth in a snarl. “Just tell me the truth, or I won’t lay another finger on you.”

You let out an irritated growl, baring yours in return. You were suddenly all too aware of your teeth and your nails and a yawning hunger to tear and be torn. Perhaps Cindy’s description of a crazed Yao Guai wasn’t too far off. At least, you certainly wanted him to maul you like one. 

But he wouldn’t until you admitted the embarrassing part first, though somehow, even the mild humiliation of putting yourself in that situation was arousing. Perhaps you wouldn’t even mind if he degraded you a little bit for it, if the shudder that threatened to run down your spine at the thought was any indication.

“Fine,” you snapped. “I may or may not have been relentlessly persuaded into buying some ant queen pheromones… and I may have also highly underestimated how strong they actually are…”

“Huh,” he said simply, eyes roving over you once more. “And now you want me to fix it for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m planning on putting in the work, too,” you said, tone inevitably dipping into sly territory once more. “As fun as you using me like a ragdoll to your heart’s content sounds…”

“I could,” he mused, almost sounding bored as he moved to grasp the hem of your shirt with both hands. “You already gave me permission to.”

With that, he tugged sharply and ripped your tank top in half, making you gasp. He tossed what remained of it to the side unceremoniously, hungrily eyeing your breasts. There would be more time later to chastise him for ruining the few items of clothing you had, but in the meantime, an excited thrill ran through you, tinged with a hint of fear at having given him free rein. 

You knew he wouldn’t actually hurt you… at least not in ways you didn’t want to be hurt. But still, your mind ran wild with possibilities, each more vulgar than the next.

You thought he’d put his hands on you again, but he made no move to do so. Instead, he pushed his chair back and widened the space between his legs, gaze flicking down to the floor in silent command. Make it worth my time, his eyes said.

Oh. Oh, yes. He wasn’t wrong when he said you liked him getting mean. 

You sank to your knees immediately, salivating like a dog begging for a treat. Already, there was a prominent bulge straining against his leather pants, but his face betrayed nothing of his arousal. He kept his hands at his sides and adjusted his hips forward, but he didn’t attempt to help you more than that. You did say you’d be putting in the work, after all.

Moaning deliriously, you bent your head to rub your cheek against it, tongue catching some of the leather as well. You heard his low, throaty rumbling and felt yourself clenching around nothing. Ever since he got slightly more comfortable about vocalizing his pleasure, you couldn’t get enough of it. 

With shaking hands, you undid his belt and fumbled with both his fly and button. He lifted his hips slightly so you could tug down his pants enough to free his hardening cock, the leaking head of it hitting his lower abdomen. For a moment, you could hear an angelic choir hitting a high note in your mind, and all you could do was stare.

But then his hand fisted in your hair with a certain insistence, and you bent your head again almost reverently. You dragged your tongue slowly from his sac up to the head of his cock, savoring his rough, textured skin.

A few messy kisses on his shaft had him grunting, but his hips flexed as you swirled your tongue over the sensitive tip. Then you took him into your mouth, swallowing him down, down, down until tears gathered at your lashes from trying not to choke. His fist tightened on your hair, tugging close to your scalp and making you moan weakly around him. You had never taken him so far down your throat before, nor had you made such a mess.

You felt some arousal leaking out the side of your already-soaked panties, running down your inner thigh and dripping onto the floor. You came up for air, obscene ropes of saliva and precum connecting your lips to his cock. Seeing how he was beginning to ruin you so beautifully, his snarl was positively feral. He let you tongue him a little more, but then he pulled you back by the hair when he felt his abdominal muscles start to tense.

“Get up,” he rasped, letting go of you so he could also stand. 

Your legs were wobbly as you somehow managed to stand, but you almost lost your footing as he spun you around, bending you over the table he’d been cleaning his gun at. You tried to reach back to touch him, wriggling against him as he leaned his weight on you to keep you in place. He pinned your hands behind your back with one of his and roughly pulled down your panties with the other, making you giggle almost hysterically.

“Please,” you mewled again, shifting your hips in an attempt to grind your ass against him. 

“Be quiet,” he grunted, kicking your legs apart and slotting his cock against your puffy, dripping pussy, coating himself with your arousal. 

The impatient, almost animalistic sounds you made would have probably worried him in any other situation, but presently he was enjoying drawing out the torture a little bit. His hips pulled back so he could probe at your slit with rough fingers. He did so without much dexterity or rhythm, but the sudden contact with your stiffened bundle of nerves had your muscles seizing up.

And then, as the tip of his thumb dipped slightly into your cunt, merely teasing you, you nosedived over the edge so quickly you nearly got vertigo. The fiery tingles in your belly made your toes curl and your eyes screwed shut. He drew out your first release by messily circling your clit with his middle finger, feeling your wrists slightly straining against his grip.

But even as you rode it out, it was not enough. You were left a whimpering, pathetic mess, mindlessly begging him to fill you up. It was like music to his ears and finally – mercifully – he sank fully inside you in a single thrust. He let go of your hands to spread your ass so he could better see his cock slowly going in and out of you. Your hands scrabbled for purchase at the edge of the table, the delicious stretch of him inside you making your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

He leaned forward, his weight flattening you on the table, each deep, hard thrust punching a strangled sound from your lungs. And to top it all off? His hand came to rest on your head, effectively immobilizing you and leaving you completely at his mercy. Well… your brain was due for a good reset, anyway.

“Is this what you wanted?” He growled, pleasantly surprising you by being much more vocal than he usually was during the act.

“Fuuuck… y-yes,” you sobbed, cheek dragging against the metal of the table as you nodded. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

His hips snapped into yours loudly, the wet squelch of his cock spearing your cunt both erotic and absolutely filthy. As he felt you start to spasm around his cock, pleasure clouded his senses and he held onto his self-control by a thread. Something about having you like this, once again corrupting your perfect smooth body with his much larger, ruined one, made something primal and fierce rise within him. 

He bent his head until his lips touched your shoulder, planting a kiss so light you thought you imagined it, perhaps as an apology. Then you felt the graze of his teeth for a millisecond before they sank into your shoulder just hard enough for the sharp sting to make you wail.

The second orgasm hit you like the swing of a super mutant’s makeshift sword, bright white stars pirouetting across your vision. Your soul felt like it was flung out of your desperate body, the rush of endorphins like the Potomac closing over your head, pulling you under. You clenched around him hard, milking him for all he was worth, and he was pulled right along with you.

Spurts of warmth filled you as his cock twitched, every wave of ecstasy punctuated by a grunt. His thrusts were shallow and sloppy as he rode it out to the end, tongue tracing the teeth marks he’d left behind on your shoulder. You’d gone slack beneath him, soft little sounds of contentment escaping your lips, smiling dopily with your eyes closed. 

“Are you… okay?” He panted, torso pulling back so he wouldn’t be squishing you anymore.

“I feel like my bones are made of jelly,” you giggled breathlessly. “Just… give me a few minutes to recover. I’m not… I’m not done with you yet.”

He couldn’t help but snort, absolutely appalled. “I do not think that is going to happen.”

You managed to open your eyes a sliver to peer up at him slyly. “Try me.”

—-----------------

Early the next morning, while Charon was still knocked out and snoring, you somehow managed to waddle back down to the Rivet City Marketplace. You wore a pair of sunglasses you’d found discarded by the stairs and a scarf you’d borrowed from Vera wrapped over your head. Not that it was a very good disguise, but you felt that if people couldn’t see your eyes directly, then they wouldn’t know of all your sins. 

Like spending the night rutting away like animals with spring fever, for starters. 

Cindy, of course, was not fooled in the slightest. She smirked as she saw you approach her stand, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting an eyebrow. 

“So… I take it things went well?” she said a little too smugly for your taste.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool. “I just came to say thank you.”

You gave her an extra ten caps, just as a tip. Her smirk widened as she pocketed them, all too happy to have another satisfied customer.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she said. 

The two of you nodded at each other and nothing else was said, but there would always be a mutual knowledge that a very good night was had within Rivet City’s walls.

------

More of my Charon content here!

[eepy-cookies]

Fem Y/N lore when?

(I say curious)

She was once named Sugar Crystal Cookie, a craftswomen and the assistant to Blueberry Yogurt Cookie in the academy, often assisting him in giving the supplies he needs and the experience he needs to create new found of knowledge. Ever since her assistance it allowed him to craft the materials to create books, spells, etc as the fount of knowledge. They both got along very well as the first adult cookies made by the witches themselves.

But there are two problems…. but mainly at Sugar Crystal Cookie, one she has missing ingredients in her dough thus she hide the fact that she got an illness that can never be cured, two there might be a day where she might crumbled away the best she can do is to live and use here talents to the best of her own abilities. Of course Blueberry Yogurt Cookie found out and they got a bad argument and got separated due to health complications (it was also the path of his sanity losing to corruption), but before he was able to apologize she was missing and when he learned that the other cookies took her he was speechless.

He tried everything he can to locater and find her, but there is no answers….

She was captured to who knows where.

During the beasts invasion, Sugar Crystal Cookie was captured and was tested by other cookies who are also desperate to create a cure for an illness that cannot be cured not even the witches can cure it. It was pure hell for her, and another cookie who was beside her also had the same illness as her, his name is already forgotten and she knew that worse experiments will happen to her if she didn’t escape he agrees with her and they attempt to escape while everything was in pure chaos.

She captured a black crystal that represents her suspiciously she would ignore it but that crystal holds the worse case scenario if she didn’t take it, but at what cost?

.

.

.

“Do you wish to live?”

“…”

“Your time here in earthbred is limited and yet here you are desperate to survive.”

“…”

“So… whats your answer?”

“…”

.

.

“Yes….I wish to live!”

She was the only survivor who absorbed and escaped the building? She had no idea that who capture thing was all on a script a witch put her through, the witch put her to a trial, a trial if she is capable of handling the corruption despite being ill. The black crystal infection was her only cure for her own illness, it was never a soul jam.

The only way to make sure she stays stables she had to suppress her emotions. It will eat her up alive but she had no other choice, she was a doll to a different person’s stage. Every emotion she had will increase her infection that might crumble her. She would be able to control it if she manages to move on, but the only thing she did was suppress her emotions way too long before Gingerbrave’s adventure.

Before the force retirement, she meet up with 4 other cookies ever since she made her corrupted self Executioner Cookie as her personal butler/friend/assistant.

They are not from their own souljams either, but these 4 cookies were from another world taking on a new name to hide themselves.

But it was also the reason why she had to train to survive, but when the other cookies found her interesting she had to take extra measures to keep things in control. However, she knew that things can go wrong so fast if she make a wrong move.

.

Her last resort is to force retirement with her personal butler and travel far and wide to avoid those types of cookies, she witness them being horribly greedy once before, she isn’t going through it again a second time.

.

Currently she is found in the player’s kingdom as a assistant to give the gnomes a refresher on food and water slowly recovering and moving on.

(rest of the files of her will not be said)