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littleslaywrites · 1 month ago

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Can you write about reader giving hotch the silent treatment, but it turns into a smut

silent treatment | aaron hotchner x bau!reader

nsfw, mdni

summary: when aaron yells at you after a case, you give him the silent treatment, but he’s determined to get you to talk.

word count: 1.9k

cw: smut, dom!hotch, brat!reader, spanking, unprotected sex, p in v, hair pulling, use of "good girl", slight size kink

You knew Aaron hadn’t yelled at you because he was mad. He was scared, worried about your safety when you took what he called an “unnecessary risk”. You disagreed completely, justifying the risk with the fact it saved the victim from further harm. Besides, you weren’t hurt beyond a mild concussion, not even having to go to the hospital.

Even though you knew he was just upset over the thought of losing you, you were still embarrassed about the public scolding. It’s not a great feeling to have your boyfriend reprimand you in front of your coworkers.

Rather than arguing back, you stayed silent. You knew you’d lose if you tried to defend yourself. So you simply stared at him, watching him tire himself out on his tirade.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” he said when he was done chewing you out.

You only shook your head in response, turning around to get in the car. The whole team was tense, knowing your silence does nothing to calm Hotch down. You caught Emily and Morgan exchanging a look, signaling the awkwardness the upcoming jet ride would bring.

Hotch got into the driver’s seat, meeting your silence. He wasn’t going to chase you, not in front of his team. You two were locked in a battle. Even on the plane, you opted to read a book, putting on your headphones when you thought he might try to talk to you.

Upon landing, you cut in front of him, getting into your shared car. You almost got in the driver’s seat, knowing it’d make him even madder, but you knew you could only bother him so much before he snapped.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” he asks when you pull into your driveway. Instead of answering, you walk into the house, not waiting for him behind you. Usually you’d enter together, falling into your usual routine of unpacking and relaxing. He immediately notices this change, and storms in behind you. You had a time advantage, as he had to close the garage door and grab his bag. By the time he’s inside, he can hear the shower running. Trying the bathroom door, he realizes you’ve locked it. You never lock the door.

While you’re trying to cool off in the shower, Aaron is sitting on the bed, not even bothering to change, only taking off his jacket and throwing it over the dresser. He’s simply fuming waiting for you to emerge. He’d make you talk, no matter what it takes.

When you come out, you’re wrapped only in a towel. You intend on walking past him to get to the closet, but he grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“You better start talking before I have to make you.”

You know his threat is empty, and tear your arm away to move past him.

“Y/N,” he says, in that commanding voice you like a little too much.

Before you can get the closet door open, he comes behind you, pressing himself against you. Your breath hitches, both from surprise and the feeling of how much larger he is physically. He’s pulling out all the stops, knowing just what’ll make you comply.

“This little stunt you’re pulling stops now.” His words are spoken in your ear as he leans against the door, trapping you between his arms.

You almost decide not to be mad at him in that moment, but remembering the lecture he gave you earlier makes you think he needs a little more teasing. You slide down the wall, crouching down to escape him.

Hotch knows he must be beet red at this point. You’re defying him in a way you’ve never done before. You hadn’t disobeyed him before or after you started dating, always respecting his authority as your boss. Your stubbornness was endearing when it wasn’t targeted toward him, but now he was clenching his jaw in anger.

You don’t make it far before he grabs you, turning you around to face him. His hands are on your waist, gripping you tightly. Leaning his forehead against yours, you can feel his heavy breathing. His clear anger brings a smile to your face. He may have physical power over you, but you have control over all his emotions in the moment.

He doesn’t speak for a second. You can see his brain working to figure out an interrogation method that’ll get you to talk. Running out of ideas, he pulls the towel off of your body, letting it drop to the floor. He reaches around, grabbing your ass and bringing you closer to him. You can feel his breath on your eyelashes.

Even standing completely exposed in front of him, you’re still not satisfied, staying silent to urge him on. His hands are all over you, groping shamelessly. You refuse to give him even a whimper. You’re not even looking at him, staring straight ahead. Taking a hand away from your body, he grabs your hair and pulls it so you make eye contact with him. Meeting his eyes, you feel his pupils burning into yours. His anger is visible in his gaze, studying you for any sign of remorse. Seeing none, he turns you around, pushing you so your face down on the bed with your feet planted on the ground. For the first time since you started your silent treatment, you let him control you, not moving from the position he pushed you down into.

He presses his hips into the back of yours, and you can feel his hardness. Another smirk comes across your face. You love the effect you have on him. He grinds into you a few times, before reaching around your waist and pulling you back up.

“Is this what it’ll take to make you talk?” he says, hands moving to play with one of your breasts. “Are you going to make me fuck the attitude out of you?”

Getting no response, he manhandles you onto the bed so you’re on your knees and he’s behind you. Aaron gently wraps a hand around your neck, nipping at your shoulder. He’s biting, marking you up in the places he knows your shirt will cover.

His hands leave you, and you hear the sound of his belt coming off. You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but you can assume from the pause that he’s taking his pants off. When he wraps his arms back around you, you realize it’s not just his pants, but all of his clothes. Teasingly, you move your hips back, grinding on his now unclothed crotch.

He holds back a groan, not wanting to give in to your games. Drawing his hand back, he spanks you— once, twice, three times.

You’re also fighting your own sounds, biting your lip to choke back a whimper. Your face is pressed into the mattress now, arms weak from the impact. If this is your punishment, you might never speak willingly again. You try not to wiggle your hips too much, still trying to hide your pleasure.

Aaron isn’t fooled, thumbing at your slit, feeling the wetness that’s gathered. The mattress mutes your heavy breathing, but the way you clench around nothing at the simple touch is sign enough of the effect he’s having on you.

“You can’t hide from me, baby,” he says, the only warning before he pushes into you fully.

A shiver running through your body, you moan, the first noise you’ve given him all night. He chuckles, knowing you’re defeated. The full feeling has you forgetting any reason to be mad at him. Your arms are near useless now, weak as he slowly drags in and out of you.

He’s thrusting slow and deep, at a pace he knows will keep you right on the edge. Gripping your hips, he pulls you so close that your back arches mindlessly.

Leaning down so his chest is pressed against your back, you can feel his form. You imagine how he must look, panting above you. Your breath quivers, focusing on the way you can feel every detail of his cock at his measured pace.

Still too proud to beg, you begin pushing your hips back into him, searching for more stimulation. He knows you too well, remembering just the speed that’ll leave you wanting more.

Sensing your need for release, he grabs ahold of your hair, pulling you up to whisper in your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you consider your options. You’re still mad at him, not over the shame of his biting words. But with one hand tangled in your hair and the other squeezing your hip, you let go of your dignity.

“Aaron,” you whine out, still gathering words.

He tugs on your hair, a signal that it’s not enough.

“Please, I can’t–” You’re trying to form full sentences, but the way he impales your sweet spot has your brain nearly blank.

“Use your words, y’n,” he says, punctuating your name with a sharp thrust.

“I need to cum.” If not for his hands supporting you, you’d be flat on the bed. “Please let me, Aaron.”

“Only good girls get to cum,” he grunts into your ear, stopping his thrusts to simply grind against you, “and you’ve been bad today.”

You cry out as he stills. “Please, I’ll be good. I’ll be your good girl,” you beg.

He starts to thrust into you again, content with being back in control. He removes a hand from your hair, pushing you down by the back of your head so your knees aren’t even supporting you anymore. Your whole body is flat, hips pushing back into him as he speeds up.

You can hear every groan and grunt as he presses his body on top of yours. You’re too focused on the warmth in your stomach to care about the moans you’re producing. Again, you have no words to say, but this time it’s not by choice. Aaron’s cock feels too good for you to have any thoughts other than him.

When you start fluttering around him, he knows you’re close. Determining that you’ve had enough punishment, he keeps the pace, reaching around to grab a breast that’s been pressed into the bed.

Closing your eyes, you let your release overtake you. One of your hands grabs at the sheets, searching for an anchor as you get lost in your orgasm. You don’t realize it in your haze, but you’re calling out Aaron’s name. The sound of your voice and the feeling of your walls grasping for him brings him to his own orgasm, stilling as he fills you up.

He collapses on top of you for a second, comforting you with his weight. Even as he rolls off of you, you stay face down, still recovering. He has to turn you over himself and pull you into a tight embrace for you to come back to reality.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he says, reminding you of the reason he yelled at you in the first place. Just annoyed enough to not say anything, you simply curl in closer to his chest.

“Are you sorry for your behavior?” he asks.

Sensing an opportunity, you grin into his chest and shake your head.

Sighing, he turns you over so he’s on top of you again. Both of you are more than aware you’ll keep this up for as long as you need. As Aaron captures you in a deep kiss, you prepare yourself for a long night.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner one shot #hotch x reader

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creatuesfromthedeep · 2 months ago

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Tips for introducing more conflict into your Flight Rising lore (that aren't just "get a generic villain character")

Your dragons should be wrong sometimes. It doesn't have to be all the time, but they should misunderstand things, lie (intentionally or unintentionally), lash out when they're stressed, or just flatout dislike someone for no reason. Everybody will make bad decisions, and it's an easy way to introduce conflict without needing a specific antagonist character.

The world should be dangerous in some way. Think about your clan, and think about where your dragons would reasonably encounter some kind of danger. Is there a lot of crime in your clan? Is there a portion of your clan's territory that has a lot of hostile fauna? Is your clan currently clashing with another clan? Who knows, maybe the biggest danger is getting humiliated at the PTA bake sale, but try to think deeply on this. Once you know what places are dangerous, you can start thinking of how your clan deals with that danger.

A 100% approval rating government doesn't exist. The larger your clan, the more likely that there's dragons who disagree in some way, shape, or form with how the clan's being run. Maybe you've got an Anarcho-Capitalist Lightning clan with a small sect of Eco-Socialists that dislike the current rulers. Maybe you've got a tight-knit family unit but there's a dragon who doesn't agree with how chores are being divvied up. Maybe you've got a monarchy but, oops, you've got one dragon who REALLY disagrees with the concept of a monarchy!

Quick conflict is easy, prolonged plot is interesting. A conflict that can be resolved in 2 hours has a lot less narrative weight (typically) compared to a plot that takes 2 weeks to resolve. Err on the side of letting things fester and intensify if you want the juiciest conflict.

Your dragons should have wants just like anyone else, and those wants should conflict. A highly ambitious dragon joining a clan with well-established authorities is going to feel stifled by their inability to rise through the ranks. What happens when multiple dragons are courting the same dragon? What happens when multiple dragons want the same den location? Two dragons with deeply opposed desires can be the cornerstone of a lot of great lore.

Sometimes bad things happen for no reason. Natural disasters, plagues, sudden global conflicts (ex: Luminax), all of these things can be introduced quickly to churn up some conflict. Be careful to rely too heavily on this though, as it can erode away at your dragons narrative agency and make things feel grimdark (unless that's what you're going for)

Sometimes dragons are just jerks. People in real life are occasionally just mean, and there's no reason to say that your dragons can't just be a bit mean too. Schoolyard bullies, prissy Karens, workplace lunch-thieves, people who cut in line, etc. Don't be afraid to make some of your dragons just a bit mean, or annoying, or frustrating! In fact, I'd argue most dragons should have at least one trait that could potentially drive another dragon up the wall.

#flight rising #fr lore #cftd rambles #this isnt a fully exhaustive list but it does cover a lot of avenues beyond #Add A Murderer #which is a valid thing to do but consider: adding a murderer AND exploding your dragons houses

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clumsybriar · 8 months ago

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Ghost x Wife! Reader — My Pretty Girl

Ghost x wife! Reader

Masterlist

Notes: use of (y/n), reader is female, ghost really adores his wife, fluff.

Word count: 6,858

Warnings: some swearing and bullying.

———————————————————————————

Simon stopped in the doorway watching his wife get ready. He was awestruck by her always. She was curvy, and pretty, and her personality sold it all.

She was in his words ‘a sensitive bugger’, to which she would disagree and tell him she was in tune with her emotions and then giggle. She was so sweet and patient and was willing to try and be everyone’s friend even if she was an introvert. The deal was, they had to talk to her first.

“Pretty girl.” He uttered coming up behind her and kissing her cheek. She had her make up all done and it was natural looking. The way she liked it. Her hair was straightened and she was just trying to get dressed until Simon interrupted her.

“Si!” She whined cutely as she only had one leg in her shorts and her other one was lifted as she was trying to stick her foot in the hole. Simon had snatched it up trapping her in place.

“Don’t whine, dovie.” He smiled as he balanced her. “I love you with all my heart, I’m just showin’ it.” His deep Manchester accent boomed within the four walls surrounding them.

His words were not an understatement either. He adored her entirely, worshiped the ground she walked on. He was a man who was well in love with his wife as he should be. She was gorgeous, even if she had stretch marks, or a bigger booty, or larger breasts. How ever it was, he loved her no matter what she looked like.

“Ah, pretty girl, not this outfit.” He smiled leaving a trail of kissed down her neck to her shoulder and continuing it down her arm.

“What’s wrong with it?” She asked nervously as she looked up at Simon.

There wasn’t anything wrong with it, he loved it. Frankly he would have said that about any outfit she left the house with or were wearing around the house. Even if it was her tangled and messy bed head and a t-shirt and boxers of his. He would still slobber over it and have the same remark.

“I love it, you look so gorgeous in this outfit pretty girl.” He kissed her knuckles.

“Si-si,” she snorted. “You say that about anything I wear.”

“Can’t help it love.” He tapped her butt with his hands. “You look good in everything, and nothing at all.” He teased softly. His lips trailing down her neck again as his hands wondered her body.

“We can’t,” she out a half things frenzied attack which made up of lots of kisses and groping over her soft skin. “We said we would meet Mr. and Mrs. Price at 3:30 at the winery.” His hands still grabbed at her thighs as he tried to sneak a few subtle touches elsewhere. “And soap and a Gaz will be there with their…”

“Pay them no mind, pretty girl.” Simon hummed as he stood up straight. She was petit against him, as in he towered over her and she was just this dainty and tiny little hobbit compared to him.

“Yes lieutenant.” She giggled she was trying to fight off his large hand that gripped her in thigh still up in the air as she wanted to get dressed. He patted her butt one more time as he let her go and laid on the bed watching her as she got dressed.

“Ya’ wearin’ that devils peice of clothing?” Simon asked as he watched her turn around and change her bra. “Go no bra.” He whined slightly. It was so out of character for him to be so whiney like this, but with her he could express himself in any way. He was so comfortable with her.

“I’m wearing a bra.” She fastened the new one and made sure her breasts settled right in it. He rolled into his belly as he rested his head on his fist.

“No bra,” he grunted out.

“Yes bra!” She argued back smiling at him.

“Let me see.” He pawed at her butt. She had fasted her cargo wrap skort and turned around grabbing her crocheted black crop top that cupped around her breasts.

“Pretty lace lovie.” He referred to her bra looking the dark green and how it compared to her skin.

“Your such a tease.” She giggled.

“Can you blame me lovie.” He sat up watching her out on the crochet top. “Such a pretty girl.”

“You try to make my head big.” She hummed as she put on her sandles.

“Baby, your head ain’t ever gonna grow big enough.” He teased her some more as his hands rested on her hips. “Your a pretty girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her collar bone. “And you don’t realize it.”

“I’m not that pretty.” She said softly.

“Beg to differ.” He stood up kissing her cheek. “Dead pretty.”

“Thank you.” She hugged him softly. The two of them had been Mr. and Mrs. Riley for four years.

He met her a year prior to their marriage during a mission. She was a pretty little civilian working her ass off in a library while she tried to finish her art degree. He was a lieutenant in the SAS. And the building she was in, had a bomb located in the center.

Task force 141 had the responsibility to defuse the bomb and evacuate the building.

Ghost could remember it clear as day. He was rushing around giving orders to civilians while (y/n) was staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, unsure if she should move because they could have been a threat to her safety, or if they thought she was the threat.

Needless to say, Gaz who was surprised by the lieutenants kindness in that moment with (y/n), knew he was a love sick puppy as soon as he set eyes on this little American woman.

Everytime Gaz retells the story, he always states something along the lines of ‘havin’ a hard time tellin’ who was the deer in headlights and who was the car about to run the deer over’. Soap would often talk about how everyone in the task force and who had been under Ghost’s command were jealous that she got all his soft and friendly words and they got ordered barked at them that day.

Needless to say, the universe, as cheesy as it was, had made sure their paths crossed so the two could be together.

Though everyone knew Ghost was in love when he gave her his mothers engagement ring as her own engagement ring. It was the last thing he had of his precious mother who had been tortured and killed by Roba. When they laid eyes on the gorgeous ring that had been worn by his mother many, many years ago, they knew he had found the woman he was going to settle down and come home to everyday, especially when his mother’s matching wedding band slipped on his wife’s finger during the wedding.

The wedding was truly something else, to (y/n) and Simon, it felt like a breath of fresh air finally being able to call one and another husband and wife even if they had been for months maybe even a year prior to wedding.

Simon could remember how ethereal (y/n) looked when she appeared from behind the doors. His breath had caught in his throat, and the tears had instantly welled up in his eyes. Soap had to pat his back as Simon—for the first time—had cried in front of many people.

The task force could have sworn it would have been (y/n) weeping heavily, but on that day it was Simon. And no one judged him for it, because she had for sure been the most beautiful bride, especially if you ask simon.

“Ready to go my dovie.” Simon hummed as he wore a white button down shirt and some slacks.

“Ready.” She grabbed his hand as she admired how his tattoos were on display. “You look charming.” She said softly as her eyes met his.

He could stare into those eyes for eternity.

“Mmm,” he leaned forward and kissed her. “Thank you baby.” He kissed her again. “Not as good as you, pretty girl.”

“Stop that!” She giggled as she stuck close to him.

“Never.” He hummed. Ghost had always been so playful with her, letting her see is fun side where many others didn’t get to see that from him. He always made her feel special though that was one thing for sure.

It didn’t take long for the two to arrive at the winery as they walked to the building to see Maria and John price already sipping on wine.

“What’ya want baby?” Simon asked as his hand was gently placed on her lower back.

“A sweet cider.” She said quietly as she was shooed around larger crowds.

“Mmm, want a pear apple cider?” He asked as he started a tab.

“Yeah.” She hummed as they waited. Her hands remained on his arms as she traced his tattoos. The bartender sat their drinks on the counter as they walked out the back to meet up with Maria and John.

“Well, well, well,” John stood up and shook Simon’s hand. “How’s it goin’ Simon.” The older man asked.

“Better everyday.” Simon hummed, a simple answer to how it truly was. Fantastic everyday when he was with (y/n).

Maria cooed softly at (y/n) as she was a very motherly person in general. “Oh darlin’, yer’ youth is refreshing to m’soul.” She hummed giggling as her accent was very Irsish and thick. “A wee baby’s skin isn’t as soft as yer’ skin.” She pinched (y/n)’s cheek gently. It didn’t take long for (y/n)’s cheeks to flare up in a rosy tint.

“Hi Maria.” (Y/n) greeted softly as she kissed the younger woman’s cheeks.

“Oh Simon, I imagine she’s keepin’ ya’ young as well with all her youth,” Maria teased the man. “We’re are ya’ two keepin’ the fountain of youth, Johnny and I could go for a dive.”

“Backyard.” Simon joked as he leaned down and hugged Maria as she kissed his cheeks as well as a greeting.

“Hi missy.” John hummed as he kissed your cheeks. “Keep him better behaved, he’s been causing me trouble at work.”

“I’m sorry,” (y/n) stifled a laughed as she looked up at Simon.

“Don’t you be givin’ my wife ammo.” Simon joked.

“I think your wife has plenty of ammo, me’lad.” Maria hummed. “Yer’ a soft husband, not like m’John who goes fishin’ and leave me with the screamin’ banshees.” She referred to her kids.

“Guilty as all be.” John smiled, sweet bliss for him.

They stood around and chatted as they waited for Gaz and Soap to appear. Of course (y/n) knew the two girls would be coming along as she tried to remember how to blend in so she wasn’t targeted.

“You’ll be targeted no matter what, m’girl.” Maria said softly. “Your a pretty lady, and them boys have known you for years ‘cause o’simon.” She hummed. “Pay’em no heed. If we need a break, you and I can always turn Hyde and walk in the vineyard.”

“Okay.” She said shyly. (Y/n) always felt like she dressed too kid-ish around them even if she was dressing more for her age, being 25. She sometimes believed she was too immature for Simon’s who was 32 and well prepared for life.

“Your so sweet, and so kind.” Simon whispered to her as he coddled her close to him. “So much sweetness, Dovie.”

(Y/n) flushed red and smiled up at Simon. She enjoyed his compliments but it often made her bashful.

“Ya’ look delightful, little one.” Maria smiled as she looked at your mature but youthful outfit. “Good thing Simon knows how to fight, these men would be all over ya’ if ya’ had that ring finger bare.” Maria hummed pointing at (y/n)’s ring finger smiling.

“I’m sure that’s not the case.” She brushed it off sweetly.

“I wish for your sake I could agree with ya’ but Simon’s already gave five different men the stink eye.” John chuckled lightly.

“No one fucks with my baby.” Simon said seriously.

That made (y/n) giggle as she patted Simon’s chest.

“I hope we didn’t miss the party.” Soap hummed as he walked hand and hand with his girlfriend. (Y/n) froze up a bit as she curled more into Simon taking a larger sip of her hard cider.

“Slow down.” Simon cooed softly. “No need to rush unless you would like to hug the porcelain throne tonight.”

“Sorry.” She said softly as she looked down to make sure her cleavage wasn’t too much.

Soap and Gaz were around her age, and the two were young, and they had a habit of staring, not on purpose, but because sometimes, (y/n)’s cleavage was a bit more on show depending on the shirts she wore. And she had a god given right to flaunt it. That’s what Farrah, Alex’s wife always told her when they were visiting her cousin in America. She loved her cousin's wife, finding comfort and understanding in her.

Ghost had snapped at the two before for staring, but he also couldn’t blame them. It was a good sight to see in his eyes.

“Anne, Lilliana.” Maria greeted with a polite smile.

Both women looked so elegant and wore beautiful dresses that spoke Italian villa. (Y/n) felt so out of place wearing a skort and a crop top. Too Americanized among a group of Europeans. The sharks were out today and they were gonna get her. Those sharks were named Lilliana, and Anne.

She smiled nervously saying a soft hi.

“You look so…youthful.” Lilliana said as she leaned against Gaz. (Y/n) could tell it was a forced smile and a fake compliment. They thought she looked immature.

“She looks very lovely, doesn’t she?” Maria smiled as she swooped the girl up and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “My eldest wants (y/n) to go to the boutique with her so (y/n) can help her shop for clothes.”

“Aye, the ladies can have a day out.” Soap hummed. “And us lads can go to the pub and watch footy.”

“Ya’.” Maria nodded, smiling gently. “We’ll have to plan something out.” She said softly.

Simon watched as his wife finished her cider as she looked at Anne and Lilliana’s outfits. He could see the swirling storm in her eyes comparing herself to them.

“Baby.” Simon said softly. He wished she’d understand she was breathtaking and that she shouldn’t compare herself to other women. In his eyes, until the day he dies and beyond that, he will always think she’s the most breathtaking woman. His hands gently brushed down her hair as he looked at her deep in the eyes.

He would continue to devour her with his eyes until she understood how exactly he felt.

“Yeah,” she said softly as she looked at her giant of a husband.

He felt himself melt at the sight of her looking up at him while her hand rubbed his chest gently.

“You wanna another cider?” He asked softly, his hand gently squeezing her hip.

“Yeah, I can come with you.” (Y/n) said softly as she followed him close.

His hand gently grabbed her as he guided her to the bar top again.

“How’s my pretty girl?” His voice was deep and had an edge of huskiness in it, maybe a bit breathy as well. It made (y/n) swell with love knowing that she got him worked up enough.

Her eyes glanced up at him as she smiled softly. “Better now that it’s you and me.” She said softly.

“To many people, baby?” He asked gently, looking at her with the softest eyes.

“Somewhat?” She looked away nervously. His hand rested on the thin of her back as they waited in line.

“What’s the matter?” He whispered into her ear. It was his way of saying ‘we can have a private conversation right here’.

She fiddled with his collar as she straightened it out. Her eyes glanced around nervously seeing how she wasn’t the only one dressed in the style she was, she had to remember Anna, Lilliana, and Mrs. Price were all older than her, so they would have a different fashion sense.

“Am I childish, overly youthful?” She whispered in his ears. He leaned forward as both his hands grabbed her hips tugging her closer.

He wondered what had got her thinking like that, then it dawned on him. Those two girls were always targeting you.

A month ago, (y/n) had come home crying, having gone out to lunch with the two girls and Mrs. Price, who made sure to deliver (y/n) personally at the Riley’s residence after the luncheon they had. She had been a crying mess blubbering in Simon’s arms all the while Mrs. Price was explaining to Simon what took place as she’s doing her motherly duties in soothing the younger woman.

Soap had thought it was a good idea for the two ladies to welcome the newcomers, who Gaz and Soap had started dating at the same time because the girls were best friends and they had met the two at the club.

Simon could remember Mrs. Price said that one of the newcomers had ‘accidentally’ fumbled their tea and split it all over his lovely wife. He could remember Maria quoting the air when she said accidentally with an eye roll. She knew it was on purpose. Simon knew it was on purpose.

“No dovie, you're beautiful,” he hummed. “I love ya’ just the way ya’ are.” His Manchester accent made it sound like honey. “You're dead gorgeous and I’ll tell ya’ forever until ya’ learn it.” He paused as he ordered their drinks as it was their turn after a few minutes of waiting. He had it put onto the tab he had opened earlier and would have to remember to close later. “Don’t ya’ be listening to those girls, they ain’t got nothin’ on my pretty little wife.” He smooched her cheek. “They’re jealous. Jealous of your gorgeous looks, your gorgeous attitude, your sweet like honey, pretty girl. Don’t let ‘em damper your mood.”

These were the very moments she knew she had made a good choice in marrying Simon. Because he picked up the broken pieces when she needed a bit more support. He let her cry in his arms over nothing until she was soothed and better. He held her hand as he made sweet love to her constantly praising her and making sure she was okay. He was the best husband she could have ever asked for.

“I love ya’ now pretty girl, I love ya’ forever,” he kissed her lips as she giggled softly.

“Love you too.” She hugged him as he brought her left hand to his mouth kissing her knuckles.

“You're my good girl, don’t let ‘em damper the mood tonight.” He smiled at her as the waitress brought the drinks to them, handing it off.

“Yes Si.” She nodded as she followed him back out behind tight against his side.

The night went on and very little trouble appeared.

Maria suggested (y/n) and her take a walk in the vineyard and plan a day out where the two could go with Moira—or Murray for short—and have a shopping spree.

“Ye’ boys be good, I’m takin’ m girl and chatting, don’t worry Simon, she’s with me.” Maria smiled as she put her hand on (y/n)’s waist and walked her into the growing garden of grapes.

“Hold up lassies, Anne, Liliana, go join ‘em.” Soap smiled as he waved them off. “Good fer ye’ gals to figure out their dynamics and then ye’ can have girls' nights.”

“Oh yes, join us.” Maria smiled as she held her disappointment. (Y/n) hid her face dropping as she looked at Simon who gave her a reassuring smile.

Maria would fight on his behalf.

“Let me see, Murray likes the kind of stuff yer’ wearing now. I’m my we’ babes mama, and I’m not good with her fashion even if she is a teen.” Maria laughed. “I could pick out an outfit and she’d yak and say, ‘mam it’s uglier than a tit’.”

(Y/n) giggled at Maria repeating what Murray said.

“Look, teens dress like you too.” Anne snickered and snorted with the other woman, making Maria give them a glare.

“Such…youthful…mmm…” Lilliana tapped her chin. “That’s not the word I’m looking for, more like childish outfits.” Lilliana nodded her head as she sipped her wine. “And you don’t drink wine like an adult, you drink hard cider, probably beer too.”

(Y/n) frowned as she looked ashamed.

“What are ye’ girls yapperin’ about, beer is good, hard cider is better than wine,” Maria corrected them. “And she is fashionable, and me’ daughter is 20, an adult, only 5 years younger then Mrs. Riley here.”

“25 she’s practically a baby.” Anne snorted. “Simon needs a woman, not a girl. Someone who’s mature, honey you don’t fit the bill.” (Y/n) felt that nagging feeling in the back of her head that said: ‘run…run away…no one will find you’. She was starting to think they were right, she was immature and Simon just didn’t know how to tell her that.

“Oh that man loves ya’ beyond all means, yer’ his Persephone.” Maria ignored them. “These fools are just jealous and tootin’ their own horn.”

Maria wasn’t afraid to tell people how it was. She was an outspoken woman. Mr. Price would often tell (y/n) to watch Maria and learn, body language the fact that no fucks were given when she was handling a person who pissed with her family.

Just like that one time a man said Harry sucked at footy. The wretched man said no one would want an imbecile playing footy when he didn’t know his left from his right. Maria, pounced quicker than John who sat back with a can of beer in his hands and a smirk on his face. (Y/n) could remember that one clear-as-day. Simon had leaned over and whispered to her to remind him to never oiss her off. It was terrifying for the two newlyweds nonetheless. (Y/n) was 21, and Simon was 28. The two were afraid they were gonna get a foot up their ass as well for something they did, but didn’t do.

“Let me see your gorgeous wedding rings.” Maria hummed. “He married ya’, and put those precious rings on yer’ finger cause he loves ya’ more than the world.”

Anne and Lilliana paused as they looked at the rings.

Their eyes met one and another as they smiled at each other.

‘Oh dear lord, no. God, no.’ (Y/n) thought to herself.

“Pretty ring,” Lilliana, hummed as they leaned forward. “Can we see?”

(Y/n) hesitated as she knew how important these were to Simon, in fact they were so important to her she hardly let anyone touch her hands.

She showed them from a distance but Anna quickly snatched her hand up making (y/n) squeak out.

“There my mama’s rings baby,” Simon hummed as he smiled at (y/n). “I want ya’ to wear ‘em, they’d look so pretty on your hands.” He kissed your knuckles. “Marry me, pretty girl, make me the happiest man in the whole wild world. Make my mama proud and wear her rings, please baby.” He was so sweet as he proposed to her overlooking Scotland's pretty scenery.

“Yes,” she sobbed.

“Atta’ girl,” Simon lurched forward kissing her as he put the engagement ring on her finger. “Let’s keep the other one tucked away safely so when I get to see you in a pretty dress.”

“These are important to me and Simon, please just look.” She gasped as they gripped her fingers tightly.

“Now ye’ brats let her go.” Maria swatted at their hands.

They didn't let go of (y/n)’s hands and actually started to tug on her ring finger. She was trying to push their hands away as she felt her eyes well up.

“Oh she’s a crybaby too, so immature.” Anna laughed.

“Oh it’s so pretty,” Lilliana started to slip the rings off her fingers as (y/n) tried everything to stop her. Maria did as she called them a nasty word in her native tongue, and tried to get the ring back.

“Now ye’ girls need some manners.” Maria snapped at them.

“Be a shame if they got lost, he might leave you then,” Anna snorted at Lilliana’s words.

She didn’t want Simon to leave her. She didn’t want those rings to be lost. She started to cry as she shut down not knowing what to do. Her anxiety was through the roof. She glanced at Maria with pure panic.

(Y/n) felt her breath stop, her whole world stop as they tossed them behind them like they were nothing. Lilliana and Anne threw each one back like they were nothing. Like they were senseless gold or fake jewelry that would tarnish the wearer’s finger green once the coating was off of it.

Her eyes widened as she watched Maria chase after the area they went to but she couldn’t see them because they had rolled. She didn’t know what to do other than to cover her mouth and sob. “My rings.” She whispered as she saw Maria sit up straight and look at her.

The other girls walked off laughing as they went deeper in the vineyard and hadn’t been seen for the hour Maria and (y/n) were in the ground searching.

Her sobs got louder as she lost faith in finding the rings Simon had gifted her.

“Calm down m’babe, go get the boys and they can help search, go get Simon m’love.” She hushed her and pushed her up to the grounds where the boys were sitting and laughing. She had her mouth covered as she sobbed quietly trying not to gain anyone’s attention.

What if Simon left her and the girls blamed her for the lost rings.

He knew better, those two girls had caused you more trouble over their jealousy. It was just that fact that the anxiety and the fear crept up in her mind.

“Her cousin and Farah are tryin’ for a baby,” Simon hummed softly. “Been givin’ me a bit of a baby fever. Never thought I’d be one for having my own kids, but here I am. She’d look gorgeous pregnant.”

His words would have made her heart beat a bit faster if it wasn’t for the fact that her rings were missing.

“(Y/n),” Price shot forward very fatherly over the girl since she didn’t have her father or mother who had sadly passed years ago. and he was the one to walk her down the aisle with Maria. “What’s wrong?”

Her knees were dirty, and her hands looked like they were digging in dirt.

Simon was the first to bolt out of his chair as she refused to look at any of them. Concern was etched on Simon’s face as he knew when she cried there was a reason, whether it was a silly one or not, it was enough to warrant him to coddle her and figure out what was wrong.

Her eyes never left the ground even as Simon cupped her face and tugged her close.

“Baby, what’s got you upset?” He was gentle as Price was behind her shielding her from other passerbys.

She sobbed and covered her mouth as her other hand clung to Simon. She felt light headed and terrified.

She knew she just needed to spit it out. “Maria and I…” she felt a hiccup break her words as she was crying heavily. “We’ve been searching for an hour.” She sniffled as she started to hyperventilate and her words started to get jumbled.

Simon’s heart cleaned as he brushed the hair from her face.

An hour? An hour of searching for what?

He wasn’t understanding, but he knew one thing: wrapping her up in his arms and getting her to calm down was the first thing to do.

“Shh, shh,” he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Shh, love it’s okay, it’s okay.” He smiled at her softly. “Deep breaths, nice and easy for me, pretty girl.”

She did some of that but other than that she was back to babbling and trying to get her words out.

“And I can’t find it.” She sobbed her hands refusing to clutch too tightly to his white shirt, knowing she’ll get it dirty.

Simon's concern deepened as he tried to make sense of (y/n)’s words. "Can't find what, love? What are you looking for?" He continued to hold her against him, one hand gently stroking her back to try and soothe her sobs.

Then her words were finally freed up knowing she needed to convey the message Maria sent her to tell the men.

“The girls asked to see our rings, and Maria and I didn’t know they were going to rip it off my finger. It hurt and we tried to stop them, and they threw both my wedding band and engagement ring.” She sobbed. “It was your mom’s wedding band and engagement ring, I can’t find them.” She felt like bile could escape from her mouth at any second.

“They did what!” Soap looked like he was gonna have a conniption while Gaz covered his mouth as he looked apologetically to the two of them.

Simon's eyes widened in shock as he processed (y/n)’s words. The girls had stolen her rings and thrown them away? And not just any rings, but his mother's wedding band and engagement ring.

Anger boiled within him, but he forced himself to stay calm. (Y/n)’s tears and pain took priority. He held her tighter against him, his voice strained. "Those bloody girls. They’re gonna pay for this.”

“I can’t find them.” She huffed as more tears welled up in her pretty eyes.

“I’m gonna go talk to the manager and make sure they know that we have a missing engagement ring and a missing wedding band.” Price patted Simon on the back. He disappeared quickly as Simon rubbed his wife’s back trying to soothe her as he whispered to her.

“We’re gonna find them baby, I won’t stop looking until they're back in your fingers.” He kissed her cheek. “So breathe baby, we’re not leaving until they're back on your finger.”

“I’m gonna go down with Maria and start searching in the area she thinks she saw them go.” Soap said as he looked at the two of them. “We’ll find them.” He reassured the two.

“Better find them, and you better keep those rotten women away from my wife!” Simon snarled at the two men.

“Yes LT.” They saluted.

Simon stuck close to (y/n) as he tried to calm her rapid heartbeat and her fears that didn’t seem to be washing away until she saw those rings in either his hands or her own hands.

Johnny and Gaz looked in the area’s Maria had pointed to them, while her and John searched the area she swore up and down it landed at.

The doubt and fear hadn’t settled in (y/n)’s stomach, right now she wished it would go away. She was about ready to throw up all that dinner that Simon worked hard to cook her.

“We’re not gonna find them.” She felt her anxieties creep into the back of her mind.

“Baby, we’re not leavin’ until those damn things are back in that hand.” He pointed to her left hand. “I promise you that.” He cupped her face.

“But Simon,” she was exhausted. “What if…what if we don’t find them?” She fretted as she looked at her husband with tears falling down her cheek.

Simon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He knew how much those rings meant to his wife, and the thought of losing them was torture for him.

He knew from day one they had made her feel special, feel well loved by her husband who adored her so much. She felt like it was her fault she lost them and it was on her now that they were missing not having protected his precious rings.

He gave (y/n)’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, his voice low and reassuring. "We'll find them, love. I promise. We won't stop until we do.”

It’s all she needed to hear and take in to slowly get back to searching. It had taken him multiple times to finally get it through her head he would have those rings back as soon as he could find them.

“You gave those to me hoping I would keep them safe since they were my engagement and wedding bands but I couldn’t.” She cried softly as she searched the ground near him.

Simon's heart clenched at her words.

Yes, he had given (y/n) his mother's rings with the hope that she’d keep them safe. But he never expected her to be put in this situation. Who would? He’d never expect two girls to be that jealous and put his wife in this much emotional turmoil.

"Love, it's not your fault," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. “You didn’t ask for this. Those bloody girls had no right to touch your rings. They had no right to touch you, pretty girl.” He stopped and filled her face. “And I’m gonna protect you until the day I die, and if that means tellin’ them girls off, then that’s what the hell I’ll do.”

Their hands searched the ground as their eyes looked everywhere. It wasn’t until thirty minutes later Maria bounced up with excitement and happiness.

“I found one, ye’ lads keep yer’ eyes open for the engagement ring, I found the wedding band!” She shouted happily as she rushed over to (y/n) gently placing the ring on her finger. “Sweet babe, we’ll find it, I promise.”

Simon watched as Maria comforted the woman he loved so dearly. His anger subsided momentarily, replaced by relief and gratitude to Maria for her kindness. There was truly something special about the mother of three.

"We will," he said, agreeing with Maria. His voice was more steady now. "We'll find that engagement ring, even if we have to tear this place apart."

The two of them went back to searching as they looked through the ground as thoroughly as they could.

It wasn’t until another fifteen minutes had passed after Maria came barreling with the wedding band that they had found the engagement ring.

Simon's eyes caught a glint of something shiny among the blades of grass. He crouched down, gently pushing the grass aside to get a clearer view.

His heart nearly stopped as he saw what it was—(y/n)’s engagement ring.

He had found it, he felt his heart flutter as all that stress and worry subsided and it was gone. The relief was back and he couldn’t be happier than ever to present the ring back to his precious wife who had been stressing and withering as the time went on.

"Love, come here," Simon called out, his voice calm but urgent. He motioned for her to come closer, his eyes never leaving the small glint of gold in the grass.

He plucked the object from the ground and smiled seeing the ring shine in the golden rays that were the sun's final moments before the moon came out. “Come now my pretty girl.”

As soon as (y/n) reached his side, he held up the engagement ring, showing it to her. "I found it, love. I found it."

She felt her mind go blank and her eyes well up as she let out a sob lurching forward and hugging Simon.

Simon wrapped his arms around (y/n) holding her tightly in his embrace, tears streaming down her face. He held the woman tight, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.

"It's alright now," he whispered, his voice soothing. "We found it, love. We found your ring." Simon carefully placed the engagement ring back on his wife’s finger, his touch gentle yet firm. As he did, he couldn’t help but place a soft kiss on her cheek as a way to reassure her everything was alright. "It suits you," he said, a hint of a smile on his face. "It always has. Looks gorgeous on my girl.”

She wiped her eyes as her hands found the back of his neck as her nails scratched into the base of his hair.

“I’m so sorry I lost it,” she murmured into his neck. “I didn’t mean to lose your mama’s ring.”

Simon gently cupped her face in his hands, his touch tender and reassuring. He wiped away her tears with his thumb.

"Don't apologize, love," he said softly. "Those girls took them without your consent. It's not your fault. And you didn't lose them—we found them.”

(Y/n) knew Ghost would defend her until his last breath, and even at that, he would transcend and defend her for beyond human measure.

“I love you,” (y/n) said softly.

Ghosts hand gently caressed her face as he wiped her tears away. “Love you too, pretty girl.” His voice was breathy and a whisper.

(Y/n) was glad she wasn’t in the mix when Ghost confronted the two girls. She could hear the words Ghost growled to them as he lectured them on proper treatment of people in general.

He sounded in that moment, more like a lieutenant than he did her husband and it was a strange thing to hear in his voice when he had always been soft and cute with her.

“He’s gonna be a good father.” Maria hummed as she stood proudly with her hands on her hips.

“Yeah he will,” (y/n) smiled as she rocked in her feet back and forth waiting for him to return to her.

When he did return, (y/n! spent the rest of the night tucked to his side constantly on the receiving end of his hushed whispers of love and adoration.

“Pretty girl,” he cooed as she looked up at him.

“Yeah?” She said softly, eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

“Ready to go home, pretty girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on pretty girl,” he smirked at her as she knew that look. “I think I need to remind you how pretty you truly are.”

Those words were a reminder that this night could last even longer than she thought they would.

“Yeah pretty girl?”

“Yeah.”

1K notes · View notes

theoldsports · 10 months ago

Text

SHITHEAD.

Art Donaldson x Reader.

warnings: a lot of them. 18+, slapping, begging, major angst, brat!Art, an argument with make up sex. Art is really manipulative because… he is a bit and we all know it. [Y/N] is very ill-tempered too. it’s dirty.

can be a part ii to SPONTANEOUS, or read as a standalone. this is my favorite piece of writing i have published on this account.

The bed was empty beside [Y/N]. She stared at Art’s empty side of the bed. The soft green sheets and mix-matched pillowcases went unoccupied. Not because he wasn’t home, but because [Y/N] hated Art so he had to sleep downstairs on the couch.

It wasn’t that she really hated Art. She did hate him right now. Not in a funny way. Their drive home had been silent. Poor Art didn’t know how to facilitate conversation that wouldn’t worsen the situation. His sorrowful eyes, but honest eyes kept glancing from the road to where [Y/N] sat in the passenger seat. The real showdown had started between them something awful when the door to their house slammed shut.

See, Art cried when he got mad. Or sad. Or profoundly excited. Their wedding photos were two-thirds Art crying and trying not to show that he was crying.

Art hadn’t cried tonight yet. That pissed [Y/N] off. She was furious and he seemed to feel absolutely zero discernible feelings about that.

They argued all the time. It rarely lasted all too long.

It was different this time. When [Y/N] started to say something cruel or shout or weep, Art got a little smaller, but he alarmingly stood his ground. He averted his gaze and said “I respectfully disagree,” or “What the fuck do you know about how I feel?” in a dangerously level tone.

Fighting with Art about this wasn’t fun. He was too cool about. He knew he was right. [Y/N] wanted to yell and scream because Art was so relaxed and condescending in his tone. When the man who had spent his teenage years getting referred at competition after competition as literally Ice tonelessly said: “Jesus Christ, aren’t you bored yet? What, going to over-explain the same information to me again, or…?” Finally, that had made [Y/N] drag herself to bed and yank the door closed violently enough that she felt the metallic vibration run all the way up to her shoulder.

And she was still laying there, staring at Art’s side of the bed.

At the Zweig’s party that night, there were a few hot topics in the Donaldsons’ sphere:

1) Lots of congratulations from people that had known them grow up, but hadn’t seen them since the wedding or prior.

This was mostly very kind. It dragged that smirk up Art’s face and caused his fingers to dig tighter into [Y/N]’s waist. That look of pride and tenderness on his face was more than welcome.

2) Lots of questions about Patrick. His lack of attendance was felt.

Both Donaldsons dodged these question as much as they could. Art kept an eye on [Y/N]’s liquor consumption. He knew how embarrassed she would be if she said something she regretted in front of Patrick’s family. Patrick had hurt them both, but Art’s heart went out to [Y/N]. Her world had been built around Patrick’s from a young age. Art was trying to engineer his own world higher around her so she wouldn’t be able to see the old place and people that had burned her over the walls.

3) “You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

With Art keeping an eye on [Y/N]’s drinking, she hadn’t really been keeping an eye on him. She just assumed he would keep his shit together. Art drinking in public was never really a concern. He wasn’t a big drinker anyway. At this point, his career mattered more and he was approaching his mid-twenties which made him feel surely less young than he had once. He wasn’t a casual beer guy either. It was Patrick who liked beer and Art who would have a moledo or something sometimes. Art did like white girl drinks, though. Tequila and fruity stuff. He had been able to shoot shot after shot of vodka like a pro in college at a season-end celebration.

Art was a tight-lipped man, but he was a giggly drunk who he got pretty comfortable talking out of his ass from behind a glass with an umbrella in it. Art was rarely comfortable with anything, so a drink or two at a party was welcome to him.

Another important point of context is that the largest point of tension between Art and [Y/N] was starting a family. They desperately wanted a child together, but they disagree on when. [Y/N] felt like she was fresh out of college, so she figured they had plenty of time. Art felt that he was fresh out of college, so he figured they may as well get to it.

Their arguments about this were once semi-regular. In the last four months or so, Art timidly bowed out and hoped [Y/N] would tell him when she was ready (sooner rather than later). He got tired of the low-tier shouting matches. Instead, he would pick fights about things that were decidedly lower stakes when he was bored.

Art had let [Y/N] field comments about family planning throughout the night. Unfortunately, when Art was polishing off a second drink, he ran his mouth a little bit.

Knowing he was the designated driver that night, Art did go easy. Art was also, like, five pounds. While he could hold his liquor with grace, he always got giggly. He watched with heavy eyelids as [Y/N] walked away to collect another drink following the dinner portion of the evening. The paper placecards with their shared last name emblazoned on them rested comfortably in Art’s inner jacket pocket to be kept as a memory.

Some guy who sold boat insurance and liked to rub elbows with talent was talking Art’s ear off. Art couldn’t remember his name, but [Y/N] would know it.

This was the precise moment that got Art in trouble.

Because when the guy whose name Art was sure started with an R said: “So! You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

Art said:

“Any day now, I hope. Tomorrow. I’m good to go. [Y/N] thinks now’s not a great time for her.”

He had said it with a smirk and a stupid little laugh. It was basically locker room talk. Big deal. He would’ve said it to Patrick with [Y/N] present in the room. This guy wasn’t Patrick and he was technically speaking behind her back.

Art had forgotten how close they were standing to the bar. He had forgotten that the frequency of his pitchy tenor was known to carry. He had forgotten that he was well known to be an instigator of fights even though he never actually threw the first punch. He had forgotten that he hadn’t been whispering. He had forgotten that this guy… Richy? Ronnie? was pretty much a stranger who had no business knowing their business.

Now, Art was sleeping on the couch and his side of the bed was empty.

Jackass.

[Y/N] stared still at the empty bed and didn’t know how to articulate her upset to an Art who had seemingly yet to feel ashamed.

She had a headache and was tired. But sleep wasn’t going to come easy and all she had to look forward to was a hangover.

Art didn’t really snore, but he was a heavy breather when he slept. The lack of his white noise made the A/C blowing and the stairs creaking too loud. Maybe all of this was on [Y/N] for making Art uncomfortable, she dared to think.

Then she reminded herself that it was Art’s fault for talking too much and for drinking when he knew he was supposed to drive home.

[Y/N] rolled over to face away from Art’s spot. All she could think about is how his hands always sleepily pawed at her to pull her back when she got too far away from him before he fell asleep.

“So, what’d you do?” Patrick asked.

“She hates me.” Art replied. It was almost a question.

“I asked what you did, not what she feels. She already told us what she feels and it’s that she hates you.” Patrick stated. When Patrick had stopped through town for a match, he had come by for dinner with, well, his best friends. This had been right after they’d gotten engaged.

Art sniffled. He didn’t want to cry in front of Patrick. Art would sooner cry in front of his own father. Both men would have laughed in his face, but it would have stung more from Patrick. “We got into a fight yesterday. A big one. Like, the first, uh, big one. She’s worried about the f—“

“The future? Please,” Patrick said bitterly. He frowned and his jaw tightened, but he combatted it by tossing Art a smile before the other man noticed the tension. “Stupid. You’re gonna marry her. You’ll play tennis. She’ll do her… columns? Articles. I don’t get what it is that she does—“

“She writes for—“

“Sure, yeah. You’re gonna have two kids so you can each pick a favorite one. And she’s gonna be a pain in your ass forever. Don’t be a pussy.”

Art sniffled again and stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I didn’t think I did,” Art said meekly. “I don’t get it. She gets so mad sometimes. At me.” Patrick stared at him blankly. Art had to know that he was usually at least a little bit the problem.

“Did she do the thing where she calls you a—“

“Shithead bastard?”

“Shithead bastard.” Both boys said at the same time. Art dragged his hands through his hair and looked up at Patrick. Both of them quirked a smirk at the other.

“See,” Patrick started. “You’ll be fine. Fuckin’ go after her.”

“And say what!”

“Uh… ‘I’m sorry?’ You do that kinda shit. She’ll like that.”

It was impossible to know how long [Y/N] laid there. The clock was on Art’s side and she would get spitting mad if she rolled back over.

She could just go downstairs and tell Art to come back to bed. He was probably sleeping just fine.

“Hey, hon, you don’t hate me, right?” Art’s voice whispered in the darkness.

[Y/N] was fairly certain she had imagined it. She had not heard his sweaty feet on the stairs or his fingers against the doorknob. Quickly, [Y/N] whipped over to face the door behind her.

There was Art. His sweatpants sat low on his hips and his shirt was long gone. Clothing didn’t often survive the night on Art’s back.

Really, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had taken Art to work through coming upstairs so quietly. “Mm?” [Y/N] groaned in question.

Art rocked his right shoulder into the doorway to lean. His arms were crossed and his eyes straight ahead on her from what [Y/N] could tell in the glow of the hallway’s thermostat. “Please just tell me you don’t hate me and I’ll let you go back to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

With a sigh, [Y/N] sat up and rolled her cracking shoulders back. “I don’t hate you, Art.” Her heart melted a little bit. [Y/N] knew it was immature, but her special attack in arguments since childhood was to bandy around the word hate a lot. Not that she had said it to Art tonight, but she had no doubt said it before. More than once. More times than she could count, maybe.

She was surprised Art had never asked this before. That surprise hurt in an a way that was too complex to describe. “I could never hate you.” [Y/N] continued, voice hushed only because it was dark out.

Art’s posture relaxed slightly. “You promise you don’t?” Said Art’s evermore crippling lack of self-confidence.

“I promise.” [Y/N] replied calmly.

“Okay. Thank you.” Art said in a small voice.

“I love you, baby. I don’t hate you. You shouldn’t have to ask that. I’m sorry I made you feel like you even have to ask that.”

Art frowned sharply. “No, I’m the one that should be sorry. You told me nicely not to talk about—“

“Don’t play that. You have to know you don’t feel like you did anything wrong, so you don’t have to invent a situation where you’re some horrible person.”

Art was silent.

[Y/N] continued. “I’m pissed because you told Randy,” RANDY. His name was RANDY. That’s it. “Our business. My business, really. He’s an asshole. It’s fine. Well, not now, but eventually. But you kinda martyred yourself on it. You don’t have to do that and I don’t hate you. You know I don’t… Right?”

“I’m sorry.” Art said quickly. He was gifted at making every single minor problem his own fault. He knew he was a little bit of an awful person for that, but he would die before admitting it. Art would hide behind his martyring habit as long as his cross could hold him, though. [Y/N] hadn’t noticed before this moment, but she could see the shining of his eyes in the digital blue-green glow. Tears. This time, less than obvious waterworks. Aw.

“I’m sorry. I’m still pissed at you for running your mouth, but I’m sorry too.”

Art nodded, said nothing else and reached for the doorknob.

Here is a frustrating thing about Art.

He said he was going to leave for downstairs once [Y/N] said she didn’t hate him. He started to make good on that vow. If he says something, he’s going to do it, even though he doesn’t have to do it.

“Come on,” [Y/N] called louder than she’d been whispering. “Come here, pretty baby.”

Pretty Baby by Blondie had been their wedding song. She had been calling him that for almost as long as she had known him. Saying it, or hearing the song always made that stunning, small crooked smile stretch up beyond his sad puppy eyes all the way to his ears.

Art’s kryptonite was pretty baby. They both knew it.

He turned to look at her with a slight blush on his cheeks, almost visible in the dark. Art shifted one of his feet childishly over the other in apprehension.. “Don’t make me say it again. I don’t like to ask twice.” [Y/N] reminded him.

After a hasty nod, Art was in bed before he [Y/N] blinked. The blonde sat bolt upright beside [Y/N] with his eyes wide. Hesitant, but coyly so. He knew this pattern. The agony and shame from her brutality would only last so long. Housepets loved to cause trouble for treat.

Not to say that Art liked to start fights so he could play some low-status lapdog that got to feel his wife’s fingers comb through his hair the way he liked as a reward for an apology. The man bit his cheek to avoid a devious smirk. A part of him did like to do that sometimes, though.

He always got away with it. He was such a nice boy.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes and leaned back into the threadbare pillows. With a finger, she beckoned Art nearer. Hesitation eliminated, Art flopped slowly down beside [Y/N]; she on her back, he on his side, facing her. Delicately, Art’s fingers dragged down [Y/N]’s arm to curl in her fingers.

Not long after that, his plush mouth climbed down from her neck. Then shoulders and collarbones. Then bicep. Elbow. Forearm and wrist. Down her hand to her silver-studded ring finger. Each kiss with accompanied with an honest and dutiful I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He was sorry. Genuinely. Sorry for the upset he brought his wife, but not the cause. Art’s beautiful duel-colored eyes glanced up at [Y/N]’s blown pupils through her own fingers.

“I didn’t mean to talk about you like that… I just… I love you so much that I want more of you. That’s all, honey,” Art laid his head on [Y/N]’s upper chest and his mouth moved against the front of her throat. “I’m just a little stupid, huh…”

Under his lips, Art could feel the rumble of a laugh rip through [Y/N]’s throat. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair to hold him in place. “Do-don’t talk about yourself like that,” she mumbled and gave his hair a lovely tug with both hands. He whimpered. [Y/N] wanted to bottle that sound. Art would always remember what she said next and how she said it: “Only I get to talk about you like that… St-stupid.”

This was the version of [Y/N] he was going to remember when he thought of her every day for the rest of his life. That sentence, the way her hair hung from where he had pushed it away from her neck. The sting of the cold metal from her wedding ring on the back of his neck and the stone of her engagement ring pressing into where he reached his palm to place his hand over hers. There was just the wrong amount of clothes between them. Her eyes ringed smoky from the makeup smudges and the exhaustion.

“Say it again.” Art whispered, swinging a knee over [Y/N]’s thighs so he could stare down at her. His forehead pressed softly against [Y/N]’s.

[Y/N]’s mouth fell open slightly with a breathy exhalation. Holy shit. “What, pretty baby, you want me to tell you how stupid you are? You like that?” [Y/N] almost whispered into Art’s still lips. He was too shocked to kiss her back, but too turned on to pull away. Art whimpered louder than before. [Y/N] felt him nod.

So she didn’t hold back. “You think I need to punish you after you behaved like that today or something? You need to atone for what a moron you were, shithead?” [Y/N] kept her tone light enough to just about tease as her nose trailed along the side of his. Her objective was to belittle. Her nails slid down Art’s muscular, sturdy back.

They both knew Art was a masochist on his worst days. Did he get off on being degraded sometimes? Sure. But this series of events was ridiculously new and exciting for [Y/N]. And shockingly obviously for Art too.

His hips pressed into her pathetically. “What? Did you need help with something?” She asked innocently when she felt Art’s hard-on against her thigh. [Y/N] kissed him distractingly warmly for how she was treating him. Art’s head spun and he couldn’t seem to make sense of anything anymore. He had backed himself into the best kind of corner.

Across Art’s hips and side went [Y/N]’s left hand, to the front of his sweatpants. Humiliatingly, Art blinked tears out of his eyes and screwed them shut. His mouth opened and closed, but no intelligent sound came out. [Y/N] planted a kiss at the corner of his parted lips. His strong arms boxed [Y/N] protectively in from above, but she had him locked into place, really. “Baby, if you want something, you know you have to ask for it.”

“Nnh,” Art tried, eyes stuck shut. His attention was mostly spent hold himself up over his wife. His insanely gorgeous wife. [Y/N]’s other hand grabbed his jaw tenderly. He still didn’t look at her. Art was gathering his courage. “Yo-you already told me I couldn’t have what I wanted.”

With a sharp inhale, [Y/N] grip went from gentle to nonexistent. At the lack of contact, Art’s damp eyes crept open one at a time to see if his brattiness had overstepped the situation. His frightened eyes caught [Y/N]’s. She popped the side of his face sharply with an open palm. Art blinked and tipped his head to the side like a dog.

That was big trouble, huh?

“Fuck,” he said. Both of them panted in sync. “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

[Y/N] pulled Art’s face to hers and kissed him hard. “I love… you.” She said.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #challengers movie

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zaldritzosrose · 6 days ago

Text

The Strength of the Wolf (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader)

Another milestone request from my darling @thenameswinter99, and I also gifting this to her as a birthday treat! See the request ask here!

Summary: No one could argue that Cregan Stark was not an attentive husband. Anything you could ask for while you carried his child, you would get it. Though even the Lord of Winterfell couldn't make a maester listen at times. But a mother knew best, and you knew something wasn't quite right. And Cregan planned to support you in every step.

TW: MINORS DNI/18+ only, She/Her pronouns, afab reader, noble reader, no specific descriptions of reader, mentions of childbirth, descriptions of childbirth, mentions of complications, angst, fluff, Cregan being the realm's best husband.

Words: 2820

So many had told you that a second pregnancy would be easier than your first. But as you now waddled down the path to birthing said second child, you would argue such assertions were far from the truth.

Thankfully, your husband was more attentive than anyone should imagine a husband to be. Cregan both worshipped you for carrying his children and treated you as though you were the most precious and fragile of treasures.

There was little he wouldn’t do to make you more comfortable and happier, and there were few who would deny the Lord of Winterfell. Even something you thought trivial, like a treat you craved or something you had said in passing, it would appear before you with barely a word.

And if you asked, Cregan would simply smile and say he was only doing as ‘the pup’ asked.

But the last moon of your pregnancy was truly taking its toll, both on your body and your mind. You were sure there was not a bit of you that didn’t swell or ache. You were exhausted, yet sleep would never come when you needed it most.

Your comforts were Cregan and the occasional tumbles and kicks of the babe in your belly.

Your firstborn, a daughter, was as attentive as her father. As much as she could be at only three years of age. She would sing to the baby, who she had happily deemed her little brother. Tell him stories, about all the things she would teach him when he was born.

At the start, you had been able to keep up with her. But now, you spent more and more time in your bed. The maester would visit every few days, assuring you that a little fatigue and achiness was absolutely normal.

But you knew, you just knew that something wasn’t as it should be. It was like an instinct, and you just wanted someone to listen.

Cregan was out with some of his lords, preparing for a visit to the Wall. Not that he had any intention to go before the babe was born. Your husband had listened patiently to every concern you’d had about the pregnancy. Even trying to force the maester’s hand when he could see it all getting too much for you.

But when the maester could find nothing amiss, there was little more even Cregan could do. Though it frustrated him to no end that he could do little more than comfort you. Despite your reassurances that you expected nothing else of him.

The meeting was beginning to draw to a close, when to his surprise he saw you walking with your daughter.

“My love, you should be in bed?” Cregan called out, hastily dismissing his lords and beckoning you over.

Your daughter made it to him first, running at her father and all but throwing herself into his arms.

“Maester said it would be good to move around a little,”

Your voice didn’t sound entirely convinced, however. Cregan knew you well enough to know how you felt with a single look.

“Yet only a few days passed he was telling you remain abed…” The Stark lord sighed.

How were you supposed to manage your struggles during this pregnancy if the advice made less sense at every turn. Your daughter however, wasn’t afraid to let her feelings known.

“Mama sore,” she huffed, doing her best to articulate what she wanted.

Cregan turned to you, his eyes boring into yours. Waiting for you to agree or disagree. But when you averted his gaze, moving to sit in a nearby chair. And he could see in the small frown on your face and the wince you tried to hide as you attempted to get comfortable.

“Wife?” he grumbled out, moving closer to you before turning to his daughter.

If he wasn’t going to get an answer from you, he knew he would get them from your little she-wolf. He knelt down beside her, leaning in close.

“How sore is mama, little one?” he asked, ignoring your look to your daughter, hoping she would side with you.

But there was no doubt, she was her father’s girl.

“She had to sit lots,” your daughter explained, and you resigned yourself to having your secret revealed.

“Lots? How much, sweetling?” Cregan asked gently.

He needed to know the truth, not just for the sake of the babe in your belly, but for you. He reached out for your hand, remaining knelt by your daughter.

Your daughter paused, and you knew it would be easier if you just told him yourself.

“We only walked from our bedchamber to the hallway before I had to sit. And then again before we reached the library and…”

Cregan listened as you explained. Between his study and your shared bedchamber, the walk wasn’t all that long. But it seemed it had taken its toll on your body.

“My love,” Cregan soothed, stroking the back of your hand.

It was then that the truth of just how badly you were feeling came to light. You had known that morning that something wasn’t quite right. You weren’t from birth according to the maester, but there was something about how he had said it that put you on edge.

“I just…I know something isn’t right. But the maester said nothing, so maybe I am wrong?”

You let go of his hand, burying your face into your own hands. What if you were wrong? What if is all in your head? No, no you knew something was not right.

And Cregan could see how much you were struggling. He had seen the women of his family pregnant enough times to know a mother knew her body better than anyone else.

“Now listen, it is your body. You will know before anyone else if something is amiss,” he soothed, his tone gentle but firm.

He stood, taking your hand again and signalling for a servant to summon the maester.

“And we will sit together with the maester and ensure he understands that.”

Cregan stood at your bedside, and you had to keep reminding him not to glare at the maester. It wasn’t entirely the maester’s fault. He was reporting what he could see, as was his job.

“Tell the maester what you feel, my love,” Cregan urged, softening his gaze as he looked down at you.

You sighed, closing your eyes and organising your feelings.

“I just feel like something is wrong. I have no words for it, but the babe doesn’t feel as he usually does.”

The maester nodded and you saw the same flash of concern as you had seen that morning. His hands came to your stomach, moving around gently as he searched for an answer.

And his expression turned more and more concerned by the second.

“A midwife is needed, immediately, my lady,”

That was all he said before he rushed to call out into the hall. Cregan knelt at your side, his hand tightening around yours. Panic began to set in, your hand instinctively moving to rest on your rounded stomach.

“I knew it,” you mumbled and Cregan rested his forehead against your shoulder.

He should have been more insistent with the maester, demanded you be listened to. But the past was no longer changeable. All he could do now was remain at your side.

His lips planted a soft kiss to the sliver of exposed skin at your shoulder.

“We should have all listened, my love,” he whispered, kissing you once more as the midwife entered.

The maester opened his mouth to speak, his attention directed at Cregan.

“My lord, you have no need to stay if y-“

But the stern look Cregan offered him halted any more words.

“I go nowhere,” he snapped and the maester quickly turned his attentions back to you as the midwife took her chance to feel around your stomach.

The midwife was an older, sweet woman. Her mere presence brought a sudden wash of comfort over you.

“Well, my lady, it appears your pup has decided he’s coming early.”

Your eyes went wide. She seemed calm, so maybe that was a good thing? But the maester had looked concerned…

“Early? Is that good or…?”

The midwife signalled for her assistants to begin preparing the room for the birth.

“We will make it good, my lady,” she assured, placing her hand over your own that rested on your belly.

She began to explain everything, in the gentlest way possible. While your baby was not in the best of positions, birth was not going to be impossible. More strenuous, maybe. More painful, absolutely. But nothing that, in her words, you couldn’t handle.

The pains you had felt, that was your body telling you that the baby was ready. But you had been so intent on listening to the maester’s advice and your body had been sore for so much of this pregnancy, you hadn’t considered your labours might have started.

The others in the room seemed to flurry around you. Linens, dishes of steaming water and what you could smell as poppy milk. It was happening, whether you liked it or not.

“How did I not see it…feel it even?” you asked, every fibre of your body descending into a mixture of fear and stress.

The midwife placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Concern yourself not with what could have been, my lady, but what is happening now.”

It was as if the focus being placed said pain had begun to bring it all forth into your attention. Your face scrunched as the first waves of pain began to thrum in your body. You reminded yourself quickly, that you had done this once before. The midwife was confident, and you had every faith in her advice.

Cregan lifted your hand and placed it in his. It wasn’t customary for a husband to remain as his wife gave birth, but he had no intentions of leaving you now.

His lips pressed against the back of your hand, feather light kisses. He needed to be strong, despite the maelstrom of emotions inside him. He’d never known the midwife to be wrong, and he had to believe she wouldn’t be wrong now.

You squeezed his hand tight as a harsher wave of pain washed over you, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead. You were trying to be strong, Cregan could see it. But this was one of few times where being proper no longer mattered.

“For the strength of the pack is the wolf,” Cregan whispered against your hand, holding it against his lips for a moment.

With a soft, strained voice you answered. “And the strength of the wolf is the pack.”

The midwife and her assistants rallied around you as your words dissolved into a prolonged groan of pain. Urging you to begin pushing once the layers of obstructing clothing were stripped from you.

Everything was a blur, but you could hear Cregan’s voice, the midwife’s voice. All telling you how brilliantly you were doing.

But it hurt, it hurt so much.

Just like before, you knew something was wrong.

“I cannot…it hurts. Not like it should…” you groaned out, squeezing Cregan’s hand tight enough that he was impressed that you made him wince.

Unlike the maester, the midwife listened.

“Wrong how, my lady? A mother knows, so tell us!” she urged, positioning herself back in front of your body.

Through pained groans and cries, you tried to explain.

“He’s not moving…not when I push…”

How were you supposed to explain it? But it wasn’t like when you birthed your daughter. You had been able to feel every movement she made as you’d pushed her from you. Not this time. You were pushing but he didn’t feel like he was moving.

Thankfully, the midwife understood. Years of experience gave her all the inference she needed.

“I understand, my lady, and we will fix it.”

The assistant at your side told you to stop pushing, to wait until the midwife to tell you to continue. The pains lingered, but you took deep breaths as you held your eyes closed.

The pain was hard to ignore, but you tried. Cregan whispering assurances in your ear to distract you, telling you how amazing you were, how he loved you more than anything.

You stiffened a little as you felt the intrusion. But the assistant hurried to explain what was happening.

“If the babe isn’t moving forward, my lady, the midwife will need to take hold of him and help him along.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you felt the midwife’s hands on your body. For a while there was discomfort, pain.

Then you were urged to push. And push you did.

You put every ounce of strength you had behind it. Digging your nails into Cregan’s palm as you screeched out in agony. But you were met with calls of encouragement once more.

“That’s it, my lady! A few more good, strong pushes!” the midwife urged, and you did as she instructed.

It was such a strange feeling. Where there was once pressure and pain, there was sudden relief. But your relief was short lived when you didn’t hear a cry from the baby.

You wanted to say something, but exhaustion took you. Eyes fluttering closed as no more than a meek sigh left your lips.

You didn’t see it, but Cregan dived into action as did the midwife and her assistants. Two took the babe, cleaning him down and working to get him happy and breathing as he should be.

Cregan listened to the midwife, who asked him to hold you up as she stripped the bloodied sheets from beneath you. He lifted you with ease, waiting for whatever the midwife needed of him next. In this moment he wasn’t a Lord, he wasn’t Warden of the North. He was simply a worried husband and father.

“She’s alive, my lord, good and breathing,” the midwife assured him, ordering another of her assistants to bring some barely warm water.

“She’s exhausted, as she’s right to be. But I promise you, she will be fine.”

Your skin was flushed, sweating. You were on the brink of feverish. But you were lucky to have the midwife you did. In her words – after the birth of your daughter three years passed – she had seen enough to not let anything surprise her.

She held the tepid cloth to your skin. Over your forehead, over your cheeks and the skin of your chest and neck. Your breathing was shallow, but you were breathing. And she could feel the steady thrum of your pulse beneath your neck.

You were going to be fine, as was your son.

It felt like an eternity for Cregan. Your newly born son had soon let out a cry that signalled he was more than well enough. The new Stark heir was swaddled in a warm blanket and placed in a crib that stood at Cregan’s feet as he sat at your bedside.

Your almost fever had subsided, but your skin remained flushed, and your eyes closed. The midwife assured Cregan that all you now needed was sleep.

It was simply a waiting game now. He kept a hand on the side of the crib, his other entwined with yours.

Soon, as he silently prayed to the gods, your eyes fluttered open.

“Cregan?”

Your voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear it, but then you squeezed his hand with whatever strength you had.

The servants had cleaned the room up, the midwife even staying to help change you into a clean nightgown. Cregan reminded himself quickly that he needed to do something to show his appreciation of her.

“Yes, love, I’m here. We’re here.” He assured, leaning down to lift your son for you to see.

A soft smile graced your lips. Your boy. A new little pup to add to your pack.

“Where is Lyanna? We’re going to have tell her she was right about the baby being a boy,” you laughed, though your eyes never left your son.

Cregan smiled, holding the little boy out for you to take.

“She’ll come by later, my love. Though she’s already tried to sneak in once while you slept,” he answered, gesturing to the wildflowers at your bedside.

“The flowers are from her.”

You sunk back into your pillows as your baby boy rested in your arms. Cregan shifted closer, his eyes warm as he watched you both. You cooed at the baby gently, stroking the soft, brown hair on his head.

The room drifted into a gentle quiet, outside of the little boy’s gurgles and coos back at you.

Everything was right again, Cregan thought to himself. You were well, his son was strong. His pack was growing, and he couldn’t be happier.

And he reminded himself of one more thing.

Never to underestimate you.

Cregan Taglist: (if you want to be added/deleted let me know)

@thenameswinter99 @legitalicat @sylasthegrim

@alexagirlie @anjelicawrites @targaryen-dynasty

@multyfangirl @asa-do-your-thing

#cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan x you #cregan angst #cregan stark x reader #milestone request

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orphicauroras · 7 months ago

Text

Adding to that

Nesta is a Gwynriel shipper and Cassian is both

Feyre is an Elucien shipper and Rhys is a Gwynriel shipper. I said what I said.

#if you disagree #go argue with a wall

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bringthekaos · 4 months ago

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I'm excited for your thoughts on the new season if/when you share them

It has legit taken me 3 days to come to terms with Act 1. Enough to be able to speak about it. Gunna apologize in advance for the wall of text, and I’m hiding it under a break for spoiler reasons. Also prefacing with these are all just my opinions. All are free to disagree with me and RB with discussions/theories etc. just don’t be a dick about it, I’m not engaging in any discourse.

Ok. So. I have mixed feelings, and I’m aware that this is because I don’t have the whole story yet. So this is all contingent on how the rest of the season plays out.

First and foremost, I’m… wildly swinging back and forth between love and disappointment for Viktor’s arc. So first the negative, and I’ll try to keep it brief because a lot of people have already expressed this and I don’t need to be beating that particular dead horse.

Viktor has had his agency, his bodily autonomy, his original ideas and nearly everything that made him Viktor stripped away. Nothing so far has been his choice. And while this could have worked just fine for an original character, he wasn’t. So there is a massive disconnect between what this character was/should have been. In League, it was all his choice (albeit with a healthy dose of mental illness thrown in, but still). AND it was very heavily suggested that many of the augmentations he performed weren’t as extensive as he lead everyone to believe (namely the controlling/dousing of his emotions). But it appears that whatever the Hexcore did to him, it’s real. He is clearly having a difficult time accessing his emotions, and if he can feel anything, it is limited to the point of him being completely stoic. And the thing with stoic characters is that you obliterate any emotional payoff for the audience. It’s very hard to make an audience feel an emotional connection to a character’s story arc when they themselves don’t feel anything (I have a theory about this though, but I’ll address it a little later in this post). And then there is the issue of Blitzcrank. Blitz was Viktor’s whole world, after his exile. How are they going to swing that? Like, I’m not even asking for Blitz to be in Arcane (that would be great, but I really don’t think they have time). But I stg if they take Blitz away from Viktor, make them someone else’s invention (my suspicion is Heimer or he finds the idea in Sky’s journal)… I’m sorry but no. This was Viktor’s idea, Viktor’s genius. I will genuinely be extremely upset if they take that from him too.

Then there is the whole situation with Sky. First, this girl was fridged. She was nothing but a plot device and continues to be just that. It feels hollow and forced, especially now that he’s hallucinating her as some sort of penance for what he did. (I have seen the prevalent theory that it’s the Hexcore using her image and his guilt to manipulate him, given that it “ate” her, and we have seen it “manipulate” him before when it punished him for trying to destroy it). But back to Sky—he barely acknowledged that poor girl. The reason for that can be argued, whether it’s because he’s gay or because he was just so wrapped up in his one-track minded research. But regardless, there just wasn’t enough setup between those two for this whole thing to have as much weight and meaning as I think it’s supposed to. Honestly to me (TO ME) it reeks of comphet. It feels like that random woman they threw at Poe Dameron to No Homo him. I’m not even asking for Jayvik canon. But the creators were well aware of this ship, after all it’s the second most popular ship in this show and it’s been around since 2012 when Jayce was literally created for Viktor. I’m asking for the bare minimum here—that it’s left open-ended as it was in League, open for interpretation.

Last negative I have is the whole Viktor Jesus thing. The first problem is I am pretty violently agnostic, and messiah narratives have never spoken to me. I don’t enjoy them, they feel weak. The whole “ordained by a higher power” thing is just… stale. Especially when this character originally had no higher power, he gave it to himself through his own hard work and ingenuity. Honestly, Viktor’s original arc is about as far from a Jesus allegory as you can possibly get. And I am absolutely terrified that they’re going to end said Jesus arc the way you’d expect—with him dying for it. Which leaves the moral of his story “disabled man should have just accepted that he was going to die despite the fact that it was the oppression and xenophobia of Piltover that left him out to dry, without proper health care, accessibility, equality, or equity that lead to his terminal diagnosis to begin with.” Which is a very oppressor-centric narrative and we do not need another one of those.

Sorry, I know I said I’d keep the negatives brief, and that was… not. My bad. But moving on!

I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, I did. I am working to embrace this new Viktor narrative and work it into my brain in a way that doesn’t ruin the ship for me. So without further ado, the positives.

Jayce.

I’d have to go back and time it, but it feels like he got more screen time in this first act than the entirety of the first season combined, and his character shined for it. It humanized him in ways season one never did. He’s caring, he’s devoted, and he loved Viktor! No matter what kind of love you think it is, it proves he loved Viktor without a doubt. He carried Viktor several city blocks to the lab to save him, and then YES, he broke his promise about the Hexcore because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing him!

And he’s funny! (The scene where he picks up the regular sized hammer in the fight against Renni and made that “this is ironic” face?? And then basically the entire interaction with Ekko? The hand me a tome thing, and then when he basically pulled this when Ekko suggested “so this is all your fault cuz you pissed off the Arcane”:

GOD that shit was great. Jayce’s personality just shined, and maybe it’s too much to hope, but maybe this will douse a little of the hate. Because instead of being a subtle hint at all of those things being true about him, it’s now overt. And when people lack media literacy, the hints have to be overt.

And th-the. The h. The HUG SCENE. I don’t think I will ever emotionally recover from that scene. Starting with Viktor who, despite being clearly emotionally—I dunno, vacant I guess—sounded so lost and scared when he said “what am I?” For me, it was whispers of that scene from The Last Unicorn: “what have you done to me?” And my poor sweet Jayce, who clearly hasn’t left this damn lab except to go to Cassandra’s memorial. Sleeping on the desk and bleeding through his bandages because he doesn’t want to spend a moment away from Viktor while he “recovers.” And his euphoric response when he finds Viktor alive, when he realizes he hasn’t lost him. And I OWE HIM AN APOLOGY, goddamn. I said in a post that “Jayce will not understand.” I thought that was how Arcane was gunna start the divorce. But Jayce genuinely did not care, as long as his lover friend was alive. And just… Jayce being so affectionate through this entire scene. The hug obviously, but also blurting things he thought he’d never get to say to Viktor—“I’m resigning from the council, my place was always here in the lab with you.”

And… the hug itself. I know we’re all analyzing it frame by goddamn frame, but I see exactly what everyone else sees—there is a moment where Viktor very subtly smiles. But it’s gone in an instant, and it turns bittersweet. LOOK AT HIM.

There is something there, it’s just buried. Deep beneath the surface. It seems to say “I want this, I have wanted this for so long.” But then he realizes something, something I don’t think we’re meant to understand yet. Maybe that he doesn’t feel anything about it anymore, and he recognizes that this should upset him and it doesn’t. Or perhaps it’s something more along the lines of “it’s too late.” Whatever it is, I think this is the exact moment he knows he has to walk away. Because he knows he’ll cave to the affection, he said it himself. (Which is another thing entirely. His voice changes when he says that. Something in him is reacting to that word. Maybe he’s fighting against it, or maybe he’s fighting to get it back. But something made him almost growl that word.)

Which leads me to my final thought (for this post anyway, cuz it’s turning into a novel); Viktor is still in there. He can still feel things, I just think they’re extremely muted by whatever the Hexcore did/continues to do to him, or he has to fight to express them. Because he also smiled at the hallucination of Sky after he “cured” Huck. And if he feels nothing, he wouldn’t have been “joyous” at the thought of her being proud of him, approving of the good things he’s trying to do in her memory. He wouldn’t crave that validation, that vindication from her. So I’m hopeful that we start to see this shell crack a little, especially if those visions of Sky are the Hexcore manipulating him through guilt. It will start to erode him, no matter how stoic he has become. And literally the only thing I’m clinging to is that Jayce will see this and try to pull him out. “He’s still in there and I have to save him.” And that maybe it’ll start to work.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane season two #arcane s2 spoilers #jayvik #jayce talis #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #asks #ace answers

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