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notiddygothgf · 2 days ago

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1. Fucking Great

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ You're desperate. It's not attractive. ❞

★ c.w.: drinking

★ a/n: finals have been literally beating me to the ground like a dog but. im finally free. OMFG!!! to celebrate, i wanted to drop a lil special sum sum for u guys, even though i wasn't planning on updating again so soon. Make sure to comment and interact and whatever, I love hearing from you guys!!!

★ w.c: .4.2k

call out my name ; chapter index

PEOPLE SAY DIVORCE never gets easier. That simply is not the case. In fact, after your fourth or fifth one, moving on became second nature. Then again, that’s easier said than done – especially when it’s your job.

A little background – you were a Temporary Wife. You worked for an organization called NewlyWeds, through which bachelors, lonely men, those with far too much time (and money), and the like could “rent” wives… so to speak.

The reasons for needing a fake wife were as varied as the men themselves.

For some, it was a matter of societal expectations—warding off nosy relatives at family gatherings or appeasing traditional parents who couldn’t bear the thought of an unmarried son. Others needed a polished facade for their careers, a stable "marriage" being the key to promotions or winning over conservative clients. Some wanted a sexual companion (which was not your area of specialty – in fact, you had never stooped low enough to actually sleep with any of your so-called husbands). And then there were the lonely ones, men who craved companionship without the complications of real commitment.

What better way to fill the void than with a year-long marriage contract?

Whether it was to silence judgmental whispers, project an image of success, or fill an emotional void, the demand for a temporary wife was steady and unrelenting. It was your job to play the part flawlessly. And you were damn good at it. Five happy husbands – four, if you don’t count the dead one – were a testament to that. 365 Days per contract, and not a single unhappy customer so far.

Marriage was a way to pay the bills. Nothing more.

So why did this one make you feel so nervous?

As you crossed the threshold to your new husband’s house, you couldn’t help but feel a little… well, anxious, to say the least. Your suitcase rolled to a stop behind you – a sizeable one, one that had your clothes and essentials. Of course, you would more than likely purchase more a little further down the road. For now, though, a suitcase was all you needed.

One year. One suitcase. One ginormous house.

You had to crane your head all the way back to look at the ceiling. House is a bit of an understatement… Grey walls opened up into the foyer, where a grand staircase spiraled up to the second floor. A sleek, minimalistic design with tasteful decor. A chandelier hung in the middle of it all, what had to have been hundreds of glass pieces glimmering with light.

Mansion would have been a better word. In all of your 5 marriages, you had never stayed anywhere so lavish. Then again, you supposed you had to have a lot of money to afford a fake wife.

He knew I was coming at some point today, you thought to yourself. It was dead silent in the house. I wonder where he is?

You towed your suitcase over to the door perpendicular to the stairs. According to the briefing you had read on the way here, you would be setting up shop in the guest bedroom, that way you could make room for all of your stuff (not that there was much of it). The guest room allegedly was tucked away near the staircase, so you tried the handle.

When it gave, you pushed the door the rest of the way open. The guest bedroom was pretty sizable. A queen sized bed with neatly tucked black sheets, a sleek, dark-oak closet with a matching furniture set, and a nightstand with a pretty lamp and a vase of flowers on it.

This is one hell of a guest room, you reasoned. It put the measly back room in your old shithole apartment to shame.

With a great amount of effort, you hauled your suitcase onto the bed, unzipping it and viewing its contents. Then, slowly, you began to unpack – setting neatly folded clothes aside, organizing them by season and type.

You changed out of your travel attire, a tailored suit and pencil skirt, which now felt constrictive and far too formal for the empty house. Digging through your suitcase, you pulled out a pair of comfortable leggings and an oversized sweater—neutral tones, soft fabric, nothing too flashy. Something “homely,” as your job often required. Sliding into the cozy ensemble, you felt the tension ease from your shoulders, the weight of first impressions temporarily set aside.

With your outfit taken care of, you turned to the task of settling in. The guest bedroom was pristine, almost unsettlingly so. You hadn’t expected a mess, but the level of order was borderline clinical. Not a single speck of dust marred the dark wood surfaces, and the flowers on the nightstand seemed freshly arranged. You suspected they were artificial, the kind that stayed perfect forever. It gave the room an impersonal feel, as though it belonged to no one in particular. Temporary, like you.

“Well,” you muttered under your breath, running your hand along the smooth surface of the dresser. “Guess I’m not the only one passing through.”

After organizing your belongings in the spacious closet, which felt like overkill for the modest amount of clothing you’d brought, you decided to explore. The house was massive—mansion, you corrected yourself again—and you figured you’d better learn your way around before embarrassing yourself by getting lost.

Starting in the foyer, you took in the grandeur once more. The chandelier overhead sparkled like a constellation, its light refracting across the grey walls and polished floors. You wandered into the living room, where sleek furniture—a monochrome mix of black, white, and grey—was arranged with a precision that felt more suited to a showroom than a home. A massive flat-screen TV dominated one wall, but it was spotless, devoid of fingerprints or smudges. No cozy throw blankets, no scattered magazines, no signs of life.

The kitchen was similarly sterile. White countertops stretched endlessly, interrupted only by high-tech appliances that gleamed under the recessed lighting. Not a single mug or dish sat in the sink, and the pantry—when you dared to peek inside—was meticulously organized, though oddly sparse. A few boxes of cereal, some canned goods, and a row of bottled water. No clutter. No warmth.

“Does anyone even live here?” you wondered aloud. The silence was your only answer. No photographs adorned the walls or countertops, no hints of personality or history. It was as though the house existed solely for appearances.

Your unease deepened as you ascended the grand staircase. The second floor was just as immaculate, the long hallway lined with closed doors. You passed a library—if you could call it that—a room filled with books arranged in perfect alphabetical order, the spines unbroken. It smelled faintly of leather and wood polish, not the warm, musty scent of well-loved pages.

Finally, you reached the master bedroom. Aki’s room.

You hesitated at the threshold, hand hovering over the doorknob. This was his space, his sanctuary. You were here to do a job, not invade his privacy. But then you remembered the briefing. Part of your role was to ensure everything ran smoothly, to maintain the illusion of a harmonious household. That included housekeeping duties. Squaring your shoulders, you turned the knob and stepped inside.

The room was as impersonal as the rest of the house, though it carried a faint trace of its occupant. The bed, a king-sized monolith with crisp, white linens, was unmade, the only imperfection you’d seen so far. The furniture matched the sleek, dark aesthetic of the guest room, but there were no personal touches. No photos on the nightstands, no trinkets or mementos.

Your gaze shifted to the walk-in closet, its door slightly ajar. Curiosity tugged at you, and you couldn’t resist taking a peek. Inside, you found rows upon rows of clothing, organized with military precision. Suits dominated the space—tailored jackets, crisp dress shirts, and neatly pressed trousers in shades of black, grey, and navy. Sweaters and casual wear were tucked away at the back, their softer fabrics and muted colors almost an afterthought. Everything was of impeccable quality, from the silk ties to the polished leather shoes lined up along the floor – everything except for the lone pair of beat-up converse hidden just out of plain sight.

So he’s got an edgy side, you thought, stepping back to close the door. Whatever picture you were beginning to form of Aki was still incomplete, but one thing was clear: this man valued control and order.

You decided to mind your business and focus on your task. Returning to the bedroom, you stripped the bed, bundling the linens into a neat pile. The mattress beneath was bare and spotless, further testament to the house’s almost eerie cleanliness. As you worked, your mind wandered.

Why had he hired you? The briefing had been thorough, but it was always the practical details: the contract, the expectations, the rules. It never delved into the personal motivations behind the arrangement. Was he one of the lonely ones, craving companionship without complications? Or was this a calculated move, a facade for career or family? This place was unnerving in its perfection. You’d lived in luxurious homes before, but they’d always carried a sense of life, of personality. This house felt like a stage, a beautiful but hollow set piece.

None of my business, you reminded yourself firmly. You’d learned early on not to pry. The men who hired you weren’t looking for therapists or confidants. They wanted a wife, and you were here to play the part. Nothing more.

With the sheets bundled under one arm, you headed to the laundry room.

Aki always looked forward to Fridays. It was her day. Every Friday at 7 o’clock sharp, his wife – yes, not yet ex wife, because they hadn’t actually started the process of a divorce yet – would meet him at Prime Cut for a steak dinner. They would undoubtedly catch up, talk about the week they had spent apart, and Aki would inevitably try to convince her to take him back like the pathetic man he was.

His watch read 6:59. She was always punctual.

Anxiously, he fiddled with his appearance – smoothing his hands over his suit jacket, his slacks, his hair. He couldn’t see how he looked, but he hoped he looked put together. His eyes darted around nervously, searching for signs of her.

And there, at 7 o’clock sharp, she walked in. He caught a glimpse of her hair first – pink locks braided into that signature hairstyle of hers that he had grown to love. The one he had seen her do in the early hours of the morning before they had to leave for work; boar-hair brush combing through the rosy strands while she braided them. He would sit on the bed and watch her like the lovestruck fool he was.

Makima looked as polished as ever.

Aki stood up, walking over to the other side of the table and pulling the chair out for her (again, like the dog he was). She took it, muttering a soft, Thanks, and Aki’s heart soared at the sound, at the smell of her. She carried the aroma of something floral and fresh, a new perfume, no doubt. Aki, as desperate as ever, wore the same cologne he wore when the two of them were still husband and wife (as opposed to whatever they were now) in the selfish hope that she might be reminded of those days.

He cleared his throat, heart racing against his ribcage. “How was your trip over here?” He asked. “You look lovely.”

Makima smiled, adjusting the hem of her pretty red dress, the one with a low-cut neckline that revealed a tasteful amount of cleavage and accentuated the beautiful curves of her body. “It was provincial.”

"Provincial?" he echoed with a faint smile, his attempt at humor falling flat. "Did you walk here?”

"Why would I?" she teased, her tone light but her gaze sharp. She picked up the menu without waiting for his response, flipping through it leisurely. "Let’s not waste time, Aki. Order for me. You know what I like."

"Of course," he murmured, signaling the waiter. His hands trembled slightly as he recited her usual order—A glass-and-a-half of merlot, and a beer for him.

The silence between them stretched thin as they waited for their food. Aki cleared his throat again, desperate to fill the void. "Work’s been… busy. I had a case this week that reminded me of the ones we used to handle together."

Makima arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "Still clinging to the past, I see."

They had only been apart for six months, in his defense. Compared to the eight years they had spent together, it wasn’t nearly enough time.

"I’m not clinging," he lied, his voice cracking slightly. "Just… reminiscing."

"Hmm," she hummed noncommittally, taking a sip of her water. "And how’s your health? Still smoking like a chimney?"

"I’ve cut back," he said quickly, eager to please. "Only a couple a day now."

Her lips curled into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Progress, I suppose."

The tension between them was palpable, and Aki felt himself floundering. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the small velvet box he’d been carrying all week. Taking a deep breath, he pulled it out and set it on the table between them.

Makima’s eyes flicked to the box, her expression finally betraying a glimmer of curiosity. "What’s this?"

"A gift," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For you."

She hesitated for a moment before picking up the box, her manicured fingers deftly undoing the clasp. Inside was a pair of delicate diamond earrings, the stones catching the soft light of the restaurant. They were understated but elegant, just like her.

"They reminded me of you," Aki said, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it. "I thought… I thought you might like them."

Makima studied the earrings for a long moment before closing the box with a soft click. "They’re lovely," she said, her tone neutral.

“Try them on,” Aki implored her.

“I’ll try them on later,” She replied, and Aki visibly deflated at the words.

A tense moment passed, and then, finally Aki acknowledged the elephant in the room, “How is everything with your… your husband?”

The words felt like knives in his chest.

Makima tilted her head slightly, a faint smile gracing her lips. "My marriage is… good. Stable. He’s dependable, attentive, and he listens." Her tone was measured, almost clinical, as though she were describing a well-functioning machine rather than a relationship. "Everything I’ve always wanted."

Aki felt his stomach drop, her words a cold slap to his face. He tried to smile, nodding as though he could be happy for her, but the ache in his chest told a different story. "That’s good," he murmured, his voice hollow. "I’m glad."

But he wasn’t glad. Not even a little.

The image of her with another man, sharing the moments that had once been his, twisted like a knife in his gut. He wanted to be the bigger person, to wish her well and mean it, but the truth was, he couldn’t. Not when every word she spoke felt like another reminder of how he had failed her.

Instead, what came out was, “I don’t know why you want to go through with this fake marriage stuff. It doesn't make sense. How long are you going to drag this out?”

“I’m happier this way,” She answered calmly, like she was talking about the weather and not her other marriage. “And you’re desperate. It’s not attractive.”

Her words hurt. Bad. The slightest flinch in his expression probably betrayed that much, but he couldn’t help it. She always knew exactly what to say to keep him up at night.

With a frown, he retorted, “You’re punishing me. What do I have to do to show you I’m sorry?”

Makima’s demeanor shifted enough for Aki to know he had pissed her off – even if she didn’t explicitly say it. Her eyes darkened, glazed over with that apathetic haze he hated as she asked, “I’m punishing you?”

Aki said nothing, letting his gaze fall to the floor. She was right. For what he did, he probably deserved this.

“Do you really not understand the gravity of your situation?” She added, as if asking him to reiterate didn’t hurt enough. Her hands were folded neatly atop the table, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes full of nothing but apathy – yet her words bore a sharpness that cut deep. “Every day that I had to wake up and look at you was my punishment. I’m doing you a favor.”

When he said nothing, she continued, “If you don’t go through with this, Aki, you will never… see me again. I can promise you that much.”

His stomach was tied up in knots – a heady feeling of nausea burning its way up the back of his throat. It felt as if his heart had been ripped right out of his chest. Still, though he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, he built up the strength to nod.

He deserved this, didn’t he?

“Let’s wrap up early,” Makima sighed, dusting off her lap and standing up. “I can eat at home.”

Aki’s gaze flitted up to her, heart racing. “What?” He tried, “Sit down, let’s eat. You’ve only been here for a little while.”

She didn’t even look at him as she shouldered her bag and gathered her belongings – including his earrings. “No, thanks,” She replied. “I lost my appetite,” When she was ready to go, she finally looked at Aki (and made him wish she hadn’t). “My husband is waiting outside.”

I’m your husband.

Not him.

Me.

Aki didn’t miss the way she put emphasis on the word husband – as if this little infatuation wasn’t a contractual one. Six months of this shit was enough to have him at his wits end. Again, the thought of her happy with someone else, even if it wasn’t real…. It was enough to drive him up the wall, keep him up at night.

He furrowed his brows, “I only get to see you once a week, Makima. Can’t we–”

“That’s more than enough,” She interjected. Again, her words cut deep.

“We’re married,” He reminded her, though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Could he even call their relationship a marriage? They lived in two separate homes, had two separate lives, and – as of today – had two separate spouses. “We’re supposed to see each other every day, if you want to be technical.”

“In principle, yes,” She added. Her voice was calm, calculated, but the message was harsh, “In practice, I can hardly bear to look at you. We’re not husband and wife anymore. If you want to keep seeing me, then that’s something you’ll have to come to terms with.”

Then, without so much as a goodbye, she walked away.

Aki sat there long after Makima had left, the cold, untouched plate of food mocking him as the restaurant buzzed on around him. His heart felt like it had been ripped to shreds and left on the table beside her empty chair. He tipped his head back, letting out a quiet breath, the warmth of the restaurant doing nothing to stave off the chill settling in his chest.

His fingers brushed the rim of his glass, and before he could think better of it, he motioned to the waiter. "Another round," he said, his voice gruff.

The drinks kept coming, and with every sip, the edges of his heartbreak dulled just a little. He told himself it wasn’t to drown his pain but to find clarity in the haze. Makima's words echoed in his mind, over and over: “We’re not husband and wife anymore."

By the time he paid the tab, his limbs felt heavy, his thoughts muddled. The world tilted slightly as he stood, stuffing his wallet into his jacket pocket. At least he didn’t have to drive, he thought, as he stepped out into the cool night air. The bar was only a few blocks away from his place, and walking was safe—safer than going home and facing the emptiness waiting for him there.

But instead of heading to his apartment, his feet carried him somewhere else. He didn’t even realize where he was going until he stood at the corner near Makima’s building, the faint glow of her apartment windows visible against the dark sky.

His better judgment screamed at him to turn back, to leave her alone. But drunk, heartbroken, and full of misplaced determination, Aki walked toward her building. The thought of her with him—her so-called “husband”—gnawed at his insides.

His lips on her hand, her skin, her neck…

His stomach twisted. That box had meant something. He’d agonized over it—picked out the perfect earrings, wrapped it carefully, written her name in his cleanest handwriting. And now it sat here, abandoned, like it meant nothing at all.

Aki’s jaw clenched as his gaze flicked up to the second-story window, drawn to the warm glow spilling out onto the street. She was there. Makima. Her silhouette was unmistakable, standing close—too close—to the man beside her. Aki’s breath hitched as she leaned in, her head tilting just enough for him to see the way her lips pressed against the other man’s.

Not just a kiss. A deep, lingering one.

The world around him spun as nausea clawed its way up his throat. His chest burned, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and without thinking, he pulled out his phone, fumbling to unlock it with freezing, clumsy fingers.

He tapped her name. The phone rang. Once. Twice. His eyes stayed glued to the window, hoping—praying—that she would step back, check her phone, and answer. But no. The call went to voicemail.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered under his breath, tapping redial with shaking fingers.

It rang again, louder in his ear this time, but it ended the same way. No answer.

He let out a bitter laugh, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. Of course, she wouldn’t pick up. Not now.

He called one more time, his voice barely a whisper as he stared up at that now-dark window. “Pick up, damn it. Pick up.”

Nothing.

His gaze dropped back to the car, and the box sitting in the backseat felt like a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost—or maybe everything he never really had. His breathing quickened, the alcohol amplifying the surge of anger and humiliation in his chest. He spotted a rock near the edge of the driveway, half-buried in dirt.

The rational part of him—the one that normally reined in his impulses—was drowning in whiskey and despair. He stumbled over, grabbed the rock, and staggered back toward the car.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he muttered, raising the jagged stone. “She’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.”

The rock crashed through the car window with a deafening shatter. Glass sprayed across the seat as the alarm screamed into the cold night air. Aki winced at the sound, his heart pounding as he shoved his arm through the broken window to grab the box. The shards scratched his hand, but he didn’t care. He yanked the box out and stumbled back, clutching it tightly in his arms like it was some kind of trophy.

But before he could even catch his breath, he saw it: the unmistakable flash of red and blue lights cutting through the darkness.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, his stomach dropping.

A patrol car rolled up slowly, its headlights illuminating him in harsh, unforgiving light. He froze, his grip on the box tightening as two officers stepped out. One of them shone a flashlight directly into his face, and he squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes.

“Sir, step away from the vehicle,” one of them said firmly, their voice sharp and no-nonsense.

Aki opened his mouth, but his brain was too foggy to form a coherent excuse. “Uh... I can explain—”

“It looks like you broke into a car,” the other officer cut in, their tone laced with skepticism.

“Yeah, okay, fine, it is what it looks like,” Aki admitted, the weight of the situation crashing down on him all at once.

The officer sighed, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

“Come on,” Aki groaned, his voice slurred as he stumbled forward. “This isn’t... this isn’t even about the car, it’s—it’s personal.”

“Personal or not, you just committed a crime,” the officer replied.

Aki felt the cold steel of the cuffs bite into his wrists as they clicked shut. His head swam as they guided him toward the patrol car, the box slipping from his grasp and falling onto the pavement. He glanced back over his shoulder, his heart sinking further when he saw her apartment. The lights had gone out, the window now dark and empty.

As they pushed him into the backseat of the car, Aki leaned his head against the window, closing his eyes. “Great,” he muttered bitterly. “Just fucking great.”

a/n: if you haven't already, you should totally read my other aki story, Shameless! okay thats all, bye lovelies, hope you enjoyed! stay tuned!!! x

credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found the cover pic on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505

wanna join the taglist? | call out my name ; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#call out my name .✾.#aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa #csm x reader #hayakawa aki x reader

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daggerbeanart · 2 years ago

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#dragon age #da2 #dragon age 2 #fenris #hawke #m!hawke #oc: gareth hawke #(kinda blurry worrying in the background but he’s there)#da fanart #dragon age fanart #cw blood #1/?#when you think ‘oh I’ll do some screen cap studies’ and then you punch yourself in the feels #i’m not really happy with the way i did his lines #maybe i’ll find something better when i look at the complete thing whenever that is #or leave them out idk #the images pretty much speak for themselves

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delightfuldevin · 4 months ago

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I was gonna post the gifs of all the weapons but,, the gifs are kinda ugly,, jdbvjhfdjhs

#devin speaks #realistically theres no way i would be able to make them all the same speed and length because i was doing turnarounds manually in game #i know that #and yet… it bothers me so much that the gifs arent the same length and going at the same speed hfnvjdnsk #i would like to show off my accomplishment since it was so hard and took me so long #but… its not pretty enough………….. fjnvjhdsn #plus i thiiink image limit in a post is 10 so id have to do a two parter AND the post themselves will be uneven since theres 11 gifs total #so id have to do 5 in one post and 6 in the other #everything is just refusing to line up for me why couldnt there just be 10 weapons dncdjnds #or if the octoshot was possible id have 12 at least so i could do 6 in both parts #but again. back to the matter at hand….. ugly gifs jdncjjddskc #should i just post them anyway…. hmm……….#they are ugly and the posts will be uneven but i am proud so i must decide if my pride outweighs those things or not

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ithinkimnormal · 3 months ago

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Sorry but It's actually so annoying how much people downplay the crucial role piltover's corrupt council games played in derailing jayce/viktor's work and pretty much putting shackles around their lives. The council is directly responsible for and directly FUNDING so much of the misery that happens in this show, before the story has even started. Before Powder ever finds the gemstone. They single-handedly doom half of the region to death.

Just during the show: Jayce wanted to create magic to aid and uplift the common people, the council wanted trade route instant teleportators to make themselves richer.

Jayce & Viktor wanted to work on technology to help miners and steelworkers and artisans who are trying to survive in the industrial hellscape of piltover and zaun; the council wants it shelved for another 20 years. (yes, heimer is part of the corrupt council - no matter how much his image is laundered by the fandom.)

They are inept and self-serving leaders, elected by themselves and their blood inheritances, utterly obsessed with ultimate profit. You can really see how parasitic their relationship is to the people at the beggining of act 1. Jayce is a token nameless life, so disposable to them that they were going to burn down all of his research and throw out all of his titles, making him not just a lower-house vassal but an EXILE, and the only reason why that doesn't happen is because they realize how much money they can suck out of his work.

This applies to Viktor too. See the way that Heimerdinger tells him over and over again that no other paths can be taken, he has 'fulfilled his purpose' and he should be content to die. See how Mel looks at Viktor like a bug she wants to squash under her palm when he rejects the idea of making weapons for council. See how they speak over him and only address Jayce, as if he's worth less than nothing.

You are only as valuable as the profit you're willing to create. You are a problem that has to be dealt with as soon as you refuse their orders. They have the power to ruin your life, and if they find an excuse, they will. This is a direct threat pointed at Jayce & Viktor during ACT2, when Jayce is pressured into becoming one of them to protect 'the bottom line profit' and, personally speaking, to avoid that ire being redirected towards Viktor. He's pushed into compliance and told a target has been painted on his back.

Arcane jayvik are doomed in big part not for wanting to do harm, but being forced to exist under the beck and call of billionaire leeches. They are both immigrants. They are both struggling to get a degree and keep themselves afloat and they want to help people so goddamn much but they have to keep postponing their dreams to serve uncaring masters. I really wish there was more fan content focused on these very real bonds of understanding and solidarity between them.

When Viktor says 'Jayce will understand' that's not a fluke; he's lived in this environment for years. He knows Jayce is being pushed down the same way that he is and that deep down they've been kept captive by the exact same people. When Jayce agrees that Viktor should do whatever he needs to do to keep himself alive, he means that from the heart.

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girlfishes · 11 days ago

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“My most recent research study, which included more than 17,000 fifth-grade through 12th-grade girls in The Girls’ Index, reveals a troubling trend: 67% of the participants reported that they don’t say what they’re thinking or disagree with others because they want to be liked. Let that sink in for a moment. Two-thirds of girls are silencing themselves to be accepted.”

“Other findings from our survey are just as stark and, frankly, terrifying. Since 2017, the percentage of girls reporting confidence has declined from 68% to just 55%. A staggering 53% of girls report feeling persistently sad or hopeless. As one seventh-grade girl told us, “Girls my age don’t feel happy the way we are. We want to be someone else.” Reading this, I feel a painful twinge of recognition — like I’m hearing my younger self speak.

We also discovered that two-thirds of girls reported that their body image negatively impacts their confidence. Two-thirds! And nearly 60% of high school girls said they don’t believe they’re smart enough for their dream jobs.”

My analysis ⬇️

This is very disappointing, but it is no surprise. Undergoing female socialization means being conditioned to constantly monitor how you appear to other people.

Questions such as “am I being respected right now”, “do I agree with what is being said”, “do I feel healthy” take the background, while questions like “do I seem nice and kind”, “how can I get this person to like me” and “do I look pretty/skinny/young” take the forefront instead. This is an exhausting way to live.

In the political sphere, women are being asked to first change the language around how we think about our issues before we can talk about them. The specific words we use are often more important to those on the left than the actual content of what we are saying. Making sure we appear politically correct is being made more important than choosing the words that best reflect what we want to say. Often, changing our language so we can appear to be kind and considerate towards others completely obfuscates our points and issues.

As someone I forget so brilliantly put it, we are more concerned with saying nothing wrong than doing something right.

This preoccupation with appearance has a much deeper effect on the lives of women than most take for granted.

#radblr #radical feminism #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do interact

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jwnzlvr · 3 months ago

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pretty

kinktober 2024 !! day one : fingering

pairing : park sunghoon x reader

summary : pretty boy fingering you.

wc : 900+

warnings : SMUT (mdni), fingering, teasing, hand kink lowk (highkey), cum eating

notes : first drabble back from the dead !! i hope you guys enjoy this, i really did try my best even with writers block lmao also i love hoon’s fingers they’re so pretty and yummy and MMMM

the cold air of the room made you shiver. you were fully exposed to sunghoon, your legs wide and your panties down. he held a predatory gaze as he looked down at your wet pussy.

“fuck… you need me that bad?” he muttered as he used his index and middle finger to spread your folds. the sight of your hole made him lick his lips. meanwhile, you nodded eagerly at his question.

you couldn’t get the image of his pretty hands out of your head. sunghoon on his own was just so pretty. throughout the whole day, you imagined those hands touching you, fondling you, slowly slipping down your dripping slit to tease you. you’d waited enough.

sunghoon almost grinned at how eager you seemed. his fingers moved up to your clit and tapped it softly. “words. speak up, love.” he instructed with a soft voice. it was smooth like honey, making you leak some more.

“want you so bad, hoonie! i’ve been wanting this all fucking day…” you whined as you looked into his eyes. you felt your need for him increasing by the second. and sunghoon couldn’t be more satisfied with your answer.

his fingers trailed back down to your wet hole, circling it slowly. he spread your slick all over with a toothy grin. his fangs poked out of said grin. he looked so fucking hot. “my pretty girl’s been wanting me all day? poor you, waiting for me for so long…”

he dragged his fingers up and down lazily as he spoke. he took pleasure in seeing your squirming, in hearing your small pleads for him to do something. anything.

“i guess it’d be mean for me to keep you waiting, wouldn’t it?” he asked in general. he didn’t except you to answer him as he moved his two fingers to your hole once again. you were so wet from his earlier ministrations that he slipped in with little resistance.

you let out a small sigh when you felt his fingers fill you up. you looked down at where his fingers disappeared inside of you. the small clench of your pussy around him let sunghoon know how much you loved this.

“you’re so warm, baby… can’t wait to have my dick in you.” he said as he began to slowly drag his fingers in and out of you. along with your small sounds of pleasure, there was a slight squelch. you were absolutely soaking.

his fingers began to speed themselves up after a few seconds. he knew you liked it from the way your sounds became a bit louder and your pussy squeezed him. “you like that?” he asked in a teasing voice. he already knew you did. but he still wanted to embarrass you just a bit.

you nodded once again, small whines being dragged out of you. he smiled and kept his fingers moving. he would occasionally court them just a bit. enough to make you moan but not long enough to make you cum from it.

“hoonie…” you whimper out at his movements. he looked up at you through strands of his inky black hair. he had a proud smile at your current state. your eyes slightly rolling back, your pussy dripping wet, and your small moaning calls of his name.

he didn’t respond to you. his other hand reached up to your neglected clit. with his thumb, he began to rub small circles onto it. the action made you give him a loud whimper. he couldn’t help the small laugh at your reaction.

he didn’t stop his movements. if anything, he only sped up. “too much?” he asked in between his laugh as he watched your eyes roll back completely. he was so mesmerized at how you looked while he fingered you.

you couldn’t even answer his question anymore. the pleasure was too overwhelming. maybe it was the pent up desire you had for him that made you feel like you’d reach your high soon. each movement of his fingers in you or on you made you want to sob.

sunghoon could feel the way your walls began to quiver around his fingers. he knew you so well. he knew you’d cum soon. he didn’t say anything about it, only speeding his movements up a bit more. he was so sure he’d get a hand cramp soon but it was worth it for you. he’d let his hand ache for a while just to see you cum around him.

the increased speed seemed to push you even closer to the edge. it was there, right there. and when he moved his fingers in you to hit another spot in you? it was over.

without any warning, you began to cum around him. a cry of his name your lips as you threw your head back in pleasure. “fuck! so good, so fucking good.” you moaned out as you kept cumming.

sunghoon watched you in awe as you came. the strain in his boxers only increased by watching you cum. he didn’t stop his movements as he fingered you through your orgasm. it wasn’t until you had to push his hands away that he stopped.

sunghoon stepped back from you, slipping his fingers out of you. they were absolutely drenched in your sticky, white cum. he mindlessly put the fingers in his mouth to clean himself off. “you always taste so good…” he whispered around his fingers as he licked himself clean.

you watched in complete arousal as he did that. your eyes began to trail down to his lower part. the boner he was sporting was so obvious and it almost looked painful.

wordlessly, you hopped off of your bed and got on your knees in front of hoon. “thank you, hoon. now… let me return the favor.” you spoke seductively as your warm hands slipped past the waistband of his pants.

he was definitely gonna finger you more often.

➯ kinktober 2024 m.list

#enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon hard thoughts #sunghoon hard hours #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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reidmarieprentiss · 4 months ago

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Moving Forward

Summary: Spencer's insecurities manifest themselves in a nasty way, leading to the demise of your relationship. Can he fix it?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, fluff

Warnings/Includes: time jumps, flashbacks, fighting, crying, arguing, mistrust in partner, gaslighting, break up, happy ending, use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

a/n: spencer reid is not a bad man !! but he is still just a man

main masterlist

Present

Derek's brow furrowed as he nudged Spencer with his elbow, his eyes fixated on the scene unfolding before them. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, pretty boy," Derek said, his voice laced with concern and disbelief. "Isn't that your girlfriend?"

Spencer's gaze followed Derek's, landing on you. There you were, seated at a cozy table in the dimly lit restaurant, your laughter ringing out as you leaned closer to the person across from you. The person who was most definitely not Spencer. His heart tightened in his chest as he watched you, the familiarity of your smile now directed at someone else, someone who wasn’t him.

"Not anymore," Spencer replied, his voice flat, though a subtle tremor betrayed the emotions he was fighting to keep under wraps. He forced himself to look away, focusing on a random spot on the wall instead of the painful image of you with someone new.

Derek shot him a sideways glance, his brow still creased with confusion. "What? I thought you two were solid?" His tone was cautious, as if he was treading on fragile ground.

Emily, who had been silent up until now, leaned in, her eyes filled with a mix of surprise and sympathy. "The operative word there being ‘were’?" she asked gently, seeking confirmation.

Spencer gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Things changed."

For a moment, there was a heavy silence between them, the weight of the situation sinking in. Derek and Emily exchanged a look, both of them unsure of how to respond. They had seen Spencer go through so much, and this seemed like another cruel twist of fate.

Finally, Derek let out a sigh, clapping a reassuring hand on Spencer's shoulder. "You know we're here for you, right? Whatever you need, man."

Emily nodded in agreement, her eyes soft with understanding. "You don’t have to go through this alone, Spencer. We’re your family."

Spencer offered them a small, appreciative smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Thanks," he said quietly, his gaze once again drifting to where you sat, laughing and unaware of the turmoil just a few tables away.

The sight was like a dagger to his heart, but he forced himself to look away again, determined not to let his emotions get the better of him. He had to be strong, even if it felt like the ground beneath him was crumbling away.

Spencer didn't feel like he deserved the comfort his friends were providing him currently, he was the one who ruined things between the two of you.

—

Six months ago...

You stood in your small kitchen, the phone pressed to your ear as you listened to the familiar, upbeat tone of Penelope Garcia. "Beautiful tech genius speaking, how may I help you, gorgeous?" she answered, her voice as bright as ever. It was her way of bringing a bit of lightness into every conversation, and usually, it worked. But today, despite the warmth in her greeting, you couldn't shake the tightness in your chest.

"Hey, Pen," you responded, forcing a laugh even though your heart felt like it was being squeezed. The words tasted bitter as you prepared to ask the question you had grown to hate. "Is Spencer busy right now?"

You loathed asking that question. It had become a routine, a ritual almost, to call Penelope and ask about Spencer’s whereabouts because he hadn’t bothered to tell you himself. It was embarrassing, really, that you had to rely on his colleague to know what your own boyfriend was up to. The person he should have been sharing his life with.

There was a slight pause on the other end, and then you heard it—the pity in Penelope's voice that you dreaded so much. "Oh, honey," she said softly, her tone drenched in sympathy. "The team left a few hours ago on a case."

"Oh," you managed to say, but your voice cracked, betraying the tears that were already threatening to spill over. You sniffled, trying to keep it together, but the ache in your chest only grew sharper. "Can you tell me where they went?"

"Yeah, sweetie, they’re in Kansas," Penelope replied gently, and you could almost feel her reaching out to hug you through the phone.

"Thanks, Pen," you whispered, your throat tight as you fought to keep the tears at bay.

"Of course, take care, okay?" Penelope's concern was evident, but there was nothing she could do from where she was. She had seen too much to offer false hope, but she still cared enough to try to comfort you in any way she could.

You hung up, standing there in the silence of your kitchen, the reality of the situation washing over you like a cold wave. It had been like this for a couple of months now—Spencer leaving without a word, not feeling the need to let you know when he and the team were swept away on a case. The man who once called you just to say goodnight was now a distant figure, more involved in his work than in your relationship.

The last time you had confronted him about it, his response had cut deeper than you ever expected. “We’ve been together for over a year, Y/N. Do you not trust me? Why do you have to be on top of me constantly?” His words echoed in your mind, the memory still fresh and painful.

“Spencer… I just like to know where you are and that you’re safe," you had explained, your voice tinged with desperation as you tried to make him understand. "What if something happens to me or you, or someone we love, and I don’t know where you are or how to get a hold of you?”

But instead of understanding, Spencer had just looked at you with frustration in his eyes, as if your concerns were an inconvenience to him. “I don’t understand why you need to know where I am 24/7,” he had said, his tone dismissive.

And so it had continued—this growing distance between you, each day a little more painful than the last. Now, as you stood there with tears slipping down your cheeks, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was how it would always be. If the man you loved was slipping away, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

—

Present

To anyone watching, you and your date looked like the picture of a perfect evening. The two of you sat across from each other at a small, candlelit table in the charming bistro, the flickering glow casting warm, soft shadows over your faces. You smiled at all the right moments, nodded thoughtfully as they spoke, and even laughed at their jokes. The waiter who passed by with a tray of desserts might have thought you were a couple deeply engrossed in each other, enjoying the bliss of a night out.

But inside, you felt nothing. It was as if a thick, impenetrable wall had gone up around your heart, leaving you detached from everything that was happening. You went through the motions—smiling, nodding, making polite conversation—but it was all a performance, a carefully crafted facade that hid the emptiness gnawing at you from within.

Your date was saying something funny, and you forced another laugh, just loud enough to seem genuine. They smiled back, clearly pleased with themselves, and you returned the gesture with a bright, practiced smile. You knew how to do this—how to pretend everything was fine, how to play the role of someone who was fully engaged in the moment. But underneath that polished exterior, you were numb, a hollow shell left behind after months of emotional exhaustion.

The memory of Spencer loomed large in your mind, a constant, oppressive presence that wouldn’t leave you alone. His cold words, his dismissal, the way he had slowly pushed you out of his life until you were left with nothing but your own loneliness—it all haunted you, a shadow you couldn’t escape. And now, sitting here with someone who was kind and attentive, you realized how far away you still were from truly moving on.

Your date reached across the table, lightly touching your hand, and you didn’t flinch. Instead, you smiled softly and let your fingers curl around theirs, mimicking the gesture of affection as if it were second nature. They seemed to take comfort in it, their face lighting up with hope, and you felt a pang of guilt for leading them on, even though it wasn’t intentional.

You could feel their eyes on you, searching for that connection, that spark that should have been there. But there was nothing—no flutter of excitement, no warmth in your chest, just the cold, empty numbness that had taken up residence in your soul.

The conversation continued, your responses automatic and well-practiced, but your mind was elsewhere, trapped in the past, replaying moments you wished you could forget. You knew you should be present, that you should give this person the chance they deserved, but the weight of your own numbness was too much to overcome.

And so the evening went on, the two of you laughing, smiling, and talking, while the truth remained hidden beneath the surface. To anyone watching, it looked like you were having a wonderful time. But only you knew the reality—that you were just faking it, lost in a world of your own, desperately trying to feel something, anything, but unable to break free from the numb shell Spencer had left behind.

—

Four months ago...

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You stood in the middle of the living room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if that would somehow shield you from the pain you knew was coming. Spencer was on the opposite side, his posture rigid, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion. This wasn’t the first argument you’d had recently, but it was certainly the worst.

“Spencer, I’m not trying to control you!” you pleaded, your voice trembling with the effort to keep your emotions in check. “I just want to know what’s going on in your life! I want to be a part of it, like I used to be.”

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that screamed exasperation. “You say that, but it feels like you’re suffocating me, Y/N. Every time I turn around, it’s another question about where I am, who I’m with, what I’m doing. It’s too much.”

Your heart clenched at his words, the sting of them cutting deeper than you’d expected. “I just want to feel like I matter to you,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. “Like this relationship still matters to you.”

Spencer’s face softened for a moment, but the frustration was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. “Of course, you matter to me,” he said, though the words lacked the warmth and sincerity you so desperately needed to hear. “But you’re making this so hard, Y/N. Every time we talk, it turns into an argument.”

“Because you keep shutting me out!” you shot back, your voice rising despite your efforts to stay calm. “You don’t tell me anything anymore! I’m the last person to know when you’re leaving, when you’re coming back. It’s like I don’t even exist to you when you’re at work!”

“That’s not fair,” Spencer replied, his tone growing defensive. “You know how demanding my job is. I don’t have time to check in constantly.”

“I’m not asking for constant check-ins,” you retorted, the frustration bubbling over now. “I’m asking for you to care enough to let me in! To let me know when something’s wrong, or when you’re going to be gone for days on end. I’m your partner, Spencer, or at least I thought I was.”

The silence that followed your words was deafening. Spencer looked away, his jaw clenched, as if he was trying to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between wanting to comfort you and wanting to pull away.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and strained. “Maybe… maybe we need some space,” he suggested, each word like a dagger to your heart.

“Space?” you echoed, the word foreign and terrifying. “You think that’s going to fix this?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer admitted, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “But I do know that what we’re doing right now isn’t working.”

You stared at him, the man you loved more than anything, and felt the ground shift beneath you. This wasn’t just an argument; this was the beginning of something you had feared for months. The beginning of the end.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice breaking as the tears finally spilled over, “please don’t do this. We can figure it out, we can—”

“I’m not saying we’re breaking up,” Spencer interrupted, though his tone did little to reassure you. “I just… I need to think. I need to figure out what’s going on with me, with us.”

You nodded, though the movement felt hollow. “Okay,” you whispered, even though every fiber of your being was screaming that it wasn’t okay. Nothing about this was okay.

Without another word, Spencer turned and left the room, leaving you standing there, alone, the silence of the apartment pressing in on you like a suffocating weight. You didn’t know if you would ever be able to breathe again.

—

Present

Spencer sat at a table near the back of the bistro, his eyes locked onto you from across the room. The soft hum of conversation and clinking of silverware faded into the background as he watched you laugh, your head tilting slightly as you shared a light moment with your date. Your hand was resting on the table, fingers intertwined with theirs, and the sight sent a sharp, searing pain through his chest, like a hot knife twisting deeper with every second that passed.

Derek and Emily sat on either side of him, their expressions filled with concern as they noticed his focus on you. It hadn’t taken long for them to spot you when they walked in, and they had exchanged uneasy glances, silently debating whether or not they should suggest leaving. But Spencer had insisted it was fine, forcing a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He’d said it didn’t bother him, that it was no big deal, but the truth was a far cry from that casual dismissal.

“Spencer,” Emily had whispered, leaning in close so only he could hear, “we can go somewhere else. It’s not a problem.”

But Spencer had shaken his head, his gaze never leaving you. “No, really, it’s fine,” he had replied, his voice steady, though the turmoil inside him was anything but. He needed to see this, to witness how your date went, as if punishing himself by watching you with someone else would somehow make up for the mistakes he had made. Not that he’d admitted that to Derek and Emily. They would never understand the twisted logic he was following, the way he felt like he deserved every ounce of the pain that was currently eating him alive.

It was ironic, really. He had once hated the thought of you tracking his every move, of you wanting to know where he was, who he was with, and what he was doing. It had suffocated him, made him feel like he was being controlled, watched over like a child. But now, here he was, insisting on staying in this very restaurant just to watch you on a date with someone else—because he had pushed you away, because he had been the one to break up with you.

And now, as he watched you smile at someone else, someone who was clearly making you happy, Spencer felt the full weight of his regret crash down on him. He had thought he needed space, thought that pushing you away would give him the clarity he so desperately sought. But instead, all he had done was lose you, and now he was faced with the brutal reality of what that meant.

You looked so radiant as you sat there, the candlelight reflecting off your eyes, your laughter light and genuine as you leaned closer to your date. It was a sound that used to fill his own life with warmth, a sound he had taken for granted. Now, it felt like a distant memory, something he could only watch from afar as someone else got to experience it.

He didn’t realize he was gripping his fork so tightly until Derek nudged him, snapping him out of his trance. “You sure you’re okay, man?” Derek asked, his voice low and cautious, as if he were afraid to push too hard.

Spencer forced himself to nod, though the tightness in his throat made it difficult to speak. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he managed, though the words were hollow. He wasn’t fine, not even close, but admitting that would mean facing the depth of his mistake, and he wasn’t ready for that—not yet.

Emily exchanged another worried glance with Derek, but they both respected Spencer’s decision to stay, even if they didn’t understand it. They made small talk, trying to distract him, but Spencer’s attention kept drifting back to you. Every time he saw your fingers intertwined with your date’s, a fresh wave of jealousy and regret washed over him, threatening to drown him in its intensity.

He had never imagined it would feel like this, watching you move on with someone else. The emptiness, the burning jealousy, the sharp pang of regret—it was all more than he had anticipated. And the worst part was that he knew he had no one to blame but himself.

As your date reached out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture so intimate and tender, Spencer felt something inside him crack. He had once been the one to do that, to touch you like that, to make you laugh like that. And now, he had thrown it all away.

The irony was unbearable. He had been so desperate to keep his freedom, to avoid feeling trapped, and now he was the one imprisoned—imprisoned by the sight of you with someone else, knowing he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

—

Three months ago…

You lay in bed, the phone pressed to your ear as you listened to the familiar, comforting voice on the other end. "Supreme goddess of gadgets, how may I help you?" Penelope answered, her usual cheerfulness evident, though there was a faint hesitation in her tone, as if she already knew what was coming.

"Hey, Pen…" Your voice was weak, almost defeated. You could barely muster the energy to speak, the weight of everything crushing you from the inside out.

There was a brief pause before Penelope responded, her voice softer now. "Y/N… hi, how are you?" Her question was gentle, cautious, as if she were afraid of what your answer might be.

"Surviving," you replied, the word feeling like a lie even as it left your lips. "Um, you know what I’m going to ask."

A heavy silence followed your words, the kind that made your heart sink deeper into the pit of despair you had been living in for months. Finally, Penelope spoke, her voice filled with regret. "I do, sweetie… He asked me not to tell you anything. I’m so sorry."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of your lungs. You managed to choke out a quick "Thanks, Pen," before you hung up, not wanting her to hear the sob that was already clawing its way up your throat.

As soon as the line went dead, you let it out—a heart-wrenching cry that seemed to come from the very depths of your soul. You curled up on your bed, clutching the pillow as if it could somehow hold you together while everything else in your life was falling apart. The tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless, as the reality of your situation washed over you in waves of pain.

Hours later, Spencer came home, his presence filling the room with an unbearable tension. "Space" had ended just last week, but things had not returned to normal—far from it. He walked in, glanced at you briefly, and his expression was cold, detached, as if he didn’t even recognize the woman lying in bed, broken and defeated.

“This can’t continue,” he said, his voice devoid of any warmth or affection. It was a statement, not a question, and you knew he had already made up his mind.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The numbness had taken over, a merciful shield against the pain that had consumed you for so long. You stared at the ceiling, your eyes glassy and vacant, as if you were no longer truly present in your own life.

Spencer’s next words were like nails in the coffin of your relationship. “You and me? Done. You calling and checking in on me like I’m a fucking child? Done. I want you out. This is still my apartment.”

His words hung in the air, each one driving the knife deeper into your heart. But you just nodded, your body moving on autopilot because your mind was too shattered to do anything else. You had known this was coming, had felt it creeping up on you like a dark cloud ready to unleash a storm. But knowing hadn’t made it any easier.

Without another word, Spencer turned and left the room, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence that followed. You didn’t move. You didn’t cry. You just lay there, feeling as though a part of you had died, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.

And in that moment, you realized that the person you had once loved more than anything was truly gone, and there was no getting him back.

—

Present

You stand from the table, your heart heavy and your mind made up. This evening was never going to be what either of you hoped for, and you knew it was time to go home, to retreat into the solitude that had become your only solace. You had no illusions about what the rest of the night would hold—probably a bottle of wine, more than you should drink alone, and a sad movie to keep you company as you cried over the pieces of your broken heart.

As you turned to push in your chair, your eyes caught sight of something—or rather, someone—that stopped you cold. There, across the room, was Spencer. His familiar form sat rigid at a table, flanked by Derek and Emily, but it was his eyes that rooted you to the spot. Those eyes that had once brought you warmth and comfort, that had been the anchor in your life, now held an emotion you’d never seen in them before. It was raw, intense, and so deeply conflicted that it sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, the world around you faded, and all you could see were those eyes—eyes that had once looked at you with such love, now filled with something else entirely. Regret? Jealousy? Pain? You couldn’t quite place it, but it was enough to make your breath hitch in your throat, your heart lurching painfully in your chest.

Before you could think too long about what you were seeing, your date's hand gently rested on your lower back, pulling you back into the present. The warmth of their touch contrasted sharply with the cold, hollow feeling that had settled in your chest. They guided you out of the bistro, their hand steady as they led you toward the door, completely unaware of the storm that had just passed through your mind.

You didn’t look back, though every part of you wanted to. The urge to turn around, to meet Spencer’s eyes one more time and maybe, just maybe, understand what was swirling in them, was overwhelming. But you kept moving forward, your body on autopilot as you stepped out into the cool night air, leaving behind the painful memories and the man who had once meant everything to you.

As you walked away, the noise of the city filled the void where your thoughts should have been, but you couldn’t shake the image of Spencer’s eyes from your mind. Even as your date tried to engage you in conversation, their words fell on deaf ears. All you could think about was the look in Spencer’s eyes and how, for the first time, you had seen something in them that you hadn’t before—something that made you wonder if he, too, was feeling the sting of the choices he had made.

—

“I’ll be back,” Spencer said abruptly, his voice tinged with urgency as he stood up from the table. He didn’t wait for a response from Derek or Emily, who exchanged worried glances, their faces mirroring a mix of empathy and concern. They both knew how deeply Spencer had been affected by the breakup, and while they wanted to support him, they weren’t sure if following you was the healthiest choice. But Spencer was already moving, weaving through the tables with a determined stride, leaving his friends to watch helplessly as he made his way toward the exit.

Outside, the cool night air hit Spencer like a splash of cold water, sharpening his senses as he scanned the street for you. His heart pounded in his chest, the knot of anxiety tightening with every passing second. Then, he spotted you a short distance away, saying goodbye to your date. The two of you stood under the soft glow of a streetlamp, exchanging polite farewells, and Spencer watched as your date smiled kindly before turning to walk away. The knot in his chest loosened just a fraction, relief mingling with the anxiety that still churned within him.

He knew this was his moment. If he didn’t speak to you now, he might never get the chance again. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Spencer took a deep breath and walked toward you, his heart racing as he rehearsed what he would say in his mind. But when he reached you, all those carefully planned words evaporated, leaving him standing there, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice softer than he intended, but it carried enough weight to make you stop in your tracks. You looked up so quickly, your eyes wide with surprise and something else—something that made Spencer’s heart skip a beat. The silence stretched between you, heavy and loaded with everything unsaid.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stood there, stunned, as if you couldn’t quite believe he was really there in front of you. The last time you had seen him, it had been under such different circumstances, and now here he was, the same man yet somehow different. The memories of your last encounter flashed through your mind, bringing with them a flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

“Hi,” Spencer tried again, his voice trembling slightly as he searched your face for any sign of how you were feeling. He could see the confusion, the hurt, the questions all swirling in your eyes, but you didn’t say anything. You just looked at him, as if you were trying to make sense of why he was standing in front of you now, after all this time.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his tone pleading, as if he were afraid you might turn and walk away before he had the chance to explain himself.

—

A year ago…

“Spencer, stop moving!” you laughed, your voice bubbling with amusement as you tried to steady his hand. He squirmed slightly in his seat, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“It tickles!” he protested, his voice filled with mock indignation as he wiggled his fingers in your grasp.

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “I don’t think you can be tickled on your nails, Spencer. You’re being dramatic.”

He huffed teasingly, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. “I don’t see why you needed to paint my nails,” he said, though there was no real annoyance in his tone—just the warm affection that always colored your playful moments together.

“Because,” you replied, focusing on applying the nail polish with care, “I got a new color, and my nails look too pretty to take it off right now. So you’re the lucky volunteer.”

Spencer watched you as you worked, the gentle concentration on your face making his heart swell with warmth. He loved these quiet, silly moments with you, where the world seemed to fade away and all that mattered was the laughter and lightness you brought into his life.

“Well, I’m honored,” Spencer said with a mockingly serious tone, though his eyes betrayed the laughter he was holding back. “But what if they look better than yours?” he teased, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Then I’ll have to break up with you,” you teased right back, trying to keep a straight face.

“Don’t even joke about that! I’d die without you!” Spencer exclaimed dramatically, his eyes widening in mock horror.

“Oh, shush,” you replied, smiling so big that you thought your heart might burst from how much you loved him.

“I’m serious,” he continued, his voice softening as he looked at you with all the love in the world. “If they look better than yours, you have to stay with me, despite the jealousy. I love you too much to let you leave.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached out to gently cup his face. “I would never leave you, Spence.”

“Ditto,” he said, his voice full of warmth and sincerity.

You leaned in for a sweet, smiley kiss, sealing the promise between you both. It was a kiss filled with love, with the kind of joy that made everything else fade away, leaving just the two of you and the unspoken vow that you would always be there for each other, no matter what.

—

Present

You nodded slowly, still unable to find your voice. The shock of seeing him again, the man who had left you so broken, was enough to leave you speechless. But there was something in his eyes, something raw and vulnerable, that made you pause. Maybe it was the way he was looking at you now, with an intensity you hadn’t seen in so long, that made you want to hear him out.

Without another word, Spencer gestured toward a nearby bench, and you followed him silently, your mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter. As you sat down, the distance between you feeling both too close and too far, you wondered what he could possibly say that would change anything. But you knew you had to hear it, whatever it was, because despite everything, a part of you still needed closure—or maybe, deep down, you hoped for something more.

Spencer sat beside you, the tension between the two of you almost tangible as he struggled to find the right words. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and regret, a chaotic mess that made it nearly impossible to articulate what he was feeling. He hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t even thought about what he would do if he ever saw you again. He had tried to put you out of his mind, to bury the pain and guilt deep inside, because it was easier than facing what he had done.

But now, sitting next to you, the reality of his actions weighed on him like a heavy stone, and he could see the hurt and anger in your eyes. You were waiting for him to speak, but the silence stretched on, growing more uncomfortable by the second.

Finally, your patience snapped. “What do you want?” you asked, your voice sharp and cutting, a clear sign of the anger brewing inside you.

Spencer flinched at your tone, the pain of your words like a physical blow. “I don’t know, honestly,” he admitted, his voice weak and uncertain.

“Bye,” you said coldly, turning to leave, the finality in your tone making it clear you were done with this conversation.

Panic surged through Spencer, and before he could stop himself, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, desperate to keep you from walking away. “No, Y/N, wait,” he pleaded, his voice trembling.

But you quickly shook off his touch, anger flaring in your eyes. “You absolutely do not get to touch me,” you snapped, your voice hard as steel.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer stammered, his hand dropping to his side, feeling the sting of rejection.

“For touching me or something else?” you demanded, your voice laced with bitterness.

“Everything,” he whispered, his eyes filled with remorse.

You let out a harsh, humorless laugh, the sound bitter in the quiet night air. “Well, since you clearly don’t know what to say, let me start,” you said, finding your voice with a strength that surprised even you. Spencer opened his mouth to speak, but you quickly held up your hand, silencing him. “It’s my turn to speak, do not interrupt me.” He nodded, his heart sinking as he braced himself for the words he knew were coming.

“I cared about you, Spencer,” you began, your voice steady but filled with the weight of all the pain you had been carrying. “I thought you cared about me too. All I ever wanted was to be a first thought, but instead, I was an afterthought. Wanting to know when my partner—and my roommate—was going to be in a different state doesn’t seem like a lot to ask.”

Spencer’s throat tightened as he listened, the truth of your words cutting him to the core. But he knew better than to speak, knew that you deserved this moment to say everything he had never let you say before.

“And then,” you continued, your voice growing more intense, “to go and tell your coworker—someone I considered a friend—not to tell me anything about you anymore? God, that’s so fucking mean, Spencer. You were mean to me.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, proud that you hadn’t let the tears fall, even though they were threatening to spill over. “I never once accused you of cheating, or even thought that you were doing anything behind my back,” you said, your voice softer now, but no less filled with hurt. “I didn’t ask for constant attention or updates. I didn’t yell at you, belittle you, or blame you. All I wanted was for you to care about me. And you didn’t.”

Spencer felt the shame wash over him, the weight of your words pressing down on him until he thought he might break. But he stayed silent, letting you continue, because you deserved to have your say.

“And yet, you dragged out the end of our relationship instead of having the decency to put me out of my misery,” you said, your voice trembling with the effort to keep your emotions in check. “I wanted to fix things—as pathetic as that feels now—I wanted to work it out with you. But it’s clear now that you always knew the end was coming.”

Spencer’s heart shattered at your words, the realization of how deeply he had hurt you hitting him like a freight train. He had been so wrapped up in his own fears and insecurities that he had never truly considered the impact his actions were having on you. And now, hearing you lay it all out so plainly, he was struck by the enormity of what he had lost.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice barely a whisper, but you shook your head, cutting him off once more.

“No, Spencer,” you said, your voice firm, the strength in it catching him off guard. “I don’t need an apology. I needed you to be there when it mattered, and you weren’t. So, tell me, why weren’t you there?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and piercing, demanding an answer that Spencer wasn’t sure he could give. He looked at you, seeing the hurt and anger in your eyes, the way you stood there waiting, needing an explanation that could somehow make sense of the pain he had caused.

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he tried to find the words. But how could he explain the mess inside his head, the way his fears and insecurities had twisted everything? How could he tell you that he had been too wrapped up in his own struggles to see what he was doing to you?

“I…” he began, his voice faltering as he searched for something, anything, that would make this right. But nothing came. The excuses he had told himself for so long now felt hollow and pathetic in the face of your unwavering gaze.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the truth, the only thing he could offer. “I was… scared. Of losing myself, of losing control. I thought… I thought I needed space to figure things out, but all I did was push you away. I wasn’t there because I was too wrapped up in my own head to see what I was doing to you.”

You stared at him, the admission doing little to soften the anger that burned in your chest. “You were scared?” you repeated, incredulity lacing your tone. “And you think that’s an excuse? Spencer, I was scared too. I was terrified of losing you, of watching you slip away without understanding why. But I didn’t shut you out. I didn’t abandon you when things got tough.”

Spencer felt the weight of your words like a punch to the gut. “I know,” he said, his voice cracking with the weight of his guilt. “I know I failed you. I don’t have an excuse, Y/N. I was selfish, and I hurt you. And I’m so, so sorry.”

But even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t enough. They couldn’t undo the damage that had been done, couldn’t erase the pain he had caused. He had failed you when it mattered most, and now he was standing here, faced with the wreckage of what once was.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, to keep the tears that were threatening at bay. “Sorry isn’t enough, Spencer,” you said, your voice softer now, tinged with sadness. “It won’t change what happened, it won’t bring back the trust that was broken. I needed you, and you weren’t there. And now… now we both have to live with that.”

Spencer’s heart shattered at your words, the finality in them like a dagger to his chest. He wanted to reach out, to somehow pull you back from the edge, but he knew he had no right. He had lost that right the moment he chose to walk away instead of fighting for what you had.

“I know I don’t deserve another chance,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But if I could go back… if I could do it all over again, I would. I would be there for you, I would fight for you. I’d give anything to make it right.”

But you shook your head, the sadness in your eyes cutting deeper than any words ever could. “You can’t go back, Spencer. Neither of us can. We can only move forward.”

“Together?” he asked, his voice filled with a desperate hope.

“Are you serious?” you replied, incredulity and hurt lacing your tone. With that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there alone with the weight of his regrets.

—

A year ago…

You walked into the apartment after an extremely grueling day at work, your body aching for the comfort of the couch and the sweet relief of doing absolutely nothing. As soon as you opened the door, however, you were greeted by the tantalizing aroma of your favorite meal wafting through the air. The familiar scent brought an instant smile to your face, and you couldn’t help but follow your nose like a cartoon character, eagerly tracing the delicious smell to the kitchen.

There, you found your adorable boyfriend, Spencer, fussing over pots and pans, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked to perfect the meal. The sight of him, so intent on making everything just right, made your heart swell with love.

“Need some help, handsome?” you asked, leaning against the doorway with a soft smile.

Spencer jumped slightly, his concentration momentarily broken. “Huh? What? No! Go sit down, relax, I got this,” he insisted, his voice filled with warmth and determination.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his insistence. “Okay, baby. Thank you,” you said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, which brought a pleased smile to his face.

With that, you made your way to the couch, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. Moments later, Spencer joined you, carefully balancing a tray in his hands. On it were two plates of your favorite food, two glasses of wine, and a small bouquet of your favorite flowers. The thoughtful gesture took your breath away.

“Spence… what is all of this for?” you asked, your voice tinged with surprise and emotion.

Spencer set the tray down gently and looked at you with those kind, caring eyes that always seemed to see right through to your soul. “You seemed off when you called earlier,” he explained, his voice soft and full of concern. “I figured you were having a hard day and wanted to treat you.”

Your eyes welled up with happy tears, the overwhelming love you felt for him making your heart flutter. “I love you so much, do you know that?” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Spencer’s face lit up with a playful grin as he teased, “I don’t think I do. Can you tell me a hundred more times?”

You giggled, leaning closer to him. “How about a million?” you offered, your voice filled with sincerity and affection.

Spencer’s smile grew even wider as he leaned in for a sweet, tender kiss. “I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured against your lips, and in that moment, all the stress and exhaustion of your day melted away, leaving only the warmth of his love.

—

A month later…

You walked into the coffee shop down the street from your office, savoring the familiar comfort of your Thursday morning routine. It was your little treat to yourself, a pick-me-up to help push you through the final stretch before the weekend. As you stepped inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods enveloped you, instantly soothing some of the residual stress from the workweek.

You were lost in thought, mentally debating whether to stick with your usual order or try something new, when you felt a gentle bump against your shoulder.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” a familiar voice apologized.

You looked up, your heart skipping a beat when you recognized him. “Spencer?” you said, the surprise evident in your voice.

He offered you a small, almost shy smile, as if he were seeing you for the first time. “Hello, stranger. My name is Spencer Reid,” he said, extending his hand as if introducing himself to someone he hadn’t met before. “I’m terribly sorry I bumped into you. Allow me to buy your coffee?”

You blinked, caught off guard by his playful formality. “What are you doing? Did you hit your head?” you asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of your voice.

Spencer shook his head, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “No, ma’am,” he replied, his tone light. “I’m starting fresh. Can only move forward, right?”

“Right…” you echoed, the words resonating with a meaning that made your heart flutter a bit, some of the cobwebs that had gathered around it beginning to fall away. There was something about this new approach of his that caught you off guard, but in a good way, like a breath of fresh air after a long winter.

A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips as you stuck out your hand, playing along. “Y/N,” you introduced yourself, feeling a spark of warmth you hadn’t expected. “Yes, you can buy my coffee. Thank you.”

Spencer’s eyes softened with a mixture of relief and hope as he shook your hand, holding onto it just a moment longer than necessary. “It’s my pleasure,” he said, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a small glimmer of something you thought you had lost—a sense of possibility, of maybe, just maybe, starting anew.

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tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece @dreamsarebig

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changisworld · 5 months ago

Note

i cannot for the sake of me get the thought of channie putting us in a headlock whilst he pounds us in doggy style 🤭🤭 The image in my head is making me dizzy 🥴

STOP IT RN BECAUSE THIS IS GONNA BE WHAT I IMAGINE WHILE I GO TO SLEEP TONIGHT

He would definitely wrap his hand around in your hair to pull you up towards him before he latches his big arm around your neck & you let out a yelp, not really expecting it.

His hair would definitely be sticking to his pretty face but he can’t have enough care at all in the world to care as he is bullying your cunt with his cock, pistoning in & out of you so quick & hard you genuinely cannot get a single word out as your eyes roll to the back of your head, only strange sounding gasps & grunts leaving your throat as he tightens his arm around you just slightly, the big muscles under his skin hard against your own.

“you’re such a slut,you know that? letting me choke you out like this n you just take it, just like this?” he remarks as his chest is touching your arched back, your hands finding themselves wrapping around the arm that is around your neck, your nails digging into the skin, trying to find anything to balance yourself on.

Chan nibbles down on your ear, knowing it will push you closer to the edge since it’s a sensitive spot for you & you clench around him uncontrollably.

“You gonna cum for me? i can tell by how much you’re clenching around me babe, tell me you’re gonna cum” he teases as he moves his head into a slightly uncomfortable position, just enough to see your eyes completely gone & your face flushed & red.. of course he knows you can’t speak, it’s too good for your poor brain to even process.

“If you cum without telling me, i’ll not stop until you’re completely used, mkay? cmon, cum then, since i know you’re too stupid to keep holding it.”

main master list here

#remis asks/thoughts #i need christopher bangchan #straykids hard thoughts #skz smut #stray kids #bang chan #bang chan smut #bangchan headcanons #skz hard thoughts #hard thoughts #skz imagines

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misswynters · 4 months ago

Text

Pretty in Pink

Jacaerys Velaryon x wife! reader

[WARNING: dark romance, yandere behavior, misspellings

[tags: soft jace, father jace, rude behavior

[a/n: bringing back dark!jace, just thought of this for no reason (if you would like to be tagged for all of the jace content let me know! <3)

The morning sun filtered through the thick curtains of the chamber, casting a soft, golden light over the room. You stirred from your sleep, the warmth of the bed and the comforting presence of Jacaerys beside you making it difficult to fully wake. As your eyes fluttered open, you were greeted by the soft sound of giggles, the kind that could only belong to your daughter.

Jacaerys was sitting up in bed, his wild curls tousled from sleep, but his eyes were bright and alert. He was completely captivated by the tiny figure perched on his lap. Your daughter, with her dark, curly hair and bright, mischievous eyes, was the very image of her father. She was clothed in a tiny pink gown that matched the one you had worn the night before, the soft fabric clinging to her chubby little frame as she clapped her hands, clearly delighted with whatever game Jacaerys was playing with her.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep as you propped yourself up on one elbow to watch them. Jacaerys looked over at you with a smile that melted your heart, his eyes filled with a tenderness that was reserved only for you and your daughter.

“She woke up early,” he explained softly, his large hands carefully supporting her as she wobbled on his lap. “I thought I’d let you sleep a little longer.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man who had become everything to you. “Thank you, Jace,” you said, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his lips. He returned it gently before focusing back on your daughter, who was now babbling happily to herself, her little fists clutching the fabric of Jacaerys’ tunic.

“And how’s my little princess this morning?” you cooed, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her forehead. She looked up at you with those big brown eyes that never failed to make your heart skip a beat, her tiny face lighting up as she recognized you.

“Pretty in pink, just like her mother,” Jacaerys said with a soft chuckle, lifting her slightly so that she was at your eye level. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

Your daughter gurgled in response, a string of incomprehensible baby talk that had both of you laughing softly. You could see the adoration in Jacaerys’ eyes as he looked at her, the way his entire world seemed to revolve around this tiny little being. And it wasn’t just the soft moments like this—no, Jacaerys would go to the ends of the earth for his daughter.

He gave her everything she asked for, every whim indulged, every desire met. Whether it was a new toy, a special treat, or simply more time with her father, Jacaerys made sure that she had it. The maids and servants had taken to calling her the little princess of Dragonstone, a title that Jacaerys encouraged with every passing day.

But there was another side to his love, one that was fierce and unyielding. If anyone dared to ignore her, if anyone so much as thought to mistreat her, Jacaerys would ensure that they understood the consequences of their actions. He had a way of speaking to people, a certain tone that could send chills down the spine of even the bravest knights. There had been more than one occasion where a careless servant had found themselves the subject of a very special talk with the Lord of Dragonstone, emerging pale and shaken, but utterly devoted to ensuring that the little princess was never neglected again.

“Jace, you spoil her,” you teased lightly, though there was no real admonishment in your voice. You couldn’t blame him—who could resist those big eyes and that bright, innocent smile?

“She deserves to be spoiled,” he said, his voice firm, but there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at you. “She’s our daughter. She should have everything the world has to offer.”

“And what if she asks for the moon?” you teased, reaching out to take her from his arms. She settled into your embrace with a contented sigh, her tiny hand wrapping around your finger.

“Then I’ll find a way to give it to her,” he replied without missing a beat, his eyes sparkling with determination. You laughed softly, shaking your head at his response. There was no doubt in your mind that he meant it, that if your daughter ever wanted something as impossible as the moon, Jacaerys would move heaven and earth to make it happen.

“Do you think you could start with something a bit more manageable, like breakfast?” you asked with a playful smile, shifting your daughter in your arms as you sat up fully in bed.

“Of course,” Jacaerys said, rising from the bed with a fluid grace that always left you a little breathless. “I’ll have something brought up for all of us.”

As he moved to the door, your daughter watched him intently, her little face scrunching up as she realized he was leaving. She let out a small whimper, her tiny hands reaching out for him, and you felt your heart clench at the sound.

Jacaerys paused immediately, turning back to her with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, little one. I’m not going far,” he reassured her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She seemed to understand, her expression calming as he straightened up and left the room. You watched him go, your heart swelling with love for the man who had become not just your husband, but the father of your child—the man who would do anything to make sure she was happy, safe, and loved.

As you rocked your daughter gently in your arms, humming a soft tune to her, you couldn’t help but reflect on how much your life had changed since Jacaerys had come into it. He had been the heir to Driftmark, the strong, determined prince who had always seemed so sure of himself, so confident in his place in the world. But beneath that exterior had been a man who needed someone to lean on, someone who could share the burdens that came with his birthright.

And now, as a father, he had found a new purpose, a new strength. The fierce love he felt for his daughter was something that took your breath away, something that made you fall even more deeply in love with him every day.

When Jacaerys returned, it was with a tray laden with food—fresh fruit, warm bread, and a selection of pastries that had your daughter squirming in excitement. “I think someone’s ready for breakfast,” he said with a smile as he set the tray down on the bed.

You laughed softly, setting your daughter down on the bed between you as you began to serve the food. She reached out eagerly, her chubby hands grabbing at the fruit with a delighted giggle, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“She has your appetite,” you teased, glancing over at Jacaerys as you handed him a piece of bread.

“She has everything of mine,” he replied with a soft chuckle, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. “But she’s her mother’s daughter too. She has your strength, your fire.”

“And your stubbornness,” you added with a grin, earning a playful glare from Jacaerys. But there was no denying it—your daughter was a perfect blend of both of you, with all the best qualities of each.

As you ate together, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment settle over you. There were no dragons to worry about, no battles to fight, no courtly intrigues to navigate—just the three of you, here in this quiet, sunlit chamber, sharing a simple meal and the kind of love that made all the struggles worth it.

When breakfast was over, Jacaerys took your daughter in his arms, lifting her high into the air as she squealed in delight. “You’re getting too big for this, little one,” he teased, though the smile on his face said that he didn’t mind in the least.

“She’ll never be too big for her father,” you said softly, watching them with a fond smile. “Not as long as you’re around.”

Jacaerys looked over at you, his eyes filled with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. “I’ll always be around,” he promised, his voice low and serious. “For both of you. No matter what.”

You nodded, your chest tight with emotion as you rose from the bed, moving to stand beside him. “And we’ll always be here for you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your daughter babbled happily between you.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, no matter what trials the future might bring, you would face them together—as a family. And with Jacaerys by your side, there was nothing you couldn’t overcome.

As the morning light filled the room, casting a warm glow over the three of you, you felt a deep sense of peace settle over you. You were home, with the two people you loved most in the world, and nothing else mattered.

“Pretty in pink,” Jacaerys murmured, his eyes drifting to the gown you still wore, and then to your daughter, who was now tugging at his hair with a mischievous grin.

“Hmm,” you agreed with a soft smile, your heart full to bursting as you looked at your little family. “And perfect just the way we are.

The warmth of the morning slowly faded as the day wore on. The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the stone walls of Dragonstone. You and Jacaerys were in the courtyard, watching as Elaena toddled around, her tiny feet pattering against the cobblestones. She wore another pink gown, this one slightly darker, embroidered with tiny golden dragons that glimmered in the fading light.

Elaena had always loved the color pink, a hue that seemed to reflect her joyful spirit and the innocence of her childhood. Her closet was filled with gowns, cloaks, and tiny slippers in various shades of pink, each more luxurious than the last. You often marveled at how your little girl had softened Jacaerys, bringing out a side of him that was fiercely protective yet endlessly tender.

She was playing near one of the serving women, a new addition to the staff who hadn’t yet grown accustomed to the importance of her tiny charge. Elaena’s curiosity had drawn her toward the vibrant flowers that lined the edge of the courtyard, her little fingers reaching out to touch the soft petals.

You watched from a distance, smiling as you saw the wonder in her eyes. But your smile faltered when you heard the sharp, dismissive tone of the handmaiden, who was standing too close to your daughter.

“Go on, girl. You’ll ruin them with your sticky fingers,” the woman snapped, her tone harsher than necessary. There was no kindness in her words, only irritation.

Your heart clenched, and you were about to step forward, but Jacaerys was already moving. His expression had darkened, the playful warmth in his eyes replaced by a cold, steely resolve. The air around him seemed to crackle with a silent fury, a reminder of the dragon blood that flowed through his veins.

The woman, sensing his approach, straightened up, a look of confusion crossing her face as she realized who she had just scolded. Elaena looked up at her father, her lower lip trembling as if she might cry, but Jacaerys was there in an instant, scooping her up into his arms.

“No one speaks to my daughter that way,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. The courtyard grew deathly quiet as his words hung in the air, the tension palpable. “Do you understand?”

The serving woman paled, her eyes wide with fear as she stammered out an apology, her earlier haughtiness gone in an instant. “I-I didn’t realize… my lord, I’m so sorry…”

Jacaerys held her gaze for a moment longer, his grip on Elaena tightening protectively. His voice dropped even lower, laced with a venomous edge. “You’ve made a grave mistake, and I don’t tolerate mistakes when it comes to my daughter.”

The woman’s knees buckled slightly, and she looked as if she might collapse under the weight of his words. “Please, my lord, I meant no harm…”

But Jacaerys was unmoved. He turned his attention to one of the guards stationed nearby, his expression cold and commanding. “Take her to the dungeons. I’ll decide her fate later.”

The handmaiden gasped, her eyes filling with tears as she realized the severity of her situation. She tried to plead with him, her voice trembling with desperation. “My lord, have mercy—”

“Enough,” Jacaerys interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “You showed no mercy to my daughter. Now, you will learn the price of your cruelty.”

The guard stepped forward, grabbing the woman by the arm and dragging her away as she continued to plead for forgiveness. But her words fell on deaf ears. Jacaerys was already turning away, his attention back on Elaena, who had buried her face in his shoulder, her small body trembling slightly.

You followed, your heart pounding in your chest, and when you caught up to him, he was already at the entrance of the keep. “Jace, what are you going to do?” you asked quietly, glancing back at the courtyard where the woman had disappeared from sight, her fate now in his hands.

“She will not remain in my household,” he said simply, his voice cold as he shifted Elaena in his arms. “She’ll be lucky if I don’t have her thrown off the cliffs into the sea.”

The finality of his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you understood the protectiveness that surged within him. “She’s safe now,” you said softly, reaching out to brush a stray tear from Elaena’s cheek. “You’ve taken care of it.”

Jacaerys softened as he looked down at his daughter, who was now snuggling into his chest, her earlier distress forgotten. “I’ll always take care of her,” he murmured, his voice filled with a fierce love. “No one will ever hurt her. Not while I’m around.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you wrapped your arms around the two of them, feeling the warmth and strength of your family. Elaena let out a contented sigh, her tiny fingers clutching at Jacaerys’ tunic as she drifted off to sleep.

As the evening shadows lengthened, the three of you remained in that embrace, bound together by a love that was unbreakable, a love that would protect Elaena from any harm that might come her way.

Jacaerys might have been the heir to the throne, but in that moment, he was simply a father—a father who would move mountains, who would face down dragons, to keep his daughter safe. And as you held them close, you knew that no matter what, you will always have strong and unyielding little family.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @thornsandtulips @spn-obession @beebeechaos @malfoycassimalfoy

banner: @cafekitsune

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x you #jacaerys fluff #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x wife!reader

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invinciblerodent · 6 months ago

Text

This is going to be very ranty and disjointed, probably borderline incomprehensible post, but with the "return" of Dragon Age Discourse (and really, did it ever go anywhere?) and me repeatedly seeing the complaints and dismissals of DA:I as a "chosen one"-type of a narrative, I just.... I keep finding myself thinking about the relationship of truth and lies within the game.

Throughout the course of DA:I, the idea of a malleable, flexible personal identity, and a painful confrontation with an uncomfortable truth replacing a soothing falsehood, follows pretty much every character throughout their respective arcs.

There are some more obvious ones, Solas, Blackwall, The Iron Bull, their identities and deceptions (of both those around them and themselves) are clearly front and center in the stories told about them, but this theme of deception (both of the self- and the outside world) is clearly present in the stories of the others as well.

Like, for example, ones that come immediately to mind are stories like that of Cullen, who presents an image of a composed and disciplined military man, a commander- all to hide the desperate and traumatized addict that he sees himself as.

Dorian grappled with the expectations of presenting the image of the perfect heir to his father's legacy, the prideful scion of his house, his entire life (he even introduces himself as the result of "careful breeding", like one might speak about a prized horse)- all while knowing that his family would rather see him lobotomized and obedient, than anything even just resembling his vibrant and passionate self.

Cassandra calls herself a Seeker of Truth, and takes pride in that identity- only to learn that in reality, she has been made a liar, a keeper of secrets, without her knowledge or consent, and it is up to her to either uproot the entire organization and painfully cut out the abscess it is to build it back from the ground up into something respectable, or let the information she had revealed sit, and continue to fester.

And this theme continues and reframes itself in, among others, things like Sera's own inner conflict between her elven heritage and her human upbringing, or in Cole being caught in this unconscionable space in-between human and spirit, between person and concept, etc.

The Inquisitor isn't exempt from this either.

I feel like this is where the core of the many misunderstandings of this plot come from, why so many people continue to believe that Inquisition is a "chosen one" or "divinely appointed" type of story, because I think many might just... not realize, that the protagonist's identity is also malleable, and what they are told in the setup/first act of the game is not necessarily the truth.

The tale of the Inquisitor is the exact opposite of that of a "chosen one" story: it's an examination and reflection of the trope, in that it is the story of an assumption that all wrongly believe to be the truth, and thrust upon you, even if you protest. The very point is that no matter who you choose to say that you are, you will be known as the Herald of a prophet you don't even necessarily believe in, and then that belief will be proven wrong, leaving you to cope with either a devastating disappointment if you believed it, or a bitter kind of vindication if you didn't.

There's a moment just after Here Lies the Abyss (when you learn of the lie you've been fed your entire journey in the game) that I don't often see mentioned, but I think it's one of the most emotionally impactful character moments, if you are playing an Andrastian Inquisitor who had actually believed themselves chosen (which I realize is a rather unpopular pick, lol): it's when Ser Ruth, a Grey Warden, realizes what she had done and is horrified by her own deeds, and turns herself in asking to be tried for the murder of another of her order. As far as she is concerned, she had spilled blood for power, and regardless of whether she was acting of her own volition at the time, whether she had agency in the moment, is irrelevant to her: she seeks no absolution, but willingly submits to any punishment you see fit.

And only if you play as an Inquisitor who, through prior dialogue choices, had established themselves as a devout Andrastian, can you offer her forgiveness, for a deed that was objectively not her fault- not really.

You can, in Andraste's name, forgive her- even though you, at that point, know that you have no real right to do so. That you're not Andraste's Herald, that Andraste may or may not even exist, and that you can't grant anyone "divine forgiveness", because you, yourself, don't have a drop of divinity within you. You know that you were no more than an unlucky idiot who stumbled their way into meddling with forces beyond their ken.

You know you're a fraud. You know. The game forces you to realize, as it slowly drip-drip-drips the memories knocked loose by the blast back into your head, that what all have been telling you that you are up to this point, is false. And yet, you can still choose to keep up the lie, and tell this woman who stands in front of you with blood on her hands and tears in her eyes, that you, with authority you don't have, grant her forgiveness for a crime that wasn't hers to commit.

Because it's the right thing to do. Because to lie to Ser Ruth is far kinder than anything else you could possibly do to her, short of refusing to make a decision altogether.

There are any number of criticisms of this game that I can accept (I may or may not agree depending on what it is, but I'm from the school of thought that any interpretation can be equally valid as long as there's text that supports it, and no text that contradicts it), but I will always continue to uphold that the Inquisitor is absolutely not- and never was a "chosen one".

They're just as small, and sad, and lost, as all the other protagonists- the only difference is that they didn't need to fight for their mantle, because instead of a symbol of honor, it acted as a straitjacket.

#squirrel plays dragon age #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #idk i'm just musing #talking basically to myself here i know #ignore me lol i'm just in my feelings about this game #i might tack onto this the like. 3k word jumble of circular arguments i have written down somewhere #about the moral responsibility and culpability of the vampire spawn in bg3 #because i have a lot of thoughts about that too #or the couple hundred words i have in my back pocket about dragon age's unique treatment of godhood and divinity in general

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kinopio-writes · 10 months ago

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Hi! Would you be willing to write something for Adam with a sensitive reader?

Everyone knows that he is loud-mouthed jerk, even reader, and she loves him regardless, but one day he crosses the line and says something particularly mean that makes her cry. Like REAL mean. To the point that he pauses because he did not think before speaking (or, well, less than usual lol)

I'm happy with whatever format you feel like using! Thank you!

A/N: I will be more than delighted to write that for you. But would you excuse me for a moment? AHHHHHHDISJDIOEOFJSKXJND—I’m sorry; I love this idea so much. Reading ‘Adam with a sensitive reader’ got me hooked instantly. But I’ll go over that in the headcanons, along with the general stuff. And I’ll add a oneshot at the end that plays the exact scenario of Adam taking it too far.

Holy sh!t. I made it so that the reader being sensitive is their greatest but also weakest point and it turned out pretty angsty. Has a bit of hurt/comfort, though. Did I go overboard? Maybe. That’s why it took so long. Sorry, anon.

Words: 2,328 (edited)

Warnings: Sex is mentioned (only a bit, surprisingly), Angst, Adam being Adam

———

Adam w/ a Sensitive!Reader

• ha, this man is also sensitive himself

• well, sensitive about himself

• he feels his own emotions strongly, so he’s not the caring, easily able to pick up on other’s feelings and empathize type of sensitive

• you, on the other hand, are on the opposite end of the spectrum compared to Adam

• so you experience other people’s emotions just as strongly as yours

• you easily know what makes someone tick

• you’re selfless

• you’re able to admit your mistakes and apologize

• you’re respectful and actively listen to people when they talk about themselves

• you don’t push people down to make yourself seem better

• you try to make everyone feel good and comfortable

• you’re everything he isn’t

• because you fit in Heaven perfectly

• you deserve to be there

• and Adam knows that he doesn’t belong (subconsciously at least)

• you’re able to draw people in just for being yourself

• and he’s envious of it

• so he demeans you and is snarky about everything you do, and every time people give you praise or affection, he tries to divert the attention to himself or just stares at you with utter hatred from afar

• although all of that is just when he hasn’t even had a conversation with you

• after a while of being around you, he’ll cling to you because you give him the reassurance and validation he oh-so craves (he acts as if he didn’t hate you before. What do you mean? You two were always buddy-buddy!)

• you acknowledge all of the things he puts his worth to

• heck, you hang out with him—you sometimes even initiate it—willingly, and you’re genuinely interested in everything he has to say

• but he‘ll only hang out with you where no one recognizes you (so you don’t get all the attention)

• terrible transition here, but he notices that you mimic people’s expressions often

• he definitely makes fun of you for it

• and also mocks you

• up until he realizes that you do the same thing to him, too

• which is fine and all, if only you didn’t do that when he’s upset

• well, you mimic him when he’s joyous as well, but he (already subconsciously) expects you to. I mean, why wouldn’t you? He’s fucking hilarious!

• so you copying his negative emotions just stands out more

• and he…doesn’t like it

• that’s only really what he doesn’t like about you

• and the fact that you hog all the attention

• and the fact that people see you as perfect…

• buuut what happens when he gets to see a new side of you that isn’t exactly upholding that image?

———

Your phone lit up from your bedside table, brightening your otherwise dark room along with the soft glow of your halo. You only moved your eyes to the light, not wanting your tears to spill and dampen your pillows.

You had an inkling as to who was texting you this late—if the fact that your phone lighting up several times in the span of 5 minutes had anything to say.

When the texts stopped pouring in after a few seconds, you heavily sighed, wings ruffling. You resisted the urge to rub your face as you went to grab your phone.

HEY (2:34) HEY (2:34) HEY (2:34) ARE YOU UP? (2:35) I’M BORED (2:35) GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE (2:36) IF YOU’RE UP (2:37) ARE YOU? (2:38) DID I TELL YOU THAT BITCH WITH THE HUGE TITS GOT FIRED TODAY? (2:39)

Figured. Of course, it was Adam. He was the only person you knew who’d be awake at this ungodly hour. And the only person you knew who’d disturb your peace if it meant curing anything that ailed him. Which was now about boredom, it seemed.

You read a few of his texts displayed on your lock screen before tapping one of the notifications and opening the app, scanning the rest of the unread messages.

Adam was going on about ‘that bitch with the huge tits’—her name was Tiffany, you were sure—and how she was rumored to have slept with an archangel to assume higher authority. He also went on to complain about how he didn’t have the chance to bed her anymore since she was basically deemed an outcast and that he couldn’t be seen with someone like her.

You frowned, not believing any of it, but you didn’t have time to think about it enough when he began typing again.

SO YOU’RE AWAKE (2:43)

You barely finished reading the new message when another one popped up.

DON’T IGNORE ME BITCH (2:43)

You frowned deeper, quick to type out a reply.

i’m not (2:43) i was just reading your texts (2:43) don’t worry (2:43) i’ll be there soon (2:44)

When he stopped typing, you placed your phone back on the nightstand, sitting up on your bed as you carefully wiped away your teary eyes. You hugged yourself for a moment, wings functioning as a cocoon while a hand tugged on your hair.

Today had been draining—both mentally and emotionally. Just like the day before, and the day before that. But you didn’t want to think about it, lest you start to cry some more and smear your face with tears this time. What mattered was that everyone was back on their feet again.

Since you didn’t bother changing into your sleepwear when you got home, you only checked your face in the mirror to see if your eyes were puffy or not. You then took in deep breaths, holding up your drooping wings before putting up a charming smile.

You couldn’t stay in the bathroom for long, quickly leaving to tread the path to Adam’s.

•••

“BOO!” Adam’s masked face suddenly peeked from the corner of his hallway, earning an indescribable scream from you as you jerked back. He burst out laughing, brows creased in confusion but also amusement. He couldn’t even make fun of you for getting scared. “What the—what the fuck was that scream?”

Recovering rather quickly as you blinked, you only smiled at him. You were expecting him to wait for you on his couch as his front door was left unlocked, but you weren’t complaining; his action took away any drowsiness you just had.

When Adam didn’t hear you laugh with him, his laughter subsided as he opened his eyes to look at your face. He raised his brows and placed the back of his hands on his hips. “What’s up with you?”

Shit. There was no way Adam was seeing through you.

“Nothing; I just love hearing you laugh.” You heard a tiny squeak in response. “Anyway, what did you make me come over for? Surely not just to scare me.” You moved past Adam and tightly crossed your arms, entering his spacious living room.

“Pshh, fuck no. You’re so easy to spook. Though that was a first. Didn’t know you could hit high notes, (Name).”

You didn’t know what to say to his…compliment? And sort of insult? Was it really either of them? Should you thank him? But in a sarcastic way? No, you weren’t known for being sarcastic, so he might think you were being genuine and look at you weirdly. And it would also seem highly egotistical.

Not as if Adam had much to say about that…

You tugged at your hair when you caught yourself with those thoughts. Shit, that’s so rude! You can’t think that! You shouldn’t think that!

You settled on an awkward chuckle, making yourself appear smaller as you averted your eyes to his TV space.

It was different, certainly. The modular couch pieces were rearranged into a pit sectional. And it looked as though he had chucked a bunch of pillows and one large blanket as an afterthought. It appeared messy, but at least it looked cozy.

“What’s this?”

“Hm? Oh, well, since you were taking your sweet ass time coming here, I thought to switch things up a bit.” You flinched when his head appeared right on your shoulder. “What’d ya think?”

“It looks super comfy.” Adam wore a goofy grin behind you as you walked closer to the area and noticed that he already prepared snacks on the low table. “Is this a way to say you wanna do a movie marathon?”

“You know it, baby.” He flew past you and landed on the sofa, patting the space beside him with a smile you just couldn’t reject.

•••

Heaven’s natural light beginning to peek through the open windows indicated that it was already dawn. Thank goodness you didn’t have work today.

You two—or rather, Adam—had settled on watching the film series, Die Hard. Every single one. You didn’t mind, but you didn’t understand why Adam invited you over if you two were just going to rewatch the film series for the eighth time.

He had also been pretty immersed in the large screen in front of him, so he hadn’t attempted to converse with you ever since the first movie started. In all honesty, he could have just watched them all by himself.

But you didn’t question it. This time was the same as the last seven, after all. You always concluded that maybe he just wanted someone to watch movies with, no talking necessary. Even if the no-talking part sounded a bit out of character.

Was it though? Because he did that quite often. For instance, he constantly brought you along to whatever mundane errands he had to do during the weekdays and never really talked with you unless he found something cool and pointed it out.

Although, the earlier times you tagged along with him on his errands, he kept yapping his mouth off about the ‘totally awesome’ things he does. He talked about music, his own albums, his band, women, sex, and himself as the first-ever man.

As time went on, however, the talking was replaced with silence. You wondered if he just ran out of things to say or if he found it unnecessary to talk anymore.

You also sometimes wondered what was going through his head when he thought you didn’t see him glancing at you while he was doing something he believed was boring.

The sound of Adam’s stomach rumbling broke you out of your train of thought.

You both looked at each other blankly as if either of you were to blame.

He blinked to break the eye contact between you. “(Name), I’m hungry.”

You snorted, facing ahead. “You ate all of our snacks before the first movie even finished.”

“Don’t blame me.” He hugged the pillow he held tighter. “I’m still fuckin’ hungry, though.”

You hummed as you reached for your pocket. “Do you want me to—oh. I…I forgot my phone.” You frowned. You never forget to bring your belongings.

Adam merely stared at you, unblinking.

You averted your eyes and held your legs tighter. “Uhm, We could get delivery if you want. Can you lend me your phone?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He casually tossed you the device before laying on his back and looking up at you. “I’m down for anything.”

His phone hit your knee before you could catch it, silently landing on the cushions. “Are you sure?” You picked it up, opened his unlocked phone, and stared at his basic home screen.

He didn’t really use his phone that often to know that it could be changed. He only really used it to fetch one-night stands or occasional dates, text, play music aloud, look at outdated memes, take random blurry photos, and right now, order delivery.

“Totally.” His crow’s feet displayed on his mask as he puffed out his cheeks.

“Because last time you said that, you didn’t like what I had to pick.”

“That’s because the 5 ʼn 2 is so fucking overrated!” he suddenly started to complain. Your wings ruffled. “Jeez, I swear, every fuckin’ time I take a chick out and ask her what her favorite eatery is, basic bitches always go, ‘Oh, bREaD & fIsH, ceRTAinLy’ or ‘bReAD & FiSh’S a cLAsSIC’” He used his hand as a puppet to imitate their words before waving it. “Like, helloooo? Can’t you see the joint that’s literally on the other side of the street’s a hundred times superior? It’s cheaper, too, unlike Bread & Fish. Overpriced ass. You get me, right—?”

“Then you pick!” Adam jumped at your volume, and your eyes widened upon noticing yourself. You quickly gave back his phone as you turned your face away from him, and he slowly took it with a weird look.

“Shit, chill, (Name). The fuck’s up your ass?” He kept his gaze on you before turning to his phone.

While he was serious about his opinions of your bland tastes, he didn’t think it was that personal. Your preferences were the same as everyone else and that was boring. He was just being honest. And you usually didn’t take the things he said that seriously.

“Adam, I’m sorry,” you spoke up after a moment of silence and ran a hand through your hair. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“ʼs not a problem.” He was still a bit weirded out, but he was willing to shrug it off.

You insisted, however, “I mean it. I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay…?” he muttered when he saw a notification pop up from Lute. Her message consisted of how some of the exterminators got into a quarrel during roll call and the ones involved got injured in the process. She said she was going to discipline them.

Adam did not want to know what she meant by that and was most likely not going to stop by their place today.

“Really. I’m not. Sorry. It’s just that yesterday’s been…”

“Uh-huh…” At this point, Adam was not listening to anything you were saying. But when he still heard the static noise that was your words, he groaned. “Look, sweetie, I really don’t give a fuckin’ shit about your fuckin’ apology, ʼkay? I don’t fuckin’ care. Now what do you want?”

You saw Adam’s confused yet concerned expression after he looked up from his phone and immediately noticed that you were starting to cry. You instantly turned your face away as you carefully wiped your eyes.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m not crying because of you.” You didn’t know if that was true. You didn’t know if you were crying because of his words or were crying because of everything else.

That was the first time he ever used a sweet petname for you in a long time. He only ever used that to demean or mock other people.

Shit. Stop thinking—you were going to cry more. But even after carefully wiping your eyes away, new tears kept flowing. You couldn’t stop. This was humiliating. You wanted to disappear. You didn’t want anyone to witness you in this state. It was mortifying.

“Shit.” Adam’s voice came out panicky as he held his hands out towards you, but he hesitated. Hesitated in what, he didn’t even know.

He…didn’t think you could cry.

Adam didn’t know what to do; this emotional shit wasn’t his thing. He couldn’t ask you to leave, he knew that much, but he didn’t want to leave himself. This was his place. Why should he leave?

So, he did the only thing he could do in this situation.

You suddenly felt something warm envelop you.

You didn’t look up, but you knew it was Adam. You could feel the texture of his robe on your hands and the side of your face. You could feel his hands on your shoulder blade, but you couldn’t quite feel his arms on you.

You stopped wiping your eyes for a moment.

No one had ever hugged you before when you were sad.

No one had ever let you be sad.

Adam heard you sob.

Fucking great. He made it worse. What the fuck was he supposed to do then?

But when he went to unwrap his arms, he felt yours slip around his midsection, pulling him closer than before as he grunted from your firm hold.

So you wanted to be hugged? Alright. Whatever.

Adam slowly hugged you back after you muttered a ‘sorry’ and loosened your grip.

The next seconds were silent, so when he heard muffled words coming from you, he looked down. You also looked up moments later when he didn’t respond, realizing he must’ve not heard you.

Your gaze softened as you two held eye contact, and with teary eyes, you smiled. “Thank you, Adam.”

Something about his expression changed, but before you could stare any longer, you felt a hand behind your head push you back to his chest as the arm on your back held you tight.

“Yeah, whatever…”

#hazbin hotel x reader #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #kinopiowrites

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bringthekaos · 1 month ago

Note

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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sidsinning · 9 months ago

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#1 thing I am the most curious about/eager for the series to explore is 1000% the Morningstar family, especially Lilith

Bc who even is Lilith in reality besides what we have seen her as in the eyes of the other characters

Clearest image we get of her is in their family portraits

We usually see her as the menacing mystery figure working in the background, but in these photos she's clearly a normal happy mom who genuinely loves her family as any mother/wife would. She's not just a smirking dominant figure with a hidden agenda. All she's doing is having fun with her family and has no qualms about showing a range of emotion.

Charlie sees her as the role model she takes after and wants to make her proud. It turns out she sees Lucifer in pretty much the same light, but with the addition of having an awkward relationship bc of the distance they've had. With Lilith she never speaks about her with any lingering awkwardness, so we can assume she's been a good mom raising Charlie this whole time.

(For those who are saying "Lilith is a bad mom bc who leaves their kid alone for 7 years???"- she is literally thousands of years old while Charlie is well into adulthood before those 7 years. It's like a business trip to them. She wasn't an absentee parent for leaving for 7 years out of Charlie's 200+. The thing that's weird is that she's not communicating with Charlie. Our girl deadass owns property with a job and employees. Just bc she's not great at it and is having Lucifer step in to help recently, doesn't make Lucifer the superior parent suddenly. He's confirmed to be a kind of shitty dad despite how much he cares for her by the creators themselves. Kind of the point of his introduction ep guys. The 7 years are a mystery to unpack. Chill tf out.)

In this flashback people are blaming Lilith for separating Lucifer and Charlie on purpose, seemingly as the cause of their distant relationship. But it feels more complicated than that, based off Lucifer's reaction.

He's sad reaching out to Charlie by the end of the flashback, but when Lilith first appears he's smiling all the same and not deterred in giving Charlie to Lilith to carry away for what reason we don't know. A normal, standard occurrence he's used to. It seems both parents have agreed it's best for Lilith to take Charlie at this age now, for whatever reason.

Was his mental health affecting his parenting too much so they decided Lilith would shoulder the bulk of the task? Maybe Lilith really did separate the two somehow for her own reasons and convinced Lucifer with it? Another mystery reason each parent agree on?

When exactly did both of them separate? When Charlie was already an adult or around the time of the flashback when Lilith was her primary caretaker as a kid? (I'm assuming adulthood since Lucifer and Lilith seemed to still be getting along in the flashback despite her emotionless face.) Why did they separate when Lucifer seems to clearly love and yearn for her all the same, still wearing his wedding ring? 😭😭😭

And ofc what is this deal she made with Adam to stay chillin on a beach in heaven, and why did Adam, a reckless narcissist who likes yappin to whoever is gonna listen, not ever reveal this fact to her family to the very end?

There is just so much to unpack with their family and Lilith is the key ingredient rn to unlocking it

Like ofc I'm looking forward to Sir Pentious in heaven, Alastor's deal, the future of the rebuilt hotel, Lucifer now being a seemingly main character in season 2, etc.

But the Morningstars,,,different level

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lilith morningstar #charlie morningstar #sidrabbles

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fushiguruuzzzz · 29 days ago

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xviii ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Deja Vu

Series mlist

Tags — cliche I fear, mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, possibly offensive humour (?)

Words — 2.1k

You elbowed your way through groups of people, ignoring the disgruntled looks sent in your direction. You suddenly felt completely sober, the fuzziness in your mind replaced by sheer panic. Toges text repeated over and over in your mind, the possibilities forming into endless images and scenarios. As much as you wish you didn’t, you knew exactly who they were talking about. Megumi and Kamo.

The string lights hung around the yard did little to illuminate the space, the primary source of light being whatever leaked out from the house. When the brisk outdoor air hit you, your eyes darted around, very quickly recognizing where they were. It was pretty obvious, with the crowded people and nauseating sounds of the altercation.

Panda, being the tallest of the bunch, was the first you spotted. You used him like a landmark as you weaved your way around, joining your group of friends near the centre of the action. When you were met with the sight before you, you felt as if you’d travelled back in time. There he was, in all of his glory. Blood trickling down the side of his face, though he looked to be in a much better condition than his opponent. Megumi versus Noritoshi, a fight driven by irrational jealousy and the effects of alcohol. His knuckles were battered, the crimson evidence of his rage staining the skin over the joints.

He was just about to pull his fist back; just about to land another hit on the man, but then his eyes met yours. They softened, undeniably so, his grip on Kamo’s shirt loosening and arm lowering. Noritoshi took this opportunity to roughly pull from his grasp, giving Megumi a shove backwards on his way. He briefly passed you as he shoved through the crowd, retreating from the scene.

“Control your dog,” he spat roughly before leaving you slack jawed and blinking in your place. Your eyes hadn’t moved from Megumi, the world around you seeming to dissipate, leaving just the two of you. You longed to reach out to him—no, your soul longed for him, longed to feel the touch and unity of his presence.

By what seemed like muscle memory you moved forward, grabbing Megumi’s hand and ignoring the worried shouts of your friends. The warmth of his palm–or was that blood?–pressed gently into yours, the only thing keeping you grounded as you guided him away from the people. He followed you into the house without a second thought, blinded by trust, intoxication, and familiarity all in one. You’d been here before, he knew the drill.

The familiar muggy atmosphere greeted you as you rushed through different rooms, the building seeming like a maze as you so desperately tried to find a washroom that wasn’t occupied by students, either puking or too immersed in each other to even notice you barging in.

He trailed behind you like a lost puppy dog the entire time. He didn’t speak a word, he didn’t know if he knew how to anymore. Honestly, he was scared. Scared to speak to you, scared that if he dared to open his mouth everything would come spilling out. The bits of him he kept tucked away deep inside were itching to reveal themselves, crawling up his throat and making it tighten with the threat of guilty tears. He could barely face you. He felt like such a complete and total asshole. Ignore you for a week, snap at you, ignore you for another week, then almost kiss you and fight your boyfriend (as he’d begun referring to him as) in the same night? Who even was he? He felt as if he’d regressed years, being the same immature brat he’d been the first time he lost you except much more angry and much more aware. Shame gnawed at him like a plague, eating him from the inside out. Not that he necessarily knew himself very well beforehand, but any grasp of his character seemed to be lost the moment he saw you with… him.

Finally, after countless trips down hallways and up flights of stairs, you found a place. A small tile washroom with a flickering light above the sink, chilly and empty. It didn’t do much to lighten the mood as you guided him in, your hand parting from his and leaving him feeling oddly empty as he sat on the low marble counter.

He may as well have been a mime, dead silent as he watched you search the inventory of the room for a cloth. You muttered something under your breath, he couldn’t hear you. His ears rang with anxiety and his own thoughts, growing louder and louder until they were screaming at him. ‘You fucked it all up. You’re such an idiot. No wonder she chose him.’

“You’re so stupid,” you huffed, extending to your full height with a washcloth in hand. Well, he knew that already.

“Mm,” he replied, a lazy hum. He couldn’t find it in himself to respond, let alone argue. There wasn’t a point, you were right anyway.

Suddenly you were fourteen again, scolding him for getting into yet another fight. Yet again he’d developed some rivalry with your newest love interest, for reasons you couldn’t understand. He wished you did, that would’ve made this so much easier. Despite your anger and hurt, your hands were gentle and warm, every press of the warm wet cloth against his skin a soft caress.

“I don’t– I don’t get you, Megumi,” you began, deciding to focus intently on your handiwork to avoid looking at him. If you saw that desperate, intent look on his face, you knew you’d break. You couldn’t, not yet. Though the only thing he was thinking was that you’d said his name, the familiar syllables rolling from your tongue with ease. Just like it had when he’d gotten ahead of himself, when he’d almost kissed you. He hated the way your voice sounded when you said his last name, made something bitter swirl in his gut.

“You’ve been so weird lately.” Your voice was soft, almost afraid. It was a tone he hadn’t heard from you before, and he hated to be the cause of it. “You walk back into my life and everything is normal, great even. We spend months getting close and I’m actually happy, and you aren’t weird at all, in fact, you’re nicer to me than anyone. Then you completely shut me out, and you won’t even tell me why. You tell me you can’t, I don’t buy it,” you took a shaky breath. Your hand had stilled, simply hovering in the air. “And then you almost kissed me, and–and then you leave. You– I–..” you began to stutter, blinking away unshed tears. His heart clenched, feeling unfamiliar and afraid. He’d only seen you cry twice, the first being he’d found you alone in the rain on a dark stormy night and the second being when he’d taken you to see some sad dog movie (which he’d insisted wasn’t a date). You never spoke of the former after that.

“[name],” he whispered. Someone should’ve started tallying how much he’d said that tonight, you were sure they’d have a full page by now. That wasn’t a bad thing, though.

“Do you like me or not? I’m sick of this back and forth and I’m sick of using Kamo as a distraction and I’m sick of feeling like this just because you’re a ‘coward’. Am I too much? I just need you to tell—“

“If you want me to tell you, you have to let me speak,” he cut you off, taking the hand holding the cloth and gently pushing it away. “You aren’t too much. That’s the thing about you, you’re just you and it’s just right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I’m a coward. It’s just– you make me feel all of these things and I hate it, makes me feel weak. I am. You make me weak and you always have, fuck– it’s been this way since middle school.”

You drew in a breath, trying to process his words. The effects of the alcohol lingered, but the both of you had somewhat sobered up by now.

“You deserve better. You… you deserve everything. I can’t give you that, maybe Kamo can. I see why you went for him and that’s what hurts the most,” he whispered, voice oddly gentle. His throat felt tight and he had to stop speaking or else you’d notice the way his eyes stung, voice cracking. He was always a sad, clingy drunk.

“Can’t you see? I don’t want better. There isn’t better for me, Megumi. I haven’t even spoken to Kamo since you stopped talking to me because I realized that,” you said, a weak sob chasing your words. He stared at you, wide eyed and ridiculously pretty as he tried to process what you were saying. He wanted to believe you, but could he?

“I’ve always loved you. Maybe if you payed more attention to that instead of swinging at every guy that glances in my direction, this could’ve gone much smoother.”

“… you love me?”

“Too soon?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I just… don’t understand, I guess. I’m not exactly one to be loved.”

“Don’t say that. You’re wrong. So wrong it’s laughable, actually,” you said, feeling your lip tremble as a soft, almost sad smile crossed your face.

You didn’t realize when you’d gotten so close. You were brought back to a few hours before, when you’d almost gotten this until todo had sauntered by. But now you were in the secluded peace of the shabby tile restroom, not the most romantic place, but that was the last thing on your minds.

Your lips met gently, almost chaste before parting. He breathed, “I’m sorry, are you sure you–“

“Please.”

It was barely enough time to breathe before he was surging forward once again, this time far more passionate and with a desperation he wasn’t even sure resided in him until that very moment. You wanted him to kiss you. No, you wanted him period. He wanted to kick himself for not noticing, for spending literal years believing someone like you couldn’t feel for him as he felt for you.

His bruised hand caressed the nape of your neck, the other slithering around your waist and tugging you closer. His brows were furrowed, the love radiating from him so deep it formed a crease between them. You both tasted like booze and the music still shook the floor with every beat, but every bit of it washed away with every passing second of his lips on yours.

You craved him like a vampire lusted for blood, and he kissed you like a deserted man that had found his oasis. It was sloppy and messy and filled with want, teeth occasionally clashing in your drunken frenzy. You didn’t feel drunk, though, you felt more aware than you ever had in your life. In that moment you were sure he was the love of your life, and you could see the years ahead stretching before you like a calendar all planned out. You wanted to see his hair grow grey and his wisdom form lines on his face, you wanted to spend the rest of your life holding him like this. His black locks of hair were soft between your fingers, and he let out a gentle groan against your lips as you tugged. His teeth dragged over your bottom lip and you shuddered, feeling goosebumps erupt all over your skin.

When you parted, all he could do was look at you. Almost curiously, he ran a thumb over your bottom lip, right where he’d nibbled just a moment before.

When he met your eyes, he realized he had forgotten to say something rather important back. It was hard to say, felt as if it was stuck in his throat, but the buzz he had helped.

“I love you,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse. He stood by the idea that you deserved better than him, you deserved more. But just this once, he wanted to be selfish.

When you dived back in for another taste of him, you swore the declaration had made his lips taste sweeter. Sweet and soft and undeniably him, just like you liked it.

Taglist !¡ —

@1l-ynn @meowymeowbreow @missunrise @kiss-my-asscheeks @starrysho @good-mourning0 @gumims @beaniesayshi @mrowwww @luvvmae @megumislovedoll @azharyy @starsryi @tibibibi123 @idkidk32 @dazaisfavgf @tlissablr @vi0let-writes @walllflowerrrsss @sh0ot1ngst4r @blubearxy @tvnamayo @san-it-is-i-guess @harryzcherry @vivienne-jo

finally. Holy shit. I think there’ll be one more chapter after this?? Maybe two, then it’ll be 20 even I’ll see ending this feels like a divorce

#jjk #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk smau #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro x reader

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