#the dysfunction is palpable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mcntsee · 1 month

Text

— ★ tomorrow

↳ summary: “I wasted all those yesterdays, and now,—“ His words trailed off with a sigh, his eyes red-rimmed from hours of tears shed in the hospital, his gaze blurry as it searched for her face, “—What if I am completely out of tomorrows?”

↳ warnings: hospitals, mentions of gunshot wounds, pain, regret, not proof-read. No use of “y/n”

↳ author’s note: This is fluff, I promise the end is really sweet! This is also inspired by different, random, pinterest quotes my friends sent me. Enjoy!

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

No one enjoyed hospitals. The colors lacked vibrancy, the sounds became repetitive after a few minutes, the antiseptic smell was overpowering, the food tasted bland, and the anxious wait for news about a loved one was excruciating.

Unfortunately, the team was all too familiar with hospital waiting rooms, and even more unfortunate was their familiarity with being patients themselves.

Thankfully, the Federal Employees' Compensation Act provided some relief. Without it, they couldn't even begin to fathom the astronomical medical bills they'd be facing.

Tonight, however, finding themselves stuck in the uncomfortable chairs of the hospital waiting room had not been part of their plans.

The young genius's head throbbed relentlessly, a sensation he'd endured for weeks. The unimaginable pressure around his entire head, compounded with the bright light reflecting off the hospital's shiny white walls, the incessant beeping and the sounds of loved ones crying doing nothing other than intensify his discomfort.

The nurse they had bombarded with questions upon arrival had emerged not long ago to thankfully inform them that everything was alright. The surgery had gone well, and she was now in recovery. Soon enough, if they wished, they could stop by her new temporary room and visit her.

By now, most of the team had returned to the office. Hotch had been called back to work to tackle the pending files on their desks. Fortunately, he had allowed Rossi and Reid to remain behind. Ostensibly, their task was to update the team on her condition, but both of them understood that even if that hadn’t been necessary, there was no force on earth that could have budged Spencer from his spot, where he had been stationed for the last however many hours.

Spencer could feel David's gaze piercing through him. He wanted to snap at him, but he knew his current behavior had undoubtedly attracted more attention than just the older agent's. Clutching at his head, tugging on strands of hair intermittently, his leg bouncing up and down, with eyes tightly shut—his agitation was palpable.

“Kid, they said she’s alright. You need to relax.”

It was true, they had been told that, but it did little to reassure him. His mind raced through various worst-case scenarios. Her wound could become infected, or there might be undetected damage to internal organs. He fretted over potential complications like inflammation of the peritoneum, the formation of blood clots, or even damage to blood vessels leading to reduced blood flow to vital organs, potentially resulting in organ dysfunction or failure.

“The survival rate might seem high, but statistically speaking, complications can arise, even with the best medical care.”

“Spencer—“

“For instance, studies have shown that gunshot wounds to the abdomen carry a significant risk of infection, with rates as high as 20%. And there’s the possibility of peritonitis, which occurs in approximately 10% of cases.”

“Kid—“

“Organ damage is also a concern, particularly with injuries to vital organs like the liver or intestines. Even with the most advanced treatments—“

“Reid!”

For the first time since he sat down, his leg ceased its relentless movement. His hand, which had been tugging at the ends of his hair, relaxed and dropped to his lap, along with the hand he had been waving in the air to explain the statistics. His eyes unclenched, the worry in his brow disappearing as the rest of his facial muscles relaxed.

“What is going on, Spencer?”

The genius's eyes met the older agent's worried gaze with deliberate blinks, adjusting to the harsh fluorescent lights overhead while tuning out the cacophony of noise that surrounded them. “I just— I”

“I never told her and I— I don’t— “ His breathing was uneven, his words tumbling out faster than his mind could keep pace, his mouth struggling to articulate as his chest constricted with anxiety.

A gentle weight settled on his shoulder, its warmth grounding him as it gave a light shake, bringing him back to the present moment and prompting him to pause and take a breath.

“Rossi I- I devoted half my time since meeting her to loving her, only to spend the other half hiding it from her.”

With a sigh, the formerly retired agent settled down next to the much younger agent, his hands staying on the genius's shoulder as he shifted slightly to find a comfortable position.

Reid's gaze lingered on Rossi's face for a moment before he averted it, focusing instead on the bustling activity in the hallway where nurses and doctors hurried back and forth attending to patients.

“Every moment we shared, every laugh, every smile she graced me with, even in her unconscious gestures—“ His gaze returned to the hallway momentarily before lowering to where his hands rested on his knees. With a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he cleared his throat. “Every time I looked at her, the words swelled in my throat. I longed to tell her how much she truly means to me, the happiness and peace she effortlessly brings into my world.”

“To tell her that I love her. That I have for a while now.”

David’s mouth opened, but before he could utter a word, Spencer's pointer finger shot up in the air, silencing any impending speech. It hovered there for a brief moment before his whole palm opened, effectively halting whatever words David had intended to say and then dropping back down to his lap.

“Every single time, I held back. I stopped myself from reaching out to her, from letting my true feelings spill out, from whispering all the things I desperately wished she knew.” His words cracked along with his voice as he, for the first time, admitted aloud feelings he had hidden for so long. “And with my heart pounding in my ears, I always just watched her, silently promising myself, ‘Tomorrow. I’ll tell her tomorrow.’”

“I wasted all those yesterdays, and now,—“ His words trailed off with a sigh that escaped his lips, his eyes red-rimmed from hours of tears shed in the hospital, his gaze blurry as it searched for the older man’s face, “—What if I am completely out of tomorrows?”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Spencer's admission hanging between them until the ringing of a phone shattered the stillness. With a sigh, Rossi reached into his pocket, retrieving the vibrating phone and glancing at the contact name.

“She’ll be okay, kid.”

With one final, reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, the older man rose to his feet, his knee cracking audibly as he turned to leave. Despite his efforts at reassurance, Spencer's profound anxiety remained largely unchanged.

He felt utterly helpless, his mind desperately grasping for solutions, for the comforting embrace of statistical analysis with its reassuring numbers. But instead, there was only silence. For the first time in his life, his mind was empty, devoid of answers, devoid of the usual cacophony of thoughts and calculations.

He couldn't recall the moment the nurse returned to inform him that he could visit her, nor did he remember following the nurse into the room and settling down beside her bed.

He cast restless glances around the room, his eyes darting from one piece of medical equipment to another, then flitting to the walls and ceiling. His gaze moved incessantly, pausing only briefly before moving on, taking in every detail. Except for her.

Alone in the quiet with her, he couldn't bring himself to meet her frame. To look at her now would make everything feel too real, and his heart was already heavy with pain.

His body felt like it was betraying him. Breathing became labored, thoughts fragmented, and the pain in his heart seemed insurmountable.

He wanted to tell someone— no, he wanted to tell her, but he knew she wouldn’t have a solution like she always did. So he sat there, his hands nervously tugging at strands of hair, eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming cacophony of beeping machines surrounding them.

His heart weighed heavily in his chest, burdened by the weight of pain, regret, and fear. It was a sensation he never wanted to experience again, a darkness that threatened to engulf him entirely.

Throughout the night, nurses came and went. Some spoke to him, gave him updates on her condition but he didn’t listen. He tried, he just couldn’t understand it.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, he reluctantly turned his gaze toward her bed. His eyes lingered on her hand, once so delicate and warm in his, now adorned with tubes and wires connecting her to different machines.

With a heavy sigh, his eyes remained fixed on her hand as he leaned forward, feeling the strain in his back from hours of immobility. With gentle care, he reached out and clasped her hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles over the back of it, mindful of the wires and tubes.

He remained still for a moment, relishing the warmth of her hand in his before allowing his gaze to travel up her arm, eyes tracing the patterns of the thin, cream-colored blanket that draped over her midsection when they got there. Then, his gaze shifted to her other arm, positioned protectively over her stomach where the wound lay, as if guarding it from further harm.

He studied the blue hospital gown draped over her body, its hue accentuating the sickly paleness of her skin. He traced every curve, every wrinkle, every wire, everything until his eyes finally met her bruised face.

She looked so peaceful and beautiful, devoid of worry. The furrows that typically marked her brow now absent, her closed eyes darting beneath her lids.

Tears welled in his eyes, the overwhelming emotions washing over him as he gazed upon her form. There was no smile, no gentle words escaping her lips, just a faintly parted mouth and serene countenance.

“Please wake up.” he whispered, his voice raspy from not being used in hours. “Please.” The desperation in his voice was evident in the way it cracked, in the way his chest tightened, in the way his throat constricted.

But she didn’t. Not for two weeks.

The medics reassured the team that she was showing positive signs and was going to be fine. They explained that in cases of severe internal bleeding within the abdominal cavity, it was common for patients to take longer to regain consciousness. "Sometimes, this can lead to hypovolemic shock and reduced blood flow to vital organs, including the brain," said the doctor they were currently questioning, one arm cradling a notepad against his chest while the other gestured towards her on the hospital bed, "which contributes to the prolonged unconsciousness she's experiencing."

Once the team's questions were answered, the doctor turned towards the door, his pen moving rapidly across the notepad as he scribbled something down. Upon reaching the door, he paused, pivoting back to face them. "While I can't predict the exact timeline for her awakening, I want to reassure you that we're doing everything we can to support her recovery." Tucking his pen back into his chest pocket, he scanned the room, meeting each person's gaze before lingering on on the genius’.

"Every individual responds differently to trauma and surgery, and it's not uncommon for patients to take some time to regain consciousness," he said, his tone gentle and reassuring, his kind smile directed at Spencer. "However, I want to emphasize that she's showing positive signs of progress, and her body is responding well to treatment. She should be waking up soon." With a final nod in the genius’ direction, he opened the door and disappeared into the flow of medical staff and patients outside her room.

The doctor's reassuring words and comforting demeanor provided Spencer with a small sense of relief.

As the days stretched on, nearing the two-week mark since her surgery, Spencer's exhaustion was becoming more evident. Dark circles underlined his eyes, his hair unkempt, and he felt the weight of fatigue settling into his bones. Sitting by her bedside day after day had taken its toll, leaving him feeling drained and with a sore backside.

It wasn’t until night, when he was alone with her again that he made a promise. “If you wake up tomorrow, I promise—“ He delicately released her hand, curling his fingers into a fist before extending his pinky finger to link with hers. “I pinky promise,” he whispered, a soft, trembling laugh escaping his lips as he recalled her insistence that a promise was only truly binding if sealed with a pinky. “If you wake up tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything.”

He had made up his mind days ago, swearing to himself that the moment she regained consciousness, he would lay everything bare. He hoped that verbalizing the promise would somehow penetrate her unconsciousness and draw her back to him.

As the night wore on and the room bathed in the soft glow of predawn, his senses awakened to a subtle movement near his head, his mind clouded with confusion as he remained still, trying to grasp his surroundings.

He found himself in a hazy state, unable to pinpoint the exact moment sleep had claimed him, yet the sensation of their linked pinkies lingered, his other hand placed gently on her leg, while his head rested on the bed.

It wasn’t until he felt his pinky being squeezed that Spencer’s senses sharpened, his back straightening with a crack as his eyes snapped into focus on her. The familiar furrow returned to her brow as she squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand instinctively reaching up to rub at her forehead.

His breath caught in his throat, his body frozen as he stared at her, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

“Spence?”

Her voice was raspy, her tone confused as her eyes opened and scanned the room. Without hesitation, he rose from his seat, hands releasing hers as he hurried to the table with the water bottles. He swiftly grabbed one, unscrewing the cap as he returned to her side.

She struggled to lift herself up on her elbows, her eyes tracking his movements, fixated on the open water bottle as he presented it to her. With a gentle nod from her, he brought the bottle closer, tipping it carefully as it reached her parched lips, his other hand positioned beneath her chin, ready to catch any droplets that might escape.

After consuming almost half of the bottle, she gently pushed it away from her lips, taking a moment to swallow the last gulp before lying back down.

He remained in a state of shock, his mind racing faster than it had in weeks, attempting to process the moment as he observed her shifting, striving to find a comfortable position.

“Spence?”

“You—” he began, his words trailing off as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. “You are awake.”

At his words, a gentle smile, the one he had longed to see for weeks, graced her lips. She nodded in acknowledgment as she looked at him. Without hesitation, he moved forward, enveloping her in a tight embrace, being careful not to hurt her. "You're awake," he whispered softly, his face nuzzling into her neck.

He knew he was supposed to call a nurse in —something the staff had reminded him of repeatedly— , but in that moment, he couldn’t bear to let her go. So, he held her tighter, his arms enveloping her as if protecting her from everything, his hand gently cradling the back of her head, thumb tracing soothing circles as he drew her closer.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before he released her from his embrace, his body reluctantly withdrawing from her warmth. His hands remained, tenderly cupping her face as he gazed into her eyes, memorizing every detail of her being.

"I have to tell you something," he whispered, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The familiar nerves and doubt flooded back, causing his heart to race so fast that he knew that if he had been the one hooked up to the machines, medics would have surely burst into the room thinking someone was having a heart attack.

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on her face, absorbing every detail illuminated by the gentle glow of the sun filtering into the room.

In his hesitation, his mind revisited every memory he shared with her. He recalled the moments he wanted to confess but held back, as well as his conversation with Rossi. Then, the memory of their pinky promise last night resurfaced, reminding him of his commitment. He couldn’t break a pinky promise.

“Spencer?”

“I love you.” There. He said it. His gaze lowered in fear of rejection, the nerves in his stomach growing, but he kept going, he had to. “I am so unimaginably in love with you.”

“Spencer—“

“No, I need—“ he paused, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, gazing still fixated downward as he cleared his throat from the imaginary knot that was beginning to form there. “I need you to know that every time you smile, every time you laugh, every time you talk to me, it’s like my whole world lights up.”

“And when you look at me, it’s like everything else fades away, and there’s just you.” With a deep inhale, he squeezed his eyes shut, colors swirling behind his eyelids from the pressure, before slowly exhaling and looking up to meet her gaze. “I can’t even scientifically explain how you make me feel. There is no book, or research article that explains what you make me feel.”

One of his hands left her face, gesturing through the air as he attempted to explain everything without the safety net of statistical knowledge. “Every time I’m near you, it’s like my heart speeds up so much that, scientifically speaking, I should be dead.” The quiet chuckle that escaped her lips reached his ears, easing the tight lines on his forehead as his lips formed into a gentle smile. “But it doesn’t matter, because being near you makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Every little thing you do, it just… it makes me fall more and more in love with you.”

“God, I’ve loved you for so long.” His hand halted its relentless movement and lowered to push the hair out of his eyes before running down his face with a grunt of frustration.

"I've fought multiple inner battles trying to tell you how I feel, only to back down at the last minute, silently promising myself that I would do it the next day."

Her eyes softened at his words, her lips pulling into a sad smile as his remained parted, eyes teary as they left her gaze and focused on his lap. “And then you got shot and I—“ The memories of everything that happened in the last two weeks rushing back to him. "I thought I had run out of next days.”

Her hand, which had been holding his against her cheek, shifted gently, cupping his cheek and wiping away the tear that had managed to escape his eyes.

With a sigh, he looked up to meet her eyes again, his own free hand coming up to hold the hand she now had on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, his head resting against her hand as she rubbed soothing circles against the stubble that had appeared after weeks of not shaving. “I adore you.”

His face inched closer to hers, resting his forehead against hers. "I’m fine with whatever you want as long as I'm able to have you in my life," he whispered, his warm breath brushing against her skin. "I love you so, so much. Always." With that, their foreheads separated and his lips moved up to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead.

The room fell silent, his words hanging in the air as she processed them. After another second, Spencer moved, standing up and letting her know that he was going to go get a nurse before quickly disappearing.

The nurses flooded her room with warmth and care, each one exuding kindness as they attended to her needs, explaining her situation, answering questions, and expressing relief that she was recovering well.

Spencer stood patiently by the door, his shoulder leaning against the frame as he observed the nurses with gratitude, thanking them as they left after ensuring everything was in order.

As the last nurse made her way to the door, she slowed her footsteps, casting a reassuring smile at Spencer. “I told you she’d be alright, sweetheart,” she said with a gentle tone.

Marisa, the lovely old nurse, had not only been concerned about his best friend’s well-being but also his. The genius could confidently say that, had it not been for Marisa, he probably would’ve starved in that hospital chair.

She would often stop by during her morning shift, offering reassurance that she would be alright, often bending a few hospital rules to make Spencer more comfortable, providing him with the comfiest blankets, or allowing him to take showers in the bedroom’s bathroom so he wouldn’t have to leave her side.

She also insisted on him taking breaks to get some fresh air, eat proper meals, and change his clothes, assuring him that if anything happened, she would call him immediately.

With a comforting squeeze to his arm, the nurse left, closing the door gently behind her and leaving the two of them alone in the room.

As he settled back into the familiar chair, their eyes met once more, exchanging a silent understanding. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, relishing each other's presence. Eventually, Spencer broke the quietude. "I should call the team," he suggested softly.

He rose from the chair, his hand diving into his pocket to retrieve his phone. With his back turned to her, he scrolled through his contacts, his foot shifting slightly as he prepared to step away.

Before he could get far, his movements halted by the touch of her hand on his arm, he lowered his phone and turned back to her, meeting her gaze with curiosity. "Wait," she said softly. With a nod, he returned his phone to his pocket, yielding to her gentle tug until he found himself seated by her side on the bed.

A grunt of discomfort escaped her lips as she struggled to sit up, reaching out for his hand for support. Once she was upright, she shifted closer to him. “What are- oomf—“ before he could finish, his question was cut off by the sudden press of her lips against his, her hands gripping the back of his head.

His body momentarily stiffened, eyes widening in surprise as he tried to process what was happening. When it finally clicked, the initial shock turned into a gentle surrender as he closed his eyes, allowing himself to be swept away by the warmth of her lips against his.

With a soft exhale, his hand instinctively rose to caress her cheek, pulling her face even closer to his and deepening the kiss.

If he had ever believed his heart couldn’t beat any faster than when in her presence, he stood corrected. Now, he was certain he was experiencing a heart attack.

His lips moved against hers so perfectly, as if they had kissed a thousand times before, as if their souls recognized each other instantly.

It was perfect, not because it was flawless, but because it felt so real.

He never wanted to stop; her lips were addicting, but when his lungs screamed at him for air, he reluctantly pulled his lips away from hers, resting his forehead against hers as they caught their breath.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

His head jerked back, eyes wide open as he looked at her, scanning her expression, looking for any hint that she was lying, only to find honesty shining through her eyes.

With a laugh, she took his face back in her hands, pulling him closer and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You have, and will always be the one my heart searches for in a world full of everyone else.”

With a toothy smile, he pulled her lips back to his, chuckling inwardly, as their lips met, acknowledging that if he thought he reached the peak before, he was mistaken again. His heart was racing faster than ever before. A heart attack of a different kind.

A heart attack that he’d gladly experience a million times more.

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #fanfiction #fluff

642 notes · View notes

prythianpages · 5 months

Text

Dandelions | Azriel x Witch Reader

summary: Azriel accidentally welcomes your dysfunctional family into your home.

warning: I can't really think of any at the moment besides violence from a witch fight, basically you being protective over Az

a/n: There's not very much known about the witches in the ACOTAR universe so I'm just taking creative control here (: If you're interested in reading more of Az x witch reader, you can find the masterlist here.

As Azriel sits in your living room, the familiar weight of concern settles in his chest. The past few days have felt like a quiet storm and the bond between you, has fallen eerily silent far too many times to go unnoticed.

Of course, he’s already asked if you were alright but he sensed the lie as it brewed in your eyes before it slipped out of your lips. The shadows that remain at your side keep him updated on your whereabouts but besides a crow following you one day, there’s nothing else to report. He wonders if you’re upset with him.

Azriel tries to engross himself into the book–as it’s one you recommended to him– in his hand but his eyes keep drifting from the pages. He steals glances toward the closed door of your study. A vibrant green glow, your magic, spills from the edges of the door. He tries to pull on the bond but cannot find you on the other end. You shut him out. Again.

Three knocks pull him out of his thoughts. Ignoring the skittering dance of his shadows and the way Pearl–your pet spider–retreats back to her corner, he opens the door. There’s no one on the other side. A perplexed furrow forms on his brow as he peeks into the hallway, dispatching his shadows to investigate further. They return with no insights, leaving an unsettling silence in their wake.

“Hey Az?”

Azriel closes the door and locks it. He turns to see you stepping out from your study. You smile at him sheepishly, toying with your glowing hands. “Can I have some of your blood?” Your voice is surprisingly calm, despite the look in your eyes, and you must mistake his silence as apprehension because you’re adding: “Just a drop!”

He would’ve gladly granted your request but before he can even utter a word, a sudden shift in the air catches your attention. Your eyes widen, a touch of panic flickering within them. It’s a fleeting moment where control slips from your grasp, and in that heartbeat, your side of the bond bursts open.

His wings quiver as if struck by an invisible force. A torrent of emotions crashes over him like unrelenting waves on a storm sea, flooding and overwhelming his senses. Worry etches lines on his face at the raw intensity of your feelings.

“Toad’s blood!”

In the blink of an eye, he’s standing in front of you, his hands cradling your face. The hazel depths of his eyes burn with concern but you avoid his gaze, your frantic eyes darting around the room as if looking for something–someone.

“y/n, my love,” Azriel implores softly, his heart pounding in his chest as he desperately tries to navigate through the sea of your emotions. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyes land on the door and a palpable tension fills the air. “You opened the door.”

Azriel’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Someone knocked.”

You swallow thickly. “How many?”

“What?”

Your voice is firmer this time. “How many knocks?”

“Three.”

You’re pulling out of his grasp abruptly. You run back to your study and a trail of perplexed worry etches further across Azriel’s face as he follows after you. With a furrowed brow, he observes your hurried actions. Windows are slammed and shut and locked in quick succession. He blinks and you’re running to your room next. “y/n, please talk to me! Tell me what’s wrong!”

You pause, if only for a brief moment, your eyes finally meeting his. “You just opened the door to a gateway of evil.”

“Evil??” Azriel’s wings flinch, the word carrying an unexpected weight. “What evil?”

“My mother.”

A sense of impending danger guides your every move and you’re sprinting past him. Over your shoulder, you urgently command, “Quick! Lock all the windows!”

Azriel responds without hesitation. He races back to your living room, determined to secure the window he opened earlier. As he does so, he sees a crow flying toward him. It’s familiar to both him and his shadows. The dark tendrils hasten to close the window beside him and the crow, unable to halt its trajectory, collides with the glass.

“I think that's all of it,” you say with a sigh of relief. However, it’s short lived as an overlooked detail dawns on you. The window in your kitchen.

Azriel, his shadows and you are already racing toward the kitchen but despite your efforts, you’re too slow to close it. Your sock clad feet glide across the floor and Azriel wraps an arm around your waist from behind, preventing you from falling. It tightens around you, drawing you snugly against him in a protective embrace, just as the crow flutters its wings menacingly and tauntingly above you. His eyes narrow at the bird and his shadows poise like a snake ready to strike.

Shrouded in a swirling cloud of purple smoke, the crow undergoes a mystical transformation. Its plumage shifts and twists, feathers unraveling and converging as if guided by an unseen hand. A silhouette begins to take form amid the enchanting mist and as the last tendrils of purple dissipate, a beautiful older female stands before you.

“That is not the way to welcome your mother, Dearest.”

The last time you saw your mother was when Hybern became allies with Spring. She had asked you to join her coven, out of worry for you if you stayed in the court that was crumbling apart, but Feyre had already secured plans to bring you to Velaris. The City of Starlight was a safe haven for you…until the Hybern attack unveiled its secret. She’s been reaching out ever since–sending countless letters and when those did not work, she started sending ravens.

Though she delves in dark magic, you know your mother means well. She loves you and has been protective of you. Overly protective. Perhaps, you were being dramatic about it all but you weren’t ready for her to meet Azriel yet. You didn’t even get to finish the protective spell you were planning on casting upon him. All you needed was a drop of his blood to complete it…

“Mother,” you reluctantly greet.

She smirks at you. Every muscle of your body tenses and you place your hand over Azriel’s to let him know it's okay. Ever the perceptive one, your mother catches the subtle gesture. Her gaze falls upon the protective presence behind you. She narrows her eyes and points a perfectly manicured finger at him as if to say “I’ll deal with you later.”

With a wave of her other hand, a cage materializes out of thin air. You can barely make out the tiny green creature in it before your mother is thrusting it into your hands.

“Hold your father, will you? I need to go fetch your sisters.”

She says it so casually, it’s comical almost. You grimace as your gaze flickers to the small lizard. It nervously scurries within the small cage it is confined in and you’re tempted to drop it.

Your father, a former high noble fae from Spring, had been cursed into a feeble gecko at the powerful hands of your mother. She did it shortly after she caught him trying to take your life at the mere age of two. He had plans to kill your mother next and take her heart for his own so now your mother loves to torment him by carrying him with her so that each remaining day of his life is as miserable as can be.

Verena, your mother, walks over to your door as if she owns the place. With an air of confident authority, she swings it open, revealing two females on the other side—your sisters, each birthed from a different father. One, with dark, flowing hair and sinister eyes, wears a smirk that mirrors Verena’s. Maeve. The other, with lighter hair, possesses kinder eyes, and delicate white feathery wings. Thea. She looks at you apologetically.

You’re slipping out of Azriel’s grasps and joining your family in your living room. The cage falls from your grasp, rolling onto the ground. Binx dives out from the shadows, eyes alight as the cat spots the green creature within. A curious paw swats at it, its claws peeking through the thin gaps at the top of the cage but no one bats an eyelash at the terrified squeak.

A scowl settles onto your face. “Mother, Maeve, Thea. As quickly as you arrived, I want you all to leave,” you say, clapping your hands at them for emphasis. “I did not invite you here.”

“No,” your mother agrees with a nod but her eyes are fixed on something–rather someone behind you. “He did.”

Four pairs of eyes are on him and Azriel only cares about one. Yours. His knowledge over your family is limited. He knew your father was a piece of scum but he did not know he still lived. There’s a tightening in his chest and he knows it's coming from your side of the bond. He sends a wave of reassurance through it because if you’re okay, he’s okay. Even if your family is a little overwhelming.

Verena circles around him, her gaze sharp as the crow she morphs into. Azriel stands still, his shadows swirling defensively. When Verena extends toward the talon of his wings, the shadows snap at her, causing her to withdraw. A wicked grin appears on her face. “A Shadowsinger,” she observes. “What is your name?”

“Azriel.”

Verena hums, stepping back, her eyes scanning every inch of him. There’s a devilish gleam in them when they settle upon his large, membranous wings. He instinctively tucks them back.

“By The Mother, you look absolutely ravishing,” purrs your dark-haired sister.

The lighter haired sister beside her smiles. “He is quite beautiful.”

“Maeve,” the darker haired sister introduces herself. Her dark brown eyes sparkle in amusement. She holds her hand out to him. “We haven’t yet had the pleasure. y/n has been hiding you for far too long.”

Azriel does not take her hand. Instead, he watches her with wary eyes and she laughs. As her eyes deepen in hue, mirroring the unsettling darkness akin to yours, an ominous glow envelops her hands. It resembles a delicate yet foreboding cloud of gray smoke that dances around her fingers.

“Don’t touch him,” you growl, raising your own hand. A raging green fire roars from your fingertips as the darkness takes your eyes.

Maeve turns to hiss at you. Her cloud of smoke is steadfast as it continues its path to Azriel. Your mate. You hiss back but your mother rests a hand on your shoulders and out of the corner of your eye, you swear Thea sends a reassuring gesture your way.

“Oh, come on.” Maeve persists, her voice, both enchanting and seductive, beckons like a magnetic force. She steps closer to him, ignoring the heated glare you send her way. She places a hand on his arm and you're shaking with rage as you recognize the haze that clouds Azriel's eyes.

“You look hungry. Would you like a taste? What do you think, Shadowsinger?”

Smoke wraps around him, infiltrating his senses and charging the air around him with an alluring energy. It smells like chamomile and lavender–a scent intricately tied to you, the enchanting witch he calls his own. You’re shoving away from your mother and prancing on your sister, the two of you tumbling to the ground. “Let him go!”

The room becomes a radiant spectacle, bathed in the ethereal clash of gray and green magic. The air is charged with the tension of their coexistence and you’re pinning your sister to the floor beneath you. “Why do you always have the thirst to take everything I have?”

“Because it’s fun,” Maeve hisses at you, her dark eyes a reflection of yours. “Besides, our family is in need of a new pet, don’t you think?”

“Girls, stop it this instant!”

“Can it be something cute this time? Like a puppy!”

“Thea, shut up!” You say brusquely as you look up.

Thea winces at your tone. Maeve takes the sliver of your distraction to push you off of her. The two of you hastily get to your feet and you hold your hands out ready to unleash the vibrant, verdant rage coursing through your veins at her.

“I think y/n is ravishing this evening. Don’t you?”

Azriel’s voice is light, dreamy almost as he’s in a trance. He blinks and the tendrils of magic briefly cloud his vision before it clears. He steps away from Maeve’s cloud of smoke, repulsed by her magic and his eyes are searching for you.

His gaze, steady and filled with a profound warmth, captures yours and it feels like a gentle cascade of water extinguishing a flame. The vibrant green fire in your hands gracefully fades away, mirroring the softening of your eyes in the tender exchange.

“And he’s not even lying,” Maeve frowns with a huff, her voice and eyes returning to normal. Disappointment is written all over her face. No one has been able to escape from her power of seduction before. “How dull.”

Your hand finds solace in Azriel’s and he locks his fingers with yours. You smile at him and he smiles back. You are the only enchantment he desires and your heart swells. You're so happy you could kiss him--

Thea, always one step ahead of everyone, gasps. “He’s your mate.”

Your mother’s eyes undergo a shadowed transformation of her own, reminiscent of a crow’s ominous gaze. Azriel feels a subtle unease but you remain composed. Gracefully, she approaches, her movements mirroring the fluid elegance of a bird. With a discerning sniff, she assesses the air around you both. Her keen eyes flicker to Azriel’s chest–where the emerald, the greatest token of your affection, securely rests beneath his leathers. His siphons awaken in response, pulsing with a powerful and protective luminescence.

“Your heart. Your precious, precious heart,” she whispers, her voice on the brink of tears.

There’s a drastic shift in her voice when she speaks again. It darkens with a mother’s fierce intensity and echoes through the room like a hissing serpent. “You’ve given it to him.”

Your mother outstretches her hand, toward Azriel, her gesture laden with an unmistakable agony. With a resolute urgency, you press your hand against Azriel’s chest, your other hand still wrapped around his. You can feel the pulse of his heart beneath the gem. It’s fast and erratic but gradually soothes under your touch.

Given your family's history, you can't blame your mother for reacting this way. Maeve's father was a charming merchant, who enjoyed traveling through the sea, and was very aware of his heartthrob status. Your mother was not immune to his allure and though she did not love him, she was possessive over him. So when she caught him touching another female, she cut his hand off, forcing him to always think of her for the rest of his life. She keeps the hand she severed preserved in a jar at her house.

On the other hand, Thea's father was a peregryn warrior who loved studying the stars in his free time. He was probably the best male out of all three...if he hadn't picked his loyalty for his court over your mother. Surprisingly, your mother left him alone and unharmed but she made a good example of him to you all because even the kindest of men were not to be trusted.

But Azriel is different.

His sweetness, care and love create a warmth that gently embraces your heart. You’ve spent a lifetime shielding your heart as your mother taught you but with Azriel, it feels different. He is your mate. Your other half, crafted by The Mother and Cauldron itself. In his presence, you find a haven where vulnerability is not a weakness but a welcomed connection.

“I love him.”

Wheeling with a snarl, she fixes her sharp gaze back onto you. Her hand tenses midair and her talons peak out before dropping it back to her side. She leans so close you can feel her breath tickle yours. Her gaze travels down to the obsidian necklace you keep on at all times for protection and she feels her throat tighten when she sees the new charm attached to it. It’s an initial. A for Azriel.

“You stupid, foolish girl. What have you done? Have I taught you nothing?”

Azriel growls and his shadows tense as they await their master’s next order. Your hand tightens against him and you send a wave of reassurance through the bond. This was exactly what you had been hoping to avoid. The last male you introduced to your mother was turned into a frog and you hadn’t put up a fight as the male had fallen under Maeve’s spell. But this time, you were willing to fight and defend what was yours.

“I think it's quite brave,” a dreamy voice cuts in through the tension. “A true testament to love.”

“Shut up, Thea.” Maeve snaps. “No one asked for your opinion.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you ask for a reading!”

“Azriel.” Your mother’s voice is sharp, demanding attention. “You hold something extremely dear to me now. If I find you to be careless with it–if you so much as hurt y/n in any shape or form…I will hunt you down, rip your heart out and eat it for breakfast.”

“She’s not joking,” Maeve decides to chime in. “She ate Thea’s lover for dinner once.”

“Must you always jump at the opportunity to remind me?” Thea retorts with a look of pained disgust on her face and you almost feel bad for her. She did love that male terribly, as undeserving as he was.

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal, my dearest,” your mother says in a perplexed tone. She rolls her eyes at the scoff she received in response. “He was a human.”

“He was the love of my life!”

“And others too.” Maeve cuts in, lips curled into a lopsided smirk as she gazes at her nails. “Mother did you a favor there.”

“This,” you say to Azriel, lifting your chin toward your family. Your mother and sisters continue to bicker back and forth while Binx zooms after the rolling cage imprisoning your father. You sigh deeply and Azriel now understands why you were on edge all week, why you had shut him out.

“This is my family.”

As if on cue, your family turns to him. Binx rests a paw on the rolling cage, halting its movement. Even the green gecko inside seems to peer curiously at the Shadowsinger, its tiny eyes glinting in the dim light.

Your mother, a formidable figure with an air of ancient wisdom, focuses her attention to Azriel. The expression on her face is a complex blend of skepticism and concern. Her dark eyes narrow as if probing his very soul–a look that has sent many to mad chaos and the room seems to hold its breath as Azriel meets her gaze.

You step in between them both. “Mother, must you always do this?”

“It’s okay. I have nothing to hide,” Azriel reassures you as he holds your mother’s gaze, unwavering and resolute. “I would never dream of hurting y/n. I love her.”

“He speaks the truth, mother. He’d kill for her, I’ve seen–ow!”

Your mother’s keen eyes linger on him. Despite Thea’s words, she wants to see for herself. The room feels suspended in time as she carries on with probing into his very soul. She’s peering into the depths of his heart, seeping into its cracks and searching for any hint of insincerity. The tension in the room starts to dissipate as she must sense something she agrees with. Slowly, her lips gradually curve in a smile–a genuine one.

“I like this one,” your mother says as she turns to you. “I shall spare you the part of my visit where I ask you to come back home with me as I now know it will be pointless. So let’s have dinner, hmm? All this excitement has me famished.”

Your mother clasps her hands together, springing the room into action. Binx resumes messing around with your father and Maeve makes her way to your kitchen, your mother following after her.

“I did not agree to you staying for dinner!” You call after them, shooting Azriel an apologetic look.

“She was going to agree anyway.”

Azriel turns to your sister–the closest to a normal relative you seem to have. Her blue eyes, flecked with silver hold a spark of otherworldly wisdom as she regards him.

“You can see the future?”

She tilts her head, a cascade of blonde curls falling over her shoulder. Her lips curl into a knowing smile and her peregryn wings flutter. “Only what the stars tell me,” she replies cryptically. “Would you like me to read your cards?”

Azriel contemplates for a moment. He turns toward the kitchen and his eyes find you. You’re engaged in a lively debate about the perfect amount of herbs, claiming that only a pinch of thyme is needed while Maeve stubbornly shakes her head.

“Out of my kitchen! Go seduce a pig for all I care before I hex you with an angry nest of bees!”

His love for you deepens with every passing second and he nearly startles when he feels a flutter in his chest. It’s you. You echo the sentiment very loud and clear through your end of the bond.

“No.”

“Why not?” She teases, though she already knows the answer.

“Because right now, I have everything I could ever want.”

Once your family departs, relief washes over you, and you finally feel able to breathe freely. Leaning against the door, you release a sigh, allowing your eyes to flutter shut momentarily. When you reopen them, your gaze lands on Azriel in the living room. He's seated, head tilted back, eyes closed, weariness evident. Moving towards him, you saunter over, and without a word, he instinctively pulls you onto his lap, his eyes still shut in a shared moment of exhaustion and solace.

Your hands tenderly cradle his face, bathed in the soft glow of your green magic. You massage his temples, your fingertips tracing away the remnants of the headache your mother’s earlier probing had left behind. A contented sigh escapes him at your soothing touch.

“Thank you,” he breathes and his hands find their place at your hips.

You press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I should be the one thanking you.”

He opens his eyes and there’s a subtle perplexity among them. “How come?”

“Because they’re chaotic,” you answer and tipping your chin down sheepishly, you continue, “I’m sorry for shutting you out. I was doing my best to keep them from coming but I should’ve just told you instead. I was trying to protect you from all of this–”

A scarred finger props your chin up, urging you to look back up at him. The hand that remains at your hip tightens with a comforting reassurance. You find yourself lost in the depths of his beautiful hazel eyes and like always, they anchor you like a tranquil forest bathed in sunlight.

“You don’t have to protect me from this. I accept it–all of you. I love you,” he murmurs. The corner of his lips tug up into a small smile. “Though I do find you unbearingly adorable when you’re protective.”

“Adorable?” You can’t help but laugh. Others would beg to differ. You're sure your eyes have given Cassian nightmares.

“Especially when it’s all for me,” he nearly purrs, pressing kisses to the corner of your eyes. The very eyes he adores, even when they transform into inky pools of black.

He kisses the nape of your neck and your breath hitches. “Did you mean it?”

Azriel hums against your neck. “Mean what?”

“What you said to Thea earlier,” you say, mindlessly confessing that you had been listening to his short conversation with your sister.

You feel him smile against you. “Of course I did. Whatever the future may bring, as long as I have you, that's enough for me. You’re my everything.”

When he pulls away to look at you, you’re beaming at him. His nose brushes against yours and your hands cup his face again, eyes flickering to his lips before you guide them to yours in a slow yet passionate kiss. You slide your tongue along the softness of his bottom lip, reveling in his honeyed taste and he parts his mouth for you, a small sound of pleasure slipping between your lips.

You kiss him and kiss him until the future seems like a distant thought, overshadowed by the perfection of the present.

a/n: I was driving to an appointment when I randomly thought of how chaotic reader's family is and wanted to introduce them formally in case I want to incorporate them in future imagines. This takes place shortly before the one where you get kidnapped.

Also, I'm currently watching the Witcher and I couldn't help myself and use this scene to help me write the part where Maeve tries to seduce Az.

tagging: @fxckmiup

#azriel x reader #azriel x witch!reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #azriel imagine #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar x y/n #acotar x you #azriel fluff #az!dandelions

461 notes · View notes

decaying-words · 2 months

Text

The Innocent

All chapters Jonathan Crane x Reader • 18+ Explicit • 4.1k words TW & tags: NonCon, fear kink, masturbation, awful everything AO3 • All my stories

"She whimpers audibly, her scent turning acrid and pungent now; fear, she reeks of fear. I pant, a hundred meters behind her, putting enough distance to remain a formless creature while still appearing very much real in the dim light. The soft tremor turns into heavy shaking when she turns her head behind her shoulder, as if to convince herself that this is just a dream, just like the others she’s had. Then she screams, oh! she screams…"

The Innocent

Foreign music notes of a perhaps forgotten song vibrate in my dry throat in low hums, barely covering the insistent scratch of the fountain pen darkening the cream coloured papers splayed on my antique desk. The watch which delicately sublimes my bony wrist with its dark brown Italian leather and finely carved metal hands indicate three hours and fifty-six minutes in the afternoon; I still have four whole minutes, I realize with a palpable excitement that is most unwelcome in my line of work. My patient is, without a single doubt, already waiting in the other room; I will not greet her before the time has come, for it is absolutely crucial to not reveal any ounce of delight or impatience. In fact, I must remain perfectly professional, detached and clinical, or else I am taking the risk of exposing my ulterior motives and intimate desires.

Four minutes is exactly the amount of time needed to adjust my tie (dark brown as well; a color not too contrasting to my marble pallor and which makes me look distinguished and inspires confidence, a key component in my profession), inspect my impeccable tweed vest made of Irish virgin wool dyed an exquisite amber color, and delicately clean the lenses of my round glasses with a microfiber cloth. Three hours fifty-nine; the last notes fade on my chapped lips when I leave my cognac leather armchair and direct my wiry frame to the door, spidery fingers holding the brass handle which feels pleasantly cold against my tight skin.

Within my aging ribcage are percussions worthy of Ravel’s Bolero; intense in nature and laced with the fruitful musicality of controlled nerves. The entrance is methodical, natural and restrained, with a smile, polite enough to be welcoming but faint enough to remain professional, and soft crow’s feets rolling in a pleasantness that seems genuine. There are no emotions in my eyes; yet, dissimulated behind my glasses it might be hard to tell. My voice is warm and comforting, despite the crystal-like brokenness of its undertones which has been forged through the years.

Her smile, painted in a shiny coral red, is wide and transpires a heavy relief. She has been looking forward to our session all week long, I am sure; she reminds me of a teapot in the way she lets her worries fester until they turn ugly and make her completely dysfunctional. Her fingers cross and uncross nervously on her lap, as if incapable of knowing what to do with her own body, before she stands up, flattening her perfectly ironed marine blue pencil skirt, and retrieves her matching blazer jacket. I hold the door open and she penetrates my office with a footstep so light it could have belonged to a ghost; I notice the floral notes of her perfume, horrifyingly sweet and childish.

Through the nine sessions we had together, it is worth mentioning that her outfits are always delicately picked, colors matching and completed with a set of earrings (one on each lobe), a gourmette bracelet with her name engraved (a baptism gift, I reckon), and a now very familiar pearl necklace which I abhor passionately. Her hair is always impeccably styled down and her face painted just enough to be womanly without looking like a whore; something important, I suppose, for it matters greatly to her father. She reminds me of a ventriloquist’s doll, carrying a fabricated superficiality that betrays the profound emptiness of her soul. I am not certain she likes her appearance very much, the short heeled suede shoes, the old-fashioned manicure or the vulgar pearl necklace; but rather that she likes the simulacre of control on her life this shows on the outside, especially to her father, a figure we never cease to talk about.

My patient does not sit down until I instruct her to, the anxiety to pick the wrong choice and disappointment still viciously anchored in her childhood; an emotionally absent and academically demanding father tends to create such complex insecurities in the younger hearts. I would know. As always, we will be talking about it; and as always, she will unravel the same pointless secrets in an uninteresting logorrhoea that could very well bore me to death if it weren’t for the topic of her recurrent nightmares, cautiously sprinkled in her stories and immensely more fascinating —from a clinical point of view, of course.

I am taking place in the armchair in front of hers, crossing one leg on top of the other, not dissimilar to two long and pale sticks enveloped in soft and tasteful fabric. My elevated ankle reveals the smallest ounce of marble skin, adorned with arched tendons which roll and disappear beneath the dark Egyptian cotton of my socks. I sense her heavy gaze following the slender silhouette of my legs to the tip of the deep brown leather of my derby shoes; a rosy tint blooms on her cheeks and my lips twitch in amused curiosity while she plays nervously with the pearls of this dreadful necklace which she is, in my humble opinion, either too old or too young to wear. She feels desire for me, despite being a couple of decades older than her; an expression, I believe, of her yearning for a paternal love, approval and affection.

My notebook lays graciously on my lap, angled in such a way that makes it impossible for her to see what I will be writing down, my treasured pen already in my hand. Adjusting my glasses on the long bridge of my aquiline nose, I offer her yet another muted smile, a silent invitation to begin the session; she appears flustered, blushing some more as I seem to have interrupted her train of thoughts —probably too vulgar for the image of herself she is desperately fabricating. I wonder if she is a virgin still, having spent the essential of her miserable life catering to her father’s needs and putting aside her own intimate desires; this would explain the subtle perfume of her throbbing sex floating in my office.

I find myself more than passively listening to her most uninteresting week in a way that freezes my nerves and makes me question my career choice, gently guiding her back to the heart of her confusing weaving as she wanders and rambles incoherently. None of her anecdotes are of importance to me, subtly urging her to open the can of her anxieties and core reason for her very presence on my couch; her recurring and unexplained nightmares.

A couple of months ago, this patient reached out to me in an attempt to exorcize her most intimate thoughts and find a more peaceful slumber. When asked the nature of her night terrors, she confessed, with great difficulty and restraint at first, having this peculiar dream for years now in which she finds herself wandering around the unknown alleys of a surrealist city reminiscing of a dark and sterile-looking maze. She can never tell where she is, every window and every door looking the same, every turn sensibly similar to the next, the streetlights aggressively cutting harsh shadows against the smooth walls of the buildings.

As her journey progresses, she notices a shadowy form following her every step and which does not make a noise aside from an ominous buzzing that makes the lights crackle; though it has not touched her yet, its presence alone is dreadful and suffocating enough to make her survival instincts kick in. She runs through the maze-like alleys in a vain hope to escape the figure, never successful in her doing; the shadow creeping at every corner, slipping through the cracks of the building like a liquid void, looming over her like a toxic cloud, and always watching her with empty eyes and whispering incomprehensible and otherworldly things in a gnarly voice resembling a sinister borborygmus.

She wakes up screaming, in tears and drenched in sweat before it can seize her.

There is an obvious answer behind her anxiety, one draped in the cloak of her oppressing father; and yet, despite the last few unproductive sessions and unfruitful attempts to take in my hypothesis, she rejects all and any idea of daddy dearest being the root of her misery. My poor sweet girl. Through her almost touching callowness if it weren’t laced with pungent naïveté, I find great intellectual pleasure in studying her profound fear; sometimes, when the moon hits and soaks my office in a creamy light, I dissect my numerous notes, each scribbled word reminiscing me of her giant doll-like eyes turning glassy with emotion, her painted lips aquiver with wretched anguish, her neatly cared eyebrows knitted in visible despair. She reminds me viciously of a newborn deer, frail and fragile; a sight so delicious it never fails to make my turgid sex throb in interest. I have learnt since to keep my legs crossed in front of her, of course.

Her fear is at the image of her personality; carefully crafted by her visceral fantasies which she struggles to control, as if her fabricated identity would cease and disappear if she knew how to confront it. There is something delectable in her innocent emotions, something exquisitely cruel in how laughable of a person she is, and I find myself morbidly curious to see her façade break and release her true self, dying and being born again. It is exhilarating really, the prospect of witnessing her weak mind shatter and rebuild itself, morphing into something pure and liberated, surpassing her ugly cocoon.

Fear is the most sublime emotion, a capricious mistress that transforms all beings into primal creatures; there is a beast inside all of us, I firmly believe, a döppleganger, infinitely mightier and profoundly fascinating, that only fear can free and liberate. I based my entire life on understanding the beauty of fear and how to elevate and transcend it, achieving our most glorious form; prying at people’s most intimate insecurities and feeding them the putrid fruits they truly do need to alter their mind irremediably, for their own benefit, I am certain. As such, it is past the clinical need but rightfully with a voracious desire and spiritual intention that I wish to see and unravel my Innocent’s breaking point.

The sound of her trembled sob wakes me from my contemplative state, and I realize with great indifference that I missed her last couple of sentences, which I believe gave her yet another heartache. My occulted gaze devours the sight of her pained face, glassy eyes crying perfectly round and warm tears, her bunny nose reddening; I do not care much for her grief, an emotion I find particularly repulsive and grotesque and which she seems to feel quite frequently; this might be why I find her so unpleasant to be around. Instead, I hand her the tissue box that she politely accepts, wiping her tears and runny nose.

The corner of my mouth twitches in disgust when I see her nervously touch her pearl necklace once again. This abominable pearl necklace that embodies everything about her that I hate; her child-like appearance despite being well into her thirties, her synthetic demeanor forged by an unyielding desire to be loved, her emotionally incestuous relationship with her undeserving father and her complete and total lack of self-esteem.

Today’s session comes to an end and I am afraid we did not progress much, to my great dismay. I offer her the same frigid smile in which she always seems to find comfort when I open the door and shake her hand, a stark contrast to the warmth and subtle stickiness of her skin. She thanks me profusely and I nod in return, wishing her a pleasant rest of the day; I will be seeing her next week.

My simulacre of a smile fades as soon as she exits my office, a boiling irritation tinting the tip of my ears a crimson color, akin to a single rose in a snowy garden. I take an involuntary peek at my reflection in the window as I run a wiry hand in the dark feathers of my hair, silvering at the temples, a few gray strands adorning the generally brown mass. My thick eyebrows are knitted together in profound frustration, collecting today’s notes and sitting at my desk to study them. I cannot be satisfied with the glimpse of her unfledged anxieties, our exchanges do not nurture me professionally or otherwise ; slumping heavily in the leather armchair, a deep sigh swelling my tight chest, I lose myself in the labyrinthic corners of my mind, all the while ignoring the aggressive hardness of my sex, its throbbing feeling like the greatest treason in this precise moment.

I will not bring myself to completion tonight, for I find her fear vulgar and unworthy of my seed, a womb so barren it feels utterly meaningless. I will not even touch myself, I decide, denying her the attention and importance she desperately yearns for, refusing to besmirch my pride for such an insensitive mind. She is spoiling the sap of her soul in a way that is perfectly unacceptable to me and makes her look profoundly hideous; and I refuse to harvest the rotten fruits of a putrid heart. Instead, I will spend the night lost in my thoughts, with deep indignation for sole company.

It took me a complete day to recover from my turmoil and hatch a plan I deem satisfying, and four more to establish a detailed inventory of her nightly habits; following her at a reasonable distance in a now familiar fashion, carefully noting down any information of importance, I managed to know exactly when she finishes work, which Café she frequents, where she goes grocery shopping, which metro she takes home… During the day and in between two consultations, I conscientiously study the map of her neighborhood, carving in my memory every alley, every path, every building until I have a clear representation of my hunting territory. Victorious is a word that comes to my mind after such rewarding labor.

Tonight is the night. I am wearing my real skin, flesh made of burlap and soiled rag, fur made of dry straw and rotten thread stitching my articulations together. The used rope rolls like tendons around my throat, the noose loose enough to breath but not enough for it to be comfortable; a simple pleasure that will leave bruised memories on my neck like a passionate lover would. I caress my clothed form, the sensation unpleasant and rough to the touch and yet so deliciously stimulating, a sensation that never fails to make me hum appreciatively, heartbeat inappropriately lively for a Scarecrow .

It is ten hours and forty-five minutes on a Thursday night; she has been to the library tonight, devouring romance novels with her third cup of herbal tea –something horrifyingly fruity, I assume. An activity she indulges frequently, seeking refuge and comfort in the elegant place, something I cannot blame her for, considering the depraved state of the rest of Gotham, in stark contrast to the magnificence of the old architecture. This habit will also work in my favor, draping myself in the thickness of the night, my elongated figure barely noticeable in the corner of the street; at best, two glowing orbs pierce the obscurity, reminiscent of an animal of some sort, or better yet of an unsettling monster.

I hum the broken notes of an unknown song, a simple habit that feels right, lured in the dark and waiting for her to penetrate the first alley; I recognize her ghost-like footstep, short heels clacking subtly on the pavement, naive and unaware. Oh, my sweet girl.

She does not sense me for the first two hundred meters, her oblivious demeanor both entertaining and frustrating. There is something viscerally exquisite about seeing without being seen, teasing a very particular part of me; an almost erotic melange of power and impunity. I came to realize with age and experience that hunting is not dissimilar to foreplay, and therein lies my current problem; foreplay is not endless teasing, for I am neither patient nor interested in maintaining myself on the edge of my pleasure. And when I am being ignored for too long, I cannot help but feel somewhat insulted; ultimately, I want her to see me.

My fingernails tap and scratch the cold bricks, an abominable gurgling noise escaping my fatigued throat. She freezes instantly, and my sex twitches in sensible interest which I attempt to calm down, a feverish excitement pooling in my stomach. I distinguish the tremor in her silhouette and her breath hitching ever so slightly, a subtle perfume floating in the air, one that I know by heart now and makes my mind sing and mouth salivate. She does not look behind her, a wise choice I would say under more normal circumstances, her pace quickening in the narrow alley right between the first and third street of Gray Avenue.

I inhale the acidic perfume of my body; I would like to say that my entire form is impregnated with the residuals of an old chemical toxin I’ve developed decades ago, but perhaps it is simply my own essence, now corrupted to its very core. I am certain that the delirious effects of these quasi pheromones will soon hit her as well and change her like I expect her to.

As she navigates through the almost pitch black alleys, fingertips grazing at the walls to help her find her way, I wheeze a wretched noise from within my ribcage, dreadful sounds I have been practicing since I was born and which never seems to get old. My poor girl is sobbing earnestly now, an arm wrapped around her middle section as if to seek comfort, almost running away from me, her short heels making a music akin to a typewriter in the night of Gotham. I am fully aware I have her complete attention, but I wish she would just look at me.

I run after her, vomiting more guttural gibberish from my distorted voice, fingernails hitting and scratching every surface in a pleading cacophony. She whimpers more frankly, I can tell how delicate her nerves are at this very moment. In her panic, she picks the wrong turn. Exquisite.

She looks around her with agony and confusion, persuaded that she would be welcomed by a bridge crossing the river of the Old Street; instead, she is met with a damp and sinister dead end. She whimpers audibly, her scent turning acrid and pungent now; fear, she reeks of fear . I pant, a hundred meters behind her, putting enough distance to remain a formless creature while still appearing very much real in the dim light. The soft tremor turns into heavy shaking when she turns her head behind her shoulder, as if to convince herself that this is just a dream, just like the others she’s had. Then she screams, oh! she screams…

Her crystalline voice breaks and shatters, pure and visceral, high pitched and perverted with terror; I am so hard I could hammer a nail in raw wood. I move in a dislocated fashion, long limbs akin to spider legs, the nightmarish look making her trip and fall on her bottom and crawl back, fingers desperately digging in the cold pavement until a nail breaks, curling her form into a ball in a damp corner. She cries so hard her face turns ruby red, smeared mascara leaving dark streaks on her puffy cheeks, glistening saliva bubbling on her screaming lips – oh, how beautiful she is, my sweet girl. My cock feels heavy in my now awfully tight pants; under different circumstances, maybe I would have offered her a different fate.

She hides her face in her arms, fingers grabbing ferociously at her hair as if trying to wake herself up, but she doesn’t, no, she doesn’t wake up, and the reality is sinking in, especially when I am standing not even five meters in front of her. There is a bitter, stinging smell in the air, and a recognizable warm golden puddle underneath her shaking body that glistens beautifully under the moonlight; I purr in between two groans, witnessing her weakest form dissolve and collapse into the void of her mind that I have conceived. I want to create her anew, an abomination made of flesh and terror, and she will recognize me as her cruel Creator. My low distorted voice echoes in the muted alley, inspired and impassioned.

Are you afraid, child?

She screams louder, screams for help, screams for her life. But no one will save her, not here, not in Gotham, not this pathetic piss soaked girl . I mock and taunt her, towering over her as she chokes on her own sobs, desperate and painfully lonely. Why won’t anyone save me , she must be thinking. Why did Father lock me in this cell, she must be thinking. Why did Father abandon me in the cornfield. My laugh sounds more like a croak, sinister and penetrating, while she begs me for her life.

Do you know who I am, child?

She does not. I blame it on her delirious state, on her body pumping her full of adrenaline, and most probably the toxins my body produces and which she’s been inhaling. This will not do, however; I want to ruin her in a way that matters, and for that to happen I need her to know who I am, what I represent.

I crouch in front of her weaker form, barking her name and demanding she looks at me, which she does, obediently so; I reiterate my question, my hands hunched like claws scratching the walls around her. She cries harder, but her body produces no more tears, exhausted and drained; she screws her eyes shut and so I have no other option but to grab her hair viciously, forcing her to look at me.

And she does, oh she does , giant glassy eyes that lost their innocent spark and instead glow with a fury only trauma could forge and terror could sublimate. She sees the humiliation and the absence, the neglect and the judgment; she sees what she could have been if it had not been taken away from her. She does not say it but she mouths it, the two syllables of her misery.

Father.

My cackle is nothing short of demoniac, entire body jerking wildly enough to remember my turgid sex still leaking its filth in my ruined pants, heartbeat frantic as I am slowly but surely reaching my peak; release is not only needed but deserved , I believe, as my hand crawl inside my pants and free my cock, seizing it in a vicious grip that is mostly pain under her terrified and disgusted gaze. I take in her beautifully wrecked face as I pump myself with vigor and intent while croaking heavy moans, my eyes devouring every single wrinkle, every tear and tremor, swallowing the sight of the tense tendons of her throat choking on her sobs until I hiss in disgust at the repugnant pearl necklace.

She does not need it anymore, I believe. And so, in a movement aquiver with lust and desire, my knotted fingers slip under the chain akin to a snake closing its embrace. She shrieks in pain when I pull tightly, a most needed evil I am afraid although ephemeral, the horrendous necklace eventually giving in to my brutal punishment and breaking. I hear the clattering of the pearls falling and rolling on the pavement, hand still tightly locked around my cock as I fuck my fist earnestly in deliciously wet noises; she caresses the skin of her bare neck, as if understanding something, her terrified eyes turning back at me and begging me to let her go. Oh, my sweet child, be certain that I will miss your honeyed pleas…

My orgasm comes quickly, long spurts of milky cum spilling on her throat, the soft flesh now adorning a unique, more appropriate and beautiful set of pearls. A generous gift, one she will remember fondly, I am certain. Her lower lips tremble as more tears roll down her cheek, although not a sound comes out of her mouth. I understand, it is a lot to process. Therapy can be difficult sometimes.

I left her alone to collect herself. Once home, and after a quick yet invigorating shower, I became busy writing down in great detail tonight’s experiment and, one must admit, its most triumphant outcome.

The day before our scheduled appointment, she informed me that she would not be able to come, pretending to have a cold. I understood, of course, and asked her if I would see her next week then. She said that she wasn’t certain, and that she would call back. She never did.

#jonathan crane #the scarecrow #jonathan crane x reader #the scarecrow x reader #fanfic #my writing

59 notes · View notes

lokisprettygirl · 9 months

Text

Brokenhearted (Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Modern AU) (18+)

Read Chapter 13 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 14

Summary: Samantha finally takes what she wanted but it might just be not enough for her.

Warning: 18+, Smut, Angst, violent thoughts, stalking, Discussion of mensuration and Pregnancy, bloodshed, Abusive relationship, mention of rape, toxic masculinity, gender norms, sexual abuse, Samantha, traumatic distressing content, Daemon is a big time smoker so if it’s something triggering don’t read it, alcohol drinking, mention of past trauma and therapy, cigarette smoking, possessive behaviour, violence, baby needs therapy, baby is trying

There was a palpable tension in the room between you, Daemon and Viserys, you knew you should have told him what Samantha wanted from him but you felt scared of losing him and your worst nightmare was about to come true. The only thing you could do was sit and watch as your world crashed and burned right in front of your eyes.

Samantha found him during his run that morning and had revealed to him what she had against him that could ruin his Life, his career and what she wanted from him in return.

Eight years ago during her last birthday party with Daemon, Samantha had laced his drink and under the influence he had not only indulged in several prohibited drugs under the federation but also participated in an orgy where he could barely keep his eyes open. She had planned all of that, once he was intoxicated she got his blood taken, and then she got his pictures and videos taken for further leverage, she wanted him to lose control so she'd have something against him whenever he'd plan to leave her but before she could use all that against him things ended rather drastically between them. You still had no idea what Viserys had told her that night in the hospital to make her leave him.

But she kept everything because she knew she'd never let him go completely.

Daemon remembered that birthday party really well, she was pregnant at the time so he wanted to be extra careful with her but he didn't remember everything from the night, he just remembered waking up the next morning with his cock in her mouth, he remembered feeling safe for once as she made love to him without wanting to hurt him, he really thought that the child would turn her, change the way she chose to love him.

He remembered it as one of the better days of their dysfunctional relationship not knowing what had happened the night before but now he did and he was ashamed of himself.

He was ashamed of how he'd be perceived if such things would make their way to the public.

"Daemon we can get the best of lawyers..we can-" Viserys spoke but he was interrupted immediately.

"Nooo" Daemon raised his voice at his brother and your eyes welled up. Why didn't he want justice? Why was he so adamant on not wanting to take any action against her? You didn't understand.

"Daemon –" you spoke but he cut you short as well.

"I'll come to you as well y/n" he said to you sternly. He never called you by your name so it was already an indication that this conversation won't end well, he seemed furious and you felt worried about what he was going to do. Your gut feeling told you that it was going to end terribly for you two.

"Go call her.. I'm sure your bitch of a wife stays in touch with her..tell her I want to meet her in the evening.. I need to talk to y/n now" Daemon told Viserys so the latter sighed and stepped out of the room to give you two privacy. This wasn't going to end well for you, he knew that and as much as he wanted to save your relationship with Daemon, he knew his brother far too well.

As soon as Viserys was gone Daemon looked at you, he was leaning against one of the bedposts just staring at you,

"Daemon –" you walked closer to him so he looked away. What he was going to do with you would make you hate him forever, and he would deserve that. He never deserved a woman like you in the first place, the selfless love you had for him, he was unworthy of it, he was too weak of a man to treat you better than this "I'm sorry I didn't tell you..I wanted to..I just"

"You have to go"

As you heard those words you could feel your heart stop for a moment . What did he even mean?

"Wha..tt?" Your voice cracked as you questioned him, you placed your hands on his forearms and stepped closer to him, he can't just ask you to leave this way, you were there for him.

"I'm going to give her what she wants, she wants me right? Then she can have me.. and for that to happen youuu need to leave y/n" he said nonchalantly, he pretended as if saying such cruel words to you wasn't affecting him at all but the reality was much different. He had never felt such intense debilitating pain as he did in that very second and he sure as hell knew a thing or two about pain.

"Don't say that, i know you're upset–" you tried to get through to him but he cut you off mid sentence. He can't have you arguing with him because he knew he'd get convinced easily.

"I'm not upset, not with you, I'm just done..I'm done trying to ignore the inevitable, she'd never let me go ..can't you see?" his eyes teared up, they seemed vacant and hopeless so you cupped his cheeks and kissed him softly, he didn't stop you either, he'd never get to hold you like this again or feel your tender kisses against his skin ever again so he wanted to relish your touch, live an eternity in those very few moments because a life of hurt and regret was waiting for him.

"There are other ways baby..don't do this please..i love you ..i love you so much..stay with me, let me be here for you please.. please" you cried as you clutched onto him, you can't lose him, especially not to her, you can't even imagine him getting hurt again.

"Please don't make this harder, darling" he said to you so let go of his shirt, he was just going to give up on this relationship and there was nothing you could have done to save it.

"So you just leave me to go back to her..that's your plan?" You looked him in the eye but he wasn't able to hold your gaze, he was truly ashamed of himself. "Why are you doing this dae?" You didn't understand his reasoning, why didn't he want to get rid of her? Have her punished for what she had done to him? What was compelling him to not drag her abusive ass to the court?

"Because I don't want the world to know me as the man who was too delicate to defend himself. That is not the legacy I want to leave behind"

You stepped away to look at him as he said that. He was worried about his past getting out because he was afraid of judgment from other people, he was afraid they would think of him as weak and unmanly, as someone who took it for years and said nothing.

"You can't think like that Daemon, nobody is going to judge you for being hurt by someone you loved so deeply" he snickered as you said that to him.

"Really? Look at me ..how does a man like me get abused by a woman? Tell me?" He gestured towards his physique and you opened your mouth to say something, to tell him that he was wrong about his own judgement but then did you know any better? You were in no position to judge him for his thoughts, he had suffered hell on earth and you weren't going to question the way he chose to cope with it.

You wished you had an answer for him but you didn't, you had a feeling nothing you could say would change his mind now.

"Daemon…don't leave me baby..i love you..i can't watch you go back to her and get hurt again" you whimpered and cried, the sight of you being so broken only fueled the hatred he felt for himself.

"I won't let her hurt me this time..I'll take care of myself" he said to you calmly and whatever hope you had dissipated along with his words. You stepped away further from him, shock was evident on your features that he was letting you go so easily.

"So that's it..you're going to let me go like i meant nothing to you?" He finally looked you in the eye as you said that.

"You mean everything to me ..you have no idea what I'm feeling at the moment ..you think this is easy for me?"

He asked you but you didn't have a response. It wasn't easy for him but it was definitely more difficult for you to be on the receiving end of this. Silence fell between you two after that, you asked to leave so he got your ticket booked immediately.

No questions asked, no resistance shown.

You couldn't even believe that this was happening, last night you slept in his arms, cuddling him like never before, he seemed so happy and so were you then why did your world turn upside down today. Why were you losing him now?

You were almost out of his hotel room when you turned around to look at him one more time, you couldn't help it, the thought of him returning to that monster only made you feel helpless but you couldn't help him if he wasn't willing to be helped.

He had his back against you, he couldn't even look into your eyes after this, he needed you right now more than ever but he had no right to ask you to stay. He had to let go of the safety of your arms and that was the hardest thing he'd ever have to do, he knew he had broken your heart and your trust and he also knew that you'd never forgive him for this but then he felt your arms around his waist as you sobbed against him and that's what made him give up the facade and have a breakdown.

You turned him around, cupped his cheeks and got on your tiptoes to place your forehead against his, one last moment of comfort, in that moment he knew you'd forever be his angel no matter what he does.

"Someday and I hope you'll see that day sooner than later Daemon.. someday you're going to realize that you're not a victim, that you're a survivor and the world will see you as such if you decide to tell them all about it.. whenever that day comes or whatever the reason will be for it.. I hope you'll build the courage to fight against her instead of allowing her to win again.. i love you..more than anything, i always will" you mumbled softly and kissed him one last time before you turned around to leave.

That would be the last Daemon would see you for a while. As soon as you had left his room he was reduced to his knees and in tears, he wanted to run back to you and tell you that he was ready to fight the world for you but he wasn't, he was too vulnerable.

He was a coward and he deserved a woman like Samantha, not you.

In the evening he met Samantha and she hugged him so tightly as she cried and then cried some more, there were tears in his own eyes but they weren't for her or because of her. Those tears only concerned you.

"I have changed Daemon i promise, I have grown in our time apart ..i only did all of this just to get you back, that's how much I love you my sweet boy"

She cooed in his ears as she clung to him. She got what she wanted and you lost everything you had when he was yours. He didn't say a word, he felt completely numb and he figured that's just how it will be for him moving forward.

Four days later, the day of the championship, Daemon stepped into the octagon with a defeated attitude. He didn't fight back, choosing instead to take the beating and stand there as his opponent pummeled him. He didn't deserve a win after what he had done to you, he wanted to feel the pain. He would have won the championship if he had you by his side, but now he no longer felt worthy. He felt weak and pathetic, just like how he had felt for the past seven years

Your eyes were glued to your tv screen, tears never stopped rolling as you watched the love of your life losing on purpose. Why would he do that? You didn't understand, did Samantha ask him to lose? Was he getting manipulated again? You hoped not.

Hours turned into days and days turned into months, he lived just a few steps away from the diner but you couldn't go see him. You couldn't go hug him or kiss him, he wasn't yours anymore to do so. A part of you wanted to hate him with passion for abandoning you like this but you couldn't hate him after everything he had been through, all he needed in his life was love that was safe and secured but he no longer had it. Samantha didn't love him, she just wanted to possess him like an object, a trophy to show off.

One evening, as Daemon returned to his condo after work, he was greeted by a box on his door. He opened it up and found all the gifts he had given you. All of the valuables, you didn't want to keep them anymore. He could feel the pain in his heart as he rummaged through the box. He always knew that his precious girl only loved him and didn't care about the materialistic values of the items but it still hurt that you didn't want to keep his gifts. When he didn't find the case of knives he had given you, he took a deep breath and let out a sigh. At least you kept what mattered to you.

As Daemon walked inside the apartment with that box, Samantha's eyes followed him. She didn't work, she spent her days just lounging on the couch all day long and spending his money like there was no tomorrow, that's all she did. It had been two months since they got together, but he wasn't ready for intimacy with her. He felt like he was cheating on you, like he was tainting the pure relationship he had with you.

A few weeks later as daemon got ready for bed Samantha turned up in the skimpiest nightie to turn him on but he only felt disgust and contempt for her.

"Come on love me tonight..i have had enough of your nonsense" she cupped his cheeks and kissed him against his will, the warm blooded man in him wanted to give in but he couldn't, there was no love in his heart for her, he hated her and he couldn't get himself to forget what she had done to him. After being doused in your love from head to toe he could clearly see that she had never loved him at all.

"I'm not in the mood" he grabbed her shoulders to pull her away but she wrapped her hands around his throat and began to choke him,

"Stop with your drama you idiot, you're mine now and you're going to be the man I want you to be. And as a man I want you to please me. What's wrong with you? Does your cock not work anymore?" She taunted him so he pushed her away with a force, sudden action made her lose her balance and she fell on the bed.

"Daemonnnn..come back'" she yelled his name but he grabbed his pillow and went to the other room to sleep.

As he laid down on the bed he heard the sounds of a vase crashing into the mirror in his room but he put his earbuds in and turned the music on to zone out.

Three months had passed since that god awful day and his fingers itched to touch you, to have you touch him in ways that brought him pleasure. His eyes longed for a gaze of yours, there was a ringing in his ears that only your voice could have shut down.

He opened his gallery and went through the pictures he had taken of you and with you on his phone, he had to save them all in a private folder so Samantha wouldn't see them, he wanted to keep you safe from her prying eyes.

A moan escaped his throat as he came across the pictures he had taken of you in his bedroom, with all the jewelries he has gifted you, you adorned nothing else but those jewelries and the sultry little smile on your face, your beautiful bare skin glowing in the dim yellow light of his bedroom was all he needed to get through this night.

He scrolled through the countless pictures in countless poses he had made you do, some lewd enough to work him up that his hand began to move of its own accord but some so innocent that it made him want to hold you right that moment. He worked furiously over his own length as he went through the pictures and then he stumbled upon the video he had taken of you some other night.

It wasn't just you though, it was you underneath, both of you were drunk and figured it would be scandalous to make a sex tape but the next morning neither of you could build the courage to watch it, the sight of your moans and groans and sweet whisper of his name as he fucked you senselessly was the push he needed to crumble into an orgasm.

He always thought he was being mechanical with you during sex, that he didn't give you enough tenderness but the evidence in front of him made him see otherwise, his eyes teared up as he looked at the way you held onto him and the way he'd pull you closer to him to latch his mouth with yours between thrusts, your eyes never leaving one another.

He was high on the much needed euphoria but as the feeling died down the guilt began to sink in, he had no right to keep these souvenirs, you were not his any longer but he couldn't bring himself to delete them either, your memories were all he had now.

Next morning on his way to the center he stopped right by your diner and looked in from the glass window, he had no intention of getting in but it felt comforting to just stand there knowing too well that he could just walk right in and see you. He was about to turn around and leave when the kitchen door opened and you stepped out, you were going into the employees room but you spotted him on the other side of the window, your heart skipped a beat as you noticed what he was wearing, a black hoodie with a black trouser, a sight too memorable.

His hair was braided from the sides, the rest of the mane was down below his shoulders, it had definitely grown longer. He looked as pretty as you had remembered, it's been just three months but it had felt like years to you.

You stepped out of the entrance, looking at him standing across the window. He gave you his typical look, narrowed eyes and non-existent brows scrunched all the way down. You couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest at the thought of him staring back at you so intensely as if you still belonged to him

"Were you planning to come in?" You broke the ice first so he took a few steps towards you,

"Not really..no" you nodded as he said that.

"Come on in..I'll fix you a sandwich" you went inside as you said that, squeezing your eyes at your own eagerness to invite him in. As the bells on the door rang you couldn't help but smile that he had taken you up on the offer.

He sat down on one of the booths wondering what the hell he was doing. He knew he was being selfish, you didn't deserve this, you didn't deserve him disturbing your peace this way.

A few minutes later you placed the plate down in front of him and sat down on the other side, your arms situated on the table itself as you tried to decipher the look on his face. His skin was free of bruises, which was a relief, but it still didn't erase the pain of not knowing what he may have endured in the past three months. You hoped she hadn't hurt him the way she used to.

"How are you?" He asked you so you smiled,

"Alright..you?"

"Kay..I guess ..work has been good?" He asked you so you nodded. Neither of you could deny that this was as awkward as it could get, none of you knew what to say to each other, the way your relationship ended wasn't exactly mutual, you didn't want this and you knew he loved you so it's not that he wanted it either but how the world perceived him was more important to him than you and you didn't blame him for that.

That is how he was conditioned to believe, the scars she had left behind were permanent, as a man he didn't want the world to think of him as someone so frail that he couldn't defend himself against a woman that was physically weaker than him, it wasn't true, of course not, but he had to realize that himself. You just wanted him to stop thinking of himself like that.

He was nibbling on his sandwich like a bird and it made you smile, gods you have missed him and all his quirks, he smelled good but you could also smell the cigarette on him so that worried you, why was he smoking first thing in the morning?

You had to go back to work so you got up and as you were about to walk past him he grabbed your arm so you turned around to look at him, his puppy eyes melted your resolve instantly, you knew you had to be the one to remember that he was the one to let you go but perhaps a momentary lapse in judgment won't kill you right? Or so you had thought.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head down on your torso to hug you the way he used to whenever he seeked comfort from you, your fingers ran through his scalp and as soon as he felt your soothing touch his hold only got tighter around you.

After a while as he pulled away so you immediately turned around and left, you didn't want him to see you cry again. What was the point really? However that wasn't the last you had seen of him that day, he turned up at your door with the box of gifts that you had returned to him a few days ago.

"Why did you give this back to me?" He asked you as he entered your apartment and your eyes welled up.

"Why not? Last time i checked i wasn't' your girl anymore" his jaw clenched as you said that. Well atleast you were showing him the anger he deserved instead of being a fucking angel about it, he needed your anger, he needed you to tell him that he had ruined your life, he wanted you to hate him in the hope that it would lessen the guilt and regret he felt every waking second of his life..

"It was a gift, you shouldn't return the gifts like that..you silly stupid girl" you scoffed as he said that. Oh how you wanted to be his stupid silly girl at that moment.

"Get out .. okay? Don't do this to me now..I want to move on but I can't if I keep seeing you like this ..stop looking at me like that you hear me?" the pain in your voice was transparent, countless nights you had cried yourself to sleep just thinking about him and how different your life could have been with him.

"What if I don't want you to move on?" He questioned shamelessly, he couldn't bear the thought of another man being lucky enough to earn your love and then be blessed enough to keep it at the same time.

"You can't expect that from me, you made your choice, you chose her" you raised your voice and he snickered in response.

"No i didn't choose her, i chose hell.. that's what I did..I chose misery, I let go my darling angel and picked a witch that is going to torment me all my life, don't act as if you're the only one that has been hurt here"

Tears rolled down his cheeks, his voice broke with all the pent up emotions that he was hiding underneath that cold hard exterior.

"You have no right to be upset with me dae..you have no idea how hard it was for me to let you go that day, to watch you go back to that woman that had ruined you.. how would you have felt if the situation was reversed? Would you have sat idly and watched me go back to my abuser?" Your voice trembled as you spoke so he walked towards you and cupped your cheeks, placing his forehead down on yours he closed his eyes, just having you this close to him again felt surreal. If the situation was reversed he never would have allowed you to do this.

"Why did you ever love me so deeply you sweet sweet angel of mine..I don't deserve it"

You wanted to hold him and tell him why, you could have described a million reasons why you loved him but then you knew at the end he'd hurt you again.

"I told you I was afraid of losing you and then you abandoned me the next day. You can't be here Daemon you have to go..you need to leave.. please just go"

He let go of you as you said that and turned around to leave. He knew neither of you would be able to control yourselves if he had stayed any longer and he didn't want to use you like that, he had caused you enough pain already.

When he came back to his condo that night Samantha was just glaring at him with a look of suspicion on her face.

"Where were you?" She asked him as she walked towards him,

"Work stuff" he walked past her to go to his room. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her today.

What he didn't know was that Samantha had followed him that morning and she had watched him meet you in the diner and then the apartment, she couldn't have that now could she? She had to make sure he was all hers now but she also knew that it won't happen as long as you were still here in this world. He'd always run to you as long as you were in his reach.

A few days later after work you were crossing the street when a car came speeding towards you with no time for you to react. The impact caused you to fly through the air before crashing onto the pavement.

As you laid there, stunned and disoriented, the last thing you remembered was the feeling of being pulled onto a stretcher before the darkness consumed you

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Taglist (please check your setting if I’m not able to tag you)

@simbaaas-stuff @ajthefujoshi @witchybitch2 @hypocritic-trash-baby @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thefallenangel21n @kmc1989

@stupidthoughtsinwriting

#daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x reader fluff #daemon targaryen x reader angst #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemon targaryen #non canon au #modern au #read the warnings

150 notes · View notes

flyingwargle · 12 days

Text

bokuaka fanfic recommendations!

i am uncharacteristically nervous about posting this haha i read a lot of fanfic and always enjoy looking at other people's recommendations, so i thought, why not share some of my favorites?

all these recs are sfw!

oneshots!

banana bread by leuralo_1 gen. 2.1k words. bokuto pov. bokuto and his roommates have too many bananas and akaashi takes the train overnight to make banana bread with it. that's it, that's the fic. it's so cute, i'm begging you to read it.

spending all, spending all my time (loving you) by hyeyu gen. 3.4k words. bokuto pov. akaashi is a dimension traveler and gets nailed in the head by bokuto's serve, so he stays until he fixes his dimension travel device. one of my first bokuaka fics that i read, very cute and the pining is palpable.

in the same room, at the same time by quel_nightmare teen. 21.5k. alternating pov. marriage proposal fic! i read this all in one sitting and my heart was ready to burst by the end. very cute, i won't spoil anything other than that <3

astronomy in reverse (it was me who was discovered) by flumes teen. 22.1k. akaashi pov. a non-linear narrative about akaashi pining over bokuto from high school to the future. very poetic and lyrical, with the boys discovering their feelings for each other in the end. i also read this all in one sitting.

longfics!

background check by ghostystarr gen. 2 chapters, 8k words. msby4 changes bokuto's lockscreen picture for fun since he doesn't lock his phone, but the game changes when he changes it to a picture of akaashi. a very fun and cute fic with the msby4 gang helping their bro out.

truth is such a violent force by inaminute teen. 8 chapters, 41k. it starts with akaashi's 1st year at fukurodani and explores his dysfunctional family, growing relationship with bokuto, and deals with homophobia. i love the fukurodani boys in this, and how supportive they are of one another. there's also a sequel that is just as heart-wrenching as this one! (both have happy endings, don't worry)

flightless owl by volleydorkscentral teen. 31 chapters, 57.6k words. bokuto gravely injures his leg and has to sit the rest of his third year out. this fic focuses on his recovery, his relationship with akaashi developing, and overcoming the pain of his injury. has a happy ending, as well!

the way you look at me by mocaw teen. 36 chapters, 79.2k words. bokuto sees train guy every night on his commute after practice until he decides to take the first step and introduce himself. this fic is the reason why i ship bokuaka. it's slowburn, deals with anxiety and ptsd, developing relationships, and is just beautifully written (i am also extremely biased because this shaped my undergrad years). please read it, i'm begging you.

the death of our hands by bershlate teen. 25 chapters, 109k words. this longfic explores akaashi's ocd, his dysfunctional family, and an amazing oc older brother, along with his relationship with bokuto. i read this recently and finished it in a few days because of how gripping the story is <3

i'll let you shatter me with your pain by kuromantic teen. 23 chapters, 160.4k words. akaashi is an empath and when he brushes against bokuto, he gets the biggest shock of emotions of his life. this fic is very heavy, dealing with abuse, malnutrition, trauma, and homophobia. it has a happy ending, and our boys do get together <3

i'll reblog this from time to time to add more recs as i keep reading! of course, feel free to check out my own bokuaka fics >:3 i might post more?? for other pairings and general recs?? and for genshin too since i have a lot there haha okay enjoy bye!

#text #fanfic recs #haikyuu fanfic recs #personal #if you can tell what kind of fics i like to read based on my recs #its a lot of angst and fluff #i like to make sure both boys suffer equally #since they're in love and all #also i don't like reading about too dark themes #there's enough suffering in the world #let our boys be happy #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #bokuaka #fukurodani

30 notes · View notes

dingochef · 4 months

Text

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking, light bondage, blindfolds, shitty parents, nightmares, arguing

Summary: You and Jake work through the details that make marriage work and deal with a few bumps in the road. News from your Dad doesn't help.

Word Count: 5.0k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

A Rose By Any Other Name

You're walking home, (and still in constant awe and adoration of your engagement ring) from the ferry terminal towards your house. When your phone rings, the display showing "Dad". You keep walking and answer the call.

"Elsa, Congratulations on your engagement," your dad practically shouts on the phone.

"Thank you, Dad," you reply cautiously, "Is Mom there?"

"No, she isn't."

You're not sure how to continue the conversation, so you go with the 'running away' tactic.

"Well, I'm almost home, so anything else you want to talk about?" you ask, hoping he says no. The awkwardness palpable even from 2,000 miles away.

Your Dad takes a deep breath,

"Yeah, Elsa, I have a few things to talk about with you, if you want to."

You reach the front porch of your house and sit down on it.

"Umm, yeah, I'm listening."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking about what happened at Christmas. I heard everything; I apologize for being a coward and staying in the kitchen."

You give a small hum of assurance that you're listening. He continues,

"I'm so sorry that I failed you for so long. I know now I should have done more to balance out your mom. It's not an excuse, it's a regret."

He pauses and takes another breath, "I was checked out, should have been there more."

"Dad, what's done is done. This is feeling a little like Cat's in the Cradle," you answer, finally having something to say.

He laughs,

"There's that wicked sense of humor," he pauses, "I want you to know how incredibly proud I am of you and what you've become."

"It's good to hear you say it, Dad, but all our family dysfunction isn't going to be solved in one day."

"I get that, Elsa, I really do. But it's a starting point."

"There's something else I need to tell you, your mother and I are separating."

You croak out a very surprised, "What?"

"Christmas was a wake up call, that I haven't been happy in our relationship for a long time, but I stayed because it was comfortable and familiar."

Jake pokes his head out just as you say,

"It seems like a drastic step to separate, did you guys try couples therapy?"

Jake looks at you and mouths

"Who is that?" to you.

"My dad," you cover the phone and whisper back. Jake's eyes narrow and his brows furrow together. He goes to say something, but heads back into the house.

Your dad has taken his time in responding, he sighs,

"I invited her to go with me, I've been going on my own since Christmas, or find a new one, but she didn't want to go, or try."

Your dad's voice cracks on the word try. He is starting to cry and for the first time in a long time you wish you were in Michigan to give him a hug, this is the most vulnerable moment you've ever experienced with him.

Jake has reappeared and hands you a gin and tonic and squeezes your shoulder as he gives you space to talk.

Your dad draws in a deep breath to settle him and starts to talk again.

"My time left on earth is a diminishing resource,"

you interrupt him, "That's a little grim." He huffs out a soft laugh.

"I had the epiphany that I want to spend it with the people that make me happy, not just out of habit. A big part of it is how she never let go of the argument from Christmas. I won't be with someone who is driving away our children chasing the past. You kind of inspired this, by the way."

"That kind of sounds like I caused your separation when you say it that way," you try to joke.

He laughs on the other end, the tight band around your heart loosens a little.

"That's not what I mean exactly, just you've built this world of people who love you for just being you. Every time you've faced something that would decimate most people, you jumped back up and kept going to do what made you happy. Like you know that the love you share with Jake is worth fighting for, even if it means a fucked up relationship with your mother. I need to do what makes me happy and loved, and right now that's not being with her."

You laugh a bit darkly, trying to keep the tears at bay that threaten to spill,

"Dad, don't know if you didn't notice, my relationship with Mom has always been a bit fucked up."

"Yet another thing I ignored, I've missed so much, Elsa, I'm so sorry for that."

"It's okay Dad, you're at least self aware now, plus it's another thing you can add to your therapy list, you know in case you run out of stuff to talk about. Want to use every minute of that hour, get your money's worth."

"Did you just make a cheap dad joke about therapy?"

He's laughing and you can feel him lightening even over the phone.

"Yes, I did. You're the only person I've ever known to cut open the toothpaste tube to get that last little bit."

"Hey, it works. There's at least two more tooth brushings in there," he's at least joking a bit.

"Well, I'll let you go Elsa, you probably want to eat dinner with your fiance and not talk about an old man's laments. I want you to know how proud and amazed I am at what you've done with your life. I think Jake loves you deeply and he's good for you."

"It's really good to hear that," you pause,

"You might want to consider a trip out here, alone, actually get that visit in. I love you, Dad."

"I love you so much, Elsa."

"Bye."

You hang up the phone and hold the cold drink to your forehead as though the coolness could soothe your inner turmoil. When you go inside Jake is sitting on the couch, pretending to read a magazine. He chose his spot on the couch because he could keep watch over you outside on the porch. A wave of warmth rolls over you to know how protective and loving he is. He starts to get up and you motion for him to stay. Putting your drink on the coffee table, you flop down on the couch next to him. He waits patiently for you to talk and pulls you into his arms.

You break the silence,

"I didn't think I'd have to add 'Parents Getting Separated Likely Divorced' to my Matthews Family Dysfunction bingo card, but here we are."

Jake is visibly surprised,

"That's out of left field, you were talking to your Dad, right?"

"Yeah, he called to congratulate us on getting engaged and decided to let me know about them separating at the same time. You know for efficiency reasons, couldn't have those be two different phone calls," you snort thinking of the range of emotions in one phone call.

"So, they're separated. Any particular reason why?"

Jake is cautiously wading into the emotional quagmire.

"He said he's been doing a lot of thinking and therapy since Christmas, and realized he wasn't happy in their relationship and hadn't been for a long time."

"Wow, you'd think that he'd just run the last mile of the marathon and stay with her and not start over so late in life."

You laugh,

"I got the impression it was more of a 'I'll be damned if I'm going to run my last mile with you.'"

Jake at least rewards you with a light smirk.

"Part of it was my mom's insistence on holding onto the past, he said he wouldn't be with someone who would drive his kids away for something that could have been."

"So, how do you feel about this?"

He pulls you closer for a hug as he kisses the top of your head.

"Surprised and not at the same time, my parents have always been together but I don't know that I ever saw them in love with each other. I remember Dad as a little kid being really bright, laughing, and funny. Always smiling, that started to fade over time, I don't know if that was the toll of a strained relationship or if it was him kind of checking out trying to cope with it."

"I'm glad he's going to therapy, that's pretty smart of him," Jake offers.

"He said he has regrets from my childhood and how he let my mom dominate my life, so he's at least aware of that. He also said he is really happy for us and thinks you love me deeply and am good for me, which I'd have to agree."

You lean over to give him a peck on the cheek. Jake can tell you're still processing the conversation and will likely talk to him again about it.

"You ready for some dinner? I made a stir fry," he asks quietly.

"That sounds lovely," you stand up and wrap your arms around Jake's torso.

"I love you so much, Jake Seresin."

He replies,

"I love you very much, Elsa Matthews, soon to be Seresin."

You know you have to talk about some of the details of married life like keeping your last name, but you're emotionally spent for the day.

–

It turns out that conversation happens very soon on the next sunny Saturday afternoon. You and Jake have convened at the dining table to discuss “Life Stuff” as you called it. A file folder of your financial stuff, your laptop open to your financial tracking software, and Jake's tablet are laid out on the table. He keeps all his financial info electronic so that he can access it from anywhere the Navy sent him.

You start,

"So, I want to get married sooner than later, I don't want a really long engagement because we're trying to plan the 'perfect wedding.'"

"I agree, we'll have to see what's available for locations and work from there," Jake nods.

"Okay, that's good, that's probably a whole nother day of effort, but I thought we'd tackle the hard things first before picking wedding colors, you know the things that actually make marriages work."

Jake is smiling his panty dropper smile,

"God, I love it when you get all engineer on me, planning stuff, solving problems. It's kind of hot."

He smirks as he slides his hand up your thighs under your dress.

"Jake," you stop his hand and pull it off your leg,

"This is important stuff and you doing that is highly distracting and you're not going to get me all wet and bothered to discuss whether we do a prenup or combine bank accounts."

"Okay, I'll behave for now," he raises one eyebrow and gives you that smirk again.

"So, I came up with these things to discuss from my research. Not that this is the only time we'll talk about it."

You look down at your list,

"First, what debt do you have? I'll start, I have," you scroll through your accounts on the laptop,

"$367 on a credit card that is paid automatically each month from my checking account. You?"

He scrolls,

"Credit card only, $582. Also paid automatically each month."

"Okay, that was stupidly simple, by some stroke of luck, we have no student loans, car loans, mortgage, or a crippling gambling problem."

Jake laughs,

"You know this might be easier if we just swap the laptop and tablet with each other."

"Okay," you shuffle the tech around and scroll through Jake's accounts. Checking, savings, credit card, investment account, and what looks like a retirement account. All of which are healthy and reasonable.

You look over to Jake and he looks shocked,

"El, I didn't realize how loaded you are, maybe I should have made you pay for dinner more often."

You laugh,

"Most of my net worth is in this house, I've been maxing out my 401k and Roth IRAs since I started working. That's a lot of it, but also I don't really live an extravagant lifestyle as you've noticed. I drive an 8 year old Honda, probably the second most expensive thing I've bought in the last few years has been my bike. I've been putting the equivalent of a monthly payment for a house, since I don't have one, into a money market account since I bought this place. That's all because I really do earn good money at my job, six figures."

Jake has been nodding the whole time,

"So, level with me, what was your gross salary last year?" he asks.

"$150,000," you answer, waiting for Jake's response.

He has a pleased look on his face, none of the insecurity or jealousy you've seen from guys before,

"Nice, beats my $85k a year."

"It doesn't matter who makes more money, because I think it's our money when we get married which leads me to the next question. How do you want to manage money? Combine accounts or keep separate accounts?"

Jake answers,

"I think that combining is the way to go, it seems complicated and kind of petty to have to balance out every transaction to make things even. If it's one account, it's our money that we use for our lives. You?"

"I'm in favor of the combined account, pretty much for the same reasons. I see you're a member of a military credit union, so that might be the place to have our accounts. We can compare that stuff and choose the best one."

"Sounds good, what's the next question?"

"What purchases can we make individually and what ones do we need to consult each other on?"

"Obviously the big ones, houses, cars, anything that you might consider taking out a loan for. I'm not sure if there's a dollar amount that would trigger it, because spending $500 on a couch is different than spending $500 on shoes. Not that you're the type to do that," he looks at the ratty Chaco flip flops you're wearing.

"Hey, they still work. I'll get a new pair when they break. It's just my Midwestern soul and the ingrained thriftiness. I think it's context dependent too. I'm going to go with the 'when in doubt ask' policy."

"Agreed, what's next? This feels like a job interview almost."

"We should discuss if we want a prenup."

Jake starts,

"I think it would be wise to protect your assets, Elsa."

You scoff,

"It feels really cynical. Like we're expecting this not to work. The big thing is the house, it's in my name obviously, I was considering adding you to it, so you'd get if anything happened to me, or we can set up a trust that automatically transfers it to you. A trust might not be a bad idea if we plan on having kids. Hah, that's the next question."

You look at Jake and he seems a little overwhelmed,

"Are you okay over there?"

"Who knew getting married would be so complicated. El, I don't want the appearance of me marrying for your money. Your mother has already made me paranoid about not being enough."

"Jake, if you wanted a sugar momma, you could have reached way higher. There's plenty of rich old ladies on Coronado Beach looking for a young buck like you."

He relaxes and laughs a little,

"Who says I'm not playing the long game for when you'll be a rich old lady?"

It's your turn to laugh now,

"Jake, this is our house, I need to set up a will anyway and we can discuss options with a lawyer if you want."

Jake looks satisfied with that answer. He looks at the list of questions,

"So, kids, yes or no, and how many?" he asks.

"I do want a family, not giant, but at least two kids. All the only children I know are kind of weird. Seeing you with Ellie and Gigi made something click on in my uterus, because I was definitely filled with the urge to give you babies."

"I'm sure I could help you with that primal urge," he jokes,

"I'd like a family, but as I said before you get to make the ultimate decisions on all of that because it's your body and you'll bear the brunt of it."

"Fair, would we both work if we had kids? I don't really think I'd like to be a stay-at-home mom, I'd like to keep building my career."

"While in an ideal world you or I could take a multi year sabbatical and raise some kids, I'd expect that we'd both want to work, and I'm okay with hiring a nanny or daycare, are you?"

"Yeah, I am. I was a daycare kid as my mom was a teacher. I went during the school year and I think there's some good to it, the socialization. It just depends on finding the solution that feels right."

"Alright, hit me, what's next?" Jake asks, rolling his shoulders.

“How do you feel about me keeping my last name? You've casually mentioned me changing my name."

Jake thinks for a moment,

"I just assumed you would, you know tradition and what not, why wouldn't you?"

"My whole professional life is under Matthews, my patents, licenses, and journal articles. All under Matthews, keeping that consistent is important to my professional reputation. Plus, it always felt a little patronizing and demeaning to me. It feels like a relic from the past when women were just traded around by fathers to husbands like property."

Jake's face twists into a disagreeable expression, his mouth pulled tight.

"I guess, I've always thought of it being a unifying thing, like 'Team Seresin'. Not you submitting to me like property."

He looks worried as he continues to speak,

"Do you not want to be Mrs. Lieutenant Seresin? Were you going to change it for Liam?"

"No, I wasn't and that's not what I'm saying, it's just arbitrary that it has to be the woman who changes her name, do you want to be Mr. Dr. Matthews?"

He shakes his head,

"Why would I change my name? It's not what people do."

"Jake, just because it's been done that way for a long time, doesn't mean we have to do it. We can be committed to each other without the same last name."

You sigh a little louder than you should.

"I just thought that it would be something that brings us together, being the Seresins, a family unit. What if we have kids, what is their last name going to be?" he asks and clenches his jaw waiting for the answer.

"I'm more than fine with them having Seresin as a last name. I wouldn't want to burden a kid with a hyphenated last name."

"You could hyphenate, what about being Elsa Seresin-Matthews?"

Jake raises his eyebrows like he's found the magic solution.

"That's a giant pain in the ass and you know it." you huff, feeling your cheeks heat up. Jake's eyebrows drop and furrow together as he considers what he's going to say next.

"Elsa," you're surprised he's using your full name and not just El,

"I can understand why you wouldn't want to change your name, but it just feels like you're bucking tradition just to do it."

"That's what you got from this discussion? I'm just being contrary for the fun of it? Please stop saying it's tradition, because sometimes tradition is a word for the stupid way we've always done things."

You wince internally at the last part, momentarily forgetting how much of Jake's life is ruled by tradition and the Navy.

Jake's mouth stretches into a thin flat line, his anger telegraphing across the room.

You and Jake are now staring each other down, obviously both angry. You're about ready to leap in for another round like the hot headed idiot you can be when Jake holds up his hands in a surrender motion.

"Let's hold up a second. You've said your piece and I've said mine. I think we need to cool off and separate for a bit before we make this nasty. I know how I can be a righteous asshole when I'm pissed off and I don't want to go there."

You take a deep breath,

"Fine, I'm going to go for a bike ride, might as well use this energy for something."

Jake nods curtly, acknowledging you.

You change into your workout gear and head out on your bicycle. As you round the corner of the block, your phone dings with a message from Jake,

"Went for a run."

You snort that he's also expending angry energy in a physical way. Your conversation plays over and over in your head. Changing your name, beyond the professional reasons, just always felt off. Like you know intrinsically that you're Elsa S. Matthews, PE, PhD. The way Jake didn't really get the professional reasons why keeping your name the same was probably what hurt the most. He knows how important your career is to you. Changing names and not having that continuous professional history could undermine your career. Just another piece of bullshit female professionals have to deal with. Another mile and your white hot rage dims and your brain fixates on the rhythm of "Elsa S. Matthews". The syllables syncing up over and over in time with your legs pushing down the pedals as you try to burn this frantic electric energy.

You stop to look out over the bay and it occurs to you that there is a compromise here, the S standing for Samantha, a name you don't care about. You weren't named for anyone, your mom said she read it in a novel when she was pregnant and liked it. How easy would it be to change your middle name to Seresin? Elsa Seresin Matthews. You can keep your professional name the same, Elsa S. Matthews. That feels right to you, like the joining of names not obliterating one for the other or tacking on a clunky name at the end of a full name.

Your ride home is quick and you fall into the same rhythm as before except to Elsa Seresin Matthews. Desperate to find Jake and resolve this, you pick up your pace.

Arriving home and you put your bike away as fast as you can, desperate to see Jake. You walk in through the back door just as Jake walks in through the front door shirtless, sweaty, and wearing rather skimpy running shorts. His golden treasure trail just peeking out of the waistband. Your brain automatically wants you to wrap your legs around his waist and fuck him as soon as possible, but you know you and Jake need to talk.

You meet in the middle of the living room and start talking at the same time,

"El, I didn't–

"Jake, I was being–"

He cock his head when you laugh.

"This feels like a rom com where the characters fight over something to add a conflict to the plot. Like we both just enter the house at the same time and start talking over each other."

He cracks a smile and starts to talk, "El, I didn't think through all the professional implications of changing your name. I can see how that would upset you, given how hard you've worked and how much your career means to you. I was wrong to diminish that."

You swear you see a light bulb go on above Jake's head. Like he unlocked the Rosetta Stone, and figured out what bothered you most.

"Did anyone ever tell you you're a smart one?" you tell him. He smiles and shakes his head.

"You're right that's why I got upset. I don't fault you for assuming that I'd change my name, a lot of women do. I also can see how it looks like I'm rejecting your name and in a way you."

Jake looks away for a second.

"It stung, and I fixated on us having the same last name as something critical to being married, when it's not."

He takes your hands in his,

"Us being married and committed to each other whatever our names are is the important part."

"I have a proposition," he raises his eyebrow and takes a step toward you. You laugh at him as you stop him with your hands on his chest, his hands landing on your wrists,

"Not that kind of one, yet. Keeping my name as Elsa S. Matthews is important for me, but the S stands for Samantha. A name I have no affinity for, my mom got it from a trashy romance novel. I want to change my middle name to Seresin. A name that means a lot to me and to you. What do you think?"

The panty dropper smile blooms wide and open on his face,

"You're calling me smart, but you are the smart one. I would be very touched if you took my name as your middle name. I was at peace, okay, a grumbly peace," he slightly rolls his eyes, "With you keeping your name, but I really like this idea. Elsa Seresin Matthews, sounds good."

You lean up to kiss him,

"I'm glad. And we just had an honest to goodness fight, didn't we? I think we came through it all right, good communication skills, go us."

You wave a tiny pretend flag with your hand in celebration.

Jake pulls you close to him, and whispers in your ear, his voice low,

"Know what the best part of a fight is?"

A shiver rolls along your spine as Jake drops a light kiss just under your ear. His hands sliding down your back to grab your ass and pull you close to him.

You stutter a little as you answer,

"N-no, what's the best part?"

He smirks into your neck, stopping his efforts to give you a hickey he replies,

"The make-up sex."

A wave of arousal flushes down your body as you gaze into Jake's eyes, the green blown out by his pupils wide with desire. His hands slide from your ass to under your thighs. He lifts you up with ease and your legs finally wrap around his waist. You kiss him like you're both running out of oxygen and you're trying to steal it from each other's lungs. He backs you up to the nearest wall and pins you up against the wall, his legs supporting you and your hands around his neck. You are grinding at each other desperate for some friction. You whine because you're wearing padded bike shorts, and you can't feel Jake like you need to.

"Need more,” you pant against his lips,

“Need you,” he also pants against your neck, where his head had slipped down.

He unzips your bike jersey to get more of your skin against his, and he huffs,

"Stupid sports bra.”

"Put me down for a second."

He lets you down gently and you peel your clothing off as fast as you can. Jake has the same idea and pulls his running shorts and underwear off in one smooth motion. As soon as he can he pulls you back up to him, moaning at the contact of skin on skin. He steadies you against the wall again, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.

"I didn't think you'd be able to rip through my bike shorts like you did my underwear," you gasp out as Jake enters you. Jake's only answer is a string of curse words and sex babble, "Fuck, god you feel so good, El. Love you so much."

“Love you so much, Jake.”

He starts a fast rhythm, your mutual need to be close and chase your highs spurring him on. The feeling of being completely surrounded by Jake and his hard wall of muscle, his scent, and the feeling of your sweat mixing as you slide against each other is amazingly overwhelming. Your brain is reduced to one thought as he pounds into you,

“Jake. Jake. Jake.”

Jake lifts you a little higher, grips your thighs a bit harder, and you are seeing stars as his cock hits the deepest spots in you.

"Love you, oh fuck, right there, so good. Don't stop," you plead with him.

The pleasure is overwhelming with each thrust, the room is filled with only your heavy breathing, moans, and the obscene sound of fucking and skin slapping on skin for the next few minutes.

"Touch yourself, El, make yourself come, so beautiful when you come on my cock,” Jake grits out as he grips your thighs and ass harder. You comply, and snake your hand down and start rubbing your clit frantically, trying to match the pace. You look Jake in the eyes and start talking,

"I wanted to wrap my legs around you the second I saw you come through the door, half naked, sweaty, and my god, your chest. Want to fuck you all the time."

Jake's reaction is to pound harder and faster, erasing your ability to form coherent sentences.

“Fuck, El. I want you all the fucking time. I can't believe this pussy is all mine.”

"Fuck, I'm so close, Jake, so close. Come with me, please."

Your climax slams through you like a car hitting a brick wall. Your eyes close involuntarily, and you can see stars dance across your eyelids.

“Fuck, El. Milking me so good, so fucking tight,” Jake grits out as comes, right on the heels of your orgasm. His hot come filling you up as you spasm around him on each wave of residual pleasure. Somehow Jake holds you up through the aftershocks, his head on your shoulder as you catch your breath. He kisses you sweetly on the lips, and says,

"I'm going to put you down now, you good to stand?"

You just nod and hum as he pulls out and sets you down. You wrap your arms around his torso to lay your head on his chest, only to realize how sweaty it is. I pull my face back and suggest,

"I think it's time for a shower, we both are sweaty and reek of sex."

"Excellent idea." He responds, and you can see from the look on Jake's face that he has more thoughts for later.

Chapter 20

@kmc1989

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mamachasesmayhem

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

@memoriesat30

@midnightmagpiemama

@mygyn

#top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #hangman #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x you #top gun smut

50 notes · View notes

bestworstcase · 1 year

Note

I don’t know what it means but.

Ruby talking with Qrow (I believe) in V7 when she compares herself to Oz, and Qrow saying “No you’re better than him you’re waiting to see who you can trust vs never giving anyone the chance to be trusted”

And now Ruby saying what’s the point of anything if Salem has the relics now and Yang saying “That’s how Ironwood thought. You don’t mean that”

The WAY Oz and Ironwood carried out their plans was Bad but they didn’t start at the deep end. Their thoughts didn’t spawn all of their actions. Ruby having doubts and seeing Oz’s perspective of being wary of who to trust doesn’t mean she’ll turn out like him. Ruby showing she’s upset and mad that things seem to be turning out useless despite their efforts doesn’t mean she regrets saving the people they saved. Or trying to save them.

The way Ruby hasn’t been able to openly doubt herself around others or say things that others see as “thinking like Ironwood” or “you’re better than Oz” is so prominent in episode 7. And I’m not saying she was wrong in anything I’m on her defense squad rn from ppl who are doing what the characters in the show did. They are Hearing her words but they aren’t Listening. WHY is she better than Oz when she thinks she’s doing the same thing. WHAT has caused her to Think like Ironwood. Why can’t she mean what she says why can’t she be negative. Where is the person to lift her up about herself. Not the plan not the team but just Ruby Rose

I don’t think I’m explaining this properly I’m not mad at anyone bc they didn’t know how she felt. I’m just trying to point out connecting things in the show and how “We’ll be better than blank”, in Ruby’s mind, can’t just be something to say when Qrow is mad at Oz (rightfully) or Yang is worried she sounds like Ironwood (the man they just had to save a kingdom from)

V9. Misinformation. Miscommunication. Blinded by your own emotions. Resistant to change. Not listening. It’s felt so Real it’s been so good I hope what I said makes sense it’s just the Be Better Than The Old Mentors vs just bc we won’t do things the same way doesn’t mean we won’t ever feel like they felt or have the same doubts or worry that what they did might’ve been The Best in their mind at the time. Lack of perspective. How you can be the villain to those you’re trying to save. It’s a lot sorry I rambled so much

pushing pause real quick here, anon, the anxiety pouring out of this ask about being misinterpreted as bashing this or that character is really palpable and bc of that i just want to like directly affirm that analytical discussion of character flaw or the narrative construction of a conflict isn’t accusatory or condemnatory of the characters themselves. in this household we go buckwild for characters whose human imperfection is fully and honestly realized by the narrative <3

anyway yeah yeah exactly like

ever since these kids got looped into ozpin’s cult they’ve just been in this emotional vortex of—don’t be negative, don’t spread negativity. salem wants to divide us. we can’t let salem divide us. LOOK at how terrified they were in V8 of not being in unanimous agreement about whether to prioritize a long-term or short-term goal, how much jaune’s proposed compromise scared them. it’s profoundly dysfunctional. they don’t know how to differentiate normal, constructive debate and infighting, or critical self-reflection and harmful negativity, so they are constantly hyper-vigilant constantly monitoring and policing each other for the smallest sign of bad thoughts, bad feelings, because this war they inherited isn’t a war against salem, not really, it’s a war against this nebulous idea of division, of conflict, of negativity, of the bad things that will see humankind condemned to extermination when the gods come back.

and like:

YANG: Okay, Ironwood wants Penny, otherwise Mantle is done for. So, how do we stop him?

BLAKE: Qrow and Robyn are still in his custody, and May said that the Atlas security drones are watching the crater, so they’re trapped too.

OSCAR: And Salem isn’t going to stay gone forever.

RUBY: So then it’s impossible.

EMERALD: See? If Miss Hero with all the answers doesn’t have an answer, then we have ours.

WEISS: Shut up.

YANG: Why don’t you just leave?!

OSCAR: Can we please just give each other a chance? Emerald’s not with Salem anymore, and Ozpin is back. All this doubt and worry and distrust, it isn’t getting us anywhere—

RUBY: Then nothing has CHANGED! We’re in the exact same spot we were yesterday, arguing what to do while the kingdom waits to die.

^ she ran away then, too. and yang went after her thinking that ruby needed a pep talk, needed to be told that sure things are bad and risks don’t always pay off, but the mom who abandoned them both for the world’s sake is still her hero—when what ruby actually, desperately needed to hear, what she’s PLEADING for now, is for someone to tell her it’s okay to feel bad, it’s okay to have doubts, it’s okay to just be overwhelmed. that it ISN’T FAIR for the fate of the world to sit on her shoulders and that the world will not end if she admits that it’s too fucking heavy, if she asks for help, if she puts it down.

and that’s what makes it sting so much when her doubts and fears and frustration get brushed off like those feelings don’t matter or aren’t true or, worse, like it’s wrong for her to feel this way at all—it’s a manifestation of this, like, existential terror of Innate Badness that lurks in the heart of ozpin’s cult, don’t feel bad don’t think bad thoughts or else—or else what? “salem will divide us” but it’s so easy for that line of thinking to shade into “only bad people have bad thoughts,” because feeling bad IS bad in and of itself, right. like fundamentally this is how the strict ideological delineation between hero, villain, and passive narrative object enforces itself: the villains surrender to negativity and so become themselves agents of this Badness while the heroes stand as beacons of hope and inspiration to the defenseless masses—who otherwise would of course succumb to negativity (“panic”) and be obliterated. baked into the cult’s ideology is an unspoken but perilously thin line between feeling bad and being bad.

you don’t mean that. that’s how ironwood thought. (you can’t mean that. only bad people think that way.)

and the real world just doesn’t fucking work that way—the world of remnant does not work that way—so this is an emotional poison, it’s toxic, they’re swimming around in a noxious soup of unspoken ideas that seeped into all of them to varying depth but percolated right down into the very bedrock of who ruby is—and while it killed them slowly it ate ruby alive. and now the bones of her are poking through the cracks and she has nothing left to give so the only way to move forward is to claw herself out of the soup!! (<- this metaphor ran away from me a bit.)

which somewhat ironically given what the first layer of her crisis is about, means ruby is going to lead the way out of this festering mess of a fairytale cult. by way of the desolate howl that this way of thinking is dehumanizing and inhumane

#rwby v9 spoilers #I AM FEELING VERY NORMAL. ABT THIS EPISODE

158 notes · View notes

warcorrespondence · 1 month

Text

review: improvise, adapt, overcome

T'is I, @gorgeousundertow/Nikki, back to once more tell you about Brad/Nate (I promise you, we're not a Brad/Nate blog, it's just that Lenora and I and also Bel are having A Moment. As the Hot Priest says, it'll pass).

Improvise, Adapt, Overcome by @dsudis/Dira Sudis

fandom: generation kill

pairing: brad/nate

explicit, 4449 words

For a fic about erectile dysfunction set in the world of GK, this is shockingly sweet.

It's Nate, folks. Nate can't get it up, and it's not because of anything psychological - it's that he's found meds that work for his depression, but the side-effects Aren't Great.

He couldn't manage to explain all that to Brad while he was deployed, so Brad comes home and finds Nate is...apparently disinterested?

But that's not at all what this fic is about, actually. It's about how fantastic their communication is, because despite what is an objectively awkward and unmanful (in toxic masculinity terms, which I think we can all agree GK absolutely subscribes to) situation, Brad and Nate talk about it, get clear on the situation, and proceed to have Very Excellent Sex regardless.

Brad's hand closed on his dick, engulfing it easily in its totally limp state. Brad was looking down at his hand, at Nate's dick. The lack of eye contact, and the way Brad's sudden palpable calm felt like combat, made it paradoxically easier for Nate to sound calm when he spoke. "So when I told you that the new medication was working really well and I was feeling a lot better," Nate said lightly. "I neglected to mention a couple of side effects." Brad's eyes flicked up to his, but the carefully steady look didn't ease. "Occasional dizzy spells," Nate explained. "Until right this second, that was actually the most annoying one."

#generation kill #nikkirecs #bradnate #1k-5k words

21 notes · View notes

slightlysaneee · 7 months

Text

I've been watching Manly play The Coffin of Andy and LeyLey and... oh boy. OH BOY

First of all, I haven't finished episode two. Secondly, I love the game so far. It's been a significant amount of time if ever since I encountered protagonists as toxic as they are. But, my dear dudes, they are so well written. I absolutely want to murder Ashley, she's a psychopath through and through and I'm willing to adopt and do more things to Andrew. I love when writers make us sympathetic toward the most vile people. I kinda want them to succeed in all their murder endeavors and — curse you twisted brain of mine — I ship them and also I don't (I mean, of course not, and yet). I hate and love Ashley, and I feel so sorry for Andrew and I want him to break free because they are unfortunately so believable, especially together.

Going back to how well written they are. The dialogues are hilarious and natural. Their personalities are so palpable in every scene, in every pause, stutter and eye contact. Especially Andrew's inner turmoil, omg that poor young man.

The whole game is there to morally challenge us. What would we do in their situation? Do we understand their actions? Do we condone them?

So incest... Incest is there, it's very obvious from the start. Are developers pro incest? I don't know and do not care. But honestly, I don't think so. They created a completely dysfunctional family, with unhealthy relationships and codependency between siblings on one side, and neglect from parents' side. In episode two, it's obvious their mother knows how Andrew and Ashley feel toward each other. She is aware of it and wants to break them apart. So I don't think developers romanticize incest - to the contrary, I think they are well aware the immoral side but they wan to toy with players, push our boundaries and blur our moral views. In any case, whether developers are pro or anti incest is not the point at all. I think people, especially on this site, aren't aware that artist/writers are NOT their work. But art will always be there to challenge your views, emotions, to poke you right in the sore spots. It's been like that since the dawn of civilization.

P.S. I love that there is only one coffin for Andy and Leyley. There is so much meaning there.

#the coffin of andy and leyley #coffincest #just my two cents #sane:speaks

47 notes · View notes

autisticrosewilson · 6 days

Text

I keep thinking of a WFA style Wilson fam webcomic and I know some of you are already frothing at the mouth but hear me out

Cons:

People will mischaracterize them (they already do this)

People will idealize Slade (they already do this)

New fans will be annoying for a while until they actually read the comics (This is just how fandom works)

Pros:

Grant, Joey, and Respawn get to be alive again

Poppy, Tanya, and Sunny get to exist again

I can add new panels to my Addie Kane folder

Lilian Worth can have a character

Exploration of relationships we never got (Rose and Grant, Grant and Addie, Respawn and Joey, Rose and Poppy, ect.)

Elaboration on relationships I'm already fond of (divorced co-parent SladeAddie, Billy and Rose, JOEY AND GRANT, Addie and Rose can find support in each other)

If it gets popular DC might consider bringing Joey and/or Grant back to main continuity

DC might consider that Slade's family is the best part of him and we can get more dysfunctional Wilson fam focused comics

Talia Al Ghul and Adeline Kane can meet

We can get a canon name for Respawn

There's a very faint chance they'll imply DickJoey/GarJoey/RoyJoey literally any queer relationship with one of the Titans

Stipulations:

Slade and Addie are still divorced

Slade must be bullied regularly, at least once per episode

Grant can have powers but they have to be unstable/lame

Rose can have a missing eye but it can't be caused by Slade

Dark comedy, I like when they're a little dysfunctional and they're still mostly assassins

I'm kind of iffy on Lilian being a prostitute because there's a lot of negative stereotypes about Asian women that plays into but sex work isn't something I'd want to be demonized either and Rose's introduction comic was surprisingly good about that for the time. I don't trust anyone in DC to do it so I just don't want them to bring it up at all

Rose, Lili and Respawn must be drawn with their ethnic features. This is not optional

Joey is still a superhero, he is also still mute

Lili, Talia, and Addie would never fight over Slade none of them want him

Palpable sexual tension between Slade and literally everyone he meets (this should be a running gag) but particularly with Billy (TTG Batman/Gordon style)

Poppy gets to bully them all for being rich (she's who you guys wish Duke was)

#dc #slade wilson #rose wilson #Adeline Kane #Grant Wilson #Joey Wilson #Lilian Worth #Poppy dc #Tanya Spears #sunny dc #Respawn #william randolph wintergreen #Sladeaddie #SladeBilly #wayne family adventures

13 notes · View notes

kwonzoshi · 1 year

Note

Hi!! Top 5 couples of the year, go!

Oh gosh… how will I even choose this.. you’re killing meeeeee. I just did the bracket ranking so imma go based off that.

5.) Win x Team [Between Us (2022)]

I mean, are we surprised by this one? We love them and we love their love. We have waited so long for this and they have not disappointed. Win is such an incredibly patient partner. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t force Team to tell him things he wants to know, he just accepts him for who and what he is, no questions. He opened his heart for him, and even though it scares the shit out of him, he truly loves Team. I’m excited for the rest of their story.

4.) Vee x Mark [Love, Mechanics (2022)]

Listen, I know it’s crazy but these two snuck up on me. Vee is sincerely the most annoying, spineless, cutest, sweetest absolutely moronic fuck I have ever seen. I mean, he stood up for nothing, lost everything and somehow managed to win in the end. Mark… oh Mark. Crazy in love doesn’t even begin to cover him. He went from being head over heels for one boy to another with the flip of a switch. He was willing to be the “other man” in order to keep Vee, and that shit is so INTENSE. Like.. I thought you hated this man 1 month ago?! Their dysfunction is why I love them and why they’re in this list.

3.) Kinn x Porsche [KinnPorsche: The Series (2022)]

Dysfunction doesn’t even begin to cover this one. They were messy, crazy and so in love before they were able to admit it to each other. They’d kill for the other and die for the other just as quickly. Their whirlwind romance is really one for the books and it was enjoyable because it was so HUMAN. We got to see them navigate so many firsts with each other and I love how it was done. They have this once in a lifetime love, and it’s palpable.

2.) Pluem x Kevin [Ghost Host, Ghost House (2022)]

Soulmates. I mean, that’s all I got to say lol From the moment their eyes met you could FEEL the emotions radiating. From both of them. They fell instantly and the nerves and awkwardness just added this charm to their story. They were so into each other and they were swept away by the emotions and attraction so quickly, I got whiplash. Even so, the mature (yet heartbreaking) path was taken and they came back better than ever. Like no time had passed by at all. Their love was patient and lasting, that shit just tugs at my damn heart.

1.) Payu x Rain [Love In The Air (2022)]

Fated soulmates. Twin flames. Meant to be. Everything under the sun that can be used to describe them. From Rain’s immediate and VERY OBVIOUS “Oh!” Moment, to Payu creating a scenario for them to talk again… their love story has everything. Tension. Communication. Respect. Love. Maturity. Payu took Rain under his wing not only as a partner but as a mentor. He wanted nothing but his success and for him to better himself. Yea, he played some tricks on him but overall Payu only had Rain’s best interest in mind. This couple surprised me the most this year, in the best way.

155 notes · View notes

zooophagous · 9 months

Note

Would love to know what Felicity's childhood was like. Is their family actually Egyptian nobility? Or just another averge dysfunctional set of critters?

Felicity grew up with very exacting parents who gave them a very in depth although very strict education in arts and theater. The disappointment that they failed to do anything loftier than working with literal circus freaks is palpable. Felicity tends to take out their frustrations with this on other people.

45 notes · View notes

artbyblastweave · 9 months

Note

Drop your Lois Lane hot takes

(also if you're not a Superman fan, what would you recommend starting off with?)

So MAWS Lois Lane very pointedly has some significant character flaws, generally justified by her backstory and often the opposite side of the conventional "positive" Lois Qualities that she exhibits. Trust issues stemming from her canon-typical dysfunction with her father, upstream of her whole truth-to-power thing. Self-esteem issues and a sense of inadequacy, upstream of her tenacity and singleminded pursuit of her goals. Downstream from her self-esteem issues you've got a sensitivity to perceived betrayal or the idea that people are only pretending to value her. Self-assurance and confidence... that manifests as bouts of myopic thinking or lack of consideration for others. There's a level on which I like this more than S:TAS- she was fun in that, but the purpose there wasn't to give her any kind of arc. She's much more dynamic in this, she has a palpable crisis, and it all combines into a perfect cocktail demonstrating why she reacts so very, very badly to being out of the loop on Superman. In her position it's not insane to assume that Clark expressed interest in her just to jerk her around and sabotage her investigation more thoroughly. But in practice... I (and those watching with me, who joined me in screaming at the TV a bunch during the last couple episodes) felt that the narrative was both-sidesing the dynamic a bit uncomfortably, because Clark has very good reason to not trust Lois specifically with sensitive information. Their first interaction involved her manipulating him for the sake of advancing her career. She's been screaming from the rooftops that she dislikes Superman, wants to expose Superman's secrets, and he was on the verge of coming clean with her before that came up. She functionally threatens to kill herself to force him to out himself, right after he got back from the government (and very likely her father specifically!) trying to assassinate him. Very little of this was coherently voiced when they're having it out, and as a result it felt like the narrative was much more sympathetic to Lois's stance than Clarks, treating his concealing the information as the root of the problem here. And when Jimmy brings up that he's known for years but understood that it was probably a deeply personal situation that Clark would bring up when he was comfortable- that's not a catalyst for introspection about whether Lois is entitled to the information, it isn't used as the point to push the idea that both parties have valid motivations here. It's mostly just the catalyst for another gag where now Jimmy is upset that Clark told Lois first (without. You know. the context.) I walked away thinking that Clark doesn't have a disproportionate amount to apologize for in this situation. Not nothing, but not the brunt. The reconciliation arc really breezed past the fact that she threw herself off a building to force the issue. Any relationship where throwing yourself off a building is a tool in the toolbox seems like it might be on shaky ground, communicatively!

The thing is, well, honestly there's a few things. I'm willing to accept off the bat that I might be lily-orcharding a perfectly unobjectionable creative decision to some extent, because by default I'm really biased in favor of anyone trying to keep deeply compromising information about their identities away from their loved ones for fear of their negative reaction, and that's coloring the intensity of my negative response. Another thing is that I think the show is kind of a victim of the megashort season runs of contemporary cartoons- I mean we'll be lucky if we get 30 episodes of this show total, every arc is gonna be at least somewhat pinched when you get 10 episodes and change per season. And a third, final thing is that the season isn't over yet, and they've left themselves with a great springboard from which to address my misgivings.

Clark leans into the idea that he's the one at fault, begs forgiveness, and so on, but that's actually in character for this version; given that one of his biggest drives is to be accepted, it makes sense that he'd do whatever he thought he had to get things smoothed out as quickly as possible, even if there's still a lot going unaddressed below the surface. And Episode 7 (6?) is basically entirely about how Lois's character flaws, scaled up and appended to power, can turn out really really bad. Kryptonite is introduced in this continuity by a bunch of alternate-universe Lois Lanes who try to kill Superman without giving him the benefit of the doubt- all while never expressly communicating to anyone that the root of their concern is how badly things went with their own Supermen. Lois meets an army of herself and immediately, correctly assumes that they aren't on the up-and-up, that they're holding something back. And the episode ends with her in possession of both a Superman-killing tool and information engineered to set off her well-established paranoid tendencies about Clark.

So if the show is being smart- and there's a very good chance that it is- the next leg is going to be about how for a superhero, just being open about your secret identity to your loved ones isn't necessarily going to be enough to defuse the underlying tensions and failures to communicate; the fact that they really speed-ran the reconciliation is going to turn out to be deliberate, a bandaid fix on the deeper problem, and a much worse reckoning is in the pipes once it becomes obvious that Task Force X is headed by her estranged father. (Which seems like the twist they're going for with that- they've never said the general's name out loud, so I think they're going for a fakeout where we all assume it's Wade Eiling but it turns out to actually be Sam Lane.) However. I've definitely watched a bunch of shows where I kept going "If the show is smart," "If the show is smart," and then the show wasn't smart, and it just turned out that the writers themselves hadn't chewed on the implications of what they were depicting as much as I had. I've got high hopes, though.

(tagging @st-just, @best-wizard, and @howlingguardian, who all also asked for the elaboration.)

#thoughts #meta #asks #please please please do not do discourse in the notes of this one #Normally I stop just short of having “depiction is not endorsement” tatooed on my forehead #but this one specifically got under my skin

28 notes · View notes