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markantonys · 2 years

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AMOL chapters 9-20

“[lan] remembered teaching that same concept [duty being heavier than a mountain] to a youth out of the two rivers. a sheepherder, innocent of the world, fearful of the fate laid out before him by the pattern.” 😭😭

update since last recap: gawene ARE officially married! “the marriage had been performed by silviana in a simple ceremony the night before.” and right now it’s morning, which must be at least the morning after the Big Meeting if not several mornings after. so they weren’t married yet in chapters 1-8 but they are now. why did it happen offscreen! why do the weddings i want to see keep happening offscreen (this + lanaeve) when we saw morgase and tallanvor’s, a wedding i could not care less about, onscreen! how could you deprive me of “clandestine wedding the night before we die in battle tomorrow” when that is my favorite wedding trope! yes we already got it with perrin and faile but i want it AGAIN!

“it still felt odd to know that egwene had authorized her own wedding. when you were the highest authority, what else could you do?” jkjfg incredible. now i’m thinking of rand and elayne legally authorizing themselves to marry each other as well as mat and avi and if anyone’s like “but you can’t marry 3 people!” they can say “well actually i’m the highest authority, so jot that down.”

“rand turned back to the maps. what he saw impressed him. elayne was preparing well.” proud husband!!

RANDLAYNE SCENE!!!!! YES!!!!!!!!!!!!! i am going to break this down in so much detail with so many quotes that you’ll basically read the entire scene by reading this post, let’s go

it begins by rand being surprised when elayne enters the tent and elayne being surprised to find him there, which should not be possible since they’re bonded but whatever lmao for once with randlayne in this book that IS something small and harmless enough that i can happily suspend disbelief!

“now here was life. flushed cheeks, golden hair with a hint of honey and rose, eyes that burned like a bonfire. her dress of crimson showed the swell of the children she bore. light, she was beautiful.” completing the holy trinity of mat’s and aviendha’s loving descriptions of how beautiful elayne is! tragically rand is the only one who doesn’t mention her hair glowing in a conveniently placed source of light, but her eyes are glowing so half credit! he also notes later that she smells wonderful lmao

“rand al’thor, are you going to talk to me, or do you wish to ogle me further?” “if i can’t ogle you, whom can i ogle?” djfkgj i love them your honor!!! also this is so funny, “whom can i ogle if not you” rand says as if they both don’t know full well that he has 2 other girlfriends.

elayne scolds him for sneaking up on her and says “honestly, as if aviendha weren’t enough” (since avi snuck up on her a couple chapters ago) AVIRANDLAYNE THROUPLE TRUTHERS RISE!!!

both of them definitely show concern over secrecy and not wanting people to know that rand came to visit her, which is interesting, although neither mentions a specific reason for this. i assume it would be because they’re both two extremely high-profile leaders and they want to keep their personal relationship under wraps, and perhaps also because they wouldn’t want the other leaders to accuse rand of showing favoritism to elayne and things like that. which all makes perfect sense. except for the fact that bashere made elayne publicize the fact that rand is her babydaddy djfkgj so now what’s the point of sneaking around? sanderson never thinks to consider in depth other characters’ perception/public perception of rand’s various relationships (though rj started dropping off in the last couple books too, since mat and nynaeve stopped reacting to rand having multiple gfs despite being very pressed about it in LOC and WH respectively).

i’m totally onboard for them wanting to keep their relationship quiet for the above reasons, and in fact i defs think that’s the wisest course of action (even if my heart wants them to be a public power couple), but in that case sanderson should’ve a) not had elayne tell everyone rand’s her babydaddy and b) made it clear for the first 8 chapters that this was what was going on, so then their ignoring each other and needing to use third parties to find out what’s going on in the other person’s camp would’ve come off as a bona fide attempt to be discreet rather than Batshit Insanity. (and even then they should’ve had a quick scene right off the bat wherein one Traveled into the other’s tent, they reunited and talked about the babies, and then agreed to keep their distance until they could find another moment to meet in secret.)

“i am happy to see you, and i am glad you came. i’m just trying to get into my head how you fit into all of this. how we fit into all of this.” “i don’t know. i’ve never figured it out.” this seems like an allusion to the political complications their personal relationship poses, but again the idea is referred to in such a strangely vague way. we deserved books and books of rand and elayne dealing with the PR and political repercussions of their relationship! it would’ve been fascinating! instead we just get some sparse, vague, and conflicting moments.

“he knelt before her, getting a cocked eyebrow until he placed his hand on her belly - hesitantly, at first.” 😭😭🥺🥺 MY HEART

also, cracking up at elayne raising her eyebrow when rand starts to kneel, homegirl thought he was about to immediately start going down on her jkfjgh i mean hey rand DID say once that he wanted to kneel at elayne’s feet and worship her 👀 so i bet their all-day all-night sex marathon was crazy.

rand says that tam will be a grandfather 🥺 fucking introduce him to elayne then!

“he found that deep down, he’d hoped that someday he would be a father. it had happened. that gave him warmth. one thing was going right in the world, even if so many had gone wrong. children. his children. he closed his eyes, breathing in, enjoying the thought.” 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭 MY HEART IS EXPLODING i take back what i said about Fratboy Rand (our new name for Zen Rand in case anybody missed that discussion in the replies on the last recap) being a deadbeat dad, he wants to be a dad he wants to know his babies!!!!

“he would never know them. he would leave them fatherless before they were even born.” NO STOP THAT [squirts him with a spraybottle]

“rand let himself go still as he felt her womb. was that motion? a kick?” okay google says that typically you can’t feel the baby move from the outside until end of second trimester or beginning of third trimester and there is NO WAY IN HELL that elayne is THAT pregnant right now! sanderson you’re killing me!! i can’t even cry over rand feeling the babies kick because i’m too distracted by the fucked up timeline of elayne’s pregnancy slash sanderson not bothering to look up timelines of pregnancy milestones jkfgj unless we are really supposed to believe that 6-7 months have passed since Randlayne Sex, but i do not buy that at all. WH was deep in winter and COT and KOD spanned very short time periods. i guess rand was in arad doman for a full month in TGS, and TOM also covered 1 month (it begins with rand telling egwene he’ll meet her at merrilor in 1 month). so at our most generous, by the end of WH 1 month has passed since Randlayne Sex (since rand WAS in far madding for some time, though i don’t actually think it was a whole month), COT-KOD is 1 month together, TGS is 1 month, and TOM is 1 month. elayne should not be more than 4 months pregnant, or 5 if we’re being EXTREMELY generous! definitely not 6 or 7!

elayne says she wants to name the boy rand. which would be weird if their dad rand was also part of her and their lives (i mean people name kids after their living and present parent irl often enough, but in books nobody does that) so i feel like she’s just already been long assuming that rand will either a) die in the last battle or b) be a deadbeat dad lmao

but rand asks her not to name either baby after him bc he wants them to live their own lives, awww. “my shadow will be long enough as it is” but they will still be stuck in it even if they aren’t literally named rand seeing as bashere made elayne tell everyone that they’re the dragon reborn’s kids!! sanderson you’re killing me again!

“he looked up to meet her eyes, and he found her smiling with fondness. she rested a smooth hand on his cheek. ‘you will be a fine father.’” 😭😭🥰🥰

god rand and elayne sitting down and talking about their babies and being soft and domestic!!!! unfollow me now this is gonna be the only thing i tweet about for the next week i’ve wanted this for years fuck what the fuck

“no talk of death, of duty.” “we cannot ignore what will happen.” “we needn’t dwell on it either. i taught you so much about being a monarch, rand. i seem to have forgotten one lesson. it is all right to plan for the worst possibilities, but you must not bask in them. you must not fixate on them.” and we have another Very Helpful Girlfriend Perspective that rand was deprived of until the final book when he was already mostly okay again! min clinging to hope and refusing to accept that rand might die + aviendha accepting it and assuaging him of guilt over her future pain because it’s her own choice to love him and endure that pain when it comes + elayne planning for it but not fixating on it and instead dwelling on present happiness = a perfectly balanced set of life outlooks that could’ve been immensely helpful to rand earlier in the series, but instead he got all of the first and none of the second or third.

elayne’s like “no more shoptalk i just want to have dinner with the man i love” and then they spend the entire meal talking about battle plans jfkgj they’re such workaholic nerds i love them!!!

rand is so full of praise for elayne’s battle strategy plans and tells her she has a head for it 🥰 but alas she deflects and says that it’s all the great generals’ doing, as well as bryne’s and her mother’s for teaching her. you ARE good at strategy elayne! on your own merits!

“the conversation reminded him of their time in tear, stealing hidden kisses in the stone between sessions of political training. rand had fallen in love with her during those days. real love. not the admiration of a boy falling off a wall, looking at a princess - back then, he hadn’t understood love any more than a farmboy swinging a sword understood war.” I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR!!!! THE NOSTALGIA!!!

“their love was born of the things they shared. with elayne, he could speak of politics and the burden of rule. she understood. she truly did, better than anyone he knew. she knew what it was to make decisions that changed the lives of thousands. she understood what it was to be owned by the people of a nation.” YES!!!!!!!!!!!! YES YES YES YES YES THIS IS WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING FOR THE WHOLE SERIES!!!!!!! I’M SO USED TO GIVING AND NOW I GET TO RECEIVE!!!!!!!!!

god seriously elayne IS the one that knows him best. for so many books the narrative kept trying to insist that title fell to min, but it’s elayne, and here it acknowledges that! min and rand were always telling us that she knew him better than anyone, but we were never shown that. instead, we saw min constantly making incorrect assumptions about rand, misunderstanding him, not being aware of things that were going on with him, etc. whereas elayne, despite barely getting screentime WITH him, has throughout the series often thought or told others “rand would probably react to X in Y way” and been spot on every time, and has been able to correctly work out his motives after hearing second- or third- or fourthhand reports about an action he took. in salidar, when they agreed they shouldn’t tell rand about the viewing of 3 women loving him, elayne’s reasoning was, accurately, that it would make him try to push them away to protect them, whereas min’s reasoning was that if rand knew about the viewing he’d want to take advantage of having 3 hot women on tap. when rand went to caemlyn in WH, elayne clocked his saidin dizziness and the fact that he was avoiding channeling within SECONDS of seeing him again, whereas min, who’d been with him for weeks at that point, never noticed a thing.

i absolutely stand by the statement that the only reason elayne wasn’t narratively allowed to spend time with rand is because she would’ve been too helpful to him and interfered with his downward spiral arc.

and here again now, elayne immediately notices a small facial cue of rand’s and asks him about it, which prompts him to confide in her about how upset he is that so many people will die for him in the coming battles.

“rand found it remarkable that, though they had often been apart, their connection held. in fact, it felt even stronger. now that elayne was queen, now that they shared the children growing within her.” ❤️❤️ this line could’ve so easily felt like “author attempting to justify a relationship that’s disproportionately strong for the little screentime it got” but it doesn’t, because the individual characters have been developed so well, and the relationship in its little screentime, that i believe this 100%, it doesn’t feel forced at all or like the narrative’s trying to Tell me something it never Showed me. somehow randlayne manages to be the best canon romantic pairing despite having like 3.5 scenes together in 14 books. their power!!

“‘i feel as if i should be able to do more, now that i remember. he tried to break me, and he failed.’ ‘is that what happened that day atop dragonmount?’ he hadn’t spoken of it to anyone. he pulled his seat closer to hers.” and he proceeds to confide in her about the dragonmount epiphany! which he hasn’t spoken of to anyone else! not even min, who was demonstrably completely unaware of what had happened up there in the previous book (i forget the context but i remember commenting on how it revealed that rand hadn’t told her anything about the epiphany). because ELAYNE is the one that truly understands him best, the one he feels most comfortable confiding in about his deepest feelings and struggles!!!!

“‘and you remember lews therin now?’ she whispered. ‘everything he knew? that is not just an air you put on?’ ‘i am him. i always was. i remember it now.’ elayne breathed out, eyes widening. ‘what an advantage.’ of all the people he had told that to, only she had responded in such a way. what a wonderful woman.” LIKE!!!! 🥰🥰 when rand talked about LTT’s memories like they were his own, min thought about how she hates when he talks like that and how it makes her uncomfortable and how he seems mad, and when rand then told her outright about him being LTT etc she was weirded out at the thought that he’s Not Really The Same Person anymore. but elayne just goes “oh that rocks!” what a wonderful woman indeed!!!

“he never quite knew what she was going to say or do, and that excited him. like the excitement of watching nightflowers, knowing that what was to come would be beautiful, but never knowing the exact form that beauty would take.” ROMANCE!!! also, rand comparing elayne to fireworks, which are mat’s beloved - matrandlayne rights!!!!

rand knows that elayne has the Talent of creating ter’angreal! i’m not sure if he’s ever alluded to it before, so i’m glad to have confirmation that he knows. and he gives her a Seed which can be used to create an angreal. “when i found it, forgotten, i thought of you.” romance!!

and elayne gives rand the knife ter’angreal that hides the bearer from the shadow! finally that extremely handy knife that was ignored for several books comes back into play! let’s see if rand actually ends up using it.

“she reached up to touch his face. he placed his hand on hers. they stayed together long into the night.” ❤️❤️❤️ romance!! rand gets to Kneel And Worship long into the night, hell yeah!

overall thoughts: LOVED THIS SCENE it was finally the sort of randlayne scene that i’ve been waiting for ever since book 4! since the 1 other time they saw each other since then, the two of them pretty much didn’t have a meaningful individual interaction, it was all about the 3 women confessing their feelings to rand and then as soon as rand and elayne were left alone we cut right over to min to experience their first time through her pov, and by the time we went back to elayne pov rand had already left. but THIS scene was so wonderful, it was romantic, it was fluffy, it was serious, it was complicated, it was supportive. one scene, and it’s so clear how truly compatible they are, how easily and how deeply they GET each other. they understand each other so well yet also have different opinions about some things and aren’t afraid to disagree with each other, but when they DO disagree they resolve it through calm discussion rather than losing tempers or getting petty.

i take back everything i’ve said over the past 3 books about sanderson not getting randlayne because he totally nailed them in this scene. well maybe i don’t take back EVERYTHING because there were definitely some things in TGS, TOM, and the first 8 chapters of AMOL that i was Quite Annoyed about. i take back SOME things. but on the whole, one very happy customer over here! and i bet randlayne won’t have another dedicated scene for the rest of the series, so i’m glad that this one was so wonderful. i do kinda feel like sanderson’s just checking off boxes like “okay, rand and aviendha had their scene alone, don’t have to show them anymore, rand and elayne got their scene, that’s all done” lmao

egwene mentions that other sisters know she’s married to gawyn, which confirms what i’ve been suspecting for a while but forgot to comment on before, that the amyrlin seat not being allowed to have a romantic relationship is only a thing in the show verse and not the book verse. (it IS a thing in the show verse right? i’m not misremembering that that was one reason why moiraine and siuan had to sneak around, it wasn’t just that they have to keep secret that they’re in cahoots regarding TDR?) anyway, assuming i’m remembering correctly, this could have some exciting implications for the show version of gawene! think of the extra layer of sweet sweet angst that would cause in their TGS/TOM issues where gawyn wants a more all-encompassing relationship than egwene is able to give him (all-encompassing as in he wants to be her boyfriend all the time everywhere, not just in certain contexts).

i have JUST ABOUT HAD IT with birgitte and her condescending babysitter’s attitude towards elayne. i think it’s come to the point where i genuinely dislike her now, which is so sad because i used to absolutely adore her and her relationship with elayne.

good news: elayne and tam had an interaction! bad news: it was only battlefield commands and they showed no sign of knowing each other on a personal level

“she’d heard rand brag about his bow, and she’d seen a two rivers longbow used on occasion” oh i’ll bet she did. last night, for instance.

now that i think about it it’s hilarious that mat was The Archer of the group in eotw and then never again. at the time of reading eotw i was like “i can’t believe the show gave rand mat’s bow skills in addition to sword and channeling skills and made mat just a useless twink” but now i see why they did that because the books also took away mat’s bow skills after eotw. mat can be a useless twink for a while until he gets his knives and ashandarei, as a treat.

speaking of the useless twink, here he is fucking about in ebou dar when LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE is in the middle of fighting the last battle!!

“rand should have just hidden [in the rahad], instead of going up to fight the last battle. the trollocs and darkfriends would have come for him, and the rahad would have left them all unconscious in an alley” so mat is worried about rand??? i have to find my cauthor crumbs wherever i can since mat has denied me real moments by going to fuck about in ebou dar!

things that happened to mat in ebou dar: getting raped repeatedly and turned into a sex slave, getting attacked by a gholam, having a wall fall on him and nearly kill him, being subjugated by invaders, being trapped in the city by his abuser for weeks, watching hundreds die because he tried to free them and feeling responsible for it

mat’s constant emotional state in ebou dar: anxious, nauseous, scared, depressed, self-hating, trapped

mat now on ebou dar: “he was surprised at how familiar, even comfortable, this city felt. he had liked it here.” “he now realized that his time in ebou dar had been among the best of his life.” “strangely, this place felt more like home to him than the two rivers did.”

like. WHAT???? i mean. WHAT??????? and i scream at the top of my lungs, what’s going on!!!!!

i know that “footage not found” is my favorite thing to say about the second half of the series, but holy shit this has got to be the worst instance of it yet!!!!! i don’t even have any rants to make, i’m simply speechless.

he also reflects on tylin as “a fun game” and hopes to have plenty of other women like that, but then notes that tuon is like that and he won’t need any others since she’s enough of a handful. this poor man has been gaslit so badly into thinking an abusive partner is desirable! i’m not even mad at mat anymore, i just feel sorry for him and the miserable life he’s been forced into and convinced himself he loves.

someone thinks mat is an assassin after tuon. man i wish!!! that would’ve been so sexy

once again mat frets about assassins being after tuon and wants to find out info to stop them. dammit mat!! this is the opposite of a problem!!

“‘sheepherder,’ lan said. rand raised an eyebrow. lan saluted him, arm cross his chest, bowing his head.” 😭😭

RAND HAS FOUND FAT LITTLE MAN ANGREAL MY BELOVED!!!!! 😭😭😭😭 i literally punched the air in delight when i read this!

look at this! i’m going back to reassure my past self that it will be okay and rand will find our emotional support fat little man angreal again! rand notes that no one knows he has it and that this is important. what if fat little man angreal my beloved ends up being the key to defeating the dark one!!

walmart: choedan kal gucci: fat little man angreal

rand destroying the choedan kal and now finding fat little man angreal again symbolizes him turning his back on power for power’s sake and returning to his good boy roots. now if only he would give up tai’daishar and get back his good boy horse, jeade’en. except jeade’en might have been eaten by trollocs since he might have still been in caemlyn when they attacked and elayne said the trollocs ate all the palace horses!!!!

“i will beat you, taim! i will finally do what i should have months ago!” no SHIT you should’ve done it months ago, rand. also i mistyped taim as tim at first jkfjgh somehow “i will beat you, tim!” doesn’t have the same gravitas.

rand goes to his dreamshard, which looks like a peaceful valley, and he’s wearing simple two rivers clothing. “he placed sturdy boots on his feet, like those he’d worn growing up. they fit him in a way that no new boot, no matter how well made, ever could. he wasn’t allowed old boots any longer. if his boots showed a hint of wear, one servant or another made them vanish.” 😭😭 baby boy!! rand and mat should meet up to discuss Boots As Metaphor For Class And The Burdens Of Leadership.

rand sees lanfear and we get some nice little tidbits of LTT Backstory. he says that lanfear just wanted him as an accessory, but also he has memories of walking into parties with her on his arm and having sex with her yet he never truly loved her. Fratboy LTT! lmao

i’m wondering if lanfear is going to ever Do anything by the end of the book. if not, then a) what was the point of not killing her off for good in TFOH and b) it will make so much sense if they give her mesaana’s plot in the show, since mesaana does nothing in the first half of the series and lanfear does nothing in the second half.

egwene and the aes sedai going apeshit on trollocs was pretty cool, but overall i’m getting tired and bored of all the battle scenes. and i’m only a third into an entire book about The Last Battle lmao

elayne mentions that rand occasionally visits her in her camp in the braem wood! fuck yeah!! and a little later she mentions rand’s failure against the dreadlords! they are visiting each other and telling each other about the things that happened to them while they were apart!

“‘these tactics aren’t bad,’ tam said, reading the orders. ‘the queen has a good head for warfare.’” father-in-law stamp of approval!!! ❤️

but perrin replies “she listens well to those who know their tactics and she doesn’t interfere.” jesus christ i KNOW perrin did NOT just say that elayne, the high commander of the forces of the light, works best when she’s shutting up and sitting quietly while men do all the work. fuck you to hell and back, perrin! and alas, tam goes on to say that that’s what he meant. i agree with the overall point that a good leader is one who knows how to listen to and take advice from others, but it being centered around undermining a young woman’s competence in favor of older men’s is very yikes. i feel like elayne’s military strategy skills are being unfairly retconned away in this book, because in previous books she’s been shown to be pretty good at military strategy because bryne taught her a lot about it. or actually, in this book elayne is showing good strategy skills but other characters tell us that it’s mostly the great generals doing the work and elayne herself minimizes her own contributions when rand compliments her. sigh.

“someone needs to watch rand’s back, and it...well, it’s going to be me. i know it, somehow.” i hate this sudden narrative that perrin is rand’s best boy when for 13 books it was mat! why the fuck isn’t mat here right now? why the fuck am i not getting my 3 boy besties teaming up together at the last battle AS I WAS NARRATIVELY PROMISED SINCE BOOK FUCKING ONE????

i was saying this before on a specific post i made complaining about mat going to ebou dar, but it would’ve made soooo much more sense if mat went to merrilor with moiraine and we got our full ef5 reunion and a nice scene of the 3 boys chilling together and catching up for the first time since TSR, and then rand finds out mat’s married to the seanchan empress and the two of them go to ebou dar together to rope her into the alliance, or maybe mat goes alone first to meet up with tuon and then rand arrives later so it doesn’t look like they plotted together to ambush her. like, if mat needed to be in ebou dar to a) spend more time with tuon and b) be present to mediate the rand-tuon alliance, then sanderson could’ve just sent him there on rand’s behalf after they’ve had a chance to reunite and plan together. same goals accomplished without breaking mat’s characterization by having him voluntarily go back to the location where he was the most miserable in the entire series and claim that he always loved it there and had such great times.

perrin makes tam a lord because i guess the two rivers is now so far up nobility’s asses that they won’t accept tam taking over perrin’s authority unless he’s a lord. “steward over the two rivers in the name of his son, the dragon reborn” that’s cute though ❤️

gaul is another minor male character like talmanes that i feel the fandom is disproportionately obsessed with. people are ready to grab pitchforks at the prospect of him being cut from the show! gaul is a nice dude and i like him, but it would not affect my life in any way if he didn’t make it into the show lmao but i AM glad he’s going with perrin to the wolf dream, it’s nice to see perrin have a friend who isn’t his wife or a subordinate. and i WOULD really enjoy seeing gaul/chiad/bain adapted in the show in a way that explicitly acknowledges this is a bi love triangle rather than trying to frame it as chiad’s male love interest and ~very close female friend~ fighting over her. i absolutely love the concept of first-sisters, but only when it doesn’t feel like a blatant No Homo on rj’s part, as it does with elayne-avi and bain-chiad. amys and lian, on the other hand, i would be equally happy to see kept as platonic sister-wives as i would be to see them made each other’s wives.

perrin mentions that aviendha is with rand when he goes to find him! and he does not say that min is there 😌 although i can’t imagine where else she’d be if not barnacled to rand’s side, so maybe she is there and perrin just didn’t think it was important enough to mention.

“i only need [rand] for a moment.” “you have this moment and many, perrin. i owe you dearly.” perrin has really not done ALL that much for you, rand. his one real job was to deal with masema, which he waffled over for like 5 books before faile finally took care of it! once again i’m totally seeing that perrin is sanderson’s favorite.

rand tells perrin to watch out for mat, concerned husband!

“‘may the light shelter you, perrin aybara.’ ‘and you, rand al’thor.’ perrin hesitated, and realized what was happening. they were saying goodbye. he took rand in an embrace.” 🥺🥺🥺 okay since sanderson took over we’ve gotten a mat-perrin hug and now a rand-perrin hug, he better come through with a mat-rand hug!

perrin says that defeating slayer will be key to dealing with the black tower situation, and it turns out that slayer’s anti-gateway dome is covering the black tower. ooh taim should’ve been slayer if he wasn’t demandred! that would’ve been neat and would’ve given slayer some much-needed narrative relevance. i like that solution much better than taimandred actually, since taim and slayer are both unsexy and can therefore be merged whereas demandred is too sexy to deserve being taim.

interesting dynamic of lanfear helping perrin in TAR! i feel like she’s hovered just on the edge of being a compelling villain throughout the series, so i’m hoping the show can pull back the curtain on her some more and shed more light on her characterization and motivations. AOL flashbacks to her relationship with LTT and decision to join the shadow would be excellent!

“my suffering goes beyond what you could conceive” babygirl i’ve undergone suffering you wouldn’t even believe

perrin going “it’s so unfair that channelers can be turned to the shadow against their will!” coming in with a solid No Shit Sherlock moment jkfg he’s like “does rand know that this is possible?” boy rand has known about this since book TWO get with the program!

mat is breaking into the tarasin palace to see tuon. imagine how romantic it would be if he was breaking into the caemlyn palace to see elayne! we were robbed.

in good news, this chapter does acknowledge that mat’s time in ebou dar was Not So Great Actually and does a decent job presenting the argument that mat is lying to himself when he says that he misses it and that he liked being with tylin. there are a few lines that do this, but most notably: “he had lived in this palace, free to come and go. for the most part. he scratched at his neck, and the scarf he wore there. for a moment it felt like a ribbon that felt like a chain.” this is a really good line and i am very happy to see it, but also so very sad because it really hits home how depressing mat’s endgame fate is. more than any other character, all he ever wanted was to be free, and he ends up with a stronger chain around his neck than any other character has in the end. i just don’t see how anybody could interpret mat’s arc as anything but a tragedy. and i do think that under sanderson’s pen the narrative does commit to it being a tragedy (there are some really heartbreaking lines in this chapter showing so clearly that mat is desperate to be loved but tuon only sees him as a tool) if not fully, at least moreso than it did under rj’s, where he treated their whole courtship in COT and KOD like a fun little romcom. and i think sanderson has also committed more fully to tuon being a villain rather than rj going “yes she enslaves people but all her slaves love her uwu” but on the other hand, sanderson!tuon shows more affection for mat (as in, 0.01 ounce of affection rather than 0 ounces) than rj!tuon did, so i don’t know.

“if tuon wanted to live in a city where the head of her armies was trying to have her assassinated, that was her choice.” i agree! leave her to her fate! this whole passage, props to sanderson for nailing the classic “mat complains about how that idiot other character is asking for trouble and he’s not gonna save their ass, while actively going out of his way to save their ass despite them not asking for his help” but also it was usually rand and elayne who got that attitude from mat and tuon does not deserve it jfkg

“if rand was up north, where all the trollocs were, then mat wanted to be as far from the man as possible. he felt bad for rand, but any sane person would see that mat’s choice was the only one. the swirl of colors started to form, but mat suppressed it. [paragraph break so that these following 2 sentences stand alone in their own paragraph, which i think is important] rational. he would be very rational.” i was about to blow my lid and say that this is wildly ooc for mat and is TDR mat behavior and erases all the growth he had in terms of coming to accept rand and his own responsibilities thereto. and i still say those things, but i am not blowing my lid because the end of the excerpt and especially the “rational. he would be very rational.” does a pretty good job of conveying that mat IS lying to himself about not wanting to go help rand with the last battle and that he secretly feels guilty for not being there. or maybe i’m just so desperate to believe that mat’s character hasn’t been entirely butchered that i’m grasping at straws jkdjfg but in TGS and TOM mat WAS totally prepared to bring the dragons and the band to help rand at the last battle and also told the aes sedai to tell egwene to make sure the horn of valere was ready for him, so i can’t say that this about-face is entirely sanderson’s fault since he did show in the prior 2 books that he understood that mat was ready and willing to help at the last battle. i wouldn’t be surprised if mat fucking off to ebou dar instead of going to merrilor was in rj’s notes and sanderson had no choice but to go with it.

selucia: “if [being called Highness] bothers you, cauthon, you have a very irritating life ahead of you. there is only one way to stop being the prince of the ravens, and that is to find your neck in a cord.” another very good line. it’s played for laughs on the surface, but it also shows a narrative awareness that this fate IS really terrible for mat. and the entire chapter, which revolves around mat and tuon’s reunion which you might think the narrative would want to frame as romantic (and in some places it does), is titled “your neck in a cord” so i think that that choice of title for this chapter definitely undercuts the ~romantic moments~ and shows awareness of The Tragedy Of Mat.

we move to rand who is just returning from another visit to elayne! ❤️❤️ i’m glad sanderson is at least making it clear that they’re in regular contact and spending time together even if he doesn’t bother to show any meeting but the first. haha in the previous 2 books i was certain that he loved rand/min the most and didn’t give a shit about rand/avi or rand/elayne, but in this book, once the initial weirdness of them avoiding each other was moved past, rand/elayne has been getting the best treatment and being depicted as the most important of rand’s relationships. we’re 300 pages in and min has still barely been mentioned at all! love it.

we also learn that their visits are no longer secretive: rand is walking openly through the camp and tells us, “elayne had made her armies aware of his earlier visit. i lead these armies, she had said as they parted last time, but you are their heart. you gathered them, rand. they fight for you. please let them see you when you come.” god the power couple-ness of it all!!!! if only mat was here, just imagine the power throuple-ness of the dragon reborn, the high commander of the armies of the light, and the greatest general of the age.

rand visits tam!! this whole scene is so wonderful!! too many wonderful moments and lines to call out all of them.

rand gives tam a new sword to replace the heron-marked blade (sob. i want the heron-marked blade and jeade’en to join fat little man angreal in coming back to rand at the end of it all!) and i think this must be the mysterious sword that he acquired before TGS and was cryptic about. he’s still so cryptic about it here! “it belonged...to a kindred soul.” what’s the point of stringing me along like this sanderson just tell me where the stupid sword came from! my only theory is maybe it was LTT’s sword since later in rand’s narration is “he’d never had a chance to fight with it” and that line is in its own paragraph which feels significant. but wait no then it turns out that rand hasn’t fought with a sword since losing his hand, so that’s probably actually what that line meant. who did this fucking sword belong to and why is it worth dragging out like this!!

“this is too fine a gift, son.” “nothing is too fine for you. nothing.”❤️❤️ “think of it as a thank-you, from all the world to you.” ❤️❤️

argh rand once again calls tam by his first name to his face! but then 2 pages later he calls him “father.” sanderson what are you doing!! this is such a tiny point but it makes me so mad djkfjg definitely one of my Unimportant Wheel Of Time Hills I Have Chosen To Die On (we all have some)

“to think. if you hadn’t wanted me to be a good archer [by teaching him the flame and the void], i’d have never have learned the thing that kept me sane through the rough times.” 😭❤️

“people’s eyes tended to slide off [his missing hand], as if they were seeing a gray man. they didn’t like the idea that their dragon reborn was flawed. he never let them know how tired he felt, inside.” 😭😭

and rand and tam swordfight for a while which is some nice father-son bonding and also rand fiiiiinally reacting to and working through the loss of his hand! what a good scene! i have for the moment taken Fratboy Rand’s title away from him because he has been a good boy so far in this chapter chunk lmao

rand mentions a gray man metaphor above and then there’s a real gray man in mat’s next section, and rand had also used a moss metaphor and then mat notes the moss in the garden with the same “moss still lived” line. parallels!

“mat was pretty sure rand was to blame [for plants dying]. rand or the dark one. mat could trace every bloody problem in his life to one or the other. those flaming colors...” mat why don’t you give rand a kiss on the lips and maybe you’ll calm down

“he had married her...she had married him back” why did that make me laugh so much

i’m so mad because this description of tuon practicing wrestling or whatever fistfighting she’s doing would be so sexy if i didn’t hate her so much jfkjg show come through and make her evil in a sexy way instead of a gross way and then make her redeem herself in a sexy way! and the moment of mat throwing the knife at her but actually the gray man behind her and she instinctively turns to look behind her instead of assuming mat is trying to kill her could also have been so godtier in a proper, well done enemies-to-lovers arranged-marriage-to-real-love dynamic. but instead it’s probably just tuon knowing mat’s wrapped far too tightly around her finger like a good little slave to even think of killing her :(

min and min/rand i never would have found that compelling even if the ship had been done to the best of its potential because the ground layer of that character and ship are simply not that interesting to me, but tuon and mat/tuon............................[gazes off into the distance thinking of all we could’ve had]

i think that because it’s been so long since i last saw mat and tuon onscreen together (like, super long since i’ve been so slow about reading these last few books) i WAS able to read this first moment almost in a vacuum and appreciate the good stuff for a page until tuon opened her mouth lmao

“you must not stay away. you are important to the empire, and i have use for you.” “sounds delightful.” / “did you save her? the one you went to rescue?” “how did you know about that?” “i have decided not to be jealous. you are fortunate. the missing eye suits you. before, you were too pretty.” / “good to see you, by the way. usually, when a fellow says something like that, it’s customary to tell them that you’re happy to see them as well.” “i am the empress now. i do not wait upon others, and do not find it ‘good’ that someone has returned. their return is expected, as they serve me.” “you know how to make a fellow feel loved.” it is so clear how absolutely MISERABLE mat is going to be in this marriage. despite his protests about not wanting to get married, he does want love, he wants to be loved and appreciated as a person, but tuon only sees him as a tool and thinks of him in terms of how he can be useful to her, and yet mat desperately laps up whatever tiny little scraps of would-be affection she throws his way (like later when she says it’s good to see him and he’s like yay i’ll take that for now!). The Tragedy Of Mat!!!

“when you saw me with a dagger in hand - as if to throw at you - you didn’t call for your guards. you didn’t fear i was here to kill you. you looked over your shoulder to see what i was aiming at. that’s the most loving gesture i think a man could receive from a woman.” like this is GOOD??? i LIKED this! if only tuon wasn’t Like That then i could enjoy this moment properly! even so, this line + the actual knife throwing scene a page earlier is my favorite mat/tuon moment of the series. which is like saying “my favorite war crime in history” but yknow.

“she did not reply. light, but she seemed cold. was it all going to be different, now that she was the empress? he could not have lost her already, could he?” mat i do not know WHAT delusions you were previously operating under that you ever thought she wasn’t cold or that you “had” her lmao! she is behaving exactly the same as she always has been!

tuon now rewards his good behavior with sex just like how she rewarded his good behavior with a kiss in KOD (i think it was that book). i 100000% subscribe to @butterflydm’s theory that tuon is using slave breaking methods on mat (rewarding good behavior with treats, refusing to acknowledge his original name and instead forcing a new one on him until he begins responding to it - all things we’ve seen sul’dam do to damane). actually that’s not even a theory, it’s just a fact that that’s what she’s doing.

“i would not have said the words i did if i had found in you only a toy. a man missing an eye is no toy anyway. you have known battle; everyone who sees you now will know that. they will not mistake you for a fool, and i have no use for a toy. i shall have a prince instead.” a tiny bit of progression since she no longer views him as a toy or a fool, but she’s still seeing him as an object. only considering how he can be useful to her and how having him on her arm will affect public perception of her. she wants a nice Real Warrior to parade around and show off to everyone.

tuon when she brings a wild dangerous lion into her home and then he someday destroys it from the inside: surprised pikachu

i wish we could’ve gotten that spinoff of mat taking down the seanchan empire (if that’s what outriggers would’ve been about, which for my own sanity i must assume it would’ve been). then The Tragedy Of Mat would be a good launching point for that story, rather than an unsatisfying endgame.

“loial, son of arent, son of halan, had secretly always wanted to be hasty.” gasp! scandalous!

“it is nearly time for me to go.” “to battle?” “no, to mat. he is in ebou dar.” rand misses his man!!!

we finally learn the last thing about callandor, and it’s that it’s a sa’angreal for the true power as well as the one power! rand just suddenly knows this and doesn’t explain how - LTT memory maybe? - so i guess min’s 5 books of callandor research were completely useless lmao excellent, looks like we can officially begin and end the list of min’s plot contributions with “helping siuan escape the tower”

moiraine makes a vague allusion to mat having ancient memories that flies over rand’s head. it KILLS me that they never had a talk about their shared experience of having ancient memories!! also, wasn’t rand kind of aware that mat had ancient memories back in TFOH? or no i guess he only knew that he’d suddenly gained lots of battle strategy knowledge, but he didn’t know where it came from.

“why go to ebou dar?” because his husband is there, moiraine! he already said that!

rand is really STILL out there saying he’s gonna KILL the LITERAL DARK ONE. [1x01 moiraine intro monologue voice] the arrogance

“‘well,’ she said. ‘i am still in need of a cup of tea.’ rand looked at her, incredulous. then he laughed and walked away to bring her some.” 🥺

some dumbass tries to tell lan to talk tenobia and the other saldaean women out of joining the battle and lan claps back with: “i’ve seen saldaean woman spar. if i were to place a bet on a contest between one of them and a man from any army in the south, i’d bet on the saldaean any day...this war is everything or nothing. if i could round up each woman in the borderlands and put a sword in her hands, i would. for now, i’ll settle for not doing something stupid - like forbidding some trained and passionate soldiers from fighting.” FEMINIST KING LAN MANDRAGORAN 👑👑👑👑👑 so much love to him for being The First man in all of wheel of time to not be Weird about women going into battle!!! oh this was so satisfying.

poor mat wakes up naked in the garden with soldiers all around and tuon acts like this is normal and he’s stupid for being embarrassed. the rest of his life is going to be SO MISERABLE for him.

and finally, drumroll please.......................CAUTHOR REUNION!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

okay now that that’s out of the way, it was actually kind of a letdown i’m not gonna lie lmao but let’s get into it!

“rand looked older, more weathered, than the last time mat had seen him in person. of course, he had seen the man recently in those blasted visions. although mat had trained himself to stop thinking of rand to avoid those colors, he still slipped on occasion.” mat HAD TO TRAIN HIMSELF to STOP THINKING ABOUT RAND oh my god mat. and still slips on occasion! on occasion? mat, you are thinking about rand and getting pressed about the visions like once a chapter! perrin sure didn’t have to train himself to stop thinking about rand, i’ll tell you that.

“anyway, seeing rand in person was different.” seeing rand in person is DIFFERENT, you guys. mat is shook!

“it had been...light, how long had it been? the last time i saw him with my own eyes was when he sent me to salidar after elayne. that felt like an eternity ago. it had been before he had come to ebou dar, before he had seen the gholam for the first time. before tylin, before tuon.” 😭😭😭 especially with that last sentence, this reads so much like mat seeing his gay lover for the first time after tylin and tuon forced him through a conversion therapy arc to make him a proper heterosexual husband. i’m hurting!!! that interpretation of mat’s arc changed me as a person.

“rand did not seem the least bit worried; his face was calm. he wore a nice coat of red and black, a white shirt underneath, black trousers.” “rand watched the man go, nonchalant though he was bound. you know, mat thought idly, he kind of does look like a king.” mat really wants us to know how hot and fuckable Daddy Rand is right now, thank you mat.

tuon thinks that mat was just playing her last night and was actually luring rand to her. man i wish! but rand jumps in to tell her not to blame mat, protective husband <3

mat gets bound by the power. his gut assumption is that it’s rand doing it - heartbreaking - but it turns out it’s a damane, and tuon stole the medallion off him while he slept - heartbreaking. remember when rand refused to help moiraine get the medallion from mat? remember when elayne turned down the medallion when mat offered it to her in a dangerous situation because she wanted him to keep it and be safe? and meanwhile tuon steals it from him while he’s sleeping to protect herself. mat deserves better 2k22

“‘thanks a bundle for this,’ mat muttered to rand. ‘you’re such a bloody good friend.’ ‘it’s good to see you too,’ rand said, a hint of a smile on his lips. ‘here we go,’ mat said with a sigh. ‘you’ve pulled me into trouble again. you always do this.’” THEY ARE SO MARRIED this takes me back specifically to rhuidean when mat was like “well i won’t wait for you! so there! you better not think i will!” and rand was like, smiling, “of course i wouldn’t think that of you mat.” Poor Mat, His Husband Gets Him Into So Much Trouble! and fond husband rand just going “ah classic mat, i love this fool”

(also, might i add that “it’s good to see you” was tuon’s alleged big romantic line to mat just 2 chapters ago? 👀👀)

“‘you think you could stay away from me?’ rand asked, smiling.” rand knows mat is whipped for him god bless

amidst all his complaints mat slips in right away “what did you do to your hand, by the way?” concerned husband 🥺 “lost it capturing one of the forsaken.” “capturing? you’re growing soft.” proud husband who knows rand could kick any forsaken’s ass any day of the week! also good for him for unknowingly roasting rand for refusing to kill semirhage Because She’s A Woman lmao

“he glanced to the side. ‘you look nice, by the way. you’ve been taking better care of yourself lately.’ ‘so you do care,’ rand said. ‘of course i do,’ mat grumbled.” 😭😭😭 MARRIED!!!! also, mat, if i was going to tell my friend that they looked healthy and in a good state i would say that they looked “well” or they looked “good” i would not say that they looked NICE, MAT that’s gay. in what world is “you look nice” a comment on anything but somebody’s physical appearance in terms of attractiveness rather than in terms of health, mat. if i told somebody they looked nice they would immediately assume i was complimenting their attractiveness or their outfit or something, mat.

“‘i mean, you have to keep yourself alive, right? go have your little duel with the dark one and keep us all safe? it’s good to know you’re looking up to it.’ ‘that’s nice to hear,’ rand said, smiling.” mat is IN LOVE with rand and rand knows it and that’s why he spends this entire conversation smiling like a fool. mat’s like “you look nice. um i mean healthy and stuff! and i only care because you have to stay alive to fight the dark one to save everybody!” and rand’s just smiling because mat called him hot, no takebacks <3

and unfortunately that’s about the last of it as the rest of the scene is all about tuon being The Worst

mat immediately upon hearing tuon declare that she’s going to take his best friend captive and bring him back to seanchan: “mat smiled. light, but she made a good empress.” ?????????? WHAT THE HELL MAT also he always does this about not only the shittiest things she does but also the stupidest. like she’ll make some completely empty ego-based threat and he’s like “wow she’s such a good empress!” have any of her wild claims and threats ever ACTUALLY happened, mat? no they have not.

however, he does immediately follow this up with “there was no need to filch my medallion, though, he thought. they were going to have words about that. assuming he survived this. she would not really execute him would she?” tuon taking away mat’s possessions - and a possession that is extremely meaningful to him and makes him feel safe - is another one for the list of abusive partner markers that she displays. all together, this paragraph reads so much like somebody who is subconsciously aware that he’s in an abusive relationship but doesn’t quite know how to verbalize it to himself :(

“you know, mat thought, he does a fair job of sounding like a king too.” okay mat being into Empress Tuon can retroactively have half a right only because it implies that a bi panic is going on when paired with this line about rand jfkgj

rand flexes on tuon so hard and it’s SO sexy. “rand stepped forward. ‘i held the loyalty and fealty of all seventeen generals of dawn’s gate. fortuona athaem devi paendrag, my authority supersedes your own! ‘artur hawkwing-’ ‘my authority supersedes that of hawkwing! if you claim rule by the name of he who conquered, then you must bow before my prior claim. i conquered before hawkwing, though i needed no sword to do so. you are here on my land, empress, at my sufferance!’ thunder broke in the distance. mat found himself shaking.” yeah i’ll bet that mat Ruler Kink cauthon is shaking after that 🥵🥵

“i allowed you to live when i could have destroyed you in an instant” rand can you please just destroy her in an instant, christ!

mat persuades tuon that rand is trustworthy: “he’s a good fellow. he’s rough at the corners sometimes, but you can trust his word. if he’s offering you a treaty, he’ll make good on it.” “i grew up with rand. i vouch for him.”

and finally, perhaps the most romantic love declaration in all of WOT, “you can trust rand al’thor with the world itself.” ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

the cinematic parallels to rand defending mat to tuon back in TGS and saying he’s a good man and a loyal friend!!!!

“you called them my forces. they are our forces. you are one of us now, matrim.” “well, i guess i am at that.” stop harshing my vibe!! leave me alone i just wanna sit here and enjoy my cauthor!

speaking of harshing my vibe, UGH the deal ends up being that tuon can keep all the damane she’s already collared!!!! rand at least makes a halfhearted attempt to make her release all the ones she’s taken from the westlands before folding like a damn chair as soon as she goes “no :)” and mat just stands there and doesn’t even try. this is so fucking frustrating and it’s SO unnecessary!!!!! narratively, WHY did this need to happen? why couldn’t rand have gotten her to agree to release all the damane she’s taken from the westlands? even that is still far below what SHOULD be the endgame here - the total collapse of the seanchan empire wherein every slave in the whole empire is freed and all the lands they took in the westlands are released - so why couldn’t we have had tuon be forced to make ONE fucking concession? she almost got pulled by ta’veren sway and agreed to rand’s terms in TGS, she should be extra susceptible now that there’s two ta’veren! i’m so mad!!!! chewing rocks, as they say!!!!!

and like, you would think that the ENTIRE PURPOSE of mat’s marriage to tuon should be to help with this alliance, but he basically does NOTHING in this scene! sure he convinces tuon to trust rand, but that’s it. during the actual negotiations, he doesn’t say a peep, just sits there chewing his nails because The Girls Are Fightingggg and makes no effort to help rand get tuon to free the damane. we could’ve axed mat and tuon’s marriage entirely and it would not have been difficult to get to this same endgame result.

“‘by the way, i saved moiraine. chew on that as you try to decide which of the two of us is winning.’ mat followed tuon, and behind him rose the laughter of the dragon reborn.” a nice little note to end our cauthor scene on since i think i’ve heard it’s the last one in the whole series 😭 but also a depressing note because mat follows tuon and turns his back on rand! the metaphor of it all! The Tragedy Of Mat!

AND I DIDN’T EVEN GET MY CAUTHOR HUG GODDAMMIT!!!!!!

“‘you are right [that i need sleep], of course. and you needn’t feel surprised to hear me admit it.’ ‘i wasn’t surprised.’ ‘i can feel your emotions, gawyn.’ ‘that was from something else entirely. i remembered something sleete said a few days back, a joke i didn’t understand until now.’ he looked at her innocently. that, finally, earned a smile. a hint of one, but that was enough.” I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR

“asha’man fighting for the enemy. why wouldn’t the dragon reborn have done something?” god i know right jkfjgh

“outside, egwene sighed, closing her eyes. he put his arm around her and let her slump against him. the moment lasted but a few seconds before she pulled back, standing up straight and putting on the face of the amyrlin. so young, he thought, to have so much required of her.” 😭😭😭

“of course, she wasn’t much younger than al’thor himself. gawyn was pleased, and a little surprised, that thinking of the man did not provoke any anger. al’thor would fight his fight. really, what the man did was none of gawyn’s business.” look at gawyn so happy over the progress he’s made in working through the one-sided breakup with his toxic ex who never even knew they were in a relationship djfkjg good for him!

“i begin to think she assumes all seanchan to be darkfriends.” “you beat her and imprisoned her, making her into an animal to be led by a collar.” king gawyn once again being the only man in the series to take damane enslavement and its traumas seriously! 👑👑

gawyn feels wasted on the battlefield since he spends 95% of his time just standing there and not doing anything and acts shifty about the bloodrings and conceals from egwene the fact that he has them. oh no baby boy i sense your As Yet Unknown Crime approaching and i am afraid! but given how staunch i have become in loving gawyn - my original genuine love only being fueled higher by spite since everyone else hates him - his crime will have to be truly incredibly unbelievably heinous to make me dislike him hahaha even if it is i am fully prepared to dismiss it as ooc behavior and not his fault!

exhibit a: “you decided to stand in egwene’s shadow, gawyn, he thought. you decided you would protect her, do what she needed of you. she was winning this war, she and the aes sedai. would he let himself grow as jealous of her as he had been of al’thor?” on the one hand, still mad about gawyn’s sudden issues about being in people’s shadows that never existed prior to TOM being turned into the foundation of his character, and extra mad that all the character development he went through in the last book to overcome those issues - character development that was already unnecessary since those issues were invented purely for that one book - are now doubly unnecessary since he’s just regressed back again. on the other hand, thrilled by him paralleling his feelings for egwene with his feelings for rand, as if rand too was a lover whom gawyn grew jealous of over time djfkgjh

min shows up and says things for the first time (page 353) blech, but at least it’s brief. “light, what would he have done without her? i’d have fallen, he thought. during the dark months...i’d have fallen for certain.” FOOTAGE!!!! NOT!!!!! FOUND!!!!!!!!! you know what actually would’ve happened without min during the dark months, rand? a) you would never have been kidnapped and put in the box, b) you would never have lost your hand, c) you would never have been broken by having to torture and almost kill someone you loved, d) you wouldn’t have had to endure cadsuane’s bullying, e) you wouldn’t have had constant viewings worsening your paranoia and mistrust of others, f) you wouldn’t have had your personal secrets and traumas spilled to people you do not trust, g) you wouldn’t have had an allegedly supportive girlfriend frequently hitting you, threatening you, and working with others behind your back to “handle” you like you were a disobedient child. ETC!!

i say this all the goddamn time but i have to say again HOW FRUSTRATING it is that rand and min bludgeon us over the head with how min was The Only Light In The Darkness and The Only One Who Truly Knew Him and The Only One Who Helped Him Hold On, when there is literally no actual behavior or actions or events in the text to support these claims and in fact min’s presence actively made things worse for rand much of the time. ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

cadsuane fondly tells min that she’s been reading too much after min recites some stupid low-hanging fruit philosophy (if rand says he’s a fool, then that means he is a fool, but if he says he’s not a fool, that still means he’s a fool since it implies he doesn’t seek further wisdom) and then a page later says about elayne “then she has spoken wisdom at least once in her life. a better average than i had assumed of that one.” fuck you to hell and back along with perrin, cadsuane! elayne is far and away one of the most intelligent characters in the series and i am tired of the other characters undermining her intelligence.

but regarding that line, “rand refused to rise to that comment” and notes that cadsuane is testing him, so at least a) rand is angry to hear her speak badly of elayne and b) cadsuane is mostly just talking shit to annoy him

so far rand has gotten nice goodbye moments with elayne, aviendha, perrin, tam, lan, moiraine, cadsuane, and in a couple chapters egwene. the fact that FUCKING CADSUANE got a proper goodbye moment with rand and MAT did not!!!!!! i’m raging!!!!!!!

lan to mandarb: “we’ll rest soon, my friend. i promise. we’ll make a home. the shadow defeated, nynaeve and i will reclaim malkier. we’ll make the fields bloom again, cleanse the lakes. green pastures. no more trollocs to fight. children to ride on your back, old friend. you can spend your days in peace, eating apples and having your pick of mares.” 😭😭😭😭

“rand al’thor had begun to crack that shell, and then nynaeve’s love had ripped it apart completely. i wonder if rand ever knew, lan thought.” 😭😭😭😭

it’s just so weird that all rand’s relationships are getting such nice tributes paid to them but his relationship with mat, which was his KEY RELATIONSHIP for the first 5 books of the series, is completely brushed off. like i enjoyed their little reunion banter, but it was not nearly sufficient to be the sendoff of one of the series’ most important relationships.

speaking of sendoffs, egwene gets one with the wise ones 😭 “‘i am proud of you, girl,’ amys said. amys, tough-as-nails amys, looked teary-eyed. they rose, and egwene embraced them one a a time. ‘light shelter you, amys, melaine, bair,’ egwene said. ‘give my love to the others.’ ‘it will be done, egwene al’vere,’ bair said. ‘may you find water and shade, now and always.’” 😭😭😭

and egwene also decides not to return to TAR for the moment since it’s increasingly dangerous. “‘and farewell to you, old friend,’ she said to the air. ‘until i dream again.’ she let herself wake.” 😭😭😭

knowing what i do about egwene’s fate, this all hurt me so much!!!

egwene, gawyn, and rand have a scene alone together, perfectly timed to coincide with my third eye being opened to this forbidden polycule jkdfjgh

rand gives egwene a hair ribbon: “you always looked forward so to being able to braid your hair.” 😭😭😭😭

why didn’t mat get a nice little present from rand!!!!!!!!

“‘i just...i didn’t want to go to my fight with our last meeting having been an argument, even if it was an important one.’ ‘oh, rand,’ egwene said. she stepped forward, taking the ribbon. she embraced him.” 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️ all of this late-series rand-egwene stuff is gonna hit SOOOO well in the show since their early-series relationship was strengthened so much!

rand tells gawyn that he (rand) is galad’s half-brother!! finally this is shared!!! “egwene had figured this out ages ago” why didn’t you tell gawyn or elayne then jdkfg though maybe i’ll hopefully assume rand has told elayne by now in one of their little battle camp rendezvous.

gawyn is shook and asks about elayne and rand assures him that he and elayne are not related. secretly gawyn was asking because he wanted to know if HE and rand were related and if he would have to feel awkward about his homoerotic obsession with rand djfkg

“half-brother. not that it would probably mean much to a whitecloak.” 💔💔 galad winning the worst brother of the year award once more! and at least this does explain why rand wouldn’t have sought him out to tell him that they’re brothers. “‘i think galad would surprise you,’ gawyn said softly.” is gawyn??? being nice to rand??? oh my heart!!

and we have an uncomfortable and sad scene of mat being poked and prodded at and forced into new clothes that he hates, YET AGAIN. tuon really is just tylin 2.0

“normal life had been harder for mat than for other boys.” the Queer Mat vibes of this line when taken out of context!

“for much of mat’s life, he had wished that people would not look at him so much...now he had it [since the seanchan are all lowering their eyes], and it made him sick.” 💔💔

the one bit of good news from this scene is that mat is in last battle mode and is all business and prepared to whip the seanchan into shape, so that bs of him abandoning the last battle seems to be over now. and i can see narratively why rj would’ve wanted a major protagonist entrenched in the seanchan firmly enough that he can force them to come to the last battle and be their military commander, but there were just so many better ways to execute that.

okay so a MASSIVE army of sharans, whom we’ve heard about in passing like 4 times before this moment and barely even knew existed, just Traveled into the middle of egwene’s camp COMPLETELY OUT OF THE BLUE what in the goddamn hell???? talk about a deus ex machina! this is even worse than guybon and his massive army showing up out of the blue in KOD!

“i am the amyrlin seat, she told herself firmly. i will be strong. i will survive. so long as i live, the white tower stands. she still let gawyn hold her.” 😭😭

“if the end of the aiel was the sacrifice required for rand to win, [aviendha] would make it...better that one people should end than the world fall completely under Shadow.” okay but in the visions the world fell completely under the seanchan which is the SAME DAMN THING

we get another wonderful little avirand scene, hell yeah i wasn’t expecting to get another!!!

“she stepped up to him, and he moved so that he stood just beside her, his shoulder touching hers. he did not drape an arm around her, and she did not take his hand. he did not own her, and she did not own him. the act of his movement so that they faced the same direction meant far more to her than any other gesture could.” I HAVE BEEN STRUCK DEAD BY ROMANCE!!!! SHIT!!!!!!! I’M DEAD ON THE FLOOR!!!!! understated romantic moments between reserved characters are my kryptonite!!!!! also, howling screaming cackling at the STARK contrast between min and her possessiveness and insecurity constantly plastering herself all over rand and trying to show everyone that she owns him LMAO

RAND CALLS AVI “SHADE OF MY HEART” 😭😭😭😭😭😭🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

okay okay i’m calm! no i’m not, but i must continue on.

AVI STRAIGHT UP SAYS RAND SHOULD TAKE THE DARK ONE GAI’SHAIN JKJFKGJ THE ICON JUMPED OUT

rand used the dagger ter’angreal on his shayol ghul scouting mission and it successfully prevented the dark one from seeing him, nice! “aviendha, that you should find this and identify it when you did, that elayne should give it to me...the pattern weaves us all where we need to be.” AVIRANDLAYNE PERFECT THROUPLE PERFECT NARRATIVE COMPLEMENTS THERE IS NO NARRATIVE REASON FOR MIN TO BE PART OF THIS RELATIONSHIP

“rand smiled, then added, ‘elayne sounded sad when she gave me the dagger. i think a part of her wanted to keep it because it would let her curse by the dark one’s name without drawing his attention.’” DJFKJG he knows his wife! also, i adore this little moment of rand fondly ribbing elayne to aviendha, just as elayne fondly ribbed aviendha to rand when complaining about how they both snuck up on her. they are all married! MIN is never involved in these moments of other partners being fondly ribbed, because she refuses to acknowledge that rand HAS other partners when she’s with him.

rand tells avi that the shadow has the seals! a small thing but after so many books of rand needlessly keeping information from his own partners elayne and aviendha, i get so happy in this book when he keeps them abreast of what’s going on!

“‘we will find a way to stop this,’ aviendha said, voice firm. he looked to her and smiled. ‘always the warrior.’ ‘of course.’ what else would she be?” ❤️❤️

nynaeve’s been studying callandor, which makes no sense as she has no ability with ter’angreal, but she has nothing to do while elayne and aviendha are busy doing hot girl shit, so that task was punted off to her. nynaeve really was so wasted after WH, or really after ACOS, i feel like her breaking her block was her last truly big solo moment. why isn’t she with egwene blowing up trollocs and helping with healing? she would be so effective there!

lmao of course min was hoping and assuming that rand would take her with him into THE LITERAL DARK ONE’S PRISON WHEN HE GOES THERE TO FIGHT HIM 1V1 good god i cannot with her. aviendha at least had reasonable grounds to hope to go, as she is an extremely capable warrior with both the power and with physical weapons, but what did min think she was gonna do, recite other people’s philosophical ideas at the dark one?

but rand is sending her to egwene’s battlefront and i’m guessing they might not see each other again, in which case min did NOT get a dedicated scene with him like elayne and aviendha did, fuck yeah we love to see it!!

“tomorrow, we invade shayol ghul and claim it as our own! if we must put our head into the lion’s mouth, let us make certain that he chokes upon our flesh!” damn! i was hoping to get to halfway through the book for this recap (currently 50ish pages away from halfway), but this is just too fitting a place to end the post!

one last note for the road: i’ve got to apply this quote to The Tragedy Of Mat. he is being forced to put his head into the lion’s mouth, but someday they WILL choke upon his flesh!

#wot #wot book spoilers #this chapter chunk wasn't even 200 pages lmao how did this post get so long!#especially considering so much of those 200 pages were battle scenes i skipped over with no commentary!#i guess 40% of the post is deep dives into the randlayne and cauthor reunions djfk that's important content!

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Disappearance III

Character: Childe, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,581

Warnings: None

Premise: In which there is an argument and the reader disappears.

Author’s Note: Childe my favorite character, how I love to torture you.

But genuinely I really like how this one came out.

Childe

Childe craned his neck to stare at the clock on the wall behind him. Sighing at the lateness of the afternoon he turned back towards the papers in his lap, trying desperately to focus, to not let his thoughts drift off to the argument that had taken place in the morning.

It had started out simple enough. Childe had informed you that he might be gone for some time, as the Tsaritsa had requested a high-level reconnaissance mission, and Childe was to be the one to lead it. He thought that you react much the way that you always had, assurances of his success, light-hearted reminders to stay safe, and a goodbye kiss as you two settled back into a normal routine before the day of departure. Instead however, your lips had slanted into a frown, and you stopped making your breakfast to turn and face your partner.

“Childe, I wish you wouldn’t always take things on yourself.”

“What do you mean darling?” Childe felt a wave of surprise wash over him. After all, what else was he supposed to do?

“I mean that you’re being entirely too reckless Childe. You know that you have too high a profile to be doing stuff like this. I… I would like you to sit this one out. Just this one.”

Childe couldn’t help but laugh, whether out of irritation or genuine amusement he wasn’t sure of. “As much as I appreciate the concern, I can’t do that. No leader worth their salt would send their underlings off alone, even if they are some of the weakest underlings in the world. No one’s been able to pull the wool over me yet darling, it’ll be perfectly alright.”

“You’re not listening to me,” your voice picked up in intensity. “Childe I really try, I try to remind myself that you’re a Harbinger and able to take care of yourself; but sometimes it’s just too much. This is too much.”

“You’re being silly,” Childe said, trying to keep his tone light. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I can’t disobey the Tsaritsa. She wishes me to do this so I will. It’s as simple as that.”

“The Tsaritsa is far away, she has hundreds, thousands under her command. She won’t bat an eye at your safety.”

“Like you said, I can take care of myself.”

“But what if one day you can’t? What if, what if one day you don’t come back. Please, just this once; just this once don’t go.”

“I know that the length of time is upsetting, but you can’t react like this every time I have to go away for a while. I promise that you’ll have me all to yourself afterwards.”

“It’s not about that Childe! Please, please listen to me. I’m worried about your safety. I’m worried one of these days you’re going to end up in a fight too big even for you. What will you do then? What will your underlings do? What will I do? Please, tell the Tsaritsa you have to stay and make sure the Bank stays out of trouble, or that nothing happens in Liyue. Please, don’t go this time.”

“You’re being irrational.” By now Childe was definitely irritated.

“No, I’m being realistic. You don’t take care of yourself enough.”

“You’re just underestimating me. Besides, I’m a better fighter than you’ll ever be. It’s not like you can protect me even if I stayed here.”

“What?”

“It’s not like staying in Liyue would be any safer, better to face things head on. For the Tsaritsa, for Snezhnaya, that is the most important thing. If you can’t see that, you’re just being stupid.”

Although Childe regretted the words almost immediately after they left his mouth he could see that saying that would’ve had no effect. So instead he watched silently as your face clouded over and you stormed out the door, not bothering to grab your food as you slung your pack around you back and walked out. A part of him wanted to call after you, but he knew that even if he did you probably wouldn’t listen. Even if you did, what could he say? After all, he had simply spoken the truth; even if you couldn’t accept it as such.

Now Childe sat on the couch, eyes glazing voer as he stared at all the paperwork that needed to be done before his mission. He had already spent a hectic, uneasy day at the bank. Though he knew that none of his underlings would be foolish enough to try to pull something while he was gone, Andrei would make sure of that and Childe would make sure of Andrei, it was still tedious, boring work. This was in no way helped by the lingering ill will from his fight with you earlier. Though Childe ultimately forgot fights relatively quickly the time right after was always an uneasy one, filled with sudden flashes of irritation replaced suddenly by the wish for it all to have never happened.

He had hoped that you might be home by the time he arrived, but your absence wasn’t truly much of a surprise. Besides the fact that you were still probably angry with him, something Childe couldn’t really fault, you had recently been involved with some project near the Chasm, and it was hardly surprising that something that big caused you late hours. Still he couldn’t deny the fact that he was somewhat disappointed, or maybe disheartened was a better way to put it. He hated fighting with you, especially fights that lasted. Even if he was irritated with you, even if he thought that you had demanded something impossible, he still regretted snapping at you. He just wanted you to come home now, that way he could apologize and explain the situation better. That way he wouldn’t leave with any ill will behind him.

The clock was excruciatingly slow, but the insult of that wasn’t registered until Childe dozed off. Waking up in the middle of the night he was surprised at your continued absence. Though he had expected that sleeping on the couch might’ve happened, your total disappearance was certainly something that threw him for a loop. Making his way to the bedroom and flopping down on the bed Childe closed his eyes, pushing away the anxiety that clustered at the edge of his thoughts.

Perhaps you’d ended up staying with Hu Tao, or maybe you’d gone back home to your family. He had been awfully mean after all, and you were never the kind of person to take his insults sitting down. Still, if that were true why hadn’t you packed more, or come back to collect your things? It didn’t make any sense. Questions and half baked reasonings floated through Childe head as he tried to delay the inevitable pull of sleep. The last conscious thought he could remember was the knowledge that at least you would be back tomorrow.

You were not, in fact, home tomorrow. The Harbinger’s time spent at the Northland Bank was almost completely useless, the meeting with the people he’d be going on his mission with even more so. Though Childe wasn’t necessarily the most attentive listener, often letting his mind wander when his fellow Fatui members fell into arguing about the most insipid things, he knew that paying attention to a plan as a whole was critical to its success. Even so he couldn’t bring his mind to focus on the maps and profiles that sat in front of him. Where were you? It seemed like such a silly question, but the longer it floated in Childe’s head the colder he felt.

Finally the meetings and the menial tasks ended and Childe could go home. Sprinting down the winding streets of Liyue, not bothering to hide the fact he was in a hurry, Childe burst into the apartment. His heart sank as he was met with the same image he’d seen when he’d left that morning.

Afterwards Childe wandered around the docks of Liyue, trying to keep the quickly fragmenting pieces of his mind together. He knew that he was probably overreacting, knew that you were simply staying away because of what he said, knew that it wouldn’t be forever – you would have definitely told him if that were the case. Still he couldn’t help but feel dread crawling over him, saturating the cracks of his brain as he wondered how he’d managed to fuck everything up so much. He had underestimate how much his words must have affected you, and that only made him feel worse. Finally exhausting his walk along the pier Childe set off towards the edges of the city and into the vast wilderness of Liyue. He needed to find something to fight.

The nightmare continued on into the next day, then into the day after that. Childe could barely remember what he did during those days, walking around as if possessed, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few moments before his thoughts inevitably found their way back to you. Mostly Childe ended up sleeping, dozing off at his desk or on the couch, papers fluttering from his hands onto the floor. Mostly Childe dreamed of you.

They weren’t dreams of any particular note, their contents incredibly mundane. Not that it matter to Childe; within those dreams he felt nothing but happy domesticity, a calm that washed over him as he walked with you to the market or lay next to you under the stars. Always you would appear in his dreams suddenly, and always he would throw his arms around you, clinging to you as if even an embrace wasn’t enough. Always he woke up with a sense of desolation so vast it threatened to consume him.

Finally on the fifth day Childe couldn’t take it anymore. Waking up at almost the crack of dawn the Harbinger rushed to the Bank. He wouldn’t stay long, only enough to inform Andrei that he’d be out for the day. Then he’d go to the Guild and check and make sure everything was okay. Then, well he’d figure out what to do then. It seemed pathetic to chase after you, not to mention gross. He wouldn’t become a stalker, wouldn’t let himself fall into such pathetic behavior. Still, he had to make sure you were at least okay. As long as he did that, well, the rest could come later.

Striding into the Bank Childe was met with a surprising sight. Normally Ekaterina stayed firmly tucked inside her receptionist cubby, even more antisocial than the likes of the Balladeer or the Fatui that guarded Dragonspine. Now however she stood at the front of the booth, wringing her hands this way and that as she stared at a piece of paper in front of her. Feeling a sudden sense of dread Childe walked up to her.

“Ekaterina?”

“Oh!” Ekaterina whirled around, look on her face one of utter anxiety. “My lord, I was horrified to hear of the news, tell me, do you know if they’re almost free?”

“What are you talking about?” Childe narrowed his eyes.

“Why, your partner. I only heard today from Nadia; no wonder you’ve been so distant recently, if it’s not too much for me to say so. I only hope that they’ll soon be rescued, I’m sure you know about the situation better than I do though.”

“Ekaterina, what in the Tsaritsa’s name are you talking about?”

A shadow passed over Ekaterina’s face, a look of utter dread. Swallowing slightly she stared at a spot in the wall right to the side of Childe. “You partner, my lord, I’ve been informed that they have become trapped in one of the caverns of the Chasm. I thought that you knew about it, it’s been five days after a–”

Childe didn’t hear the rest of what Ekaterina had to say. Whirling around the Harbinger slammed his way out of the bank, aiming towards the nearest waypoint. Cold dread washed over him and with it desperate determination. He’d rescue you. If he had to tear apart the entire Chasm and raze all the mountains in Liyue to the ground so be it.

Approaching the Chasm Childe felt a rush of adrenaline wash over him. He was terrified. By the Seven, he was utterly terrified. Images of you flashed in his mind, images of you cowering in the dark, stuck at the bottom of an endless pit, lying on the ground with no air or food or life in you. How could he have let this happen? How could he have not known of this before? Anger burned within Childe, anger at himself. He should have never let you walk out of your apartment without apologizing first. He should have enquired after you after the first night you didn’t show up. He should’ve been the first person there for you, instead of the last person to know. He was so utterly stupid.

Approaching what must’ve been the site of the accident Childe felt his stomach drop to his feet at the sight of you. You were covered in dirt, cuts spread across your arms and legs as you slumped against a Guild member, dragging your feet in an awkward shuffle towards the stretcher that must’ve been meant to bring you to the apothecary. There were a variety of Guild members flocking around you, along with one of the doctors of Liyue, who was scribbling notes down furiously. Your expression was utterly dazed, as if you weren’t exactly sure of what was going on, something that tore Childe apart.

Stepping towards you Childe called out your name. At the sound your head jerked up, and you gave a hoarse sort of cry before turning to make your way towards him. Sprinting towards you Childe stepped backwards as you fell awkwardly into him. Steadying you for a moment before wrapping his arms around you Childe felt all his emotions crashing over him, so intense that he couldn’t control them anymore. Ignoring the tears that tracked their way down his cheeks the Harbinger let out a shudder.

“Thank the Seven, thank the Seven you’re safe. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, alright? You don’t have to forgive me, but by the gods I’m so sorry.”

“I wish you had been there,” you mumbled softly. “It was so dark, I couldn’t see anything. I thought, I thought that I might never see you again.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said all those things to you, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You should’ve fold so easily you know, you should be really, really angry at me.”

“I don’t want to be angry at you though, I just want you to stay.”

“Then I will,” Childe tightened his embrace around you. “I promise I will.”

“Okay.”

Having apparently said everything that had to be said you let Childe sling you onto his back, refusing to be carried to the hospital in the stretcher. As you appeared to doze off on his back Childe made a promise to himself. Even if he couldn’t disobey the Tsaritsa, even if he couldn’t change who he was, he would never leave you when you needed him to be there.

You would never find yourself needing him to be there without the chance of your need being met. That he promised you.

#genshin impact fanfiction #childe x reader #childe #genshin impact #genshin childe #requested #fanfiction #scenarios #my writing

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titan-fodder · 3 years

Text

Prima Vista Part IX

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 14.3k

Warnings: timeskip, mutual pining, author doesn’t know shit about science subject matter, explicit sexual content, ass play, snowballing, tooth rotting fluff A/N: This is it, y’all. This last part was so much fun to write, I can’t even put it into words. The feedback on this has been incredible, so a big thank you for that, and before anyone asks, I have a handful of spinoff oneshots planned for this series. Enjoy~

- NINE YEARS -

“Hey, don’t forget about the meeting at three.”

Mike glances up from his computer to find Henning leaning through his office doorway. It’s the first time Mike has looked away from the screen in at least an hour, and he blinks at his colleague several times in an attempt to get rid of the gritty feeling in his eyes.

“Yeah, thanks,” he nods, rubbing a hand down his face. “Definitely would’ve forgotten about that one.”

Henning leaves with one rap of his knuckles against the doorframe, and Mike checks his phone to see how much time he has before he has to make his way to the conference room. It’s twenty after two, so he spends a little while longer reading over the journal that had been sent to him, only tearing himself away when his alarm goes off at 2:55.

He waves at a few people as he passes, shows the reserved smile he’d mastered upon entering the corporate world, then walks into the large meeting space and sets his little notepad on the mahogany table as he sits down in a plush rolling chair.

This meeting has been planned for a few weeks now, a team of researchers contracted by the government to study Lake Sina and everything wrong with it. Its water quality is at an all time low, and it's up to Mike and his team to figure out a way to change that so it can be purified enough to distribute to the public. There are a few large cities close to the lake, all of lower income and all struggling with their water systems. If Sina can get clean enough, it would solve a huge crisis that most people don't even know is taking place.

Tomas, Henning, Lynne, and Nanaba are already in the room, and after a few minutes, another group of four walks in, all unfamiliar except…

Mike’s eyebrows knit together as he stares. He can only see a profile from where he’s sitting, but it’s one he recognizes. The time he spent admiring it, mentally sketching every feature—of course he’d recognize it. Recognize you.

There is a pounding in his chest that Mike hasn’t felt in years, and his palms are suddenly damp. The collar of his shirt is too tight around his throat, and he reaches up to undo the top two buttons so that he can fucking breathe, but Jesus Christ, he can’t believe it. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he last saw you.

He wonders if you’ll have the same reaction when you finally notice him, if you’ll gawk at him or grin or run away. He wouldn’t blame you if you tucked tail. That last conversation—if it could even be called that—is not one of Mike’s fondest memories, and he can’t imagine the toll it took on you, what you must have felt going into your final year of undergrad.

“Is there a remote for the projector?” You call out to the table, and your voice sounds exactly the fucking same. It makes Mike want to slam his head into the wood, but before he can, you zero in on him.

He watches as your eyes grow, jaw setting, shoulders rising with a deep breath, and oh, you’re panicking. You’re panicking just like he is.

“Um,” you cough and shake your head, then lean over to speak to one of your people before basically jogging from the room.

No one seems to think anything of it. Mike has to white-knuckle the arms of his chair to keep himself from getting up and following. There's no reason he should follow, though. The two of you haven’t spoken in almost a decade. He has nothing to share with you, no reason to talk to you on a non-professional level. You don’t know each other anymore, and that’s fine. It’ll be fine.

A mousy looking man starts passing out little binders to everyone at the table, then introduces himself as Moblit and the other two in the room as Hange and Abel.

"And, the other girl you saw is—"

"I'm back, I'm here," you announce as you step into the room, closing the door behind you and introducing yourself with a wave. "Did we get the projector working?"

"Yes," Abel answers, passing you the remote that Nanaba had procured a few minutes ago.

Hange plugs a cable into a laptop and the white screen is lit up with the image of the well known lake, once beautiful, deep blue but now a murky brown.

Mike has been preparing for this project for a few months now, going to an off-site lab to look over the samples being sent in or dropped off. He knew there was a research team studying the lake, but… what are the odds that you would be part of that team?

He supposes your jobs could overlap just like your classes used to, but you had told him you wanted to go into natural hazards ("You're a natural hazard," he had replied with a snort). Of course, that had been a long time ago, but how had that dream morphed into hydrology?

Before the presentation starts, Mike's boss, Keith Shadis slips through the door and takes his seat at the end of the table. You're quick to grab one of the binders and walk it over to him, flashing a smile and never letting your gaze flit to Mike.

Hange does most of the talking, going over all of your findings while all of you "braved the wilderness". Moblit and Abel insert a few things here and there, and then Hange clicks to a slide with a graph on it and hands the remote to you.

"If you turn to page seventeen in the binders, you can probably get a better look, but this shows how much the level of pollution in Lake Sina has risen in the last year alone. We took samples over…"

You keep talking, but Mike loses his focus, watching your hands move as you speak, the way you're rocking back on your heels, and how you look anywhere but at him.

Even though there's a tiny tremble in your voice, you sound passionate, and why wouldn't you be? Mike is passionate too. About the same god damn thing.

With a PhD in environmental science, his specialty is pollutants. It's something he's been interested in since grad school because the earth is beautiful but in an awful state, and Mike wants to fucking change that. He's written journals and articles, worked with leading experts, and it's what he's decided to dedicate himself to, so why is it that this life that he's built for himself is suddenly intermingling with yours? How—

A hand comes to rest on Mike's and he startles at the touch, jerking his head upward to see Lynne with raised eyebrows.

"Mike, I get why you're lost in the pollution sauce, but if you click that pen one more time, I will throw you out of this high-rise."

He stares at her for a second before chuckling and tossing his pen onto his blank notebook. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. It's a little embarrassing, actually. How many people noticed? Did you?

The presentation ends with Hange telling everyone that they're happy to be teaming up with the Corporation to work toward a solution and a plan to clean Lake Sina and possibly implement it into larger bodies of water.

The planning stage of the project will more than likely last for a few months, meaning you'll all be regulars in the office which Mike isn't especially thrilled about, even if you will be sequestered in a little annex and spending a lot of your time in the lab. Mike will still have to see you and work with your team, god, probably have to talk to you.

The floor opens up for any questions, but Shadis is the only one who speaks, wanting clarification on some statistic that Mike is going to have to read over later. Once the boss is happy, he stands, then walks behind Mike's chair to slap him on the back and say the last thing Mike wants to hear.

"This is Dr. Mike Zacharias. All of you should get familiar with him since he'll be heading this project."

Mike sits up a little straighter and forces a tight-lipped smile that all of his colleagues know is fake.

"Happy to be working with you."

It isn't a lie. He's been excited about this project for a long time now. He just wasn't expecting such a massive wrench to get thrown right into the middle of it.

The four of you start packing up your materials. When Henning tries to hand you his binder, you tell him, "No, those are for you to keep. Just to get a real grasp on what we found out there."

Mike knows he's staring, swiveling back and forth in his chair, twirling the pen he's picked up again, and he wonders if it would just be easier to rip the bandaid off. Exchange hellos, go over the bare minimum—how long he's been with the company, how long you've been researching. Just enough to appear casual, like you didn't break Mike's fucking heart in college.

And, then he thinks about just avoiding you altogether. There's always the chance your issues could come up in conversation, and it's so far in the past now, there's nothing either of you can say to make the other feel better. This can't be about closure. It's just a job. That's all.

"Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

Mike's vision unfogs, and he glances around to find that yes, you're the only two left in the conference room. Fantastic.

You're wrapping a cord around your elbow then shoving it in a laptop bag, and he can tell you're moving as fast as you can, ready to get the fuck out of there.

"Uh, yeah," Mike agrees, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his notebook to curl in his hands. "Everyone's just ready to get back to work, I guess."

"Yeah. You can only hold someone's attention with a PowerPoint for so long."

Mike's mouth is too dry, and it feels like he needs to cough, but he doesn't want to startle you, so he just quietly clears his throat in an entirely ineffective way and tells you, "Good PowerPoint, though."

You snicker, not loud enough to hear your real laugh, and Mike doesn't know if he's grateful for that or not.

"Thanks. Mobs made it."

Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you finally look up at Mike—really look at him for the first time—and he sees your expression go soft, mouth twitching like you’re caught between smiling and frowning, and Mike is taken back to the first night he met you when he wanted you to shotgun that disgusting beer.

You blink at him, open and close your mouth, and Mike is waiting with baited breath for you to say something else, but all you do is hold your hand out for him to take the projector remote from you.

"Here."

He grabs it with two fingers, careful not to brush your hand. Fuck, he wishes his heart would stop beating so hard, it's incredibly uncomfortable.

"I feel like I should say something," you murmur, "But I have no idea what, so I'm just gonna tell you I look forward to working with you, Dr. Zacharias."

He grins. Widely. He doesn't mean to, but he does. It's been so damn long since anyone has said his last name like that.

"Do you, though?" He asks.

"Do I what?"

"Look forward to working here."

"Oh, uh…" You bite your lip, start rocking on your feet again, then shrug. "I guess? I mean… Big project."

"Very big."

"It's important to me. I can't say that I was expecting—"

"Me?" Mike offers with a tilt of his head.

He's standing too close. It feels like he is, anyway, so he moves back to lean against the conference table.

"Yeah, pretty much," you laugh. "It's been a while."

Mike wonders if you remember that night as well as he does. No matter how much he's tried to forget it, that image of you with fat years rolling down your face just will not leave him. Do you remember how it felt? Can you remember everything he said to you?

Before Mike can respond, you wave a hand. "Anyway, I need to go help set up our little area, so…"

"Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

After powering through the last hour of his day, Mike bolts from the building. He needs to get home. He needs to get a drink in his hand. He needs to unwind and not think of you.

He needs to fucking call Erwin.

"Hey, bro, what's up?"

"Dude," is all Mike says at first.

"What?"

"You will never fucking guess who's on the team we’re working with on the Sina water project."

Erwin hums in a sing-song sort of way, then chuckles. "Funny, I got a similar call about an hour ago."

"You guys still talk?" Mike asks a little too loudly.

"Yeah, man. Not every day or anything, but—"

Mike rolls his eyes. "You're unbelievable." He isn't mad, and Erwin knows this. He's just a little surprised. His friend hasn’t as much as uttered your name in the last ten years.

"Yeah, whatever. How'd it go from your perspective?"

"It—Wait, what did she say?"

"Oh, no no no," Erwin laughs. Mike here's a distant, "Hold that, please!" and figures he's making his way to the elevator to leave work as well. "I am not getting caught up in your bullshit again."

Pouting, Mike finally turns on his car and pulls out of the parking lot. "Fine. It went… Well? I think? I mean, super awkward, but that isn't surprising."

"No name-calling or confessions of undying love?"

"No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

"Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts.

"Fuck off. It was a good presentation, but she was nervous, and I couldn't tell if it was from having to speak in front of people or if it was 'cause I was there, and then we talked afterward—nothing important or anything, just, like, an acknowledgement. You know, you're here, I'm here, we have to find a way to co-exist, except neither of us actually said that," Mike has to take a deep breath. He's rambling, he knows, and Erwin is just listening, probably storing it all away to make fun of him about it later. "It was okay. It could've been worse."

"Could have been better too."

"What? How—"

"Could have bent her over the desk and—"

"Dude!"

Erwin breaks into that deep laugh Mike is so used to, tells him, "I'm just saying! I know she's still cute. We have each other on Facebook."

He's right. Too right. You are absolutely still cute, all dressed up in business casual attire, so different from the leggings and hoodies you used to wear. Your face has matured slightly—naturally—and your hair is different but still suits you. Mike has no idea how he's supposed to work with you for the next few months.

"I can't deal with you," Mike grumbles. "Why did I even call you?"

"Probably because I'm the only one who has an inkling about what you're going through right now," Erwin replies. "Aside from her anyway."

"Yeah, yeah."

They chat for a little while longer until Erwin gets to the bar he's apparently meeting some coworkers at, and Mike spends the rest of his drive listening to music too loud as he tries and fails to clear his mind of you.

You're pacing. You have been for the last hour. The food you made for yourself went cold some time ago, but you're too busy whining into your phone to notice.

"Just—like—what the fuck am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to work with him like this? He's overseeing the whole fucking project! I can't just avoid him!"

"Okay, first thing's first," Hitch stops you. "I need you to take a deep breath for me."

"Hitch—"

"Breathe!"

You inhale through your nose then blow out through your mouth, but that's obviously not good enough for Hitch because she demands, "And, again."

"What are you, my therapist?"

"I mean, I usually act like one, so… anyway, while you're calming the fuck down, I'm gonna call for backup. Hold please."

Dropping yourself onto the hotel couch, you try to relax even though you know it'll be impossible because—

"You're working with Mike?" Rhi's shrill voice meets your ear, and you have to pull the phone away.

"Rhi, you're supposed to help me calm her down, not add to her panic," Hitch reminds her.

"Yeah, no, that's not gonna happen," Rhi tells her, and you laugh to yourself.

"Agreed."

"Okay, so tell me what happened. Oh my god, did you cry? Did he cry? What'd Erwin say when you told him? You told him, right?"

You've gotten used to Rhi's rapid fire inquiries a long time ago, so you have no problem answering, "We walked in for the big Sina presentation today, and he was just there, and I was freaking out, so Hange had to do most of the work but still made me go over my findings 'cause I understand them better than they do, but anyway. I don't think he was paying attention at fucking all which is cool 'cause I wouldn't have been either, and then we talked for a second afterward, but there were no tears. There was almost vomit 'cause I felt like I needed to throw up, but I kept it together. I think."

"Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?"

You snicker to yourself. "He made fun of me for a little while and then he told me to talk to Mike once I calmed down just to catch up and then to—this is verbatim, by the way—to possibly have dirty sex in Mike's office."

Both of your friends howl, Hitch being the first to gather herself enough to giggle, "He fucking would say that, oh my god, I hate him."

"Same," Rhi drawls. "Okay, but is there the possibility of dirty office sex?"

"Wha—That's what you're taking away from all that?" You splutter.

"Uh, yeah."

"I'm kinda curious too," Hitch pipes up.

You wave your free hand around in confusion and tell them, "I—we—no! We don't even know each other anymore. We said, like, four words to each other today, and it was fucking weird, so no. Pervs."

"Do you want to, though? Has he aged well?" Hitch asks in a low, sultry voice.

You click your tongue and pause, not wanting the first thought that pops into your head to be what comes out of your mouth because yes, holy shit, yes, Mike looks so fucking good. It was one of many reasons you were so tongue-tied in front of him.

He's still impossibly tall and broad, but in slacks and a button up. The beard he’s always had is short and rugged and a tad darker than the hair on top of his head that he's let grow out long enough to tie in a bun, and it fits him too well. You thought you were gonna start drooling on his fancy shoes.

"He's alright," you play. They see right through you, falling into another long fit of laughter until you admit, "Okay, okay, he's still stupid hot, alright?"

"God bless. I'm so happy to hear that. I'm so happy for you."

"Why would you—"

"Just promise you'll invite us to the wedding."

"I think you guys are getting a little ahead of yourselves."

"Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

"And, Maddie."

You shake your head as the other two start going back and forth, talking about you like you're not even there, bringing up college memories, old parties you'd all gone to.

"Hey, remember when you hated me?" Rhi questions, and both of you snort.

"And, you hated me right back. Stole your man or whatever."

Hitch mutters a quiet, "Ew, fuck that guy."

And, Rhi picks up, "Yeah, fuck that all-American, record-breaking pitcher."

The three of you talk well into the evening, eventually switching to Zoom so that you can all see each other and add Maddie and Marie into the call. You and Hitch break open bottles of wine, but Rhi and Maddie don't drink, "Solidarity with this pregnant bitch," Maddie says, and Marie lifts her glass of water to cheers via internet.

Sophomore and junior year of college, you never would have expected to get close to anyone other than Hitch, but through a few shared classes and petty curiosity, all of you ended up seeking solace in one another and came out on the other side as best friends. Hitch was even Maid of Honor in Marie and Nile's wedding. Against all odds, everything turned out pretty wholesome.

"I genuinely hope it works out," Hitch says now, words long, lazy, and starting to slur together "Like, even if it's just you and Mike making up and being, like, cool with each other again."

"Hitch, you're drunk, please go to bed."

"I am drunk. But, I still mean what I said. I miss when you guys were just best friends."

"Why?" You question with a head shake.

Hitch sighs, "'Cause you were so happy."

"No, I—"

"I mean, you were still all… weird and guarded, but that dude made you laugh and smile so much."

"I daresay I even saw you giddy on a couple of occasions," Marie hums.

"Whatever. I just want it to be… not awkward."

"Then, talk."

"Mm, pass."

A light knock on the wall of the impressively large cubicle gets your whole team's attention, all of you glancing up to find Mike standing in the little entryway, hands in his pockets.

"Hey, just checkin' in. Have you all gotten settled?"

"Yes!" Hange is up on their feet. "Great accommodations, and that lab you guys use?" They moan, and you can tell Mike is trying not to laugh because his mouth is twisting to one side like it always does when he tries to appear unaffected by something. However, you know well that it is very hard to remain unaffected by Hange Zoe.

"Yeah, we haven't had a lab that shiny in a long time," Moblit chuckles.

"Don't you work in government buildings?" Mike frowns.

"You ever seen the inside of a post office?" You question, immediately regretting it when those light green eyes land on you.

"Uh, yeah?"

Smirking through the butterflies, you tell him, "Those are government buildings too."

"Don't mind her. She's just being a smartass," Abel says.

Mike is really fighting that smile now. Even pinched to one side, you can see the way his lips are trying to curve upward, and you have to bite yours and look at the floor before you start acting like a god damn school girl.

It's nearing the end of the first week at your new location. It hasn't been terrible, and some of the strangeness is beginning to wear off, but it's still jarring to see Mike walk around or hear his voice carrying through his office door.

Neither of you have gone out of your way to talk to one another. Anything project related, Hange handles for the most part, and if anything is delegated to you, you try to pass it off to Abel because you're just not ready to be alone in a room with Mike. Your brain and your heart can't take it yet.

You can't deny that you're curious, though. You wonder what his life is like now, what his job is like outside of what you've seen (which, admittedly, is not much), what he does in his free time now, who he spends his time with. You couldn't help but notice (you made a point of looking) that there isn't any type of ring on his finger which is pretty fucking surprising since, well, Mike has always been a catch. How has someone not come around and swiped him off the market? Or, does he just not wear a wedding band at work? Or, does he just have a girlfriend and is waiting to take the next step? So many questions you have no business asking.

Mike hums, rubs at something probably nonexistent on the carpet with the toe of his shoe, and mumbles a little, "Nothin’ I haven't dealt with before," that makes everyone look at him curiously. "With co-workers, you know. Lotta sass in the office."

You stifle a laugh and stand up. There are a lot of sassy things you could say, but you figure none of them are actually appropriate, especially since Mike is technically your boss now—why is that so hot?—so you just slip out of the cubicle, doing your best to not brush up against Mike. He apparently doesn't care, though, because while he moves to the side, he does the thing that all men do, placing a hand on the small of your back as if to guide you past him, and it makes you burn.

"'scuse me," you squeak, relieved to be able to run to the restroom where you can sit in a stall and scream to Hitch through texts.

You are dying—mostly because you don't know what you want. Do you want to be friends? Do you want to seduce him? Do you want another nine years away from him? You have no idea.

You were sad for a long time after that holiday break. You trudged through your spring courses, took more classes in the Summer, then started all over. Hitch had to physically drag you out of your tiny apartment a few times but never to any parties, thank god. Just to lunch or the library, and eventually, Rhi, Marie, and Maddie came into the picture. Further into the picture, anyway.

While they got you laughing again, though, that ache didn't ever fade. Mike's words replayed in your head in a constant loop, day and night for months. I can’t do this anymore. Start fresh. Shouldn’t be hard for you. You were mad at yourself for a long time, for ruining everything and hurting him. If you could have gone back to the start of it all and done things differently, you would have, but you just had to sit with all your mistakes instead.

Then, your anger shifted toward him. Because you weren't the only one who messed up. You may have been the first one to, but he did some shitty things too. He's the one who didn't care even after finding out it was Zeke who blocked his number. He's the one who refused to believe that you and Erwin weren't actually a couple. He's the one who brought Rhi to the ranch house with the specific intention of hurting your feelings (and to wet his dick).

And, he's the one who didn't want to work things out.

You understand his frustration. You broke his heart, after all. But then, he turned around and broke yours too.

It was nine years ago, and you've moved on. You've dated people since then. You've fallen in and out of love. Mike wasn't even on your radar until Monday, but now… Now, there's no forgetting him. Old wounds get jabbed every time he peeks around the corner, any time you hear him laugh or see him smile, and when he actually looks at you, fuck, it's like someone is ripping stitches out of your skin.

It is not a productive work environment.

Your team hasn't noticed much other than Moblit asking what has you so tense these days, but no one has made any connections, and you'd like to keep it that way. Hange would have a fucking field day if they found out.

There are many meetings to toss around ideas, plans and blueprints that get scrapped. You stumble through presentations, trying not to look directly at anyone as your cheeks heat up and your hands shake.

"You've never been nervous about stuff like this," Abel tells you in the conference room one day as everyone else files out. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing," you shake your head. "Don't worry about it."

"Nothing my ass," he grumbles, walking out without you.

"You really should try to relax," Mike tells you from where he's still sitting at the table. "No idea why you're so nervous."

Everyone else is gone which means you're free to squint at him, scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but when you see that he's smirking at you, the words dry up.

"Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

"I'm not playing anything," he tells you. "But, I do need to know how long we're gonna keep up this I don't know you-you don't know me thing."

"You literally just said—..." Taking a deep breath, you look over your shoulder to, one, form a coherent sentence in your brain, and two, make sure no one is close enough to hear it when you say, "What would you prefer we do? Not like we can just pick up where we left off. Unless, you know, you wanna go back to being incredibly fucking pissed at me for months on end."

"Man, you really are tense about this," Mike chuckles, and you're torn between slapping him and jumping his bones, so you do neither. Fuck, why'd he have to wear the purple tie today? It looks so good with his complexion and complements his eyes. A few strands of hair have come loose from the bun at the back of his head, and he shakes them out of his face like he used to shake his shaggy bangs, and all you can do is stare and squirm and tell him, "I have to go."

"Go where?" He asks, standing from his chair. It feels like he towers over you even from across the table.

You hold your hands out and gesticulate a little frantically, "I don't know—work? Maybe?"

He's extremely amused, even laughs as you make your way out the door, then calls, "Whenever you're ready to talk, just let me know! You know where my office is."

"I don't wanna talk!"

You really don't. But, you also really do.

Mike starts having fun with his new department (you specifically) around the third week.

He's never seen you like this before, having to mentally prepare yourself before you walk into any room, like you have to be ready for him. You nibble on your lip and rock on your heels. Your hands shake in meetings when you have to point to pictures or graphs.

It’s just so unlike you. He got so used to the surly, uncaring girl in college, never happy to see Mike until you gave him a fair chance (and decided you enjoyed his cock). He expects everything to come out of your mouth to be sarcastic or suggestive, and when it's not, it takes him off guard.

Mike is nervous around you too. He can easily admit that. But, his neverending panic really just manifests in the form of nausea and heart palpitations which he thinks is better than trembling and stuttering, but it's still mildly distracting.

Every once in a while, he catches a glimpse of that old side of you, though, a mumbled smartass remark or an unimpressed expression, and he has to make a conscious effort to not grin like an idiot because he's still trying to decipher his actual feelings.

Is he supposed to act like nothing ever happened, or should he hold a grudge? What seems more natural? What feels more natural?

Mike knows the answer to that last question, but he hasn't fully accepted it.

"It's kinda cute, actually. Like, I walk into the room and she gets this little doe-eyed expression. Looks like she's about to run away."

"You're kind of a sadist, you know that?" Erwin says.

"I mean, is it so wrong to get a little satisfaction outta this?"

"I think so, yeah. You're driving her crazy, dude."

Mike smacks his lips and rolls his eyes. "Man, how would you know—"

"'Cause she told me!" Erwin basically shouts like it's obvious. "The words came out of her mouth. Mike is driving me crazy. Just like that."

Pouting, Mike takes another sip of his beer and lets his eyes travel to the bottom of the TV screen to check the score of the game he isn't watching.

"Well, it's not like I can really do anything about it. She'll only be here for a few months."

"Do you happen to know how long it takes for a stomach ulcer to form?" Erwin asks.

Mike frowns. "Uh, no?"

"Well, neither do I, but I'm pretty sure it's not very long."

Both of them laugh. Mike mutters something about Erwin being fucking stupid, and then Erwin sighs and speaks, "I am begging you, dude. Please just get a fucking drink with her or something."

"We don't mix well with alcohol," Mike snarks.

"What's the worst that could happen—you end up in bed again?"

"Well—"

"Honestly, both of you could probably benefit from a good fuck, but what do I know? I'm just the guy both of you call for this shit."

"Alright, I get it. I'll… see if she's up for something," Mike mumbles.

"I mean, I wouldn't open with sex, maybe start off with lunch or…"

"I'm hanging up now."

Mike doesn't actually know how to ask you, though. You're so fucking skittish around him, and you're obviously worried about people finding out you have a history, so he's gonna have to be strategic about it, maybe plant the seed a few days before or—

"Hey, listen…" You appear in Mike's office doorway, long cardigan falling to your knees and swishing behind you even after you've stopped moving. "I know it's almost five, but I'm, like, right in the middle of mapping out a new plan, and I don't wanna lose steam, so is it cool if I stay late?"

"Yeah, I don't care," Mike answers, tacking on, "S'long as you're okay with being here late with me."

"Oh, th-that's—" you splutter for a little while, and Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's n-not necessary. You don't have to, like, supervise me or anything."

"I'm not supervising you," Mike snorts. "I'm trying to finish my piece for a journal."

"Ah, right, that's… yes." You shoot off a half-hearted finger gun, and Mike wants to hop his desk to get to you. There you are. There are your dumb fucking mannerisms, please, just act like yourself, for the love of god.

"Okay, well if you need me, uh, I will probably be on the floor in the annex, so…"

"We do have chairs, ya' know," Mike smirks.

"Yeah, but it's easier to just spread everything out so I can see it."

"Want a corkboard? You can make it look like you're doing a murder investigation."

"Hmm, might make it look more official," you muse, making a face of contemplation.

Before you can actually say yes, Mike pipes up again. "I don't actually have a corkboard. It was a joke."

"Yeah, I know," you snicker. "Wouldn't be big enough anyway."

Too many responses flood Mike's brain at once, causing him to bite his tongue because every last one of them is gross, but you must be able to read it on his face because you point and tell him, "Stop."

"I didn't say anything!" He laughs.

"You don't have to. I know."

Mike rolls his eyes, "Okay," and looks back to his computer, hoping the screen is high enough to hide his grin as you turn and walk away.

The next hour is spent editing the same paragraph over and over with no real motivation because everyone has vacated the floor except for you and Mike, and this could be a good time to talk to you, but he also doesn't want to disrupt your work. Just because he can't focus doesn't mean you can't. You'd only get upset if he distracted you from your work anyway—it's happened before—redirecting your attention from a textbook or study guide to… other things.

He goes down a rabbit hole, reminiscing on those occasions, then tweaking them just a little to fit into the current setting, and it's the absolute last thing Mike should be thinking about, but it's Friday, and you're slightly more casual in your flowy cardigan and tight jeans, and all he wants is to get one teeny tiny look at your ass in them because he knows your it’s perfect. He's seen it in leggings and cheeky little boy shorts and lacy thongs, and there is absolutely no way he can go out to talk to you now.

Also, he really needs to write at least one paragraph before leaving tonight. It's all about water and waste and pollutants which is the shit Mike knows like the back of his hand. He'd just rather have said hands on something else.

"Yeah, this isn't gonna happen," he mutters to himself, taking his hair down to scratch at his scalp. He's better off just going home.

Mike packs a few things up before stepping out of his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Half the lights are off, but the portion over the annex is shining brightly. Mike stares in that direction as he debates telling you he's leaving or bolting without saying anything.

It's the thought of you walking out to your car alone that makes his mind up, and Mike saunters to the annex and finds you on hands knees surrounded by several sketches, crumpled notes, and the set of blueprints that Mike is pretty sure got thrown in the recycling on Tuesday.

"Where'd you even find those?"

You don't look up when you answer, "Recycling comes every Monday."

"So, you went… dumpster diving?"

Lifting your head, you squint up at Mike, tracking him as he squats on the other side of your organized chaos.

"Is it dumpster diving if it's all paper?"

Mike shrugs. "Dunno. How's it comin'?"

"I'm comi—It!" You correct a little too loudly. "It's coming! It's coming along just fine."

"Yeah?" Mike chuckles. "Cute Freudian slip there."

"It was not—" You grit your teeth, fingers curling on the papers they're resting on, then question, "Did you need something?"

"Just came by to say I was leaving," Mike tells you. Something catches his eye, though, some of your notes scribbled just big enough for him to read a few of the words from where he is, and he grabs the sheet to look it over more carefully.

Irrigation plans, specialized pumps, introducing new life into the lake, specifically filter fish…

"I was just vomiting ideas out on paper, it's nothing important."

Mike hums and reads further. Some of it is familiar because Mike has considered some of these himself, but while your engineering thoughts are a little vague, the ideas that lean more toward the biological side of things are pretty interesting, even if they're just sloppy bullet points and arrows.

"You wanna vomit on a person instead?" He asks, chuckling at the look you give him.

"Ew."

"Just spitball. Throw it at me."

"Oh, I'm gonna throw somethin' at you all right."

Mike slips his bag from his shoulder and sets it down before sitting on the ground, picking up the papers closest to him.

"Tell me about the xylem tissue method," he prompts.

You don't speak right away, just chew on your lip while staring at the sketches on the ground, but then you nod and sit back on your heels.

"So, we know that white pine trees are a natural means of filtering, but there aren't any around here. I know it's more of a long-term plan, but we can't just go with a temporary fix, so I was thinking—"

Mike listens. To everything. Everything you can think of. He watches too. You rub your hands over your jeans and flick hair from your eyes. You change positions, sitting on one foot while resting your chin on your knee as you think out loud, then move to sit cross-legged only to get up to pace the length of the cubicle, barefoot since your heels were kicked off long ago.

He asks questions or makes suggestions here and there, and soon it isn't just you who's brainstorming.

It's easy. It's what Mike knows, and it's obviously what you know too, and a couple of hours pass before either of you realize it.

"Shit, it's almost ten," you state, looking at your phone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here so late."

"It's fine. Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to."

Mike stretches as he stands, twisting to crack his back and rolling his neck. You gather up all the papers, straightening them into a neat pile then putting them in a drawer at the bottom of your desk.

You walk out together, still chatting in the elevator and out to the parking lot, and Mike feels good. He feels like… He feels like he did in college.

"Please tell me that is not your car," you say, eyeing the boxy, white Mercedes that is, in fact, Mike's.

"What of it?"

"These fucking Jeeps are so ugly, I cannot believe—"

"Uh, it's not a Jeep. It's a g-wagon, thank you."

You roll your eyes. "I liked your Wrangler better."

"I bet you fuckin' did," he mumbles, too lost in the memory of you riding him in said Wrangler to think about how you might take the comment.

"It was easier on the eyes," you explain.

"It was a frat boy car."

"You were a frat boy!"

"And, now I'm a professional."

"Are you, though?" You tease, expression skeptical save for your tiny smirk.

"Most of the time."

The only other vehicle in the lot is a Land Rover, considerably larger than the little hatchback you used to drive but very fitting for someone in your line of work. Mike thinks about mentioning that it's basically the same as his Mercedes, just not as expensive and with rounder edges, but he knows you'll just get indignant and defensive.

He walks you over to your car, and you don't question it, just open the passenger side and throw your bag inside.

This is your chance, Mike realizes. Just ask. Ask her to go somewhere else and talk about something other than work.

"Hey, uh, do you wanna grab a drink or something?" He tries, heartbeat picking up once again. His eyes are a little too wide as you regard him carefully, studying him like one of your samples.

Then, you shake your head.

"No, Mike. I don't wanna grab a drink." His stomach opens up, the heat that comes with embarrassment creeping up his neck.

"Oh, sorry, I just—"

"But, there's a breakfast place close to the extended stay they put us up in. I've been wanting to check it out."

And, like that, his hope is restored. Hope for what, Mike doesn't know, but it's certainly there, blooming in his chest like unkempt wildflowers.

"Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah. I'm still not really a morning person, but d'you wanna meet there at, like, ten or so?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I mean, if that works for you."

"Yeah!" Mike clears his throat, lowers his voice so that he sounds a little less excited. "I'm usually up and moving by eight."

"God, why do you hate yourself?" You cringe.

"I've always been an early riser."

"Not from what I remember."

Mike leans against your rover, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, maybe not when I was kept up into the early morning hours, but usually I was up before everyone else."

You post up across from him, one hand on your hip, and Mike realizes this is gonna go on for some time.

"Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

He's fine with that. He'll stand out here talking with you until the sun comes up if you'll let him. And, maybe after that too.

Breakfast is good. Breakfast is safe. Breakfast is the start of the day and free of alcohol. There is nothing suggestive about breakfast.

Except breakfast has become a habit. For the last three Saturdays you’ve sat at the little cafe next to your hotel talking with Mike for at least an hour. You’re kind of getting to know him again, but most of the conversation consists of stupid jokes or blatant deflections.

His parents are still doing well, both in their sixties now, but Scout, unfortunately passed away a few years ago. Hearing it makes your eyes burn, and watching Mike’s face fall actually makes you wipe at your own rapidly forming tears.

He still keeps in touch with several of his frat brothers—Erwin (obviously), Nile, Gelgar, and some of the younger kids, Jean, Marco, and Connie.

“Yeah, I’m actually pretty close to Marie now,” you tell him. “And, Maddie, and Rhi.”

“Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Bonded over the woes of college boys.”

“Didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did I, honestly.”

Working with him is easier now. The ice has been broken. The boundaries have been set even if they are unspoken. You still do your best not to touch him at all, never stand too close or brush against him in any way, but you’ve loosened up a lot, and your team seems to appreciate it. Unfortunately, they also start to notice the way you light up a little too much whenever you’re around Mike, and naturally, Hange just had to comment on it a few days ago.

“You have a crush on the bossman or somethin’?”

“What? No. We just work well together, I guess.”

You do not tell Mike about this exchange, in fear of him prying. Well, do you have a crush on the bossman? You’re not ready for that, probably never will be.

There are a few breakthroughs in the Sina project. The research team gets extra funding to run more trials, and you start to stay late more often, sometimes in the tower with everyone else and sometimes in the lab. Things are progressing nicely.

Eventually, breakfast turns to lunch, lunch turns to dinner, and then you find yourself in Mike’s apartment, sitting at his kitchen table while he cooks.

“So, we talk every once in a while now, but it’s usually really awkward. Like, I still don’t ever know what to say to him.”

“Do you find it weird that he reached out in the first place?”

“Kind of? When I was younger, I always hoped he would, but now that he has, I almost wish he hadn’t. Does that make sense?”

Mike shrugs as he pours noodles into a strainer over the sink. “I mean, he’s your dad, so yeah, it makes sense. What he did was super shitty, but I figure it’s hard to forget the good times and just abandon all hope.”

“Yeah. On the bright side, he sends my brother money for commissary, like, every week, so that’s nice.”

It took a little while, but you’ve let yourself open up to Mike much easier this time around. Whether it’s because you already know you can trust him or because you’ve gotten the closure you needed for so long, you’re not sure. You just know it’s been easy.

Unfortunately, with vulnerability comes feelings, and you are having a lot of those. Too many. You’re glad that it’s not debilitating dread and nervousness now, but the overwhelming affection isn’t any less distracting.

Watching Mike move around his kitchen, though—clad in a t-shirt, faded jeans, and the dish towel thrown over his shoulder, you are painfully reminded of why you got so attached all those years ago.

It isn’t fair. You really didn’t want to fall back into this hole. You knew it was a possibility as soon as you saw him at that first meeting, but you were trying to put it off until you had to leave.

Because that’s the plan. You come in. You complete the project, get them started on a long-term plan for the lake, then head back to your home facility and wait for another job to be assigned. You can’t just stay here, even if the idea gets a little more tempting every day.

You’re just friends, though, just spending time together because it’s familiar. It’s nice being back on the same page, just letting the past stay there.

“So, it’s been about two months,” Mike starts, and something about his tone makes your stomach drop. “I feel like that’s an appropriate amount of time to wait before finally addressing the elephant in the room.”

So much for letting the past stay there.

Groaning, you rub your hands down your face. “Do we really have to?” Of course he would want to talk about it now that you’re comfortable.

“I really think we do.”

“Mike, that was so long ago. I was a dumb fucking kid. What do you need to know other than that?”

He braces himself on his counter, face serious. “Nothin’ really. I just want you to know that I was a dumb kid too.”

“Yeah, and we’ve grown since then and gotten over it, right?”

He lets out a long sigh. “I had gotten over it, but working with you every day has kinda... brought some things back to the surface.”

Staring at him, you swallow and try to stay calm. You know where he’s coming from, and it’s a little comforting to know that he’s been experiencing at least some of the emotions that you have been, but you don’t know whether or not it’s a good thing.

“I get it. I’ve been struggling too, but there’s nothing we can really do about it.”

You’ve thought about just taking the plunge and sleeping with him again. It would be nice—really fucking nice—but it would only make things worse.

“I guess. It’s been cool to hang out again, but…” Mike chews on his lip for a moment before finishing, “We’ve never been good at just hanging out.”

The reminder makes your skin prickle with heat, and you shift in your chair, reeling in your thoughts before they run wild.

“Yeah. If it would be easier to just not hang out, I’d understand.”

He turns back to the stove to stir something and turn on the vent then twists back around. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then, what are you saying?”

Mike makes a little disgruntled noise, hanging his head like he’s getting frustrated. “I’m saying some days are hard. I tried to keep some distance, but that lasted for about a week, and now you’re here, and even though you’ve changed some, you’re still you, and I’m still me, and… Some days are just hard.”

Some minutes are hard, you think to yourself. You can be going about your day like someone who isn’t completely fucking smitten, and then you see Mike, and he nods or grins and suddenly all you want is to be alone with him and trace over his lips with yours, feel his hands on you, run your fingers through his long hair.

“If I could take those feelings away from you, I would,” you tell him, and it’s apparently the wrong thing to say because he frowns.

“Do you not feel the same way then?”

Your reply is almost instantaneous. “Christ, Mike, of course I feel the same! I was in love with you! I didn’t know how to show it back then, but that’s what it was, so yeah, I feel it too, but there’s no point in—in analyzing it or turning it into something—”

“You were in love?”

“Dude. Yes. It took me a while to realize it—like, way too long—but yeah. Definitely love. Junior and senior year wouldn’t have sucked so much if it was just lust or infatuation or something.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you wave him off. “I fucked up. You had every right to be pissed.”

“I could’ve handled it better,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “Dumb kids, remember?”

Mike looks genuinely upset, and you don’t know what to say anymore, so you get up from the kitchen table and walk over to him. You have to physically urge him to turn and face you, but once he does, you wrap your arms around his torso and sigh. He immediately locks his wrists behind your back, resting his chin on your head, and it feels familiar and right and a little bit like home. You can smell the fabric softener that clings to his shirt and the fresh scent of his deodorant, different from what he used to wear, but that doesn’t make it bad.

“Can we wait for a while longer before we decide to act like dumb kids again?” You ask.

Mike chuckles above you. “You say that like you’re positive we will.”

You’re just being realistic, and you tell him as much. The chances of you leaving the city without having sex at least once are slim to none. You figure the two of you will break and indulge in one of those ‘just for old time’s sake’ fucks, but if Mike keeps talking to you like this, admitting feelings and what not, you’re gonna lose it much faster than you’d originally planned.

“Yeah.” You feel him nod. “Yeah, we can wait.”

When he kisses the top of your head, you almost give up then and there.

This fucking sucks. Everything sucks. Mike was never one of those people who looked back on college as his glory days, never really had the desire to go back to it, but now he feels like he’s reliving them because he’s back to being twenty-one and obsessed with a girl—being obsessed with you.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t know that you felt it too, but you admitted it, so now the only thing that’s stopping the two of you from exploring that avenue is, what, fear? Again?

He gets it. He does. You don’t want to fall into something serious only to leave, but it’s possible to navigate relationships like that. Long distance-works. There’s technology for that like phones and video chats and sex toys. Then, there’s always the option of just relocating. It would be drastic, but Mike isn’t against the idea. Arrangements would have to be made, but he could swing it. It’s a little crazy so early on, but...

He’s not gonna push it, not in a blatant way, but he’s gonna try his damndest to make it harder for you to go. He grows bold enough to start touching you more. A hand on the small of your back as you leave a room together, an arm around your shoulders when you watch TV over dinner, tucking hair behind your ear (“God, that used to be Erwin’s, like, go-to move.”). It’s fucked up because he knows your colleagues are asking about it, that he’s subjecting you to their interrogations, but he can’t help himself. He can’t stop.

It definitely has an effect on you. You get flustered every time, can’t look at Mike for a while, and he hopes it’s because you’re thinking about other ways he could touch you—has touched you—f you’d just give him the chance.

He thinks he has the patience to keep it up, wind you up more and more every day until you spin out of control and into his bed. You’re still spending time with him outside of work, still sharing pieces of yourself, and you’re not stopping him from putting his hands on you. so it’s only a matter of time.

It comes to a head in his apartment after dinner. It’s so simple, something Mike didn’t even do on purpose, but as you’re washing your hands, he comes up behind you and reaches past you for a paper towel. He puts a hand on your hip without thinking, and his chest presses against your back, and then you’re exhaling in one quick huff and squirming to turn around.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?” Mike asks, confused as he takes a step back.

“Okay, I’m ready to act like a dumb kid.”

You don’t even dry your hands, just curl your fingers into his shirt and gaze up at him with dilated pupils, and Mike is elated.

“Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

He leans down, and you stand on your tiptoes, and when you meet in the middle and he feels your lips on his for the first time in almost a decade, he groans.

You pull him closer, tilt your head further back to give him better access, and Mike cradles it in his hands. He tries not to breathe too heavily, pant like a fucking dog, but he’s been waiting for this since he saw you again. Maybe before that. He thinks on some level he’s been waiting for this since he left you alone in the ranch house, a little voice nagging at him to go back, to fix things, and he just never did.

“This is stupid, this is so stupid,” you murmur against him. “Only gonna make things harder.”

“Just stop thinking about it,” Mike replies, nipping at your bottom lip. He doesn’t want you to think about it because he doesn’t want to think about it otherwise he’ll blurt out everything he’s been stewing on for the last couple weeks, the possibility of a real relationship, of you staying or him going, and that's too much.

You both shed clothes on your way to the bedroom, a trail of shirts and pants until you’re naked and laid out for him, and Mike swears he just might cry because you’re so beautiful, just as he remembered with a little more meat on your hips and thighs, a new scar on your calf that he asks about before brushing his lips over it. That leg is already resting on his shoulder, and once he gets situated on his stomach, he throws the other one over himself.

His mouth starts to water as he gazes at your pussy, so fucking pretty, hole fluttering when he spreads you open. You can’t answer his question about the injury as he lowers his face, pressing the flat of his tongue to the sensitive skin then dipping it inside of you.

“Oh, fuck.”

You taste and smell and feel perfect, and the only thought in his mind is to devour you. He won’t stop until you’re crying, drool leaking from your mouth and your cunt. And, he knows exactly how to get you to that point.

Mike flicks over your clit until it grows firm against his tongue then sucks it into his mouth. The noise you make goes straight to his cock, and he starts to rut into the mattress to get some kind of friction. He can already feel precum dripping from his tip, knows you won’t be the only one getting messy tonight, but he doesn’t care. He’s never cared.

Mike only pulls away when your thighs start to tremble around his head, and it’s only to mark them with bruises. It reminds him of the last time, when you’d let him fuck you in a fit of desperation. It had been his undoing. He thought of that night for years, and now that he’s able to do it all again, he can’t help but confess, “Fuck, I’ve missed your pussy,” just before he spits on it.

Your chest is rising with every little whimper you release as your nails dig into your palms. He’s never been happier to have long arms, able to reach up and massage your tits, stretching his fingers out to span across your chest, thumb on one nipple, pinky on the other, and as he teases both of them, he moans at the fresh slick that coats his tongue.

“A finger,” you pant, “Give me a finger, fuck, at least one, please please please—”

You’ve always been so cute when you babble. Mike can never say no when you talk to him like that, but after assessing and deeming you fit, he slides two fingers into you at once, still sucking your clit.

You swear loudly, almost in surprise, but that doesn’t stop you from moving your hips, fucking yourself on every digit as your jaw drops open.

Mike wants to see your face—has to see it, so he licks up your body, stopping to tongue over your nipples as he goes. He never falters in his thrusting, still knows the exact angle he has to crook his fingers to hit your g-spot. Your back arches, and you plant your feet flat on the mattress to give yourself more leverage, more control. Mike smirks down at you, enjoying your euphoric expression as he grinds his palm against the bundle of nerves that is the key to making you fall apart.

“Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

His breath catches in his throat. God, he hasn’t heard that in too long. He never told you, not that he ever had to, but hearing you call him that drove him crazy, made him fall further in love and lust at the same time, and hearing it now has the same effect.

“Please,” you whine, then repeat it, spreading your legs to coax him deeper. “Fuck, I need you so bad, s-so bad.”

He’s in the perfect position to rub his cock over your stomach, smearing pre everywhere it touches. From the beginning, Mike has loved leaving traces of himself on you, always felt like he could almost smell it on your skin, like a sigil to ward off others.

He places a soft kiss at the corner of one closed eye, then on the other, and when you open them to look at him, he sees that they’re filled with tears.

It makes him pause, but you keep riding his fingers and beg, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop, m’fine, just—”

“Why're you crying then?" he grins, leaning down to lick your bottom lip. "Feel good?"

You nod, raising to your elbows to force your mouth against his, sliding your tongue inside then whining when Mike pulls away, but it's only to gather the spit in his mouth. When he kisses you again, he makes sure you take it all, pushing saliva past his teeth and onto your palette, and when you swallow, Mike makes a noise of satisfaction.

"That's my fuckin' girl."

That wide, fuck-drunk smile he loves so much spreads across your face as you accept the praise you never would have when you were younger.

Mike noses just under your ear then asks, "You ready for my cock?"

"Always,” you breathe. “Always ready for it."

"Yeah?" You nod, face scrunching up, and Mike thinks there's a chance that you're—"Gonna come for me first?"

Your muscles are starting to tense, hips stuttering, and he can actually feel your pussy spasming around his fingers.

"Come on, baby, you can do it. Just—'

Your eyes roll back as your body pulses. Mike's hand is coated with slick that he can't wait to lick off, and he fucks you with his fingers until you go limp.

He cleans his hand then slithers back between your legs to catch everything that's leaking from you. You release a pitiful moan when he traces a circle around your entrance then squeal when he rubs his beard over it.

"Jesus fuck!"

"Sensitive?" He teases before crawling back up to kiss you.

Holding himself up with one arm, Mike takes hold of his cock, painfully hard at this point, and parts your wet folds with his tip. He slides it up and down, teasing both you and himself and gasping every time it just barely dips inside of you.

"Miche, please."

"You sound good when you beg," he tells you. You've been doing an awful lot of that tonight.

"Good enough to fuck me?"

"Mm, maybe," he plays, but he's cut off when you lift yourself just enough to take his cockhead inside of you, squeezing it so that he swears.

It completely dismantles any self-control Mike thought he had, and he gives you everything he has in a single thrust that makes you scream his name.

"You asked for it," he tells you, starting to pull out.

You grip his biceps, shaking your head. "J-just stay still for a—oh god, oh god…"

Mike doesn't move, lets you adjust while he enjoys the way your cunt clenches around his cock. You're panting, eyebrows knit together, and apologize, "Sorry, give me… a minute. Been a while since I've taken anything this s-size."

It's juvenile, but Mike's chest still puffs a little when you tell him that, and that feeling only grows when you give him the go ahead to move and he pulls out to see that his cock is already covered in white cream.

Breathing out a quiet, "Fuck," he slowly pushes back in, mesmerized by the way it creates a thick ring at the base. "So pretty," he mutters, rubbing a thumb over the skin that's stretched around him. "Such a pretty pussy."

He lets a string of spit drip from his mouth and onto your clit then strokes the swollen bud in circles, the pad of his fingers brushing over the tiny hole that makes you twitch every time.

Mike falls into a very slow, deep rhythm, torturing you as he drags his cock over every inch of your satin walls. Tiny gasps are pushed from your throat with every thrust, growing louder when Mike sits back on his heels and pulls your hips up to meet his. It leaves you helpless, only able to claw at the blankets, but your efforts are half-hearted, the press of Mike's cockhead against your g-spot obviously making it hard to do just about anything.

"I—I—I—..."

"You what, baby?" He coos while admiring how big his hands look where they wrap around your waist, holding you mostly still as he drives his cock in and out of you.

Your cunt is pulsing again, so tight around him as it drips with slick and cream. The sounds it's making, an obscene balance of suction and squelching, has Mike shaking over you because it's so lewd but so familiar, and god, he has missed this.

And, you're right. It's stupid because he's just putting himself in the same place he was in ten years ago, but now he's a grown fucking adult, able to handle himself better, communicate better, fuck you better.

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes when he picks up his pace, and he groans when he presses in just a little too far, cockhead nudging against the wall deep inside of you. Your eyelids flutter, toes curling where your feet dangle and shake on either side of Mike.

His hips start to snap against yours, his balls swinging every time, and Mike remembers how nice it felt when they'd slap against your clit, the way you'd sing for him, and well…

"Turn over," he breathes, pulling out and helping as you get to your hands and knees.

He takes the time to appreciate the view, letting the weight of his cock settle on your back just to get a visual of how much you take of it, what it might look like deep in your ass and what it would be like to see your stomach bulge from it.

Another day.

Not wasting any more time, Mike sheathes himself inside you once again, spreading your cheeks and spitting on your puckering hole so that he can press against it with a thumb.

Your pussy opens up for him, like your body is begging him for more, so Mike fucks you harder, faster, slipping the tip of his finger into your asshole so that you tense up and say his name drunkenly.

His heavy balls hit your clit over and over, making you squirm and swear, head hanging back in an invitation, so Mike uses his free hand to grab you by the hair, pulling and glancing at what he can see of your face to make sure he isn't hurting you too much.

That grin is back, crooked and shiny with drool you keep having to suck back from your teeth. Mike hasn't felt this good having sex in god knows how long (he knows exactly how long it's been), and he thinks out loud, "Always take my cock so well. Always been able to…"

"Feels so good, Miche," you cry, "You feel so fucking good, oh my god."

He takes you like this until you can't hold yourself up anymore, elbows buckling underneath you, and all he does then is fall onto his back and pull you with him, letting you ride him like this and dragging his nails down your spine. It curves under his touch, arching and bowing as you lean forward to plant your hands between his legs and bounce on him.

Mike has a perfect view from this angle, huffing at the way your puffy lips open for him, clinging to his cock and dripping gossamer strands. Pressure slowly starts to build in both his gut and his balls, a hot sensation that grows, making him feel full and swollen and fuck, he can't wait to fill you up, can't wait to see you sloppy with his cum again.

But, not yet. Not yet.

Pushing you until you move off of him, Mike grabs his pillows and shoves you down on them, kissing you again before burying his face between your legs. Your hands are immediately in his hair, and he smiles when you tug at it a little harshly, using the strands as a means to guide Mike right where you want him. Even though he's taking this little break to let himself calm down, he can't help but press his hips to the mattress. He's hot and throbbing and dripping pre, ready but not ready to unload everything inside of you. He doesn't want it to end too soon, wants to savor every second because you're here crying and pleading for him, pushing yourself against his face only to pull back when he sucks on your clit.

He's able to fit three fingers inside of you now, keeps licking and fucking you until you whisper a slew of curses and start to warn him, "You're gonna make me—" breaking into a high-pitched moan as you squirt into his mouth and all over his hand.

"Fuck yes, again, come on, baby, do that again."

Mike coaxes another out of you, groaning at the feeling of you dripping down his face and chuckling at the way you shiver and sit up. Your eyes are barely open, head swaying back and forth, but you plant a hand on his chest with the confidence of someone who doesn't look like they're about to pass out, shoving him back until he lays down.

Straddling him, you sink down on his cock and bite your lip as you rock back and forth for a few seconds. Mike can feel fluid dripping over his pelvis, murmurs, "So messy," while pulling you down for a lazy kiss.

He lets you ride him, lets you think you're in control for a while until your legs start to get tired, rhythm becoming slower, and then Mike takes over. He lifts and drops you to his content, hips meeting yours as he fucks up into you. Your own hands cup your tits, pinching your nipples and putting on a show as you bounce up and down.

"You're so good," you breathe. "So fucking good to me, god, Miche, right there."

He's on the brink, so close to his climax, but he holds back, giving it to you just the way you want it until it starts to hurt, and then he grunts, "'m gonna come, baby, I have to. Fuck, please, please, let me—"

"Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

Mike's head sinks further into the pillow as his hips move without any thought on his part. He spills inside of you, hot ropes of cum filling your cunt so that it starts to leak out around him, then shooting even more inside of you.

"Jesus fucking—"

Your muscles clench, squeezing and milking him until Mike starts groaning and twitching from overstimulation.

He could die right here and now and be totally fine with it. He really could. But before he can let that happen...

Mike urges you back, letting you get situated on your pillows again as he gazes at your stretched pussy and everything dripping out of it.

As soon as you stop moving, Mike is working his tongue inside of you. He can taste both himself and you, feel it coat his tongue as he drinks in as much as he can before sliding up to your face and taking your chin so you'll open your mouth.

The first drop makes you open wider, sticking your tongue out so that Mike can fill your mouth with his cum and spit, and the fact that you let him is so incredibly arousing, he just might fuck you until he's coming dry.

The little pattern is repeated a few times, Mike licking your pussy then spitting everything into your mouth, but he leaves some for lubrication, shoving the last of his cum back inside you when he starts fucking you on his fingers. He keeps you pliant, sucking on your clit so that he can slowly ease his pinky into your ass, and it isn't long before you're letting out breathy little sounds and tensing underneath him.

He takes care of you through your orgasm, looking at your face from where he lays. You're so pretty when you come, mouth open, eyebrows high, the picture of ecstasy, and Mike wants to remember it forever. He wants to keep you like this forever.

You shudder when he pulls his fingers from you, whine when he slowly laves over your sensitive pussy with his tongue, but after several long licks, Mike crawls back up to lay next to you.

"God damn," you laugh. "I had almost forgotten how good you are."

Mike smirks, kissing your temple and nipping the shell of your ear. "Almost?"

You nod, a spent smile making your lips curl. "I don't think I could ever fully forget even if I wanted to."

Humming, he traces fingers over your stomach, now sticky from the mess of precum he had basically slathered you with.

"Yeah, we were pretty good for each other when we weren't being stupid," he muses.

He should probably step away for a few minutes, hop in the shower and wait for the flood of chemicals in his brain to fall away.

"We were, weren't we?"

"Mhm."

Mike dips to press his face into your neck. He just can't stop touching you, can't stop breathing you in. He needs to memorize everything about this—how soft you are underneath him, how you smell like sex and sweat and your perfume, how quiet your voice is when you speak to him.

He feels your body rise and fall with a heavy sigh, and he's about to ask if you want to rinse off, but you open your mouth first, thoughtful when you tell him, "I loved you so much, Miche."

"I know," he replies. Even if he couldn't see it then, he can now. You may not have told him to his face, but if Mike had been just a little smarter back then, he would have realized you were telling him in different ways. "I loved you too."

He feels you pet his hair, probably a tangled wreck from being pulled. "I, uh…" You swallow hard, and Mike rests his chin on the hand on your chest, your heart beating against his palm a little too fast.

"You wanna shower before you say whatever you're about to?"

He knows what you're about to tell him. He just wants to make sure you don't regret it when you come back to yourself. "Yeah, probably."

Both of you leave the bed on unsteady legs, Mike leading you to the shower and setting it to your favored temperature. He stands under the spray with you, taking the brunt of the water while kissing you. You move slowly, tangling your tongue with his, mapping out his body with exploratory hands.

Mike is the one to break away after several minutes, insisting on soaping you up and dragging his loofah over your skin. He even sinks to his knees, gentle as he cleans your thighs and between them, careful not to get suds anywhere they're not supposed to be. When he’s finished, Mike presses a kiss to your pelvic bone before standing again, grinning when you pull him back to your face.

He doesn't have the same, short refractory period he used to otherwise he'd fuck you against the tiled wall, but he's content to stay like this, sucking on your lip and pressing against you.

Even after you've been given the chance to get your thoughts in order, you still blink up at Mike, water droplets dotting and falling from your eyelashes as you tell him, "I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

He holds your head in his hands, brushes his nose against yours as his chest swells with more emotion than he thinks he can actually handle, and his own confession is easy: "I love you, too." Another soft peck to your lips before he adds, "I think you already knew that, though."

"Wasn't positive."

Mike knows there are logistics to consider, but the two of you can work on that later. For now he just wants to finish rinsing off and crawl into bed with you.

He should probably change the sheets, though, and find you pajamas, so Mike does exactly that as you traipse back out to the kitchen for some water, wearing absolutely nothing and making him bite his lip.

He puts new bedding on the mattress, then digs through his dresser for a t-shirt and boxers. Something catches his eye, printed material that almost makes him laugh out loud. He doesn't know why he still has the shorts, especially since he ruined the shirt a long, long time ago, but he's so glad he does.

Pink and covered in palm trees, he can't even fit into them any more, but it's fine. He thinks he knows how he can repurpose them.

But first, he needs to call his mom.

It's an easy fix, really. Before the Sina project even comes close to wrapping up, Mike finds a place for you in his department, something you hadn't thought possible, but apparently he's kind of a big deal in the field.

When he makes you the job offer in the conference room, he's able to keep it professional for a whole three minutes before you agree to the terms, and then he's out of his chair and picking you up to swing around. Just like that, the whole fucking office knows about the two of you.

"Ha! You owe me fifty bucks, Moblit!" Hange shouts for everyone to hear, and you shake your head as the quiet man asks if he can Venmo them.

"I fucking knew it! I knew there was something going on! God, that's so satisfying. I'm not even mad that you're leaving us."

"It's been going on for a long time now," you snort.

Hange leans against the wall and wriggles their eyebrows, "Yeah, what, like, the whole three months we’ve been here?"

"Try ten years," Mike mutters, and the eyes behind Hange's glasses nearly roll out of their head.

You and Mike have to sign a few things, contracts and couples disclosures and what not, but you don't mind.

The first thing you do is ask for a few days off in order to move, and Mike naturally does the same to help. You live just over three hours away, but are able to recruit some help in the form of your old friends.

You let out a shrill scream when you see Erwin step out of his car outside of your apartment complex, all but throw yourself into his arms so that he laughs and squeezes you tight against him. It's been a couple years since you've actually seen him, the distance between you just a little too far, but it's so nice to stare at his stupid face again.

Nile is also there with a very pregnant Marie on his arm, and Hitch and Rhi arrive as all the guys are carrying down the first load of packed boxes.

"Damn, it has been a long time since we've all been together," you say, looking around at everyone and grinning after you tape up another set of cardboard flaps.

"Yeah, kinda weird how we all just get along now," Hitch giggles.

"It's almost like we're adults or something," Rhi adds.

You pass her the box, but she just groans and passes it to Erwin.

Everyone takes turns making trips to Mike's apartment, and the moving effort takes three days in total. You really need to find a way to repay all of them, maybe suggest a nice dinner.

"God, why do you own so much shit, babe?" Mike asks after loading the last shelves of a bookcase into his car (that you still hate).

"Because everything has sentimental value. Don't judge me."

"Oh, I'm judging. When'd you get so soft?"

You roll your eyes and reach past him to close the trunk door.

The others are all standing in the parking lot with you, antsy and excited for the two of you, or so you assume.

"I really can't thank you guys enough. You've made this so much easier," you tell them.

Erwin grins widely and pulls you into a hug, and to your surprise, Hitch slides around you to hold you from behind. It makes you laugh and call them dumb, but when they step back, you're hit with the realization that they weren't just being goofy; they were strategizing, keeping you shielded from Mike who is now kneeling on the asphalt and chewing on his bottom lip.

Your eyes grow wide, and you step back only to run straight into Erwin's chest. He puts two, grounding hands on your shoulders, and you can almost feel his smile as Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box.

A small pink box.

A small pink box with pieces of fucking palm trees wrapping around it.

"Did you get that fucking upholstered?" You shout, and Mike lets out a giddy laugh, his eyes so narrow from grinning that you can barely see the green. "I don't even wanna open it. I cannot believe—"

"Good thing you don't have to open it then," he chuckles. “I do.”

"You are fucking impossible, you know that?"

"Yeah," he agrees before prying the ridiculous box apart and revealing a ring that makes you tear up.

It isn't huge, but it's far from plain, sparkling stones wrapping around it with a larger, round cut in the middle. It's extremely pretty and very you, and oh, you wanna put it on, you wanna put it on right now.

"Don't look too impressed. Mom helped me pick it out, and it’s all ethically sourced, of course," Mike says, and you wipe your eyes while giggling.

"Oh my god, she's crying!" Rhi yells.

"Shut up, it's because of that atrocious box."

Mike looks behind you at Erwin. "I knew she'd love it."

"Yeah, good call, bro."

"I hate both of you."

"Still gonna marry me, though, right?" Mike is still grinning, but you can see the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and you can't blame him because this is big. This is commitment. Marriage. He wants you to marry him.

And, some will say it’s too quick, that you’ve only been actually dating for a couple of months, but it makes sense because if you’re being honest, you never really fell out of love with Mike. He’s always been nestled deep in your heart.

"Against my better judgement," you smirk.

He stands up quick enough to make himself dizzy, has to brace a hand on his car as he kisses you.

"Finally!" Erwin shouts, clapping his hands and being joined by the others.

Mike slides the ring from the terrible box, pushes it onto your finger with shaky hands, and when you admire it in the sun, you look at him and nod. "Very nice, Zacharias. Even in the parking lot setting."

"I just wanted everyone to be here! If we went somewhere fancy, you would've figured it out."

That's true. Going to some nice restaurant or quaint little park would have definitely tipped you off.

"Also, you know once we're married, you will also be Zacharias."

"Yeah," you nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey," you look at him with raised eyebrows. "Wanna shotgun beers at the wedding?"

Mike laughs loudly. "That is how it all started, isn't it?"

"Yeah, this stupid frat boy in a Hawaiian shirt came up to me and demanded I shotgun a room temp beer."

"Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles.

You shrug as he pulls you into his chest and sigh into his shirt, "He turned out alright, I guess."

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic

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sitp-recs · 3 years

Text

(Perfect artwork for Modern Love, by @cambiodipolvere)

Today is the day of one of my favorite people! And I totally resent @tackytigerfic and Starry for almost sharing the same birthday, god the STRESS 😂 Tacky is my first and closest fandom friend. We clicked together so fast and easy that sometimes it feels like I’ve known her all my life, like we’re two dog moms living in the same neighborhood who happen to read fic in their free time. Despite our conflicting time zones and crazy schedules we manage to chat every other day, tagging and sending each other all kinds of stuff, coming together to cry scream about a brilliant fic we’ve just read or shaking our heads in embarrassment at every other unnecessary bullshit post. Tacky’s bright and wise energy uplifts my spirit even on my moody days, and makes me grateful for her friendship and for this fandom life. Okay so this got long and I had to put the rest under the cut:

It’s such a lovely and precious thing, to have someone with whom you can share every single thought that crosses your mind, your scariest, most embarrassing, petty or disturbing idea, without fear of being shamed or judged by it. I trust Tacky with all my heart to hear me out, share a joke or a piece of advice, even on the (rare) occasions when we don’t get the same perspective - that doesn’t happen often when it comes to Drarry, as we are taste twins!

Tacky my darling, you’re such a good person, and such an incredible friend. Thank you for introducing me to this lovely community, for being my safe haven and your unique self, with so many qualities I admire and feel inspired by: kind, witty, earnest, wise, and so very human. I love your humour and empathy, and your chill yet no-nonsense personality; I love your talent and how articulated you are; I love your passion for Drarry, and how you let this emotion inform the way you navigate the fandom and create for it. And god, but you’ve been creating some of the most beautiful content I’ve seen in these recent years! I’m permanently in awe of your ability to write Drarry in any shape, format or length, transforming even the most ordinary moment into an extraordinary and meaningful piece of character or relationship development. You know how you mentioned yesterday that some authors change the way you feel about a ship in a deep, definitive way? Well, you are that author for me. Your works made me fall in love with M-rated contemplative romance, and also allowed me to fall in love with Harry in a way I never thought it was possible before.

Some people - myself included - got to know you through the fun and intriguing A Lick and a Promise, others through the atmospheric and sensitive Modern Love, others through your contemplative and heartbreaking short form. Each story has its merits and purpose, and all of them share a Tacky trademark: the heartkick factor! Your talent has no limits and goes across different genres and tropes, that you explore with a bold twist full of personality and heart. And even more impressive is your consistency at always raising the bar - every new fic of yours becomes an instant fave and makes me think “wow I thought Tacky couldn’t get better yet here we are”. Seeing how your writing evolves as you find your narrative voice is a beautiful and humbling experience, I feel so lucky!

I’m really grateful for being active in the fandom at this moment in time, because that allows me to read and engage with your brilliant work, and to have you as a dear friend. I can’t wait to see what comes out of your beautiful brain next. It was an impossible job choosing a single fic to rec today, so I decided to do a belated Tacky reclist! Naturally these are my personal and biased must-reads, and I urge everyone to go check these beauties right now. Feel free to include your own favorites too, and don’t forget to leave them some appreciation.

Happy happy birthday my darling Tacky! This fandom life wouldn’t be the same without you. I hope you have the amazing day you deserve!

Between the Power Lines (2020, M, 3.2k)

The road trip fic you didn’t know you needed. I got utterly immersed in the heartbreaking quietness of this, feeling like a witness to an ordinary yet poignant love story. Such tender intimacy, such character development, such lovely American aesthetics with barely any dialogue. This is, IMO, the fic that reveals Tacky’s triumph in storytelling.

Even the Night (2020, M, 3.4k)

This fic has a surreal atmosphere, those Midsummer vibes unbelievably sexy and intoxicating linked to the sensorial experience of fumbling together in the night. Masterclass in tension building, a silky and languid dream-like affair.

Aim for my Heart (2021, M, 3.4k) - Harry/Draco/Ron

One of the most sensitive and stunning portraits I’ve ever seen of a poly/triad relationship, this fic packs so much character and longing! It’s a privilege to watch Ron and Draco’s tentative dynamics through the smitten eyes of the one person that loves them like no one else: Harry.

The Long Fall (2021, M, 3.6k)

I can’t even write about this tender domesticity without getting a lump in my throat. Best opening scene I’ve read in years, and a refreshing way to approach both mpreg and parenthood, painfully honest and lovely. This became an immediate comfort read for me, and it’s probably one of the fics I revisit the most.

Mortal Frame (2021, M, 6.6k)

This thrilling, fast-paced spy story left me breathless since the first paragraph, gods what an immersive ride! I’m so here for Drarry on the run, sharp and urgent with danger but mellowed by the silent trust and tender intimacy only Tacky can master. Major bonus points for the brilliant take on the Horcrux hunt plot line!

Last Offices (2020, M, 6.7k)

Oh, this fic 💔 I tend to avoid MCD but there’s something so deeply fascinating about body washing rituals that I caught myself mesmerized by this. I just couldn’t put it down, so emotionally compromised I felt. There’s a sort of strange comfort in the heartbreak of doing one last act of service out of devotion to someone. This fic inspired so many difficult but lovely feelings in me, and one of them was hope. Only Tacky could possibly achieve that!

Our Little Life (2020, M, 7.2k)

Inventive and singular, this story hit me straight on the solar plexus and left me speechless as I saw the (clever, magical and bittersweet) plot unravel. Such a fabulous take on alternate universes and all the angst potential behind it. Come and bask in the yearning melancholia of a short yet intricate and perfectly executed plot.

And One to Play (2019, E, 21k)

What a fun and delightful fic, I can’t have enough of pining Harry losing all sense of propriety when faced with a hot, competent and pragmatic Draco. This has fab dynamics, unhinged protectiveness, even more unhinged attraction between two idiots who can’t keep their hands off each other. A must-read for any Auror partners fan!

A Lick and a Promise (2019, E, 55k)

Hot, BAMF Professors carefully balancing a fuck buddies situation while solving a Hogwarts mystery, do we need anything else? I certainly do not. This fic is so fun and intriguing and immersive, with amazing supportive cast and a delicious get together feat secret shagging and oblivious pining. Love it!

Modern Love (2020, E, 61k)

My favorite read of 2020, this fic is a love letter to Drarry and will always hold a piece of my soul. Sensitive, wistful, tenderly aching and so very romantic, this is a Muggle Draco triumph with a superb Harry, exquisite slow burn and a side of suds comfort. I promise it will be impossible to listen to Bowie again without thinking of this love story.

Bonus: five stunning drabbles!

Something in the Way (2021, T, 119 words)

“Up,” he said, and Draco, sick with love, raised his arms above his head and allowed Potter to slide the jumper on him, big hands stroking it flat over Draco’s stomach until they both shivered.

Stir-Up Sunday (2020, M, 300 words)

“I want you always,” he said, tugging again on the fine curling length of it. “Is it okay to say that?”

Whalebone Arch (2021, M, 722 words)

“Are you still not talking to me?” Draco steered Harry towards the crisps. “Do I have to suck you off in the loo to cheer you up?”

Semiplume (2021, T, 923 words)

“Did you know,” Harry murmured, and he put his arms around Draco, fearless. “I’d be your mate. If you needed a mate, I mean.”

Relic Radiation (2021, M, 927 words)

“You’ll kill me,” Harry said, and Draco turned his face towards the darkened sky, lunar pale, his profile some stupid unearthly thing—a flaring blazar, a supernova—in the light from the kitchen window.

#drarry fic rec #Drarry reclist #happy birthday Tacky!#fave

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mrsmaybank · 3 years

Text

Honey - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer and the reader were very much in love during Reid’s brief stint in Pasadena. When he has to see her again on a case, he is super nervous.

a/n: first section is inspired by such great heights

C/W: Swearing

PASADENA - 2002

A note from the love of your life is a lovely way to wake up.

------

When you can understand everything but yourself, finding somebody who does is like seeing a comet; disappointingly rare. My shaky hands can only be stilled by the smile of my most incandescent--in every connotation--creature, and that is you. The universe always seems to know what it is doing even if humanity does not. The stars align and move in patterns we as it’s audience do not fully understand. I think we have watched the stars so much the universe has aligned us as a favor to our poor, overestimated souls. I am so grateful! Tolstoy noted that "We are asleep until we fall in love!” And I thank you for waking me up.

However I thought it best the favor not be returned this particular morning. You were up late last night, and looked too cute to disrupt. Do not kill me, I am getting coffee.

I love you and do not leave the bed.

-Spencer

------

Only Spencer Reid would write that on a sticky note, and only for you would he do so.

You heard the rattling of keys and a door being opened and shut as Spencer made his way back to your bedroom. The smile you saw on his face was the start of a story that ended on the upturn of your lips, revealing the two protagonists in a mad frenzy of love. As soon as he reached you, your lips pressed to his in a desperation to be impossibly closer.

“Hi.” he said.

I am thinking it's a sign

That the freckles in our eyes

Are mirror images

And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned

“Hey love.” you tucked a loose brown hair back behind his ear for a closer look at the face you adored. “Please get back in bed.”

He sighed but crawled in next to you, big nimble hands making their way across your torso to diminish the space in between you two. You nuzzled into his chest.

“Your note was beautiful.” you whispered into his ear.

A big, goofy grin spread along his face.

“I meant every word.” his voice so sweet, it sounded dipped in honey.

Honey is incredibly sticky.

-----

There had to have been a world where it all worked out.

In this world, my things never got old, and the ice cubes in my coffee never melted. I could listen to that song over and over again without draining the life out of it and I could like my hair style for more than three months.

Spencer had read to me the greatest works of the world. Words of the greatest thinkers, authors, and minds. He had an appreciation for them greater than those of the average passerby and I adored that, because so did I. Truly, our similarities are what connected us. Our minds were correlated perfectly when it came to subjectivity.

In accordance to human nature however, certain matters were never agreed upon. In particular, we argued about the future. The canyon of discrepancy so vast it tore us and our love in two. I didn’t think that was possible.

I wanted to write the book and watch the film as I lived my life and he and his arrogant over-practically thought that impossible. He thought himself an oneirocritic, but my dreams were not looking for critiques.

Like I said, Spencer read to me the greatest works of the world. And years would pass and the heartbreak and sorrow would fade, but I would always find it ironic how the last thing I ever heard in that honey soaked voice was a work of Confucius. “Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.”

Spencer chose to go to Washington. He took his heart and a piece of mine with him.

-----

BAU JET - 2011

Seaver must’ve noticed my flinch when the sound of her name resonated through the jet. I’d never liked going to California, but this...this had never happened. “That name mean something to you Reid?” She smiled, “You look kind of horrified.”

I ran my hands through my hair in a futile attempt to ground myself. “No. I just...I used to know her.”

In between the fine lines of love and hate, fell a blurry midsection where feelings came before logic and screams and whispers sounded the same. She ruled over this midsection of chaotic emotional fury.

Morgan spoke, and I quickly realized I might be falling into a conversation I really did not want to be having. “How the hell d’you know her pretty boy?”

There was no point in lying on a plane completely occupied by profilers. My best option was to clumsily dodge any direct questions about just how well I knew her.

“I’m from the West coast.”

“So are over 50 million people. You mean to tell me you know all of them?” he laughed.

“The exact estimation is actually 53,492,270. And no, I’m not saying I know all of them, Morgan. I lived in Pasadena for a year after I graduated from Caltech.”

“Okay?” Morgan questioned my previous statements relevancy.

“She went to USC. We were in the same social circle.”

Morgan laughed again, “You had a social circle?”

Emily, next to us, was presumably combing through her file.

“You, ultimate three doctorate dorky dork, were in the same circle as a film major?” she asked. “

What the hell is ‘doctorate dorky dork’ supposed to mean?

“She double majored actually. Film and political science.”

Emily double checked the file, “And Reid’s right. Per usual.”

“Reid and Prentiss, Y/L/N has agreed to talk to us in her home. She lives in the Hills. When we land, you guys go talk to her.” Hotch stated.

“Why?” I said before I could stop myself. The team sat in confused silence in reaction to my bluntness, but Hotch, like always, was not having it.

“Because we have a serial killer that is reenacting the murders in her movie, Reid.” his tone was stern and swift, with a patronizing sarcasm I supposed I deserved.

“Sorry,” I got out, “I guess I just meant..why me?”

“Well, you know her don’t you?” Rossi asked.

I was not ready to divulge the personal details between me and this girl to my entire team, so I just pursed my lips and nodded.

“Right. Sorry.”

----

Life is not a spectacle or a feast; it is a predicament. George Santayana. I was in the biggest fucking predicament I’d ever encountered in my life.

Nothing could slow the incessant, double time pounding in my chest. I was showing symptoms of the beginning of a heart attack. Hopefully I would die and never have to face this.

Fuck, don’t think that.

Have the seats in these cars always been this uncomfortable? God, is California always this hot?

I looked at Emily for half a second, and instantly recognized that keeping quiet from her was proving to be dysfunctional. I could feel her eyes burning into my brain with every profiling skill she knew.

“What are you not saying Reid?”

I sighed. “Do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah. Unless you want me to just find out on my own. It’ll be a lot less delicate.”

Here goes nothing.

“I dated her. For two years. I was very much in love with her. It ended....abruptly. I haven’t spoken to her since, and now, nine years later, I am on my way to her house. I might have a heart attack.”

Emily's eyes widened, “Shit..” She laughed a little, “Reunited at last?.”

I answered with a glare. Hard no.

“Fine, sorry.” She said, masking a giggle with a cough.

I shifted in my seat and I could practically see the gears in Emily’s profiler cerebrum spin. She knew exactly the question to ask. “Is it nerves?”

I nodded my head, “I was a very different person back then.”

“Nothing like time and the bureau can change somebody.” she said. “But, hey..”She smiled again and my eyes widened when I realized what I’d revealed. “I asked you if you were nervous. I didn’t-”

“Emily..” I started.

“Are you nervous she won’t like you now? Do you still like her?” her mouth hung open, “Oh my god Reid!”

I shook my head, “No, I don’t still like her! I don’t even know her anymore! I just..I’d never loved somebody the way I loved her.”

Emily had figured me out at the same time I had. “And you still haven’t.”

Fuck.

“Correct.”

The car pulled into her driveway, and conversations from all those years ago started to replay in my head.

“When we get a house, can we paint our front door bright blue?”

“I want a lemon tree in the front yard.”

“Windows. Huge windows. It’s a must.”

All these things I’d promised her in our future home she’d gotten for herself. Good.

Fontaine said “Sadness flies away on the wings of time”, but the pain I felt from the loss of her was as prominent as ever.

Here goes nothing.

---

Thank you for reading!

a/n2 : this is completely unedited so if its sucks dick i am sorry :/ i just wanted to post it lol

A/n 3: the typos oh my fuck. I wanna Kick myself for letting this cute fic be up in that state for so long. Anyway, fixed! :)

#spencer reid #drspencerreid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

It's Delicate: PART I

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Content Warnings: Mention of NA meeting, some case talk, mild language

Author's Note: This is my first chapter fic! I've only written one shots before, so bear with me. I truly do appreciate all reblogs, likes, and comments. Thank you!!

It's Delicate

Spencer doesn’t really care for gas station coffee, but at 2:00 am it’s the only thing that’s open. He pulls into the parking spot and turns off his Volvo. The check engine light is on, he needs to get into a mechanic, but between his NA meetings and work, it’s difficult to even catch his breath.

So that’s what Spencer does. In the middle of the gas station parking lot at 2:00 am, Spencer sits in his blue Volvo and breathes. He takes deep breaths, the ones that he uses when he has to calm down victims when they’re rescued. It’s grounding, breathing like this he thinks. It’s the kind of breath that Spencer takes when his head is fuzzy from sleeplessness and the only thing that can keep his eyes from drooping is a steady stream of coffee.

He unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of his car. Shutting the door, Spencer surveys the rest of the parking lot. He sees a couple other cars in the lot, he supposes it’s the gas station attendants, but he feels his shoulders tense at the thought of trouble. The bell attached to the door rings as Spencer opens the door. It's a small convenience store, one that Spencer has been frequently at odd hours after the BAU’s jet lands. He’s grown to know the owner, Jeff, who for the past 4 years hasn’t been around all too often.

“I’ll take a regular coffee,” Spencer asks the young man behind the counter. He doesn’t say anything in return, but nods his head in understanding as Spencer hands him a $5 bill and tells him to keep the change.

“Night,” Spencer tells the man, who he’s never seen before, when he hands him his coffee. Again, the young man doesn’t answer. Spencer tries to salvage the awkward encounter by chalking up the man’s coldness by it being so late.

As Spencer pushes against the door with the sleeve covered part of his arm, a poster that’s eye level catches his eye. It’s one of those posters where you can rip off the phone number and contact the person. But instead of a 20-something looking for a roommate, it’s a book club advertisement.

Spencer, quickly for a normal person, but slowly for himself, reads over the sign. The book club is hosted at the local bookstore, Hooked on Books, that Spencer has always meant to check out. From what he can gather, the list of numbers are from people looking for what the poster refers to as “book buddies”. Spencer’s eyes scan the list. There aren't any names attached to the numbers, Spencer supposes that the idea behind that is so bias won’t come into play.

It almost seems like the perfect trap: rip off one of these little pieces of paper with a phone number and call that person with the intention of being their book buddy. It’s something that Spencer knows deep in his bones he’s meant to avoid. But it’s like there’s an invisible string pulling at him to rip the third piece of paper from the group and stuff it carefully into the safety of his wallet.

It’s been five days since Spencer visited the cold man at the gas station and took the number from the poster. In those five days, Spencer slept for two and was back on plane to the middle of Montana for the next three.

After a long day in the sun, Spencer relishes in the cold water from the hotel shower. Even though he had to crouch slightly, Spencer still appreciated the way the chilly water seems to wash him anew. He never sleeps well when the team is on a case, it’s like his mind can’t rest. Well, his mind can never really rest, since it’s technically always growing and changing, especially during sleep.

Spencer’s thoughts travel from his messed up circadian rhythm to the piece of paper that burns a hole in his wallet. He steps out of the shower and dresses in his pajamas. It’s cold in the hotel run, as JJ likes to sleep in the coldest temperature humanly possible. Spencer knows that she finds the weight of blankets comforting. He makes a mental note to put some of his pillows on JJ’s bed, so she can pretend it’s her boys and Will in the bed with her. Spencer can’t help but wonder what’s like to have a child or a partner that misses you. It must be so bittersweet: the promise of coming home, but the threat of having to leave them all behind at moments notice.

Letting his hair air dry, Spencer unlocks the door and enters his and JJ’s hotel room. Out of the whole team, Spencer likes sharing with JJ the best. She’s the most organized and usually, they’ll spend the night on FaceTime with the boys and Will watching a movie, depending on the time.

“You’re all good, JJ. Thanks for letting me get in first,” Spencer says, flopping down on his bed. He shuts off his light, essentially telling JJ that he doesn’t want to talk about the case, or Henry, or anything really.

“Good night, Spence,” JJ says, before shutting off the rest of the lights and heading into the bathroom.

For a couple of minutes, Spencer lays in the all consuming dark. He tries the breathing exercise that’s scientifically proven to make you fall asleep. He counts, one, two, three, four breaths in and holds for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven and let's go for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He tries it for a couple of rounds, but suspects thinking about numbers makes him think about the phone number. Spencer can’t exactly pinpoint why he’s nervous to reach out to the number. Maybe it’s his constant fear of judgement or fear of not being enough, he can’t tell.

Knowing that sleep is probably not coming anytime soon, Spencer rolls on his side so he faces the window overlooking the hotel parking lot. He can’t stop thinking about the case. The way the victim’s mother and father walk around the precinct with a lifeless look in their eyes, staying villgiant no matter how many times JJ tells them to go home and rest.

Spencer doesn’t want to think about the case, so his mind flits to another subject: Hooked on Books Book Buddies. He can’t really pinpoint why he didn’t reach out to his book buddy. But laying there in the bed, Spencer feels strongly compelled to do anything to get his mind off the case, so he climbs out of bed to reach for his phone.

It’s tucked away neatly in his go bag, unlike JJ, Spencer doesn’t have anyone that’s waiting for him at home. Sure he has his mother, but if she needed him, the home would wait until 8 am to call Spencer. He unlocks it and the blue light illuminates the room. Somehow, Garcia had convinced him to get an updated phone. Spencer hardly uses it, but does appreciate being able to get pictures of JJ’s boys and his mother.

He memorized the number in the ten seconds or so it took him to rip the little slip of paper from the poster and put it away in his wallet. Spencer punches the numbers into a new contact, but hesitates when he’s prompted to give a name. He doesn’t know the first thing about this person. Seriously, this is like FBI 101 on the do not listen, he thinks.

Spencer pushes the thoughts of serial killers, for what feels like the first time in ten years, from his mind when he hits the button to message his mysterious book buddy. He types out a message a couple of times, but ends up deleting them because he sounds so incredibly stupid.

Spencer: Hello. I do apologize for my late message. I work odd hours, but I came across your number at the gas station on the corner of Richmond Street and Connor Avenue in Woodbridge. If you are interested, perhaps we can have a conversation about Hooked on Books’ Book Club?

Spencer, realizing that the message he wrote is going to be as good as it gets, hits the little arrow for “send”. He watches as his message turns blue and the little gray delivered pops up. He doesn’t expect the person to send a message back yet. He’s all the way in Montana and they’re in Woodbridge, Virginia, presumably. If it’s 2:30 am in Montana, it’s 4:30 back at home. That’s a little too late for someone with a normal 9 to 5 to be up for work and a little too late for a person that’s joining a book club to haven’t gone to sleep yet.

Don’t profile them, Spencer.

“What’s got you glued to the phone, Reid?” JJ says, with a smirk as she walks out from the bathroom and climbs into her bed. She came in so quietly, or rather, Spencer was staring so intensely at his phone that he didn’t realize.

“Something with my mother, JJ,” he lies, and he doesn’t even know what he can’t tell her the truth.

“Okay, Spence. I just want to make sure you’re all good,” JJ says quietly, her back must be facing Spencer because her voice is muffled a little bit.

“Thanks, JJ, uh good night, now,” Spencer says, effectively ending the conversation.

JJ doesn’t say anything after that, perhaps she just understands that Spencer doesn’t want to talk. Spencer rests flat on his back and tries a couple more rounds of the breathing exercise, but nothing seems to make his brain shut off. Despite the way his eyelids droop and the way it’s almost painful to continue to think, Spencer can’t seem to fall asleep.

He thinks about his Book Buddy, whoever they might be. Spencer hopes that they are around his age. He can’t remember a time that he had a friend his age that wasn’t through work. He has people. JJ is the closest thing to a sister that he’ll ever get and he knows that Derek loves him like a brother, despite his teasing. Emily and Penelope are Spencer’s rock. And then there’s Tara, Matt, and Luke, though Spencer has really gotten a chance to know them all too well, he knows that they’re a team.

But Spencer has always dreamt of having a friend. As a little kid, he used to make up imaginary friends that would listen to his science facts and perform chemistry experiments from him. When he got to high school, his dreams were occupied by someone who’d reach for his hand after he’d been beaten down or strung to a football post. Sure he had Ethan, but that was something charged and electric that left Spencer longing for someone again.

Spencer hadn’t had dreams about a friend in a long time, but tonight he dreamt of coffee and books in a small café and a faceless stranger that would listen to him and laugh with him.

Even though he fell asleep relatively shortly after thinking about his Book Buddy, Spencer did not feel well rested. He turns around in his bed and notices that JJ’s bed is already neatly made. The bathroom is empty, so Spencer reckons that JJ and Emily must already be at the police station.

He wants to savor the last couple of minutes in bed, maybe chase a dream or two of strangers swapping books and making memories over expensive coffee and scones. But reality calls him back home. Spencer checks his phones for work updates (and maybe a message or two from his Book Buddy), but the only notifications on his phone is a Forbes article and a couple emails from Georgetown.

Spencer, heading to the bathroom, gets interrupted by a loud and persistent knock on his hotel room door. He opens the door, revealing an equally tired looking Luke. He waves Spencer good morning before slumping down in the desk chair in the corner of the hotel room.

“I’ve been sent by JJ to get you, she thinks you’re acting weird,” Luke says, expecting Spencer to explain himself.

Awkwardly, Spencer makes something in between a grimace and a frown. He rolls his eyes, but plays along with what he thinks Luke’s little game.

“Well I’m always weird, it would be weird if I wasn’t being weird,” Spencer says, heading into the bathroom with a pile of work clothes. He shuts the door, both literally on Luke and metaphorically on their conversation.

In the bathroom, Spencer dresses out of his pajamas and into a pair of well worn pants and a light purple button up. He forgot his contacts at his apartment, but luckily had a back up pair of glasses in his go bag. Spencer, looking in the mirror, never particularly carried for the reflection that looks back at him. It always seems like his hair is too messy, or his collar is all twisted, or his eyebags are too prominent.

At least the glasses can kind of cover up his eye bags, Spencer thinks as he shuts off the light and closes the bathroom door behind him. Luke, who still is slouched in the chair, looks at his phone.

“Waiting for Penelope to send you a picture of Sergio or something?” Spencer asks, the snark in his voice isn’t missed by Luke.

“You’re one to talk, JJ was telling me how you’re being kind of secretive for the last couple of weeks,” Luke counters.

“Yeah, that’s my work mandated therapist, Luke. You know from the time I was in jail,” Spencer shoots back a little harder than he intended. The look that Luke gives him is something akin to a hurt puppy and Spencer can’t help but feel a little bad for snapping at Luke’s teasing.

“Sorry, man,” Luke says, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “I get it, and you know I’m here for you, Reid. We might not be as close as you and Penny or you and JJ, but I’m here to listen to you,” Luke says, his hand on Spencer, who’s usually so hesitant to touch, is something Spencer never thought he would find comforting.

“Thank you,” is all Spencer can manage and somehow, Luke just gets it. They walk quietly to the parking lot where the SUVs are. The silence continues as they drive to the police station.

It’s still early, only 7:13 am. Spencer can only hope that they catch the unsub in the next couple of hours, so they can file the paperwork and be on their way to Quantico by 8:00 pm. Luke’s steady driving threatens to lull Spencer to sleep. His quiet presence, however, is interrupted with a buzz. Luke’s eyes dart to his phone that navigates them to the police station. He refuses to take direction from Spencer, who has a habit of being a terrible co-pilot.

“Check that for me,” Luke says, “it’s probably Penelope,”

Spencer raises his eyebrows and attempts to suppress a smirk at Luke’s blatant transparency.

“You know with updates about the case and whatnot,” Luke says, brushing Spencer’s teasing off and putting his attention back to the road.

“It’s not Garcia and for what it’s worth, Luke, I don’t see how she’d say no,” Spencer offers, genuinely wanting to see his two friends, who are so perfect for each other it’s almost ridiculous, get together.

Luke shuffles in his seat uncomfortably and pulls into the station. He shoots Spencer a lot, as if to say drop it. The last thing Luke wants is Tara and Matt to get wind of his excitement at Penelope texting him.

Spencer, who’s phone lights up alerting him that he has an unread message, feels a sudden surge in his heart. He’s so used to only getting messages from JJ about the cases or pictures of her boys, that a text not related to his work or his family leaves a smile to his face.

Spencer tries to not profile the message, but to just read it like a normal friend would.

Book Buddy (Y/N): Hey there😊! I can’t believe someone actually grabbed my number...I’m glad you’re interested in this. I’m Y/N and I don’t think you mentioned your name, I don’t make it a habit to meet up with strangers before not knowing their name.

Reading the message twice to make sure he can recite without any hesitation, Spencer’s face falls as he realizes that he forgot to tell them his own name. How could you be so clueless, Spencer, he thinks.

Quickly, because he knows that the rest of the team is waiting inside the police station, that is like a portal to the past, Spencer types out another message.

Spencer: My name is Spencer.

Spencer: I tend to be away for work quite often, so I do apologize for the late message. And for hiding my identity-- not that that was on purpose. Is it okay if we plan something when I get back to Virginia?

Spencer doesn’t expect a message right away, but he can tell that there’s going to be something Pavlovian about the way that little swoosh sound makes his fingers reach for his phone.

Thank You!! I love and appreciate all and every comments, likes, and reblogs. I love knowing what you think!!

--Taglist--

@shemarmooresfedora

@april-14-blog

@willowrose99

@calm-and-doctor

@spideygenius

@nomajdetective

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds reader #spencer reid x yn

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interact-if · 3 years

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Day 1 of our Pride Month Featured Authors interview, babey! We're so excited that we get to feature these amazing authors, so without further ado... Jasper!

Jasper, author of Crosshollow Foundations

Pride Month Featured Author

Taking place around the turn of the century, you take on the role of an ancient, incorporeal being. Many centuries ago, following a series of bad decisions, you found yourself here on Earth. To maintain your link to the physical world you must maintain a “tether” to a human- a psychic bond that can only be broken by death. And death is always close at hand, as you are being pursued by another of your kind- somebody with a grudge and infinite patience to take out his revenge.

Alongside your most recent tether, Tobias (customizable name- this is simply the default), you have been traveling around North America and staying far away from your pursuer. Short on cash, the two of you find yourselves hiding out in the remote mining towns of the Colorado mountains. The people here are not quite as they seem, however- and as tensions rise in the community and your pursuer draws near, you find yourself at the center of a conflict of both rural and cosmic proportions.

Demo: TBA

Tags: supernatural, speculative

Other projects: An Angel Among the Aspens, 13 Laurel Road

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: Tell us a little bit about your project(s)!

Crosshollow Foundations is the story of how the fictional town where my games take place was founded. You play as an otherworldly incorporeal being who must form bonds with humans to stay on Earth. Trying to keep a low profile and avoid a mysterious individual with a vendetta against you, you and your companion find refuge in the remote mining town of Gothic, Colorado. But despite its quaint exterior, something sinister is brewing in Gothic- something you’re about to find yourself stuck in the middle of.

It’s a fun little Old West romp based on real historical roots, and an introduction to the world of Crosshollow.

Q2: Why interactive fiction? What drew you to the medium?

Interactive fiction wasn’t actually my first choice! I experimented with a lot of different mediums to tell this story, like 2D point and click games, visual novels, comics, and even ARG-style multimedia projects. I eventually rediscovered Twine, which I had experimented with in the past, and made my first game (An Angel Among the Aspens) in a couple of weeks. That’s when I realized, hey- I can actually do this, if I put my mind to it I can make those dream projects and actually release them. That’s the beauty of interactive fiction. You can do it all yourself, the only limit is how much work you want to put in.

Q3: Are your characters influenced by your identity? How?

I never intend to make things about my identity, but it often ends up happening anyway! My game 13 Laurel Road, in particular, has a lot of my own identity as a transgender man woven into it. I think a lot of trans people can relate to having family members initially react to your coming out with a lot of hatefulness and ignorance, only for it to strengthen your bond in the long run. It’s something I’ve definitely experienced myself, but something I’ve rarely seen portrayed in media.

Q4: What would you like to see more of in LGBT+ fiction?

LGBTQ+ people in historical media! Once I mentioned that I was interested in transgender history to an acquaintance and they laughed and said, “If there is any!” It’s a really commonly held belief that trans people popped into existence in the year 1990, or that every trans person in history was closeted, and that’s just not the case. I want to see stories about a trans noblewoman in Baroque France, or a trans doctor in Victorian England, or a trans cowboy in the Wild West! There are so many incredible dramas just waiting to be told.

Q5: What or who are some of your biggest inspirations?

I am a horror lover at heart, and especially indie horror games! My main sources of inspiration have been surrealist horror games, Newgrounds-era point and click flash games, and narrative-focused walking simulators. The Rusty Lake games in particular have been a massive influence on the Crosshollow universe, and 13 Laurel Road was greatly inspired by Gone Home, even if I didn’t realize it while I was writing it!

Q6: What’s a super vague spoiler for your current project?

I swear all of my games are connected, it just might take a little while for that to become apparent!

Q7: Lastly, what advice would you give to your readers?

This is a big moment for the LGBTQ+ community. Things are changing! There are opportunities out there that there never have been before. Go out there and advocate for yourself, create the media you want to see, and forge your own path in the world.

#if: events #pride month #queer fiction #queer authors #queer creators #pride month 2021

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kingstylesdaily · 4 years

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Playtime With Harry Styles

via vogue.com

THE MEN’S BATHING POND in London’s Hampstead Heath at daybreak on a gloomy September morning seemed such an unlikely locale for my first meeting with Harry Styles, music’s legendarily charm-heavy style czar, that I wondered perhaps if something had been lost in translation.

But then there is Styles, cheerily gung ho, hidden behind a festive yellow bandana mask and a sweatshirt of his own design, surprisingly printed with three portraits of his intellectual pinup, the author Alain de Botton. “I love his writing,” says Styles. “I just think he’s brilliant. I saw him give a talk about the keys to happiness, and how one of the keys is living among friends, and how real friendship stems from being vulnerable with someone.”

In turn, de Botton’s 2016 novel The Course of Love taught Styles that “when it comes to relationships, you just expect yourself to be good at it…[but] being in a real relationship with someone is a skill,” one that Styles himself has often had to hone in the unforgiving klieg light of public attention, and in the company of such high-profile paramours as Taylor Swift and—well, Styles is too much of a gentleman to name names.

That sweatshirt and the Columbia Records tracksuit bottoms are removed in the quaint wooden open-air changing room, with its Swallows and Amazons vibe. A handful of intrepid fellow patrons in various states of undress are blissfully unaware of the 26-year-old supernova in their midst, although I must admit I’m finding it rather difficult to take my eyes off him, try as I might. Styles has been on a six-day juice cleanse in readiness for Vogue’s photographer Tyler Mitchell. He practices Pilates (“I’ve got very tight hamstrings—trying to get those open”) and meditates twice a day. “It has changed my life,” he avers, “but it’s so subtle. It’s helped me just be more present. I feel like I’m able to enjoy the things that are happening right in front of me, even if it’s food or it’s coffee or it’s being with a friend—or a swim in a really cold pond!” Styles also feels that his meditation practices have helped him through the tumult of 2020: “Meditation just brings a stillness that has been really beneficial, I think, for my mental health.”

Styles has been a pescatarian for three years, inspired by the vegan food that several members of his current band prepared on tour. “My body definitely feels better for it,” he says. His shapely torso is prettily inscribed with the tattoos of a Victorian sailor—a rose, a galleon, a mermaid, an anchor, and a palm tree among them, and, straddling his clavicle, the dates 1967 and 1957 (the respective birth years of his mother and father). Frankly, I rather wish I’d packed a beach muumuu.

We take the piratical gangplank that juts into the water and dive in. Let me tell you, this is not the Aegean. The glacial water is a cloudy phlegm green beneath the surface, and clammy reeds slap one’s ankles. Styles, who admits he will try any fad, has recently had a couple of cryotherapy sessions and is evidently less susceptible to the cold. By the time we have swum a full circuit, however, body temperatures have adjusted, and the ice, you might say, has been broken. Duly invigorated, we are ready to face the day. Styles has thoughtfully brought a canister of coffee and some bottles of water in his backpack, and we sit at either end of a park bench for a socially distanced chat.

It seems that he has had a productive year. At the onset of lockdown, Styles found himself in his second home, in the canyons of Los Angeles. After a few days on his own, however, he moved in with a pod of three friends (and subsequently with two band members, Mitch Rowland and Sarah Jones). They “would put names in a hat and plan the week out,” Styles explains. “If you were Monday, you would choose the movie, dinner, and the activity for that day. I like to make soups, and there was a big array of movies; we went all over the board,” from Goodfellas to Clueless. The experience, says Styles, “has been a really good lesson in what makes me happy now. It’s such a good example of living in the moment. I honestly just like being around my friends,” he adds. “That’s been my biggest takeaway. Just being on my own the whole time, I would have been miserable.”

Styles is big on friendship groups and considers his former and legendarily hysteria-inducing boy band, One Direction, to have been one of them. “I think the typical thing is to come out of a band like that and almost feel like you have to apologize for being in it,” says Styles. “But I loved my time in it. It was all new to me, and I was trying to learn as much as I could. I wanted to soak it in…. I think that’s probably why I like traveling now—soaking stuff up.” In a post-COVID future, he is contemplating a temporary move to Tokyo, explaining that “there’s a respect and a stillness, a quietness that I really loved every time I’ve been there.”

In 1D, Styles was making music whenever he could. “After a show you’d go in a hotel room and put down some vocals,” he recalls. As a result, his first solo album, 2017’s Harry Styles, “was when I really fell in love with being in the studio,” he says. “I loved it as much as touring.” Today he favors isolating with his core group of collaborators, “our little bubble”—Rowland, Kid Harpoon (né Tom Hull), and Tyler Johnson. “A safe space,” as he describes it.

In the music he has been working on in 2020, Styles wants to capture the experimental spirit that informed his second album, last year’s Fine Line. With his debut album, “I was very much finding out what my sound was as a solo artist,” he says. “I can see all the places where it almost felt like I was bowling with the bumpers up. I think with the second album I let go of the fear of getting it wrong and…it was really joyous and really free. I think with music it’s so important to evolve—and that extends to clothes and videos and all that stuff. That’s why you look back at David Bowie with Ziggy Stardust or the Beatles and their different eras—that fearlessness is super inspiring.”

The seismic changes of 2020—including the Black Lives Matter uprising around racial justice—has also provided Styles with an opportunity for personal growth. “I think it’s a time for opening up and learning and listening,” he says. “I’ve been trying to read and educate myself so that in 20 years I’m still doing the right things and taking the right steps. I believe in karma, and I think it’s just a time right now where we could use a little more kindness and empathy and patience with people, be a little more prepared to listen and grow.”

Meanwhile, Styles’s euphoric single “Watermelon Sugar” became something of an escapist anthem for this dystopian summer of 2020. The video, featuring Styles (dressed in ’70s-flavored Gucci and Bode) cavorting with a pack of beach-babe girls and boys, was shot in January, before lockdown rules came into play. By the time it was ready to be released in May, a poignant epigraph had been added: “This video is dedicated to touching.”

Styles is looking forward to touring again, when “it’s safe for everyone,” because, as he notes, “being up against people is part of the whole thing. You can’t really re-create it in any way.” But it hasn’t always been so. Early in his career, Styles was so stricken with stage fright that he regularly threw up preperformance. “I just always thought I was going to mess up or something,” he remembers. “But I’ve felt really lucky to have a group of incredibly generous fans. They’re generous emotionally—and when they come to the show, they give so much that it creates this atmosphere that I’ve always found so loving and accepting.”

THIS SUMMER, when it was safe enough to travel, Styles returned to his London home, which is where he suggests we head now, setting off in his modish Primrose Yellow ’73 Jaguar that smells of gasoline and leatherette. “Me and my dad have always bonded over cars,” Styles explains. “I never thought I’d be someone who just went out for a leisurely drive, purely for enjoyment.” On sleepless jet-lagged nights he’ll drive through London’s quiet streets, seeing neighborhoods in a new way. “I find it quite relaxing,” he says.

Over the summer Styles took a road trip with his artist friend Tomo Campbell through France and Italy, setting off at four in the morning and spending the night in Geneva, where they jumped in the lake “to wake ourselves up.” (I see a pattern emerging.) At the end of the trip Styles drove home alone, accompanied by an upbeat playlist that included “Aretha Franklin, Parliament, and a lot of Stevie Wonder. It was really fun for me,” he says. “I don’t travel like that a lot. I’m usually in such a rush, but there was a stillness to it. I love the feeling of nobody knowing where I am, that kind of escape...and freedom.”

GROWING UP in a village in the North of England, Styles thought of London as a world apart: “It truly felt like a different country.” At a wide-eyed 16, he came down to the teeming metropolis after his mother entered him on the U.K. talent-search show The X Factor. “I went to the audition to find out if I could sing,” Styles recalls, “or if my mum was just being nice to me.” Styles was eliminated but subsequently brought back with other contestants—Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, and Zayn Malik—to form a boy band that was named (on Styles’s suggestion) One Direction. The wily X Factor creator and judge, Simon Cowell, soon signed them to his label Syco Records, and the rest is history: 1D’s first four albums, supported by four world tours from 2011 to 2015, debuted at number one on the U.S. Billboard charts, and the band has sold 70 million records to date. At 18, Styles bought the London house he now calls home. “I was going to do two weeks’ work to it,” he remembers, “but when I came back there was no second floor,” so he moved in with adult friends who lived nearby till the renovation was complete. “Eighteen months,” he deadpans. “I’ve always seen that period as pretty pivotal for me, as there’s that moment at the party where it’s getting late, and half of the people would go upstairs to do drugs, and the other people go home. I was like, ‘I don’t really know this friend’s wife, so I’m not going to get all messy and then go home.’ I had to behave a bit, at a time where everything else about my life felt I didn’t have to behave really. I’ve been lucky to always feel I have this family unit somewhere.”

When Styles’s London renovation was finally done, “I went in for the first time and I cried,” he recalls. “Because I just felt like I had somewhere. L.A. feels like holiday, but this feels like home.”

Behind its pink door, Styles’s house has all the trappings of rock stardom—there’s a man cave filled with guitars, a Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks poster (a moving-in gift from his decorator), a Stevie Nicks album cover. Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” was one of the first songs he knew the words to—“My parents were big fans”—and he and Nicks have formed something of a mutual-admiration society. At the beginning of lockdown, Nicks tweeted to her fans that she was taking inspiration from Fine Line: “Way to go, H,” she wrote. “It is your Rumours.” “She’s always there for you,” said Styles when he inducted Nicks into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2019. “She knows what you need—advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl; she’s got you covered.”

Styles makes us some tea in the light-filled kitchen and then wanders into the convivial living room, where he strikes an insouciant pose on the chesterfield sofa, upholstered in a turquoise velvet that perhaps not entirely coincidentally sets off his eyes. Styles admits that his lockdown lewk was “sweatpants, constantly,” and he is relishing the opportunity to dress up again. He doesn’t have to wait long: The following day, under the eaves of a Victorian mansion in Notting Hill, I arrive in the middle of fittings for Vogue’s shoot and discover Styles in his Y-fronts, patiently waiting to try on looks for fashion editor Camilla Nickerson and photographer Tyler Mitchell. Styles’s personal stylist, Harry Lambert, wearing a pearl necklace and his nails colored in various shades of green varnish, à la Sally Bowles, is providing helpful backup (Britain’s Rule of Six hasn’t yet been imposed).

Styles, who has thoughtfully brought me a copy of de Botton’s 2006 book The Architecture of Happiness, is instinctively and almost quaintly polite, in an old-fashioned, holding-open-doors and not-mentioning-lovers-by-name sort of way. He is astounded to discover that the Atlanta-born Mitchell has yet to experience a traditional British Sunday roast dinner. Assuring him that “it’s basically like Thanksgiving every Sunday,” Styles gives Mitchell the details of his favorite London restaurants in which to enjoy one. “It’s a good thing to be nice,” Mitchell tells me after a morning in Styles’s company.

MITCHELL has Lionel Wendt’s languorously homoerotic 1930s portraits of young Sri Lankan men on his mood board. Nickerson is thinking of Irving Penn’s legendary fall 1950 Paris haute couture collections sitting, where he photographed midcentury supermodels, including his wife, Lisa Fonssagrives, in high-style Dior and Balenciaga creations. Styles is up for all of it, and so, it would seem, is the menswear landscape of 2020: Jonathan Anderson has produced a trapeze coat anchored with a chunky gold martingale; John Galliano at Maison Margiela has fashioned a khaki trench with a portrait neckline in layers of colored tulle; and Harris Reed—a Saint Martins fashion student sleuthed by Lambert who ended up making some looks for Styles’s last tour—has spent a week making a broad-shouldered Smoking jacket with high-waisted, wide-leg pants that have become a Styles signature since he posed for Tim Walker for the cover of Fine Line wearing a Gucci pair—a silhouette that was repeated in the tour wardrobe. (“I liked the idea of having that uniform,” says Styles.) Reed’s version is worn with a hoopskirt draped in festoons of hot-pink satin that somehow suggests Deborah Kerr asking Yul Brynner’s King of Siam, “Shall we dance?”

Styles introduces me to the writer and eyewear designer Gemma Styles, “my sister from the same womb,” he says. She is also here for the fitting: The siblings plan to surprise their mother with the double portrait on these pages.

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

“My mum loved to dress us up,” she remembers. “I always hated it, and Harry was always quite into it. She did some really elaborate papier-mâché outfits: She made a giant mug and then painted an atlas on it, and that was Harry being ‘The World Cup.’ Harry also had a little dalmatian-dog outfit,” she adds, “a hand-me-down from our closest family friends. He would just spend an inordinate amount of time wearing that outfit. But then Mum dressed me up as Cruella de Vil. She was always looking for any opportunity!”

“As a kid I definitely liked fancy dress,” Styles says. There were school plays, the first of which cast him as Barney, a church mouse. “I was really young, and I wore tights for that,” he recalls. “I remember it was crazy to me that I was wearing a pair of tights. And that was maybe where it all kicked off!”

Acting has also remained a fundamental form of expression for Styles. His sister recalls that even on the eve of his life-changing X Factor audition, Styles could sing in public only in an assumed voice. “He used to do quite a good sort of Elvis warble,” she remembers. During the rehearsals in the family home, “he would sing in the bathroom because if it was him singing as himself, he just couldn’t have anyone looking at him! I love his voice now,” she adds. “I’m so glad that he makes music that I actually enjoy listening to.”

Styles’s role-playing continued soon after 1D went on permanent hiatus in 2016, and he was cast in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, beating out dozens of professional actors for the role. “The good part was my character was a young soldier who didn’t really know what he was doing,” says Styles modestly. “The scale of the movie was so big that I was a tiny piece of the puzzle. It was definitely humbling. I just loved being outside of my comfort zone.”

His performance caught the eye of Olivia Wilde, who remembers that it “blew me away—the openness and commitment.” In turn, Styles loved Wilde’s directorial debut, Booksmart, and is “very honored” that she cast him in a leading role for her second feature, a thriller titled Don’t Worry Darling, which went into production this fall. Styles will play the husband to Florence Pugh in what Styles describes as “a 1950s utopia in the California desert.”

Wilde’s movie is costumed by Academy Award nominee Arianne Phillips. “She and I did a little victory dance when we heard that we officially had Harry in the film,” notes Wilde, “because we knew that he has a real appreciation for fashion and style. And this movie is incredibly stylistic. It’s very heightened and opulent, and I’m really grateful that he is so enthusiastic about that element of the process—some actors just don’t care.”

“I like playing dress-up in general,” Styles concurs, in a masterpiece of understatement: This is the man, after all, who cohosted the Met’s 2019 “Notes on Camp” gala attired in a nipple-freeing black organza blouse with a lace jabot, and pants so high-waisted that they cupped his pectorals. The ensemble, accessorized with the pearl-drop earring of a dandified Elizabethan courtier, was created for Styles by Gucci’s Alessandro Michele, whom he befriended in 2014. Styles, who has subsequently personified the brand as the face of the Gucci fragrance, finds Michele “fearless with his work and his imagination. It’s really inspiring to be around someone who works like that.”

The two first met in London over a cappuccino. “It was just a kind of PR appointment,” says Michele, “but something magical happened, and Harry is now a friend. He has the aura of an English rock-and-roll star—like a young Greek god with the attitude of James Dean and a little bit of Mick Jagger—but no one is sweeter. He is the image of a new era, of the way that a man can look.”

Styles credits his style transformation—from Jack Wills tracksuit-clad boy-band heartthrob to nonpareil fashionisto—to his meeting the droll young stylist Harry Lambert seven years ago. They hit it off at once and have conspired ever since, enjoying a playfully campy rapport and calling each other Sue and Susan as they parse the niceties of the scarlet lace Gucci man-bra that Michele has made for Vogue’s shoot, for instance, or a pair of Bode pants hand-painted with biographical images (Styles sent Emily Adams Bode images of his family, and a photograph he had found of David Hockney and Joni Mitchell. “The idea of those two being friends, to me, was really beautiful,” Styles explains).

“He just has fun with clothing, and that’s kind of where I’ve got it from,” says Styles of Lambert. “He doesn’t take it too seriously, which means I don’t take it too seriously.” The process has been evolutionary. At his first meeting with Lambert, the stylist proposed “a pair of flares, and I was like, ‘Flares? That’s fucking crazy,’ ” Styles remembers. Now he declares that “you can never be overdressed. There’s no such thing. The people that I looked up to in music—Prince and David Bowie and Elvis and Freddie Mercury and Elton John—they’re such showmen. As a kid it was completely mind-blowing. Now I’ll put on something that feels really flamboyant, and I don’t feel crazy wearing it. I think if you get something that you feel amazing in, it’s like a superhero outfit. Clothes are there to have fun with and experiment with and play with. What’s really exciting is that all of these lines are just kind of crumbling away. When you take away ‘There’s clothes for men and there’s clothes for women,’ once you remove any barriers, obviously you open up the arena in which you can play. I’ll go in shops sometimes, and I just find myself looking at the women’s clothes thinking they’re amazing. It’s like anything—anytime you’re putting barriers up in your own life, you’re just limiting yourself. There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never really thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something.”

“He’s up for it,” confirms Lambert, who earlier this year, for instance, found a JW Anderson cardigan with the look of a Rubik’s Cube (“on sale at matches.com!”). Styles wore it, accessorized with his own pearl necklace, for a Today rehearsal in February and it went viral: His fans were soon knitting their own versions and posting the results on TikTok. Jonathan Anderson declared himself “so impressed and incredibly humbled by this trend” that he nimbly made the pattern available (complete with a YouTube tutorial) so that Styles’s fans could copy it for free. Meanwhile, London’s storied Victoria & Albert Museum has requested Styles’s original: an emblematic document of how people got creative during the COVID era. “It’s going to be in their permanent collection,” says Lambert exultantly. “Is that not sick? Is that not the most epic thing?”

“To me, he’s very modern,” says Wilde of Styles, “and I hope that this brand of confidence as a male that Harry has—truly devoid of any traces of toxic masculinity—is indicative of his generation and therefore the future of the world. I think he is in many ways championing that, spearheading that. It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence.”

“He’s really in touch with his feminine side because it’s something natural,” notes Michele. “And he’s a big inspiration to a younger generation—about how you can be in a totally free playground when you feel comfortable. I think that he’s a revolutionary.”

STYLES’S confidence is on full display the day after the fitting, which finds us all on the beautiful Sussex dales. Over the summit of the hill, with its trees blown horizontal by the fierce winds, lies the English Channel. Even though it’s a two-hour drive from London, the fresh-faced Styles, who went to bed at 9 p.m., has arrived on set early: He is famously early for everything. The team is installed in a traditional flint-stone barn. The giant doors have been replaced by glass and frame a bucolic view of distant grazing sheep. “Look at that field!” says Styles. “How lucky are we? This is our office! Smell the roses!” Lambert starts to sing “Kumbaya, my Lord.”

Hairdresser Malcolm Edwards is setting Styles’s hair in a Victory roll with silver clips, and until it is combed out he resembles Kathryn Grayson with stubble. His fingers are freighted with rings, and “he has a new army of mini purses,” says Lambert, gesturing to an accessory table heaving with examples including a mini sky-blue Gucci Diana bag discreetly monogrammed HS. Michele has also made Styles a dress for the shoot that Tissot might have liked to paint—acres of ice-blue ruffles, black Valenciennes lace, and suivez-moi, jeune homme ribbons. Erelong, Styles is gamely racing up a hill in it, dodging sheep scat, thistles, and shards of chalk, and striking a pose for Mitchell that manages to make ruffles a compelling new masculine proposition, just as Mr. Fish’s frothy white cotton dress—equal parts Romantic poet and Greek presidential guard—did for Mick Jagger when he wore it for The Rolling Stones’ free performance in Hyde Park in 1969, or as the suburban-mom floral housedress did for Kurt Cobain as he defined the iconoclastic grunge aesthetic. Styles is mischievously singing ABBA’s “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” to himself when Mitchell calls him outside to jump up and down on a trampoline in a Comme des Garçons buttoned wool kilt. “How did it look?” asks his sister when he comes in from the cold. “Divine,” says her brother in playful Lambert-speak.

As the wide sky is washed in pink, orange, and gray, like a Turner sunset, and Mitchell calls it a successful day, Styles is playing “Cherry” from Fine Line on his Fender acoustic on the hilltop. “He does his own stunts,” says his sister, laughing. The impromptu set is greeted with applause. “Thank you, Antwerp!” says Styles playfully, bowing to the crowd. “Thank you, fashion!”

378 notes · View notes

yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.

pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.

wc. 9.7k

beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...

author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.

“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”

No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.

“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.

I need healing! I need healing!

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.

Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.

“You winning?”

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.

(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.

“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.

It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.

“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”

You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).

“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.

“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.

“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.

“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.

“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.

“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.

“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.

“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.

“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.

“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.

“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.

“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.

“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.

Today, it comes after the fourth count.

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.

It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.

“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.

“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)

“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.

“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.

“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”

“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.

You absolutely loved it.

“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.

“Drink this!”

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”

“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”

You do. You really, really do.

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.

“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.

“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.

He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”

“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.

“Start the shower.”

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.

“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.

“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.

“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.

“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.

“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.

“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”

“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.

“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”

“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.

“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.

“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.

“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.

“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.

“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”

You can’t argue with that.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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princessshikky · 3 years

Text

In case there is another person here who for some reason wanted a TGCF/TUA fusion plotbunny... This is loosely inspired by the TGCF fanfic Nude Dinner by the incredible hoarder_of_stories (btw, I highly recommend to check out their other works: very sweet and comforting, also you can just feel that the author is enjoying their work, it's always cool when the text transfers that feeling).

So. Jun Wu is the eccentric billionaire who buys and adopts seven kids with superpowers and they grow up in a toxic environment.

Mu Qing and Feng Xin are number one and number two respectively. They are constantly arguing with each other and with everyone else around them except for Xie Lian. When Xie Lian left home to live on his own, fengqing left with him, but Mu Qing couldn't handle this life for long and wanted to come back home, which lead to his argument and subsequent breakup with Feng Xin and Xie Lian. Mu Qing also spent years trying to "make amends" for his "mistake" and win back Jun Wu's favor. He's the only one who stayed with Jun Wu until the end.

Feng Xin quickly started an affair with a girl his age (Jian Lang), she got pregnant, Jun Wu found out and tried to pay her to keep the baby, give it to Jun Wu and never see the child again (he wanted to see whether the second generation would inherit the special abilities). Jian Lang wanted nothing to do with it, had an abortion, confronted Feng Xin about the whole story and broke up with him. They never saw each other after that. In the present timeline Feng Xin works as a coach in a local gym, he also participates in fighting matches sometimes.

Yin Yu is number three. He constantly felt underappreciated and ignored, angry that Quan Yizhen was praised more than him. Eventually he got so angry he had a fight with Quan Yizhen and ran away. In the present he works for Hua Cheng (who wanted to be closer to Xie Lian and grabbed the chance to meet Xie Lian's sibling, that didn't go as planned).

Quan Yizhen is number four. He adored Yin Yu, so after Yin Yu left Quan Yizhen also didn't stay home for long. He became a successful and popular athlete with a ton of endorsements. He also doesn't hold any resentments against his siblings.

Shi Qingxuan is number five, he can speak with the souls of the deceased. His ability is pretty useless in combat, so he didn't go to the missions all that often. When Shi Qingxuan was still a teenager his biological older brother, Shi Wudu, started looking for him and demanded the right to see him (Shi Wudu could only do it once he was of legal age, which is why it took so long). Jun Wu refused, so Shi Wudu started a crusade, went to the papers, to the Committee for the Affairs of Minors and to court -- all to get Shi Qingxuan away from the abusive environment. He eventually succeeded. The rest of the siblings desperately envy Shi Qingxuan since they don't have loving biological family willing to go through hell for them. Nevertheless, Shi Qingxuan is such a likable person it's hard to resent him. He is another family members who doesn't hold any grudges against his siblings and loves them all equally (except for Shi Wudu, who is his absolute favorite).

He Xuan is number six (deceased). Shi Qingxuan is the only one able to see him and communicate with him. He Xuan absolutely despises Shi Wudu because of jealousy: he used to be closest to Shi Qingxuan and believes Shi Qingxuan doesn't pay him as much attention now.

Xie Lian is number seven and Jun Wu's favorite, which didn't win him any favors among the other siblings (actually Jun Wu made a conscious attempt to isolate Xie Lian from the rest of the family and make him dependent on Jun Wu's approval precisely because Xie Lian is really his favorite). Xie Lian didn't have super abilities but still wanted to be a superhero and save people like the rest of his siblings, which lead to him constatly arguing with Jun Wu. Eventually he was the first to leave the Academy. He lived with fengqing at first, then they broke up and went their own separate ways. The first year on his own was the most difficult, as Xie Lian couldn't find any job and barely had any food to eat. Officially it was because the whole family was homeschooled and Xie Lian lacked any certificate of education, but actually Jun Wu secretly did everything in his power to ensure no one would hire Xie Lian, hoping Xie Lian would "come to his senses" and come back home. However, Xie Lian was stubborn enough to survive and eventually get a stable job. He still doesn't have higher education because it's expensive and time-consuming, but his living conditions are better in the present.

At the start of the plot Jun Wu suddenly dies and the whole family (including Shi Wudu as Shi Qingxuan's moral support) comes to the funeral. Mu Qing tries to say that something about the death is suspicious (some of Jun Wu's documents are missing), but no one is willing to support him (to be fair, even if Jun Wu died from fifty knife wounds, the siblings would be like "eh, what a tragic accident, nothing suspicious here"). There are no timey-wimey shenanigans, just Mu Qing trying to investigate Jun Wu's death and the rest of the family reluctantly working with him or refusing to cooperate (i.e. Yin Yu doesn't tell where he spent the night of Jun Wu's death or where he works because he hasn't seen his siblings in years, they're practically strangers, and he doesn't want these strangers to come to his workplace or something, esp. since he works for a stalker obsessed with one of the aforementioned siblings). The family communicates, unearthes some old grudges and family secrets (fengqing spend two hours yelling at each other over a broken gameboy personally gifted by Jun Wu).

Xie Lian goes for a walk and accidentally meets a guy named San Lang (it was raining, Xie Lian didn't have an umbrella, so San Lang walked him to his apartment, Xie Lian invited him in and made him tea etc). They start dating. San Lang is very supportive of Xie Lian, spends a lot of time with him, makes him insanely personalised gifts. Fengqing are suspicious and try to convince Xie Lian that this guy is weird and his social network profiles seem fake. They even break into San Lang's appartment but find nothing out of the ordinary (they didn't have time to sneak into the attic and discover the Xie Lian Stalker Shrine).

Xie Lian starts seeing nightmares of a man in white clothes and white mask. He used to have these nightmares often in the past, when he was a child, then Jun Wu administered him some pills and the nightmares stopped. Xie Lian thinks this is his psyche's reaction to Jun Wu's death. When San Lang finds out, he offers to pay for the therapist sessions (Xie Lian refuses) and maybe adjust the dosage of the medicine (Xie Lian agrees to try). Soon Xie Lian runs out of the pills, forgets to get a new bottle, and San Lang convinces him to try to quit. Xie Lian feels better and also starts to suspect that he may have superpowers after all. San Lang and Xie Lian work together to try and develop Xie Lian's abilities. It doesn't really go anywhere until a tragic accident: Xie Lian and San Lang are attacked at the street, San Lang is injured (and looses his eye in the fight), Xie Lian uses his abilities to protect San Lang. San Lang now wears an eyepatch.

Fengqing still keep their investigation, find out that Yin Yu works for "San Lang" and that "San Lang"'s name is actually Hua Cheng. They come to Xie Lian with this information, but Xie Lian refuses to believe them. Fengqing and Xie Lian have a huge argument, remember every one of their old grudges, Xie Lian hotly says that San Lang is way better to him than his family and even helps him develop his abilities. Hua Cheng arrives in the middle of the argument, takes Xie Lian's side and throws fengqing out. In a conversation with Xie Lian he either denies the accusations or gives a rational explanation (i.e. "San Lang is my childhood nickname, I like it better than my name, that's why I never used my actual name with you").

The next day, once Mu Qing had a chance to calm down, he starts thinking: how come Xie Lian has abilities now? He decides Jun Wu must have known something and tries to look at Jun Wu's documents, finds evidence of Jun Wu knowing, but most of the information was in the documents that are missing. The other siblings deny having anything to do with it. Mu Qing turns to Ling Wen -- the AI developed by Jun Wu. Mu Qing, Ling Wen and Feng Xin manage to break into Jun Wu's computer, decode his files and access the security camera records.

Turns out, Jun Wu also had superpowers: he could get into other people's dreams and control their minds. He was the one who sent Xie Lian nightmares and made everyone forget Xie Lian had powers. He also documented everything and placed hidden cameras all over the house. Fengqing watch the records of the day Jun Wu died (there is only image but no sound) and see Hua Cheng break into Jun Wu's study room, find and read some of the documents. Jun Wu enters the room, it looks like he and Hua Cheng have an argument, Hua Cheng storms out taking the documents with him. After he leaves, Jun Wu clutches his chest and falls on the floor.

Fengqing go to speak to Xie Lian again, this time with the records. Xie Lian is shocked, but he believes them now. Together they search Hua Cheng's house, find Jun Wu's documents, which hold detailed descriptions of Xie Lian's abilities and how to access them. They also find the stalker shrine with paintings of Xie Lian, pictures of Xie Lian obviously taken without his knowledge, a couple of statues and some pornographic images of Xie Lian. Fengqing demand Xie Lian dumps "this creep" right this second, but Xie Lian still insists there must be a proper explanation. He even tries to call Hua Cheng. Eventually they reach a compromise: they need to go to Yin Yu and speak to him, since he works for Hua Cheng and must know something.

Yin Yu tells them the following: a long time ago, when Xie Lian was trying to be a superhero, he saved a young Hua Cheng. Ever since that time Hua Cheng became obsessed with Xie Lian, started gathering all available information about the Umbrella Academy, but there was nothing about Xie Lian there. After Shi Wudu's campain against Jun Wu the Academy's dirty laundry got into papers, Hua Cheng figured Xie Lian had been abused and it was Hua Cheng's turn to save him. However, by the time Hua Cheng finally had all the money and resources Xie Lian had long left the house and built himself a new life. Hua Cheng found him and started stalking him, taking pictures etc. He didn't try to meet Xie Lian in person because he was ashamed: he failed and didn't help Xie Lian when Xie Lian needed it most. Hua Cheng still employed Yin Yu and regularly questioned him about Xie Lian because he wanted to know every little detail. One of their conversations made him think of something he didn't share and start a secret project Yin Yu wasn't involved in. That's all he knows.

Fengqing are furious with Yin Yu for doing something like that to his sibling. Yin Yu yells at them, saying that even though Mu Qing, Feng Xin and Xie Lian had each other when they left they couldn't hold out long, and Yin Yu was completely on his own and Hua Cheng saved him. Fengqing don't know Hua Cheng, he's actually a good person, they shouldn't judge him by his hobbies. Xie Lian interferes saying they need to talk to Hua Cheng anyway, to question him about the circumstances of Jun Wu's death. Xie Lian calls Hua Cheng and invites him to the Academy mansion, fengqing gather the rest of their siblings. Together they interrogate Hua Cheng.

Hua Cheng doesn't deny the stalking but he denies being responsible for Jun Wu's death. According to him, his conversation with Yin Yu helped him guess Jun Wu was super shady, Hua Cheng managed to hack his computer, couldn't decypher the files but accessed the camera records and saw where Jun Wu kept his documents. He broke into Jun Wu's room, read his diaries, found out about Xie Lian's abilities and confronted Jun Wu about it, promising to disclose that information to Xie Lian. Hua Cheng "accidentally" ran into Xie Lian at the street, stole his medicine, hired some thugs to beat him in front of Xie Lian -- all to help Xie Lian unlock his powers.

Fengqing still believe Hua Cheng must be somehow responsible for Jun Wu's death. Yin Yu stands up for Hua Cheng and suggests Shi Qingxuan uses his ability to talk to Jun Wu's ghost and find out for certain. Shi Wudu is against that: he doesn't want Shi Qingxuan to talk to his abusive father, and it's hard for Shi Qingxuan to use his powers. However, Shi Qingxuan is willing to give it a try, mostly for Xie Lian's sake. He cannot summon Jun Wu's ghost, but he talks to the ghosts of Jun Wu's former friends, whom Jun Wu murdered and buried in the mansion's garden. The ghosts have haunted the mansion for a long time and have seen the confrontation with their own eyes. They confirm Hua Cheng's version of events.

Fengqing are still against Hua Cheng and don't want him anywhere near Xie Lian, but Xie Lian says he's not a child anymore, he won't let anyone else make decisions for him, and if fengqing want to stay in his life, they need to accept that. He's fine with having Hua Cheng as a partner, and his opinion is the only one that matters in this regard.

Hualian leave. A few days later Feng Xin comes to talk to Mu Qing: he believes Jun Wu died because he couldn't stand the thought of losing Xie Lian's love forever. Mu Qing has a different theory: Jun Wu deliberately stopped his own heart and killed himself, because he wanted Xie Lian to feel guilty for his death and to come back to the Academy because of that. Xie Lian personally thinks it doesn't matter: he has stopped looking for Jun Wu's approval a long time ago. Whatever Jun Wu's motives, he will not be able to ruin Xie Lian's life.

...

Cue the second season where the whole gang timetravels to 800 years ago, Xie Lian becomes an evil overlord with Hua Cheng being his right hand, Ling Wen tries to get a human body, Lang Qianqiu can copy other people's superabilities and Jun Wu turns out to be a literal alien.

Miscellaneous:

Mu Qing and Feng Xin are based on Luther and Diego, so their superpowers are superstrength and the ability to control projectiles respectively. Yin Yu can turn invisible, Quan Yizhen has superspeed, Shi Qingxuan speaks to the dead, He Xuan could summon tentacles, and Xie Lian is based on Vanya so he controls sound waves.

As a child, Xie Lian was closest to fengqing, Quan Yizhen adored Yin Yu (he still does), Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan were inseparable. In the present Shi Qingxuan is the only one in touch with all of the other siblings. Quan Yizhen is close to Xie Lian and constantly tries to give him money (he is also looking for Yin Yu). No one else is on speaking terms.

BTW, Xie Lian is trans, because a) why not, b) it was inspired by a fic with trans!Xie Lian and c) Xie Lian's plotline is based on Vanya's and Vanya is trans, fight me on this.

#tian guan ci fu #tgcf #the umbrella academy #tua #hualian #hualian's relationship is in no way healthy in this fic #they'll come to that point eventually #fusion/crossover

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thatfanficstuff · 4 years

Text

Impossible - 10

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: Nope

A/N: this is a bit of a filler chapter. Necessary though. Enjoy!

***

You sighed and glanced around. It appeared that everyone else had cleared out leaving the two of you alone. That didn’t mean someone hadn’t lingered, however. “I think we should have this conversation on the way home.”

Eric looked you over for a moment before nodding once. He took your hand in his to lead you to the car. When he opened the passenger side door for you, you stepped back. “I should probably drive.”

His brow furrowed but he handed over the keys just the same.

It wasn’t until you were halfway home that you spoke. “I don’t know my real parents. No one does. I’ve only been told that I was found in the company of a homeless woman who was not my mother. The man I call my father realized I was something other than human and took me in. Regardless of his inability to discover my origins, he raised me and loved me as his own.”

“You’ve told me this.”

You glanced in Eric’s direction and gave him a small smile. “Have I? I couldn’t remember. I don’t talk about my past or my family often. It’s too much of a risk.” Your attention turned back to the road and you took a deep breath. “My father is Roman Zimojic.”

Silence stretched for a long moment until Eric finally broke it. “Your father is the Guardian?”

You made a sound of agreement.

“You were raised by the head of the Authority?” His voice was tight, strained.

“I realize we should have had this discussion prior to me accepting your claim as mate. If you want to back out, I would understand.” It pained you to say the words, but you understood that Eric might see you differently now. There was a reason you didn’t tell people who your father was. Beyond the safety issues involved, the few people who did know always treated you differently after they found out. You just wanted to live your life without always being in Roman’s shadow.

“Pull over,” Eric instructed.

You bit your lip to keep from questioning him and did as he asked.

He was out of the car and had your door open before you even turned the car off. “Get out.”

You got out and stepped to the side so he could shut the door. You kept your head down, afraid of what you’d see if you looked at him. After a moment, he lifted your chin so he could see your face.

“Look at me,” he said when you refused to meet his eye.

You sighed and met his gaze. He gave you a soft smile. “Your father has nothing to do with my feelings for you. I love you. You are my mate. The in-laws will simply be a bit more interesting than I had anticipated.”

His lips pressed against yours and you looped your arms around his neck as you fell into his kiss. Stress and worry faded away. This man continued to surprise you at every turn and you were oh so grateful for it.

He pulled away and rested his forehead on yours. “Let’s go home.” You nodded and he kissed your head. “I’ll drive us. You have a phone call to make.”

“Don’t remind me.” You got into the car on the other side.

Once you’d buckled in, Eric turned to face you. “Do you fear to tell him about us?”

You laughed. “Eric, he may be the Guardian but when it comes to me, he is first and foremost a father. No father is ecstatic to hear his daughter in love. It may be inevitable but it’s a conversation he’d like to hold off as long as possible.”

Eric smiled and started the car. Once you were back on the road he said, “Fair enough, I suppose.”

“I’ve already told him about you. Before.”

He glanced over in surprise. “You did?”

“Losing you was the catalyst to me leaving my work for the Authority. It cost too much.” You glanced out the window at the darkness. “We had a horrible fight.”

“You quit because of me?”

“In a manner of speaking. I quit because my heart was broken. It was time for a change.” You looked at him, studying his profile while he drove. “He understood that eventually. Me agreeing to work for them on occasion helped. I can be a lot choosier than I used to be though. Honestly it works better for everyone. Even if he won’t admit it. He’s stubborn, especially when it comes to me.”

The corner of his mouth curled up as he shot a glance in your direction. “Sounds like we have a lot in common.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I’m sure you two will have many conversations about what a handful I am.” You pulled out your phone and called your father.

The phone only rang once before it was answered. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Pop. I’m going to put you on speaker so we can all talk.” You laid the phone in your lap.

“And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” You picked up the trace of annoyance in his voice but doubted Eric did. Your father was a master of hiding his emotions if he chose.

“Eric Northman, sir.”

“Ah, Mr. Northman. I have heard much about you. Both from my daughter and others.”

Eric shot you a glance.

“I thought I told you to leave him be,” you said, your own annoyance on full display.

“And I have. But you can’t honestly expect me not to investigate the man you’re dating. Just a simple background. No more. No less.”

You sighed but knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue. Besides, it was already done. There was no sense in getting angry about it now. You were used to your father overreaching. “You’re right. I should have known better.”

He made a sound of agreement. “Now, why are you calling?”

“I have claimed Y/N as my mate and she has accepted that claim.”

Silence was the only answer.

“Dad?”

“I’m here. Just…This wasn’t the conversation I was expecting.”

“I love him.”

“To be blunt, it’s not your feelings that I question, sweetheart.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Eric’s hand on your leg stopped you.

“I have lived over 1000 years. Never before have I even considered claiming a mate. I would give up everything for her.”

“And before you make your next argument, he didn’t know who you were until tonight.”

“There are still some matters to discuss. Perhaps you should call me later when you’re on your own, Y/N.” Your father may have worded it as a suggestion but you knew it was anything but.

“To be blunt, sir, this isn’t up for debate. We are simply notifying you of a decision that has already been made.”

Your brows shot up. It wasn’t often anyone other than you spoke to your father with anything less than absolute deference.

Your father’s response was immediate. “You are aware of what I could do to you with little more than a twitch of my finger?”

“I am.”

It took you a moment to realize that your father was laughing. You smiled at the sound. “You have my blessing, Y/N. I do wish to meet him properly soon.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course. Love you.”

“I love you, too. And congratulations.”

You hung up and put your phone away. “How did you know he’d react that way?” you asked.

“I didn’t, but I was not about to allow him to separate us. It was important he understood that, Authority or not.”

“Well, you’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. At least I don’t have to question my importance to you after that. Not that I did anyway.” You shook your head in disbelief. “Try not to piss him off too much. I kind of like having you around.”

Before he could respond, your phone rang. A glance at the screen showed Sookie’s name. “Hey, Sookie,” you answered.

“Have you seen Bill?” Her voice was shaky.

“Earlier, yeah.” You glanced at Eric who only shook his head. “I doubt he’ll be home for a few days. He has some business to tend to.”

“He could have called,” she complained.

“He may not have had the opportunity. The business was unexpected.” Why you were telling her this you had no idea. You’d be thrilled if she just decided Bill was a dick and never had anything else to do with him. You didn’t want her taking his absence personally, however. It wasn’t her fault.

“I need…” She huffed a breath. “Can you come stay with me for a couple of days?”

“What’s going on, Sook?”

“The killer attacked me at Merlotte’s tonight. I got away obviously, but I’d sure feel better if you came to visit.” Your heart ached at the thought that you’d almost lost your friend.

“Do you have someone that can stay with you tonight?”

“Yeah, Sam brought me home. He’ll stay.”

“I’ll have to get some things together before I can come. I’ll head over in the morning, okay?” You ignored Eric’s hands tightening on the wheel.

“That would be great, Y/N/N. Thank you.”

You said your goodbyes and put the phone away. “Don’t bother, Eric,” you said when he looked at you. “She’s my friend and she’s in danger.”

“I could send Bill back to her,” he offered after a pause.

“That’s up to you. Won’t keep me from going to Bon Temps in the morning though.”

“Why must you be so stubborn?”

You didn’t answer. Odds were he wasn’t really expecting one anyway.

“Is it necessary for you to continuously put yourself at risk for others?”

“No, but I’m not going to stop either. You might as well get used to it.” You patted his thigh. “You don’t have to worry about me, Eric. I’ll be fine, but I’ll text regular updates if it makes you feel better.”

“See that you do. I’ll not hesitate to burn that little town to the ground if I must to find you.”

You rolled your eyes. He was always so dramatic. “No burning, Viking. No pillaging either while I’m thinking of it.”

He grinned. “You really have no sense of fun, Y/N.”

“If you’d hurry up and get us home, we could have all sorts of fun before I head to Bon Temps.”

The press of his foot against the accelerator was his only response.

#eric northman x reader #true blood fanfiction #eric northman fanfiction #series #impossible

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

Secret Love Part 21 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: This chapter picks up just a few hours after the last one ended. Let me know your thoughts. Big things are happening...

Warnings: cursing, smut (handjobs, unprotected sex)

Word Count: 3,384

~~~~~

It had to be a couple hours later when Cale woke you up again, shifting out from under you. By the time you were actually awake, he was washing his hands and you assumed he’d needed to use the bathroom. Catching you watching his nude figure from across the room in the mirror, he smiled that bright smile you love so much.

“My beautiful girl is up.” He commented, drying his hands off. “It’s about 3:30...I don’t know what time you made the reservation for but we should probably think about showering at least.” Nodding you pushed yourself upright.

“Can you get me some water?” You requested, your mouth feeling dry from everything that had happened before your nap.

“Sure thing sweetheart.” Cale agreed, heading out to the kitchen to bring you back a glass of water. Having downed the glass, you shoved the covers aside, moving to turn the massive shower on. Cale was right behind you as you climbed in and you felt his lips trail down your shoulder as you stepped under the water.

Though the two of you attempted to focus on cleaning yourselves and each other up, your shower quickly turned into a steamy makeout session. A clash of tongue and teeth was accompanied by wandering hands: yours over Cale’s arms and chest, his down your sides and over your ass. Losing yourself in the kiss, you felt a spark run up your spine at the sound of Cale’s moan, his dick growing hard against your stomach.

“You get hard for me so easily don’t you handsome.” You murmured against his lips. “I love that just kissing me turns you on.” Sliding your hand down further, you teased your fingertips over his length until he grunted into the kiss.

“Y/N.” He mumbled, his eyes dark.

“Shh...let me…” You insisted, forcing him to step back until he was pressed against the shower wall. “I caused this so let me take care of it.” You continued, pressing light kisses along his collarbone as you wrapped your hand around his cock. Silky skin covered his hard erection and as you teased over him with your fingers before pumping him in your hand, you could feel every little twitch and jolt of his body. There was something so freeing about being in control of his pleasure, knowing that it was your actions that made him feel good.

It wasn’t long before Cale’s head fell back against the shower wall, his hand gripping tightly at your hip.

“That’s it handsome...cum for me. Cum all over me.” Cale’s eyes jolted open at your last statement as his cock twitched in your hand, his ejaculate shooting out to coat your chest and stomach. “Oooo. That excited you.” You teased, gently releasing him as he went soft. “We’re gonna have to remember that.” You grinned, stretching to kiss him again, not caring that his semen was being spread onto his skin.

“It’s the best of both fucking worlds with you.” Cale groaned, still recovering from his latest orgasm. “Mom loves you and the sex is insane.” Shaking your head, you laughed, pulling Cale back under the water to wash off one more time.

“Alright Mr. Makar...time to behave. I demand to be wined and dined tonight so you have to let me get ready.” Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel, drying off your hair with a second. Pulling out the blow dryer to speed up the drying process, you then switched to doing your makeup. Cale dried off and got dressed while you were working on your eyeliner before disappearing into another part of the house.

Slipping into the navy fabric of your dress when you were finally finished with both your hair and makeup, you called Cale.

“Can you help me zip this?” You requested, a shiver running up your spine as Cale’s fingers drug over your back lightly, the zipper following. “Thanks hun.” You murmured, bending over the bed to grab your sandals from your bag. It wasn’t until you had dropped them to the floor to slide onto your feet that you looked over at Cale, his jaw dropped.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, his cheeks pink as he praised you.

“Thanks handsome.” You replied, grazing your lips over his before pulling back. “Are you ready to go?” You asked, looking at the clock to see that somehow you’d managed to be right on time to make it to your reservations.

“Let me look at you for just a minute.” Cale replied, his hand reaching forward to slowly twirl you around. Spinning, his eyes raked over you with so much affection that it caused the heat to rise in your cheeks.

“C’mon...let’s go…” You pushed, smoothing your hands down along his chest before grabbing your phone and purse. As you headed out the front door you were relieved to find that the rain was just a drizzle. Still, you tossed your keys to Cale, preferring not having to drive in these particular shoes. Putting the address of the winery into the gps, it didn’t take long for Cale to drive across town, throwing the car in park after pulling into a parking spot.

Even though you had a reservation, the waitstaff needed just a few minutes to clear off a table. Leaning against the flagstone siding outside the restaurant, you looked off into the distance, admiring the countryside. Lost in thought about how wonderful it was to share these experiences with Cale: traveling, trying new restaurants, just dating like any other couple, you jumped when your phone buzzed in your purse.

Seeing Cale on his phone as well, you felt less guilty looking at it and when you pulled your phone out you saw that it had been a notification from instagram signaling that you’d been tagged in a story...Cale’s story. Clicking on it, your jaw dropped seeing the picture of you, a picture Cale must have literally just taken. In the bottom left corner was a heart, while the bottom right contained your profile tag and the simple caption ‘dinner date with my girl’.

As your heart started to pound, the hostess called your name and you quickly dropped your phone back into your purse, following after her with Cale’s hand slipping to your lower back as he walked behind you.

When you reached the table, you thanked the young woman before settling in and picking up your menu to decide on which of the starters, entrees, and desserts you wanted for your three course meal. It was at least a momentary distraction from the way your pulse was thrumming.

“So we’re public public now…” The words spilled out suddenly. Cale’s eyes jolted up from his menu and he eyed you for a moment before a content grin spread across his face.

“Yeah sweetheart. I’m done hiding you.” Somehow, the feeling of panic that had been growing shrunk instantly at his words.

“Okay.” You nodded, sipping at your glass of water. You knew that there were going to be people who were rude or inconsiderate but Cale was right, that was no reason to hide. If your mother’s disapproval and paternity rumors couldn’t shake you, nothing anyone could say now would either. Cale was a very private person and the fact that he’d finally shared you only signaled just how deeply committed he was to this, to you.

During dinner you talked about Cale’s training stories, some of the outrageous couples you’d been dealing with recently and when his phone started to buzz incessantly with texts, you made him read some of the team’s responses to his story to you, laughing at the way the guys chirped him.

By the time you’d finished dinner, snatching the check before Cale could even think about paying it, you were full and happy. It wasn’t often that you actually went out with Cale, but each time you did you truly enjoyed yourself and the change of pace a night out provided to your normal routines. Having taken your time with dinner, by the time you left the restaurant it was nearly dark.

Slipping back into the car, you watched the sky open up into a downpour the moment you closed the door. It hadn’t let up on the way back to the rental home and the moment you stepped out of the car you were immediately drenched.

The grownup part of you nearly made a dash straight to the front door eager to get inside. But there was another part that took a different path, ditching your purse with your phone in the covered doorway.

“Leave your phone, wallet, and the keys here. Then c’mon.” You directed your boyfriend, moving around the house to the large yard. The rain felt incredible on your skin, no signs of lightning or thunder present in the sky. Cale had looked at you like you were crazy, but eventually he’d followed, having also shed his dress shoes and socks.

“What are you doing?” He inquired, pushing some wet hair out of your face.

“We’re already drenched, we might as well enjoy the rain.” You proclaimed, wrapping your arms around him. “In fact. I know exactly what we should do.” You added, tugging him out toward the lake. The houses on either side of yours were quiet and dark, no one in sight. Feeling bold, you reached up to undo the buttons of Cale’s shirt, your hands sliding along his skin.

“Are you crazy?” Cale asked, his eyes going wide and cheeks flushing deeply.

“There’s no one around.” You declared, reaching for the zipper to your dress. “Come skinny dipping with me.” It only took a moment to shed your dress and undergarments, kicking your sandals off of your feet. This was a little daring, but any hesitation you normally would have had was buried by the confidence two glasses of wine gave you and the way you and Cale were constantly pushing boundaries.

The water of the lake was cool as you waded in, shielding yourself in its depths. Between the water and the dark rainy night, there was no way anyone could see you. You watched Cale’s shadowy figure as he clearly debated with himself for a moment before his shirt hit the ground followed by his pants and boxer-briefs. Once he made it out to you in the water, you swam close enough that you could actually see him, splashing him slightly in the process.

“You’re gonna be the death of me...you know that sweetheart.” Cale mumbled.

“Live a little.” You simply replied, your body moving fluidly under the water. Besides your state of undress, you felt just like a little kid again, playing in the rain in the little pool in the Makar’s backyard. “Just because we’re grownups doesn’t mean we can’t act like kids sometimes.” You reminded him.

Because it was night, you didn’t wander too far from Cale, yet you still jumped when one of Cale’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you toward him.

“I love how you always find ways to make life an adventure. You keep me on my toes.” He murmured, stealing a kiss as your legs wrapped loosely around his waist, his body keeping both of you afloat.

“Life without adventure isn’t really life at all now is it?” You posed, your hands sliding up and around his neck again. “And now you have another thing you can check off your list.” You added, your voice turning teasing.

“Hmm...mom has always thought you were a good influence on me. If only she knew the truth.” Cale teased right back, his hands grazing over a spot on your back that was unusually sensitive to his touch.

For the next few minutes, you seemed to be playing the game of who could get the other to give into the sexual tension first, neither of you willing to bend. Inevitably, it wasn’t an action by either of you. As rain continued to pour over you, a crack of thunder sounded out of nowhere, sending you bolting out of the lake immediately.

Grabbing your things, you rushed up to the house, entering the code on the back door simply because it was closer. You’d planned to grab a towel, dry off, and then dip around front to grab your things from outside but you’d barely reached the kitchen island when Cale’s large frame was behind you, his hands gently causing you to drop the wet clothing onto the floor as he pressed you against the granite countertop.

“Cale...our things.” You gasped, Cale’s fingers dipping intimately low on your stomach.

“Already put them just inside the front door.” Cale stated. “Now bend over for me. Gonna fuck you for being such a tease.”

Absent the time in the car when you’d kind of rode Cale, he’d never taken you from behind before and the realization caused you to bend willingly for him, curious as to how it would be different.

There was no pause in Cale’s actions as he pressed you firmly against the counter, swiped his thumb through your core testing your wetness, and lined himself up before thrusting deep inside of you.

This was at least your 4th round of penetrative sex in about 24 hours and though you were sore, it created that pleasure/pain sensation that was just on the right side of good. Your body slammed against the counter with each thrust, and with Cale’s cock hitting your g-spot with efficiency, you knew it wouldn’t take long before your orgasm crashed down on you.

“So good sweetheart.” Cale whispered as his hand swept your wet hair off of your neck. “Checking so many things off our list today aren’t we.” He suggested. “Rub your clit for me…”

“I’m not the only bad influence.” You gasped, your hand sneaking down to rub quick circles over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Who...me? A bad influence...never.” Cale said, his voice mostly coming out in a grunt.

“Fuck…” You whined, Cale hitting a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. “Yeah uh huh...keep believing that hun…” You stuttered, your head dropping down onto the countertop as you arched your hips back against Cale. “Last I checked, I wasn’t the one who made you pull over while driving to have sex because of an item of clothing. Or the one who decided to engage in foreplay while 2 feet from our families. You’re not so innocent Calesy.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining.” Cale groaned, his thrusts starting to become staggered as his orgasm approached.

“Not complaining. You know I love it when you fuck me.” You gasped. “Just saying...if I’m a bad influence so are you.”

“For something bad...it feels so good.” Cale mumbled, spilling inside of you, his hips keeping as much of a pace as he could even through his own orgasm until he felt you clamp down around him as your orgasm crested.

With him still nestled inside you, Cale’s hands ran over your back in soothing patterns until your body and breath steadied.

“This is gonna be messy, but I’ve gotta pull out sweetheart. Are you good to get yourself to the bathroom while I take these clothes to hang in the other bathroom to dry?” Nodding weakly, you felt Cale’s semen start dripping down your thighs as soon as he slipped out of you. Moving as quickly as you could to the bathroom, you peed and cleaned yourself up as best you could before grabbing a towel to dry the rest of your still wet body off.

Cale had done at least a little damage control by the time you hung the towel back up, and before you could move to grab pajamas, he was offering you a clean t-shirt to pull on before pulling you between his thighs as he sat on the bed.

“Was that okay?” He questioned, thumbs grazing lightly back and forth across your hips. “I know we hadn’t done that before.”

“Yeah hun...that was good.” You assured him, fingers carding through his wet hair. “You’ve yet to do anything that hasn’t made me feel good.” You elaborated. “I like trying all of these new things with you. I like that no matter how many times we have sex, something is always new or different. You always focus on taking care of me...I’ve never had a partner who was so generous every single time. Granted my experience before you was pretty limited but still. Not to be crude but we just fit together perfectly. I hope it’s as good for you as it is for me.”

“It is.” Cale agreed. “Just checking.” He shrugged.

“I promise I’ll tell you if you ever do something I don’t like okay. You don’t need to worry about it. I like making love to you. I like fucking you. I like experiencing every level of closeness that I can with you. I like showing you how much I love you through that type of physical relationship. Because I do love you. So so much.”

“I love you too.” Cale smiled softly.

“Now can I have some post sex cuddles?” You requested, straddling his boxer-brief laiden lap.

Cale chuckled and fell back onto the bed, with you on top of him, quickly twisting the two of you around so that you were more comfortable to cuddle.

“You can always have cuddles.” He whispered, his lips pressed against your head. Basking in the feeling of Cale’s heart beating under your ear, you almost fell asleep until the little gift box in your purse popped back into your head. You hadn’t had a specific plan for giving it to him, but for some reason you felt like maybe now was the right time.

Cale was obviously still awake by the way his fingers kept changing up the pattern along your spine and when you shifted he groaned, his eyes fluttering open to look at you as you pushed yourself up off the bed.

“Where are you going?” He questioned.

“I’ll be right back.” You assured him, padding out of the room to find your purse sitting in the living room. Checking your phone to make sure you hadn’t missed anything urgent, you grabbed the small gift box and returned, hiding it in your hand as you slid back into bed.

Cale’s eyes slid shut again as you snuggled against him, but they popped back open when you placed the small box on his bare chest.

“What’s this?” His voice was full of confusion and you rubbed your thumb over the crease of his forehead as it crinkled.

“A present obviously.” You stated. “And before you say that I didn’t have to get you a present or that it’s not any important date, it’s more of a sentimental gift and I wanted to do it just because.” You informed him, slightly anxious as to what he was going to think.

Shifting to let him sit up just slightly, you watched as he pulled the lid off the box, slowly pulling out the key.

“Is this?” He whispered his face showing clear signs that he was processing.

“A key to my house. Yes.” You confirmed. “More specifically...it’s your key to my house. Not an emergency key.” Taking a deep breath you continued wanting Cale to fully understand. “So you can come and go as you please. So that when you need some place to escape to, you know you’re always welcome. Whether I’m there or not.” Cale’s gaze was soft and you swallowed hoping he understood.

“Someday it’ll mean more but hopefully that makes sense.” You finished, your voice dropping.

Instead of responding verbally, Cale dropped his mouth to yours in the sweetest, most tender kiss you could recall having ever shared.

“It makes perfect sense.” He finally agreed. “You’re incredible. Thank you. You may think it’s a small gesture but it means so much more than you know.”

This time, when you settled back against his chest, sleep started creeping up on you quickly. Still, the way he brushed his fingers against your left ring finger didn’t go unnoticed, a silent sign that he also was thinking about what someday would bring.

Dress:

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl smut #cale makar smut #cale makar nws #nws #lemon #038 #cavalanche

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theinkedfoxsl · 2 years

Text

Decord - Voicelines

Main Profile

Hello: “You have no need for my name nor status within Razvedka. Still, I have my orders. Decord, Infiltration Agent.”

Chat, Ghosts: “I know plenty of ghost stories, Koschei is a particularly popular one in Snezhnaya.”

Chat, Reconnaissance: “I have a job to do, either aid me or get out of my way.”

Chat, Idle Chatter: “Move it. I refuse to stand here with you.”

About Decord, Ghost: “Why are you so interested in a fantôme?”

About Decord, Pest: “Must you insist on probing me for answers? This is getting quite tiresome. There is nothing to learn about me.”

When It’s Windy: “Good, the wind will be loud enough to cover our approach. Eh? What do you mean we aren’t on a mission?”

When It Snows: “Cold, wet, an absolute mess. I prefer to be away from Snezhnaya for a reason.”

When It Rains: “No hindrance. Keep moving.”

When Thunder Strikes: “This weather is advantageous, each flash of light and each dimming can be used.”

Good Morning: “Disgusting. Good morning.”

Good Afternoon: “I have work to do, are you coming or what?”

Good Evening: “Night has fallen and with it arises I. This is my hour.”

Good Night: “Sleep? Ghosts have no need. Uh, hm. Fine. Goodnight.”

About Us, Stop: “I suppose if anybody can get me to stop moving for the time being, it’d be you. Mm, I hear there is an event in town. Shall we go?”

About Us, Ghosts: “Follow my lead and I’ll show you the way of the night.”

About the Vision: “My necklace? Yes, it is my vision. I didn’t intend to wake it, but I have a theory that I’ve no choice in the matter.”

Something To Share: “Liyue is the most prosperous of the seven nations. Roses in Mondstadt, instead of love, represent the saying “As wine bottles are corked, so too are my lips sealed.” It encourages people to keep one another’s secrets. A novel called “A Legend of Sword” is incredibly popular in Inazuma right now. It was written by an author in Liyue, Xingqiu.. What, surprised I know so much about the other nations?”

Interesting Things: “It’s annoying really, Fontaine’s legal system is notoriously complicated. Both Sandrone and I had to go out of our way to memorise the legal system there just to do our work.”

About Sandrone, 10th Harbinger: “Master Marionette is a fine boss. I’d rather work for him than any of the other Harbingers. We often see eye to eye.”

About Sandrone, Working Relationship(unlocked at friendship lvl 8): “Sandrone is more than just a boss or a colleague to me. Our working relationship runs deeper than orders.”

About Razvedka: “This team is the closest thing to family that I have. I will protect them with my dying breath.”

About Galin(unlocked at friendship lvl 5): “They have given up their title for the Fatui, but they’re too naive to understand what this organisation will take from them. I do my best but… Forget it.”

About Tartaglia: “The Tsaritsa’s lap dog needs to stay away from our operations. All he does is distract his.. Ugh.”

About the Tsaritsa: “Her ideal? I believe it used to be ‘Love’ at one point. But now.. Tch, a Goddess with no love left to give.”

Decord’s Hobbies: “I enjoy collecting and reading rare books. Especially first editions.”

Decord’s Troubles: “Every loose end left untied is problematic. A possible thorn in my side later down the road. This job requires everything to be finished perfectly, tied neatly. That just isn’t realistic.”

Favourite Food: “I have eaten hundreds of types of food, but I always find myself craving the cuisine of Fontaine. Anything from there, really.”

Least Favourite Food: “No time to be picky. I’m on the move too much to care what I eat.”

Birthday: “Happy birthday, may the night bless you. I got you this book for the occasion. I hope you find use in it.”

About Decord i: “My hometown? There’s not much to know. Fontaine is Fontaine. Land of Hydro.”

About Decord ii: “They called me a phantom thief. But before the Fatui, I only ever stole one thing. Though it was enough for my home to reject me.”

About Decord iii: “The Hydro Archon is a coward who enjoys judging others for their crimes but not the very Divinity that brought destruction to Teyvat in the past.”

About Decord iv: “Detective to criminal. People change. I changed. But the Fatui.. I’m starting to doubt what I’ve been fighting for.”

About Decord v: “The scar is a reminder not to trust others and yet I find myself trusting both you and my team. Ghosts don’t typically have friends, but I never was one to follow the rules laid before me.”

Feelings About Ascension: Intro: “This means absolutely nothing to me.”

Feelings About Ascension: Building Up: “Just like this vision, unexpected, unneeded. But I’ll use it to its full potential.”

Feelings About Ascension: Climax: “Careful now, don’t want the Gods taking notice of our combined power, do we?”

Feelings About Ascension: Conclusion: “Together, there is nothing we cannot achieve.”

Battle Lines;

Added to Party 1: “You called?” 2: “Stay quiet now.” 3: “Yeah yeah, I showed up.” Elemental Skill 1: “Silence.” 2: “Witness me.” 3: “Suffocating, isn’t it?” Elemental Burst 1: “Into the grave!” 2: “La mort frappe!” 3: “Hold your breath..” Idle 1: Ghosts: “I know plenty of ghost stories, Koschei is a particularly popular one in Snezhnaya.” 2: Idle Chatter: “Move it. I refuse to stand here with you.” 3: “Pointless.” Damage 1: “Imagine feeling that.” 2: “Merde!” Low HP 1: “This only makes me stronger.” 2: “Keep one eye open.” 3: -Laughter- Knocked Out 1: “I’ll be back.” 2: “Ghosts don’t die.” 3: “Ce n'est pas la fin.” Ally at low hp 1: “Stand back, I have this.” 2: “We work as a team, I got it.” Sprint Start 1: “Moving out.” Sprint End 1: “Boo.” 2: “Did I scare you?”

#>Decord Harcout #Lane's OCs

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hldailyupdate · 4 years

Text

Playtime With Harry Styles

“There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something”

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

Styles cuts a cool figure in this black-white-and-red-all-over checked coat by JW Anderson.

“It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence,” says Olivia Wilde

There are references aplenty in this look by Harris Reed, which features a Victoriana crinoline, 1980s shoulders, and pants of zoot-suit proportions.

#harry styles #harry update #article #vogue #november 2020

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