#well now i’m kind of :/. as soon as they become mutually exclusive they can’t have similarities anymore. only differences | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years ago

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What do you think would happen if one of the Cullens realized they might also be "in love" with Bella during Twilight along side Ed. Mates be damned (not like their marriages are gonna last anyway), and everyone's on the table (just 1 love rival, not at the same time buuuuut could you imagine the chaos? *cough*). The usual Bella eaten/killed by Eddy boi is def on the table obvie, but like do you think there's a chance he might concede to one of his family (or just any other alternatives)? -Sw

Oh boy.

Why I Don’t Think This Is a Possibility

That said, I have to caveat that I don’t think this is a very likely path (sorry, I cannot resist).

It’s true I don’t think any of the Cullen relationships will last in the long term, but I also don’t think they’re inclined to cheat on one another or fall apart at a moment’s notice. They’ve made it this long, several decades, but more, none of them realizes anything is lacking from their respective relationship.

Carlisle and Esme are very devoted to one another and don’t realize they have fundamentally conflicting values. Jasper and Alice think they fulfil each other’s needs and don’t realize that they share nothing in common. Rosalie and Emmett’s is the healthiest relationship in the house but don’t see their major issues (Emmett doesn’t really support or understand Rosalie and Rosalie loves Emmett mostly for his love of her).

My point being, none of them are going to realize it’s not working out anytime soon. They’re going to need a catalyst, and per the end of Twilight, one is coming. Either a confrontation with the Volturi occurs, Renesmee decides to leave, the Cullen lifestyle changes, or things with Bella go awry. It can be any number of things, and it will happen given time, but at the start of Twilight we haven’t hit that point yet.

There’s also the fact that of the Cullens, only Edward would do this nonsense, and even for him it takes Bella’s delicious blood to grab his attention. When she was an ordinary human, he was not interested in the slightest, not even in her gift.

Each of the Cullens (Sans Alice and Esme) is completely baffled by Edward’s emotional whiplash and attachment to this human girl he doesn’t even know. Bella only becomes a vague concept to them when she enters as a serious fixture in Edward’s life, but even then, they really don’t know what to think.

No one in the family will do what Edward did in Twilight. Look at this girl they don’t even know and say “Ah, yes, I’m in love.”

Now, that out of the way, let’s play ball.

Alice

This actually will work out shockingly well if only because I suspect Alice will come up with the pragmatic solution of “sharing”.

First, Alice is by far the closest Cullen member to Edward. He holds her in high esteem, feels a strong sense of kinship with her, actually confides in her, and sees her as a very close friend. Edward looks up to Carlisle and adores Esme, but it’s not the same.

If Alice sees herself as getting together with Bella I don’t think she’d see this as mutually exclusive to Edward having Bella. Alice cares deeply for Edward’s happiness, far more than she does Bella’s general existence, and I think the idea of entering a joint marriage with Edward and Bella would be very appealing to her.

She’d have to ease Edward into it, of course, as he’d balk at the very idea of it, but I think he’d see it as a strengthening of his and Alice’s relationship as well as having the wonderful Bella. Better yet, Alice can be physical with Bella while Edward can go compose music about their love.

As it is this... This is kind of what happens in canon.

Alice tells Edward that not only is he in love with Bella, but that Bella is going to be her best friend, so he better not muck it up. She has to ease him into the idea of being in love with Bella throughout the first part of Twilight. Then, when the relationship is solidified, Alice is right there introducing herself as Bella’s new BFF. Bella’s friendship with Alice throughout the series is extremely homoerotic and I imagine it remains so after Breaking Dawn.

Edward is very pleased that Bella counts Alice as her best friend, Alice being far and away his favorite sibling and the one he approves of Bella spending time with (generally, when she’s not foiling his schemes).

I don’t think Alice and Bella will ever have sex, per se, but I imagine they remain quite physical with each other and Edward looks on with approval thinking to himself that this is how all female friendships should be.

And if Jasper has the nagging suspicion his wife is cheating on him then he’s not functioning quite well enough to put it into words just yet.

Carlisle

Edward would lose his mind.

First, Edward is very into Carlisle, and for all he insists his feelings are filial they sound remarkably romantic. I’d drop a quote, but it’s pretty much every time Edward thinks of Carlisle in Midnight Sun. More than that, Carlisle is the man Edward aspires to be, someone he sees as profoundly more good than he could ever hope to be.

Edward projects a very similar personality onto Bella herself.

So, I imagine if Carlisle sits Edward down and says, “Actually, Edward, I have fallen in love with this Bella” Edward feels very conflicting things all at once.

On the one hand, this means Esme/Carlisle is collapsing. Edward personally brought those two together and adores the idea of their relationship. Their relationship is what he hopes his and Bella’s will look like and is to him the married ideal of a perfect Mother and a perfect Father.

Carlisle/Esme alone falling apart would give him a complete existential crisis. That’s not allowed to happen.

And then that Carlisle wants Bella Swan for himself?! Edward would be faced with the immediate,horrifying, thought that for all Carlisle is a vampire he would be the perfect man for saint like Bella. Carlisle and Bella deserve one another, would be perfect together, and Edward should not begrudge them that.

On the other hand, Edward himself is in love with Bella, and while he thought he could nobly leave her, now he has to nobly stand to the side and watch as Carlsile and her marry. It’d be a very romantic and tragic thing to do, but there’s leaving Bella to her human life, and then watching her up front for the rest of eternity while bitterly hiding his feelings.

More, Carlisle will turn her. If Bella is his true love, then there’s no question of that. Edward’s seen where this goes with Emmett. He will destroy Bella Swan to be with her forever, and Edward will have to live with the shell of Bella Swan staring back at him, fucking his father, forever.

I imagine Edward desperately pretends to concede to Carlisle, to be happy for the pair of them, but as things progress and Bella’s permanent position in the family looks more and more likely, he loses his mind. He’ll snap and there is no telling what he might do.

My money’s on him mercy killing Bella while she’s still human behind Carlisle’s back. He’s sobbing while he does it, but he just can’t let Bella be tarnished by vampirism, and now he will carry this tragic, terrible, secret for the rest of time.

Whether Carlisle was going to turn her or not is up to debate. Given he turned none after Emmett, I think he learned his lesson from Rosalie and would be more than willing to let Bella go, even if he loves her, should it mean he would not force something she does not want and does not understand upon her.

That said, I think he’d never tell Edward his feelings for Bella, as that would ruin Edward’s fledgling relationship with the girl. This is Edward’s first brush with love and seems to be the only romantic love he’ll ever have. Edward has been so miserable for so long that Carlisle would easily give up his own happiness for Edward.

So, more likely, Twilight would happen anyway and Carlisle would spend the entire time being utterly miserable and pretending he’s perfectly fine. LOOK HOW HAPPY HE IS, ESME.

Emmett

Edward tattles to Rosalie immediately.

He loves Emmett, but he knows Emmett can’t possibly be serious about this, and more, fundamentally doesn’t understand how wonderful and amazing Bella is. He wants to turn her into a vampire, clearly, Emmett doesn’t know what’s best for the girl.

More, a man who would so easily break his marriage vows (even to Rosalie), does not deserve Bella Swan.

Edward watches Rosalie and Emmett’s marriage utterly disintegrate with a juice box filled with mountain lion blood and swoops in on Bella while Emmett is thoroughly distracted. Edward then gaslights Bella into believing Emmett is dangerous and despises her, making Emmett the new and improved Jasper.

Esme

Esme would never tell Edward or likely even realize her feelings for Bella herself. If she did though, she would give up the possibility of a future with Bella Swan in a heartbeat for Edward’s happiness, which means everything to her.

Esme will have no regrets, won’t even smile sadly at Bella, because she has Carlsile as her consolation prize and she gets to see the joy in both Bell and Edward’s faces which is far more important than having Bella to herself.

Esme would live vicariously through Bella and Edward’s relationship as well as the very existence of Renesmee.

Like Alice, this is one of those things that’s pretty much canon. I won’t say anything for Esme’s feelings, it’s more that Esme ships Bella with Edward (and mostly because Edward himself comes to obsess over her), but she does seem to vicariously get her joy through their nuclear family within the Cullen family.

Esme is a very strange person.

Jasper

Edward would attempt to murder Jasper or at least severely injure him. Jasper would be the ultimate threat to Bella, not even a man unworthy of her but not a man at all, and exactly what Edward needs to protect Bella against.

Alice tries to stop the fight, to no avail, and Edward will ultimately lose (despite all his confidence). I imagine Jasper doesn’t kill him, but tears apart his limbs, and uses Edward’s lack of mobility to kidnap and then turn Bella.

Bella has no idea what’s happening and the next thing she knows she’s a vampire and Jasper is telling her they have to leave the area (as he must now leave the coven).

Edward tries to track them down for the rest of eternity. He will get vengeance upon Jasper and save Bella this terrible demonic existence forced upon her. Of course, he ends up lost in Rio.

Rosalie

Edward would tell her that her feelings cannot possibly be real. Bella is a woman. More, Rosalie is unworthy of Bella in every possible regard, even more so than Edward himself.

Basically, Edward would lay into Rosalie in a way that he never has before with all of his venom. He will do everything he can to sabotage Bella’s opinion of Rosalie before Rosalie can even get a word in edgewise. He is successful at it due to Bella’s perilously low self esteem (much the reason he was successful with this endeavor in canon).

Rosalie and Edward get in a vicious fight and I imagine Rosalie eventually confronts Bella, making an opportunity to do so, and both warns her away from Edward, tells her everything, and offers to turn her despite Rosalie’s own mixed experiences.

Rosalie and Edward probably then fight and it quickly turns into something that’s very serious. If Edward wins, he murders Rosalie in the heat of the moment, and then leaves the coven in horror over what Carlisle must think of him now. If Rosalie wins... I don’t think she will, she cares for Edward far too much and would never truly be able to aim to kill or maim.

Edward disappears, drowning in his self hatred, and returns to find Bella Swan at some later date unable to resist the call of her scent. Depending where she is in her life, he likely murders her human husband if she has one and dvours her, as Alice prophesied so long ago.

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hockeywhhores · 4 years ago

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it’s a love hate kind of thing- Q. Hughes

Quinn Hughes x f!Reader

warning~ angsty as hell, swearing, miscommunications

summary~ You have to quarantine with the Hughes family, and you finally get to know why Quinn started to hate you.

genre~ enemies to lovers, angsty to fluff

word count~ 2.9K

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You don’t even remember how you became friends with Jack and Luke Hughes. Though, it was how most people became friends. You met Jack in highschool where you had a couple of classes, and mutual friends. From there you grew closer to the middle brother and soon met his brothers. Quinn was what you considered being your friend, but only for six months. Until he just stopped talking to you entirely. Luke had always been a genuine friend. When Quinn just stopped being your friend, it threw you through a loop. Was it something you did? What did you even do? Jack and Luke were there to say that he was just their older brother being an asshat, but you were still wary. You had the biggest crush on him from the moment you met him, and it really hurt when he stopped talking to you without an explanation.

You had no time to dwell on the past, as you were now in college. Jack had made it to the big leagues, and Luke was projected to follow suit. If anyone asked Ellen, she would say that you were at their house more than you were at your own dorm. Ellen didn’t even mind the company. You were teaching Luke how to cook proper meals, so he could be more self-efficient than his brothers. But then coronavirus hit. Hockey was canceled, they sent home the players, and colleges closed their doors. Ellen gladly let you stay at the Hughes’ household, while you waited for the dorms to reopen. The worst part of this deal was that Quinn was also coming home. You decided to just stay out of his way, but that was going to be hard with how close the brothers were.

“Y/n you want to go roller skate with us?” Jack was yelling at you from the living room, while you were making yourself some iced tea in the kitchen. Before you could respond, you heard Quinn. You weren’t sure if he didn’t want you to hear it or if he did.

“Dude, why did you invite her?”

Ouch.

“No thanks, Jack. I think I’m going to help your mom reorganize the cleaning closet.” you semi-lied. You had wanted to go play street hockey with them, but you really weren’t in the mood to listen to Quinn insult you.

“Come on! Please y/n!” Luke was now trying to convince you. The guys now moved in the kitchen where you were still making your drink.

“I think your mom is going to need some help to clean the closets.” you tried to push the looks they were giving you out of your head. Quinn looked disgusted. Jack and Luke were trying to give you puppy eyes.

“Oh, y/n you don’t have to help me. Go play with the guys.” It shocked you when you heard Ellen’s voice coming into the kitchen. Now you really didn’t have an excuse to not go. Jack and Luke high fives and started cheering.

“Thank you mom!” you heard Jack cheer out. You didn’t dare look at Quinn. You knew he had to have a look of disappointment. “Well, come on!” Jack grabbed your arm and dragged you outside.

Rollerblading was not your forte. You were so much better at ice skating, and Quinn never let you forget that as you tried to stop by turning your foot. Quinn also bumped into you hard, but you said nothing. You didn’t want to give me another thing to critic you about. Jack was on your team, and Luke was on Quinn’s team. Jack voiced out that it wasn’t fair, because you haven’t been playing hockey your whole life.

“You wanted me to come play with you guys.” you shrugged out and heard Quinn’s scoff.

“I told you guys not to invite her.” Quinn never missed a beat with the insults. You rolled your eyes, and started passing that puck to Luke, who was across from you.

“Lets just play.” Luke became the voice of reason, between Jack and Quinn’s argument, about being nicer to you.

Everyone knew the Hughes brothers were competitive, so you tried to stay out of the way of their sticks. You were just staying towards the designated spot for the goal until you heard your phone go off. You knew they wouldn’t care about you going to pick it up. Skating over to the garage where you left it, you noticed it was your friend Will that was calling you.

“Hey Will!” you cheered into your phone. Getting the attention of the guys. You just waved them off as you sat down on the floor.

“Hey y/n! I was wondering if you could give me some tips for online dating.” Will asked you squeamishly.

“I haven’t dated in years. I don’t know if I’m going to be any help.” you admitted.

“I know, but you are great at starting conversations. I just want some tips on how to be more outgoing, I guess.”

“Just start by asking about their interests, and then just fine common ground. Your set after that.” you explained. “Don’t be afraid they’re just another human being.”

“I don’t want to text first, but I don’t think she wants to either,” he confessed. “Before I go, how is the Hughes family treating you? Quinn still being a dick?”

“Yeah, but nothing I’m not used to from him. Aside from that, everything is going great. We were just playing street hockey, before you called.”

“Well, this was just going to be a quick call, but we should talk more later.”

“Yeah, totally! Bye! Remember, she is just another human being.” you explain one last time.

“I will! Bye!” You clicked off the phone and were met with three eyes watching you. You got up from the ground and skated back to them.

“What?” you asked, curious why they were just staring at you.

“Who were you talking to?” Luke jokingly poked you, with his eyebrows going up and down.

“Not that it’s any of you guys' business, but I was talking to my friend Will.”

“Who’s Will?” Jack asked, genuinely curious.

“Probably just some else she’s fucked.” Quinn mumbled under his breath.

“Actually, no, he isn’t. He’s a friend that goes to my college, and he wanted some advice on how to talk to a girl he has been going after.” you were beyond pissed at Quinn now. Usually he just stuck to the insults about how terrible you were at hockey, or how he doesn’t want you around, but calling you a slut was crossing the line. “I’m done playing. See you inside.” was the last thing you said before you quickly took off the rollerblades, and went inside, without looking back at the guys.

“What the hell, Quinn” Jack yelled at his brother. “That was so not cool.”

“Yeah. Why the hell did you think you could say something like that to y/n. She has been nothing, but nice to you and you are being a total asshole to her.” Quinn just shook his head. He didn’t even know why he said that, but he would not be scolded by his younger brothers. Without giving them an explanation, he went back inside as well. As Quinn walked past your ‘room’ he could hear you crying. What he said was harsh, but not as harsh as you when you supposedly hooked up with his teammate, while you were talking to him.

Quinn was getting into the talking stage with you, and things were going good. You would send him good luck text before his games, and he would text you/hang out with you whenever he could. Until he had heard his teammate, James, talking about how good you were in bed. Quinn even came to your rescue saying how they shouldn’t talk about you like that, but when James told him when you had hooked up with him, he couldn't stand being around you. He was heartbroken. Quinn thought he did everything right. You were close with his entire family, and he tried to give you as much as he could, but you chose James. After that he wanted nothing to do with you and thought if he just insulted you enough you would leave him and his brother’s alone. But Jack and Luke liked you too much to let you stop being their friend. Quinn never told his brothers what made him hate you, because it wasn’t his business who you slept with. That still doesn't mean that he was going to continue giving his whole heart to you, while you slept with other people.

Dinner was awkward. No one really knew what to say. You had left your room in an enormous pair of sweatpants, a shirt that was a bit too big, and puffy, red eyes. Your hair was in a bun, and you weren’t really into talking. Quinn felt as if he should apologize, but didn’t really know what to say. He knew he hurt you, but you also hurt him. After you finished your plate, you thanked Ellen and went back to your room. Jack and Luke were quick to follow you, leaving Quinn and his mom together.

“What happened between you two? I thought you two were going to finally get into a relationship, but here you are. You are making her cry, and she can’t even look at you anymore. Doesn’t that make you sad?” Ellen questioned her oldest son.

“I thought we were going to become exclusive as well, but then she went behind my back, and slept with James Fisher. It does make me sad. I was so sure that we had mutual feelings, but I was just someone for her to play with.” This was the first time Quinn has ever told anyone why he disliked you so much.

“Have you talked to her about it? I trusted nothing that came out of that kid's mouth.” Ellen quizzed her son. “You both deserve answers.” with that she cleared her plate and started cleaning the kitchen. Quinn knew she was right, but he doubted that you even wanted to talk to him. Yet, He went to find you.

Quinn found you in your room with his brothers. He heard the laughs and the chirps before he even was close to the door. He lightly tapped on the door, making it swing open more and revealed him.

“What do you want, Quinn?” you demanded, voice as cold as ice. Jack and Luke were just looking at him.

“I wanted to talk to you. I owe you an apology.” he explained. It surprised you; Quinn never apologized for his insults. “Can I talk to you? Alone.” After you nodded, his brothers jumped up from sitting on the floor and left.

“Are you going to come in?” you asked him, pointing at the chair in the far corner. He just nodded and closed the door. He sat in the chair and just started talking.

“I wanted to say sorry for the comment I said earlier.”

“Why did you even think to say something like that?” you challenged him.

“Because that was what happened with James.” Quinn said seriously. “I thought we had something going on, and then you go and sleep around with my teammate. I don’t care what you do with your body, but you had to do it while we were talking. I was putting everything into getting our relationship started and you really thought sleeping with James was better. I was just a game to you. God dammit y/n, I loved you.” Quinn just confessed everything. He couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“I never slept with James.” you mumbled. “He made that all up just because I wouldn’t sleep with him. You weren’t just a game. I fell in love with you too. I still am, but if you just asked me, you would’ve known that I did not sleep with James. James is an egotistical asshole who lied to everyone.” you explained in a claim voice. You had tears in your eyes, and you saw some in his as well. Lightly patting the spot on the bed next to you; Quinn promptly moved next to you. Right when he sat down next to you; you pushed yourself into his arms, pulling him into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry that you thought I was just playing you.” You cried into his shoulder.

“No. No. No. This is all my fault I should’ve just asked you. I’m so sorry y/n. I truly am a dick.” Quinn was playing with your hair while you hugged, and you just sank deeper into his arms.

That night was different for everyone. When a movie was put on, you and Quinn weren’t insulting each other. You guys were actually sitting next to each other, holding hands, and even sharing a blanket. Things weren’t great between you too, but things were better. The night was peaceful.

The next day, the sun was shining, and you needed to get outside and experience it. You put on your tanning swimsuit and laid out on the lawn, while the guys were playing street hockey. They really couldn’t get enough hockey. You giggle every time, one brother chirped the other.

“You want to play y/n?” Quinn asked you, when you started coughing after laughing so hard at something Jack called Quinn

“Oh, I don’t think so.” you barely got out. Turning around so you could your back under the sun. You felt Quinn’s eyes on your body, and you looked over at him and gave him a wink and a genuine smile. You were happy. You felt as if you belonged.

“Come on, babe, come help me show these dorks up.” Quinn pleaded with you. The pet name rolled off his tongue without him even knowing he said it.

“I mean, you asked so nicely.” You joked with him as you got up and grabbed your rollerblades.

“Yay! I call y/n!” Quinn cheered out so loudly that you were sure the entire block heard him. You laughed and grabbed that shortest stick you could find. Skating over to the boys while they were standing around waiting for you to get closer, you got close enough and stole it from where Luke had it steady. You shot it towards the mini net they had, and surprisingly it went in!

“Oh my god! Y/n just did that!” Jack shouted out in disbelief

“Hell yeah, she did!” Quinn countered and pulled you into his arms. The swim suit you were wearing was supportive enough for you to play, but still showed enough skin to tan in. Feeling his hand on your bare waist took your breath away. You turned and smiled at him.

“Aren’t you glad you picked me.” you chirped at him.

“I’m never not going to pick you.” Quinn declared, looking straight into your eyes. You made the first move and pulled him into a kiss. The kiss was one of love and pining. The kiss was making up for all the ones that were missed.

“Hey lovebirds! Get a room!” you heard Jack yell out from behind you.

“Dude, shut up.” Luke told Jack for you and Quinn. You were the one that broke up the kiss due to you smiling too hard. Resting your forehead against his with your arms still on him, trying not to roll away, and his touch still burning your skin.

“Do you want to try this again?” Quinn asked you nervously.

“I would love to try this again.” you professed. He pecked your lips and then briskly pulled away.

“She said yes! Y/n is going to be my girlfriend!” Quinn shouted so loudly that you were now sure that the entire block heard him.

“Finally!” you heard Jack and Luke applauded.

Quinn and you slept well that night, tangled up in each other's arms. Everything was going to be fine. You woke to Quinn drawing feather-light shapes on the back of your upper arms, and the smell of pancakes filling the house.

“I’ve always dreamed about what it would be like to wake up with you in my arms.” he admitted.

“So have I, but now we don’t have to dream anymore.” you grinned at him.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“Probably, but you could always say it again.” you playfully countered him.

“You are the most gorgeous woman. I have ever met.” Quinn proclaimed. You leaned up and kissed him. Letting everything out. Crawling on top of him, with your knees on both of his sides. You passionately kissed him. Quinn kissed you back with the same amount of passion and then started pulling up your shirt.

“EWW! My eyes!!” Luke’s voice rang out through the entire house. You promptly pulled down your shirt and jumped off of Quinn. “Mom! You’re going to have to watch these sinners.” Luke continued to run around the whole yelling.

“Be quiet, Luke, I’ve been waiting too long for those two to get together.” Ellen’s voice rang out after Lukes. Quinn blushed, and you did as well.

“Well, then.” Quinn said into the awkward air. You then just bursted out laughing, and soon he was joining in.

“What would we do without your brothers?” you chirped.

“We would probably get some peace.” Quinn countered, and you nodded your head in agreement.

“Let’s go get some pancakes! We can finish what we started when they all find something to do far, far away.” you wiggled your eyebrows at him.

“I can’t wait to take you back to Vancouver with me.” he confessed. You only smiled at him, but he knew that was what you wanted as well.

finished

#quinn hughs x reader #quinn hughes #Quinn Hughes fic #Quinn Hughes imagine #Quinn Hughes x reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey #canucks hockey #hockey boys #hockey x reader

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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

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inherited.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this popped into my head fully formed. when i thought too hard about it, i cried. It’s sweet. enjoy! tell me what you think! this takes place in au!october 2022

words: 2k warnings: language, tooth-rotting fluff

summary: “i don’t have stepchildren, i have children who happened to be born before i met them.” – unknown

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You’re laid out flat on the bed, tooling around on your phone, when Jack comes in, gets a running start, and flops onto the bed beside you. His feet hang off the opposite side yours do, your heads close together.

Elliot and the girls are napping the early afternoon away, Jack had an early-release day from school, Aaron’s taking a half-day, and Isaac’s still stuck on that 750-piece puzzle on your office floor. You left one of the baby monitors in the nursery and one with him, just in case. The faint, staticky sound of him talking to himself grumbles through the little speaker on Aaron’s bedside table.

Jack doesn’t say anything, but pulls his phone out and starts doing whatever newly-minted seventeen-year-olds do on his phone beside you.

You, on the other hand, need to take care of an email from Aaron.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

SSA Hotchner,

See attached for your quarterly performance evaluation from your supervisor, BAU Unit Chief SSA Emily Prentiss, cc’d here. Please direct any questions or concerns to SSA Prentiss.

Best, SSA Aaron Hotchner, J.D. Northeast Investigations and Operations Support Section Chief Quantico, VA

P.S. Leaving the office in 30. See you soon xx

You draft a quick reply and send it.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Received.

Thanks, Hotch.

Best, SSA _______ Hotchner Behavioral Analysis Unit, Quantico, VA

P.S. Come in quietly thru the garage - C, S, E are still out.

With a roll of your eyes, you put your phone down and take a moment to look at Jack.

He’s nearly a man, the baby fat falling from his jaw and cheekbones, getting taller by the day. Much to Aaron’s chagrin, they’re about the same height now.

Jack’s eyes flicker from his phone and meet yours for a split second. “What?”

“Just lookin’ at you.”

A little puff of a laugh leaves his nose. “Why?”

One side of your mouth lifts. “I know you’re tired of hearing this, but if you ever have kids of your own, you’ll get it.”

He hums, tossing his phone onto the pillow behind him. “Well, yeah. I got that, but why?”

You roll onto your side, curling your legs fully onto the bed. It’s a good question, and one for which you’re not sure you have an answer. Thinking for a moment, you sigh. “So, with you, for example. I can’t really put it into words, but you’re a bit of a miracle.”

He squints (just like Aaron) and you continue.

“I have the privilege of being your mom, which is a title that isn’t really mine.” You tuck the inside of your lip between your teeth, trying to figure out how to articulate it.

It’s not that I don't want to be your mom but in the world where I’m not your mom, Haley is still here.

But there are some days I miss her so much I wish I didn’t have to be your mom. She was always going to be ‘mom.’

But then it’s the best thing in the world to be your mom and I wouldn’t want it any other way…

Fuck.

You start slow. “It’s a bit of a bittersweet thing. I never expected to be ‘mom’ to you while Haley was alive. No matter what would have or could have happened between your dad and me, Haley is your mom. So, the knowledge that we’re here - you and I, in this house with your brothers and sisters and your dad, the way we are - is very much grounded in Haley’s absence.”

You shake your head, realizing you’re getting off topic. “All this to say, it’s a bit of a miracle that I get to be your mom, and not just mom to those other little gremlins infesting this house.”

You both smile.

“And sometimes, I just need to stare at you, make sure you’re real, and sit in that kind of...feeling that I can’t quite articulate.”

Jack’s been listening the whole time, his brown eyes soft and open. “I think I get that. It makes sense - even if you and Dad still got married and had more kids, Haley would be ‘Mom’ and you would be...something else.”

You smile a little. “I guess you could say I inherited the title, in some ways.”

“That’s a good way to put it.” His eyes wander up to the ceiling, pensive.

“You know, I can’t remember a time when you weren’t around. Like, not every memory has you in it because you weren’t always there, but...there isn’t a single, like, phase of my life when you weren’t in it.”

It's your turn to listen.

“And I don’t remember my mother very well. You and Dad always made sure I knew who she was - I feel like I know everything about her, but like…” He trails off for a second before looking back at you. “She still feels like a stranger, a little bit.”

You nod. “Someone distant, maybe?”

“Yeah. Like I feel connected to her and everything but you’re my mom. You’ve always been that person for as long as I can remember. I can’t imagine anything else.” He shakes his head a little. “It wouldn’t be right to call you anything else.”

A shaky breath leaves you through your mouth, unexpected tears springing into your eyes. Since you’re on the deep end of the conversation pool, you switch gears a little. “Is it ever weird? Having the little ones around? Your dad and I having more kids?”

He immediately shakes his head. “Nah. I can really remember when it was just the two of us - me ‘n Dad - and then then three of us after that one Christmas. But I don’t really miss it? Like, sometimes it gets so fucking loud in this house -”

“Language,” you chastise. It’s weak, at best.

He snorts, revising. “Sometimes, it gets really loud in this house and I have those moments of like, ‘oh my god why are they so loud why can’t it just be me and Mom and Dad again,’ but they never last long.” He laughs a little. “Like right now, they’re just in the other room napping and I miss them.”

“You know when you laugh like that you look just like your mother?”

That sunshine smile breaks across his face again. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” You reach out to him, brushing the apple of his cheek with the side of your finger - just a second, just an affectionate little bit of contact. His smile gets wide enough that you’re treated to one dimple. “But those,” you poke the little indent by the corner of his mouth and he screws his face up. “Those are all your dad’s.”

Jack grows pensive again. “Dad said he’d tell me about the divorce if I wanted to ask.”

Many of your conversations bounce around like this. Fifteen years of life together make up for seemingly contextless non-sequiturs. You know, just like you do with Aaron, he has more to say.

You wait him out.

“If I asked, would you tell me?”

With a sigh, “I can tell you how it was for me as their friend, but I won’t speak for Dad or Haley.”

Jack nods, understanding. “What was it like? Like, the...actual divorce? Did you get caught in the middle?”

“It sucked. It really sucked, but no, I never got caught up in it that way. Sure, they vented to me about each other after it was all over - which,” you add, “by the way, was its own form of comedy.”

That gets a smile out of Jack.

“But they never asked me to tell them they were right or made me feel like I had to choose a side. I would have hated to become a carrier pigeon for their bullshit.” With a chuckle: That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Ah yeah, miscommunication as a plot device. We covered that in English last semester.”

You laugh. “Exactly. Even then, though, they loved each other so much and they both tried their hardest to make it work, but couldn’t.”

Jack’s thinking again, looking more and more pressed by the minute as he stares at the ceiling.

“What?” You ask.

“I just -” His mouth presses into a thin line, revealing a dimple, and you thank your lucky stars you love Aaron as much as you do because right now, you’re looking at his clone. “I just...I’m trying to think of something that could, like, break you and Dad up...but I literally can’t think of anything. You guys just work.”

He’s thinking out loud, finding the question as he goes. You let him. “Even as mad as you get at each other sometimes, I’ve never been afraid. Even when you’re upset with each other you’re still...I dunno...like, two parts of the same person?” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, my love, it does. Your father and I…”

You sigh, knowing you’re exposing yourself for the person you are, instead of hiding behind your role as a parent.

“...we need each other too much, perhaps to a fault. He’s my favorite person and my biggest weakness. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for him, and I know he’s the same way about me.” You pause. “We don’t really know how not to be a team.”

Jack’s seen that in them almost all his life. It doesn't surprise him. He’s not sure he believes in soulmates, but he’d imagine you and Aaron are pretty damn close.

His mouth twists. “I’d imagine a lot of people feel that way until the shit hits the fan.”

You nod, your head wavering from side to side. “Well...yeah. Not everyone feels that way about their spouse, though.”

“Sure,” he relents, looking a bit like a lawyer. “But if they do, how do you get to that place where you call it quits, you know? How do you decide you don’t need each other or love each other? And how do you know who’s wrong?”

Good question.

“I mean, it’s less about who’s wrong, and more about who’s right that causes all the trouble, I think, at least from an outside perspective. With your parents, they were both right in a lot of ways.”

You think for a minute, changing directions a bit. “When there are two right answers that are mutually exclusive, there’s not much you can do. Nobody’s wrong - everyone just wants what they want, and there isn’t a clear compromise. Sometimes, the compromise is too much...So, you can still love each other but not be married, like your dad and Haley.”

“Your mom left,” you continue, “because she reached a breaking point. Her needs and your dad’s needs were mutually exclusive - no compromise existed. And, again, in a lot of ways, they were both right.”

You shrug, admitting, “They both made bad choices and mistakes in that process, but nobody was the bad guy. In some ways, that’s harder. You love them, but you can’t have them in your life in that way.”

His face clears up. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. Like, I’m thinking about friends and stuff - how some friends are really great outside of school but I would never want to do a group project with them - but for...you know, marriage.”

You laugh. “Yeah, it’s a lot like that. And you were just about the only thing your parents could agree on at any given time.”

“Really?”

“Yep. They love you, and always want what’s best for you.” Your eyes flicker to the photo on Aaron’s dresser - the one of you and Haley and Jack nearly fifteen years ago, sandwiching his cheeks in kisses. “When you’re a good parent with that kind of mindset, it’s easy to work as a team for your children.”

“Like you and Dad.”

“Like me and Dad.”

Jack quiets for a minute. “Can I tell you something?”

You turn toward him, reaching kind of up and away for his hand. Your clasped fingers end up between your faces. “Always, my love.”

“Sometimes...Sometimes, I wish I looked more like you.”

Your brow pinches. “Why?” The question is soft, all curiosity.

“I dunno? I think I just like, want to resemble you because you’re my mom, you know?”

You let out a laugh. “Jack you have no idea. You should ask your father how much you resemble me.”

He shakes his head, a confused little smile on his face. “I don’t get it.”

“You have picked up eighty percent of my mannerisms and it drives your dad up the wall.” You sit up, releasing his hand and ruffling his soft dark hair as you pretzel-cross your legs. “So if we’re going by his book, you inherited plenty from me. In fact, more than enough.”

“Alright, see, now that makes sense.” Jack sits up across from you right as the door from the garage opens.

You both wait, quiet, with little smiles on your faces, listening to his car keys hit the kitchen counter (and slide a little - he tossed them), the short walk to his office where he sets his briefcase down and removes his suit jacket (to be hung up later, if he remembers). You can hear him travel to your office, checking on Isaac and looking for you, before taking the stairs two at a time to the baby’s room.

Jack looks over his shoulder and you follow his gaze, tuned into the baby monitor. There’s a shaky kind of sigh that crackles through the speaker, and you can almost see him reaching into the crib.

“If he wakes that baby up,” you say, dead serious, “I’ll kill him.”

Jack sniffs, all business. “I’ll grab the shovel and trash bags and you drive, yeah?”

You offer your hand. Jack shakes on it before dissolving into a fit of conspiratorial giggles. He falls into you, turning so his back is against your chest and his head tipped back against your shoulder.

It’s moments like this where he feels five years old again.

As big as he is and as much of a shit as he can be, he’s still the same boy.

The pair of you are so caught up in your own private joke that you don’t hear Aaron as he crosses the house and leans on the door jamb. When you both catch sight of him, it only makes you laugh harder. You wrap your arms around Jack, trapping him close to you as you hook your chin over his shoulder.

He’s examining you both, brow a little furrowed, mouth a little open in an almost-smile. He’s seen the Mom and Jack Show before - it’s a series that started about ten years ago with about a thousand episodes and no cancellation in sight. “What on earth are you two doing in here?”

Jack drops into a deadpan. “Hypothetically plotting your demise for the hypothetical instance that you hypothetically wake Elliot and hypothetically deprive Mom of her hypothetical peace and quiet.”

Aaron nods, as if deeply considering it. “I see. Well, luckily, we’ve narrowly avoided that hypothetical scenario.”

You smile at him. “So thus, you live another day. Congratulations.”

Aaron breaks with a smile, his commitment to the bit evaporating in the presence of two of his favorite faces. He toes off his shoes and crosses to you both, still all wrapped up and letting little laughs escape. He kisses Jack on the head and you lightly on the lips before flopping down on his back with a satisfied sigh.

You share a devious glance with Jack. Aaron throws a pillow over his face, his voice muffled.

“Yeah, alright, you two. That’s enough.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @simsiddy @jeor @synonymforlame @roses-and-grasses @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @cevanswhre @joanofarkansass @infinity1321 @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @spencerelds @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @winqhster @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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bleufrost · 3 years ago

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Guiding Light

Summary: Even though your team finally trusts Loki enough to give him a chance, you still have to help him realize he's not the monster he sometimes thinks he is.

a/n: this is within the same universe as There's Just Time but it can also be read as a standalone (: more notes at the end for anyone who wants to read them!

Words: 1,921

Warnings: angst, self doubt, theres also fluff so dont worry!

If we come back and we're broken Unworthy and ashamed Give us something to believe in And you know we'll go your way

You never really realize how loud everything is until Loki cuts you off from his energy. Now, that isn't to say that Loki leads a tranquil existence, it's actually quite the opposite. Loki's emotions are incredibly sporadic and loud; so loud in fact, that they have become nearly identical in nature to the crashing of waves against the shore. Deafening, yet with the promise of calm once you come to recognize it as home. Without the roar, everything you’d rather drown out comes back to the forefront of your mind. That is exactly what is happening right now.

Tony’s bubbling anxiety to get his hands on something new clashes with the forced control of Bruce’s psyche as you enter the lab. The opposing energies nearly incapacitate you. “Hey, have you guys seen Loki?” You sit next to Bruce, your focus on his hands as he moves some things around on a screen. It’s a lame attempt to center yourself, but it helps a bit when a drill sparks to life in Tony’s hands. Bruce smiles at you apologetically and you shake your head.

“What’s that, kiddo?” Tony’s voice barely registers over the monotonous sound of the drill and you try to signal for him to turn it off, but the attempt is in vain. Instead of continuing to scream, you wait it out until Tony finally seems to be finishing up. The drill powers down and he smiles at you in that way that only he can; as though he truly believes that the world can wait for him. You can’t exactly blame him, you did wait, didn’t you?

“Okay, what’s up?” He places the drill down and brushes his hands off on his pants.

“I was just wondering if you’ve seen Loki around?” He looks to Bruce and they both seem to mutually agree that they haven’t. Tony shrugs at you.

“Sorry, kid. No Reindeer Games around here.” You roll your eyes at the nickname and he lets out a loud laugh. “Okay, thanks.” Getting up, you exit the lab and head for the common room.

It takes a few more tries, and by the time someone finally tells you they spotted him, your head is racing. There are so many different emotions and waves of energy in so limited a space, it exhausts you. Often you found navigating it all to be a fun game, but that was only when you had an anchor. Unfortunately, your anchor seems to be a little lost at sea.

When you do find Loki, he’s staring out a large window on one of the top floors of the compound. There’s a book abandoned in his lap, his finger resting on the page as though he had drifted mid sentence. The bright sky reflects on his eyes in a beautiful show of light. Anchors and waves, you knew Loki was all of it to you.

“Hey.” It comes out as only a whisper as you approach him slowly. It’s so soft, you almost doubt he hears it at all. Of course, he does though. He’s a god and, with great pain, you also know that he’s very used to being on his guard.

Loki’s eyes move from the clouds above and over to you. You’re not sure if the lights are playing tricks on you, but you swear that there are small hints of unshed tears in his crystal eyes.

“Hello.” If you thought your voice was soft, Loki’s is hardly there at all. It shakes ever so slightly at the end of the word, and if his shielding emotions wasn’t a dead giveaway, his demeanor most definitely is. Something’s wrong.

Your feet take slow, tentative steps forward. Neither one of you breaks eye contact, and when you attempt to push your energy over to him as some form of comfort, it hits a wall. He’s using his own magic to deliberately block yours from reaching him. Your feet stop moving and you can see in the way that his eyes glint that he’s aware of how distanced he is keeping you.

“Loki, what’s hurting you?” It’s a simple question, but that’s all it takes. After over a thousand years spent dancing around problems and masking insecurities, your willingness to openly address such intimate pains was still so novel to him.

The first few times he had spoken to you, really spoken to you, all illusions set aside and with no intent to trick you, he had been struck hard by your lack of judgement. All Loki ever knew was how to hide the most vulnerable parts of himself because others would use them against him. WIth you though, the vulnerability was exclusively used as a bridge to growth. You had told him once that energy flowed toward energy. It was made to grow. Naturally, because he was composed of all different kinds of untamable energy, it was only inevitable that he would continue to evolve into a stronger version of himself if he chose to recognize the points that were draining him.

Energy moves toward energy, and so he allowed his to move to you.

“I don’t feel I belong here. I’m not worthy of forgiveness.” The confession twists your heart into a knot. It hurts to hear the insecurity lacing his voice, but the emotions that seep into you hurt even more. With his wall down, you can feel the nervousness, fear, anxiety, and overall sense of loathing that Loki has been carrying by himself. You understand why he blocked himself from you, but you’re so incredibly relieved to be sharing his burden.

It takes a second for you to acclimate to the new feeling, but your feet take you the rest of the way to him as soon as you do. You’d never run from him, no matter how intense it may be to stay.

“No, no. Even just your ability to share that with me proves that you’re more than worthy, Loki.” The unshed tears come to the surface, slipping past his eyes and running slowly down his cheek. Your hand instinctively comes up to rest against his face.

“There’s not one of us here who hasn’t done things that we regret. Things that have hurt people and that we wish we could take back, but we can’t.”

More tears fall from his eyes and he looks at you so lost and frightened that you fear your heart may break.

“How do you live with it?” His eyes search yours for answers, and you wish you could tell him something that could help right now. Unfortunately, all experience you have with this calls for an agonizing amount of time to pass before even a hint of relief begins to seep in. There’s so much to do before forgiveness can come; not from others, but from yourself. It does come, though.

An idea sparks to life then, as you recall everything you’d done to make amends for the lives you had damaged, Forgiveness, understanding, healing. You knew these feelings and, luckily, that was all you needed.

Your other hand raises slowly, a soft blue light wrapping around the edges of each finger as it hugs around your skin. You hold your hand out to Loki, knowing that he needs to be the one to initiate this. You can offer yourself, but he has to choose to accept.

His large hand comes up, nearly meeting yours before he stops mere centimeters away. He can feel a slight wave of the emotions that you hold in your hand, but that same fear of being unworthy holds him back. Does he even deserve this kindness that you show him? You know he deserves that and so much more, but the doubt still makes him struggle.

The back and forth pull is not lost on you. Your thumb strokes the sharp curve of his cheekbone, finding your own comfort in providing it to him. His eyes close at the motion, and when he opens them again, the fear is gone.

Loki slips his hand into yours, finding the empty spaces between your fingers to be a perfect fit for him. He clings to you like a lifeline, and you very well may be one to him. You know he is for you.

Your light engulfs him, flowing up his arm and straight into his chest, his mind, his heart. Anywhere he needs it, your light will find him and help him feel okay. Every memory you had, every emotion, and every tear was placed into that light. Relief. Forgiveness. For Loki, it was hope.

“You do whatever you can to make up for it. You can’t fix everything, but sometimes just trying is enough.” Loki takes in your words and continues to let your energy hug him like a warm blanket. Trying. He could do that.

When he’s ready, he lets your magic go. Immediately, some of the doubt returns, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Not when you’re here.

“Thank you.” The air around you seems to spark to life and you find your energy starts to pull toward Loki. It was odd; unlike anything you’d felt before.

Of course, there were certain people that naturally caused your powers to want to be near them. Their energies were calming enough or provided with just the right amount of curiosity that stoked the childlike wonder in yourself. You always knew exactly why you were being drawn to them. This time, with Loki, it was different. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact emotion of yearning that drew you to him. All you knew was that you felt connected.

Deciding that this moment held enough excitement for the two of you, you left it alone. Maybe you could ask about it some other time when things were a bit calmer. Right now, you just wanted Loki to relax. There were many things about your abilities that you were still yet to explore. This was probably nothing.

Loki’s hand guided you out of your thoughts and back to him. He brought you closer and smiled. “Sit with me?”

You immediately reciprocated his smile. Loki may think that his well crafted charm is the most endearing thing about him. You know that’s not true. By far the most compelling and radiant thing about Loki was the unfiltered appreciation he had for the smallest things in life. Sitting beneath a blue sky sounded like heaven when he offered it up with such a gorgeous smile.

“Of course.” You let go of his hand to lift yourself onto the cushioned bench he was sitting on. It’s long enough to provide you with enough room to place distance between yourself and Loki, but you don’t. When you’re settled, Loki finds your hand once more. He squeezes it gently and lifts the book with his other.

“Would you like me to read to you?” He raises the book a little higher so you can see the cover, but quite honestly you don’t care what he’s reading. You just like to hear his voice. You nod happily. “Yes, please.”

Loki offers you one more genuine grin and sets to work, reading the words on the page like a poet sharing their most prized work. You can feel him, deafening the world around you until you’re lulled back into a calm that only his noise can guide you to.

As he reads, your connected hands glow with an energy that neither of you intentionally brings forth; it just happens. Even without trying, some things just do.

a/n: I realized that I was making little references to moments/memories in the main story that I really wanted to write, so thats what these mini pieces will be! on that note, the second chapter should be up by saturday at the latest. i had some computer problems which sucks lol, but its getting done! after that, i'll be trying to get the new chapters up before the premiere of the next loki episode. have a lovely day yall!

#loki #loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki imagine #tom hiddleston #loki laufeyson #loki x reader fanfic #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic

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joontier · 3 years ago

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Subliminal in Scrubs | V1; report ix

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: doctors! au; humor, romance

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.8k

g/n: ((unedited skfslkdf)) also,,, i will be releasing Parallel Palpitations very soon [which features this Jimin hehehehe stay tuned for that] PLUS, im very excited to release the report x AHHHHHH send me your thoughts pleaseee

[taglist]: @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle @btsmakesmehappy

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) | navi. | m.list

You open your new group chat first thing in the morning, wanting to check on Soomin and Jimin. Just yesterday, the two had informed you of their concerns separately, both worried over the same thing. Soomin’s mother wanted to hold a small congratulatory celebration for her daughter’s KMLE results, and her subsequent acceptance at Woocheon, so there was going to be a party exclusively for all tenants of the building at the restaurant just next to the cafe.

The two hadn’t worked out their budding acquaintance, as you had practically forced them to greet each other the last time you were at the cafe, so you thought this might be a great way to have them start over their tricky relationship.

As you’ve expected, both of them had even tried to convince you to come, in the hopes that a mutual friend could help diminish the awkward air around them. You’ve declined each of them politely, not wanting to intrude on their little get-together. Besides, (just like you hadn’t forgotten to mention to them), this was the perfect opportunity to get rid of this wall hindering their friendship (to which, both of them had also quite strongly disagreed upon).

A mere three hours after their outpour of sentiments, as you’re rewatching episodes of Dr. Romantic with Chohee, the pair drunkenly call you, requesting a video chat. You’re pretty sure not one of them is aware of what’s happening, especially with Jimin refilling his shot glass every thirty seconds; Soomin speaking gibberish, and Chohee literally teasing them through the screen of your laptop and yet none of them seem to mind a damn thing about it.

So, with hopes that each of them arrived home safely last night, you type in your text message.

‘What is this place, really?’ you mutter to yourself, slightly regretting your decision to take the subway instead of a cab. You only ride taxis for places you’re not familiar with (such is the case with today) but you didn’t want to spend twice as much solely for transportation so you took the train to the building.

Now you feel lost. You’ve just gone to the main entrance of the building, but there was scaffolding barring the entrance, and now you’re struggling to look for Entrance B with the singular tarpaulin saying “Please use Entrance B” and a faded arrow below pointing to the left. After a grueling ten minutes of asking people for directions and walking all over the place, you finally find Entrance B and hurry on your way inside.

There’s already a small crowd forming where the directions for the processing of your license is posted, and you can’t seemingly read the directions all the way down with people clearly taller than you blocking the way.

“What’s the matter? Can’t see the directions, smally?”

Your instant recognition of his voice makes you hang your head low. You figure there’s no way you can get rid of this guy anytime soon.

“Hello, Jungkook.”

Why is it that he’s always there wherever you are? He couldn’t be stalking me, could he?

Jungkook almost spits his water on the girl in front of him. Oh, so he heard your thoughts then. “Yeah, you wish, woman. I wouldn’t do that even if you had one million strapped to your neck.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Wasn’t asking for any conditions for you to do that, but thanks for letting me know your thoughts.”

“Awh, you mad, babe?” Shaking your head at him, you try to continue peering over everyone’s shoulder to check the post. “If it makes you feel any better, I would for two million though.”

You were just about to retaliate with a smart comment, but you see a girl walking towards Jungkook while twirling her hair with her newly manicured fingers. “Jungkook-oppa, you’re here!” she says, hooking her arm on his elbow.

Ah yes, it’s the same brat that kept defending Jungkook’s ass during the KMLE exam. “Why don’t you come with us? My mom works here,” her voice gets down to a whisper, but loud enough for you to hear. “If you come with us, you wouldn’t have to fall in line, then maybe we could have lunch together.

Jungkook removes her hand from his, “No thank you, I’ll just wait here.”

“With her?”

The audacity of this bitch.

“Yes, with her.” Jungkook says, not skipping a beat. “She’s...better company.” Oof, that’s gotta hurt.

You try not to show much of your currently soaring pride on your face, but you can’t help but clear your throat as a terrible disguise for a snort. The girl becomes silent after that, with most of her friends trying to control their facial expressions after Jungkook’s reply.

“Fine then, your loss,” she says with a flip of her hair, then makes her exit.

You're unsure what to do now as the girl has already left, and you’re also not sure if you’re entirely happy about being left with Jungkook now. “Why didn’t you go with her? Could’ve saved you a lot of time considering the people here.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw, as if in thought. “I don’t like cheating. I believe that there’s a different value in the reward that comes with something you worked hard for.”

You’re surprised. You really hadn’t expected this kind of quote, coming out of Jungkook out of all people, but you find yourself nodding as he speaks, quite impressed that you share the same principles.

As the crowd starts to disperse, you and Jungkook finally get your turns to take a look at the poster. “Is it often?”

“What is?”

You point a thumb backwards towards where the girl had gone to, “Having girls throw themselves at you all the time?”

“Oh that,” Jungkook chuckles, then gives you a lopsided smirk, “Yeah, that. Hadn’t realized being this hot was so tiring.” Squinting your eyes at him, it then again dawns on you that you shouldn’t even have asked him that sort of question at all.

“You know,” he says, nudging your shoulder with his, “I’m quite jealous of you really,” your brows crease together. This can’t be good. “At least you don’t experience all of that, cause you know…” he says, gesticulating his hands over his face.

He did not just insinuate that you were not...attractive at all. Huh. This bastard can wait for his license alone then.

“Goodbye, Jungkook.”

“Hang on! ________, wait! I was just messing with you,” Jungkook laughs, running after you.

The cashier is already scanning the last items on your grocery list by the time Jimin and Soomin had texted you that they were done with their licenses, and you three had agreed on meeting up by the mall’s concierge. It doesn’t take long before you all decide on having Italian for dinner, after seeing the restaurant nearest to where the concierge was.

“Wait, it took you guys only half an hour?” you exclaim, recalling how you had to endure at least more than an hour with Jungkook as you waited for your licenses to finish. Thankfully though, the latter had other errands to run so you two parted ways as soon as you got your IDs.

Jimin, always the gentleman, offers to get your group the utensils as well as a few condiments and spices you might need with your meals. “Soomin-ssi, do you know anybody else who’s going to Woocheon too?” he says, setting the silverware atop the napkins.

Soomin thanks Jimin for the thoughtful gesture, sending a small smile his way. You squeal inwardly, wanting to know what happened last night for them to interact like this. “Um, also, I’m not so sure about the others who will be attending Woocheon too...I only got a glimpse of the list, sorry.”

“Ah, no worries about that. So, how was the dinner party last night?”

The two glance at each other, seemingly communicating with their eyes. Oookay, what’s going on between these two? What exactly happened last night? If they wanted to be alone, they could’ve just said so…

“It was fun,” Jimin initiates, plastering what seems to be a painfully wide grin on his face. Soomin nods along with him as she adds more, “Honestly, I don’t remember much about last night, but I do recall Jimin calling me ‘sajangnim’ the whole night. And I told him to not call me that, but Jimin here is a stubborn man.”

“Yeah, you complained about that too last night,” you laugh, cutting your garlic bread into pieces. “Wait, what?” Jimin squints his eyes at you, “Were you there last night? How did you....”

“I’m guessing you both don’t remember calling me last night too, didn’t you?”

“We did?!” they say in unison, making your eyes go wide. “Did I do something stupid?” “Please tell me I didn’t say something I shouldn’t have?”

“Hmm, well, it was quite the conversation last night,” you tease them, wanting to see how far this can go, “plus Chohee was there too so I have another key witness.”

“What?” Jimin squeaks, lips pressing into a thin line, “what’s the key witness for?”

“That, my friend, is up to you to remember and figure out.” You give each of them a wink, before turning your attention back to your pasta.

Transferring all your groceries to one hand, you fish your keys from your purse, shaking it lightly to hear its jingle as you blindly course your fingers through your bag. As the elevator doors open, you see your neighbor down the end of the hall, trailing after a man.

Ayoung hears the elevator bell ding and turns to your direction. She excitedly points her thumb to her back, mouthing ‘new tenant’ to you. She keys in her code and lets the guy in first. The moment he’s inside, she leans by the doorframe and whispers how hot the guy actually was and how much of a lucky neighbor you were going to be.

You shake your head at her, leaving Ayoung to entertain her guest. Of course, not forgetting to pray that she manages to score you a hot man next door.

#jungkook x reader #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #jeon jungkook #bts aus #bts fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff

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no-droids · 5 years ago

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Chapter 5: Of Metal and Men

Part five of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.1K OUR LONGEST SIN YET FOUNDLINGS

Warnings: SMUT, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, mild mild degredation whoops

A/N: Uhh this is so fluffy? wtf how come??/?

“Mando?”

“Hm.”

“I have to pee.”

He grunts. “So go pee.”

“I can’t see.”

“Turn on a light.”

“But…” You don’t even want to say the words aloud. You’ve so far convinced yourself that if you just never mention the fact that he’s got his helmet off right now, he’ll somehow forget to put it back on again.

It’s not that you necessarily want him to deviate from the ways of the Mandalore, obviously; you have more respect for his culture than that. No, it's just that. This is so nice. Hearing him speak without a modulator warping the natural frequency of his voice, being able to feel his skin directly under your lips with your face buried in the crook of his neck like this. Practically everything on this fucking ship is metal—the floor beneath you, the mechanics, the hull, the cockpit, the blasters, the armor. When he puts it on, he becomes nearly invincible; an unreadable, impenetrable fortress that abides by a strict code he rarely deviates from.

But without all that, he’s so… human. Not a Mandalorian, just a man. Everything that gives him prestige and recognition stripped away. Every weapon he straps to his body removed. The code he’s honored his entire life suspended in a paradisiacal loophole that you never want to end, even if it means having to walk around in the dark for the rest of your life.

He has to put the helmet back on at some point, you’re eventually forced to remind yourself. What starts out as an impossible task slowly becomes easier as the pressure in your bladder increasingly makes itself known, a reminder that you too are only human and sometimes humans have to pee soon after they wake up.

Which, y’know, a lot of times is okay. But sometimes, like right now, it really fucking isn’t okay. Because right now, his hand is so big and warm resting against your upper-back, shoved up underneath the fabric of your shirt and spread out across your shoulder blade. Right now you can feel his heartbeat through his chest, feel his lungs expand and contract slowly against you. The last thing you want is to move, and the darkness makes a perfect scapegoat.

You’re quiet for too long, apparently, because he eventually turns his chin to brush his lips against your temple. “Turn on a light. Just don’t look.”

You honestly don’t blame him. He hasn’t had as much time to contemplate the staggering predicament you’re in. “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive, shiny.”

“Go. I trust you.”

Your lashes brush against his neck when your eyes pop open, and the giant pang you feel in your chest shouldn’t be nearly as debilitating as it is. You know he trusts you, it goes without saying. But it’s one thing to travel around the galaxy with him, cultivate that inherent trust that comes naturally with odd partnerships that work surprisingly well. He trusts you to look after the kid, trusts you to pilot and maintain his ship, trusts you to cauterize his wounds when he’s incapable of doing so. He even trusts you enough to fall asleep next to you, leaving himself unarmored and vulnerable in ways you know you’ll never truly be able to understand.

But this—this is entirely different. This is the Way. And he’s half-asleep right now, putting a proverbial blaster in your hand and painting a target on his livelihood, telling you he trusts you enough to uphold one of the strictest, most foundational pillars of his belief system for him.

Okay. Okay. If this is what he wants. You’re not sure you’d put nearly as much blind faith in your own abilities (pun totally intended), but okay. You trust him and apparently he trusts you, so by some weirdly paradoxical extension inwards, you’re just going to have to trust yourself, too. He’s always been a man of relatively few words, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise to you that somehow only three of them work to provide you with more motivation than you’ve experienced in your entire life. If this is what he wants, then you’ll fight logic with gloves on and downright force yourself to see without seeing. Somehow.

You slowly start to wiggle out of his arms, but then pause for a second to tilt your chin up and press a soft kiss to his lips, trying not to get distracted from your task when he mmphs low in his throat and his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, holding you there for just a bit longer than you originally planned.

“Go,” he eventually breathes into your mouth.

“You’re not making this any easier.”

“Go.”

“Fuck—fine.” You carefully remove yourself and do your best to stand up on the blanket with unsteady legs, but then you stop for an entirely different reason, patting the skin on your bare hips in the pitch blackness to check. “Wait, hang on, did—did you not put any pants back on me last night?”

“…Was I supposed to?” Eventually comes from somewhere by your feet.

No. No, he most certainly was not. You’re honestly just surprised it took you this long to notice, especially since you’ve been subtly clenching your thighs and delaying the inevitable in the darkness for so long.

You don’t end up answering him, determined instead to find your way to the fresher without the use of sight so you can come back to him quicker. That’s easier said than done, though. It’s slow going from the start, trying to step over him without actually knowing exactly where he is, carefully tapping your toes to the ground three times before putting any weight on them and hoping you don’t accidentally step on anything important.

He takes the possibility away when you hear him sigh and strong fingers wrap themselves around your ankles in the dark, pulling and guiding your legs up over his body while muttering inaudibly under his breath. Something tells you he’s still getting used to having companions that are so blatantly helpless without him, but he does good in rising to the challenge regardless.

The second he releases you and you take a step forward off the blanket though, you immediately trip over something bulky and painfully hard on the floor, catching yourself just in time but managing to stub your toe in the process.

“Careful,” his voice says from behind you, over the loud clang echoing throughout the hull. “Beskar’s there.”

“Thanks, I almost tripped.” Once you get closer to the machinery standing upright against the far wall of the hull though, it’s a bit easier to see. The red and green lights act as your navigation beacons, stationary air traffic control wands guiding your turbulent body through the darkness.

The fresher light is fucking blinding when you finally make contact with the switch, and with the illumination comes an incredibly stern reminder to yourself not to look behind you. It… it’d be so easy, wouldn’t it? Turning your head just a fraction right now would be the equivalent of pulling a blaster’s trigger a mere inch—devastating, life-altering, and permanent, yet somehow so fundamentally easy.

You don’t, of course. It’s just the fleeting thought of it that jars you for a moment. You quickly shut the door behind you, use the toilet (annoyingly slanted thing you need to have a talk with him about soon, more of a weird space urinal than anything else and not really designed to be used by people with vaginas at all), and then wash your hands.

Your slightly damp fingers press tight to bridge over your eyes before you carefully open the door again, knowing you’re now facing him and the fluorescent light over the sink behind you is probably shining directly on him.

“Is it… safe?” You ask after a second.

“I’m not a rancor.” The sound of his voice makes you sigh in relief and your heart drop in disappointment simultaneously.

Modulated. Filtered, and familiar.

Sure enough, you peek through your fingers to see him laying back with an arm casually folded behind his head, his helmet back on. Even though the only skin you see is his bare hand resting on his stomach, he still looks fucking gorgeous like this—waiting silently for you in the make-shift bed you shared, blanket twisted around his lower half.

You pause there in the doorway so you can just admire him for a second. Relaxing, looking so trim and flexible in his long sleeved under-armor without all that beskar weighing him down. He looks back at you through the chrome visor, letting it tilt to the side and rest lazily in the cradle of his arm, and you suddenly remember with a jolt just how incredibly pantsless you are right now.

“Come here.”

Maker, he still makes you nervous. Stars, he had his mouth buried between your legs for longer than you can even imagine last night, why are you still so nervous? Is it the proximity? Just the literal act of seeing him in front of you? Not being able to feel like yourself around him unless he’s a disembodied voice in the darkness? Not being able to remember he’s an actual fucking person under there if you’re not actively touching his body in some way?

You feel… kind of shy now. Why? It’s like a flip inside you he can switch at will, just ever so subtly change his posture or tone of voice and bam—he’s dangerous, remember? He’s an underground bounty hunter, remember? He’s a mystery, he’s unpredictable—he’s an invincible, unreadable, impenetrable fortress, and you know absolutely nothing about him. Remember?

You trip over his armor again for an entirely different reason on your way back to him this time, despite how much better you can see now. You catch yourself once more, looking down at the offending pile of beskar like it did that on purpose, but then stop to consider it for just a second.

It’s just metal. And he’s just a man. You know he’s probably killed more people than you can count and he’s intimidating as all fuck, but you also know he stutters when he gets really worked up and decided to fall asleep next to you without his helmet on. Because he’s just a man, and men aren’t born with shields on their backs and visors covering their eyes and grenades in their hands. Not even Mandalorians.

So you slowly bend down and grab his hefty gloves, taking a moment to study them before fitting your comparatively small hands into each of them one at a time, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling how much space the tips of them have to move before reaching leather.

He says your name shortly as you’re carefully stepping your right foot into his oversized boot. You ignore him, balancing precariously on one leg while your left foot slides in the other one. “Hey, guess who I am.”

“No.”

You reach down and lift the unexpectedly heavy ammo belt over your head, letting the thick leather drape between your breasts and come to rest just below the curve of your bare hip. “I’ll give you a hint,” you say, gathering the mass of dark fabric at your feet and making sure your butt doesn’t get caught on the thick bandolier when you rise back up again. You wrap the cape around your shoulders and lift your chin to tie it in a sloppy, makeshift little knot around your throat, fingers noticeably less nimble when confined in loose leather. “Handy with a blaster, not real big on droids. I also wear a helmet, probably because my face is too pretty to match my menacing vibe but those rumors are unconfirmed.”

“Come here,” he gruffs impatiently, but you just turn around and waddle back a few steps in the baggy getup, much too tiny feet clomping around awkwardly in his roomy boots and the floor-length cape dragging on the ground behind you.

And then you stop, before grabbing the hem of it and whipping around dramatically to face him, giving him your best bounty hunter pose.

“I can bring you in warm,” your voice is a deep as you can get it, your eyebrows narrowed as you fingergun and shift with flair. “Or—”

“Hey—careful—” he quickly sits up and points at your hand, “—don’t touch your thumb to the—”

“—I can bring you in—” And then an actual, real life, giant ass blaze of fucking fire suddenly shoots from your wrist and scares the living shit out of you so much that you stumble backwards and trip over your cape, choking and flailing as you come down hard on your bare ass.

You blink up at him from the ground with wide, terrified eyes. He looks back at you, arm outstretched and frozen in midair.

And then he laughs.

Mando actually fucking laughs at you.

You stare at him in utter shock as he abruptly drops his hand to his lap and his helmet to his chest, his shoulders shaking with it. As lovely and uplifting the sound is, you’re not really sure how to feel about the fact that the first time you managed to get an outright laugh out of him was at the risk of your own mortality.

“Excuse me,” you say after a second, trying your best to sound appalled. You carefully remove the death gauntlets with your hands extended as far away from your face as possible, fingers spread and thumb held completely rigid in position. “Are you actually laughing at the fact that I almost just died horrifically in front of you?”

“Stars, just—” he lifts his head back up to look at you, “fucking—come here. You’re worse than the kid is, I swear.”

You slowly stand up, and the boots are so big around your ankles that you don’t even have to kick them off, you can just leave them there in position on the floor as you lift your feet and begin walking over to him. “I’ll have you know I am a fierce bounty hunter—”

“Terrifying,” he mutters, and you’re about halfway done untying his cape when you get close enough for him to reach out and snatch the bottom of it, swiftly yanking you down on top of him and removing the fabric from your throat at the same time. He ignores your dramatic choking noise, catching your flailing body with barely a grunt. “Craziest in the guild. Your first kill was yourself.”

“Yeah, I—” you oof and giggle as he immediately flips you around, downright giddy at the ease with which he maneuvers you on the floor and gets on top of you, “—I bring them in warm, or I bring them in hot.”

“Stop,” you can hear his smile through the helmet as he catches each of your wrists and pins them to the ground by your head. “Maker.”

“Wait—” you try to wiggle out from under him. It’s futile, of course, not just because he’s all muscle while he holds you down and straddles your hips, but because all your body weight is now laying on top of his ammo belt as it slings around your chest. “Wait, h-hang on—the fresher light’s still on.”

“So?”

“So I can see you right now, which means—” you can’t take that stupid thing off your head and kiss me.

That’s what you want to say. You catch yourself just in time, biting your lip and blinking up at your warped reflection in the chrome visor. He releases your wrists and lifts his torso up tall. “…W-which means—”

Mando’s too smart for that, though. You’re not getting one by him anytime soon. Before you can come up with an alternative, he hooks his fingers under the thick band of leather trailing down through the valley between your breasts and calls you out.

“Do you want me to take my helmet off?” He asks, tilting his head down at you and letting his hand slide back and forth under the ammo belt idly. For a second you think he’s going to remove it, try and find some way to wiggle it off you in this position, but then he just lets the heavy bandolier drop back down to your sternum again and continues moving his hands down your tummy. “Hm? Or do you want to see?”

And then one of his thumbs catches the hem of his trousers and ever so slowly starts to pull the fabric downwards. Your breath stutters as tan skin and dark, coarse hair are gradually revealed right in front of your eyes, the hemline making a mouthwatering triangle shape that runs alongside the lines of his Adonis belt.

When he stops just at the very base of his cock, it takes you a second to realize he’s waiting for an answer.

“Uh—” Stars, what the fuck kind of harrowing, existentially crippling question is this? Kiss him or look at him? Is he serious? “Uhhhh…” You legitimately feel torn, blinking up at the visor and noticing the struggle blatantly written all over your reflection. Why in Maker’s name would he put this on you? On the one hand, his mouth. On the other hand, his—

“I want you to see,” he admits quietly, and you flick your eyes down to look at him slowly running his thumb along the slope of flesh peeking out of the dark curls. “Can I show you?”

Oh fuck, what is happening? And why are you so wet already?

“Uh… ye-yeah—” and then he’s immediately using his other hand to reach inside and shift up just a bit, before he eases his gorgeous cock out of his pants by cupping his balls and letting the fabric hooked in his thumb rest under them. He’s already half-hard for you, already deliciously thick as he carefully lowers himself back down again. Against all reason, his skin practically glows under the artificial lighting, somehow looking sunkissed in places that never see the sun.

Maker, you want it in your mouth.

You have no idea why that’s your first thought. Okay, well no, that’s not true—you know exactly why that’s your first thought, especially when you can physically see him getting harder and harder right in front of you, watch him trace his fingers down his shaft and lazily brush them over the head. You love the way he touches himself, how his hands look cradling the base, the beautiful contrast between the dark hair and his warm skin tone.

He slowly starts to move down your body, slide his legs back on either side of you until he’s straddling your lower thighs, and it’s not until his cock goes in the exact opposite direction you want it to (away from your mouth) that you find your voice.

“Hey, wait—I want—” his touch immediately stills along your hips and he lifts his helmet, letting you scramble to prop yourself up with your elbows, “—let me go down on you. Please.”

“I told you I’d fuck you when you woke up,” he says, dropping his gaze back down between your legs. His voice somehow sounds deeper through the filter. Maybe not the pitch exactly, but the… color? Fuller, darker, more depth. “You want to make me into a liar?”

“Never. Fuck my mouth instead.”

His hands tighten and his breathing subtly picks up through the modulator. “I want your pussy. First. We’re almost to Corellia and I’m not risking my life on another hunt until I’ve fucked it like I want to.”

“You decide that timeline,” you remind him breathlessly, pushing your upper-body up off the floor and catching the fabric of his tunic near his neck.

“I have to earn credits somehow, I can’t just—” he abruptly cuts himself off when you yank his collar to the side and lick a slow, hot, wet line up his throat. “—I… I-I can’t just stay on this ship with you f-forever and… and…”

His breath catches when you bite down on the thick cord of muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder. And then he murmurs your name when you wrap your hand around his hard cock.

“You can do whatever you want to my pussy,” you whisper against his skin, feeling him shudder under your lips as you slowly pull your hand up and down the thick length of him. “Whenever you want. I made that clear last night. All I’m asking is that right now, you lay back and let me suck your cock for a little bit. Is that okay?”

He doesn’t answer with words, but he throbs under your hand and his body is surprisingly malleable as you urge him to move back slightly, just enough for you to collect your legs out from under him and rise up on your knees to face him. You keep stroking him the entire time, sucking marks down his neck while you hold the hemline to the side. Nobody will ever be able to see them, but somehow that makes it even better. A secret only you and him know. Next time he scares off a crowd of locals, he’ll be wearing your signet under his armor.

When you’ve sufficiently bitten and kissed marks along his neck and the fabric won’t stretch anymore, you reach down and pull it up from the bottom, lifting it up up up—up until it rests right above his sternum and you can see almost the entire length of his torso underneath, tan and dusted in dark hair.

You strongarm him back to sit on the floor with one hand and hike your own shirt up over your breasts with the other, letting the fabric bunch under your armpits while his ammo belt bisects your chest diagonally. He curses when you immediately climb on top of him and start dragging your skin against his, rolling your exposed tits and pussy against the hard planes of his body and letting him feel how soft you really are.

“Is that okay?” You ask him once more, rubbing yourself into him. “Will you let me suck your cock, Mando?”

“Fuck—” he growls, grabbing your hips, “—why are you—h-how do you always make it feel so… so good—?”

“It’s supposed to feel good,” you tell him, beginning to slide down his body.

“Not like this,” he pants, tipping his head back when you slowly lick down his chest. “Not—not everything, n-not all the time.”

The warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his cock, now achingly swollen and a mouthwatering shade darker in color than the rest of him. “Keep talking,” you whisper. “It’s sexy.”

And then you slide his head into your mouth and let your tongue flutter gently along his frenulum.

Mando instantly goes rigid and grabs a fistful of your hair as you hum and taste his precum, slowly brushing your tongue over his tip to see if you can get any more out of him like this without going deeper.

“Fuck—” he grits while lifting his helmet to look, every muscle in his body tensing under you. “Y-your mouth is—” he gasps when you gently swirl circles around the pulsing head, his open palm coming down hard on the blanket with a dull thud, “—fuck, your mouth is s-so—so fucking good—”

You open your jaw and take him down a few inches so he can feel your throat, satisfied when his helmet falls back and his grip tightens in your hair. You slowly begin bobbing up and down, dragging the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft and getting him nice and wet. His thighs almost feel like he’s wearing beskar over them, his entire body held so incredibly tight and stiff as you softly pleasure him.

You can only get around half of him in your mouth without straining for it, so you soon lift off him and start coating your palm and fingers in spit. His head raises immediately, exposed chest heaving as he watches.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, reaching down and starting to jerk him with your slick hand. He doesn’t relax into it, instead he straightens his back even more, his hips starting to thrust into your grip. “Do you want me to stop?”

“I want to fuck you,” he growls, the exact opposite of relaxed. “You—you can’t w-walk around half-naked in—in my clothes and expect me t—”

He cuts himself off with a groan when you take him back down again, deeper this time. And then he relents and starts slowly fucking into your mouth, gradually rolling his hips further and further with every thrust. One hand fists itself into the blanket while the other holds your hair back as you open your throat and work the rest of his length with slippery fingers.

When you take him down as far as you can and you drop your palm down to cradle his balls, Mando just about loses his mind.

“Fuck—let me fuck you,” he starts rasping at the ceiling, “please, l-let me—let me pound you into this dirty f-fucking ground like you wanted, like—like the filthy little girl you are—”

You hold there and swallow around his thick cock, letting your other hand slither down between your own legs and start rubbing your clit. He probably can’t see you do it from this angle but it feels so much better this way regardless, having him as far down as your throat as possible and listening to him babble while you touch yourself.

The sound you make pulling off him to breathe isn’t necessarily the most attractive thing in the galaxy, but with the way he groans and tugs your hair sharply in response, you’d think it was the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. You keep jerking his throbbing cock and rubbing circles around your clit, before moving down to take one of his balls into your mouth.

His grip tightens, along with the gorgeously soft skin under your tongue. “W-Wait—stop—”

You look up at him. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat and everything about him is unbearably stiff, even with the way his body is sprawled out and his chest rocks up and down with exertion.

“Sorry, I just—I was—” he gasps, “—I d-didn’t want to—to c-cum—”

“I want you to cum,” you murmur, blinking up at him and dragging your tongue up the length of his swollen, throbbing cock. “Please. Want it down my throat.”

You don’t know how it’s possible for his body to go even more rigid, but it does. “You—?”

He possibly could’ve stopped himself, you think. Even with the way you start gently sucking on his tip and looking up at him innocently after telling him you want to swallow his load, maybe he could’ve stopped the way his balls suddenly pull up tight, the way his grip on your hair turns to steel and his helmet rolls to the side.

But then the subtle shift of his head means he can see your hand moving between your legs, you can tell. You can tell, because he makes a choking sound through the modulator and his stomach flexes, and then he’s cumming down your throat exactly like you wanted him to.

There’s a second between the moment of detonation and the explosive result of it. It’s just enough time for him to slowly tilt his chin up and let out the smallest, quietest moan you’ve ever heard from him before his cock starts throbbing on your tongue, his balls working to steadily pump cum up his shaft.

You pull up and start swirling circles around his head just as the first spurt hits your tongue, moaning at the taste of him and preening at his hoarse whisper of your name. You swallow everything he gives you, drain him until he’s completely empty and spent, trembling in pieces on the floor.

Admittedly you do keep him there in your mouth just a little bit longer than you should, just taking a minute to savor how good he tastes and how fucking beautiful his cock is, how stunning his body is exposed and spread out for you on the ground like this.

“Keep—keep doing that and I’ll get hard again,” he eventually warns, though his voice comes out sounding like sandpaper in his throat.

You hum and finally pull off him. “That’s got to be the least threatening thing you’ve ever said to someone, I think.”

“Not able t—” he jerks when you bite his hipbone, “—to scare you off, apparently. Most people run from me.”

“Nope. Told you I wouldn’t, remember? Back on Cantonica. I’m also the craziest bounty hunter in the guild, so. Look.” You lift up to show him. “I even have an ammo belt, see? It holds all of the bullets, for all of my guns that I have.”

His hand slowly comes up and you think he’s going to grab the band of leather across your chest to either take it off you or pull you forward with it, but then he just grabs one of your breasts and gently squeezes it instead. “You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches. You blink twice at him, your heart suddenly thundering under his hand.

“Wearing my armor. Not wearing it. Not wearing anything. Wearing your clothes. In complete darkness. You’re beautiful.”

You think—for one ludicrous, insane second, you think that the enormous swelling in your chest literally transfers itself up to your brain and causes you to have an aneurysm right there on the floor in front of him.

But nope—it’s just the entire hull starting to violently shift and shake, swerving sideways and jerking upwards with rapid, unpredictable shifts in gravity.

You thrown on top of him in the chaos and try to find some sort of stable ground without accidentally kneeing him in the crotch. Mando grunts and gets rolled on top of you when the ship immediately veers the other way, the weight of him suddenly crushing your lungs and making it impossible to breathe with the brutal changes in g-force. Did he—did he leave the baby in the fucking cockpit?

He left the baby in the fucking cockpit.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #smut #reader insert #pedro pascal #no-droids

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whumpmatsus · 3 years ago

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hush. [ Wakabamatsu ]

In which Jyushimatsu wakes up with a migraine, but his big brother is going to take good care of him, so... it’s okay.

Jyushimatsu doesn’t usually wake up easily, unless he hears Ichimatsu’s voice or all the rest of his brothers are arguing.

He’s so full of energy for most of the day, it’s like he recharges at night by sleeping so deeply. Even going to bed with the lights on doesn’t bother him like it might for, say, Ichimatsu. He’s also typically asleep before everyone else… though that doesn’t necessarily translate into being awake earlier.

Tonight, or maybe it’s really early in the morning, he’s woken up by the most excruciating physical pain he’s ever felt.

It feels like someone’s jabbing an ice pick into the left side of his head, right above his eye. The pain isn’t repetitive; rather, it doesn’t seem to actually stop at all. It’s just constant and there and awful.

Worse yet is the fact that it feels like the world is spinning. The sensation makes him panicky, his heart pounding against his ribs, because he knows he isn’t moving. He’s still as can be and it’s everything else that’s moving. Isn’t it?

He exerts what he thinks is an enormous amount of willpower into closing his eyes and clenching his fists. Maybe he’s dreaming? That’s it. He’s just dreaming about being on a boat or something.

It only takes a few seconds for him to decide that is not what’s going on. The rocking sensation is getting worse, and he’s not waking up, so this can’t be a dream.

He takes a breath and throws his hand to the side, frantically searching for his older brother beside him. “Ch… Choromatsu-nii-san…!” He tries to keep his eyes shut. If he opens them again, the pain in his head is going to intensify.

There’s a tired groan from beside him, and the sounds of Choromatsu trying to get his bearings. “Huhm… mmh… Jyushimatsu? Aaah…” He yawns. “Is everything okay?”

“No… no, I don’t feel good…” He wishes he could feel prideful about complaining or guilty for waking his big brother up. Normally, he would at least try to suffer on his own for a bit before going to one of his brothers. Instead, the pain overtakes everything else.

“Aaaah… it’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry, I’m right here to take care of you, alright?” Choromatsu is careful as always when he knows one of the others is feeling poorly, and he scoots closer. “Come here. Will it make you feel better if I hold you for a little bit?”

Jyushimatsu isn’t sure. However, as with most other situations, a hug certainly can’t hurt when he isn’t feeling well. “Ahahah… y-yeah, maybe… my head really hurts.” He turns over into his brother’s embrace, expecting to have an easier time calming down once he’s nestled against Choromatsu’s chest.

Choromatsu’s arms reach out to pull Jyushimatsu closer. “Ah, no… I’m sorry, Jyushi. It’s okay… I’ll rub it and maybe you can get back to sleep.”

That sounds nice, but it doesn’t get a chance to happen. Any possibility of peace evaporates as soon as Jyushimatsu rolls onto his side. He opens his eyes briefly only for his vision to wobble and darken. The spinning he’s been feeling takes half a second to blossom into full-on nausea, then he practically chokes on a gag.

It’s all the warning either of them get before suddenly he’s vomited into the space between them ― and, more embarrassingly, he’s pretty sure it splashed Choromatsu in the process.

“Ah! J-Jyushimatsu!” Despite what just happened, Choromatsu moves to pull Jyushimatsu closer to him in an attempt to comfort him, particularly when it becomes clear that his poor little brother has started to wail. “Oh, my God… Jyushi… h-hey, hey, it’s okay! D-don’t cry, please!”

The sound of someone, or maybe the entire rest of their brood, moaning awake on the other side of Choromatsu serves to do nothing except make the pounding in Jyushimatsu’s head louder. His own sobbing makes pressure against his skull and it’s sharp and why can’t he stop?

“Hey, what gives? Are you two assclowns trying to wake the whole fucking neighborhood?” Osomatsu’s voice is groggy and irritated, and it’s just one more thing driving that ice pick deeper into Jyushimatsu’s head.

Jyushimatsu can feel the vibration from the growl Choromatsu gives toward their eldest. “God, would you calm your tits? Jyushimatsu threw up.”

“In the futon?!”

“Are you kidding me right now? He couldn’t help it!”

Osomatsu whines for a second, which is exactly no help to Jyushimatsu’s headache, but then he just yawns. “Geez… what happened??”

“I don’t know…” Choromatsu’s hand combs lightly through his brother’s hair, though it’s not any significant relief. Mostly it makes Jyushimatsu feel less self-conscious; if Choromatsu isn’t freaking out and moving away, he’s probably more worried about Jyushimatsu’s wellbeing than with the fact that he and the futon just got puked on. “He woke me up and said he didn’t feel good, that his head hurt. Then he rolled over so I could hold him, and… threw up.”

Jyushimatsu whimpers pitifully, trying to wipe at his mouth. “I f-feel seasick… my eyes are all blurry… my head hurts really bad…”

Choromatsu lets out a quiet, “Oh…” like he’s had some big moment of realization about what’s going on. “Jyushi… did you feel sick to your stomach before you moved?”

“Mnh-mnh. It just felt like… the world was spinning… still feels like that. I thought I was d-dreaming about being on a boat… then when I moved… my stomach went all flip-floppy… feels a little better now.”

“Okay, okay… that’s good, at least. What about your head? Is the pain mostly on one side?”

“Uh-huh. Like someone’s… trying to drill into my brain right above my left eye…”

“Aw. Gosh. Well, in that case…” He leans down to press a kiss to Jyushimatsu’s head, and pats his back in reassurance. “Sounds like a migraine to me. Like a headache times a thousand, complete with a side of vertigo and aura. I’m sorry Osomatsu is such a dick that he yelled at us.”

“WHAT?! I’m not a dick! I’m just tired!”

Choromatsu hisses as the noise makes Jyushimatsu flinch. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive, you jackass. And would you show some Goddamn concern for your baby brother over here? You’re talking loud and making him more miserable.”

“You just―” Osomatsu stops dead as he seems to realize that he’s literally just proving Choromatsu’s point. “― Ah, shit, sorry, Jyushi. Uhhh. What are we supposed to do for this? Besides get out of the futon and go set up camp in the living room for the night?”

“Yeah,” comes a low, sleep-husky voice Jyushimatsu recognizes as Ichimatsu’s. “Is there anything we can do? The last time I had a headache that made me blow chunks, I was out of it for the rest of the day and still felt all hazy once it was gone.”

Jyushimatsu almost starts crying again at the thought of feeling so bad for an entire day. He settles for sniffling and tucking his painful head under Choromatsu’s chin.

The action gets the third eldest’s attention, as he’s immediately pulled in closer and gets another kiss on the head. “Aah, well… most of the time, a migraine kind of has to go away on its own. We can try giving him painkillers and making it as dark as possible in here and keeping things quiet…”

Totty snorts. “So keep Osomatsu-nii-san away from him, then.”

“Oh, you two-faced little―”

“Osomatsu-nii-san! Where are your manners? Jyushimatsu-nii-san’s head!”

“I don’t have manners at 5 in the morning on a Monday!”

“Dear brothers, why are we all sniping at each other? Should we not instead be trying to help our little Jyushimatsu?”

“Like you could be any help. Just being around you has to be causing him more pain, Shittymatsu.”

“Cut it the fuck out, all of you!” Choromatsu’s voice comes out in a vicious whisper as he continues to cradle Jyushimatsu. “None of you are helping right now. You guys just… get your pillows, get some extra blankets, and head into the living room. I’ll get Jyushimatsu and I changed, we’ll move over to a clean part of the futon, and I’ll spend the rest of the night in here with him.”

There’s a distinct pause, which almost sounds louder than if anyone had said anything. Finally Ichimatsu speaks up again. “Are you sure? I can stay.”

“No, no, it’s okay, Ichimatsu. I’ve got it. You know I’ll take good care of him.”

Ichimatsu lets out a soft sigh. “… Yeah, I know. Let us know if we can help.”

“I will. You guys go try to get some sleep, okay?”

The other four murmur some well wishes, probably trying not to make things worse, and the sound of the door sliding open is sort of like a knife cutting through Jyushimatsu’s mind. He curls up tighter against Choromatsu, looking for protection.

Though, unfortunately, based on what his big brother said a minute ago, there’s nothing that can really be done to take away the pain. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sniffling again. “I didn’t m-mean to throw up on you…”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Jyushimatsu, it’s okay. You don’t feel well. It’s not like you wanted to do it.” Choromatsu rubs Jyushimatsu’s back a few times, giving a cautious squeeze to his whole body. “You don’t need to be sorry. Now, listen. I’m gonna close the curtains and blinds and go change my clothes real fast, then I’m gonna try to see if I can get you cleaned up and change your shirt, too. You’re a little dirty… I don’t want you getting nauseous again from the smell. After that I’m gonna carry you to the other side of the futon, and… we’ll make sure the other side gets cleaned up later when you feel better.”

Okay. Okay, that sounds like not too bad of a plan. He can do that, right? It sounds like Choromatsu is going to be the one doing most of the work, so Jyushimatsu shouldn’t have to move too much. That would be ideal; he feels like if he moves to roll onto his back or anything, he might be sick again. “Okay.”

“Okay? Okay. Good, uh… hm… if we can get some painkillers in you, it might help take the edge off the migraine. Do you think maybe you could get some medicine down with a few sips of water?”

“I… I dunno… maybe.” The thought of swallowing anything isn’t pleasant. But if it could potentially take a little bit of the pain away, he can try. What’s the worst thing that could happen? He might hurl again? At least he’ll have given it a shot.

He feels Choromatsu pull away from him. “Alright, we’ll try it, then. I’ll bring a trashcan in here just in case you throw up again. And, ah, let’s see… sometimes an ice pack against your head helps. Want me to bring one?”

He barely resists the urge to nod, because he knows that would be a terrible idea right now. “Mhm.”

“Alright. You just… lie still and don’t move, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes. Let me see if I can get it a little darker in here…”

There’s a brief rattling sound that comes along with Choromatsu trying to shut the blinds, then a fabric-shifting noise from the curtains.

Instantly the soft sunlight which was trying to filter in is blocked. Despite the fact that it’s not totally pitch black, it feels like shadows have descended on the room. Cool, greyish shadows that are protecting him from the agony of anything bright.

A few minutes seems kind of like an eternity to Jyushimatsu at the moment. He’s still a little dizzy even with his eyes clamped shut, although the nausea has faded into almost nothing, thank goodness. The sharp pain in his head continues, and he’s partially convinced that it’s going to split him in half.

Everything is awful. He’s used to being the one who can tolerate the most extreme things and often is fully involved in those things. Yet, right now, everything is too much. Even his own thoughts are too loud.

The only movement he makes is to reach up a trembling hand and touch his head in some childish hope that holding it will make the hurt stop. Unlike Choromatsu’s gentle kisses, however, just touching the epicenter of the migraine sends a horrible shockwave of pain through his whole body.

When Choromatsu returns, he returns to his little brother curled up in a ball, breathing deeply and still mewling in intense discomfort.

“Hey, Jyushi… I’m back.” He keeps his voice low as he kneels down, giving another couple of rubs to Jyushimatsu’s back. “You doing okay?”

Ugh, why would he ask that?? Jyushimatsu wants to be angry, he is a little annoyed… but Choromatsu is trying to take care of him. He can’t be too pissed when all his big brother wants is to make him as comfortable as possible. “No… it hurts.”

“Aah, I know, I know… I’m sorry. Is it okay if I try to change your shirt now? I can probably do it without making you sit up, if I’m careful… you’ll have to raise your arms, though.”

“Uh-huh… okay.”

“I will have to sit you up to take the medicine in a minute.” His hand pulls at the bottom of Jyushimatsu’s shirt, starting to roll it up. “I’ve got a trashcan here if you think you’re gonna be sick again. Just give a big squeeze to any part of me you can reach if you need to throw up, okay?”

“Mmh, okay…”

It’s a slow process as Choromatsu gradually manages to get Jyushimatsu’s shirt up off him. Jyushimatsu raises his arms when prompted, and that little motion makes him feel like he’s swaying even more than he already felt like. He’s able to keep them up until his brother gets his arms and head through the new shirt, thank goodness.

How he doesn’t accidentally roll into the mess he made in the futon is beyond him. He mostly credits that to Choromatsu, though. It feels like his big brother is holding him pretty steady, from what he can tell.

“There we go,” Choromatsu sighs, with a sound like he’s dusting his hands off. “Do you think you’ll be okay to sit up and take the medicine?”

Before he can stop himself, a small whine comes out. “I… I changed my mind, Choromatsu-nii-san. I think I’ll puke if I sit up and try to swallow anything…”

Choromatsu’s hand kneads gingerly at the base of Jyushimatsu’s neck. Even among everything else, it’s a comforting gesture. “Hey, hey, that’s fine. The water and medicine will still be here when you feel like you’re okay to take it. I’m just gonna carry you over to the other side of the futon now, okay? I’m gonna pick you up, and I’ll go really slow. You gonna be alright?”

“Mmm… y-yeah, I think so. Not too fast… right?”

“Right. And just tell me if you need me to stop for a second. Here we go, okay?”

Jyushimatsu braces himself for the movement, and true to Choromatsu’s word, he’s lifted up very gingerly, in a series of tiny moves rather than one swift one. He keeps his eyes shut as his brother makes a little adjustment, with one arm under Jyushimatsu’s legs and one supporting his back, and his head cradled against Choromatsu’s chest.

Despite his pain, Jyushimatsu finds the energy to give a weak laugh. “Haha… upsy-daisy…”

Choromatsu chuckles along, a barely-there breath of amusement. “Yeah, upsy-daisy. You remember… that one day when we were all kids, and Mom took us to the beach ― that day it was sunny in the morning but started raining when we’d only been in the water for like half an hour?”

“Oh, yeah… hehe… and then we made a beach in the living room when we got home… because I put a bucketful of sand in our tote bag before we started swimming, hehe.”

“Yeah, that’s right! I remember Osomatsu, Karamatsu, and I each grabbed one of you younger guys… Osomatsu grabbed Totty, and Karamatsu grabbed Ichimatsu, and I grabbed you. We carried you out of the water and into the car, haha… running to get out of the rain as fast as we could.”

After a second, Jyushimatsu is laid down in that same careful way Choromatsu picked him up, and having a clean part of the futon under him feels a lot better. Soon enough his older brother is lying next to him, gingerly guiding him into a hug to comfort him. “I remember holding you in my arms way back then just like I did a minute ago. I held you really close and tried to keep you from getting wet, haha.”

“Mmm.” Jyushimatsu snuggles in closer and buries his face in Choromatsu’s chest to try and shut out whatever light might be left. “I think I remember that, too. Hahah… you’re a good big brother. Trying to keep me safe.”

Choromatsu’s hand strokes through Jyushimatsu’s hair; long, syrupy strokes that feel much better than when he tried to hold his head himself. The ice pack must have been set down close, because something cold and soothing is held against the left side of his head. “W-well, you know… you’re a good little brother… worthy of being kept safe.”

“Haha. All the rest of your little brothers… they can suck it, right?”

He snorts, and thank God, it doesn’t disrupt the peace they’ve both been trying to cultivate. “Aah, no… all my brothers are worthy of being kept safe. Even the jackass eldest and the hollow monster baby. But, I mean… don’t tell them I said that.”

Jyushimatsu breathes in and out a few times as he settles in to hopefully get some sleep. “No, no, no… it’d go to their heads.”

“Heh, good. Speaking of dreaming… let’s try to get some rest, okay? Fingers crossed you’ll be feeling better after a little more sleep. If not, at least you won’t be totally conscious for some of the pain. I’ll take the ice pack off in a few minutes here, and all you have to do is let me know if you need anything. Sound like a plan?”

“Mhm. Nighty night, Choromatsu-nii-san.”

A warm breath of a sigh hits the top of his head. In a way, just having his big brother close like this is more comforting than any other remedy he could have suggested. “Night, Jyushi. Feel better soon or else I’m just gonna have to keep taking care of you.”

#Osomatsu san #whump #Wakabamatsu #Jyushimatsu #Choromatsu #illness #migraine #vomiting #I!!! wanted to finish this before I started anything else but holy moly it turned out longer than I thought it'd be XD #I'm trying to get better at writing Jyushi so hopefully this is good ;w;#I love Choro taking care of his brothers aaaaaaa

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pridewhatpride · 3 years ago

Note

omg pls talk more about GX rival shipping once the transfer students come

Dear anon, I love you for asking this of me, but I have to wonder if you want everyone who follows me to start hating me.

Long post coming up? You know it. I apologise to all Johan fans, he's great and I loved him and his deck as a child. Now I'm just salty because he's too perfect. Warning because this is a mess of unrequited feelings and it's an all around bad time if you ship anything in gx. I did mention I do not practice self care in a previous post of mine. Enjoy your pain c:

So here are my bad takes of the day, under the very handy cut!

You see, gx rivalshipping becomes a lot more complicated and angsty when the transfer students arrive. The dynamic changes. If there is a dynamic at all. I mean, imagine yourself in Manjoume's shoes. You've lowkey had a crush on this dumb guy who kind of ruined your life (but actually improved it and freed you from the restraints your family imposed on you), just to watch a handsome scandinavian dude who is a lot more muscular than you are and maybe a little bit nicer, maybe just waltz in and completely captivate said dumb guy's attention. Just when you had managed to admit your own feelings to yourself.

Johan comes in and steals the room, everybody loves him, he's good looking, charismatic, kind and has a magical exclusive shiny sparkling deck at his disposal that he uses as if it was the most natural thing in the world, like he hadn't received approval Pegasus himself on top of the duel spirits. And Judai clearly can't get enough of it, because he's always seeking him out, ever since the duel they had in front of everyone, and Manjoume finds that he's really annoyed by it. He wishes he'd been chosen for the demonstration, deluding himself into believing that if he'd won, Judai would have never started caring so damn much about Johan. But a part of him knows he would have probably lost and that even if he hadn't, Judai would have not cared about the outcome at all. It's nice to think that winning a card game can solve all your problems, but, while Manjoume has only ever experienced how much losing one can mess with your life goals, he isn't stupid enough to think that winning would grant him happiness. Not anymore. No well-thought-out strategy can rid him of his bad temper and his worthless pride.

The thing is, he can't really hate Johan, because nobody can hate Johan. He's just the perfect picture of everything Manjoume isn't and, going by everyone's reaction, the fact that 'everyone is unique in their own way and worthy of love' is absolute bullshit. There clearly is an objective better one of the two and Manjoume is very aware that he isn't it. And he'd probably begrundgingly be cool with it, after all he'd accepted that Jaden was braver than him, that Asuka was emotionally stronger and more resolute, that Daichi was smarter, not to mention how much plain better than him his fomer upperclassmen were. Forget about pros like Edo, whom Judai had stood on equal grounds with. But Judai is clearly playing favourites, too, hell, he hardly even acknowledges Manjoume.

He finds himself forcibly removed from his already shaky position as rival, because now Johan is there to take it up, on top of the titles of 'best friend' and 'emotional support and crutch' and 'maybe something else I'd really rather not know'.

Manjoume just generally hates it all. He might have changed and improved himself, but there is no saving him from the fact that some people were just better. That doesn't stop him from trying. But again he finds himself pitted against Judai, the irony of his fate never giving him a moment to rest. Manipulated and turned into the enemy of those he cares about, again.

A part of him despises how good it feels to learn that Johan has gone missing, but Judai is screaming like his arms have been torn off and while he hates that it's all for Johan, he hates that Judai is in pain even more. Judai had saved him before and it's only right for him to return the favour. So he insists on helping him on his stupidly risky plan to save Johan. And it's all to get the old Judai back.

...The rest, from Manjoume's perspective is a mess. His feelings of anger stem from the hatred he harbours towards himself and the bond between Judai and Johan. He'd been trying to help, he had, he sincerely had, but everything just swirled together and the next thing he knows is that he is shouting at Judai because it suddenly made sense to guilt trip him over the fact that he'd abandoned his friends, he'd abandoned him as soon as someone better had come into the picture. And it was Judai's fault for letting them- him believe that he cared when he didn't, when he couldn't have cared less, because clearly he had one priority only and that was Johan. They had come to help and it still wasn't being appreciated.

Disappearing is a relief, for a moment, but then he finds himself in another hellish place and he can't help but think that it's retribution for being so upset over something that has nothing to do with him. That's right. It's his own fault for making Judai, his only real friend (aside from Fubuki, sorry for breaking the immersion, but I love Fubuki), carry the burden of the stupid hopes that came with his feelings. Judai has no fault. Johan has no fault. It's his own for desiring something that would always be out of reach.

As he is tortured by his own thoughts and regrets in the other dimension, Manjoume silently wishes his words meant nothing to Judai, that he'd be spared the pain of betrayal. He wishes Judai can achieve his goal.

When Shou appears to him, he knows there is no time to waste. If he is alive, the others are, too. Judai would want to know that they are safe. So he asks Shou to carry his message, along with his good luck wish. He hopes it's enough to make up for his mistakes.

Next thing he knows, they are back at DA, Judai is nowhere to be seen. Manjoume mourns the loss of his first and only friend and curses himself for tarnishing that memory. (Judai's return and season 4 would be too much to cover, this was only Manjoume's pov and I might as well just rewrite the entire show at this point.)

So what about Judai?

I personally want to believe that he genuinely does like Manjoume at some point. But as much as it pains me to admit it, season 3 just wrote Manjoume off from the list of main characters and relegated him to 'he's your funny comic relief, nobody really gives a shit about what he thinks or feels, so why should you, the spectator who has grown to love him, care at all? Also here's his sticker that confirms that Judai going after Johan makes him really angry for some reason, make of that what you will c:' (fuck the writing staff, I'm not even sorry).

Judai is so clearly smitten with Johan. It seems to me that his refusal to accept Manjoume's help that one time on the cliff shows that Judai doesn't really understand the way Jun operates. He probably labeled him as just someone else who counted on him to be saved. And sure, Manjoume is saved by Judai in multiple occasions, but he doesn't ever really... ask for it? Or more importantly expect it. He doesn't get himself into situations he can't handle because Judai can save him anyways, the trouble just kind of happens at him and more often than not he's only involved by accident, because he happens to be close to Judai.

The problem still stands, as season 3 starts, Judai is very much burdened by everyone's expectations and Johan is a breath of fresh air and the only one Judai actually considers a friend and an equal. It's heartbreaking that he felt that alone.

They get their gay 'have we met somewhere before moment', they duel gaily, they homoerotically tell eachother how admirable the other is, they shamelessly flirt and whoohoo Judai has an unofficial boyfriend and who can blame him for concentrating on him along with wanting to escape the pressure his former gang unknowingly laid on him.

But yeah, Judai in season 3 has a one track mind and it's hard not to see it as romantic. Does he know it is? Maybe? I honestly don't know. I feel like Johan is the one of the two who is aware of the implications of their interactions. Which also kind of brings me to say... does Johan think that all of Judai's friends are horrible people? Because he never once comments on how Judai distances himself from them once he arrives. He probably thinks they were never good friends in the first place.

Judai probably excuses his attentions towards Johan with the fact that they are alike because they can see spirits, but then he rememebers that so can Manjoume and maybe he feels guilty for a second, but Johan cracks a joke and Judai laughs and thinks to himself that Manjoume is probably happy to have the peace and quiet he so often claimed to want.

Like... I think a part of him would get that tightness in his chest because it's like he's betrayed someone, but he knows he hasn't, because there isn't any actual mutual agreement he's going against. So he lets himself fall deeper into the comfort of Johan's presence. Johan is, to Judai, the ideal person. He is exactly who Judai wants to become. Judai admires him very deeply and strives to be more like him, but he falls gradually into despair as he learns, once Johan is gone, that no, he can't be like him, because Johan is so much better than him, and if he doesn't get him back soon he might even forget what he was like in the first place. Johan can't be erased, can't be forgotten. And Judai feels like he's vanishing already, so he throws himself into a wild interdimensional manhunt to save his hopes for the future.

Turns out that wanting to do good doens't always result in a good outcome. That's what Judai learns when Manjoume lashes out at him just seconds before disappearing. Along with the others, too. Judai doesn't even have the brain power to compute that some people are still there, that he can still save someone, because he realised then that he had focused so much on Johan that he'd completely overlooked the fact that while his friends relied on him a little too much, they hadn't meant any harm. And if he'd just told them, maybe they would have been fine, they could've cooperated- but Manjoume had told him that he was a traitor, that he'd doomed them with his irrational behaviour.

Manjoume's last words to him had been spoken with hatred and Judai realised only then that he had misread him entirely. He lets despair and self hatred take over as he realises that if he had managed to hurt the ones he cared about so easily, discarding them for the new good thing, he could just keep doing that. And it would stop hurting, eventually.

I like to think that Manjoume really does have an impact on the awakening of the Supreme King. Yeah, I know he only turns once Johan's death is mentioned, I know. I just suffer from abandonment issues and can't stand that Manjoume dying in front of him is more impactful to Judai than a guy who literally can't be trusted saying "Joke's on you, the one you're looking for is in another castle already dead."

So yeah. That's the angsty overview.

TL;DR Johan is an Adonis, Judai is smitten and Manjoume is very very heartbroken. But actually so is Judai. Because while being with Johan feels right, there's someone whose absence feels wrong, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell on it and everything goes to shit. All around a bad time for everyone and they'll have a lot of talking to do once they properly reconcile after graduation.

#blame anon not me #i advise you don't read this even if i spent actual hours on this #projection time #ygo #yugioh #ýgo gx #yugioh gx #judai yuki #yuki judai #jaden yuki #manjoume jun #jun manjoume #chazz princeton #gx rivalshipping #mentions of spiritshipping #like it's basically canon in the show no way around it #ulri doesn't like johan and it's time to get cancelled for it #enjoy your pain anon #i'm legit so fucking sorry

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thewayshedreamed · 4 years ago

Text

Secrets Don’t Make Friends— Feysand AU

Prompt submission by Nonnie— Reverse fake dating au where everyone thinks you’re dating and you’re keeping it a secret, but you’re not.

Thank you to whoever sent this one in! I had an idea for Nessian, so I may post that one as well if y’all are interested!

——————————————————————————

It was another beautiful day in Velaris, and Feyre couldn't seem to focus on her newest project assignment for anything. She found herself gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the Sidra's soothing flow and mentally mixing her various paints to capture the unique color.

Unfortunately, her firm's newest client didn't care much for river paintings since they were paying for a full digital marketing overhaul. Truth be told, she didn’t hate her job as a creative director for the largest marketing firm in Velaris. It allowed her a steady income, let her flex her creativity to some capacity, and definitely kept her on her toes. She had started as a design team member with the firm several years ago upon graduating from Prythian U, and after several largely successful projects, she started to gain more responsibilities within the team. Once her team’s creative director, Amarantha, had moved on to another firm, Feyre had been promoted to her position.

She turned back to her computer screen, willing the motivation to hit her. Any moment now.

This was a typical pattern for her. Initiating a new project was always the hardest part, but once she got started, she tumbled down the proverbial rabbit hole. She just had to... start.

“Ughh,” Feyre lamented. “I wish I was halfway through this proposal already. I’m way better at that point in the project.”

”You are pretty worthless right now,” Lucien joked. Feyre offered a vulgar gesture in return, earning a hearty laugh from her friend.

Lucien left the marketing side of the firm about a year ago, itching for a different opportunity that would allow him to express himself more freely. He felt stifled by the business side of things; the numbers, the politics, the marketing director he worked under. Tamlin hadn’t been the absolute worst to him, but his leadership style didn’t align well with Lucien for the long-term. He had ended up as a member of Feyre’s team and seemed to fill a void they weren’t aware they had.

“I can’t be that mad at you, to be honest. You’re not wrong,” she replied. “Maybe I need caffeine to get out of the post-lunch slump.”

”Someone say caffeine?”

Rhysand Vila approached, perching on the corner of Feyre’s desk. He was wearing dark khaki slacks with a black button down, rolled up to the elbows. At some point, he had ditched his tie in favor of an open neckline, likely free of meetings for the rest of the day. His casual appearance didn’t readily identify him as one of the firm’s most successful marketing directors, but his authenticity was one of the things that extended his influence the most.

Rhysand’s marketing team often collaborated with Feyre’s creative one, and they managed to create some of the most well-balanced projects within the firm. They worked so flawlessly together that they were starting to become almost exclusively paired, much to the chagrin of some of the other teams. Not only were their proposals solid, their presentations were engaging and convincing. Their perspectives on the projects, combined with their mutual respect of the other’s contributions, presented a solid, united front that built trust with their clients.

Through long work hours and multiple business trips across Prythian, Rhysand had become one of Feyre’s dear friends. When they’d originally started working together, his cockiness had grated her nerves to the nth degree, but she realized over time that it was mostly in jest. In truth, Rhysand was kind-hearted, cared deeply for the people in his life, and an incredibly supportive partner on client projects.

They’d fallen into a comfortable kind of friendship, and they’d only gotten closer with time. He’d confided in her about the toxic relationship he and Amarantha had foolishly found themselves in, and he’d listened to her never-ending rants about her brief coupling with Tamlin, nothing but understanding all over his face.

“I think a coffee run is a necessity,” Feyre said, playfulness dancing across her features.

“I left my wallet in my desk. I’ll go grab it. Meet you at the elevator?” Rhysand asked as he walked backward toward his office.

“Sounds good!” she replied. She turned to Lucien. “You coming?”

He had an odd look on his face, smirk included. She gave him a questioning look, and he let out a low chuckle. “Nah. But if I give you my card, will you grab something for me?”

”Why wouldn’t you just come? I’m not your coffee bitch, Vanserra.” That earned a full laugh.

”And I would never assume you to be. If I’m going to take a break, I don’t feel like being third wheel, is all.” The confused look returned to her face, and he continued. “Feyre, stop. It’s not my company either of you want on this little coffee date. You and Rhysand can go about your charade with anyone else, but you’re not getting that shit by me. It’s fine— you two are great together. I just can’t figure out why you insist on the secret.”

Feyre’s expression morphed into a stunned one, and it took her a few seconds to decide on a response. She and Rhysand had never crossed any lines beyond platonic, so all of this was news to her.

”Luce, I’m not sure who your source was for that little nugget of info, but don’t trust them with anything incredibly important in the future. They’re way off,” she assured him. “Text me your coffee order.”

She made her way to the elevator, finding Rhysand propped against the wall on his shoulder. He was scrolling through his phone, stray black hair falling across his brow, looking as if he couldn’t be bothered by the work day. Once the elevator made it to their floor, they stepped inside and found themselves sharing with Morrigan Reina. She was head of Human Resources, absolutely stunning, and Rhysand’s cousin. She had to admit, their genetic pool was quite impressive, all things considered. She was his opposite in every way with her brown eyes and blonde hair, but they shared immaculate bone structure and a certain elegance. Objectively speaking.

“Well, hi! This elevator ride just got way more fun. How’s is going, Rhysie? Fey?” Her dark eyes sparkled, dancing over Rhysand’s face. She raised her eyebrows at him slightly, silently communicating with him in that way only family can.

”Oh, come off it, Mor. We’re on a coffee run. Care to join?” Something in his tone seemed oddly like a challenge. She realized she hadn’t yet answered Morrigan but felt like a response of “Doing well” would seem out of context, since Rhys had already transitioned away from greetings. She deciding on standing there awkwardly, pretending not to feel incredibly intimidated by this woman in the elevator.

“So sweet of you, but I’ll have to take a rain check. This is my floor actually. Unfortunately, I have a termination meeting to attend. Have some for me!” She brushed her cheek against his in a mock kiss. “Good seeing you, Feyre!” She disappeared so quickly that Feyre started to doubt if she was ever there in the first place.

“Awfully prickly with your dear cousin this afternoon, Rhysie,” she teased.

”Well, dearest Mor can be quite the busy body and likes to think she knows all of my secrets.” He gave a small eye roll, but the smirk on his face gave his affection away.

“You have my attention. I think it’s only fair that I’m let in on this little secret.”

She swore the tops of his bronze ears turned slightly pink. “I assure you I’m not that interesting, Feyre Darling.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimed, and they were walking into their building’s lobby. The coffee shop was right next door, so they made their way there quickly. Within 10 minutes, they had their coffees in hand and were sharing an elevator with a small crowd on their way back to work. Feyre regretted that she wasn’t able to press Rhys for his secrets anymore but supposed it was for the best.

He took the long way to his office in order to drop her off at her desk. She set Lucien’s coffee down on his desk with just enough force to startle him out of his work, earning a laugh from Rhys. Lucien simply glared at her before mumbling his thanks and taking a long pull of coffee.

“Well, Feyre Darling, this is where I leave you.”

Lucien eyed her over his coffee lid, lowering it slowly as he paid full attention to their exchange.

Feyre chuckled, ignoring Lucien altogether. “Thanks for returning me safely. I fully intend on pulling at least one secret from you on the next trip, though. You’ve been warned.”

His violet eyes bore into hers, amusement all over his face. “Do your worst,” he replied, winking at her as he sipped his coffee and walked away.

——————————————————————————

Coffee seemed to be just the inspiration Feyre needed to hit her creative stride for the afternoon. She finally managed to land on a prospective theme for the new account, and she was busy making some rough sketches on her drawing tablet. A booming voice called out to her from down the hall, and she recognized it immediately as Tamlin. Of course he would recruit her attention once she was finally feeling productive.

“Feyre, could you come down as soon as you’re free? I’d like you to do a consult with Ianthe.”

She forced herself to refrain from rolling her eyes, trying her best to be diplomatic.

“Sure, Tamlin. Be there in a bit.”

He hesitated at his office door, poorly masking his impatience when she didn’t immediately jump out of her chair. Typical.

She was already annoyed at his loud declaration across the office that he was asking her to give feedback on another creative director’s work. She didn’t feel particularly protective over Ianthe. It was just poor form, and it set the tone for resentment with no true reason.

Finally, she stood and made her way to his office. He was in his office chair, Ianthe pointing to various items of interest on a flat screen mounted to the wall. She greeted Feyre politely, but it didn’t seem like she was all to keen on getting her feedback.

“What can I help with?” Feyre offered.

“I wanted to see what you thought about the account we’re working on. Considering that you’ve been monopolized by Vila for months, I thought I could at least get a brief consult,” he explained.

Feyre decided to mentally count how many underhanded comments she’d endure over the course of this meeting.

One.

”Sure. What’s up?”

Ianthe launched into the cliff notes of her project, Tamlin contributing nothing the entire time.

“I’m sure you’re probably swamped with whatever you’re working on Feyre, so I appreciate you taking time to look at what I’ve put together.” Ianthe seemed genuine enough. She wasn’t sure if she trusted her, but she felt bad for her all the same.

Before she could respond, Tamlin inserted himself. “Oh, she’s definitely seems busy. Just not sure how much of it is work-related.” Her head snapped toward him, eyes blazing. She steadied herself and turned her attention back to Ianthe to try and keep this meeting on track.

Two.

”Honestly, Ianthe, I think you have a great proposal overall. My only suggestion is that you consider a different color focus. Your primary color for the logo is red, and that happens to be the main color of their largest competitor’s logo as well,” she stated, ignoring Tamlin entirely.

He started to say something about her input, but she quickly interrupted him.

“How unfortunate that the person responsible for doing the relevant market research into any competitors didn’t think that to be relevant intel to bring to the project,” she finished, eyes gravitating back to Tamlin’s face.

”Good catch,” Ianthe said simply.

“It’s happened to me before, too. Don’t create too much additional work for yourself. Maybe see about pulling one of your coordinating colors forward instead, and see how that plays out. No need to reinvent the wheel.”

”I’m not sure how you’ve managed to convince Vila to do all that extra legwork on your behalf, but it sounds like you’re awfully convincing,” Tamlin seethed. He couldn’t help himself, it seemed.

Three.

It was quiet for several uncomfortable seconds. As if on cue, her savior himself appeared in Tamlin’s doorway, a friendly smile on his face just for her. He knocked with his knuckle as he glanced around the room.

“Sorry for interrupting. Feyre, could you stop by my office before you head out today? Nothing big. Our last account sent an email asking for some minor changes, and I wanted to get your input before I tell them anything,” he said.

“Of course, Rhys. I’ll be there in a second,” she replied. He gave her one of his dazzling smiles, that rogue strand of hair kissing his brow yet again. When he walked away, she immediately felt compelled to follow him, as if he took the light straight out of the room when he left.

“You may go, Ianthe,” Tamlin stated dryly. She quickly excused herself, repeating her thanks to Feyre on the way out.

“You realize you two are partners— she doesn’t work for you.”

“Our dynamic is hardly your business, Feyre.” He wasn’t exactly wrong, but she hated the way he spoke to people who worked with him. It had always bothered her.

“Says the guy who all but insinuated that I’m putting out to get Rhys to be a good partner on projects. You’re unbelievable.”

“All of the speculation that circulates around this office regarding you and Rhysand, and you’re caught on what I’ve said? Feyre, sweetie. I thought we were past this.”

”It seems as though the lot of you aren’t busy enough if you have all this time to discuss whether Rhys and I have some secret affair happening under your noses. Maybe if you put half that effort into your job duties, you’d be an almost decent partner to Ianthe,” she snapped.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with me and Ianthe. We’ll work together in whatever way works for us. Plus, you basically belong to Rhys now, so you won’t have to worry over having to work with the likes of me.” The way he mockingly said Rhys’ name made her want to punch him in the throat.

She turned on her heel to leave, so angry that she didn’t trust herself to respond professionally. Once she got to the doorway, she found the words rolling off her tongue without a conscious thought.

“I ‘belong’ to no one. Your problem is that you see people as assets rather than building relationships. You should consider incorporating a little humanity into your leadership. You may find yourself a little less miserable to work for or be around. From now on, Ianthe can address me directly if she needs me. You, sir, can fuck off.”

——————————————————————————

Feyre made her way directly to Rhysand’s office, still fuming. She probably needed a quick break on the roof to clear her head, but it was already 4:30. She didn’t want to make Rhys stay late so that she could pout properly. Although, he’d probably do that for her if she asked.

She approached his door, knocking lightly when she saw he was on the phone. He waved her in as he finished his call. He let out a polite chuckle at whomever was on the line, and she wondered how even his contrived laughter sounded almost musical.

“Absolutely. I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow. Bye.” He placed the receiver of his office phone into the cradle and faced her fully.

“Hey there, Feyre Darling. Thanks for saving some time for me today. I hope I didn’t overstep, but I wasn’t sure when if I’d be able to catch you later.” He leaned back in his chair, propped his elbow on the arm rest, and cupped his large hand to run it over his face. So he was tired, too.

Feyre let out a low chuckle. “You’re my hero, basically. Your timing was absolutely perfect. Never hesitate to interrupt if Tamlin is the person I’m talking to.”

His bright, violet eyes seemed to linger on her face. “I wouldn’t mind hearing you laugh again,” he mused. “It’s become one of my favorite sounds, I think.”

She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face, and she found one mirrored on his own. She cleared her throat, unsure how to tame the butterflies she was experiencing at his words.

“Shall we?” She motioned to his computer, and he nodded. She pulled her chair to his desk so that she could see, but he forced her to switch with him, insisting she take control of moving through the project.

She wasn’t sure if she was reading way too much into the weird comments she had heard today about her and Rhys, but she was acutely aware of his thigh so close to hers. It was far enough that they weren’t flush, but she could feel the heat radiating off of him in the most distracting way.

He already had the project pulled up on the screen and asked her to move through the document to the place of the proposed changes. He reached across her slightly to point at something, and she was instantly immersed in his scent. She found it oddly comforting, if she was honest with herself.

“So what do you think? Is it a simple fix? Or would this be something beyond the originally contracted rate? If it’s going to take you some time, I think it’s appropriate that we negotiate an additional fee, especially considering we’ve just initiated another large account.”

”Mmm. It’s been a while. Mind if I play with it for a minute?” she asked.

”Yeah, for sure. Take your time,” he said, leaning back in his chair as she worked.

Several minutes passed in excruciating silence, causing Feyre to break out in nervous laughter.

“You can talk to me, you know. It’s eerily quiet in here,” she joked.

He huffed a laugh. ”Hmm, okay. Anything particularly interesting around the office today?”

She thought immediately of her conversations with Lucien and Tamlin, and she couldn’t help but include their interaction with Mor in the elevator on the list. It really was such a weird day.

She worked for a couple of seconds before she replied. “It was quite the day, to say the least. I learned a lot about myself via the grapevine.”

”You mean to tell me there’s gossip in this office?”

”This very one,” she replied through a laugh.

“This is the part where you tell me what’s been said about you, Darling.”

She big her bottom lip, nervous of how he would react. “Well, it’s not exclusive to me. It has to do with you, too.” Her eyes never left the computer screen as she spoke.

“I like how that looks,” he said in regard to her edits, jumping straight back into their original conversation. “Now you have to tell me, especially if I’m involved.”

He offered a small poke to her ribs, laughing at her jerking away from him and the glare it earned. “Spill, Archeron.”

Before she could chicken out, she described her interaction with Lucien prior to their coffee run. He went entirely still as she spoke, eyes trained on the screen. When she finished, he said, “I see. I bet Lucien thinks he’s quite clever, then... Oh wait, I like that better.” He pointed to a small change she made.

He seemed so indifferent, and despite her attempts to the contrary, it bothered her that he was acting so cavalier. She had to check herself, remembering how ridiculous she had found the comments only a handful of hours ago. It was certainly unfair to have expectations of him being that she had barely finished processing this afternoon’s events.

“Yeah, I guess he’s pretty proud of himself. I don’t know how much he believed me when I told him he was off-base, but time will tell, I guess.” She immediately launched into her interaction with Tamlin, outlining the full interaction for him.

His jaw was tense throughout the story, and she could see his shoulders tighten when she would share a particularly tasteless thing Tamlin said. They tended to stay out of each others’ ways, so sometimes it was easy to forget how much animosity existed between the two of them. She finished the entire story, and decided to wrap up everything in a brief summary.

”So yeah, according to Lucien and Tamlin, you and I are hiding a super secret little office affair. But apparently we’re really bad at it, because everyone knows.” She let out a long breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding. His response was swift.

“Well, that’s fucking ridiculous.” He stated, so matter of fact. “Go back to that one really quick— if you don’t mind.” His eyes never left the screen. All business, all of a sudden.

Okay. Now, his indifference stung. She thought she knew Rhysand well enough that he would cushion the blow better than this if he were totally shooting her down. She didn’t like how detached he was, and come to think of it, it’s not like she had offered herself to him anyway. For all he knew, she could find the idea of them dating totally repulsive.

“You could do a lot worse for yourself, you know,” she said, anger bubbling to the service. She saw his head snap toward her, but she refused to look at him.

”What?”

”I know you could walk out of this office and take your pick, but you could do worse for yourself than me. It can’t be that ‘fucking ridiculous’.” She clenched her jaw to force herself to stop talking and breathe.

He sat there looking at her, his attention to the project entirely derailed.

“Feyre...” he started.

”It’s late. I’ll finish looking at this tomorrow. Could you save the changes and upload to the cloud? I think I can make quick work of it.”

”Would you look at me, please?”

She let go of the computer mouse and covered her face with both hands. She rubbed her face roughly as she spoke.

“I’m just tired, Rhysand. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Just forget I said anything. Really, I’m okay.” She didn’t want to see the pity in his face or listen to any explanations. She just needed to get out of there.

She felt one of his hands grip softly around the wrist closest to him as he turned the chair to get her to face him. She kept her face covered, leaning forward, and he had the nerve to laugh softly at her.

“You are such a stubborn, difficult woman sometimes, Feyre Darling.” He gripped her other wrist with his free hand and pulled her hands away from her face. She was too tired to fight him on it, so she let him. She fixed her gaze on his thighs, not entirely prepared for what his expression would show.

“Please look at me,” he whispered. She melted at the tone of his voice, imploring her to make eye contact, and raised her eyes to meet his.

He rubbed slow circles on the sensitive underside of her wrists as he spoke. “In no way, is the idea of me being with you ridiculous. What is so ridiculous to me, Darling, is the idea that I could ever be with you and delude myself into thinking I could keep it a secret,” he murmured, the sincerity in his expression overwhelming her. She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, readying himself to finish. “Cauldron, Feyre. If you ever let me love you... I wouldn’t have it in me to contain it.”

She was frozen in her chair, in total disbelief. Once she finally regained control of herself, she reached her hand up to smooth his hair back into place. His eyes fluttered shut at the contact.

“That piece of hair has been driving me insane all day long,” she whispered. She was closer now, so much closer to him than she had ever been. She dropped her hand back to her lap to find his again.

His eyes popped open, traveling across her face and landing on her full lips. She watched his tongue dart out of his mouth slightly to wet his own before she regained eye contact. She leaned forward a little more, his hand coming up to brush her hair behind her ear. He cupped her face, running his thumb across her cheek.

“Feyre?” It was barely a whisper, but it was everything.

She subtly nodded her head, and his lips were on hers. He was slow, near reverent as he kissed her, and she leaned in to him, craving more contact. He slid his hand a little farther back so that his fingers could find their home in her hair, just behind her ear. She braced her hand on his forearm, and he pulled her face into his, only slightly, to deepen the kiss.

She let out a quiet whimper as Rhys angled himself to better capture her mouth, and just like that, she was gone. She no longer registered that they were in Rhys’ office or that his door was still open from when she arrived. As far as she was concerned, the world began and ended with them.

They both missed the quick footsteps as Lucien passed by on his way back to his desk from a meeting. They were entirely unaware of his halt as he realized what he’d witnessed and his prompt back peddling. It was when they heard his quiet rasp that they startled, breaking apart only millimeters.

”I fucking knew it!” he whisper-screamed, obviously pleased with himself.

True to Rhysand’s nature, he seemed totally unfazed by Lucien’s discovering them. He brushed his nose over Feyre’s, a grin spreading across his beautiful face.

”Fuck off, Lucien,” he crooned playfully.

His mouth was on hers yet again, neither of them noticing the soft click of the door as Lucien backed out of the office.

——————————————————————————

Just a bit of Feysand fluff for y’all! Feel free to keep the prompts coming, and let me know if you have a particular pairing or mood in mind ☺��

If you’d like to be added to my tag list, you can comment, shoot me an ask, or reblog! I’ll be happy to add you!

Tags (Masterlist):

@polireader // @justgiu12 // @hizqueen4life // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @b00kworm // @bookstantrash // @gisellefigue08 // @maastrash

#feysand #feysand au #feysand fluff #acotar #acowar #acomaf #sjm #feysand fanfic

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benedictscanvas · 4 years ago

Text

all the wrong places [4/7] - spencer reid x reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: It only takes a moment for Spencer to realise that he doesn’t just want to marry you someday, he wants to marry you as soon as he possibly can. But since he can’t come up with a solid plan, he turns to his BAU family for help in planning the most important day of his life so far. Is that a mistake? Most definitely.

Warnings: Series probably aren’t meant to be exclusively fluffy, but this one practically is! I need some fluff in my life, damn it! There may be some mention of regular Criminal Minds things, some language but mostly just good ol’ Spence lovin’

a chapter every day for seven days! (20-26th July 2020) so please drop an ask if you’d like to be tagged <3

---

Chapter Four - Could We Confer?

It seemed that this had become a game to everyone except himself, like they’d forgotten that the whole point of this was that he wanted to ask you to marry him and that was a pretty serious endeavour.

Everyone in the BAU had become aware of his plans, because there was no way Garcia and Morgan could keep the Bruno Mars story to themselves. In fairness, Spencer couldn’t wait to tell you the story once he’d finally popped the question. Morgan had told Rossi, who thought it was hilarious and did nothing to hide that, whilst Rossi himself told Hotch. Even Hotch laughed. He hadn’t come up to Spencer to tease him about it like so many of the others, but there had been a few particular looks.

Now, at Rossi’s house for a dinner that you weren’t able to come to, it was the favoured topic of conversation.

“Y/N having a girls’ night with her school friends is actually perfect,” Derek said mischievously, raising his eyebrows at Spencer, “Because now we can decide who gets to help Spencer with his proposal next.”

“Yes!” Garcia clapped her hands, “Three people down, three to go. We should take bets.”

“I’ll go next,” Emily chimed in, “I’ve got an idea that I really think could work. If you’re placing bets, you better place them on me.”

Spencer gawked at them all.

“Guys,” he said, just as Penelope got her phone out to write down everyone’s bets, “Come on. This is ridiculous. I don’t want any more help.”

“Have you got a plan, pretty boy?”

He stumbled over his words. He had already said no without even having to say the word.

“And do you want to propose to Y/N in this decade?”

He didn’t bother trying to answer this time. There was no point. But Emily had thrown something at Derek and was turning to him instead.

“Don’t listen to him, Reid,” she said kindly, “Think about it. You’ve got me, Rossi and Hotch left to ‘give you advice’. Isn’t that a little reassuring? You’ve got all the idiots out of the way.”

She looked directly at Derek when she said idiots and he scoffed, holding a hand to his heart in mock offence. Rossi was already shaking his head, however.

“Reid does not need advice from a three time divorcee,” he asserted firmly, “No way.”

“I’m not getting involved either,” Hotch said blankly, holding his hands up in surrender. Spencer smiled at them both gratefully.

“Just me then,” Emily said excitedly, pushing forward on the couch until she was sat on the very edge of it, directly facing Spencer, “You want to hear it?”

He knew his options. Or, rather, his lack thereof. She took his silence as permission to continue.

“Picture the scene,” she said dreamily, a hand held out in front of her, “Fairy lights adorn the conference room. There’s candles on the table-”

“Fire hazard.”

“Let me finish! Candles on the table, with all the normal lights turned off and its dark outside because its after work, see? Then we get Y/N to go out to get something for Hotch from his car, because she’s too kind not to, then when she comes back, we’re all holding candles!”

“Emily…”

“I said, let me fucking finish. We’re all holding candles and then she walks past all of us and we give her a rose each, so by the time she gets to Spencer in the conference room-”

“You got this from The Office, didn’t you?”

“No!” Emily said indignantly, “I got it from a video on Youtube of cute proposal ideas, how dare you?”

Spencer let out a lengthy sigh, as did a few of the others.

“So your idea isn’t even your own?” Derek tsked, “Way to let the side down, Prentiss.”

“Oh yeah? And what about your idea, huh? Your idea ended up with him down on one knee with Y/N thinking he was tying his laces!”

“At least I didn’t send a flash mob to Quantico.”

“Well, at least I knew that Y/N can’t stand fancy restaurants like the one JJ sent him to.”

“Hey! Let’s go back to the literal flash mob, shall we?”

And so it continued. A four way argument where absolutely no one was winning, but the other three men were quickly gaining new headaches. It wasn’t as if Spencer knew how to stop this argument. The only thing he could think to tell them was that all their ideas were shit, but somehow he didn’t think that would defuse anything adequately.

“You know what we should do?” Dave suddenly said, loudly and firmly enough that the bickering ceased instantaneously, “We should show Y/N the video of that proposal and see what she thinks.”

“But that’d clue Y/N in on the fact that Spence was going to propose, wouldn’t it?”

“And he wouldn’t be able to use the idea anymore!”

“Just to be absolutely clear,” Spencer said, even though it had become clear his opinion was neither wanted nor needed in the conversation of how to propose to you, “I was never going to use the idea anyway.”

Emily glared at him but he just shrugged. He really didn’t think he was the one being unreasonable here.

“At least we’ll know how good Prentiss’ idea was?” Dave suggested.

“I could do it,” Hotch piped up for the first time in a while, having been watching his team’s antics with fond disapproval, “I could suggest that I was going to propose to Beth, what did she think of this idea?”

“I thought you and Beth broke up?” Penelope stage whispered and Hotch rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly.

“We did, but I haven’t told everyone that yet, Penelope,” he said pointedly and she put a hand over her mouth as she sank further into her seat, Derek putting a comforting arm around her, “Before any of you say a word, she was given a job offer in Hong Kong, it was mutual, I am fine.”

Surprisingly, he actually did seem reasonably fine, so no one had the guts to push the subject, at least for the night. Instead, Emily started taking bets on whether Hotch’s plan would work, on what your response to the proposal would be, on every random thing she could think of. She was very good at swindling the tipsier members of the team out of their money.

Spencer sat back and sipped his lemonade. He found comfort in the fact that their plan had nothing to do with him this time, and he could focus on finding the perfect proposal without worrying about their incessant meddling.

For a day, at least.

---

For a group of profilers, they were not the most subtle people on the planet. Hotch was playing his role perfectly, by simply not acting any different to usual, but the others were being...weird. Maybe it was just because Spencer knew what they were planning, knew how much money each of them had riding on your answer, but they all seemed to be treating you with some extra kindness in the thirty minutes before wheels up.

As if being nice to you would help you choose the option that would benefit them in a made-up test that, as of now, you had no fucking clue about.

You’d been called in dreadfully early for a case and were on the jet by five thirty in the morning, but still Morgan had already made you a coffee and both JJ and Penelope had commented on how nice you looked that day. You were wearing your worst shirt. You knew, because Penelope had previously told you that it was your worst shirt.

“What is with everyone today?” you asked Spencer after the jet briefing, sat next to him at one of the table seats. He didn’t look up from the file he was reading.

“I have no idea,” he said easily, “I find it best to just ignore them when they’re being weird. Getting involved never does me any good.”

“Wise words from my genius boyfriend,” you teased, earning a small smile even though he still wouldn’t look at you. The smile wasn’t just from the compliment though, because nowadays he tended to smile every time you referred to him as your boyfriend, if only because he was imagining how it would feel to hear you refer to him as your fiance - as your husband. The thought made him giddy.

You had to say yes first, of course. Didn’t stop him thinking about it.

“I am very wise,” he hummed. You didn’t reply, choosing instead to cuddle a little closer to him, resting your head just beneath his chin so he could rest his weight on it. He tilted to rest his cheek on top of your head for just a moment before returning to the previous position, “Your hair is so soft, angel.”

“Thank you, hun,” you murmured, closing your eyes for a moment. Unfortunately, that was just the moment that JJ nudged Hotch with a force that sprung him into action.

“Actually, Y/L/N, I’ve been meaning to ask your opinion on something, if you don’t mind?” Hotch said quietly, seeing as you had your eyes closed. You opened them readily at the question, only slightly annoyed at your quiet Spence time being disturbed.

“Oh, ‘course Hotch. What did you need?”

“Well I’ve asked everyone else I think, but I wanted your opinion too,” he said slowly, as he scrolled through his phone to find something. You didn’t move from your position leaning against Spencer, even if you normally would when talking to your boss, but since it was five thirty in the morning and you should still be cuddled up with Spence in your bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Okay…”

“I’m thinking about, well,” he hesitated a little, “Proposing to Beth. Sometime. Soon.”

“Oh wow!” you said happily, finally sitting up in your chair, much to Spencer’s dismay. You made sure to control your reaction, seeing as you knew Hotch wouldn’t want the fuss, “That’s amazing, Hotch. I’m really happy for you.” “Thank you,” he said sincerely, “What do you think of this? For the proposal?”

And with that, he shoved the phone towards you and pressed play. The entire team waited with baited breath as you watched. Spencer too, even if he was still pretending to be busy with that file he’d finished reading so long ago. You didn’t say anything while you watched, brows furrowed, facial expressions giving nothing away.

The video finished. You leaned back into your chair. Silence.

“So? Thoughts?” Hotch prompted, because apparently he was invested now too. Spencer didn’t remember him betting on anything, but nothing would surprise him at this point.

“Honestly, Hotch? Not my favourite. It feels a little contrived, you know?”

“Right, okay.”

“I hope I’m not overstepping, sir,” you said seriously, “But also, it’s not very you. Most important part of any proposal? The fact that you’re the one who’s proposing to her. The fact that she’s the one you wants to marry. Nothing else matters that much.”

“So just to be abundantly clear,” Hotch said, pushing it now, “You do not think this is a good idea.”

You frowned.

“Sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, I just think a proposal should be about how much you love each other rather than all the extra bits. But that’s only my opin-”

“Bullshit!”

Emily was the one who shouted it, top of her voice, startling Spencer so much that a couple of the notes in his file fell to the floor. He didn’t bother picking them up, too busy staring at Emily in horrified shock. Everyone else was doing the same.

“I’m sorry Em, my opinion doesn’t even matter, really, it’s all down to what Hotch thinks.”

Emily was quiet, clearly realising the stupidity of what she’d just done, too wrapped up in how much money she had just lost to Derek in the corner with the shit-eating grin. She stood from her chair, trying to keep her resolve and not die of embarrassment.

“It’s just bullshit,” she said, so quietly they could hardly hear her, before scurrying off to the coffee machine without another word. Everyone stared after her with wide eyes, and the guilt on your face was palpable.

“I really am sorry, Hotch,” you whispered across the table, “I’d never want to lie to you, that’s all.”

“Don’t be, I’m glad you told me. I was pretty against the idea anyway, but it was Emily who showed me the video in the first place.”

You nodded your head in understanding, still sparing glances towards the curtain Emily was now behind. You turned to Spencer, who had finally picked his notes up from the floor and was back to his file, albeit with a new heat creeping up the back of his neck.

“You think I should go apologise? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, Y/N,” he said firmly, putting his arm around you when you still didn’t look convinced, “It’s early and Emily’s cranky. She’ll have a coffee and calm down before you know it. See if you can get an hour’s rest before we land.”

You nodded, curling yourself back into Spencer’s chest, bringing your feet up on the seat. When he looked down at your closed eyes, he knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep worrying about Emily being mad at you, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He just pulled you closer.

When he caught eyes with Derek, he sent him a strong glare as Derek held his hands up in surrender.

I’m going to murder you all, Spencer mouthed at him with great precision, watching as Derek bit his lip in response.

You love us really, he mouthed back jokingly, but Spencer’s glare only narrowed as he felt you cuddle in closer. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head and looked back at Derek, noticing that most eyes on the jet were on him now, most looking rather apologetic. He looked each of them in the eye as he mouthed at them:

I’m going to murder you all...very slowly.

---

taglist (ily all <3)

@mrs-dr-reid @soda610 @alexxcorona113 @thupidalethea @may-beforejune-afterapril @ilovesupersoldiers @hurricanejjareau @stardream14 @mortallythoughtfulgurl @aperrywilliams @saranyx @anotherspencerreidblog @thegayestdestielshipper @burkgolden @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @zozoleesi @baumindss @sargent-barnes @halseysunset

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fluff

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s4yyyu · 4 years ago

Text

‘get to know me’ tag game

Rules: answer the questions and tag people you’d like to get to know better.

Tagged by: @brazil-hinata !! thank you sm aial !! :)) borahae !! 💜💜💜 + i marked my calendar for ur birthday >:)

Tagging: a lot... @heartbrokenweeb @0ik6lut @okinawatofu @leviackermanscleaningbuddy @lilikags @theofficialgaybestfriend @my-world-is-filled-with-bts @namjoonia @saibota @vminsos @jemmo @karaseijoh @itspizzachan @theartist666-official @dashingwishes @sippn-the-tae @kenmashoe @baeshijima @thirsthourdemon @daydreamwithme @skidoodle @bewwybun @pleasantlysero @rana-kun @bktart @lislis80 @katsushimaa @so-it-would-seem @themadgirlinthefandombox @mlfweeb @ash-the-cache @cupheadass @dearest-kiyoomi @chuuyasgrapesoju @poppunk-pizza-party @plutointhestars + any more of my mutuals :)

(sorry if you’ve been tagged tho !! and you don’t have to !! 💓)

What do you perfer to be called name-wise?

online - i like to go by tina lol

irl - i usually introduce myself as athena, my closest can call me tina :)

When is your birthday?

april 14 🥳

Where do you live?

washington state,,, usa lol

Three things you are doing right now:

1. stressing about my asynchronous work due tomorrow pls 🤪

2. lying and dying in bed 💔💔 i might eat soon tho snkdjskdkjsjd

3. still recovering from the loki series exclusive clip pls help i missed him sm

Four fandoms that have piqued your interest?

bts (apr 2017-present)

haikyuu + mha (both jan 2020-present)

the good place (jul 2018-present)

meteor garden 👹 (nov 2020-present)

How has the pandemic been treating you?

LIKE SHIT . i think i’ve surpassed my expectations for how terrible i can actually feel all at once 🧑‍🚀

like uhh mmm athena i think you need to see your doctor soon ahahhhaa YEAH

fortunately, i think things are getting a little better ... it takes time tho ... i feel like it’s too much tho cuz i’m always behind, but i’m somewhat able to understand myself a little better, like i’m getting used to it ?? and there are some things i can control, but the other shit i just have to be aware of y’know ahhhah

but oh god ... i do just find the simplest joy in interacting with people on tumblr and socials,,, it makes me rlly happy, but sometimes i get a little scared to talk with anyone lmaoo

still, it’s been nice to text my irl friends, too, sometimes :) and i love how kind some people are, and i just wanna be kind to people too skdjsjdks

A song you can’t stop listening to right now?

“killed by period pains and depression” by takayan

ahaha funny for me because aunt flow did come for an unwanted visit a few days ago 😀

ALSO “bato sa buhangin” by cinderella

rocks in the sand y’all 😜💘

How old are you?

should i say it ?? ehhdjdjsd i’m 14 :)

School, univerisity, occupation, other?

yeahhh so i’m currently a freshman in high school 😢

ooh i’m taking german !! i find it fun yet challenging in the good way + my teacher is very nice :D

Do you prefer heat or cold?

please don’t make me choose 🧎 maybe heat ?? would it be better to faint from overheating ??? or cold ?? i’ll be so numb 😊SHXJSJDJ UNLESS THIS IS JUST ok maybe ... cold ... but still i genuinely don’t know what’s better for meee plsss 💀

Name one fact others may not know about you.

i have perfect pitch

and maybe,,, i have a pretty good sense of smell 🪅

cough tanjirou is that youuu ?? 🧐JK

Are you shy?

yup i guess

Pronouns?

she/her

Biggest pet peeves?

when people purposely or willingly act inconsiderate and disrespectful to others for no reason ?? we can at least try to do the good thing instead of the crappy thing !!

be considerate and understanding of others but remember to also be mindful of yourself 👍

What is your favorite “dere” type?

deredere :)

Rate your life from 1-10, 1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be.

maybe 7.81. i just put up my old bts posters on my walls, and jesususus, i’m so happy about it LMAOO THAT WAS SUCH A HAPPINESS BOOST. but life is just pretty ... okay tbh. the people i love make it worthwhile :) it’s just the things that i’m struggling with, like my health + the work i have to do, especially now eeeejejaeyeah i like to learn different languages ... but that’s probably the only thing i look forward to in learning lmao

What’s your main blog?

this one 😎

List your side blogs and what they’re used for.

ok now that this is the focus, i might just make a side blog, but idk what for yet ahahaha ... MAYBE ILL MAKE ONE NOW ok i did: @panaginip-melody

maybe i’ll use it for ... actually, no, i still don’t know

Is there something people need to know about you before becoming friends?

well, i love you and respect you already -

unless you’re racist, sexist, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, islamophobic, anti-semetic, xenophobic, not supportive of basic human rights or anything likewise, like a fucking tr*mp supporter, then please go !! leave !! why tf are you like this 🙂

- but if you aren’t - muah 🌹

+ please be aware: i’m part of many fandoms, and i speak in references 🌞

okay, but if you read all this shit ... thank you for your time !! :)

see ya <3

#tagged#tag game

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staylovehearts · 5 years ago

Text

The Other

Han Jisung x Reader

Word Count ~3.3 k

Summary: “I mean I guess it was kinda flattering at first and I was really proud to be with you when all of them keep saying how pretty you are, but it's starting to become a little irritating now."

Tags: fluff, light angst, discussion of feelings and insecurities, they are an idol group in this, established relationship, jisung is a jealous baby

Booming loud music is coming from the training room even though they are technically supposed to be soundproof. But standing in that almost weirdly clean hallway with the bright lights right in front of the door the music is clearly audible. And so are the other sounds coming from the inside. The synchronized stomping, jumping and squeaking of many different feet upon linoleum flooring. You've never actually been inside one of these practice rooms but you have seen them in videos countless times. But just the idea of actually setting foot inside feels wrong.

You feel awfully out of place here, like you are somehow invading a space that's not meant for you. Sure you have that little visitor badge hanging around your neck and you showed off your permit when you were asked for one at the reception. But you could kind of sense people staring at you as you made your way through the hallways, carefully observing every sign to not make a wrong turn somewhere and maybe accidentally end up in someone's dressing room. There are two crowds mingling in these hallways. On the one side, there's the staff, managers, coaches and all kinds of different people involved in producing and designing an album. Most of them dressed in business casual, they are always hurrying, their steps as quickly as they can without having to run. Faces glued to a cellphone, pager or clipboard they are holding. And then there are the idols and trainees. Gorgeous, all of them. Mostly dressed in sportswear as they make their way to and from training rooms, sweaty hair pushed back or put up in ponytails, hints of make-up that hasn't been sweat away yet and funky hair colours that are in various states of growing out or fading into pastel versions of what they used to be. You fit in with neither of them. And you are sure that the other people here notice that as well.

You've tried to keep your head down for the most part. To keep walking without standing around or looking at anyone or anything for too long. You don't want to be loitering here where you feel so much like you don't belong. And now you've finally made it here. The little plastic sign next to the door has the exact same number as the one you wrote down in your notes app. You've compared them at least ten times now. And yet you're hesitant to just step in. Unsure of whether to knock – would they even hear that over the music? – or to just hurry inside and be back out within a moment. Are you even allowed to go in just like that? Wouldn't you be disrupting them? What if they're filming something? You'd ruin the material.

Suddenly, the music stops. You can hear the faint sound of someone clapping and then a mixture of voices. But you can't make out any words. Yet, this is probably the best opportunity you will get. Better to make it quick than keep standing around in front of their training room like some weirdo. You knock on the door softly and when there is no clear response you take a deep breath and just push it open.

All eyes are on you once you've stepped inside. The air is heavy, almost humid, the mirror fogged up. There is a distinct smell of sweat and excessive amounts of body spray you can just barely fight back the urge to cover your mouth and nose. The boys are sitting or lying on the floor all across the room, either talking among themselves or gulping down an entire bottle of water. But as soon as they have all noticed you all conversation dies down.

"Uh, hi, I just wanted to drop something off, uhm, I'm-"

"Babe, what are you doing here?", a cheerful voice interrupts your mumbled explanation when one particular boy jumps up from the floor to hurry towards you. Jisung has a surprised smile on his face. As if he is both confused by you thrilling here and also excited to see you here. He has those excited puppy eyes that make him so adorable. But his cheerful greeting has also attracted attention from the others in the room. While at first their gazes towards you were only mildly surprised or confused they are now full of curiosity.

"You left this at my place last time, and I figured you might need it so I went to bring it over. Oh and I also got you some snacks, make sure to share." As you speak you almost shove the little plastic bag you have been carrying into Jisung's hand. He takes it with a soft smile.

"I should forget stuff at your place more often if that means that you'll come over to bring me snacks when I'm training", he says. Someone whistles and Jisung's head whips around to find the offender.

"Yo, Jisung, is that the one you won't shut up about?", one of the other guys – Changbin – asks almost provocatively.

"Yeah, you never told us you were dating such a beauty", Minho adds.

"Ugh, shut up", Jisung comments, but you can see a small blush creeping up onto his cheeks. Then again, it might just be that he is still overheated from dance practice. "Let's go outside for a moment, we're taking a short break either way", he mumbles at you. Even more whistles.

"Remember, no making out in company-owned buildings", Chan warns just before Jisung can push you out of the room and close the door behind you.

"I'm sorry, they don't know how to behave around someone so pretty", he says once you two are standing out in the hallway. You giggle at the compliment.

"They seem nice."

Jisung rolls his eyes at your comment but then he breaks out into a wide grin again. "Look at you having all these guys swooning over you. I should consider myself lucky that I get to be with you. After all, they're right about one thing, you're damn beautiful."

"Ugh", Jisung groans he puts down his bag on the empty chair next to the one he just sat down on. The light inside the small soba noodle shop is dimmed down, it's almost completely empty. Which is reasonable considering it's basically the middle of the night. There are only a few other customers, most of them sitting alone, always making sure to leave a few empty tables between them and the other people. And you have made sure to pick the table in the most deserted corner of the entire establishment.

"Sorry for making you wait, practice ran a little longer than I thought it would", Jisung mumbles. He has a black bucket hat hiding his bleached hair and hanging down far enough to almost cover his eyes. A mask is covering most of his face, making his voice sound a little muffled. He glances around himself almost nervously before he pulls it down to free his mouth and give you a sheepish smile.

"It's fine, I also only really just got here a few minutes ago." That's a blatant lie. You've actually been waiting here for around half an hour now. The waiting staff must be pretty upset with you at this point, the same young waitress has come over to your table to ask for an order three times now. And you had to ask for a little more time every time. And every time her smile seemed a little more forced. At least you've ordered a drink the second time she came by and have been taking very slow sips of it ever since to stall for time. But you know that it can't be helped. It's not like Jisung made you wait on purpose. It's out of his control. And you knew what you signed up for when you agreed to date him.

"I still feel really bad for asking you to meet me here in the middle of the night. I wish I could take you on normal dates. You know, go out without having to do all this undercover bullshit and only meeting past midnight in some noodle place."

You can't deny that you would want that as well. And you also can't pretend that it bothers you sometimes. To be with someone who only rarely manages to make time for you and when he does you can never really go anywhere too public. You can't just call or text him whenever you feel lonely. Well, you could, but he'd probably take hours to get back to you. And then he'd feel bad about it. You know that Jisung genuinely feels bad that he can't be with you more. And that is the main reason why you won't allow yourself to be too upset about it. He's pouting. You counter with a smile.

"I already told you that it's fine, stop moping around. I'm thankful that you managed to make time for me at all, I know that your schedule is super tight right now. Let's rather enjoy the time we have than complain about the time together we don't get."

Jisung seems to cheer up at that.

"You're right! It seems like I haven't seen you in forever. When even was the last time we met up?"

"Not even that long ago. I came by to drop some of your stuff of while you guys were training just last week, remember? Then again, I guess that doesn't really count as meeting up..."

"Ugh, don't remind me, the guys won't stop teasing me about it", Jisung complains. He's once again sticking out his bottom lip in a small pout that looks a little childish but also adorable. Not that the two are mutually exclusive either way. "They also won't shut up about how they can't believe I'm with someone as gorgeous as you. I mean I guess it was kinda flattering at first and I was really proud to be with you when all of them keep saying how pretty you are, but it's starting to become a little irritating now."

"Oh come on, I bet they're just doing it to tease you, they'll get bored of it."

"Probably, but it's so annoying, I don't like when other guys talk about you like that. I mean, I'm not going to argue with them, you are drop-dead gorgeous, even a blind person would be able to tell. But it kind of irks me to hear other dudes say that about you. I don't like them looking at you like that. Like you're some pretty thing they could just take away from me."

"You do know that you don't owe me either, right?", you comment. While Jisung's jealousy is somewhat cute and you don't mind him becoming a little bit possessive you want to make it clear that you are still your own person.

"Of course, that's not what I meant, it's just that... Ugh, I don't even know, probably I'm just being stupid."

You reach out a hand to gently poke his cheek until he's looking at you so you can smile at him from across the table.

"Forget about that for now. You should better be thinking about what you want to eat, I feel like the staff are going to kick us out if we don't order something soon."

hey we all have some free time, most of the other guys are visiting their families but my parents are busy so I'll be almost alone at the dorm this weekend, wanna come over?

Jisung sent you this a few days ago. The message came as a bit of a surprise. Not just because you know how rare free time his in his business but also because it's the first time he's ever actually invited you to the dorm. You asked about visiting there once when you had just started dating and he gave you this whole rant about how it's probably not good because the risk of someone seeing you go in is just too high and all of that. A lot of beating around the bush until he finally admitted that mostly he just didn't want to take you there because the dorm tends to be kind of messy with so many mostly unsupervised young boys living there together. And you never really brought it up again after that. But now here you are, with an official invitation.

Even though Jisung has given you clear instructions on how to get inside and what the number code for the big front door is you still feel awkward stepping into the building where the dorm is. Is it even legal for him to give out that code? Of course, you don't intend on doing anything with it, but still, it seems like something that should not just be given out to random visitors.

To your surprise, the one opening the door to the actual dorm is Felix. He seems to be just as surprised to see you here but that surprise quickly turns into a grin.

"So I guess you're here to meet up with Jisung, lucky him. Come on in", he gestures for you to follow him inside and you do so a little hesitantly. The place really does look a little messy but from what Jisung described you had prepared for worse. Sure, there are some discarded clothes on the floor and several opened snack packages all over the place, but nothing that a little tidying up couldn't fix.

"Are you the only other one still here? Jisung told me that you're all visiting family and stuff like that." Felix responds to your awkward attempt at small talk with another smile.

"Ah, you see Chan and I can't really go back to our family if it's just for a weekend or so. But we wanted to do a little trip on our own, we're almost finished packing up, so we'll be out of your hair soon", he laughs. You can feel your face turning slightly red. Of course, you should have figured that they probably can't be making oversea trips to their family all that easily. You can't even imagine how hard it must be to not be able to just go back home for so long.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry, I totally didn't want to get rid of you", you apologise quickly. Felix just laughs a little more.

"I know, I know, it's all good. You should probably not keep your boyfriend waiting though."

As if Jisung had only been waiting for his cue he bursts out of one of the many doors and stumbles into the big room that is half kitchen half living space. He sees you and Felix stand together and quickly looks back and forth between the two of you before approaching.

"I thought you'd text me when you get here?", he says, pouting.

"I texted you five minutes ago saying I'd be here soon." You go over to greet Jisung with a hug but he doesn't squeeze you back as tightly as he usually does. When you separate from him again you see him kind of looking to the side. Usually, he'd be smiling at you. Felix is still awkwardly standing in the room, looking at you two.

"Well, I better go check if Chan is done packing. Was nice talking to you", he mumbles. You just barely manage to get out a "Yeah, same", before he disappears into one of the rooms.

"You look upset", you notice as soon as Jisung has shut the door to his room. Aside from having barely greeted you properly he also hasn't really said anything to you after that. He pretty much just gestured for you to follow him without even really looking at you. He seems agitated. Completely on edge, pacing up and down the room while you can only stand there not sure of what to do. Jisung is running his fingers through his hair before he turns to give you an almost pleading look. Sad, desperate, exhausted.

"It's just... I don't even know how to say it, but it's getting to me. It's so annoying how they talk about you. It drives me crazy."

"Why are you even so jealous? Who cares what they say?" Okay, maybe that last sentence came out a little too forceful. You can see Jisung recoiling. Now he just looks defeated. He sits down on his bunk bed with a heavy sigh.

"You're so amazing. Of course, other guys notice that as well. But hearing all of them say it over and over again kind of makes me insecure. Like, why would you want to be with me when all these other amazing guys want you as well? I'm just... jealous I guess. Of their talent and how amazing they are. And hearing them say how amazing you are is frightening. Because there are so many guys better than me. Guys that would make time to see you and sweep you off your feet. What if one of the more amazing guys comes along and just takes you away from me?"

"Oh Jisung...", you sit down next to him, gently wrap and arm around him and place your head on his shoulder. "You're such a big idiot."

"I'm sorry", he whispers into your hair. You can hear him sniffle a little but you pretend to have overheard it. He'd probably be even more upset if you were to see him cry right now.

"I know that this probably won't do much to change your mind right away, but I swear that I only have eyes for you. I don't care about any other guys. When they call me pretty it's annoying. I only want to hear it from you. I wanted to be with you, even though I knew you would not have a lot of time for dates and that things would be hard on both of us. But I-", you stop for a moment. You haven't really said this before. Neither of you has. But maybe now is just the right moment. "I love you, Jisung."

You can feel how his body goes stiff beside you for a moment. His breathing comes to a staggering halt. Then he relaxes again, wraps an arm around you as well to pull you close.

"I love you too. And I'm sorry for being dumb. I guess I just need some time to get used to this whole relationship thing. It's not like I doubt you, I just doubt myself sometimes."

"I get that. But you know, if anything I should be the insecure one."

"Huh? Why? You're amazing."

"But so are you. And you have all these fans screaming your name and almost fainting when they see you. And you also have all these other pretty and successful people around you all the time. And then there's me. But you picked me regardless. And I'm so happy that I get to be with you. Why would I ever want anyone else?"

Maybe Jisung needs a moment to think about that, at least he doesn't respond right away. But then that moment continues and when the silence is finally starting to make you nervous you raise your head a little to look at his face. You've never seen him smile like this before. So soft and full of adoration. You lean in almost on instinct. Jisung gently cups your face with his hands and when your lips meet for a soft touch you can feel how his smile moulds your lips into the crescent same shape.

#stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenario #stray kids x reader #han #han jisung #han x reader #jisung x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung scenarios #fluff

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thecleverdame · 5 years ago

Text

Control and Release - 27

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 5.7k

Parts 28-31 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including the ABO series Gods of Twilight and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

Two Months Later

Two of W & S's private planes are sitting side by side on the tarmac as you walk toward the stairs and board the jet. In the front section are the larger, roomier seats reserved for the more important members of the staff.

You spot Sam the moment you board, he’s seated with a laptop open in front of him. Next to him is the welcome sight of Pepper, pointing to something on the screen and rattling on. He seems to sense your presence, glancing up and locking in while you shuffle down the aisle. A small, amused smirk pulls at his mouth, throat bobbing as he watches you.

He really did a number on you this morning; set the alarm and everything to ensure the two of you had plenty of quality time together before departure. He had you in handcuffs, moaning his name before you were even truly awake. And now your ass is throbbing. He was in the mood to really give it to you good and then you begged for it even harder. This morning’s spanking will definitely make for an uncomfortable flight, but that’s the point. A constant reminder of his hands on your ass, enough to keep you wet in anticipation of what’s to come over the next few weeks together in a new place.

This trip to London is scheduled to last four weeks if everything goes well, but likely closer to six. Six weeks in a city you’ve only dreamed of visiting. The new office means training a hundred employees at W & S’s flagship UK office. You’ll each train your counterpart, helping to guide them through the internal processes.

“Hi Pepper,” you grin as you walk by them. “Welcome back.”

While you never imagined those words would be true, hell hath frozen over. Having a second rate replacement who didn’t understand your working or personal relationship with Sam proved to be incredibly challenging. Now that Pepper knows your secret, you hope this part of things will become easier. She’ll give you all the unfettered access you want with no questions asked.

“Hello.” She manages a grim, sickly smile.

Sam glances around, ensuring there’s no one else in the front cabin before speaking up.

“How are you this morning, Y/N?” he smirks, mouth barely containing a shit-eating grin.

Pepper sighs, shifting uncomfortably between you, with a roll of her eyes. She was at his house this morning to help him prepare. She watched you eat Corn Flakes in his kitchen with her trademark look of irritated judgment.

“Good, how are you, Mr. Winchester?” you counter, looking back as Millie boards the plane, walking up behind you. “Better keep moving.”

You enter the back section with a dozen smaller seats that are still a luxury compared to a commercial flight. Cole glances up from his book and smiles wide and warm, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

Sam is sure it was him who turned you in to human resources, but you’re not convinced. He hasn’t acted any different towards you. He’s just as easy to work with as he was before the incident. It’s been almost two months now and there’s been nothing, no whispers or sideways looks. Someone saw or heard something, but whoever it is is playing their cards close to the vest.

For the first couple of hours, you chat about work, then he tells you about his mother and how hard the death of his father was on the whole family. You offer up little anecdotes about your parents and growing up in New Mexico. Even show him a couple of family photos.

Eventually, he makes a move to his iPad and you open your book. It’s hard to concentrate. You can feel him sneaking glances at you, once, twice and then every couple minutes.

You shut the book, turning to him.

“Is there something on your mind?”

He’s silent, settling his headphones around his neck. You see the wheels turning; whatever he’s about to say, he’s wrestling with it.

“I just...I thought I knew you.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach.

“What does that mean?” you hiss. Swiveling in the seat you glance behind you at Millie asleep with her mouth hanging open and Adam from IT watching a movie with giant headphones over his ears.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” Cole leans closer, eyes closing for a moment as if this conversation is equally as painful for him as it is for you. “I know you’re trapped in what seems like an impossible situation and you don’t know how to get out, but-”

“It was you.” You’re taken aback, staring at him as he blinks innocently at you. “You’re the one who went to HR.”

“Of course I did!” he nods curtly. “And I’d do it again.”

“That was none of your business.” You thrust a finger toward him.

“Of course it was, what he’s doing to you is wrong.” Cole reaches for your hand and you pull back like he’s burned you. “Look, I underestimated the level of power he wields. I thought HR would open an investigation and then you’d have an opportunity to tell someone what he’s been doing to you.”

“This is unbelievable.” You sink back against the seat.

“I agree. They know and they didn’t do anything. I thought Winchester was a straight shooter, but I should have known someone with his reputation would have a nasty skeleton in the closet.”

“Whatever you think you heard, you’re wrong.” You’re worried now. He’s so genuine in his explanation, he honestly believes Sam forced himself on you, coerced you into sex.

“I know what I heard,” Cole insists, grabbing for your hand. This time he catches your wrist and pulls you closer. “You don’t have to put up with that kind of treatment. You’re a strong woman, I can help you.”

“You have no idea what you’re walking about,” you whisper, swallowing hard. “You didn’t understand what you heard. You think it’s something that it’s not.”

He stares at you, sighing and sitting back.

“Alright,” he nods. “But if he’s doing this to you, he’s doing it to someone else, too.”

“Cole,” you turn toward him. “You have to let this go.”

“The Winchesters are bad guys. All of them,” he comments dryly, flipping open his computer. “Sam may have had more success than his brother but he just hasn’t gotten caught for his dirty deeds yets, but they’re both rotten.”

You shake your head in disbelief, trying to determine why he’s invoking Dean. He must have done his research.

“You have to trust me when I say that you have it wrong.” You might as well stop, all this pleading in vain. Cole has an idea in his head about who and what Sam is and he’s never going to let it go.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” He gives you a tight smile. “I just needed you to know that I know. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

Eight Hours Later

“I’m not normally one to say I told you so, but…” Sam leans out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips and a toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“You were right,” you concede, holding up both hands. “I just hate that he thinks you’re this evil guy.”

“Half the world thinks I’m an asshole,” comes his voice from the bathroom. “That’s nothing new to me. Does it bother you?”

”Of course it does. I don’t like the idea of Cole believing you’re some monster.”

“Well, Cole can’t love both of us at the same time.” He chuckles to himself and you hear him spit into the sink.

Sam’s room is ten times the size of yours, with a parlor, living room, massive bedroom and a bathroom large enough for a shower and soaker tub. To top it all off there’s a balcony just off his bedroom overlooking the city. You’ve been allocated a small box of a room on the second floor at a hotel down the street but luckily Sam handed you a key card to his room as soon as you stepped inside. He and Pepper are the only staff staying at this hotel, which makes slipping in and out a hell of a lot easier.

“Do you like the room?” Sam asks, wandering toward the bed in his underwear. “They have an even larger suite on the top floor but no terrace. I thought you would enjoy being able to sit outside.”

“I do,” you smile, watching him thoughtfully. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“I never stop,” he responds, smiling when you blush. “Are you tired?”

“Depends on why you’re asking.” You offer up a tired pout. “I’m pretty exhausted but I could be talked into any number of things.”

The London offices may be smaller but are no less impressive than the Boston office you work out of. You stand silently beside Cole as the elevator rises up the top floor.

“How are you?” he asks, adjusting his tie.

“Good,” you answer, staring forward.

You’re not sure what to say. After the world’s most awkward flight you checked into your official hotel room and went to join Sam, happy to be far away from everyone else. You haven’t spoken to Cole since you got off the plane.

Now that you’ve had time to process what he said, there are several things that don’t sit well. It seems as if he’s disappointed in you, let down that you were either unwilling or unable to turn on Sam and admit to harassment. If Cole truly believes Sam demanded sexual acts from you, it’s pretty shitty to say he expected more.

“I like your outfit.” He clears his throat looking ahead. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Thank you. It’s new.” You look down at your tweed suit, a gift from Sam that morning. It’s Chanel, something you’d never be able to afford on your own. You were apprehensive over such an expensive gift at first but once you tried it on you figured it was a drop in the bucket for him.

“Looks expensive.” He gives you a once over.

“It is.”

The first meeting of the day is with Lady Toni Bevell and a dark-haired man named Mick who shakes your hand with such vigor you barely have feeling left when he lets go.

Cole introduces himself, explains his position and how long he’s been with the company. Then Toni chimes in, folding her hands on the table in front of her.

“Well, obviously, I just started in this position. I was a practicing lawyer up until a few years ago. But I’ve known Sam for a long time.”

“You know Winchester?” This seems to perk Cole’s attention and your ears go hot.

“We went to law school together,” Toni explains. “Old friends.”

“And I’m Mick.” Mick smiles big and wide. “I managed a barrister’s office, but they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. So now I’m here.”

He seems like a nice guy and you’re looking forward to making new friends. Knowing someone in London can’t be a bad thing.

“And you are?” Toni’s tone is unmistakable, she’s dripping with annoyance and you haven’t even opened your mouth yet.

“Y/N,” you smile at her. “I’m a department liaison.”

“Ah, yes,” Toni tilts her head, examining you. “Sam told me all about you.”

You nearly fall out of your seat and Cole shifts beside you.

“Y/N has been invaluable to me.” Cole inserts himself. “Showed me the ropes when I first started.”

“She must be quite impressive given that we don’t even have her position in this office but yet, she’s here.”

There’s something bubbling under the surface, a hostility she’s either barely able to hide or not attempting to. Frankly, you're surprised she hasn’t lunged across the table yet.

“I’m sure we can find something for you to do.” Toni sighs.

“I’ll need her, we have several projects in the works.” Cole’s words are a clear declaration. He’s a calm and collected guy but he doesn’t like anyone bossing his people around.

“Of course,” she nods, strumming her fingers on the table, eyes narrowing as she looks you over. “I look forward to working with you both.”

The minute the two of you are alone, Cole turns to you and whistles. “What did you do to piss her off?”

“Nothing!” you sputter. “I’ve never met her before.”

“Maybe it’s the suit,” he jokes.

“You didn’t tell me you and Lady Toni go way back.” You get up from your perch on his bed, slinking toward him.

“I didn’t think about it.” Sam shrugs, writing in his notebook without looking up.

“She’s sort of...hostile.”

“That’s what makes her good,” he responds, turning a page. “She’s a pit bull.”

“Well, she definitely hates me. I’m not sure what you told her, but it must have been some real shit, because I could feel her death rays from across the room.”

“Did she say something to you?” He puts his pen down, glancing up.

“It’s less what she said and more how she said it.”

“If it becomes a problem you should let me know.”

“Okay.” You watch him, his jaw shifting while he thinks. You know this look well. He’s trying to decide if he’s going to tell you something.

“I want to be upfront with you.” He takes off his glasses, setting them on the table.

“I want that too,” you agree.

“I’m not so sure you do.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Toni used to…” He stops to regroup. “We were together for a period of time.”

“Together as in...fucking or dating?”

“Both,” he explains.

“Oh.” You have to admit, you’re taken aback and instantly jealous. Of course he’s had sexual partners before you, but you prefer not to think about that.

“It wasn’t anything like what we have. She’s a cold person. There was no emotional component, it was strictly physical. We’ve remained in contact over the years. She’s a trusted colleague and friend.”

You’re quiet, contemplating exactly what that means. There’s an immediate embarrassment that starts in your heart and flushes out until your cheeks are burning. The party at Nick Luster’s place was different, but the idea of the people you work with knowing about your dynamic, specifically you as a submissive, is a fact that you would prefer to stay between you and Sam.

There’s a complex push and pull. During sex, Sam will use the idea of public humiliation as a turn on, and it is. But only as a fantasy. The thought of Toni Bevell with that kind of intimate knowledge is too much.

“Did you two...were you like us?” You’re struggling to find the right thing to ask. “Did she enjoy the same things I do?”

“No,” he answers quickly, making no move to get up from his seat. “I got bored quickly, but she was easy and available.”

“I see,” you look away from him, unsure how you’re supposed to react to this information.

“Are you upset with me?”

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.” You sit on the couch next to him.

“You look like you’re upset.”

“I’m jealous,” you admit, looking him in the eyes, those eyes that draw you in and hold you there. “Thinking about you with someone else is uncomfortable, but I’m glad you told me. Did you tell her about me? About us?”

“Yes.” He slides a hand over your knee. “She asked me about my life, and I told her I was seeing you. I trust her discretion.”

“Does she know about our...dynamic?”

Sam’s forehead wrinkles, displeased with your question.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you. I don’t talk about my sex life, especially with someone I’ve slept with.”

“Right.” You relax back against the couch. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

Sam looks tired. He’s been working sixteen-hour days and not getting enough sleep. It’s starting to take a toll.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” he offers. He’s hovering somewhere between annoyed with the implication and trying to remain open and honest.

“I don’t think so. I’m glad you told me,” you answer. The two of you look at each other in silence before you lean forward and kiss him on the lips. He’s tense, mouth in a tight purse as he returns the gesture. You pull back, examining him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing to do with you,” he sighs, giving your arm a squeeze.

“Do you want me to go so you can get some work done?” You point at his computer.

“No, I want you to stay.”

He looks...sad, maybe defeated or perhaps it’s something else. There’s been something going on for a while now. He’s been a freight train barrelling forward with a power and speed that’s unstoppable. It doesn’t seem to matter if he’s focused you, the house or his career, whatever has his attention he’s pushing further and faster as if he’s racing toward the finish line under some elusive threat.

“How’s your ass?” he asks, snapping you back to attention.

“Tender,” you grin, eyes fluttering away from his stare.

“I bet,” he rubs his thumb over his index finger, lost in thought before sitting back and tapping a hand on his leg. “Show me.”

“Now?” you look around at his open documents strewn over the table.

“Yes,” he shifts the tone of the interaction. “Now.”

There’s that familiar tingle, the excitement beginning to build. You rise to your knees, pulling the skirt up over your hips and crawl to him, laying carefully over his lap.

“Jesus,” he gasps. A big, warm hand softly smoothes over a butt cheek. “This had to hurt.”

He’s never seen marks like this on you before. You got a good look this morning at the black and blue welts across most of your backside. You’ve been encouraging him, and in turn yourself, for more each time. A little harder, a few more strokes. Not only does it build the pleasure for you but you love the ache it leaves for days afterward.

“I like it.” You wiggle in his lap.

“Stay still.” This command is accompanied by a small, stinging smack to your left side that makes you yelp in surprise.

He slips into this mode so easily and it’s clearly where he’s most comfortable. When the two of you are occupying this space, there are clearly defined roles, dominant and submissive, and he doesn’t have to think. This part of Sam operates on autopilot. He’s still learning to navigate the waters of being in a relationship, and truth be told, so are you. You’ve only dated a few guys and even that doesn’t compare. Sam is in a league of his own and there are times when you feel the same pressure of doing everything the right way.

When the two of you are like this, everything is suddenly effortless. The way he speaks, touches, fucks, it’s all unadulterated instincts. You and Sam have a natural rhythm, unlike any connection you’ve experienced before.

Sam’s uncomfortable with the entire conversation.

His “relationship” with Toni ended a decade ago and even then it was nothing more than an easy way to get laid. They were both busy, focused on nurturing fledgling careers. Neither with time to meet or date someone new. So they fucked.

Toni was far too much of a control freak to ever let him be the dominant one. She had trouble letting go, giving in, and in the end Sam realized that was what he needed, more so than blowing his load a couple of times a week. It was only satisfying for those few seconds of his release and then the satisfaction melted away like water down a drain. By the time he got out of bed, he was itching for something more.

He broke it off, told her they were done and walked out of her apartment when she started to argue. It was years before he heard from her again. And when she walked back into his life he was different, their dynamic was different. It was all business and she’s damn good at what she does. So when she was in the market and looking to make a change, he made her an offer, and a salary, she couldn’t refuse.

He could see the levity drain from your face the moment he said the words. We were together for a period of time.

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything but he’d made a promise to be upfront, and he’d want to know if you had screwed some guy he was working with. But then that look washed over your face and his stomach dropped.

It’s not that you’re skittish, in fact, you’ve proven to be quite the opposite. But he’s already put you through more than any rational person should put up with and he’d prefer to keep you from more unpleasant details.

Then you asked if she knew about the details. Red-cheeked and embarrassed you found the wherewithal to ask despite your apprehension. Instant offense rose into his throat, but he held back. He does that with you, only with you, holds back the harsher responses he lets fly on everyone else.

All he wanted was to redirect the conversation and shifting the entire scenario was the best way he knew how.

Now you’re laid out over his lap, bare ass still black and blue as you try desperately not to wiggle. God, your ass. He loves this ass, in fact, he loves every inch of your body. Someday Sam intends to take you on a vacation somewhere tropical, secluded, and keep you naked for a whole week so he can look at you whenever he wants.

But this will do for now.

“Sam,” you whine, both legs flexing.

Your voice snaps him back into the moment. Who knows how long he was lost in his own thoughts, but the waiting is part of what turns you on, so it works to his advantage.

“Shhh.” He smacks one cheek with an open palm, lighter than he normally would. You’re sporting some serious bruises. “Are you wet?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, cheek pressed into the couch cushion.

Of course, you are. If he believed in fate he’d have to think you were made for each other. Sam needs control, now more than ever and you’re always willing to give it.

“I’m going to make you cum,” he explains, running a palm over your ass. “And that will be your last orgasm for a week. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Winchester,” you whisper.

Jesus Christ. His cock throbs in his pants. Those words get him every fucking time.

“What do you want right now?” he asks. Moving his hand between your legs he strokes the tip of his thumb through your folds. He can feel the heat between your thighs before he even touches you. And then that wet slick inviting him inside.

“I want you to fuck me.” Your voice is fractured, a broken wheeze as you suck in a breath, vibrating at his touch.

He’d love to fuck you, but he won’t. Maybe later tonight, but not yet. He likes to make himself wait, the build up makes it even sweeter. Being inside, feeling your warm little body writhe and wriggle underneath him is a reward he only allows himself in moderation.

“You want me here?” He presses his thumb at the opening of your cunt and you moan, your entire body twisting across his lap.

“Yes, please!”

The best part about you is that there is no act. You don’t put on a show for him, you’re just as desperate as you sound.

“Not today,” he explains casually, swatting your ass.

“Fuck,” you groan, turning your head to rest on the other cheek. He can see your face, eyes squinched shut, mouth open as you struggle to stay in place.

“Control yourself,” he commands and you instantly stop squirming.

Sam grins, adjusting his hips underneath your weight. His erection is painful but this isn’t about him. This moment is about you and the ways he can make your body respond.

Dipping his thumb back into your slick, he rubs up and down between the lips of your pussy, the tip brushing your clit. You gasp and rock forward, mouth opening and closing. Once his thumb is coated in your own arousal he moves back up to your ass, pulling your cheeks apart and pressing his thumb at the tight ring of muscle.

He watches your face as he presses his thumb inside. Your body fights it at first but he just keeps the pressure until you open up and he pops inside. He normally uses more lubrication but you like the pain.

You groan, face twisting in pleasure and discomfort as he forces himself inside.

His reach is long enough that his other fingers can easily get to your clit and he begins to stroke up your dripping cunt and tapping your clit as his thumb moves in rhythm, in and out of your ass.

It’s an easy slide back and forth over your bud and your hips begin to move with his hand. He could tell you to stop, but he likes to watch you like this. Desperate to take more of whatever he’s got to give. Fuck. If this isn’t over soon he might cum in his pants.

“Sam,” you moan, eyes opening and closing, but seeing nothing. You’ve got that signature glassy-eyed stare you always get when you’re getting closer. “May I cum?”

“Yes,” he nearly chokes on his words. Shoving his thumb as deep as he can, he works your clit faster and harder. It’s not even thirty seconds before your orgasm takes over.

You let out a long, low moan as your ass tightens around his thumb and your empty cunt clutches around nothing. He loves watching you orgasm, he can see your body consumed in pleasure as you pulse and release again and again until you’re boneless, laying across his lap.

There’s no better feeling in the world than watching you like this.

Sam’s felt like this about one other person, but that was a long time ago. And he and Jess were kids. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but it’s true. That relationship and this thing with you are uncomparable.

He wants you all the time, he thinks about you obsessively and wonders when the universe is going to take it all away. You moan again and he slips back into the moment.

You’re soaked, glistening wet over your pussy and on his fingers. He pulls his hand away, fighting against the swelling lust.

Sam is finding less and less restraint when it comes to you.

“Fuck it,” he murmurs, sliding out from underneath you. Making a muffled sound you look back at him as he gets on his knees between your thighs. Sam watches, licking his lips as you raise your hips up and back toward him as an invitation. He unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants in record time, yanking his dick from his underwear.

Fisting his cock, he takes another moment to admire you like this, belly down and presenting yourself like you want it as bad as he does. He’s so fucking hard he can barely stand it as he lines himself up and catches the head of his cock in your pussy. He slides forward in one quick thrust as your body opens up, stretching wide to take all of him inside.

His eyes roll back in his head as his balls rock forward. You’re hot taffy squeezing around his cock, sopping, practically on fire from your orgasm and gripping every inch of his shaft as he pulls outs, only to push back in. You whine and pant, twisting on his cock, shoving your body against him begging for more. Sam wants more too, he wants all of your body and mind and anything else you’re willing to give to him. He wants you warm and wet like this. He wants you calm and quiet when you’re lying next to him at night.

He knows he’s got a big dick but the way your cunt grips him, the sight of your stretched out pussy sliding up and down his length makes him feel twice as big.

“Sam,” you moan his name, lifting yourself up onto your forearms, thrusting backward into the shove of his hips. He grabs a fist full of your hair, admiring the way your back arches and the angle changes. “Fuck, Sam, right there!”

“You like that?” he asks, jaw clenched tight as he thrusts fast. “Want me to cum inside you?”

“Yes! Please!”

You’re close to another orgasm, he knows your body well enough to recognize the wind up. Your ass is making a familiar skin-on-skin smacking sound as it meets his hips, accompanied by the wet, squelch of your cunt taking his cock again and again and again.

“Don’t cum,” he instructs, feeling his balls go tight. He smacks your right butt cheek twice, two quick whaps that send you reeling. He doesn’t really give a shit if you cum, in fact he hopes you do. There’s nothing better than you trying to fight it off and end up cumming on his cock when you can’t hold it back anymore.

“I can’t,” you sputter, twisting your neck to try and look at him. “Oh god, please. I’m gonna-”

And then you cum for the second time that evening, sucking and squeezing around him. Your tight little cunt flutters around his dick and he pushes as far inside as he can get as he cums.

It always starts as warmth in his stomach and a tingling in his balls. It builds and builds and then explodes, pulsing through his veins while he empties inside you. He huffs, mouth sealed shut, deep breath in and out through his nose as he comes back down from the high.

You’re lying still underneath him, back rising and falling while you wait for him to join you. With both hands on your hips he pulls his cock back, nice and slow so he feels the crown drag along your walls one final time. The head pops free and he waits, watches, feeling overwhelming satisfaction when his cum trickles back out, creamy white dripping over your clit.

“Sorry,” you try to look back at him, face bright red. You want so badly to please him, to obey. “I couldn’t help it.”

Sam smiles, sitting up and tapping your side as an indication to roll over.

“Bad girl,” he grins, settling back between your thighs, leaning down for a kiss. Your hot breath and eager lips as you press upward, always wanting more of this more intimate connection. “You need to learn discipline,” he mumbles over your lips, the tip of his nose pressing into your cheek.

“Good thing I have a dedicated teacher,” you laugh, thighs squeezing his waist and mouth finding his. You’re pressing up into his weight, wet pussy sliding over the skin just above the base of his cock. Everything about you is designed to distract him from the rest of the world. He wants to stay in this moment, to carry you to bed and get lost in the sweet smell of your hair and the warm, soft slide of your skin. But that’s not reality.

“I have a meeting.”

“Seriously?” You’re displeased, staring up at him.

“Drinks with senior staff.”

“With Toni?” you ask casually.

There is it. That hitch in your voice, left eye twitching, pupils contracting. You have a thousand tells despite the fact you consider yourself to have a solid poker face.

“Yes, she’ll be there,” he confirms, dipping down for one last kiss before peeling himself away, leaving you spread wide on his couch. He doesn’t want to look at you, can’t stand the line that forms in the center your forehead when you’re hurt and trying to conceal it. “I’m going to spend time with her while we’re here. It's unavoidable. And you’re going to work with her.”

“I know,” you sit up, that lazy wash of happiness draining away. “I just...I’m still processing the information that you two were lovers.”

“No,” Sam snorts, pulling his shirt over his head, and turning to face you. “Not lovers.”

“Fuck buddies,” you shrug, cheeks flushing a fresh shade of crimson.

“Is this a problem?” he asks, turning away and heading to the closet to find a fresh suit.

“No, it’s just, I don’t like it. I don’t have to like it. But I’m an adult and I’ll deal with it.” You’re mad at him, but it’s a valiant attempt at not letting it show.

If he weren’t so gun shy about being outed, he’d bring you with him. But you’ve made it clear you’re not ready for that yet and he understands. Being with him, publically, will change the entire trajectory of your life.

“I'll be back in a couple of hours.” He watches your back as you walk to the bathroom.

“Okay,” you raise a hand in acknowledgment without turning to look at him. “I hope you have a good time.”

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester smut #Sam Winchester Fanfic #sam winchester au

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smartguyreviewed · 4 years ago

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2x5 - Dumbstruck

Original air date: October 8, 1997

Yay, an episode where TJ is actually acting like a kid! And also an excuse for me to rant about how much I despise group projects.

A very over it Lisa Simpson (played by Yeardley Smith) is handing back tests to her dumb ass students save for TJ and this annoying white kid named Clark that we’ll be introduced to briefly because Mackey ended up being the lead token white on this show, right next to Yvette’s cute friend Nina.

Clark asks how TJ did. He humble brags and Marcus snatches his test to gloat about his brother finally not doing well at something. Sike! TJ got a 110 on his assignment. Marcus is dumbfounded since he clearly doesn’t even put in the bare minimum.

Lisa has to remind Marcus that demonstrating how you actually studied will get you more points. She gives her lazy, remedial students a chance to make up for their piteous attempts with a makeup assignment, an oral group report on WW2. Now everyone is mad at TJ because he fucked up the curve of the grading system, facilitating the need for a makeup assignment. Mackey is pissed.

Marcus and Mo of course decide to stick all the work on TJ while they go to Dawgburger. TJ, now wanting to fit in with his cool brother and bestie, agrees but is promptly thrown into a garbage can by Mackey and his 30 year old goon when they give him shit for being smart. Because the plot calls for it in this episode, TJ isn’t masterminding a plan to put fudged up charges on Mackey’s record or flunk him out of school forever.

At the Henderson crib, TJ is attempting to do the assignment but the boys are watching The Three Stooges with non-copyright stock sound effects and can’t be bothered to lower the volume. Even Floyd stops scolding Marcus and Mo to join them. Apparently, TJ thinks being a genius and being entertained by slapstick are mutually exclusive.

Yvette is in the kitchen frowning at her fruitless yogurt when TJ comes in to whine about feeling left out. Yvette, as usual, is there to provide motherly advice and reassure TJ that he’s too brilliant to relate to simpleton humor. She even suggests that he’ll be the only non crooked black politician on the Supreme Court. Aww. TJ will revenge porn her in the future.

Just then, a truck pulls in with daddy Floyd’s wood--hehe--and the boys, including Mo, gather in the garage to bring in Floyd’s wood--last time, I promise--to wherever it needs to go.

Yvette comes in after the gang delegates how the work flow will commence and then commands the plot for the episode when she tells TJ his shoe is untied while Mo and Marcus are handing boards to each other. This ended well.

After passing out, Marcus, who is terrifyingly not alarmed, just calls for Floyd and then we end up at the hospital where it seems that TJ’s relatively light board smack has now rendered him dumb. Not only dumb but more childish than usual.

Marcus cares nothing about TJ’s prognosis, however, because he is a horny teenage boy and the doc is hot. Yvette has to literally drag him out of the room by his ear.

The doctor tells Floyd that this strange concussion could leave TJ acting like this for weeks. Of course Floyd is concerned since TJ is gifted. The next morning, TJ is so forgetful and delayed at breakfast that Floyd and Yvette have to play charades to help him navigate feeding himself.

Marcus comes in and asks if TJ is back to normal because he doesn’t want to do anything that makes him use his own damn brain for a change. After Flody sees this because Marcus did it right in the kitchen where he was about three feet away, he of course takes Marcus aside to tell him to quit badgering TJ to get well again.

At school, Mo thinks it’s a good idea to simply undo TJ’s problem by hitting him in the head again. Since we’re working off corny sitcom logic, he’s not exactly off base here. I mean, it did only take two light hits from a wooden board to turn TJ into an imbecile so why not do the same to get him back to normal, right?

During class, TJ is wowing everyone with his diminished IQ that was announced to everyone in the class for some reason. Eh, it’s Piedmont so I really shouldn’t be surprised that all of his business is out there.

Lisa is pissed because now that TJ is dumb and she hates Clark for some reason, teaching will be damn near impossible because nobody participates. I think I feel her pain because she asks a super easy question (what naval base did the Japanese attack) and nobody but annoying ass Clark answers. Poor thing. She probably came into this profession bright-eyed and bushy tailed, ready to change students’ lives and become the next Erin Gruwell but ended up becoming nothing more than a de facto babysitter.

TJ is taking advantage of being one of the guys by making fun of the more deadly effects of dropping bombs and says it led to radioactive monsters. The boys laugh but Lisa is aggy that nobody is taking this seriously. To spite her idiot students, she makes the reports worth half of their grade. Mackey blames Clark instead of the teacher who literally just assigned it. For some reason, this tickles Clark even though he’s going to end up in the garbage soon.

Since TJ is one of the guys again, he manages to tag along with the crew at Dawgburger, a place he wasn’t invited to earlier since he was going to do their group assignment all by himself. In hindsight, I hated group projects because I did all of the work anyways since my cohorts were dumb as rock boxes, so this wouldn’t have bothered me at all. Abolish group projects!

Post Dawgburger, TJ is in bed reading a comic and shooting the shit with Marcus. This is sweet. I like seeing siblings bond on TV shows because the regular narrative always seems to involve them all hating each other. Here, there’s no drama, just Marcus actually being responsible because he’s studying for the oral report and TJ, in what would be his natural state if he weren’t a genius. They even have a heart to heart when TJ asks if he’ll be okay and what would happen once he’s back to normal. Marcus says he’ll still stick up for him. Aww.

In geometry the next day, TJ’s intelligence just comes right back after he flawlessly recites the Pythagorean theorem when the dorky teacher asks. Once he realizes this, and after having probably the few easiest days in a while, TJ understandably commits to pretending to be a dolt. That is until pops sees TJ’s quantum physics magazine inside of a comic book!

Floyd traps TJ by making up a pretty damn good scenario in the Jughead comics but later confirms the lie by letting TJ know that wasn’t in the comic. He goes into how he likes being dumb with the guys because they like him more. Makes sense! TJ has nothing in common with them outside of attending their school but now he’s intellectually on their level. He knows this would change once he goes back to his regular self. Floyd should know this too but alas. I do love how he tells TJ he won’t rat on him. TJ returns the favor by telling his dad that he should write for the Jughead comics because that story he made up made him LOL super hard.

We cut to school where Mackey is just finishing up his group presentation about the X-Men invading Iwo Jima. Lisa Simpson isn’t impressed. Marcus and crew are up next and poor Marcus is struggling. I think it’s so funny that Marcus, a singer with a whole ass band, has stage fright upon trying to remember everything he studied for but just goes to show that music comes easier to him than school.

The internal monologues of everyone come up. Marcus is trying to remember what he studied. TJ contemplates bringing his brain back. Mo is...fucking beatboxing in his head. This shit had me dead when I first saw this episode.

However, Lisa ain’t having it. She is two seconds away from using the dreaded red pen before TJ saves the day and begins talking about WW2. The boys are shocked but it helps trigger Marcus’s memory and then he’s able to spew out the facts. Mo doesn’t contribute but he will definitely take the credit!

Later in the Henderson crib, Marcus is pissed because TJ almost let them fail. Although TJ is reminding Marcus that he put his effort into something and it paid off, Marcus is still annoyed leading TJ to think he doesn’t like him anymore.

Marcus explains that he enjoyed TJ’s company when he was dumb because he finally felt like what he is: his older brother. Kind of hard to feel that way when your younger brother is better at everything you do and a major know-it-all. He even admits that he can’t even pretend now that TJ is smart again because it won’t feel the same. I like when Marcus is doing more than chasing girls every episode because he shows maturity at times that is pleasing to watch.

He offers to instead be an older brother in other ways like threatening other people with violence if they make fun of TJ. Cute, but we all know Marcus is scary. Nice gesture though! Floyd comes in and tells the boys good night. At the end, we see Floyd took TJ up on his advice and is submitting an idea to the Jughead comics. Aww Floyd. I wish we’d gotten a subtle nod to if his idea was used because he seemed really happy with himself afterwards. Eh, whatever. Parents aren’t people so who cares.

Things I noticed:

- Clark being oddly satisfied that he knows Mackey and his fellow middle-aged adult friend are going to put him in the trash. Clark either has a crush on Mackey and didn’t like TJ for the attention he got from Mackey or he has some sort of a trash fetish. Or both. Maybe that’s why Lisa doesn’t fuck with him.

- “Okay students, now watch as I turn left to a right triangle.” I’m a dork and this actually made me laugh. Tough classroom, though.

#smart guy #mo tibbs #tahj mowry #yvette henderson #marcus henderson #jason weaver #essence atkins #omar gooding #john marshall jones #disney #90s #nineties

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neuxue · 4 years ago

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 4

Perrin goes hunting and we consider the problems with zero-sum solitaire, and Galad... is Galad.

Chapter 4: The Pattern Groans

We’re with Perrin, but it smells like corpses and the grass looks infected and it’s not the first time this has been brought up, so… how sure are we the Blight is staying put?

Oh, the Aes Sedai agree. Is this part of the Pattern fraying and the Dark One reaching out into the world, then? That the Blight sort of crops up in those stretched spaces?

Especially because at this point in the timeline, Rand’s not exactly counteracting it.

Light, Perrin thought, taking the leaf as Nevarin handed it to him. It smelled of decay. What kind of world is it where the Blight is the good alternative?

I don’t know, ask Lan.

“It’s probably not dangerous,” Perrin said.

Presented without further context. Famous last words, Perrin. Right up there with ‘a trap’s not a trap if you know it’s there’ –Rand al’Thor.

Meanwhile Perrin’s still dealing with Office Politics: Epic Fantasy Edition on a constant basis. Well, you and Egwene will have plenty to talk about when you finally meet in Tel’aran’rhiod or maybe for that dance you owe her on Sunday.

(I have absolutely no expectation of the latter happening; I just like to remember it sometimes because it’s the right kind of sad. The former though… please).

If only those clouds would pass so they could get some good sunlight to dry the soil

Given where you seem to be relative to Rand’s timeline, Perrin, you… might be waiting a little while. Might I recommend an umbrella? Or perhaps some fire insurance?

A strange village with an architectural style that seems out of place? Shiota again, perhaps? Either way, You probably do not want to go into that village. You may not ever come out. Well, okay, you’re a protagonist so you’ll probably be fine, but all the same.

Light! How bad were things becoming?

The thing with the timeline misalignment is that it takes away from the effect of this a little bit, for me. Because while I get that the Pattern itself is being strained and the Dark One is drawing closer to the world and all that, and Rand’s revelation on Dragonmount isn’t going to immediately fix everything, some of the tension there is gone. When such a major arc has finally passed its darkest point and reached a kind of catharsis, it’s a little weird to then go back to ‘okay but pretend that hasn’t happened yet’.

So, yes, I think this is probably not specifically related to Rand (inasmuch as anything at this point can be said to be not related to Rand, given his power and his role and his Fisher King-like link to the entire world), and therefore isn’t just a ‘oh don’t worry this will fix once the timelines are caught up’ but I can’t help feeling some of that anyway.

“Burn the village,” he said, turning. “Use the One Power.”

Should’ve invited Rand.

WOLF DREAM WOLF DREAM WOLF DREAM!

Even in Tel’aran’rhiod there’s a storm. But again, I can’t help but feel that some of the impact that should have (‘I am the storm’) is lacking a little, now. It’s not a major criticism and a lot of it is probably just me, but… I don’t know. It just feels ever so slightly off.

The wolves are calling to Perrin and so of course we come back to his central conflict with himself but surely this, too, must be approaching its point of crisis soon. There’s just not that much time left, and he’s been circling this one for so long, and especially after Malden he’s constantly being forced to look at it, just as Rand came closer and closer to that necessary confrontation with himself and the part of him that was Lews Therin and what he’s doing.

The invitations awakened something deep within him, the wolf he tried to keep locked away. But a wolf could not be locked up for long. It either escaped or it died

This touches on a particularly ironic aspect of this conflict: Perrin tries to lock the wolf aspect of himself away, to shut it out and refuse it, because he is afraid of losing himself to it. But it is a part of himself, and so by shutting it away in order to keep from losing who he is, he is in fact trying to kill or lose… a part of who he is.

Again, there’s the obvious parallel to Rand here, and the whole question of how to accept a part of yourself you’re terrified of, a part of yourself you hate or fear or cannot reconcile with the rest of your self-perception. The whole struggle of identity, of acceptance and denial, of answering that age-old question of who are you?

And I like how we get to watch so many different characters take on that struggle, from slightly different directions or with slightly different variations, but at the centre of it all that same question of identity, and what it means to be who you are versus who you must be versus who you choose to be, and how to find that balance. So many characters at war with themselves one way or another, and ultimately they all have to find some way to make peace, and so we just get Identity: Theme and Variation across the series.

(Of course, there are also the characters who aren’t at war with themselves, and whose stories of identity take on a slightly different flavour – Egwene being an obvious example – but I’ll just… save that one for another time or else we’ll be here all day).

“No!” Perrin said, sitting up, holding his head. “I will not lose myself in you.”

(Said Rand to Lews Therin).

Except by denying them, Perrin, you only lose a different part of yourself. And if so much of your energy and self is dedicated to fighting yourself, are you not also then lost? You can’t win a war when you are your own opponent.

He’s looking at this as a zero-sum game: himself against the wolf, and only one can win, and the other must be lost. And so he chooses himself, and tries to suppress or defeat the wolf, but it’s not a zero-sum game, for the very simple reason that there is no other player. He just thinks there is. Much as Rand viewed Lews Therin as an opponent, rather than as a part of himself.

In summary: don’t play prisoner’s dilemma with yourself, because that way lies madness.

You are invited, Young Bull, Hopper sent.

An invitation, not a demand. A gift, an offering, and of course a choice. It’s not something trying to consume him or fight him.

“Hopper, we spoke of this. I’m losing myself. When I go into battle, I become enraged. Like a wolf.”

Like a wolf? Hopper sent. Young Bull, you are a wolf. And a man. Come hunt.

I like the way they talk almost across each other here; Perrin is so set on viewing this as a fight, as a zero-sum game, as an either-or. And Hopper doesn’t understand what he’s on about, because as far as Hopper is concerned, Perrin is a man and a wolf and the two are not mutually exclusive. (Rand and Lews Therin are one and the same).

“I will not let this consume me.” He thought of a young man with golden eyes, locked in a cage, all humanity gone from him.

Except that as he is now, the wolf-aspect of him is effectively encaged, and that’s probably not healthy either. Still, though, so long as he insists on seeing it as something separate to himself, something invasive or antagonistic or other, some part of him will always be trapped.

Which… we’re given Noam as an example, and I do think there’s a path down which Perrin could theoretically end up being ‘consumed’ by the wolf, just as there was a path down which Rand could have ended up, as Moiraine put it, calling himself Lews Therin and Lanfear’s devoted lover. Or, you know, killing his father and the world and himself, and succumbing to the exact fate he pushed Lews Therin away in fear of in the first place.

Because when you’re that committed to framing it as a fight, and suppressing one side or the other, it’s hard to keep it from becoming that, even if that’s not what it ‘should’ be. Not all battles against oneself end in reconciliation. But there’s a bitter kind of irony to it, in that I think the only way Perrin would end up truly ‘losing himself’ to the wolf would be because he framed it as something he could lose to in the first place. (Or, I suppose, if he specifically chose that path and chose to suppress the human side of himself instead).

“I must learn to control this, or I must banish the wolf from me,” Perrin said.

Except that perception, right there, is the entire reason it’s such a struggle in the first place right now. It’s not an either-or. They’re not two separate things, and it’s not something that needs to be leashed.

It's that whole… the more you fight against some part of yourself, the harder it becomes to actually keep it in check, and so we arrive back at something very like ‘surrender to control’. Or, perhaps more accurately, ‘accept in order to control’. Control being also not quite the right word here, because that’s also part of the point.

Basically, throwing up a wall against parts of yourself you’re afraid of rather than understanding them and figuring out how to integrate or improve or work with or channel or grow past or whatever-else them is not a sustainable solution, Perrin. Because those parts of you aren’t just going to go away if you deny them strongly enough; you have to at least understand them, and acknowledge them for what they are, and then you can figure out where you want to go from there. Which, likely, will mean recognising that they’re neither as simple-black-and-white nor as terrifying as you think. It just also means having to do some introspection and maybe realise some things about yourself that challenge your existing self-image. It’s good for you. As Rand could perhaps tell you, once he’s done picking apples.

I do sort of wish this could have been done in the previous book, aligned with Rand’s own last stages of his fight with himself and eventual realisation – sort of the way the cascading ending of characters coming into their power was done in TSR – but also I get that sometimes it’s just not possible to fit everything in exactly the way you want. I promise I’ll stop complaining about having to play timeline catch-up soon.

Anyway, Hopper’s bored of this and wants to go hunting already. Especially because he’s looking at the calendar and realising they have maybe half a term to cram at least a few years’ worth of learning into, so can we get on with it already.

In a previous visit to the wolf dream, Perrin had demanded that Hopper train him to master the place. Very inappropriate for a young wolf – a kind of challenge to the elder’s seniority – but this was a response. Hopper had come to teach, but he would do it as a wolf taught.

Yes. And I think the point there, beyond anything to do with a challenge to seniority, is that if Perrin is going to learn how to walk the wolf dream, he’s going to have to come to terms with the part of him that brings him there in the first place. He can’t learn if he’s holding half of himself back at the same time.

“I will hunt with you – but I must not lose myself.”

But this is you, Perrin. And okay on the whole issue of hunting, I think Perrin sees it as a kind of… succumbing to base instincts, which is part of why he fights it. But I really don’t think that’s what we’re talking about here. I don’t think it’s ‘sure, go for murder breaks whenever you get bored’; I think it’s about… finding a balance in the side of himself that is capable of violence and that thrills in a fight, not by just letting it run wild but just by… understanding that it’s there, because once he does that, he can decide how to direct it.

I mean, we all have parts of ourselves that maybe aren’t always fit for polite company, but pretending they don’t exist isn’t going to make them go away, but understanding them and accepting them sometimes makes it easier to find another way to channel them that’s more… well, I suppose the word Perrin would want here is ‘controlled’. But really, I think it’s more ‘conscious’.

To use his own analogy, it’s the whole ‘the iron in front of him, not dreams of silver’ idea. Work with what you have; understand the components for what they are. That doesn’t mean you can’t work them at all, or reshape them, or hone them, or turn them into something better; it just means seeing those pieces, those starting points, honestly. And understanding what will and won’t work in terms of shaping them. He’s been given these pieces of metal but he insists on not using some of them, or on not even looking at them closely enough to see what metal they are, and I don’t know anything about metalworking so should probably stop this analogy here before I break it.

Anyway Hopper is just enjoying the opportunity to drag Perrin repeatedly, for his own amusement and that of the other wolves.

Meanwhile Perrin’s getting stuck in the long grass, which is absolutely not a metaphor for anything.

I can’t ignore my problems! Perrin thought back.

Yet you often do, Hopper sent.

Well and if that’s not a perfect summary of Perrin’s arc pretty much since the Two Rivers, I don’t know what is. ‘I can’t ignore my problems,’ says Perrin, ignoring at least five problems he doesn’t want to acknowledge in favour of the one or two he can do something about.

Or, as may be more accurately the case, ignoring his own problems in favour of the external ones he can hammer out a solution for.

Credit where it’s due: Perrin knows Hopper’s right.

There, lying on the ground, were the three chunks of metal he’d forged in his earlier dream. The large lump the size of two fists, the flattened rod, the thin rectangle.

Those are oddly specific. Shame there’s not twenty-three of them.

I’d say it sounds like the makings of a hammer except I don’t know what the thin rectangle would be in that case, and he already has a hammer.

Oh hey his prophetic dream-visions are back! It’s been a minute.

Mat stood there. He was fighting against himself, a dozen different men wearing his face, all dressed in different types of fine clothing. Mat spun his spear, and never saw the shadowy figure creeping behind him, bearing a bloody knife.

So the immediate association I have between Mat and a knife is, of course, the ruby dagger currently in the hands of our good friend Padan Fain. Though I suppose we’ve also now introduced the Seanchan Bloodknives to the scene, which would fit with the whole ‘shadowy figure’ as well.

But it’s the rest of this vision that has me intrigued, here. Because my immediate thought – that he’s fighting himself in the sense of all the men whose memories he now holds – doesn’t really make sense at all, because Mat accepted those memories a long time ago; they’ve not felt like a challenge to his identity in nearly the same way as the wolves have been for Perrin or Lews Therin was for Rand.

So then… more figurative? Is it still an identity thing but more about reconciling all the different roles he holds, that pull him in different directions (and some, like his status as Prince of the Ravens, that he has perhaps not quite so fully accepted)?

Or is this some Eelfinn/Aelfinn shit? We know he’s headed there, and it’s another dimension so all bets are off, really.

Or are we going to get into some kind of… decoys strategy? He’s being set up as a general for the Last Battle, so maybe someone or something turning his own strategies or forces against him?

Perrin’s not sure either, and next up we get wolves chasing sheep into the woods full of monsters. That… could honestly be anything. The wolves look wrong, so Darkhounds, maybe? Though in that case I’d expect him to recognise them. As for who he’s chasing… I mean, you can hardly swing a cat in here without hitting a malevolent force these days, so your guess is as good as mine, Perrin.

Hopper doesn’t have time for prophetic movie screenings and would very much like to get on with this hunt now, please, seriously Young Bull it’s been two years, I’m not getting any younger here.

(Hopper, you’re dead; you don’t even age. ‘NO BUT MY PATIENCE DOES’).

Perrin remembered the time; it had been during the early days of Faile’s captivity.

Had he really looked that bad? Light, but he seemed ragged. Almost like a beggar. Or… like Noam.

Oh okay this is a really interesting realisation from Perrin, and a perspective I hadn’t actually considered from this angle. There’s more than one way to lose yourself, and in giving entirely in to the very human side of him (and, perhaps, what Hopper might call a human need for control), and fixating on a single task in that sense, he came close to the same kind of loss of self that he associates with becoming entirely wolf.

And that this version of himself came not as a result of ‘giving in’ to the wolves at all. That maybe, Perrin, the wolves aren’t the source of the problem you’re having with finding a balance within yourself; they’re just a convenient scapegoat, something to project the division within yourself onto.

“Stop trying to confuse me!” Perrin said. “I became that way because I was dedicated to finding Faile, not because I was giving into the wolves!”

Which is… kind of the point, Perrin. There is more than one way to lose yourself. And your dedication to finding Faile was just… another form of focusing only on aspects, and neglecting all the other parts of yourself. But how is neglecting the wolf part of yourself going to solve that? Is that not just another way of fixating on what you think you should be, or on a single task, to the exclusion of what is there?

Hopper’s decided to move on to an object lesson: if you want to keep up, you’ll have to figure out how to run. No more holding back.

I want Hopper and the Wise Ones to meet, sometime. I just think that would be entertaining on all sides.

And so Perrin runs. Finally.

The forest was his. It belonged to him, and he understood it.

His worries began to melt away. He allowed himself to accept things as they were, not as he feared they might become.

Now, the next step: do the same for yourself. Accept yourself as you are, not as you fear you might become. You’re so close, Perrin.

It was exhilarating. Had he ever felt so alive? So much a part of the world around him, yet master of it at the same time?

There’s a surrender/control kind of feeling to this, as well. So much of this is so very, very close to what Perrin needs to learn – or rather, learn to apply to himself. This idea of being part of yet master of at the same time. Master of my fate, captain of my soul, that whole deal. That he can accept and be the wolf, but not be lost in it, just as he is not lost in this world around him that he allows himself to be part of, yet still retains himself and his control.

Whoops caught a whiff of a stag so no more time for existential crisis because that means DINNER.

The stag, I mean. Not the existential crisis. I don’t think they make edible versions of those.

He was the herald, the point, the tip of the attack. The hunt roared behind him. It was as if he led the crashing waves of the ocean itself. But he was also holding them back.

I cannot make them slow for me, Perrin thought.

And then he was on all fours, his bow tossed aside and forgotten, his hands and legs becoming paws. Those behind him howled anew at the glory of it. Young Bull had truly joined them.

ROUND. OF. APPLAUSE.

But actually the main reason I quoted this is because it strikes me that Perrin is, perhaps more so than any of the other major characters, a very Sanderson-esque character in some ways. I’ve compared him to Kaladin before, but even without trying to draw a like-for-like relationship to one of Sanderson’s characters, his character concept feels very much along the lines of what Sanderson would write.

Anyway, I thought of that here because this reads a little like – again not like-for-like but just in the same vein of – some of the other discovery-of-magic or acceptance-of-power or learning-the-scope-of-one’s-abilities scenes Sanderson has written.

I don’t mean it as either criticism or praise; it’s just something that struck me here.

The stag has twenty-six points on its antlers, so that’s not the missing twenty-three from last chapter either.

And we’ve shifted to Young Bull in the narrative now, so Perrin’s actually going along with this wolves-do-guided-meditation class for once.

He needed to be ahead, not follow.

Definitely not a thought applicable outside of this hunt, nope, not at all, nothing to see here, nothing more abstract about needing to act rather than react, or claim the wolf thing and all the aspects of himself he hides from rather than let them drag him along or anything like that.

The stag bolted to the right, and Young Bull leaped, hitting an upright tree trunk with all four paws and pushing himself sideways to change directions.

I am quoting this solely because WOLF PARKOUR.

Sorry.

He howled, and his brothers and sisters replied from just behind. This hunt was all of them. As one.

But Young Bull led.

Leader of men, leader of wolves, LET’S DO THIS.

It’s interesting as well because for all that it’s a hunt, there’s a rather meditative quality to this scene – the simplicity of it once he fins his place, allows himself to be a part of this world around him, acting almost on instinct and leading a perfect chase, not thinking or faltering or hesitating, every movement fluid and precise and beautiful – that actually reminds me of that scene way back in TDR when he worked at the forge in Tear.

Just these few simple moments of Perrin being… himself. A kind of beautiful economy of motion and a meditative sort of rhythm and the absence of doubt or uncertainty.

Which is perfect, of course, because that first scene is for Perrin as he was, for the part of himself he knew and knows and now fears to lose, the part of him that he linked so closely to his identity. It was a reminder of who he was, at a time when he needed it – this whole story just beginning and Perrin away from his home and out of his depth and not sure who he was or what he was becoming. It was a grounding in his foundations.

And now, nearly at the end, we get something with a kind of similar feel to it, but this time it’s the wolf, the part of himself he has yet to accept. There’s almost a bookending here of past and future. One scene to ground him, and one to carry him forward. Once for acknowledgement and once for realisation. Name him true and set his path, I suppose, if I really want to shoehorn another character’s quotes in here.

Anyway.

Perrin – or rather Young Bull – brings down the stag and is looking forward to that sweet sweet venison.

There was nothing else. The forest was gone. The howls faded. There was only the kill. The sweet kill.

A form crashed into him, throwing him back into the brush. Young Bull shook his head, dazed, snarling. Another wolf had stopped him. Hopper! Why?

The stag bounded to its feet, and then bounded off through the forest again. Young Bull howled in fury and rage, preparing to run after it. Again Hopper leaped, throwing his weight at Young bull.

If it dies here, it dies the last death, Hopper sent. This hunt is done, Young Bull. We will hunt another time.

Oh.

Why, Perrin wonders here. And I think the answer here is, because this is how we do not lose ourselves. The hunt is about the joy of it, but it’s not just mindless violence. That’s Perrin’s fear, and Hopper here is teaching him… nuance, I suppose. Control. Restraint.

Because there is a difference between the hunt, between being a wolf, and just succumbing to bloodlust and violence. And I think part of Perrin’s fear comes from conflating the two in his mind, but they’re not the same thing. But without letting himself ever know or be the wolf, without understanding that side of himself, it’s hard to distinguish. And so we come to this, where he sees the wolves acting with this restraint that still does not tarnish their joy, and can perhaps understand it himself and see that ‘joining the wolves in the hunt’ does not mean ‘losing all humanity and becoming a mindless killer’.

“That,” Perrin finally said, “is what I fear.”

No, you do not fear it, Hopper sent.

Thank you, Hopper, for being absurdly wise and also for your patience.

But this is the crux of it all, isn’t it? That Perrin fears – or does not quite fear – what lies at the end of this hunt for him. And hasn’t yet learned to… I suppose trust himself? Or understand that it’s not an all-or-nothing black-or-white kind of thing. To hold on or to let go. But it’s about, as so much of this story is, a more nuanced kind of balance, and an acceptance.

And self-awareness. That too.

Worry, worry, worry. It is all that you do.

“No. I also kill. If you’re going to teach me to master the wolf dream, it’s going to happen like this?”

Yes.

You do kill, Perrin, but it’s not all you do. And I think part of this hunt was also about learning that there’s nuance even in that, maybe. That he can kill and not be monstrous.

But he had been avoiding this issue for too long, making horseshoes in the forge while leaving the most difficult and demanding pieces alone, untouched.

YES! THANK YOU PERRIN AYBARA! YOU’RE GETTING IT.

Man I love when characters finally stop fighting themselves. (I’m me, so I have a slight preference for when that surrender actually takes a much darker ‘so be it’ kind of form but listen, the heroic side is also lovely and this has been such a long time coming).

I also do really like that Perrin comes to these realisations himself. Yes, it’s taken him a long time and yes, Hopper has been pushing him and pushing him to try to get him here (along with Tam, and various others), but ultimately it has to come from him. From an understanding of himself, and an acceptance of that.

Much like Rand’s own realisation, though so many others played into it and guided him along the way or pushed him towards the edge, anchored him or tried to cut him loose, ultimately came down to him, on a mountain, thinking.

Or how Nynaeve breaking her block happened alone at the bottom of a river, in a moment where at last she understood surrender.

These books do self-realisation well, is what I’m getting at. Giving characters those chances to see themselves, and to reach these understandings, and then letting those moments – those quiet, unwitnessed, outwardly unremarkable moments – carry such weight.

He relied on the powers of scent he’d been given, reaching out to wolves when he needed them—but otherwise he’d ignored them.

YES! THIS IS! SO GOOD!

(Like Rand with Lews Therin’s memories, and knowledge of the Power).

But he gets it now. You can’t use this if you’re also trying to fight it. You have to accept it, even when that’s terrifying, even when that means confronting parts of yourself you’d rather pretend weren’t there. Because the reward, ultimately, is that you’ll actually be able to wield them, rather than being at their mercy by virtue of being constantly at war with yourself.

You couldn’t make a thing until you understood its parts. He wouldn’t know how to deal with—or reject—the wolf inside him until he understood the wolf dream.

YES THAT’S EXACTLY IT I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS.

“Very well,” Perrin said. “So be it.”

HERE. WE. GO.

And now over to Galad. Fine. If we must.

Those Light-cursed swamps were behind them; now they travelled over open grasslands.

Because they’ve figured out their leadership situation and murdered the corruption from their ranks, get it?! So they’re not mired in the swamp of their own indecision and division now! They’re united and can move forwards in a cleaner direction!

If there was no danger of death, there could be no bravery, but Galad would rather have the Light shine on him while he continued to draw breath.

I mean, fair enough, and same, but that’s almost a surprising thing for Galad to think. Not that I think he’s the type to want martyrdom, but…hm. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the whole bravery thing here, but it just feels a little odd for Galad. Then again I will be the first to admit that there’s a lot about Galad that just Does Not Compute for me, so…sure. Lawful Good Paladin and all that.

He wanted to know what kind of traffic the highway was drawing

Refugees with a chance of wolves, most likely.

He remembered well the words that Gareth Bryne had once said: Most of the time, a general’s most important function was not to make decisions, but to remind men that someone would make decisions.

I just find it weirdly endearing that all three of Galad, Gawyn, and Elayne end up relying on Bryne’s wisdom from time to time, quoting him in their thoughts. Of course, it just as likely leads them in entirely opposite directions because this family is a bit of a mess, but still.

“The letter must be sent,” Galad said.

Okay but if we’re on the topic of shared family traits, evidence suggests letter-writing is not exactly a strong suit. You sure about this, Galad?

Ah, it’s a letter to the Children with the Seanchan giving them the bullet-points version of everything that’s happened. Well, far be it from me to criticise open and honest communication in this series, I suppose.

And he still plans to ally with Aes Sedai, which understandably is going over as well as a pile of Blight-mud with some of his men.

“But the witches are evil!”

Says a member of an organisation perfectly willing to overlook the torture of innocent people in order to wring confessions from ‘Darkfriends’, but…sure. Just, you know, glass houses and all that.

Once, he might have denied that. But listening to the other Children, and considering what those at Tar Valon had done to his sister, was making him think he might be too soft on the Aes Sedai.

Listening to other Children and thinking about his sister but consider this, Galad, have you ever thought of listening to her, maybe? Or, like, actually trusting her judgement when you do? Just a passing thought.

Seriously, what is it with Elayne’s brothers and continually underestimating her, her ability to look after herself, and also her reading of her own damn situation?

“However, Lord Harnesh, if they are evil, they are insignificant when compared to the Dark One.”

Well… alright, sure, at this stage I guess if that’s how you have to look at it to make this work, then fine. We don’t have time to solve everyone’s problems with everyone else before they all need to at least act as allies, so if uneasy ‘enemy of my enemy’ trust is what it takes…

Then, as Bashere said, there’s always another battle. Or as Rand said, they can all go back to killing one another once it’s done. A sad way to look at it, but for all that Rand has come a long way and is no longer looking at this in quite the same way, I think some of those things are still true. The great battle done, but the world not done with battle.

Tarmon Gai’don’s alliances won’t solve all of that, even led by a Dragon Reborn who truly has a purpose now. It may be enough to see them through, but after…?

The Wheel of Time turns.

“We need allies. Look around you, Lord Harnesh. How many Children do we have? Even with recent recruits, we are under twenty thousand. Our fortress has been taken. We are without succour or allegiance, and the great nations of the world revile us.”

Wow, I WONDER WHY.

I mean, good on Galad for taking on the task of redeeming the Whitecloaks but… it sure is going to be a Task.

“The Questioners are at fault,” Harnesh muttered.

“Part of the blame is theirs,” Galad agreed. “But it is also because those who would do evil look with disgust and resentment upon those who stand for what is right.”

Uh.

Sorry, Galad, but you’re leaving out a very large slice of the blame pie, which is: maybe the Questioners were the worst of the lot (or at the very least they make a convenient set of scapegoats), but the rest of you didn’t exactly object, or do anything about it. And plenty of you went right along (Two Rivers, anyone?) – or, sorry, were you Just Following Orders?

I mean morality is a grey area and all that but trying to pass off widespread hatred of your borderline-fanatic organisation with an unfortunate habit of killing innocent people as ‘evil people hate the righteous’ is maybe a bit of a stretch.

“In the past, the boldness – and perhaps overeagerness – of the Children has alienated those who should have been our allies.”

Euphemistic but…not wrong, I suppose. And to be fair to him (if I must), he does have a rather difficult line to walk, as the leader of this organisation. He maybe can’t just denounce them completely, but he also has to get through to them that some thing are going to have to change. And that this isn’t going to be an easy path ahead.

He's trying to enforce what they should be fighting for, underlining their stated principles and trying to get them to shift direction and also preparing them for what they’re going to face, without… undermining their foundations, or challenging them in a way that might break them.

And I suppose he actually believes some of this as well. Which is still just… sure, Galad. Okay.

I do love that he’s quoting Morgase to them. So much of her legacy has been tarnished that it’s nice to see these moments of… recognition, I guess.

“We follow no queen or king.”

“Yes,” Galad said, “and that frightens monarchs. I grew up in the court of Andor. I know how my mother regarded the Children.”

And yet! Look where you ended up! Quoting Morgase’s own thoughts on leadership to the Children, whom she hated.

See, the problem with Galad in this chapter is that he’s neither being a deadly-graceful swordsman nor defiantly enduring torture, which means we’re back to plain old annoyance with him on my part.

“Darkfriends,” Harnesh muttered.

“My mother was no Darkfriend,” Galad said quietly.

Yeah, Harnesh? If you value your life, do not insult Morgase Trakand in front of Galad. He can and will end you.

“You speak like a Questioner,” Galad said. “Suspecting everyone who opposes us of being a Darkfriend. Many of them are influenced by the Shadow, but I doubt that it is conscious.”

Oh, not just them, Galad. As Egwene said, “I think we all are serving the interests of the Shadow, so long as we allow ourselves to remain divided.” Or, for another and more recent example: “I think he almost had me, Egwene.”

But Galad does know his audience here. The Questioners do provide a convenient scapegoat, and a way to sort of… point out all the problems with the Whitecloaks, but slantwise. Deflected just slightly so that they do not sound like accusations, but rather like a very pointed ‘we are better than them, right?’ A kind of oblique warning, and a reminder of all that they must no longer allow themselves to be. A way of criticising indirectly, and allowing them to maintain their pride and convictions and certainty.

Which is also interesting in contrast to Egwene’s approach with the Aes Sedai, of being incredibly direct in her criticism of both the rebels and the Tower Aes Sedai. It’s interesting, because both approaches work. Because these are two very different organisations and situations, despite their occasional parallels.

“We cannot become lapdogs to kings and queens. And yet, think of what we could achieve inside of a nation’s boundaries if we could act without needing an entire legion to intimidate that nation’s ruler.”

Whitecloaks: ‘we’re a paramilitary organisation answerable to no monarch or nation!’

Galad, son of a literal royal house: ‘sounds good’

Then again, I suppose you could say much the same of the Dragonsworn and the Band of the Red Hand (leaving aside the fact that Rand rules or has ruled at least four nations in fact if not always in name), and in terms of facing Tarmon Gai’don as unified forces of the Light, that’s fair enough. But that’s the sort of thing that tends to cause, er, problems domestically.

A group of travellers on the road! I wonder who this could possibly be!

Galad sighed. Nobody could deny Byar’s dedication – he’d ridden with Galad to face Valda when it could have meant the end of his career. And yet there was such a thing as being too zealous.

Let it not be said that Galad doesn’t have his work cut out for him. That much is for sure.

Though Galad calling anyone else too zealous is, of course, mildly entertaining.

“Peace,” Galad said, “you did no wrong, Child Byar.”

Depends on the timeframe…

There was talk of a gigantic stone from the sky having struck the earth far to the north in Andor, destroying an entire city and leaving a crater.

…Shadar Logoth? Not quite a meteorite, no, but I can see how someone might arrive at that explanation. Especially if all the forces at play there were enough to leave traces of stishovite or coesite.

The talk among the men revealed their worries. They should have understood that worry served no useful function. None could know the weaving of the Wheel.

In which Galad Damodred discovers the cure for anxiety. Seriously, Galad, that’s all well and good for you, and I personally see where you’re coming from, but not everyone is going to just logic away their fear; it doesn’t always work like that.

Yeah this sounds like Perrin’s group. Well this should be fun.

Wait a second.

Morgase is with Perrin.

Oh man.

The man in the cart gave a start upon seeing Galad. Ah, Galad thought, so he knows enough to recognise Morgase’s stepson.

The man in the cart is Basel Gill and definitely knows enough to recognise Morgase’s stepson given that he’s currently travelling with Morgase, yes.

Basel Gill also really, really needs to work on his poker face. Though I don’t think even Mat’s ability to tell a lie would get Perrin’s entire caravan past Galad without arousing some kind of suspicion.

So Galad’s giving him the airport security treatment, Gill is trying his best to lie like a rug, and there’s only one way this is going to end.

“Anything else I will sell, but the food I have promised by messenger to someone in Lugard.”

“I will pay more.”

“I made a promise, my good Lord,” the man said. “ could not break it, regardless of the price.”

“I see.”

I have to laugh here because yes, Gill is lying through is teeth and Galad knows it, but he’s also chosen the one lie that Galadedrid ‘do the right thing no matter the cost’ Damodred can’t actually directly challenge.

So instead he’s just going to separate the group and see if they all tell the same story.

“After all, what it seems like to me is that you are the camp followers of a large army. If that is the case, then I would very much like to know whose army it is, not to mention where it is.”

WOULDN’T YOU JUST.

It occurs to me that Perrin is the only one of the ta’veren boys – and, actually, the only one of the original Emond’s Field crew – who Galad hasn’t met.

And while it might be kind of funny if it were Mat’s army and he and Galad had a ‘….you?’ moment, given their last meeting, it’s all kinds of appropriate in terms of actual story and characters that Galad, new leader of the possibly-soon-to-be-reformed Whitecloaks, is the one meeting up with Perrin ‘Whitecloaks were my first kill’ Aybara.

Because Perrin is the one with the most… messy history with the Whitecloaks, and so it is fitting that if there really is to be a shift, and if they really are to move forwards, it would be by turning that, somehow, into alliance.

“We may have a situation here,” Bornhald said. His face was flushed with anger.

Uh oh.

Speaking of Perrin’s history with the Whitecloaks. Bornhald (mistakenly) thinks Perrin killed his father, Perrin (somewhat less mistakenly) thinks Bornhald let his home be ravaged by Trollocs and betrayed him when he had promised to help… you know, just a few disagreements between friends.

“Have you ever heard of a man called Perrin Goldeneyes?”

“No. Should I have?”

“Yes,” Bornhald said. “He killed my father.”

Prepare to die.

Well THIS should be fun!

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