#✦ ╮ ○ ‘ v. everyone around you dies ❪ canon. ❫

[aro-aizawa]

sighsss thinking abt my voltron aus again

[gladiatorcunt]

🍒🍦 ⸺ ᳂ cherry vanilla dr. pepper !!!

cw: afab reader, voyeurism, tashi and you make out while you get pounded, weird amalgamation of dehumanization/objectification/pet play, subby!art coded, spit roasting at the end, slight overstimulation, bizarre orgy vibes, mean dom!tashi to everyone but you <3, implied breeding/creampie kink, canon typical mind games, tashi sits in the cuck chair /j, implied romantic feelings but no mention of established romantic relationships, slight mxm, clit stimulation, one use of “mommy”

happy challengers day 🎾💚

consider commissioning me or leaving me a tip !

“Round 4 will be the last one, alright? Get ready, baby.”

You take deep breaths, clutching onto Patrick’s wrist. You lock eyes with Tashi, feeling syrupy sweet deep in your gut. She grins and unbuttons the top buttons of her shirt, leaving you three to your own devices for now.

The stretch of Patrick’s cock stings and burns a little but Art nipping at your hip bones helps distract you. Patrick pants against the nape of your neck, you feel so divinely tight he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.

He keeps his voice low so Tashi can’t hear him, “Fuck-you feel incredible, i’d kill for this pussy, you know that.”

“Hook your arm around their neck, good boy.” Tashi instructs Patrick, leaning back in the hotel chair and palming her pussy at the sight in front of her.

“Yes, ma’am.” He swiftly calls back, acting like he hadn’t said anything to you at all.

Patrick has you in a headlock, pummeling his cock in and out of your pussy with reckless abandon. Art is beneath the two of you, suckling on your clit like it’s a nipple he’s trying to get milk out of. He licks where you’re stretched around Patrick, drawing groans from you both and a chuckle from Tashi.

“Be a good dog and lap them up, okay? I’d hate to have to take away your toy privileges.” She sneers, sliding her damp underwear to the side and stroking her slit.

The “toy” in the equation isn't you.

You’re dead to the world, eyes bulging out of their sockets and nails trying to rip the white sheet to shreds. Your head and tits rock back and forth with Patrick’s thrusts, already on the brink of your fourth orgasm. You try to scream that you can’t take anymore, but you wanna make Tashi proud so you shut up.

“ ‘s so good…” Art hums into your mound, pecking little kisses onto it here and there.

His sounds are muffled but the vibrations send your eyes to the back of your head. The chair in the corner of the room creaks as Tashi gets up, and the second you lift your head and open your eyes, she’s smiling down at you with all the warmth she doesn’t give the men pleasing you. This isn’t about them, it never was.

“Patrick’s so big, Tashi-he’s unggggh-he’s gonna kill me!” You whine, desperately pawing at her clothed breasts.

She coos and pulls her blouse up, bringing your hands to cup her tits and keeping them there, “Baby you know he’s not, this pussy can take a beating. I’d only give you the best toys.”

You nod wordlessly, pouting your lips. She gets the message and claims your lips in a searing kiss, luxuriating in the slick slide of your lips. She loves to make it messy, getting spit all over your mouths and letting it drip on the bed.

Art mewls and flicks your clit, trying to get your attention. You feel bad and try to pull away from Tashi, but she yanks you back into the kiss and bites your lip as a punishment. You hiccup into her mouth, startled when Patrick starts jackhammering into you.

Tashi typically has them alternate, but Art prefere to bury his face between your thighs and Patricks likes to play with fire by cumming inside your sore cunt. He doesn’t speak as much as Art does, but sometimes he holds Tashi stare as you two make out. They’ll have to retire from Tashi’s “employment” eventually, and they’ll be taking you with them when they do. All games of keep away end.

Patrick traces letters and shapes on the glistening skin of your sweaty back, sloppy hearts and ‘ I - L - O - V - E - Y - O - U ‘ s.

You gasp and wrench yourself back to breathe. Art flattens his tongue and licks broad stripes over your labia. He nuzzles his nose into you, stopping to pant and take in your smell. He may be delusional, but he’s convinced that every part of you is so sweet. He honest to God can’t get enough, he’d lie in a puddle at your feet if you wanted him too.

Sometimes you feel torn when you fall into bed with your lovers. You’re too soft to be like Tashi, but that exact softness is exactly why you can’t handle being away from her for too long. Maybe you’ve fallen under her spell just like all the rest, but she puts her career on the line to prove how special you are.

Patrick pulls you up to rest your back against your chest. You let your head fall onto his shoulder and you moan when he adjusts the angle of his thrusts to rub against your cervix repeatedly. He wasn’t like this when the evening started, Patrick only roughens you up when you’ve been thoroughly run through and can take it with a dopey smile and glazed eyes.

“Keep going, it’s okay- want it-want you.” You cry out to Patrick, reaching down to caress his hip.

He smiles and licks your cheek, complying with your request.

Art grins up at you with his eyes, mouthing ‘That’s my angel, only for us.’ into the flesh of your inner thigh. He moves to Patrick balls and takes them into his mouth, bobbing them up and down with his tongue. Patrick moans as Art laves his balls in saliva. Art lets them fall out of his mouth, curling his tongue around the inches peeking out of your pussy and hollowing his cheeks out.

“Shit! Stop, ‘m gonna cum!” Patrick hisses through his teeth.

He either empties another load into you or he just refuses to cum if your pussy’s not available, period.

“They’re so hungry for it, aren’t they? Well, can he? Can our dog cum inside you, baby?” Tashi tsks, cupping your cheeks and bringing your attention back to her.

“Yes, yes, yes! He can cum inside-please let him cum inside mommy-i need it so bad-wanna be stuffed full with it!” You whimper and arch your back, jutting your tits out.

Tashi laughs and leans down to suck one of your pert nipples into her mouth, bouncing your other breast in her hand. Tears spill from your waterline down to her freshly manicured nails. Art has since gone back to sucking the life out of your clit, and the little wink he sends you doesn’t help you hold back your impending orgasm.

Patrick thrusts a few more times and then you’re cumming in sync. You go brain dead and your body locks up in his arms. You’re out of it for a good few minutes, and when you have full awareness again you see Art kneeling in front of you. He holds his dick out for you to gawk at, slowly pumping himself for your amusement.

Patrick hasn’t pulled out of your pussy but he doesn’t fuck you again, he jostles his hips to find the most comfortable position for his softening cock to plug you up.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He huffs and pushes you back down on all fours.

“You need your mouth taken care of too.” Art whines and squeezes his cock around the base, beckoning you closer with a ‘come hither’ gesture.

Said man is tenderly and carefully bundling up your hair in his arm and casting it aside, giving him ample space on your back to pet. He rubs the pink tip of his cock along your jawline, he gives you a fresh coat of lip gloss via his precum as he slaps your plump lips with his cockhead.

“It’s kinda like sucking off a dildo attached to a mirror, don’t think too hard about it.” Tashi tells you, crouching down to suck the small divot in your back.

She sits back in the cheap black hotel chair, shrugging her blouse off and pinching her nipples.

You moan at the first taste of Art’s cock, longer than Patrick’s but with less heft to it. You peer out of the corner of your eye to see if Tashi’s still watching, and you feel silly when you realize that she always is.

“Doing good, baby, keep it up.”

But that’s the thing, they’re all watching you now. It’s not hard to be a pathetic bottom that needs to be coddled and tended to at all times. It’s never difficult to stroke the fire in someone’s ego, you’ve had an easier job of that than anything else.

You saw them all together on the court, you were there for lessons that didn’t work out. Who knows how long ago, it feels like a lifetime, but all it took was one look to recognize what was destined to be yours. You couldn’t give less of a fuck about Tennis in actuality, but you sure do love the players.

They all have hearts in their eyes as they watch you. Art with his dick deep down your throat, his legs are trembling as he tries to stop himself from fucking your face. Patrick, still making a forever home for himself in your guts, his eyes are so dark you have to repress a shiver. And Tashi, knuckles deep in her pussy, finger fucking herself to the pretty little show her baby puts on with their toys.

When the boys are asleep, you’ll bounce on her ribbed strap until you shatter all over again.

Now, Is it cheating to win a game when people don’t realize that you're playing?

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai

[gor3-hound]

JUST WANNA BE YOURS // INUMAKI + YUTA

a/n: commission for the super sweet @amonsterinspring !! honestly they were so sweet and so incredibly patient with the delays. art is by chalseu_d on instagram !!

cw: 18+ content, dubious consent, abuse of powers, emotional manipulation, yandere themes, incorrect use of powers, aged-up characters (canon divergent shibuya incident, set place after graduation), guilt tripping, bodily injury (takes place before fic), double penetration, p in v, creampie, mild dacryphilia and hair pulling, idk kidnapping kind of but not really at the end??? mental kidnapping or whatever lmfao

word count: 3.5k words

Inumaki would never have predicted things would end up like this. He had finally graduated Jujutsu High. He had gotten his credentials as a Jujutsu Sorcerer. He had barely finished with his celebration before he got called into his first job. It was Halloween night when everyone got called into Shibuya. He had been placed on a team with you, Yuta and Maki. He was confident, sure everything would go well.

It hadn’t. You almost died. He remembers yelling at you to run until his throat felt hoarse, your legs working instinctively to carry you away from Sukuna as his cursed speech took over, but you just weren’t fast enough. He ended up running towards you as fast as his legs could take him, pushing you out of the way as Sukuna’s domain expanded.

One moment, his arm was outstretched in front of him as the domain opened around him, and then it was gone.

Everything after that is a blur. The pain that surged throughout his body was mind-numbing, enough to bring him to his knees. He vaguely recalls Yuta dragging him away, your concerned voice as you rush to his side, then… Nothing. He woke up, and he was in hospital with a bandaged up arm… no, not arm. The bandaging wrapped around his chest and shoulder – there was nothing left of his arm, nothing more than a bloodied stump in its place.

You were grateful for his sacrifice. Apologetic, even. You were constantly checking on him. Worrying over him. You stayed as long as the hospital would allow you each day he was in there. You even helped him get settled in at home once he was released.

It wasn’t enough. 

Inumaki saved your life. He would do anything for you. He’d lost his fucking arm saving you. Didn’t he deserve more than a few phone calls when you had the spare time? It wasn’t fair. His entire career was at risk, all because of you – didn’t he deserve a little more than a bit of friendly concern?

His thumb dials your number before he even fully registers what he's doing, holding the phone up to his ear as he hears the dial tone. You answer after the third ring, and he finds himself smiling.

“Kelp.” He says in greeting, eyes roaming the room as he leans back on his pillows. He misses you. He hates being without you, if he’s being honest. He wishes you could be here, with him. He deserved it, didn’t he? It’s only been a week since he lost his arm… He had hoped you'd be more grateful.

“Toge! Hi. Is everything alright?” You ask, voice sweet and full of concern. God, it’s enough to drive him mad, even when it sounds all crackly coming from his shitty phone speaker. He’s really starting to wish he would have dished out more money for a better model.

“Salmon,” he says simply in agreement, shrugging despite knowing you can’t see it. No, everything isn’t alright, but you don’t need to know that. He frowns slightly as the line goes silent for a moment, sighing before speaking again. “Come over.”

He shouldn’t use his cursed speech on you. He knows that. He always tries to avoid using it on his friends, save for a few instances when it was entirely necessary. But he misses you. Isn’t that enough? He’s too weak to move around a lot on his own, and you’ve stopped visiting every day. He just wants to spend some time with you. Surely such an innocent use of his cursed technique isn’t wrong?

He doesn’t have time to analyse the morality of what he’s done, because he can hear shifting on the other side of his phone, and all sense of guilt is washed away by pure excitement at the thought of seeing you again. A smile tugs at his lips as he speaks up again, knowing the words were true. They had to be, after all. “I’ll see you soon.”

As the minutes tick by, he grows rather impatient. He knows you’re coming – you had no choice in the matter – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t becoming restless. He sighs, picking up his phone once more, this time to text the one person who knows exactly what kind of thoughts he’d been having about you.

Toge (7:27pm): i think i fucked up

Yuta (7:29pm): Is everything alright? Do you need me to come over?

Toge (7:30pm): i think it’ll be fine

Toge (7:30pm):  i just used my cursed speech in a way i shouldn’t have

Yuta (7:30pm): On who??

Toge (7:31pm): guess

Yuta (7:32pm): Shit. Your favourite little teammate, I take it. What did you make her do?

Toge (7:35pm): yeah

Toge (7:35pm): i only asked her to come over, but it would be so easy to get her to do more. she wouldn’t be that mad, right? she does kinda owe me

Yuta (7:37pm): She might be mad when she first snaps out of it, but I’m sure she’d understand.

Yuta (7:38pm): After all, you deserve some kind of reward for saving her life.

Yuta (7:38pm): She should make it up to you. If she isn’t, it might be time to take it into your own hands.

Toge (7:41pm): yeah i guess

Toge (7:41pm): i just want her to be safe. it’s already hard for me to look out for her now that i’m injured

Yuta (7:42pm): Yeah. I’ve been looking out for her, but I don't like that she’s still throwing herself into missions after what happened in Shibuya. She really should be more careful. I’ve tried telling her, but she won’t listen.

Toge (7:44pm): she’s always so stubborn. it’s… irritating

Toge (7:44pm): are you free? you should come over

Toge (7:45pm): i have an idea

Yuta (7:47pm): That’s never a good thing.

Yuta (7:59pm): Got ready. Be there in 15.

It’s only a few minutes later when he hears a knock at the door. He stands up with a grunt, practically stumbling his way through the home. It’s all worth it when he opens the door to reveal you standing there.

You snap out of your daze when you finally step into his home, your command complete. Your brows furrow as you realise where you are, eyes darting around his home before landing on his face. “How did I-”

“Don’t worry about that.” He says easily, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He watches the crease between your brows fade as all concerning thoughts leave your pretty little head. God, you look so beautiful like this, he thinks. He pauses to consider his next words, tilting his head as he takes you in. “Sit on the couch until I tell you to move.”

He can hardly focus as you look up at him with that bright-eyed stare. He almost can’t believe it was as simple as him telling you not to worry for you to simply accept that he was using his cursed technique on you. It’s almost a shame to see you glancing at him with that glazed over expression. He’d like for you to be able to see for yourself that he was good for you, that he wanted the best for you… but if this was how he had to show you, then he would.

“Hey… what's happening?” You ask him curiously, head tilting to the side. It's almost cute, really. You remind him of a puppy. There's a familiar tightness in his chest as he notices the artificial tightness in your chest, but he ignores it in favour of pacing while he waits for Yuta to show up.

His head perks up when he hears a knock at the door, and he quickly moves to open it. Finally, he thinks as he opens the door, letting Yuta inside. His eyes instantly fall on you sitting there on the couch, your own gaze meeting his.

“Ah, hello.” Yuta says with a small smile, holding his hand up in an awkward attempt at a wave which you return. He looks at Inumaki, and as their eyes meet, they seem to have a silent conversation before the pair join you on the couch.

“You know… you've really been worrying Toge.” Yuta starts, frowning almost disapprovingly as he glances at you. Your brows furrow in confusion as you look between the both of them.

“Worrying? I haven't been doing anything particularly troublesome lately.”

“Ah, but after Shibuya… he's a little more concerned. Can you blame him? You could've died, and you've been throwing yourself back into missions like it's nothing.” Inumaki makes a noise of agreement, subtly moving closer until you're caged between the both of them. “I've been worried, too. You're not being smart.”

“Everyone else has been going on missions, though? I don't understand–”

“Ah, but you're not just anyone, sweetheart.” Yuta coos, placing a hand on your cheek to stroke over your skin. “Is she, Toge?”

“No…” He breathes out, foregoing his usual speaking habits as he takes you in, eyes flicking across your face and the confusion etched on your features. He tilts your head up, leaning down until you're barely an inch apart, ignoring the way you attempt to pull back.

“You should be more grateful to him, you know. He saved your life. Is a little kiss really too much to ask for in return?” Yuta murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

“No, but-” Inumaki notices the guilt lacing your tone, and he feels a sense of satisfaction. He’s sure he’d be able to convince you to enjoy this, he just had to… guide you along at first.

“Shh, you're okay. Just let it happen.” Inumaki whispers, his voice a little hoarse as he speaks. His head dips down so that his lips can find yours. You don't fight it at all, not even as Yuta attaches his lips to your neck with his hand on your waist. You're stiff at first, but Inumaki notices the moment you relax and start to kiss him back.

“That's it,” Yuta murmurs against your neck, sucking a gentle mark into the flesh, his teeth pressing down lightly. “That's a good girl.”

Inumaki makes a noise of agreement as he pulls back from the kiss, his hand moving to slide under your shirt, caressing your soft skin. It's better than he could have ever imagined, but how could he expect anything less? You've always been perfect.

“Don’t resist,” he breathes out, hand sliding down your body before it makes its way under your skirt, thumb lazily brushing your clit over your panties. He grins at the way you gasp, feeling the heat of your core seeping past the fabric as he plays with you, teasing you.

“Don’t… please, don’t.” Your voice comes out strained, weak. You’re barely fighting against Inumaki’s control on you, your fingers twitching restlessly at your side. You’re trying to raise your hands, to push them away, but no matter how hard you try you simply can’t move. Frustrated tears form in the corners of your eyes, a choked sob spilling past your lips before you can suppress it.

“Sweetheart.” Yuta breathes out, his hand rising from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb gently brushing away your tears as they begin to fall. “There’s no need to cry. We’re going to take good care of you… Toge’s being nice, isn’t he?”

Your lip wobbles, but you nod softly at Yuta’s question, another sob being stifled as you press your lips together, a fresh wave of hot tears getting wiped away by his gentle hand.

“We wouldn’t let you get hurt, baby. He risked his life to save you. Why would he hurt you?” The words make sense, but some part of your brain tries to warn you they’re nothing more than sweet words to get you to be compliant. You try to focus on that idea, but it feels foggy. Distant. You can't get a good grasp on why you’re protesting, but something doesn’t feel right. Despite this, you can only hear the constant loop of Inumaki’s voice saying don’t worry, just let it happen, don’t resist.

Inumaki hums with satisfaction as he feels the tension leaving your body, and he shoots Yuta an appreciative look. His hand bunches your skirt up, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties so he can pull them down, exposing you to his eyes. His breath hitches as he takes you in, and you can see Yuta’s cheeks flush red as his eyes dart downwards before his gaze returns to your face. “There we go… such a good girl. You want to be a good girl for us, don’t you?”

There’s a hint of command in Inumaki’s voice that makes you shiver, the word ‘yes’ seeming to force itself out of your mouth before your brain even fully registers what he was saying. His hand slides between your legs once more, two fingers parting your slick folds. He pulls his hand back, hooded eyes gazing upon the arousal coating his fingers.

“God.” The word falls past Yuta’s lips automatically, his eyes trained on Inumaki’s fingers. He squirms slightly, his cock straining uncomfortably against his pants at the sight. His throat bobs as he swallows, his focus shifting so he can settle behind you. You protest as you’re lifted, your cheeks feeling hot. Your legs are kept apart by his strong grip on your thighs, leaving you open and vulnerable to the two men. 

Inumaki says nothing, but he greedily takes you in as you’re displayed to the both of them. His fingers dip back down to your cunt once more, the pads of two of them presses insistently against your entrance. He pushes them in slowly, savouring the way you open up for him. You can feel Yuta’s hardness pressed against the flesh of your ass, his hips rocking gently as he attempts to get some friction against his straining erection. He whimpers softly, a crease forming between his brows. “Toge… hurry up. I can’t wait much longer.”

Inumaki scoffs, but he withdraws his fingers from you. He holds them up to his mouth, licking them clean as he meets your gaze. He lets out a low chuckle at your embarrassed expression, straightening out to shed himself of his clothing. His eyes are dilated as he steps closer to you, settling himself on his knees between your legs. “So cute…”

You feel Yuta rushing to do the same, shifting behind you in a hasty attempt to shed himself of his trousers and boxers, his breaths coming out harsh against the nape of your neck. His cock twitches helplessly against your ass as he settles, watching with bated breath as Inumaki presses the head of his cock against your entrance. Yuta’s hand reaches up to fist your hair, yanking slightly to pull your head back. You hiss at the slight sting that comes with it, your eyes squeezing shut as he peers over your shoulder to get a better look.

“Fuck… You’re so, so pretty. Bet you feel so good… can’t wait to be inside of you, baby. Wanna feel you so bad.” Yuta whines, nuzzling the crook of your neck as he lazily watches Inumaki. The latter slowly begins to press forward, his breath hitching as he feels your cunt give way, stretching around his length. He continues to push himself into you inch by inch, eyes heavy as he watches the way you greedily suck him in.

“Pretty…” Inumaki parrots, biting down on his lower lip as he begins to move. His thrusts start off shallow and slow, barely moving as he tries to allow you to adjust to the feeling of him. It isn’t long before he can’t hold back, soft moans spilling past his parted lips as he ruts into you, the drag of his cock against your sensitive inner walls drawing sounds of pleasure from your own mouth.

Yuta has never been good at being patient. This situation is no exception, judging from the whimpers he’s unable to suppress as he grinds his cock against your ass, precum coating your skin as it leaks from his tip in a steady stream. “Please, baby. Wanna feel you. Can I?”

Inumaki speaks up before you have a chance to respond, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “She can take both of us, can’t you, sweetheart?”

Suddenly, you’re not sure how you’ve gone so long without both of them inside of you, and you begin to nod eagerly. “Please, Yuta…”

He whines, his grip tightening in your hair slightly in a way that has your hips jerking, a whimper spilling past your parted lips. The hand that isn’t occupied slides down your body, reaching behind you to grasp his cock. He manages to slide between your thighs, lining himself up underneath Inumaki. He’s trembling slightly as his dick nudges the other man’s cock, his chin hooking over your shoulder to watch as he slowly slides in alongside his friend.

“Oh, fuck. You’re so tight, baby. So… warm.” His self-control is far worse than Inumaki’s, and he’s quick to start fucking into you desperately. He’s more vocal, too, whines and moans leaving him with each shift of his hips, his hand tugging your hair back so he can bite and suck marks across the skin of your neck and shoulder.

You’ve never felt this full in your life. Even as your arousal coats both cocks, the stretch burns. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, your walls spasming as you struggle to take both of them. Your hands scramble to grab onto something so you can ground yourself, fingers grasping at Inumaki’s shoulder as he continues to fuck into you.

“Doing so well.” Inumaki breathes out, leaning further over you. He crowds you against Yuta’s body, his nose brushing your cheek before he presses a chaste kiss to the skin there, still slightly wet and salty with tears. “Such a pretty girl… good girl.”

Yuta’s eyes practically roll into the back of his skull as Inumaki speeds up his thrusts, a choked sound escaping him at the feeling of your slick walls gripping his cock while Inumaki’s length slides against his. The friction is entirely maddening, and he can barely hold back. His balls are tightening already, his body pathetically close to cumming after mere minutes of being inside of you.

“Can’t… can’t help it. Sorry. Fuck, ‘m sorry, gonna cum.” He gasps out, hips stuttering as his climax washes over him. His dick kicks inside of your cunt, twitching as he fills you with his seed. Another whine is forced out of the back of his throat as Inumaki continues to rock his hips, the friction too much for his oversensitive cock. He pulls out slowly, his back hitting the couch cushions as he slumps backwards, his own hands holding your thighs spread wide for Inumaki as you lean back against his chest.

The other man’s grunts give away that he’s not far from his own release, his thrusts growing more sloppy as he chases his pleasure. His fingers dig harshly into the flesh of your hips, his forehead resting against yours. He presses his lips to yours once more, tongue hungrily exploring your mouth like a man starved. One hand slips from your hip to rest just below your stomach, his thumb rubbing circles against your clit. His mouth swallows your moans, tongue pressing against your own more insistently. The feeling of you clenching around him is enough to push him over the edge, a harsh gasp falling from his lips as he stuffs you full of his cum.

He stays unmoving inside of you for a few moments, breaking the kiss as he pants and attempts to catch his breath. He pulls back slightly to give you a once over, his eyes roving your body with a look of adoration.

“Beautiful.” He whispers, one of his palms gently smoothing down one of your thighs to soothe you. His eyes flick around the room for something to clean you up with, and he ends up reaching for his shirt which was haphazardly thrown onto the floor as he undressed. He wipes away the cum dripping down your thighs, being sure to be extra gentle as he moves to clean your sensitive flesh.

You’re pretty out of it, exhausted from the effort of resisting Inumaki’s cursed speech and taking both of the men. You slump against Yuta, feeling Inumaki shift to curl up beside the both of you. You hum softly at the warmth they both bring, eyes fluttering shut.

As you begin to drift off, Inumaki whispers one last command into your ear. “Stay with us here. We’ll keep you safe.”

[jazzyblusnowflake]

(If this was asked before, I swear to god.) FullCompany (NUziVJ) Headcannons?

aaaaaaaaa time to write once more- i missed being able to type away like the lil shit i am-

anyhow- okay lets see- gonna add some things here- tbh my ideas was mostly for Jenvy ideas mainly- but i guess ill fit Uzi in there lol

Some JeNVUzi HCs:

[once again- Drone au only, and maybe minor suggestive content but not nsfw]

The polycule is essentially formed around Uzi pulling them back together-

J's original reason for siding with Cyn which was rooted in fear- was on the basis that she still had her team on her side so she could keep them safe and so theyd have eachother to rely on even after Cyn destroys everything. she did not however, account for Uzi coming along and messing everything up and ruining her team's alignment while she was "dead".

the entire reason J tried to kill N or V at any time was cuz she knew a clone of them would be sent back anyway- she has basically become desensitized towards death in general given she had also died around 12 times herself [canon]- V and N try to help her through this- during which they also deal with Vs behavior and Ns trauma too.

to communicate with J they often had to spar with her- seeing as she hated talking about feelings- but this became their own thing they all did afterwards to unwind and communicate- as J opened up a lot easier after feeling like she was reached out to.

Uzi and J bond over anime and gaming- the latter being somewhere J could actually use her anger on more effectively XD

they all like reading books every now and then where one would read and the others snuggle or cuddle- they take turns. [this is from their manor days]

J is... unable to emote or show emotion easily and it eats her alive. she can't show the appropriate needed emotion to the mood of the room and it makes her have breakdowns- occasionally throw up- as though you are desperately trying to cry but the tears wont come so you try heaving it out- make yourself fit in and look normal by trying to FEEL something- but she cant. J is a dated business model drone- custom made for office work- she was made to be this way- Cyn didn't change her- and she grows to hate herself for it. so when a situation happens that she doesn't know how to react, she leaves or hides- until N,V or Uzi find her- usually disassociating or somewhat catatonic.

Uzi occasionally feels out of place with the group, as though she's just being a literal 4th wheel, since they have history together. the others try to show her that she is important to them each in their own ways-

addressing the elephant in the room- yes, it took a long time for N and J to come to terms with eachother- J eventually accepting that her original reason for hating N [him being better than her or preferred over her esp by Tessa] wasn't important anymore- and tries to appreciate him and V and Uzi more in whatever is left of her life.

make no mistake V and J are still very much bitchy on a surface level- just cuz they are all growing close does not mean they are all now lovey dovey with eachother or sweet and character-redemption-ed with everyone around them. therefore: "playful catfights" >:3 !

V and Uzi tease J alot- this is one of the reasons why J found more comfort with N- not gonna tell him to his face tho lol.

J teaches N to draw better and they bond over that alot-

Uzi and J like attention alot- and they wanna get it by being as wordless as possible- very cat coded.

Uzi, V and N like to drag J into doing more normal things that have less to do with work. so far J has mostly shown some interest in writing and maybe poetry but she WILL shoot your head off if you try to read her stuff-

J's first kiss was with Uzi- N and V having kissed once back at the manor being eachothers first kiss. J thinks V kisses the best tho lol.

N and V like to cuddle a lot- J and Uzi are usually dependent on mood-

V likes to bite- J likes to be bitten, N and Uzi like both- :3

J likes playing with N and Uzi's fluffy hair. V only lets N touch her hair.

during intimate cuddles- J has passed out the most lol. Uzi following a close second lol-

Uzi and J yap alot about tech work-

hmm this is all i can think about for NOW-

:"3

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 1.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 4.6k

aegon wasn't as badly injured from Rook's Rest like in canon in this AU, he has a few burn scars near his torso but wasn't crippled / bedridden.

this is for my 100 followers poll. it was supposed to be a oneshot but will be a mini series in 3 or 4 parts. this is my first time writing aegon and it will also be somewhat of a character study.

thank you for 100 followers and everyone who participated in the poll. love &lt;3 thank you @randomdragonfires for beta reading, mwah mwah.

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn

its been so long - the living tombstone • nobody - mitski

chapter specific warnings: awkward sex, p in v, virginity loss

Every day felt like a new restraint, a new button added to the collar choking around Aegon’s neck. He had done it– he had freed the realm of the false queen, his half-sister– and lost almost everything to do so. When did it end? When did he get to relax and run the realm as he saw fit, since they so intended to have them at the helm. He wore the conqueror’s crown, wielded his sword and bore his name and yet he couldn’t do as the conqueror actually did. Rule. He felt more like a dog than a dragon these days; but that was just a pattern in his life. They wanted him when they needed him and he was to shoulder their burdens as eldest son.

His grandsire kept breathing down his neck to secure another wife, another heir, another alliance brokered with another pompous house. 

“Listen to me, Aegon,” Otto began, his fingers laced together as he sat at his desk. He had summoned Aegon to the Tower of the Hand– he was summoning the King, rather than the King summoning him. Somehow, his council had let Otto weasel his way back into the position of Hand, Aegon’s mother in tears, pleading for it. There wasn’t anyone else fit for the job since Criston had died– and he was never really fit for it anyhow. “We must move quickly to provide you with a new wife. The realm won’t remain stable if we tarry in producing an heir for the throne.”

Aegon sat in the seat across from him, feeling more like a child than a King. He twisted the signet ring on his pinky finger. “It’s too soon. It would be an insult to Helaena.” he replied, not looking up at Otto. Helaena had only passed a few moons earlier and the wound was still fresh for all of them. Aegon never loved her like a wife– how could he, they were too different, too young– but he cared deeply for her as his sister and the mother of his children. Even thinking about taking another wife this soon felt like a betrayal. He would be like his father then.

A small huff and a rustling of papers was heard– Aegon was still too distracted by his signet ring, the thin light filtering through the half drawn blinds, causing a small glint off of the bronzed metal. He didn’t want to look up to see the expression on his grandsire’s face, he knew it was one of disappointment. Aegon couldn’t remember the last time that someone hadn’t looked at him with contempt, disappointment, melancholy. 

“You must understand. You have a duty to the realm–” 

“Fucking duty– don’t speak to me of it. I’ve done my duty for enough lifetimes. I let you put me on the throne and usurp my sister and look where that’s gotten us? Everyone is fucking dead, Otto. Jaehaerys, Maelor, Helaena, Aemond,” he paused for a moment, lifting his head up to meet the Hand’s gaze head on, “Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey– do I need to proceed? The majority of our bloodline is wiped out because of you and your ambition.”

Otto snorted, standing up from his desk slowly. He grabbed a decanter of wine, pouring them both a goblet. “You misunderstand. Everything I’ve done has been… for our family’s legacy– for the realm,” he placed the glass stopped back into the carafe, “Don’t you dare act as if I am not hurting for the loss of family– but war is war, boy. People die. It is unfortunate that… the ones close to us did. But we can’t live with our head in the clouds any longer, there is a realm to run and the crown comes with responsibilities. A wife and heir are one of those paramount responsibilities.”

“I have an heir. I still have one remaining child– Jaehaera is my heir. I deem it.” he spoke quickly, staring at the goblet of wine. He had reduced his intake of alcohol since the war ended– but the need for it was always there, always aching. He suddenly felt parched. Giving Otto a haughty stare, he took a sip from the glass, feeling his muscles instantly relax.

“Don’t be daft– have you so quickly forgotten what happened when the King last named a female heir?”

“It wasn’t that Rhaenyra was a woman, Otto. People would’ve learned to adjust if…” Aegon took another sip, clearing his throat, “If she hadn’t been infatuated with her freak of an uncle, you would’ve been able to control her easier, hm? It's always been you and mother behind the crown these past two decades�� not me, nor my father.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Otto griped back, gripping his glass, “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about. Rhaenyra–” he stopped, taking a breath, “Rhaenyra is dead. They’re all dead, you’re right. But there is still the whole of the Seven Kingdoms requiring a leader, especially now. A leader with a united front with a queen and babe. I won’t argue further on this matter.”

Aegon acquiesced. He would rather deal with Otto’s venomous viper tongue talking him into things he didn’t want to do now instead of his mother visiting him hours later in hysterics– he couldn’t bear it. Alicent was more of a mess now than ever. “Fine. I leave this in your very capable hands,” he stood up, swiping the whole jug of wine, “At least find me a pretty one.”

–

She was plain, unbelievably plain. Long, curled brown hair desperately in need of a trim, a poorly tailored dress that needed to be more fitted at the waist, stature too small and unremarkable to stand up to anyone of importance. Oh, and picked cuticles, the spots of red eking out from her nail beds. Mayhaps she and his mother would get along just jolly, then. She was to be his prospective wife and bear him more heirs. He wanted to shove it back in the council’s face and say he has an heir, his only living child, Jaehaera. Melancholy and withdrawn as she was, she was his heir.

The council disagreed, allowing Borros Baratheon to shove his last unwed daughter at him like a piece of meat that no one wanted.

Her eyes wafted up to glance at him, every move of hers uncertain, cautious. She was so deathly aware of each minute gesture, her posture having to be adjusted to straighten every few minutes. 

Lyanna Baratheon wasn’t of prominent knowledge and reputation like her sisters, aptly named ‘the Four Storms’ – she didn’t remind Aegon at all of a stag or a doe, but rather something more diminutive and easily killed, like a prey animal. Mayhaps a rabbit– it would be an apt description, as she had giant eyes, brown –almost black– in their hue, a shiny glaze over them as she stared at the ground. Every so often, their eyes would meet, brown to violet, and she would look apt as Aegon thought she was.

A rabbit begging for its life.

Borros Baratheon stood beside her, murmuring something into her ear. He was a boorish oaf of a man who couldn’t even read– Aegon wasn’t the brightest star in the sky when it came to matters of literature, that’d always been his brother’s realm, but atleast he could fucking read. He thought it quite hysterical that his house sigil was that of a Stag when Lord Borros reminded him more of a boar. Mayhaps he should change it. 

As he continued to whisper to his daughter, her expression went from sordid to panicked, then back to sordid. She wasn’t very good at masking her emotions– she would need to learn if she were to survive at the Keep. The tips of her fingers twitched slightly and she was obviously holding herself back from tearing into her nail beds. 

“Lord Borros,” Aegon broke the tension, “Perhaps I should show your daughter around the gardens while you speak with my grandsire. We have the most beautiful gardens here and I’d imagine that Storm’s End wouldn’t have something quite as grand,” he glazed over Borros’ blank stare, “due to the storms, of course.” 

Lord Baratheon adjusted his doublet, which was far too small for him— did the Stormlands not have a proper fucking tailor? — and nodded, “Yes, that would be amicable. It would do some good to familiarize yourself with one another before the wedding in a week’s time.” 

Aegon’s throat felt parched. He knew that they were speeding things along but he didn’t anticipate it to be this fast. Grabbing a bottle of wine from a nearby servant, he descended back to Lyanna, intent on whisking her away as quickly as possible. Not because he found her particularly interesting, rather the opposite, but he needed an excuse to get out of the room. The insistent thrum of his pulse in his neck was all too loud. His arm looped under Lyanna’s, “Come, my lady,” he hummed, trying to seem like he was somewhat collected and kingly and not on the edge of chugging the entire carafe of wine and smashing it over the next poor fucker’s head. “To the gardens.” 

He practically strung along the poor girl, who hurriedly agreed and tried her best to keep up. “Y-yes, your grace,” she mewled, her feet tapping on the ground at irregular rhythms as she hung onto Aegon’s arm, bouncing against the stone walkway toward the gardens, “King’s Landing is… very beautiful, my king– your subject must be very pleased.”

As they descended the cobbled steps down to the garden, Aegon eyed her warily, “Did your father tell you to say that?”

“N-no, not exactly–” 

“He did. Anyone with half of a brain and a working nose knows that this accursed city smells of shit. You shouldn’t lie, my lady. You’re quite bad at it,” he took a small breath as he looked at her expression– the poor thing was on the verge of tears. “You will get better in time,” he continued with a slightly softer tone, “This Keep is full of great liars and you don’t seem… too much like your father. I am sure you will pick up quickly. How old are you?”

“Nineteen, your grace.” 

Aegon resisted giving a derisive snort, instead uncorking the wine bottle and tossing the stopper into the grass, “You’re quite young, then,” he took a swig, feeling the bitter tasting liquid coat his mouth, “All the better for heirs. Or so I’m sure that we’ve both been told.” 

In truth, some would consider her a bit late in age to be married– but Aegon didn’t care as long as he wasn’t robbing the cradle like his father did to his mother, or Daemon to Rhaenyra. He was twenty-six himself and tried to remember what he was like when he was nineteen; he couldn’t exactly pinpoint an exact memory. It was mostly a blur.

“I am… hopeful to provide you with many healthy heirs, my king,” she replied, her words sounding rehearsed. She is as poor of an actress as she is a liar, then. She paused for a moment, looking at her hands, “I… do not wish to replace the late queen, her grace, Helaena– I merely wish to fulfill my duty to the realm and my family– I am terribly… sorry to hear about Helaena, my king. As well as your prince brothers. War is a terrible thing.”

Aegon blinked profusely a few times. Her words after her pause sounded genuine– mayhaps she is capable of thinking for herself. She seemed… softhearted, even if a bit naive. He regarded the bottle in his hand for a moment, swishing it around. No one had really apologized to him for his losses– the enumerable amount of them he’s gone through these past few years. They all bowed their heads and wouldn’t meet his gaze, as if their blood was all on his hands. Mayhaps it was. He swallowed, his mouth pursed in a thin line, “... War is indeed a terrible thing, my lady.”

They walked for a few hours around the garden, talking about various things. Aegon still found her quite boring and uninteresting to look at– she wasn’t ugly by any means, and could be considered pretty, but she was just so terribly plain that it bored him to tears. Her speech was all faux and he tried to eek out any genuineness to her words through different subjects– all to no avail. It seemed the sore subject of Aegon’s family was the only thing to break her from her carefully crafted script.

Eventually, they parted ways– for the better, he thought. She was a fine match, a fine age, a fine vessel for his seed to produce a royal heir and whatever other innocuous thing his grandsire needed from him. 

What a terribly dreadful life he’s let himself sink into.

That night, he drained two bottles of Dornish Red, falling much into the same state of mind he had when he was nineteen. Wandering to the Street of Silk, he whored and drank himself into a state of sloven mania.

In the midst of his drunken ramblings, he wondered if he could ever find someone who would truly love him or if his opportunity had already passed.

– 

The wedding followed in the timeline that Borros and Otto had set– as quickly as possible. The council dipped into the coffers to make it happen, it was to be an extravagant event, a new beginning for the realm. Artisans, fine bakers and cooks were all hired to make the wedding a facet, stringing up red, green, yellow and black banners, making dozens of delicate pastries and even cooking six turduckens to line the tables.

It was all lavish and opulent– and Lyanna could not feel more out of place. The past week at the Keep had been a whirlwind of planning, gown fittings, flower picking. Her sisters were there in attendance, speaking up more than she on what to pick. It was fine with her, as she couldn’t bring herself to care for it. The gaudiness of it all made her feel ill. 

She had only met with Aegon the one time, the first time. Lyanna felt she made a terrible impression— she was so nervous that day that she’d vomited twice that morning, all while her father screamed at her to get it right, to say exactly as he told her to. For the most part, she had done just that— played the perfect little puppet for him and said all those empty words that meant nothing. 

She was meant to see Aegon at least three more times before the wedding, as there were a few dinners arranged between their two families. He had been absent for all, his mother citing that he was unable to attend for various reasons but nothing overtly specific.

Alicent Hightower was a nice lady— she was warm to Lyanna, talking to her at the dinners when no one else had bothered. She was the person who Lyanna felt most comfortable with in the Keep and was grateful that she was to be her good-mother. Alicent was a bit frayed at the ends from the loss of her other children; she was haunted, her eyes constantly red-rimmed and murmuring prayers under her breath. 

The morning of the wedding, Lyanna was summoned to Alicent’s solar to get ready. 

She knocked on the door, “Your grace— it’s Lyanna.”

“Come in, my dear,” she called out, a maid opening the door to let her in. “How are you feeling this morn?” Alicent was perched on the settee when Lyanna came in, and immediately rushed over to her, taking the young girl’s hands in hers. 

“Quite nervous,” Lyanna responded, her hands quivering ever so slightly, even under the warm touch of Alicent. “May I speak plainly, your grace?” 

“Of course,” she ushered Lyanna to the loveseat and had the maid pour them both tea, then promptly shooed her out. “It’s just us now, speak your mind, sweetling.” 

“I-I am afraid that… Aegon will not like me. I fear I didn’t make a good first impression— he seemed quite bored of me.” 

Alicent took a sip of her tea, giving a small sigh. “I will do you the favor of not sugarcoating words and speak plainly like you have done with me. Aegon will not like you,” she pursed her lips into a thin line, twisting the signet ring on her finger, “Aegon is a creature of debauchery and sin— and you are a good, pious girl. You are like oil and water.” her brown eyes met Lyanna’s, her expression softening. The two women had a fast camaraderie, praying together each morning in the Sept. “You… may not love him, or even like him— but there is a duty upon you to fulfill. It is a burden we carry as women, my dear. We are always behest to the men in our lives,” she stopped, her eyes glazing over with a far-away look, “I don’t mean to be discouraging. You are a… good hearted young woman and I believe you can channel that into something positive as the Queen.” 

Lyanna felt her stomach quivering at Alicent’s words, her skin flushing. “I… appreciate your plain speech, your grace. I just… do not wish to displease him.”

Alicent’s mouth twitched at each end as if she were mulling something over. “It will be hard to please him, my dear. You are nothing like the women that usually please him,” she wiped a hand down her face, “You remind me so much of myself, Lyanna. Pushed into something you are… ill-suited for. You’re a sweet and kindhearted girl and I don’t wish for you to tear yourself apart on the inside and feel as if you’re not good enough for him– you are, you are too good for him, too pure, too-” Alicent took a measured breath, “You are not what he wants and you never will be, my dear. It will do you well to know that now rather than years later. There is always someone else in their eyes– women like you and I do what we can. I pray you will find things that keep you happy.”

Lyanna picked up her tea cup with trembling hands, taking a sip. There seemed to be more to Alicent’s words than them just being about Aegon– but she didn’t want to push it. Dipping her head, she thanked her good-mother-to-be once more.

– 

“Wake up, wake up!” a voice boomed, rousing Aegon from his haze as a carafe of cold water was poured on him. The girl latched to his cock like a leech let out a shrill scream and scrambled away.

“Fucking hell– who the fuck?” Aegon slurred, blinking profusely half a dozen times before his vision came into focus. It was one of the Kingsguard, one more behest to his grandsire than him– and his grandsire, Otto, who had the now empty container of water in hand.

“Wake up, you ingrate,” Otto growled, grabbing his grandson by his collar, hoisting him up onto his feet, smacking his cheek gently. “Your wedding is in two hours and you’re passed out in a whorehouse. You’re the king, for the Seven’s sake– I thought you left this debauchery behind, atleast have your whores at the keep instead of being in these pits of sin.” 

“You can put a number of different hats on a bear, you know,” Aegon slumped against the wall, “Many kinds of hats; a hood, a felted dante, a linen coif, a cowl, a straw hat, a jester’s garb– heh, that’d be quite funny–” 

“Is there a point to your drunken babbling, Aegon?”

“Yes, ah– you can put many types of hats on a bear and change its look but at the end of the day, its still just a fucking bear,” he straightened out his stained tunic, “Point being– you can stick a crown on my head, put a sword in my hand and put me through a war to keep me on that fucking throne but guess what, grandsire, I am still just a bear at the end of the day.”

Otto stared at him, brow furrowed. “You aren’t a bear, you’re a dragon and a king, so act like it. You are getting married in two hours and you look like a sloven mess. You’re lucky that Borros is as blind for power and recognition as he is or he would take his daughter back to Storm’s End and you’ll be stuck with the next best choice.” 

“That boring rube of a girl was my best choice? I must be fucked, then, either way.”

Otto and his Kingsguard dog dragged Aegon back to the keep, and observed while maids scrubbed him clean, red and raw. He was put in a nicely fit green suit, his House cloak strapped to his shoulders. It was a whirlwind of events that led up to the doors of the Sept being opened and Aegon ushered in.

His stomach churned and he felt sixteen again, forced to wed his sister. He remembered being hardly conscious throughout the ceremony, fumbling over his cloak and practically smothering Helaena in it.

He looked down the aisle at Lyanna, who was dressed in a pale yellow dress with long, flowing sleeves. She had a high collar with black lining and antler embroidery all over the garment. It was actually well fitted this time, likely thanks to his mother, and it turned out she actually had a figure, with plush hips and a well-endowed chest. Her brown hair was half up, half down with an assortment of intricate braids– it reminded him of how Rhaenyra used to wear her hair and he wondered who thought to style it like that, and he wondered if he was the only one who noticed.

As he walked down the aisle, he saw his mother in the front row– she was crying, thumbing a pendant in the shape of a Seven Pointed Star. 

The ceremony was a blur to him, as he put the cloak over her shoulders and sealed their union with a kiss– a chaste one. She tasted like lavender tea. As he pulled back, he noticed that her eyes were rimmed with tears, and he felt the familiar sting of tears in his own eyes.

The feast was much the same, as he drank himself into a numbing stupor. He only had one moment of clarity, as some of the rowdy guests began to poke and prod at Lyanna, talking about the bedding ceremony. She looked visibly uncomfortable, picking at her nail beds under the table. Something about the sight of her discomfort and pain stirred something in Aegon that he couldn’t name– maybe he was feeling sentimental from the alcohol, but a surge of possessiveness flowed through him. He wasn’t known to be possessive, much the opposite in fact. But the egregious actions of these men pawing at his wife– their fucking queen, mind them– making disgusting insinuations. If she were a whore, it’d be different– but she was so… innocent, so coerced in all of this just as he was, it felt wrong. 

Aegon snapped, slamming his cup down, “There won’t be any fucking bedding ceremony,” he growled, “My wife and I will be retiring to our chambers– alone. And if… any one of you lays another paw on her, you will lose it.”

Lyanna stared at Aegon, those huge brown eyes wide. Her lips were parted slightly as he once again strung her along the halls to his– no, their– chambers. She was shaking.

Once in their chambers, he let go of her, uncorking another bottle of wine and taking a swig. “I presume you think that this is where I will fuck you, hm? Stick my prick in you and make an heir and we will all live happily ever after like a child’s storybook.”

Lyanna stared down at her feet. “It… it would be… the duty of husband and wife to consummate–”

“Fuck duty! I’m not going to fuck some weepy eyed maiden because my old fuck grandsire said so. I don’t have need of you in that way.”

Her hands were trembling as she unlaced the back of her dress, her movements autonomous– she was doing what she thought she should be doing in this situation. She began to undress, slipping her gown off and leaving her in her silken shift, which didn’t leave much to the imagination. The sight of her body, soft, stirred something within him for a moment, like a spark trying to ignite kindling.

“We don’t have to do this, Lyanna,” he murmured, using her name for the first time. He put down the wine bottle. “We can wait.”

“N-no! Please, I want to– please,” Lyanna whispered, practically pleading for it, as if she wanted to get it over with. “Please.”

Aegon rubbed a hand down his face. “Get on the bed then. Lie on your stomach.”

She did as she was told, laying flat on the bed on her stomach. She clutched some pillows as a lifeline.

He knew he should warm her up, he knew that they should want to touch one another, he should want to see her face– but he didn’t. He couldn’t bear to look at her face, or touch her for longer than was necessary. He barely shimmied down his trousers before he began poking at her entrance with a half-hard cock, partially trying to give her a moment to get used to the sensations, and partially trying to find where he was supposed to stick it– he knew, of course, he’d fucked his way through King’s Landing and then some, but he hadn’t fucked many maidens, and especially not when he was blind drunk.

Eventually, he hit home and slid into her, his movements slow at first. He could hear her whimpers and knew they weren’t of pleasure. It reminded him of his wedding night with Helaena where they’d both cried– all the memories of that night came flooding back, causing him to falter.

Lyanna looked back at him, her eyes puffy and red, “I-Is it over?” 

Aegon swallowed sharply, cringing as he stared at her. The moment of arousal he had– purely from stimulation alone– was gone now, his half-hard erection deflating completely. “Fuck– yes, it’s over.” he didn’t have the heart to tell her that it in fact had hardly started before it was over– and not in the good way. He pulled out of her, taking in a deep breath as he walked to the water basin and soaked a cloth with warm water, offering it to her. “Wipe yourself– it will help with the… pain… and blood.” 

She took the cloth, wiping away the remnants of their half-fulfilled consummation. “I-I’m… sorry,” Lyanna whispered, sniffling, “I know I am not what you want.” 

His mouth was pulled into a thin line as he turned away. “You’re right. You aren’t.”

They fell into bed next to each other and Aegon’s mind was swimming as he tried to sleep. He didn’t know what he wanted. He never wanted any of this– he just wanted to be a kid again with no responsibilities, with all of his siblings, even Rhaenyra– he would’ve… he would’ve been nicer to all of them, he wouldn’t of picked on Aemond, he would’ve gotten to know Rhaenyra better, he would’ve played with Helaena’s bugs, he would’ve taught Daeron all of the secrets of the castle. He would’ve told his grandsire to fuck off when they were to crown him and had Sunfyre char him to a crisp and given the crown to Rhaenyra.

He would’ve been loved then.

He just wanted to be loved.

[joelalorian]

Lost Cause

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree.

Warnings: Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope.

Inspired by the song Save Me by Jelly Roll. Some of the lyrics have been woven into the story.

Word count: 2,594 oneshot

The hits just kept coming. Time after time, year after year, life just beat Joel Miller down. It started when he was young, always taken down a peg by someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally, no matter how hard he tried to build himself up. There was a brief respite when he had Sarah – those fourteen years were the happiest of his life, despite the sudden and unexpected nature of becoming a father so young, until it was all ripped away in the blink of an eye on that one horrific day.

Since then, he’d given up hoping for more. Life had completely shattered his hopes and dreams. He couldn’t even put himself out of his own misery, for fuck’s sake. Life hated him that much it wouldn’t even release its grasp on him. He was so damaged beyond repair, and he could do fuck all about it.

His latest hit was a sucker punch to the gut, though.

Just when he finally opened up his heart again, when he allowed himself to feel something other than misery again, that’s precisely when the hit came.

Ellie – sweet, feral child that she was – wanted nothing to do with him after finding out the truth of what happened to the Fireflies in Salt Lake City.

The fracture in his relationship with Ellie sent him spiraling out of control, resorting to old behaviors and vices – drinking too much at the Tipsy Bison, smoking pilfered cigarettes out back behind the bar, taking pills on the rare occasions he could get his hands on them. The nightmares returned no matter how blasted he got to chase them away and he was often moody from lack of sleep.

Joel still contributed to society in Jackson, but he did it in ways that he could keep to himself. Fixing things around town, building stuff in his workshop, taking the odd patrol shift with his brother. He avoided everyone but Tommy and Maria, and Ellie, if she didn’t flee from the very sight of him.

“Jesus Christ, Joel. What the fuck? Were you trying to get yourself killed? Because it almost worked!” Tommy was worked up, laying into Joel at the tail end of their patrol shift. He didn’t know if his older brother had a death wish or was just too hungover to pay proper attention, but Joel was nearly taken out by a clicker while they cleared their route. A clicker that he normally would have dispatched without much effort or thought. Joel cut it way too close this time.

Joel gazed at his brother with baleful eyes. He had nothing to say for himself. He did have a death wish, but how could he tell Tommy that?

Tommy knew Joel was struggling – his behavior was similar to what it had been after Sarah died, when he became a fraction of the man he had been. “Come on, let’s grab a drink at the Bison,” Tommy sighed. At a loss on how else to help him, Tommy often accompanied Joel to the bar despite already thinking his brother drank too much.  At least he could keep an eye on him that way.

They made small talk on the way, Joel’s responses little more that grumbles and grunts. Something needed to give, but what? Tommy didn’t know, but he sent up silent prayers for a miracle to save his brother.

Once they were seated at one end of the bar, Tommy ordered a round. “Joel, brother, what is going on, really? Is it just the thing with Ellie or something more?”

Two sets of deep brown eyes stared at each other for long moments, each waiting for the other to flinch or look away. Joel gave in first, clearing his throat, unable to meet his brother’s eyes as he spoke. “It’s… everythin’, Tommy. It feels like somethin’ inside me is broken, somethin’ that was just starting to repair itself until this thing with Ellie shattered it again.”

Tommy’s heart clenched. Life had done Joel dirty, even before the outbreak, and it seemed like it finally broke him beyond repair. “I know it ain’t been easy, not with… well, everything. Do you… would you ever consider talking to someone about it all? Like a professional, I mean. I know we got someone here who used to be a counselor.”

Brows pinched together, Joel’s stormy eyes glared at the bar top, avoiding Tommy’s searching gaze. “Fuck, no! I don’t want a stranger diggin’ into my psyche or whatever the hell they do, just so they can tell me I have daddy issues or some such shit. And talkin’ ‘bout it don’t help none, either. I’m talking to you and it ain’t doing shit but pissin’ me the hell off!”

“Damn, alright! Don’t gotta get all caveman on me.” Tommy held his hands up with a blatant roll of his eyes. His brother never did like the touchy feely shit and he should have known better than to bring it up. “Maybe you just need a sweet lil’ thing to take your mind off shit.”

That got Joel to laugh for the first time in a long while. “Oh yeah? You think getting my dick wet will solve everythin’?”

Tommy smirked. “Well, not everything. You’ll still be you afterwards. I’d pity whatever poor girl got stuck with you, honestly. But it couldn’t hurt none, right?” It was good to see his brother grin, nose and corners of eyes crinkling with the broadness of it, and they fell into a comfortable silence while people watching. Sudden movement at the entrance caught Tommy’s attention and Joel followed his eyeline.

You walked in with Maria, the pair of you had your heads tilted toward each other giggling madly about something. While Tommy only had eyes for Maria, Joel drank in the sight of you. New to Jackson, you arrived with a small group a few weeks ago and, while you were still settling in, you were eager to meet people and get involved in helping around town. Maria took an instant liking to you, and you spent a lot of time with her, quickly becoming part of the Miller group.

Catching a glimpse of his brother staring at you, Tommy slapped Joel’s back. “Speaking of a sweet lil’ thing. Maybe this is your chance, brother.” Joel scoffed in return. Girls like you don’t go for guys like him, at least not the guy he was now. It was the law of nature or some shit.

“Hey boys,” Maria greeted, taking a seat next to Tommy. With a knowing glint in her eye and an exaggerated wink, she gestured for you to sit next to Joel. You never should have mentioned to her how handsome you found Joel. She was becoming a menace with her not-so-subtle methods of teasing and pushing the two of you closer at every opportunity.

“Hi Joel.” You slipped onto the stool next to him, one hand placed on his shoulder for balance as you did so.

“Hey darlin’. Whatcha drinking?” he grunted, fighting to ignore the burning heat of your touch. When was the last time a woman touched him? It must have been Tess and that was… a long time ago.

“I’ll take a red wine. Cabernet or pinot noir, whichever kind is available, please.”

After relaying your request to the bartender, and with his brother’s attention focused solely on Maria, Joel turned his attention back to you. He was a miserable sod, but you were a beautiful woman – he’d be a fool to ignore the attention you paid him. “How are you settlin’ in?”

“Pretty good. This is some community.” You launched into a few stories about mishaps and people you’ve met so far, drawing a few chuckles from Joel with your interpretation of some of the townsfolk. You had a way about you that drew him out of shell of melancholy.

One drink quickly became two, then three, and before either of you knew it, Maria and Tommy left and the two of you were alone at the bar. The wine buzz left you feeling bold and brave, making a move you would not have normally.

“Do you want to go back to my place for a nightcap?”

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, brows pinched, at once drifting back under the dark cloud of hopelessness and unable to meet your heated gaze. “You don’t want to waste your time on me. I’m a lost cause.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what and who I waste my time on,” you challenged.

Joel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at your tenacity. You were a beautiful young woman and for some unfathomable reason you were interested in him. He had absolutely nothing to offer someone like you, except for a one-night stand, at best. He was good at those – they didn’t require deep connections or feelings, two things he was avoiding like the plague. Maybe Tommy was on to something though – sex would take his mind off his miserable existence for a bit.

“Okay then. Let’s get outta here,” he replied, downing the last of the amber liquid in his glass, and leading you out of the bar with a large, warm hand at your lower back.

The journey to your house was cold and quiet and you began to wonder if you’d made a huge error in judgement. You weren’t a one-night stand kind of girl, preferring the comfort and security of relationships instead, but something told you that this would be the only way you’d get to have Joel. There was a darkness about him, a deep residing mass of regret and remorse, and you felt a burning need to fix him, to be his sunshine, even if only for a little bit.

Your hands fumbled with the latch when you finally reached your house. The warmth of Joel’s large hands suddenly overwhelmed your senses as he helped you, and you were flinging yourself at him before the door even closed behind you.

His kisses were anything but tender, all harsh presses of his lips, teeth, and tongue, like he was a man starved. There would be marks left on your tender skin come morning, but you didn’t mind, giving him the same treatment as you sucked at his neck, soothing your tongue over the spots you just sunk your teeth into.

“I have a bottle of wine. Do you want some?” you breathed against his lips, taking a moment to slow the momentum before the pair of you spontaneously combusted.

A smirk crossed Joel’s lips as an idea struck him. “Sure, why not.” He watched you open the bottle and pour two glasses before returning to him. Accepting one of the stemless glasses, he clinked it against yours before taking a sip. The momentum picked right back up after that first taste of the dark liquid.

Fingers frantically working to undo the buttons on Joel’s flannel with one hand, you walked backwards up the stairs to your bedroom, pulling him along with you without a spare thought about the wine spilled on the wood flooring as you went. Patience wearing thin, he tore your clothes from your body with his free hand, leaving you naked and yearning as you continued working on his shirt. Placing his glass of wine on the nightstand, his hands were everywhere, he could not get enough of your smooth, soft skin.

You were the antithesis of him, bright and bubbly where he was dark and brooding, soft where he was hard, adaptable and happy where he was rigid and sad. You were ripe like fresh fruit ready for plucking. You were everything he wish he could still be. Perhaps he could get just a brief taste of happiness being with you, inside you.

Once his jeans and boots were shed, Joel tossed you onto the bed, watching with hungry eyes as your tits bounced with the movement. He was on you in a flash, hands and mouth exploring every inch of your body. Sharp teeth scraped against your puckered nipples, making them impossibly harder, and the sensation shot a bolt of pleasure right down to your core, where the weight of his hardened cock rested, twitching for attention.

Nails scraped down his chest and belly until you reached his cock, slipping your slender hand around the heft of him. He was huge – both long and thick, a combination you’d not experienced before, and your mouth watered with the desire to taste him. If you only had one night together, you wanted to make it a memorable experience.

It took great effort to get Joel to detach his lips from your breasts, the whine that emanated from him as you did so had you downright aching for him.

“What are you doin’, darlin’?” his deep voice rumbled, dark eyes rolling back in his head when you moved down his body and slipped your plush lips around the head of his cock. “Oh, fuck!”

After spending so long living in hell, your mouth felt like heaven as you licked and sucked on his length.

“Wait, doll, I wanna try somethin’.”

Sitting up against the aged headboard, Joel grasped the wine glass and brought it down to rest on his belly. Two thick fingers dipped into the dark red liquid and swirled, coating every bit of surface area from fingertip to second knuckle before he brought his drenched fingers down towards you. His hand hovered over his cock and you both watched as droplets of translucent ruby red liquid dripped onto his hardened flesh.

Your mouth watered as you watched him repeat the process, eager to taste the heady mix of the bitter tang of wine and his salty pre-cum. Ravenous, you slurped at the liquid trails running down the length of his cock before lapping at the bulbous head, leaving no hint of wine behind as you wrapped your lips around him.

Joel was a panting mess when you took him as far as you could, his weeping head hitting the back of your throat. The glass of wine was forgotten, slipping from his hand to stain the hardwood floor next to the bed. That was a tomorrow problem as you focused on devouring his beautiful cock. He was close to the edge within minutes, the sensations too much, and he pushed you off him none too gently, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

“My turn, darlin’,” Joel murmured, nestling his face between your legs. He’d been told that his current lifestyle was bad for his health, that all the drinking and smoking was hopeless. They weren’t wrong, but it felt like that was all he needed, the only thing that set him free from his sorrows. Now that he’d tasted you, he knew that was utter bullshit. You could so easily set him free if he got to have you, taste you every day. You were enough to change a man like him.

“Joel,” you mewled his name between long moans as his tongue teased at your clit, thick fingers exploring your folds before dipping inside you. He drew an orgasm from you effortlessly and you clawed at his back as the blinding flash of pleasure washed over you. “I need you inside me. Now. Please.”

He could refuse you nothing, shifting to hover over you. “Save me from myself,” he murmured against your lips as he sheathed himself inside your tight warmth. “You’re the only one who can.”

“Always,” you replied breathlessly, rocking your hips against his. Your mouths met in a kiss full of promise.

[givekennyabreak]

Sleep Tight. (Kenny Liu x GN!reader)

Summary: Kenny is tired of the noises outside, so he seeks your company.

Word count: 1.6k

Request: no, it's just my brain again

Rating: E, mdni please.

Warnings: there are literally no spoilers but mentions of the creatures in fromville, canon typical swearing, afab!reader but no mentions of gender, established but not labeled relationship, declarations of love ig, making out, dry humping, unprotected sex, p in v intercourse, cumming inside, subby!kenny, praise kink (Kenny receiving, as he SHOULD), nipple play (m receiving), reader rides kenny to oblivion.

It's my first time writing in second person, so tips are very much appreciated! Have a good read!

The screeches were louder tonight.

Kenny was used to it, really - after dark, either cold or warm, there was noise outside, always. The hushed, kind whispers; the taunts, the offers made out loud, and the screeches.

The fucking loud, shrill sound that, weirdly, reminded him of the pterodactyls in Jurassic Park (or that second Scooby-Doo movie).

It didn’t use to weird him out, but he could swear they were getting louder and louder in this specific night, and the thought of being alone in his room made Kenny grow restless to the point he stood up and walked up to the window.

His hand raised to the closed blinds, reaching out impatiently – and then, he stopped.

“Can’t do this.”

Before he could do something stupid, he left his room. Passing by his mom’s and Jade’s doors, he walked towards the stairs and walked down, careful to avoid the steps that creaked loudly with the slightest pressure; then, he hopped onto the ground floor and looked onwards, towards the door near the kitchen.

He knew you would be awake, listening to the screeches too.

Just as he walked up to the door, it creaked open; a sliver of light escaped onto the hallway, and he took that as an invitation.

Kenny walked into the room, and closed the door behind him with a single ‘click!’. Then, the lock twisted into place – he knew what would happen. He needed to fall asleep, you needed to stop thinking, if even for a handful of minutes.

“I thought you might show up.”

The room was in its usual state. Clean, with a few papers scattered around the familiar table by the window; the dresser beside it was void of any dust, and the bed was a little messy – sheets crinkled and tossed around from a person who laid down but didn’t get to sleep.

“Sorry, I know it’s late-” The apology died on Kenny’s lips as his housemate walked up to him, as a small smile broke on your face; he felt his cheeks flush - was this what his old roommate used to do? What was it - a booty call?

"It's okay, love."

A hand cupped Kenny's face, and he leaned into the touch. He ran hot, and suddenly his loose shirt and sweatpants felt too tight, too scratchy - uncomfortable. He closed his eyes, and sighed. "I don't wanna sneak around anymore."

You paused in your tracks. A surprised glint shone in your eyes, pupils large in adoration. The two of you have danced around this situation way too many times, scared of losing each other in this nightmare town, having to pretend you weren't in love - to everyone else, and to yourselves.

You licked your lips, suddenly dry. "Are you sure?"

Kenny nodded his head in affirmation. "Yes. I-"

He stopped; his eyes stared straight at the ones in front of him, and he gulped, Adam's apple bobbing. Then, with newfound confidence, he slid his hands up your waist. "I'm in love with you."

A relieved sigh left your lips, leaning up in a rush to capture Kenny's mouth in a searing kiss. Your hands reached up and around the nape of his neck, pulling at the short strands of his soft, thick hair, and he let out a moan in response. His cheeks flushed even more, a bright reddish tint to mirror the flush on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips.

The couple separated after a beat, breath coming out in ragged pants.

"I love you." You finally said, bright smile on your lips. Kenny swooped back down, kissing you with so much fervor it got you a little surprised.

He walked backwards, until the back of his knees hit the bed and he fell on the mattress, breaking the kiss with a little jostle.

"Sorry." He mumbled, a huffed laugh escaping his lips. He wormed his way up the bed, until his head laid on the couple of pillows you always slept with.

You wrestled off your pants while Kenny got rid of his shirt, throwing it on some unknown corner of the room; then, you crawled atop his body - toned from all the sports he played in college, but still soft from all the good food his mom made -, straddling his hips.

You took your time to explore each other's bodies; it was fast before - rushed, to not let Jade or Tian-Chen get you in any compromising positions, so they wouldn't question any of you, and make you think about what you had going on.

Now, with the feelings bared upon the metaphorical table, exposed, you could take all the time in the world to commit yourselves to memory.

You took off your shirt, flinging it across the room – an unusual move, but this was a new scenario. You could clean it up later.

"You're so pretty." You uttered, hands splayed out on Kenny's freckled chest. He flushed even more, down his neck and torso, red growing underneath the hands that caressed his skin; he shuddered as a nipple was tweaked - he was sensitive there, and since you found that out he hasn't had a peaceful day.

His breath came out in ragged, choppy pants as both his nipples were played with. You squeezed his chest a couple of times, but his groans and moans grew in volume as did the tent in his pants, right under your own clothed core.

"Ahh, jus'- move already," he whimpered, hips bucking up to seek friction; a wet patch had formed on the damned grey sweatpants, matching with the one on your underwear.

"You're so bossy," You grumbled, but rolled your hips anyway - couldn't resist the way Kenny's eyes rolled to the back of his head, a thin layer of sweat already covering his exposed skin. "Come on, lift up your hips."

The man did as told, and put the back of his hand over his mouth to stifle the noises he made as his pants joined the other clothes on the floor, along your underwear.

He jolted.

"Hnng-!"

You grinned as you straddled him again, bare pussy resting on top of his cock. You moved up, breath hitching as the spongy head brushed against your clit; the sheer amount of precum he let out was enough to help with your sloppy movements, hands splayed over his chest as you moved in no particular pattern.

He groaned, member twitching as you stopped on your tracks over him.

"I didn't even put it inside. Come on, pretty boy. Hang on f'me, just a little."

Kenny nodded his head, black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. He opened his eyes, unfocused - and closed them again upon seeing you – his lover, officially - opening your folds with your pointer and middle fingers, holding his dick with your other hand.

You sank down slowly, savoring the stretch - he wasn't massive, just the right size to rub all the good spots in you. Little by little, you slid down until your pelvic bone found his, wetness seeping onto the small patch of hair on his navel.

"D'you want me to move?"

Kenny shook his head in denial. "Do that and it'll be the quickest I've ever came."

You chuckled, brushing the hair that rested over his forehead; his own hands drifted up - one found your free one, intertwining your fingers, and the other slid up your chest to squeeze at your boob. “’s soft.”

“Hmm.” You hummed in response, head nearing his. A peck was placed on his lips, and your nose brushed his softly, slowly – a sign of adoration. “Are you okay?”

“Better than okay.” He whispered back, hips snapping up in need; you gasped, eyes closing in surprise at the sudden pleasure that jolted up your spine like lightining.

“Ahh, don’t- don’t do that,” You whined, and Kenny chuckled. With newfound vigor, you circled your hips, setting a slow, torturing pace; his hand left your boob, up your shoulder and down your arm, until you laced your fingers with his.

Both hands resting on either side of his head, fingers tangled with each other’s, noses and chests touching – you were thoroughly entangled with Kenny, hearts beating so fast you thought you might combust in place. The coil of pleasure in your belly built and built and built-

Kenny cried out, and you swooped right back down to kiss him silent as his back arched and his cock shot ropes of milky white in your pussy; warm, sticky – each time you grinded down, your clit got stimulated until the coil snapped and white hot took over your vision.

When you came to, Kenny had turned you both on your sides, cleaning up the mess between your legs with his discarded shirt. “Ah, you’re back.”

You blinked. “I passed out?”

“For a couple minutes, yeah. I got worried, but you were breathing okay and mumbling something like ‘dick so good it sent me to space’.”

“You’re shitting.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I am.”

You snorted, hand reaching up to caress his cheek. A loving, chaste kiss was placed on his lips, and he sighed, head hitting the pillows.

“You’re staying, right?” You whispered, turning off the nightlamp just as he hummed in confirmation.

“Yeah. I’ve wanted to do this for ages.” He reached out, wrapping his arms around your waist, and hiding his face on your chest. “Good night. I love you.”

You smiled. “I love you, too. Sleep well.”

You didn’t hear the screeches anymore.

PERMALIST: @tiredwritersworld

[thesakuragarnet]

Crimes Of Passion (Dabi X Fem! Reader)

Summary: It's been a decade since your best friend, Toya Todoroki, perished at the hands of his own Quirk. You always liked to think he was watching over you, looking over your shoulder, keeping you out of harm's way in a guardian angel sense. After all, you'd devoted your life to making equipment to ensure that never happened to anyone else. But lately, you've felt like you're ACTUALLY being watched.

[Part one of my Yandere Dabi X Support Course Graduate Fem!Reader mini series]

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY! S3XUAL TAGS WILL BE HIDDEN BELOW THE KEEP READING BUTTON!

Non-Spicy Tags: canon-typical v!0lence, swearing, smut, Yandere-ish Dabi, childhood friends, innuendo, stalker/feral Dabi, Support Course Graduate Fem!Reader, Second Person POV

Word Count: 2,435 words

AO3 link

Spicy Tags: slight dubcon, sexy in theory problematic in practice, explicit s3xual content, vag!nal fingering, dirty talk, making out, dubcon kissing, alley s3x, quirk use during s3x, c0me eating, cr3ampie, cunn!lingus, vag!nal s3x, semi-public s3x

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

You were working late at the office again. You'd spent all night drafting plans for your latest creation; it was a special request from a client. This Support Item would help the user maintain their body temperature...something that you took close to heart. Your best friend could've used such a thing...maybe if he had, he'd still be alive. Everyone else had already left. It was too far to walk home. You'd have to take the night train. 

...

It's hard for you to not fall asleep as you lean your head up against the window, eyelids drooping as the train runs through the dark tunnels beneath the city. In fact, you barely noticed when the group of shady-looking men got in the same train car as you. A chill runs down your spine when you hear them whispering to one another, and, instantly, you're wide awake. You look outside, realizing your stop is next. Something is telling you to get off the train ASAP...to get away from these men. As soon as possible. The car screeches to a stop, and, without a second thought, you bolt off the train. You didn't live in the best part of town, and the street is dimly lit when you exit the subway. You steal a glance over your shoulder...and realize they're following you. 

'Fuck.' 

Your mind starts racing, trying to think of a way to lose them. They're getting closer...walking faster. Immediately, you dart into a side alleyway, hoping to lose them through the side streets...only for it to be a dead end. You turn around, and they're closing in...

THUD. 

Out of nowhere, a figure leaps down from the rooftops, landing unnaturally gracefully in front of you. The stranger is tall, dressed in all black, and, in the dim moonlight, you see his hands. Scars trace down his arms, stopping at his wrists, which are full of crude surgical staples. 

"I suggest you four go back the way you came," The figure orders. His voice is deep and raspy...kinda sexy. The thugs are unimpressed. 

"What the hell are you?"

"Your face makes me wanna puke!"

"Keep looking at me like that and I'll kill ya!"

They start jeering, continuing to move closer. The mysterious figure raises his arm, and, suddenly, a brilliant cerulean glow flickers off the alleyway walls. 

"You're not going to touch her," He orders coldly. The men laugh. 

"Oh, yeah? And who's gonna stop us?"

FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!

You scream as the rush of heat and light surges through the alleyway; a frighteningly powerful blue blaze erupts from the man, engulfing the group immediately in flames. Their shrieks of pain are rather short, and the light dies down to flickers and embers within a few seconds. The smell of burned flesh fills the air, and smoke begins to rise. 

"That answer your question?" The man chuckles under his breath, putting his hand back down. He shakes his wrist, and you notice it's smoking. The man turns on his heel, and your eyes widen. His face looks like a mess of patchwork scars and staples, sweeping under his eyes, over his cheekbones, and around his neck. 

"Stay away from me!" You shout, reaching for the pepper spray in your purse as your bones shake. Terror fills your lungs along with the smoke and ashes. 

"What? No 'thank you'? I just saved your life," The figure pouts mockingly, staring into your soul. His eyes are as blue as the flames that shot out of his hand. 

Something about this man...is hauntingly familiar. The way he speaks to you seems unnaturally natural. It's not in the way a stranger would. 

"Who are you?" 

"You'd think you'd recognize your guardian angel when you see him in person. That's what you call me, right? At least when you talk to yourself, acting like I'm some imaginary friend sitting on a cloud over you. Well...," He smirks, taking a threatening step closer. You freeze. 

"Toya?"

"In the burned flesh," He grins sarcastically, gesturing to his scars. 

"That's impossible. My best friend is dead," You stammer, but the longer you look at him, the less you believe your own words. 

Those eyes. The mannerisms.

"Come on, princess."

You hate the way your body responds to that word. The way it shakes you to your core when it rolls off his tongue. 

"You know it's me," He sings, a cruel smirk on his face as he walks forward, forcing your back against the wall. You gulp, feeling your heart race faster and faster. His glowing cerulean eyes bore into you. 

"Am I making you uncomfortable," The villain sneers, looking down at you with a hungry gaze. Lust. Obsession. Greed. You wordlessly shake your head. This shouldn't turn you on. This should make you run away screaming, absolutely terrified. It partially did terrify you...but...in a sickly thrilling way. The overwhelming familiarity and tension...you're spellbound. 

"All you have to do," He murmurs, slowly leaning down, hands moving to splay out on each side of your head, "is tell me 'no'."

You close your eyes, and you feel his lips meet yours. The moment you give in, kissing him back, you feel his hands on your shoulders...squeezing them tightly over and over...as if he's trying to restrain himself from tearing you apart. You reach up, running your hands through his hair, and a chuckle rumbles in his throat as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him. His tongue flicks against your lip, and the moment you give even a hint of admittance, he practically sticks it down your throat. A strangled whimper muffles in your throat in surprise, and you melt into his arms, trying not to slide down the wall as you feel your legs turning to jelly. The feeling of his impossibly warm tongue tracing along your own makes your eyelids flutter, and when you two part, a strand of saliva connects your lips. He traces kisses down your jaw before roughly pushing your hair back and ever so softly sinking his teeth into your neck. You sigh, feeling his fingers wander down your body, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you. Slowly, they dance further and further south...pausing just above the waistband of your panties. Gently, he slips his hand below them, and you gasp as his fingers trace your slit. 

"Fuck, you're wet, princess," He shudders, sucking on your neck harder, and his other hand presses into your back, grabbing a fistful of your clothing. 

"Toya," You moan softly, "We shouldn't be doing thi-"

"Shut up," He rasps harshly in your ear before effortlessly pressing a finger inside you, "If you don't like what I'm doing then tell me. I'll stop."

You take a deep breath, focusing on the feeling of his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit as he curls his fingers intentionally. Another moan crawls out of you before you can restrain yourself, and you give in to the temptation. Everything he's doing feels so good. No one's ever touched you this way before. No one's ever made your heart race quite like this. It's exhilarating. He plants more kisses on your neck, borderline groaning into each kiss, the subtle noises vibrating against your skin. 

"You taste so fucking good," He hums between sloppy kisses, tracing his tongue up the side of your neck as you feel warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach. "God, the things I wanna do to you."

It sounds like a threat, a promise, and a desperate plea all in one. It shouldn't, but it gives you butterflies. 

"Like what?" You sigh, hooking your fingers into his loose belt. He jerks ever so slightly, as if the touch caught him completely off guard. You pause, worrying you've overstepped a boundary, but he soon leans forward, as if begging you to continue. 

"Tell me what you wanna do, Toya," You murmur as you trace your fingers below, and you feel his arousal through his jeans. 

"I wanna drown you in pleasure until you can't stop begging me for more," He whispers in your ear, "I wanna make you come until you can't fucking think." 

Zzzzip. 

His breath hitches as you unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, pulling out his throbbing cock. Without a second thought, he pulls his fingers out of you and forces your pants down until they fall to your ankles. 

"I owe you, right?" You huff as he looks into your eyes, and he grins deviously. 

"I've wanted to fuck you so bad, princess," Toya rasps, his gravelly voice tingling your ears as his hot breath pants against your skin. You feel his hands reach underneath you, gripping the flesh on your ass as he picks you up, firmly pressing your back against the wall. You flinch when he presses the tip against your entrance. It's hot. Not too hot...but hot. 

"I'm gonna burn you from the inside out," He murmurs, his deep voice tilting on a villainous laugh. Your eyes widen, heart racing. When he notices, he clicks his tongue. 

"Just a figure of speech, princess. I'd never hurt you...not unless you wanted it," He snickers before slowly lowering you down onto his cock. You gasp as he slides in, eyes rolling back in your head. It's bigger than you expected. It feels like he's practically splitting you open, and the pain is daunting. Nonetheless, you can't help but crave more. You want him to break you. You want him to shove it as far as it'll go. You want him to rearrange your guts until your mind turns to mush. 

"Easy there, gorgeous," He purrs, gritting his teeth as he carefully forces himself all the way inside you. He shudders, and you manage to kick your pants all the way off before wrapping your legs around his waist, locking him inside. 

"Good girl," Toya groans, his lips curling into a predatory smirk as his eyes soften. He looks completely devoted. Consumed by twisted passion. His fingernails dig into your hips, threatening to break the skin. 

"My good girl," He adds before roughly planting his lips on yours. His tongue traces across the roof of your mouth, claiming every inch. Then, he starts thrusting up into you, and you practically see stars. The pain mixes with pleasure, shocks spreading from between your thighs as he fucks you, his breath panting in your ear as he presses himself against you. You can feel the heat coming off of his body. It's enough to make you feel like you're sweating. The sounds of his balls slapping against you with every deep, intense roll of his hips reaches your ears. If anyone else is out this late, all they have to do is turn the corner, and they'll see you getting railed by a murderer beside a sea of ashes. It's taboo. Everything about this screams wrong to you. This is Toya. Your best friend. Your dead best friend. Who seems to be psychotically obsessed with you in the most primal way. But...it all feels so right. You've never felt such gnawing pleasure in your entire life. It's coursing through your veins, boiling in your blood, beating in your heart and throbbing in your nethers. 

"Toya, don't stop," You plead pathetically, the raunchy moan seeming to drive him wild.

"Such a pretty little voice," He laughs darkly in your ear before deliberately picking up his rhythm, pounding into you. Your head spins, trying to decide whether or not the pain overshadows the pleasure. It feels like he's going to rip you apart from the bottom up. His thrusts become haphazard, and his voice becomes needy.

"Fuck," His voice breaks into a soft whine as you feel the warmth spreading inside you, filling you up. Breath hisses through your gritted teeth. You're so pent-up. You're far from your orgasm, despite how much you're enjoying this. Toya pulls back, his face inches away from yours, and he seems to notice your frustration. 

"No, no. We're not done. I'm not leaving until you've come for me," He sighs lustfully before adding, "Until I make you come for me."

You stare into those eyes again. Those burning beautiful blue eyes. 

"Besides," He pants as he slowly lifts you off of his cock, hands firmly gripping your ass, "We can't leave all that in there, now, can we?" 

Before you can register what's happening he lifts you up...and up...and up. He's surprisingly stronger than he looks...and he stops when your dripping slit is level with his face. You shake, partially terrified at how high you are off the ground, keeping your back pressed up against the wall. Your hands run through his hair, gripping to help ground you from the fear of falling. Toya looks up with an expression of pure worship, and you cry out as he dives between your legs, his warm tongue fully extended into you, working to lick you clean. The sounds are positively vile; the lewd slurping noises between your hips overpower all other sounds. You moan his name, your head leaning back against the wall as your eyelids flutter shut, focusing on the feeling of him devouring you. His tongue flexes, twisting in ways that seem improbable, leaving you whimpering for more. He laughs, his hot breath huffing against you as he presses his lips to your clit. You steal a glance to see his gaze fixated on you, staring into your fucking soul. His hands grip you rougher, making you wince as he suckles that sweet spot, tongue flicking against it in all the right ways. You feel yourself getting closer. His touch is so intoxicating. It's so otherworldly. It's so...good. You can't stop the sounds of pleasure coming out of your mouth, spilling from your lips like an ever-flowing waterfall. You feel the familiar clench in the pit of your stomach, and, suddenly, the climax hits you all at once. Your hands turn to fists in his hair, pulling him closer into you as you whimper and moan his name. Toya growls into your slit, the vibrations sending more sensations shooting through your body. Finally, you feel yourself coming down, and you release your grip on him. Toya leans back, looking up at you with dripping lips that he licks clean. He pants, as if out of breath, not breaking the haunting stare. 

"Do you want me to go back to watching in the shadows, princess, or can I get closer, now?"

[whitehotwild]

OKAY!!! so these are the ex!butcher x reader/OC(?) x logan headcanons/sort of a prologue/brief outline of the story!

AN: PLEASE let me know if you'd rather read a 'x reader' story or an ‘OC x reader’ story!!!!

OKAY!!! so this will read like a canon divergence AU (aurbviously).

Butcher was never on the brink of fucking DYING from temp v, he never killed Victoria and he never got powers.

BUT he is spiraling, that mean part of his brain (kessler) has just sort of taken over and made him kinda lose grip on what actually matters, Butcher wants everyone with powers dead, but especially Homelander.

(I’ve kinda been thinking about actually making this post Homelander death, and THEN Butcher spirals way way way out of control wanting basically a superhuman genocide, let me know what you think about that)

ALSO, Supes and Mutants exist as two separate things in this universe. Supes came after Mutants because Frederick Vought realized that these superpowered beings could be capitalized upon, but he knew if he used mutants they might end up rebelling, so going about making his own Superhumans was a safer option in his mind. Mutants are born, Supes are made.

Mutants distance themselves from Supes, knowing they usually end up being more trouble than they’re worth.

Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters does not accept Supe students, they did for a while at the very beginning, but Charles quickly realized that, for whatever reason, Supes and Mutants just do not get along on most occasions.

OKAY!!! SO NOW THAT THE GEEK TALK IS DONE, HERE’S THE STORY DETAILS

You/OC were a college intern at Vought that Homelander had his sights set on. He sort of coerced you into a relationship/situationship that lasted for about a year and was quite was toxic (bc like… it’s homelander).

While that went on Butcher knew of you bc of how obsessively he kept tabs on HL.

Butcher was planning on killing you to hurt HL, but then when he realized things had ended he knew you’d be more use to him alive than dead.

you were recruited to The Boys around the same time as Hughie, maybe a bit before.

you and Butcher don’t get together until after Becca dies, at first you’re really just mostly a object of comfort and escape for him, it’s way more serious for you than it is for him.

very Casual by Chappel Roan vibes

very Sharpest Tool by Sabrina Carpenter vibes

BUT the longer you stick around the more genuinely attached Butcher gets

There’s this sweet spot from almost a year in to a few months before the end of your relationship, it lasts about 2 years itself, you and Butcher are together for nearly 3 years.

during that sweet spot Butcher starts meaning it when he says "i love you"

near the end of those 3 years is when Butcher starts to become utterly obsessed with the whole “taking down homelander/supe genocide” thing.

he gets meaner, not to you specifically, just in general. he’s less affectionate, doesn’t spend as much time with you, only really initiates intimacy when he wants it, otherwise kinda brushes off your advances.

anytime you try to bring up these issues or his recent behavior you’re quickly shut down with a firm, “Let it be, love.”

you start spending more time away from the apartment, outside of work you try to fill your time with either hanging out with friends or going to the bar.

one night, you’re out with Annie and a few of your other friends at a little dive bar uptown.

you wanna play pool but none of your friends want to play, annie suggests you just go ask someone.

you’re a few drinks deep, not enough to make you drunk, just enough to instill a nice coat of confidence around you.

so, you see this man sitting at the bar, leather jacket draped over the back of his barstool, a cigar in one hand, a glass of what you assume is probably whiskey sitting in front of him, and you have no problem going up to him.

you ask him if he wants to play a game with you, and at first he tries to shoo you off, but unfortunately for him, you’re persistent.

there’s an instant connection between the you and the man, who you learned is called Logan.

he tries to ignore whatever nice feelings you spark up inside him, he’s got this lone wolf thing going on and he doesn’t need you, this pretty young thing, coming along and ruining it for him… is what he tells himself.

you promised him at first that it would only be one game, but after he beat you, you demanded a rematch, and by the end of the night you had played at least a few games.

you say your goodbyes and Logan assumes he’ll never see you again because that’s just the way things go. he tries to ignore the soft pang of disappointment in him, brushing it off as one of those rare occurences where he actually does feel a bit lonely… he’d never say that out loud.

you come back at the same time exactly a week later, this time by yourself, after a long week of dealing with the brick wall Butcher has put between the two of you.

Logan tries to ignore the way his heartbeat picks up just a bit when he sees you, he’s almost a bit annoyed that you came back, he was just starting to shake the memory of you that he couldn’t seem to forget like how he can the others.

you play pool again and open up to each other, even if it’s just the slightest bit.

this becomes a weekly occurrence, you and logan become “friends” (more so acquaintances that hang out once a week only at the bar for a few hours).

ANYWAYS!!! i’m gonna stop here so i don’t just write the whole story in bullet format, but this is the basic outline of the first bit of the story. literally only gonna write this if people actually want to read something like this, and it’ll also take me a while because i’m in the process of moving SO, pleathe be patient for i am just a little guy.

[rypnami]

pirate captain sebastian sallow headcanons

this is part of my pirate au, which i'm working on in the background between art and my main fic!! divider from here

everyone knows pirates were gay, and sebastian has all that bisexual man swagger

he runs a very tight ship when necessary, but is overall a relaxed leader figure

his parents died when he was 7

as a teen, anne and his uncle both fell very ill with scarlet fever, and while their uncle died, anne survived but still to this day is not fully recovered

magic doesn't technically exist, but sebastian believes in it anyway

he takes to sailing the sea when he hears rumour of a mysterious, lost magical relic that supposedly has healing powers, and he wants to find it to fully cure his sister

he became captain at only 17 after the previous captain died and left the ship to him. he'd proven himself as ambitious, strategic, and smart enough to hold his own and keep everything in order

may be a nice guy, but do not cross him, or assume you know better than him on how to run his own ship. he does not take any disrespect lightly

competent duellist, of course, and is known to take other ships for his own

although his family was always relatively poor and he never had proper schooling, he always tried to learn everything he could wherever he could

he's a top. thats that on that

he finds life on a ship, living by his own rules, incredibly freeing, and would probaby genuinely go mad living in a 'proper' town after so long at sea

the most charming man to ever live. very similar to his canon personality, he can get what he wants with a wink and a smile, and people are falling over themselves for him

having grown up poor, he knows the struggle and doesn't actually keep much treasure he loots for himself. he doesn't really have any need for it, so he gives it to the people that do need it

he and the commander of the british royal navy (leander) have a very strained relationship, beyond just the criminal v cop dynamic. there's probably more to that story👀but sebastian will NOT talk about it and will tell off anyone who asks

the BIGGEST flirt on the seven seas. probably on all land, too. that said, he craves a genuine deep connection and although he might have casual flings, deep down he wants someone to sail with who loves him for him, and helps him run his ship

looks damn good in a pirate fit, but everyone already knew that

brilliant artist, hand-drew several of the maps he and his crew uses

crew is made up of other au HL characters, tbd!! (perhaps even some MCs if there's interest tee hee)

incredibly loyal person, especially to his crew. sees them as more of a family than people he can order around if he wants to

gets back to the town he's from when he can to check on anne and her condition

did i mention he's a massive flirt

[pearlsinmyhair]

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: death. suicidal thoughts. grief. angst. miguel being a hardass. cursing/adult language.

notes: ok, here we go. the last part. star girl kisses hobie on the cheek, and they have some romantic implications. HOWEVER. i did not write them to be romantic. i just see hobie as a very physically affectionate person (especially since i’m this way.)

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

word count: 2.6k

part v : void

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

cursed daughter,

uttering insanities no one believes,

do you regret taking the vow?

“you die.”

it felt like the ground was dropping out from under you, like the void had somehow traveled from your dead universe to this one to drag you down where you belonged.

in the grave. in the ground. gone.

you were staring at lyla. or maybe you weren’t. her orange form blended and swirled as tears overflowed your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. all the fight, the rage, the energy, was gone. snuffed like a candle flame.

just like you should be right now.

“i was supposed to die.” you whispered, more to yourself than miguel or lyla. “but i was somewhere else.”

anger lit in your chest fast, ignited by the frustration that had grown for months in your mind, words yelled at mirrors and whispered to the ceiling.

you turned to miguel, still on the ground as you raised your voice.

“i was somewhere else because of your sorry ass beating a mother fucking teenager to death! because i had to protect a child! from you!” you stepped up, rising slowly even as your knees shook. “if i hadn’t been worried about miles or you or your determination to keep the canon intact, then it would have been fine! i would have died, and everyone in my universe would have been okay!”

deflect, ignore the problem, fight, rage, scream.

you hated how similar you were to miguel.

you hated him.

he stood still as a statue, watching you with a defeated expression as you self destructed.

“y/n…” he tried, voice the softest you had ever heard it.

and you broke.

your knees buckled, but he was there in an instant, hands looping under your arms so that you didn’t fall. he pulled you into him, even as your fists beat against his chest.

“i hate you so fucking much. i hate how you make me feel and i hate what you did and i hate you-“ you sobbed, trying and failing to grapple with the weight of what had happened.

and through it all he just held you, tucking your head under his chin.

“i know, mija.” he whispered, his hand resting against the back of your neck to pull you against him.

“if you hadn’t been an asshole and chased a kid then it would have been alright. all those people would be alive and-“

“and you’d be dead.” he finished, his arm around you tightening slightly. “and i think we both know i wouldn’t let that happen.”

you felt repulsed, like his hands were burning, a betrayal to a boy beaten by the same palms. but you were also desperate, clinging to a life you lived for nine months only to be stripped from it completely. you wanted this contact, craved this hug.

your mind cried TRAITOR and your heart cried HOME. it was a contradiction that made you ache, a reminder of what was gone and would never return.

your hands clenched the material of miguel’s suit tight, bunching it as you wheezed. you felt so small, and yet so large. grief scratched at you with newly sharper claws, and guilt followed at its heels.

miguel’s hold tightened.

your mind switched to analytical thinking, trying to procure a solution, to fix what you had broken.

the answer came clearly, emerging from the darkest spot of your mind like a banished creature.

“you need to kill me.”

miguel pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands moving to your upper arms to grip you in an unyielding hold. his eyes filled with a solemn determination that made you want to sob, made you want to scream.

“it won’t bring them back.” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “nothing you or i or lyla or anyone does will bring them back.”

the void at your toes, ready to swarm. an ocean of black silence, waiting to drown you.

“there has to be a way, miguel. please. if my universe collapsed because i didn’t die, then maybe if i died it would come ba-“

“do you think i didn’t try that when gabriella’s universe disappeared?” he asked, voice firm but expression soft. “i tried for weeks, never truly sleeping. i went through data and experimentation just for a chance to reassemble a universe. it doesn’t matter.”

your chest tightened, your breath limited as you tried to force a rhythm.

in, hold, out.

all those children.

in, hold, out.

mothers and fathers.

in, hold, out.

AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT.

miguel pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you.

the thoughts muted, the world dark and warm as you pressed your face to his chest. his arms, keeping you safe from the outside.

the tears didn’t stop for a long time, and neither did your choked cries. but it didn’t matter to him. it didn’t matter that there was a wet patch in his suit that most definitely included snot as well as tears.

he guided you through breathing, moving his hand in rhythmic circles on the upper plane of your back as he whispered “in, and out” over and over until your heartbeat calmed.

miguel knew that this was just the beginning. there would be late nights and frustrated yelling and breakdowns for a long time. it would take months to heal, months to work this guilt out of you.

but he’d be there every step of the way.

he refused to leave you again.

“you’re a hypocrite.” you whispered, and again he pulled back to look at you.

your eyes were set in firm decisiveness, as though you’d been thinking about this for some time. his gut twisted and his frustration flared slightly, but his inclined his head to let your speak.

you took a breath. “you’d save me for the sake of your own benefit. you care for me- i make you less lonely.” she held up her hand when his mouth opened, and his words died on his tongue. “you’d let my entire universe die just to have me.”

your voice faltered as tears balled in your throat, but you swallowed and carried on. miguel needed to hear this, and you were pretty sure you were the only person he’d hear it from.

“that’s selfish. incredibly so. but.” she trailed off, piecing the words together and preparing for his rebuttal. “when miles wants to save his father, it’s a cardinal sin.”

“y/n, it’s diff-“

“no, it’s not.” you cut him off, and again his mouth shut. he had forgotten just how quick your words were, no doubt sharpened by your temporary grounding.

“you’re sympathetic to me, but you slam a boy, a boy, miguel, into a train because he wants to save his father. meanwhile, you’d save your daughter without so much as a second thought? that’s hypocrisy.”

his eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“all i ask is that you give him the same grace. can’t you understand why he refuses to follow your orders?

miguel sighed, keeping his eyes on you.

“miles is an anomaly, he’s was never meant to be spider-man-“

“enough of that. that has nothing to with the canon event. the universe didn’t collapse when he was bitten. it’s not his fault.”

“he is the beginning of this, the reason why there even is a spider society.”

your eyes narrowed, anger rising as you remembered the broken boy with bandages on his chest. “so you’re going to traumatize him? as punishment? he doesn’t deserve this blame, and you should never have reinforced it into his head. he’s fifteen, miguel. fifteen and scared. and now his head is full of your rhetoric, full of this hate that he doesn’t deserve. it’s not fair.”

you paused, and miguel worked his jaw, speechless.

“there must be another way. the canon has been flexible before. we can’t bring my universe back, but maybe we can save his. without making him watch his father die.” a tear slipped from your eye as you shoved down your sadness, forcing yourself to move on in order to help miles.

miguel’s thumb caught the tear before it fell, and you leaned into his palm.

“i think you need to sit this one out.” he whispered, eyes full of concern as your own blinked open. “i made the mistake of training you too early after your mother died, i won’t make the same mistake by allowing you to rush into this while you’re falling apart.”

you watched him, processing his words.

he was right, of course. it wasn’t healthy to push grief aside for later, especially this kind. the kind that poked at your throat and dug into your stomach. but the clock was ticking. a little less than two days.

you wanted nothing more than to curl up into a bed and cry. but you didn’t have time.

“i need to do this. and i need you to be there with me when i do, at my side. not against me. and after we figure this out, i’ll go to therapy and we can eat ice cream or whatever shit people normally do when they’re sad. ok?” you said.

this was the price of the name. sacrifice. pain. suffering. all for the greater good of the people.

miguel’s thumb stroked across your cheekbone as his jaw feathered.

“please. let me finish this.” you whispered.

miguel’s decision appeared in his eyes before it came out of his mouth.

“is this our tradition now?” he asked, and your face broke into a watery smile.

“fucking shit up despite our metal health? i guess so.” you laughed as you rubbed the heel of your hand against your eye, rubbing tears from your face.

“lyla?” you called, and she appeared at your shoulder. “can you help me reach hobie?”

lyla nodded, but miguel’s eyes hardened. “what do we need him for?” he asked, already sounding exasperated.

you smiled. “if you want to really fuck the system, you call the anarchist.” you said as you tapped at your watch.

i need some help defying the canon. you in?

it only took a few seconds for a reply.

let’s raise hell. meet you at my place in an hour.

i have miguel. but he’s leashed.

miguel looked over your shoulder, scoffing at the message.

“leashed?” he asked, and you smiled wickedly.

“you will be if you don’t listen. i’m not above webbing you to a wall and taking Rapture away from you.” you patted his shoulder. “just behave.”

you opened a portal when a thought rose suddenly.

“do you have any causal clothes?” you asked over your shoulder, and miguel raised a brow at you.

“for what?”

you grinned. “hard to be incognito in a spider suit. we need to blend in where we’re going.”

he smirked. “and what about you? think no one’s gonna stare at that suit just as much as mine?”

your teeth flashed as your grin widened. “i have clothes at hobie’s place.”

miguel’s amused expression dropped, and the glint in his eye told you that you may have to stand in front of hobie when he came back.

when he returned with clothes, grumpy as ever, you turned to the portal and jumped in, miguel at your heels.

₊ ⊹

“i cant fold it right, mine keeps bursting open.” you sighed, showing miguel the embarrassment of an empanada in your hands.

he shook his head at you, having already made a pile of at least ten. “it’s too much filling. you’re smart: use deductive reasoning.”

you elbowed him in the side, and he pretended to be wounded, letting out a fake gasp of pain.

you had both gone to the grocery store as soon as you entered earth-138, grabbing the necessary ingredients for a meal for the kids.

you had resolved that, if miguel couldn’t fully verbally apologize yet, then he could at least make them dinner.

and miguel had dragged his feet, refusing to give his input as you walked the aisles of produce and food. but when you fixed him with a glare and a sharp word, he had straightened up, explaining what exactly you needed.

and that brought you here, assembling empanadas with salsa verde and mexican rice on the counter of hobie’s house boat.

the group was late, though hobie had messaged you telling you that it was because they were talking miles into actually going in. the boy was terrified, but hobie and gwen were assuring him that everything was fine.

miguel placed the empanadas in the oven as the door to the boat clicked open and the spider band stepped though.

thank god it was spacious, you thought as the filed in.

you stepped forward to hobie, who embraced you with an arm around your waist and his mouth to your ear.

“one word and he’s a dead man.” he murmured to you as his eyes stayed fixed on miguel over your shoulder.

you garnered that miguel was staring back based on the tingling feeling of your skin.

“i got it. but noted.” you replied, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you pulled back.

his hands found your shoulders, leaning down to level a look at you. “you good?” he asked earnestly, his eyes concerned.

your smile was small, but it was a start.

“i’m good. better now.” you whispered, and he squeezed your shoulders.

he moved to the side, and your eyes caught miles’s, who stood with his arms limply at his side in a corner of the room.

you walked over to him, and his jaw clenched.

“i’m so sorry.” he whispered, and your heart ached.

“its not your fault. fate is a bitch sometimes.” you said as you slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. his arms wrapped around your back gratefully.

you reached a hand to gwen and pavitr, and they joined the hug.

“my baby spiders.” you cooed. “i missed you.”

you pulled away to look around at the others, nodding to noir and peter b and fist bumping peni.

you met miguel’s eyes, and he nodded.

deep breath. it’s not like this is the end of the word or anything.

“we have less than two days to find a solution to save miles dad. the cannon is temperamental, but it is flexible. there must be a way other than jefferson’s death that can prevent earth-1610 from collapsing. any ideas?”

you gazed around the room to blank stares and thoughtful expressions. silence pressed against your ears as no one replied.

“my dad stepped down.” came a hesitant voice.

you turned to find gwen staring at you with a hopeful expression.

“he stepped down from being captain.” she said again. she looked to the side at miles. “after he found out my identity.”

something like hope grew in your chest as you glanced again at miguel. he looked back with a soft expression, tilting his head at you.

“he’ll never step down.” miles sighed, his fingers finding his temple.

“but it shows that there’s wiggle room.” you said, and miles’s eyes peeked at you.

“nothing is black and white. it’s not simple, but it’s a start.” you said as you walked over to the oven, getting out the empanadas.

“brain food?” asked peter b, and you smiled.

miguel stood beside you, preparing plates.

“not bad, y/n.” he said, and you leaned your side against his for a moment.

“where there’s a will, there’s a way.” you said, passing out plates before taking a seat next to hobie on the floor.

you looked around at the group, a smile rising on your face.

“spot’s on the move in 1610.” announced lyla, and hobie turned to you.

“okay, star girl. what’s the plan?”

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　fin　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

taglist: aka my little stars

@brittany69 @ladyfairenvale @teamwolverine @kinkybandages @lunamhm565i @dhadiirah @pearlssdiary @zeyzeys-stuff @alexisabirdie @ifuckyourmom @hagdgishr @migueloharaslxt @ladynecromancer @leviathxn @khaylin27 @dulceteris @mouthfulofpearls @alecmores @kissitoffme @mvlanchqly

oh my goodness. thank you all so much for your love and kind words. this is my first finished series, and it’s crazy to think that it all started with a thought of

“what if miguel had a daughter who’s universe collapsed?”

and it’s become a series with followers and people who love it. i’m so incredibly thankful for both your love and your patience- i went through a very hard friendship breakup that kind of ruined my spirit for a while. hence why this took so long.

i know there will be some of you who are not satisfied with this ending. i myself am never truly honestly satisfied with what i write. but i wanted to get this out into the world. BUT. my asks are always open for questions, requests, and headcanons for this story. it’s very dear to my heart, and i’m just so amazed at you all.

my little stars, i hope you enjoyed ‘the price of the name’.

all my love,

pearl ♡

[infinizero]

Cale Henituse and Bruce Wayne differences popped into my head recently

They both,, very much cherish life but

Bruce would never kill anyone because he wants to save everyone

While Cale wants to preserve all the (relatively) innocent lives he possibly can

That is not to say that one of these things are wrong. I think that choosing to confront the worse society has to offer and deciding that their lives are worth enough to try saving is quite noble. I also think that choosing to get rid of the people who are simply irredeemable, who wouldn't live very happily even if they were somehow redeemed, is also noble.

The biggest difference between them in this aspect, is probably how much they enforce this rule on others and to what lengths they would go for this.

Bruce would choose to save the person in front of him if he could, even if it meant they would kill many others in the future. Cale would choose to let a victim of theirs dole out revenge even if it meant they died. (Raon choosing not to kill Venion v Ron and Beacrox and the assassin families that joined WS)

Which comes to my biggest gripe about Bruce

I got so annoyed thinking of this while writing that crossover I think Cale will probably embody this in it oops

Bruce doesn't kill people, that's fine, but why the hell did he save Joker from dying? Because he doesn't want his son to have blood on his hands?

So he won't stop killing when he starts? What kinda bullshit excuse is that, is self-control a myth to men? He realizes he won't be able to stop himself from murdering someone? Hang up the cowl. Cass is literally right there.

So Batman loses if he kills the Joker? So what? It's not a game. It's not a game. It's not a game. Important things need to be said thrice. So you lose the fight. So you end the single person who could not be redeemed if anyone tried, the person who killed your son specifically to get at you. Retire. Get therapy. Get better.

So his tragedy shaped him, so his ambition of helping people motivates him, then help in other ways. Hasn't this taken enough from you already? Aren't you tired? He is quite literally a billionaire. This money could be used for so many other things, just as or more helpful as his vigilantism has proved to be.

This post has derailed quite a bit whoopsie

Cale's faults, to me at least, are entirely rooted in his emotional constipation, something he shares with Bruce. I can't even blame him for it because *gestures at his life as KRS, then at his very busy life in Roan*

Anyways MOVING ON

A slight elaboration on all that would be that Bruce has contingencies in place should he die. He has successors and an entire system. Cale... Does not and the closest thing to a successor he has is Raon/On who are 6/12 as of the current canon and one is an op dragon who would destroy worlds if he dies. Bruce can die, but the repercussions wouldn't destroy the world. Cale, on the other hand...

Which takes me to how willing they are to break the law. Obv Bruce has vigilantism under his belt while Cale is a certified Scammer (exhibit... Everything), Arsonist (sea of fire anyone?), Terrorist (that time he kidnapped a king), has destroyed public property (an entire fucking island x2), has stolen items of great religious and historic significance (all the divine items, but is it really theft if it was just laying there?), led a civil revolution (elisneh and jopis), smuggling (cage and taylor into capital), and this post will be way too long if I continue.

The way they treat their subordinates/partners/kids!!!

Different versions of batman have different ways of doing it, but for the purpose of this post he is trying dad bruce (aka not the best but he is trying)

I think this is the biggest difference between them, actually, because Cale acts and tells the people around him the things they need and Bruce just... Doesn't communicate much. Somehow, they have the same communication issues and somehow they have the same emotional constipation. Somehow Cale still properly motivates his people better than Bruce does.

I feel like I've been shitting on Bruce this entire post but I genuinely can't think of anything he does that is better than Cale. Um. Oh yeah I guess his cause is technically more noble than Cale, do I think his methods are stupid? Yes. Do I like the stories that spring up from this anyways? Also yes.

This may or may not feel rushed because for some reason it posted while in draft stage but feel free to add

[commander-rahrah]

Talking to the Moon: Part VII

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~5600 Warnings: swearing, blood, some borrowed in game dialogue, violence, nudity, canonical warnings apply!

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here part III: here part IV: here part V: here part VI: here

Summary: Set in Act III, in Cazador's Palace. Continuing from part 6, Astarion has been captured and forced into the seventh slot of the ritual. But there is more conflict then just the physical fight before him. There is still the fight between his broken mind and heart to finish.

Notes: Hi everyone! So, we made it to the big bad fight... Parts of this is based off of how my actual first playthrough went when completing this mission (my character got one shotted and died in the very first round LOL,) along with head cannons that I created months ago as soon as the fight was finished and I finished bawling my eyes out. There is descriptions and some dialogue pulled straight from these scenes, just like the previous chapter, but there is a lot of stuff that I added to read between the lines. I also created a scene for after the fight but before Astarion invites you to the graveyard, as I feel like that poor man needs time to decompress and think before all of that happens! I will include some other quick notes/comments up here, which is slightly spoilery for the chapter - but I wanted you to be aware before you read.

(1) There is a bit of "main character" energy from reader/Tav in this one. As it has been established, reader is blessed by Selûne and this factors in heavily into this chapter! It is a big set up for things to come for completing their own personal arc :)

(2) I know there is a lot of discourse about some people wishing you could hug/comfort Astarion after the fight, and others who believe it is his moment and to just let him be. I agree with both sentiments - so I wrote it in the way that I envision Astarion would be okay with aka he initiates it himself. This is my opinion and characterization for Astarion, and is something that as someone who has touch aversion would be comfortable doing myself.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter and all of the angsty, sad, happy, tender moments it holds. As always, kudos and comments are very very appreciated ♡♡♡

·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨

It was like fire was in his veins, pain seeping into every nook and cranny of his body in a way he’d never known.

He would take whips and chains. Teeth and claws. Coffins buried in the ground again. Anything but this.

Astarion couldn’t help the broken scream that escaped from him, the sound echoing throughout the chamber before perhaps his last words escaped him. They were a desperate shout for you, your name shredding his vocal cords. He could barely keep his eyes open from the pain, but what he could see was the searing red that filled the entire room from the infernal magic. And blurry figures through the tears forming in his eyes — his friends gathering together defensively around you.

His mind was a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts. He wanted to you to run — to know that you would at least survive this… that would be his only comfort before he died. He needed you to run. To be safe. To live.

But that selfish voice in him, the devil on his shoulder, whispered and hoped you wouldn’t. Knew you wouldn’t. That hoped maybe, somehow, you could pull through. That after fighting the chosen of gods, an undead dragon, hoards of enemies… just maybe you could defeat the vampire master. Maybe Selûne was watching, and his prayers would finally be answered all these years later in the form of you.

His heart and mind continued to fight as his body kept burning, the pulling of the red magic on his limbs stretching his muscles and bones, pulsing through every pore of his skin.

But he knew what the answer would be — regardless of what he thought, what he hoped. You said it yourself, you would do anything for him. You would die here for him, if it came to it. And at this rate it would.

He was your undoing. He knew it would come to this and yet he still fell for you. Let you fall for him. Let you kiss him and teach him, comfort and protect him. Knowing it would one day lead to something like this.

An end just as violent and bloody as he was.

Astarion had never hated himself more.

His tears broke free, sliding down his face as he silently screamed from the pain and anguish. His voice too broken for anything more than a fragmented choking sound to come out.

It happened in an instant. A flare of blue magic that cut through the scarlet light around them. Then a loud snap echoed through the cave. A teleportation spell — someone was leaving.

Or coming closer.

Then your scent, so sweet and warm washed over him. His eyes closed as he breathed it in, realizing he was must be slipping into delusion from the pain. His brain, or maybe the tadpole, offering the hallucination as a final comfort before death.

“Quickly!” A male voice hissed with urgency.

The voice broke him from his stupor. Gale? He could barely open his eyes, but he forced them open the tiniest smidge.

You were in front of him, your eyes slightly glowing from the magic everywhere as they focused just behind him. “Darling,” He mumbled in confusion, so unsure of what happened, of how you were here.

You spoke so softly to him. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He looked down to see your hands flashing with their own magic as they cut through the incantations binding him.

He felt the pressure on his ankles dissipate, his eyes flicking to you and the rest of your friends. They were shouting as they launched spells and swung their blades at the beasts and creatures under his master's control. Karlach’s scream of rage vibrated the stone floor as she cleaved through a werewolf like it was nothing.

But where was he? Where was Cazador?

And as he thought it, he appeared. His master’s red eyes piercing through Astarion as he felt the final piece of the incantation snap free, his body started to fall the few feet back to the stone ground he was hovering above.

The ancient vampire must have felt it, the spell breaking, the moment he was free. His eyes snapped to you instantly and if looks could kill… Cazador’s jaw set and his nostrils flared as he took a single step forward with his staff raised.

"Wait, no—"

And just as fast as you had appeared, Cazador was launching a powerful spell at you. Astarion screamed your name, lurching forward to shield you. But it was too late. It was as if time slowed completely as he watched you whirl around, your hair splaying as you turned to him, your eyes widening with shock. And fear.

And then you crumbled to the ground.

“Such a waste.” The ancient vampire snarled from across the dais, waving his staff as he finished the incantation.

Images flashed into Astarion’s mind of your lifeless body in his lap in the Shadowlands, the sound he had buried of your heart slowing until it stopped. You had promised back in the Shadowlands, on that tiny dock — you promised you would stay out of harms way. This wasn't happening, it was a nightmare. It should be him, not you.

No, no, no, no.

“NO!!” His words were echoed throughout the chamber as Shadowheart thrust her hands forward — a blinding, golden glow in her hands rocketing towards you, unmoving on the ground.

It struck your chest where Cazador’s dark spell had hit just mere seconds before — seeping into you, spreading across your body until it radiated with magic. Your unconscious form was raised into the air, floating with a golden outline. The tips of your silvery-white hair waving with a breeze that came out of no where. Then your eyes flashed open — but they were not their usual shade, his newfound favorite color since he met you. No, they were glowing silver, radiating authority and power as they stared at his old master.

You opened your mouth to speak as you remained floating, but it was not just your voice. A female voice that dripped with authority echoed your words, like something was speaking through you. Someone.

Gods, it couldn't be.

“Your reign of terror and abuse ends here, Cazador Szarr. I refuse to let your hate and cruelty fester any longer." You dipped your chin down, your blazing eyes narrowing as you remained locked on the ancient vampire.

Cazador cocked his head, an eyebrow raised at the spectacle of you. Astarion knew the gears were turning in his head, calculating and trying to figure out how he would turn this into an advantage. What he would get from you.

But your voice continued, the second one still joining you as you floated closer to the center dais, closer to the vampire master. "You believe yourself to be all-powerful. You believe yourself to be a blessing, a mercy to the creatures you keep at your feet. A benevolent master who can make himself a God."

Everyone in the room had stopped to watch, the ritual stopped with Astarion freed. Friend and foe both had weapons at their sides, mouths slightly agape as they tried to process what they were seeing. Who they were seeing.

There were not many beings of Faerûn who could say that they had seen a God in the flesh.

As it was Selûne who spoke through you know, who granted you this power, who had created this vision of blinding radiance in this dark, decrepit crypt.

"But what you really are… is a result, from a cycle of venom and greed and fear. And that cycle ends today.” You, she, said it so matter-of-factly. Declared so simply that it was both of your wills, so it would be so. Closing your eyes softly, your hands lifted up like you were summoning something deep within yourself.

Astarion's mouth fell open as light began to radiate out of you, silver and bright like the fullest moon on a clear night. He had become so accustomed to the talent of his friends — Shadowheart's golden light, Gale's purple and blue, Wyll's fiendish red. But this, this was something different. Pure and unfiltered power from the Goddess of the Moon. Then the light erupted, traveling so fast and loud that his elven senses twinged.

It hurled into the Vampire Master, his face mirroring yours from moments ago — filled with shock and fear. Astarion had never seen his master afraid, not in two hundred years. His steps faltered, off-kilter as he reeled from your blinding light that clung to him.

Who was the weak, pathetic boy now?

"NOW!" Your screamed, your voice returning to your own — though Selûne's power and magic still radiated off of you. Determination lined every single one of his friends' faces as they rushed forward to hurl their attacks on the Master and his creatures.

Astarion's hands were steady as his fingers unsheathed the daggers at his side, his stare deadly as he stalked towards the man who had ruined his life, broken him over and over. Cazador was trying to twirl and deflect, but the attacks kept coming as he was blinded by the light that was you. Yet, he still caught Astarion's eyes, still smiled wickedly at his spawn — even though Astarion could smell his terror and rancid blood from here.

"You are going to regret underestimating us, Cazador." He hissed as he flung his magical daggers out. They struck true, one slicing through the soft flesh of his side and the other up across his cheek.

"Agh!" The vampire's knees shook as he tumbled forward, another blast of magic hit into his back. His red eyes flickered up through his strong brow as he remained keeled over, "You don't have the balls to kill me, boy. Or did you forget that every part of you is mine?"

Astarion's nostrils flared as rage flooded through him, his vision turning red without the infernal magic surrounding them. He held his palms open as his daggers returned to them, twirling them in his hands without thought as he stepped forward once more. "You can't be owned by a dead man." He spat, before sending his daggers out once more.

"NOOO-" The ancient vampire's screams filled the crypt, bouncing off the stone floors and walls. With a poof, he turned into his infamous mist but your light clung onto him — illuminating his path as it raced for the sarcophagus nearby.

"No, no!" A deep desire for vengeance flooded Astarion as Cazador tried to escape, his voice a snarl he could barely recognize. His red eyes could focus on nothing else but his tormentor's end, his pain, his misery. He could draw it out, torment the sadistic bastard to match what he had done to him for all those years. A pounding was filling his pointed ears, the steady thump increasing as he chased after the mist. Using his vampire spawn strength he tore the top of the sarcophagus off, shoving it angrily to reveal the beaten and bleeding vampire within. "No, no! No healing sleep for you. Wake up!" He growled, grabbing him by his pretentious, soiled collar and throwing him to the ground.

Cazador weakly fought back, scrambling back onto his knees. He sneered up at his spawn looming over him, "Get your hands off me, worm!"

"I'm not the one in the dirt," Astarion spat, gripping the dagger in his hand so tightly that is already pale knuckles turned completely white. His bare chest was rising up and down, not from breath but with deep emotion. "One last thrust and I'll be free of you. I'll never have to fear you again."

The vampire spawn put on the mask he had mastered for centuries, his face a lethal calm as he suggested, "But if I finish the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone, ever."

If he did this, there would be no hiding, no running. No more fear, for either of you. He would destroy anyone and anything who would come to harm you. Who would stop him? You both could be anything you wanted, matched equals backed with powers that equaled those of the Gods.

His old master only scoffed, "You think me a fool? That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place? The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed - you included. You are simply a means to an end. I made you to be consumed."

"I AM SO MUCH MORE THEN WHAT YOU MADE ME!" Astarion roared, bending down more to scream in his face. He felt the intoxicating feeling of power, control flooding through him when Cazador actually flinched, "You fucking leech." His jaw was set tightly as he breathed in the scent of blood that was filling the room, desperate, primal need suddenly filling him. He was losing his focus, his bearings — what was this all for? Who was this all for?

Safety. Agency. Freedom. Power. Control. Dominance. Ascendancy.

The words were twisting darker and darker in his head as once again his broken mind and heart battled against each other. His hands started trembling as he finally looked away from the ancient vampire beneath him. Looking up to his siblings still bound by the remainders of the spell, up the stairs to the thousands of souls — real, present souls — who were trapped down here for centuries. He could feel his heart starting to climb up his throat as two separate sides of himself battled internally.

Remember who you are, Astarion.

You had said that — so softly, with such a gentle touch as you had tried to ground him. No one had ever looked at him like you did, touched him like you did. His red eyes flickered over to you, and his half-dead heart fluttered strangely. He spoke with less of a bite, the edge disappearing, "If I do this I will be free. Truly, completely free. Isn't that what you want, my love?"

Your eyes looked at him, boring into his soul like no one else had. You stepped forward, so unafraid unlike him. There was no tremble in your hands, nor shaking in your knees. You didn't even look at the vampire master cowering on the ground, the immortal male who minutes ago had killed you. No, your beautiful eyes remained only on him as you stepped forward.

Silver was still lingering in your eyes, but he realized it was not latent power from Selûne. It was tears, threatening to break free as you spoke. The saddest smile spread your lips, your brows tugging in the middle. "I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

When would it end? Cazador had everything, his every whim met, more riches then one could imagine, thousands of spawn under his control. Even if he had completed the ritual, the vampire bastard Cazador was already plotting his next plan for cruelty by taking you. When would it end? Would any of it had ever been enough?

Could he live with himself, if he became that? Could you?

You spoke again, your voice so soft it was a whisper, "Let the cycle end here, Astarion."

His name on your lips struck him hard. It made him feel alive again, blinking back to reality. He shook himself out of the dark daze he was descending into, "You - you're right. I can be better than him." His gaze went back down to the man below him, the stirring feelings in him resolving as his fingers closed on his dagger once more. "But I'm not above enjoying this."

Fear glimmered in Cazador's eyes as Astarion fisted his long hair and plunged his blade into his chest.

And again.

And again.

Astarion imagined every lash, every carving cut, every scream and howl.

Again.

Again.

Every tremble and gulp he pushed down in an alley or tavern or forgotten hallway. Every moment of self-loathing. Every broken thought of wishing for it all to end — for someone, somewhere to just end him already.

Again.

Again.

He was covered in blood, the sticky red liquid splattering over his bare torso, creeping up his arms, neck and face. It was not appetizing, it did not cause a frenzy.

No, only a strange satisfaction.

Like a cleansing of his body and mind. His soul.

Complete catharsis.

Cazador's body had stopped moving long ago, laying mutilated at his feet.

His magical dagger, soured with the blood of his old master clattered onto the stone floor behind him. His trembling fingers losing hold of the blade, then his knees buckled and he was kneeling on the floor. His whole body was shaking, gasps escaping him as choked sobs climbed up his throat. He could not keep it down, not after all these years. Not after centuries of suppressing it, forcing it down to not give him the satisfaction.

Hot tears fell fast down his cheeks, and the howls of anguish, triumph and rage finally escaped.

Astarion wasn't sure how long he knelt in that pool of blood for. Time had no meaning at the moment, all of his senses suddenly turned off as he cried and howled.

“It’s over.”

Your voice. You.

Fluttering his eyes open, he found you kneeling in front of him. Your eyebrows were furrowed, your own cheeks stained with tears.

“It’s over,” You whispered again. You had kept your distance — your hands resting on your thighs, as you too knelt in the blood. Not from fear of him, but to give him space. You couldn’t ask to touch him, not at this moment but you needed him to know he wasn’t alone.

Astarion launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your body as he buried himself into your neck. His cries started all over again.

“It’s over. You’re okay. We’re okay.” You continued the comforting whispers, holding him against you — you started to rock, swaying the both of you back and forth.

He couldn’t stop the sobs escaping him — they had been building up for so long and now these they had broken free he wasn’t sure how to stop. He tried blinking away the lingering tears from the bottom of his vision, taking you in. “You, he—“ He put his stained hands on either side of your face, drinking you in in. “What did I do? What did I do?”

"He's gone. He's gone." You whispered.

Astarion pushed his forehead onto yours, mumbling incoherently, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, M'sorry..."

"Shhhh, my love." You said tenderly, your fingers caressing the nape of his neck in a comforting touch. "I've got you. I've got you."

• • •

Astarion wasn’t sure how he got back to the inn.

The journey back was a blur of healing spells, quick decisions and whispers of worry. He had stumbled back next to you, your arm wrapped around his waist holding him close to you. It was his only reassurance as the rest of the world swirled around him. He hadn’t let you ask — gluing himself to you in a silent answer before your mouth could even open. Now you both were in the group’s room in the Elfsong Tavern— the rest of your companions out for the remainder of the day. He was sure there was an exchange of looks and whispered words about him before the decision was made. He was sure that if he had been really looking he would have seen pity across all of their faces. But he didn't care to. He couldn’t really bring himself to react to anything but what had happened.

Cazador was dead. By his hands.

He was free. Yet stuck. Forever a spawn. Forever fragmented and damaged probably — if how he felt right now was any indication.

But free, nonetheless, he guessed.

You had pulled across the privacy curtains and made him a hot bath, the steam and smell of oils clouding throughout the room. Hints of magic too. Then you asked him in a gentle voice if he would like to get cleaned up, gesturing down at him. Astarion blinked as he looked down at himself and his ruined clothes. The shirt he was wrapped in wasn’t even his own — Wyll had thrusted it at him in that good gentlemanly way he was trained to do since he was a boy. The knees of his pants were shredded from the stone floor he had knelt on. And blood. So much of it. There was red splattered everywhere on him — dried and caked on by now. He wondered if the feeling of Cazador’s blood would linger like the other phantom touches and feelings that haunted his skin. Maybe he would be scrubbing at it long after it was physically cleaned off of his skin too — turning his almost pearlescent skin dark pink.

The vampire could only nod at you, lifting his arms up to attempt to pull off his shirt before wincing. Even with his immortal body and vampiric strength, he was sore. The pulling and stretching of his muscles from the binding magic would linger for a while he imagined. "Help me." He muttered weakly. You averted your gaze as you helped him peel the shirt off of him, your touch the most gentle it had ever been. Astarion was so lost in his own mind that he didn't even realize he had stepped out of his ruined pants, his blood-soaked boots moments later. He barely registered his movements as he crawled over the large wooden sides of the tub and slipped into the water.

The heat of the water instantly warmed his muscles, giving him some reprieve from the physical pain that lingered. It even lifted the fog from his mind as he sat for a moment in the water, watching the water move around him slightly - barely tinting to red before some kind of enchantment cleansed it away. As he watched the blood and dirt drift off of him, he felt the numbing going away too. The tremble in his hands returned, shaking under the water as he blinked back to reality. That feeling from down in the crypt was returning — he felt like he was back on his knees in the puddle of blood, his heart crawling up his throat, his skin hot and crawling—

His red eyes flicked up to search for you, finding you seated near him but with your back turned — trying to offer privacy but to be nearby if he needed you. Astarion’s throat closed up again as he looked at you, the comfort he so desperately wanted. It was almost overwhelming. Just weeks ago, he was trying to wrap his head around why someone would want such soft, simple touches. Why someone would just want to be held, nothing more. Now he felt his body shaking and tears forming from your absence.

“Join me,” He finally croaked out to the back of your head. His voice was a weak whisper — gods, he sounded pathetic.

You twirled in your chair, looking over your shoulder to him with furrowed brows. “Astarion, I—”

But he cut you off, your name was a choked sob from his mouth. “Please,” He begged before you could say anything else.

You immediately relented, standing up, taking off your clothes unceremoniously and sliding into the wooden tub. It was the most he had seen of your body in months, and not at all how he pictured it would go. Astarion felt your knees brush his as you sat across from him. Even just the barest touch had the crawling sensation across his skin calming. He took a steadying breath, before he finally took you in.

Only your shoulders and up could be seen in the deep wooden tub. Red blood had dried all over you, shaped like handprints— his own handprints had smeared the blood that crusted over your soft skin and stained your silvery-white hair. A pang shot through him. “Look what I’ve done—” His wet hands cupped the side of your face, echoing the action that probably put the stains there in the first place. Guilt flooded through him.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You laid your cheek flush into his hands on your face. Then you turned your mouth, pressing your lips to his palm gently. Kissing his hands like they weren’t capable of monstrous, violent things. Like they hadn’t been covered in blood moments ago. “Are you?”

He stroked his pale thumb across your cheek before withdrawing it. Instead he searched for your own hand under the water, intertwining his fingers with yours. He kept his eyes on the water, shifting slightly back and forth — thinking quietly. “I don’t— I’m not sure how to answer that, right now.”

“Take your time, my love.” You said softly, squeezing his fingers. Astarion was thankful for your calming presence, but he needed more. He knew once you longed to just hold his hand, and it was a terrifying thought. But now he needed to be wrapped up in you, held so tight he would forget where he ended and where you started. In the small space of the tub, he barely had to move before he was pressed against you. His head in the crook of your neck, his nose pressed into your soft skin, inhaling your addicting scent. His arms around your waist as he held on to you for dear life. Within an instant you had your arms wrapped around him, fingers twirling in the ends of his hair, as you comforted him.

“I— I’ve lived with this all for so long. This pain. Who am I without it?” He whispered into your ear, so afraid to admit such things while looking in your eyes. But you pulled away, just enough so you could see him. Your eyes searching his — and they were so tender and full of deep emotion. Love, he finally realized. His half-dead heart fluttered at the realization. You loved him — even as the broken, undeserving creature he was. But instead of falling into deprecation and self-loathing, he savored the realization. He let himself get lost in it, the feeling of being loved by you. The reality of being loved by you, and it was so good… after so many years of shit.

“You are so much more than your pain, Astarion,” Your thumb stroked his side gently, your hands still wrapped around him as you held him close. “Or your past. But now you can define yourself however you want to be.”

Fresh tears slipped from the corners of his red eyes as he buried his face into your neck once again. His emotions were too intermixed, too hard to communicate out loud now as they all vied for his attention. But instead of numbing himself like had for centuries, he let himself be calmed by you instead.

Astarion stayed in that tub with you until there was no trace of the blood and dirt, nothing left to remind the vampire of him. He had made a silent vow to himself to never speak that name again, to not give the dead vampire master power over himself anymore. You seemed to catch on quickly to that too, the poisonous name had not been on your lips since you left the crypt. There was of course the giant fucking ritual carved into his back. And his fangs and sanguine hunger that could only remind him of who had cursed him to this existence. But one thing at a time. Cleaning off the blood would be a start. Burning those retched clothes that he had suffered in as well…

You both were pruny, but clean, when you finally emerged from the tub. Your beautiful eyes never strayed from his face as the pale elf stood up and slipped out behind you, grabbing your extended hand for support. Damp footprints were left behind as the two of you trailed over to your bed hidden in the corner of the room.

You were lying in bed now, both of your naked bodies wrapped in the warm blankets and each other. There was nothing sexual about it… nothing like Astarion had experienced. To be fair, such thoughts were not even registering in his mind right now. But he was surprised at how much he enjoyed this — simply skin to skin with you, no lust or biting or anything.

It was the most at peace he had felt in weeks. Months. Years, really.

Despite everything else that had happened today.

His pointed ear was pressed to your chest, listening to the steady thrum of your heartbeat like it was his own personal lullaby. But he felt it stutter a few times, your breaths a bit shaky — pushing up he found you scrambling to wipe tears away from your cheeks. Before he could open his mouth, you were giving him a sad smile, "I'm fine." You whispered.

"Darling, you're crying," He said softly back, his thumb catching one of the tears you had missed, starting to roll down your freckled cheek.

"I'm just relieved you're here with me. I was terrified all day, but when he took you — when you were bound by that magic... Gods, I've never been so petrified in my life."

Now you know how I feel. He almost blurted it out, but stopped himself. No, in all of his selfish wallowing these last few hours, he hadn't even brought that up yet — that once again, you had fallen. Taken away from him, from this world. Even if was for just a moment. "I seem to remember having this conversation once before... on a dock in those wretched Shadowlands. What of your promise to me then, hmm? To stay out of harms way."

Your mouth and brows quirked down, "I was supposed to just standby and let you die?"

"I had to watch you die today. Again." His voice broke, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to keep even more tears at bay. "If it wasn't for...," He trailed off. If it wasn't for Shadowheart. If it wasn't for Selûne really — who both powered their cleric but had also done something more. Taken over for you? Imbued you? He wasn’t sure how to describe what he witnessed in that crypt. “What happened today with her? With Selûne?”

“I— I’m not sure," He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, your face furrowing as you thought. "One moment I was with you, and the next... I don’t know. I was there but not. Filled with divine fury and... I wasn't going to allow anything to happen to you. Apparently, neither was she."

Astarion placed his head back on your bare chest, your hand instantly finding the side of his face. Your fingers traced the bottom of his jaw, his strong cheekbones and up to the tops of his ear — before you repeated the smoothing motion all over.

"I will never just standby when it involves you, Starry. Whether it is a physical threat... or something deeper within yourself. I will always shield you, defend you..." You licked your lips nervously instead of finishing your sentence

Love you.

Astarion's mind finished the words instead as you trailed off. He moved his head so he instead shared your pillow, moving so your faces only an inch apart. He studied your face carefully, “Why… why do all that for me?”

Your eyes stared into his, shining with emotion before you lowered your voice into a soft whisper, “You know why, my love.”

His heart fluttered at the unspoken declaration. His cold fingers reached up, curled and delicate as he had ever been, “I can’t help but think— Do I deserve this? Am I worthy of this? Of you?”

“Astarion...." You pushed your warm, flushed check into the palm of his hand, "All you need to ask yourself is do you want this?”

Gods, your eyes and the intimate way the stared into his soul. Your lips, so tender as they pulled into a gentle smile. Your patient touch and desire for him. Your quick wit and sharp tongue. Your big, stupidly kind heart. All of it. He wanted every part of you, to call you his and for him to be yours.

But before he could gain the courage you spoke again, “You don’t need to answer today — enough has happened, my love.”

Hot tears escaped from his red eyes as you displayed your patience once again. He pressed his forehead to yours, a sob escaping him. But it wasn't a cry of anguish, or pain. He wasn't howling with rage and grief. They were tears of overwhelming joy.

The vampire gave himself a moment before letting out a little puff, “Gods, I can’t stop crying. I feel ridiculous.”

“You aren’t ridiculous.”

“I’ve cried more today than I have for my entire life I think. The first one and this one combined.” Despite the crying, he found himself hoping of having yet another life. A third on with you. A chance to start over, all over again.

“I think it’s justified,” You said kindly, "Rest, my love. We will have tomorrow. And the day after that."

At your whispered words and gentle caresses, Astarion finally fell asleep, dreaming of that promise. Tomorrow and the day after that... with you.

Read the next chapter: here

[aceghosts]

Cyberpunk 2077 Masterpost

Hey Everyone! I wanted to put together a masterpost of my Cyberpunk 2077 fics, and I’ve finally gotten around to doing it. I’ve also included some relevant edits that shed more light on Rooney’s lore. As I write more fic and create more edits, I’ll update this post with them. Also, please mind the warnings on the specific fics.

Sending some tags to people I think might be interested: @bbrocklesnar, @chyrstis, @alexxmason, @sergeiravenov, @voidika,

@tommyarashikage, @imogenkol, @strangefable, @derelictheretic, @socially-awkward-skeleton,

@carlosoliveiraa, @theelderhazelnut, @direwombat, @cassietrn, @cloudofbutterflies92,

@confidentandgood

V: ALL I KNOW IS A PLACE WHERE I HAUNTED

This is Rooney’s main canon for Cyberpunk 2077. Most of Rooney’s fics are set in this universe, and take place during and before the events of Cyberpunk 2077. (Note: I am writing these fics out of order, and they may be moved around as I write.)

Relevant Edits: Moodboard | Character Card | Edit | FIA Profile | Playlist | General VP Tag

Pre-2077

Microprompt: In Dreams

Is This the End Or Is This the Beginning?

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: Stuck in an Arasaka Facility, Rooney Shepard makes a new friend/ally, an unexpected one: Yorinobu Arasaka.

I Know You Feel Lost, But I'm Here To Wander With You

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year. Rooney is having a bad week, the anniversary of their family death's looming over them. Luckily, they've got Yorinobu in their corner.

Forevermore the Apple of My Eye

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: T Summary: In the parking garage after a dinner date, Rooney Shepard and Yorinobu Arasaka are attacked. The event (and Yorinobu's actions) leave Rooney feeling shaken.

During Cyberpunk 2077

And I try to move on, but I just can't let go

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: Rooney Shepard takes a missing person's case at the request of Rogue Amendiares; they do not expect the client to be their ex-boyfriend, Yorinobu Arasaka.

Baby, All I Want Is You

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: T Summary: “You have that look again.” “What look?” He asks, shooting them a charming smile. “The one where you’re planning something.” A short scene where Rooney and Yorinobu flirt with each other.

Microprompt: Trembling Hands

Cuddling In Bed After A Long Day

Tumblr Rating: T Summary: Rooney and Yorinobu cuddle in bed and chat after a long and tiring day, especially about dinner with some old friends.

Microprompt: One Chance

All Is Fair In Love

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: E (Minors do not interact) Summary: Rooney makes an off-handed comment about their boyfriend being a distraction. Yorinobu takes that as a personal challenge.

V: WILL YOU WELCOME YOUR EXTINCTION IN THE MORNING RAYS?

An AU where Rooney has the Relic in their head.

Relevant Edits: Edit

Microprompt: Total Control

All I Know is a Place Where I Haunted

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: After saving President Rosalind Myers and delivering her to Reed, Rooney tries to deal with everything they've seen. But it's all too much to bear.

V: YOU'RE MY BROTHER AND I LOVE YOU

An AU where Rooney's younger brother, Jack Shepard, is still alive.

Relevant Edits: Jack Shepard Profile | Jack and Rooney Lore

No fics at this time, but I hope to write some in the future.

[justallihere]

re-reading in anticipation of the next chapter!

Honestly wished Vi was able to stab Brennan at least one more time before Xaden stopped her, but alas, we can't have everything. TBH Brennan probably wouldve died if Xaden didnt stop her

I am in love with the fact that X can gauge V's energy levels by her hair. It's such a small detail but mans is just so entranced, I LOVE IT

Will chocolate cake become a ritual between X and V? It seems like X uses it as a peace offering/olive branch to V, like during the coronation and the after the Brennan reveal.

Different question, but is everyone (iron squad, aretia peps) in sitq morally grey? including jesnia? I love how you've characterized everyone, it gives a very realistic tone imo!!!!

Will there be a moment that X holds V while she cries? It might never happen, but re-reading V crying on the rooftop just made me want to slap X across the head and tell him to go hold his crying wife lol, these two are too touch starved jfc

Every time you tell me you’re re-reading I die, it makes me so happy 🥹🥹

Yeahhhh if Xaden had waited another second he might no longer have a general! And Brennan is sort of important to his cause and also to Violet so it’s probably good he intervened

Xaden is canonically very observant and it just fits with his character that he notices all the little things Violet doesn’t say or want to admit and just does something about it without waiting for her to ask (because he knows she never would)

More chocolate cake moments to come!!! It is definitely an olive branch—Xaden’s way of saying “I’m trying to understand you so please let me and let’s talk like rational people” when Violet is overwhelmed. We’ll do that the other way around too :)

Everyone is very loosey goosey with their morals in this story for sure. I can’t imagine writing a character in this world who has a strict sense of morals, they’ve all been through so much shit and been lied to so many times, they’re just doing what they can to survive

I may or may not have a moment planned of Xaden holding Violet and wiping her tears

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Amplification: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Summary: A deadly spread of Anthrax is going around infecting and killing people. One of your own is affected that completely tears your world into two. How will you over come this?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

The bookstore has been closed ever since Albert died, and Gayle's purchase happened right before it closed down. It would explain why only three people were hit, and when General Whitworth sent his men in for testing, they came back positive for Anthrax.

Albert's bookstore was the unsub's test run. He's gotta have a history with the place, so Penelope needs to come up with a list of present and past employees of the place, customers with grievances against the owner, and if any of them had a science background.

An attack of Anthrax isn't meant to kill three people inside a bookstore, it wants to be out in the open where it can feed and multiply in the way that it wants to. Just a small amount can wipe everyone out, and they'd never see it coming.

Another hour goes by and the six survivors of the attack are now down to four. This attack is killing people left and right and there is nothing you can do about it. The more they die off, the more family members demand answers for what's happening.

"It feels like the plague of Egypt," Linda says.

"Ten scourges created by God. Plague six was unhealable boils believed by biblical scholars to be caused by Anthrax."

"You never missed Sunday school, did you?"

"Actually, I've never been before. How is she doing?" Spencer asks about Abby.

"She's a fighter. She's held on this long because she's young and strong, but she's started to bleed into her lungs. We're running into another problem, though. When the next of kin have questions, what do we tell them about the cause of death?"

That is a question only Hotch and General Whitworth can answer. You can't tell anyone anything without punishment if it didn't come from Hotch. Instead of thinking things like that, you can try and think of the unsub and profile you have on him. It might help your team catch whoever is doing this.

Because the locations aren't symbolically significant, the attacks are personal. Understanding the significance of the locations will be the key to identifying the unsub.

This personal element strongly indicates a home-grown terrorist like the Amerithrax case. This is someone from the science or defense community. That's why the CIA is here. Hotch thinks they may know him. These home-grown terrorists are myopic zealots that believe that their work is of the greatest importance.

He may have preached about the threat of an attack on America. His coworkers would describe him as histrionic, paranoid, and secretive. He may have logged excess hours at work in the past weeks preparing for the attack. He even might have taken the full dosage of Anthrax vaccines over the recommended eighteen-month schedule and had yearly boosters.

This guy has his own workspace where he makes his product in privacy. He also has access to large, expensive, industrial-grade equipment at work. He's written about the threats of Anthrax attacks and published papers about it, yet he feels no one is listening, and that angers him. Now, he may have recently experienced some sort of professional humiliation like being demoted or fired. Now, that would have been his trigger, the moment he decided to go rogue.

He may have betrayed his loved ones to his cause and may be recently separated or divorced. This is somebody who knows every detail of the 2001 Anthrax attack and has talked about what that suspect did right or wrong. He's watching the news very closely to see how the country reacts, and it's not a good one.

The CIA dug deep into their records and found a video of a classified hearing with the Subcommittee on Defense and Homeland Security in January of 2002. Dr. Lawrence Nichols used to work at the institution and left in 2002. The video is sent to your team at the hospital, Derek's team in Maryland, and the main office with everyone else. You and Spencer go into an empty hospital room to watch the video. Dr. Nichols went to the Senator to ask for money for a project he wanted to do with dangerous chemicals. He went to talk to the Senator about the attack in 2001 and why he should have funding for his project.

"Five people died. If you ask me, we're lucky it was just five. We're lucky that whoever sent these letters used cheap porous envelopes and not a crop duster. America's enemies are capable of wiping out entire cities, and we are woefully unprepared."

"I'm looking at your proposal--"

"Yes, sir," Dr. Nichols cuts the Senator off. "Every household needs gas masks and a two-month supply of Cipro for each resident. Every major city needs hospitals with bio-safety decontamination capabilities."

"Regarding the budget you propose for this operation--"

"Anything short of fifty billion would be grossly negligent."

"Dr. Nichols, you've got to realize how unrealistic that is. We can't justify spending that kind of money on an attack that may not happen."

"You people are in denial!" Dr. Nichols exclaims.

"Doing this would incite fear and panic among the public."

"This country should be panicked! We should live in utter fear of being attacked! We live in a time of war and WMD proliferation. If you continue to be blind to our lack of preparedness, then Americans will die, and I will have no problem in pointing the blame at you!"

The committee didn't fund his project and rejected him because he was becoming unstable and fanatical, which is why they removed him from Fort Detrick and blacklisted him from other prominent positions. Even though he believes in preparedness, he felt like people weren't listening. He might have done this to prove a point.

He fits the profile of the unsub to a T. He had access to research on Anthrax, had the resources available to do something like this, lost a highly respected job, and got divorced in the process. The job he has now is through a company called Bio-Design Technology that doesn't deal with Anthrax but with the Flu. If he got demoted from working with such deadly diseases to working with the flu, he might be angry enough to use Anthrax as a weapon.

Either way, you need to bring him in.

Derek pulled you and Spencer from the hospital to go to his house while Emily and Rossi went to his work to see if he was there. Along with you, Spencer, and Derek, a hazmat team joined you so they can clear the inside of his house. You have to wait outside until they're done with their investigation.

"It's clear so far," one of the members says when he hears from one of his men inside.

"Alright, keep me posted." Derek turns to you and Spencer. "This guy just had people over for a charity event last month."

"We should probably take a look around anyway."

You three walk to the backside of the property when Spencer hisses in pain. You look over to see rose bushes with thorns sticking out of the stems. He must have cut himself on the thorns but isn't too concerned about it. For someone who messes with Anthrax, his backyard isn't too sketchy. There is a pool with a beautiful gazebo area and lots of blooming flowers. Derek's phone rings and he answers whoever it is.

"Yeah, Princess, what's up? ... Uh-huh. Yeah, we're here now. ... Sorry. what? The lab is clean? ... You're sure? ... All right." You watch Derek as he talks to Emily. You're not paying attention to Spencer who goes off on his own. He turns to you and Spencer to tell you what she said. "They got nothin'--Where's Reid?"

You look behind you to see Spencer run into the large shed in the backyard. You and Derek quickly follow after him, but he slams the glass door to keep you and Derek out of some kind of lab.

"Spencer!" you gasp.

"Morgan! Y/N! Get back!"

"What the hell are you doing? What's wrong?"

"Believe me, get back."

"Reid, open this door!"

"Spencer, open the damn door!" you yell and slam your hands on the glass.

"I'm sorry. You can't come in here."

"No, open the door," you whimper. The only reason he would be trapped inside there and refuses to let anyone inside is that this is the place where Dr. Nichols created his Anthrax poison. "Spencer, no, open the door."

"I'm sorry," he sighs.

"Come on," Derek says and puts his hands on your shoulders.

"No!" you gasp. "I can't leave him. I'm not leaving him. Call Hotch and get people out here now! I'm not going anywhere!"

Derek has no choice but to listen to you. He needs people out here now if Spencer has any hope of making it out of this alive. Derek leaves and gets Hotch on the phone, and you look at your boyfriend with tears in your eyes.

"Open this door, Spencer, or I'm gonna break it."

"Don't, Y/N. There is white powder in here, and the air is blasting."

You let out a heartbreaking sob and put your hands to your mouth to quiet them. Spencer's heart breaks at the sight of you crying for him. Hotch and the biohazard team arrive quicker than you thought they would, and Derek tells Hotch where you are.

"Y/N, get out of there."

"I can't leave him," you cry. "I'm not leaving him alone!"

"Please don't cry."

"Spencer, I've seen what this does to people. There has not been one survivor and you're infected now. If the cure is not in there, then you're gonna..." You can't even say it. "I can't lose you. I love you so much."

You place your hand flat on the glass and Spencer puts his hand over yours.

"You need to get out of here."

"I can't leave you!"

"I will be fine."

He doesn't believe what he's telling you because he doesn't know if he's going to make it out of here alive or not. He's lying to protect your feelings but he forgets that you can tell when someone is lying. Your chest feels heavy and your whole body is shaking from fear. Your legs can't hold you up any longer so you fall to the ground in a heap of tears. Someone from the biohazard team comes in and places their hand on your shoulder.

"Ma'am, you need to leave."

"Y/N, listen to them."

"Spencer," you gasp.

The man practically forces you out of the shed to where Hotch and Derek are. Derek catches you when your legs wobble.

"I need to be in there, please. I can't leave him alone. He's scared, Hotch," you cry.

"Y/N, you need to calm down."

"I can't," you hiccup. "I can't lose him."

Hotch needs you to calm down so he calls Spencer and places him on speakerphone so you can hear his voice.

"Hotch, I really messed up this time," Spencer sighs.

"Reid, we need to get you out and to the hospital."

"No, I'm staying right here."

The tears won't stop rolling down your cheeks.

"No, Spencer, please leave. You need medical attention," you cry. "Please!"

"Y/N, I'm already exposed. It's not gonna do me any good to stop working on the case."

"He's already infected," General Whitworth says. "If Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure."

"Look, Dr. Nichols is in here but he's dead. Someone must have bashed something in his head. My best chance is to stay here, see if there's a cure, and try to figure out who killed Dr. Nichols."

"Hotch, say something to him!"

"He's right. His best chance is inside. We're gonna get a suit and mask into you right away."

"Don't bother. it's not gonna do me any good. I'm already infected."

This thing killed the first three victims within hours.

The thought of losing Spencer is something you can't even fathom. The thought hurts too much, and your chest starts closing up.

x

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