#—then I should be capable of doing the same. Mission before people <- he is nonetheless unable to avoid putting his quest for revenge above—

[clownakai]

The thing that stands out the most to me about Stage of Betrayal is the fact that Rei proves himself completely incapable of envisioning a world in which Hiro would ever willingly leave him behind. Hiro killed himself because Rye made him, because Rye gave him his own gun and forced him to shoot.

To me, the kicker isn't that Rei is actually wrong about this (even strategically speaking, killing himself and destroying all connections to his loved ones was objectively a good move on Hiro's part, and not at all unreasonable nor unheard of considering his job and circumstances), but how he's so deep in denial that he just can't see what happened through any other lenses.

He ignores any and all inconsistencies within his deduction because to acknowledge them would mean he'd have to take into consideration the idea that Hiro immediately chose to kill himself as option number one instead of trying to survive until they could at least attempt an extraction, which feels an awful lot like abandonment. It feels like Hiro put the mission and secrecy above everything else, even Rei (which we know isn't true. Hiro killed himself because he loved the people close to him more than anything and he wanted to keep them safe— which, if you spend more than ten seconds thinking about the scenario, becomes immediately obvious as the motivation behind his suicide).

Hiro killed himself because he was terrified he'd be forced to drag Rei into the line of fire. He did that out of love, without thinking, while Rei can't even consider that as an option because they have fundamentally different ways of thinking and to him it would mean that Hiro didn't care enough to stay alive.

And Rei, being an extremely emotional person, wouldn't handle that well at all— which only leaves him the option of denial (be it subconscious or not).

[heartswithinreach]

your post about sylus essentially conditioning the reader to sit on his lap hasjsakddf that was so perfect and in character 😭 i love it sm its given me so much brain rot - how bout this:

can i request the lads boys reaction to the reader randomly asking to be carried/picked up in the middle of walking? for no other reason just to see how'd they react lol

LaDS casually carrying MC

Xavier

The most casual. He just smiles at you and asks, "Bridal or piggyback?" in the same tone as if he's asking what you want to eat.

And he's not just playing along. He means it. He wants to be the one you lean on — metaphorically and literally.

You can try and backtrack but then you'll get those eyes. The bluest puppy dog eyes that can break the strongest of wills. "Are you sure? We still have a few blocks to go to the café, I don’t want you to get tired..."

You feel like you're holding out on him by not letting him carry you. The mind tricks this man is capable of to get what he wants are ridiculous.

You fold embarrassingly fast and Xavier is happy as can be with you on his back, your arms and legs around him like a full-body embrace. He can see the tactical advantage to carrying you like this during missions, too.

Rafayel

"You want me to carry you?“ Rafayel scoffs. “What if I pulled a muscle in my arm and couldn't draw for a week? No thank you!"

He refuses until you ask if it's not that he doesn't want to carry you, but that he can't.

Now you've wounded his pride. He might not be the God of the Sea anymore, but he can't let this go unanswered! Rafayel will be on you relentlessly to let him pick you up, no matter how long it takes.

"Whoa, be careful, cutie! There's no telling how deep these puddles are from all the rain — you're super lucky your boyfriend is here to carry you to safety."

When you finally break and let him do it just so he can prove a point, he realizes he likes this way more than he thought he would. You're like his adorable little prisoner and the only way you're getting out is in praise and smooches. This will become a regular thing, I fear.

Zayne

“I told you to wear more comfortable shoes.”

Zayne inwardly grins at how quickly you deflate at his blunt response. It's adorable.

But Zayne has a hard time denying you something so innocent as wanting to be close to him. So he guides your arm to wrap around his shoulders and picks you up with a strength that always takes you by surprise.

He waits for you to settle comfortably in his arms before he starts walking. He's aware of the disapproving stares from the people around you and not too long ago, he would've been one of them. How quickly his perspective has changed because of you.

Zayne is brought out of his thoughts when he feels you peck his cheek and now you get that oh so familiar look of gentle reproach from him. "I am working on being more affectionate but I'm not there yet, MC. Now, behave or your ride will end early."

Sylus

Sylus is so caught off guard that, for once, you can see his entire thought process play out through his expressions.

Surprise at your request, suspicion you're just toying with him, the realization you're being somewhat serious, and then the most gratified look you've ever seen on his stupid smug face.

Now you’re speaking his language. So delighted you’re finally catching on, he just picks you up and continues on his way without breaking his stride.

However, you didn't specify how he should carry you. So you're draped over Sylus's shoulder and to keep you there, his hand is dangerously high up on your thigh for being in public. The smack on your ass is so inevitable, you can feel it like it's already happened.

"You just said you were tired, now you want me to put you down? You need to learn to make up your mind, kitten. I'll just carry you until you're sure of what you want."

[doodle-pops]

Taking Care of Them When They Fall Sick

Characters: Fingolfin, Argon, Aegnor, Rog, Beleg, Elrond

A/N: Since the elves are always taking care of us when we’re unwell, I thought that it was time for the tables to be turned. And knowing how workaholic they are, what better time to fall sick and be pampered 🤭

Synopsis: Taking care of the elves when they fall sick due to overworking and they believe themselves to be dying.

Masterlist | Navigation

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Fingolfin

– He was absurdly composed even when he was falling apart, and finding him hunched over a war table with his head in his hand, eyes unfocused, and still mumbling about troop positions was even more absurd. When you asked him about his appearance, the first thing he told you was, “I do not fall ill,” right before swaying and grabbing the table like it owed him money.

– Dragging the High King to bed was a diplomatic mission. He insisted he could finish what he was doing, while you reminded him that the last sentence he wrote just said “sword horse valley sword sword”.

– Once you managed to get him into bed, he refused to lie flat. He was miserably propped up like a wounded general. “This is very undignified. I’m the High King.” “Yeah, sure buddy, because right now you’re a high fever,” you muttered while shoving the herbal compress against his forehead.

– He didn’t whine, but he did sigh in a way that was designed to induce maximum guilt. “I should be with the people. This weakness—” “This weakness is a fever, Ñolo. You’re not dying. Cease being an overgrown baby.”

– He did complain a lot about the way the fever had him: “I feel sluggish,” “Is this what death feels like?” “How do you mortals withstand such atrocities?” “Is this how Fëanor felt before he combusted?”

– You fed him soup and he stared at the spoon like it had personally betrayed him. “I am perfectly capable of feeding myself.” Then nearly spilled the bowl into his lap when he tried. “Right. Yes. Carry on.”

– Once the fever got worse, he started talking nonsense. You caught the phrase “Noldorin dignity shall not fall to broth” and had to leave the room because you were laughing so hard at how dramatic he was acting over a fever.

– It was even better when he woke from a long nap looking dishevelled and flushed, he blinked slowly and said, “How long was I asleep?” “Six hours.” “…Has a new war started?”

– He thanked you awkwardly once he was better. Then added, “I hope you know I would do the same for you.” You just shook your head, “As if you already don’t. At least I complain a lot less than you do.”

– He was never late to rest again because you teasingly told people the King was vulnerable to soft blankets and tender affection. Though, he never confirmed or denied it. Just glared every time you brought it up.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Argon

– Stubborn baby never even considered that overworking himself could lead to illness. He was built like a mountain, or so he believed, and the fever hit like a sneak attack in the middle of training drills. He fainted with all the grace of a tree tipping over.

– You found him slumped awkwardly against a boulder with his eyes glazed and shirt clinging to him from the heat. When he mumbled, “Oh dear…did the sun fall out the sky and land on me?” you had to bite back a laugh before calling for help.

– He was mortified to be carried into the house by others and promptly pretended to faint again when he spotted you hovering with a worried expression. “Tell no one of this, especially my brothers.”

– You forced him into bed and told him you’d handle everything. He pouted. Actually pouted. “But I take care of you, not the other way around…”

– Babying him became more amusing than you expected. He was huge, but absolutely pathetic with a fever, wrapped in too many blankets and still shivering. “You can’t leave me. I might perish in your absence,” he croaked dramatically when you stood to refill his water with a hand over his forehead. He slept like a Victorian child dying of a disease

– He kept trying to insist he could still go out and “polish his armour at least,” which earned him a death glare and a fresh dose of the disgusting herbal drink he hated.

– “This is poison,” he grumbled after sipping it. No amount of convincing you to let him be free and roam once again with nature, his natural habitat, gifted him with escape. “I feel wounded in this form. Is this punishment? Must I repent to be freed?”

– After the first day, he mellowed into a clingy, drowsy mess. Kept whining your name even when he was half-asleep. You’d be walking past and hear, “I thought of something tragic again. Come here.”

– At one point, he tried to write you a letter declaring you his saviour and heir to his sword, in case he ‘succumbed to the fire.’ It was…extremely dramatic and signed in what looked like tea.

– You teased him for days after he got better. He denied everything. “I would never call myself a burdened, my beautiful soul in need of salvation.” You had proof that he had turned into an oversized whiny baby. He refused to acknowledge it.

– Even after he healed, he occasionally faked a cough here or there to get your attention and bask in your doting. You knew it. He knew it. But he learned not to fake because you teased him about how clingy he became.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Aegnor

– You’d told him several times to rest, to take a day off from wandering the northern borders and pouring over battle plans, but Aegnor’s way of ‘rest’ was sharpening his sword in silence.

– You didn’t know something was wrong until he stopped muttering. He always muttered under his breath when focused. And there he was, Snow White in the flesh, swaying slightly like a fragile tree in the wind.

– “I’m fine,” he managed to say before he toppled sideways like a brick and you had to physically drag him inside by the arm, cursing the pride of elves the whole way.

– He didn’t understand fevers. “I do not fall ill,” he insisted while looking visibly feverish and incoherent. Then spent the next ten minutes interrogating his own body. “Why am I sweating so much? Am I dying? I feel like a Balrog with all this fire inside me. Kiss me before I perish and become one.”

– Despite being hot to the touch and weak-limbed, he still tried to lecture you. “You should not have to do this. It is not your—” and then he sneezed six times in a row. The lecture ended.

– You gave him a cold cloth for his forehead and he squinted at you as though it were a holy relic. “You always do this when I’m unwell?” You just rolled your eyes at his dramatics. “You’ve never been unwell before you overdramatic child.”

– Very bad at being still. Kept trying to sit up and give orders through a raspy voice like some bedridden king. You had to throw a pillow at him and say, “You are not issuing battle commands from this bed, Aegnor. Sleep.”

– You tucked him in and he pretended he didn’t like it while making complaints for you to tuck him in properly. But then he caught you gently brushing his hair from his forehead and sighed like he hadn’t breathed in years. “I feel like a pampered princess. Massage my feet, please?”

– Once the fever broke, he wouldn’t stop apologising for being a burden, reckless, and for the sounds he made when sleeping.

– “If you ever try to get up when sick again, I’ll tie you to the bed.” The fool was more interested than terrified. “…Can you specify in what context?”

– He was never careless again though. But he did fake a fever once, just to see if you’d pamper him the same way. It was so terribly done you threw a cold cup of water at him and said, “Next time, try acting lessons first.”

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Rog

– Rog had two speeds: silent death machine and exhausted death machine. You were the only one who could tell when the switch happened. He didn’t admit it, but you saw how he stumbled just slightly getting out his high-stool.

– He passed out in his forge, collapsed across his workbench with metal dust all over his face. “Rog, you absolute idiot,” you whispered, lifting his head. “Even you’re not made of steel.”

– When he woke up, he was very confused to find himself in bed with your cool hand on his forehead. He blinked slowly. “…Did I perish? Is this the afterlife?” “No,” you replied. “This is me putting up with your nonsense.”

– He was flushed with fever and incredibly grumpy about it. “This is undignified,” he grumbled. “Elves do not—” “Rog, you’re as hot as a furnace. I can use your body to melt iron and craft a new sword.”

– Getting him to rest was like trying to tie down a mountain lion. Every time you left the room, he tried to get up and sneak back to his forge. You caught him once half-dressed and sneezing on his own apron. “Explain yourself,” you said. “I missed it,” he mumbled pathetically.

– You confiscated all his tools and locked the door. But then you got a giant elf who sulked for three hours. Wouldn’t even look at you. Eventually, when you offered soup, he sniffed dramatically. “I suppose I must accept nourishment in these dark days for I may fade away on the morrow. Very well.”

– Was very quiet during the worst of the fever—not used to feeling this weak. He whispered once, “You are gentle with me.” You almost missed it, he was so quiet. You smoothed back his hair and replied, “Only because you’d throw a tantrum if I tried to be stern.”

– Absolutely hated the herbal remedy, but bore it stoically like a warrior. Until you turned away and he tried to hide it under the bed. “Did you just throw your medicine under the mattress?” “Prove it.”

– When he was finally well again, he forged you a ridiculously beautiful brooch shaped like a lily, muttered something about resilience and guardianship, and then walked off pretending his ears weren’t red.

– You caught him staring at you multiple times afterwards, with a strange softness in his eyes.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Beleg

– It started with him coming back from a hunt looking pale and uncharacteristically quiet. You thought he was just tired until he nearly dropped his bow trying to string it and mumbled something about “the trees spinning strangely…”

– Beleg insisted it was nothing. “Elves do not fall ill,” he claimed confidently while swaying slightly. You poked his forehead and said, “You’re burning up, Hotman.” He squinted at you, betrayed. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

– The second you bundled him into bed, he became the most restless patient imaginable. “I’m perfectly capable of standing guard at least. Just open the window, I’ll shoot from here.” “You’ll shoot nothing but a fevered hallucination.”

– You caught him sleep-talking once. Something about a particularly sassy squirrel that stole his dried fruit. He snored afterwards. You never let him live it down.

– He got progressively needier the higher his temperature rose. He was used to caring for others during patrol, not being coddled like a napping fawn. You offered him soup and he blinked, looked genuinely moved. “This is...for me?”

– He kept trying to apologise. For worrying you, the way he slumped, the sniffling. “Beleg,” you said, smoothing a wet cloth over his brow, “I will throttle you gently if you apologise one more time.”

– “Of course it is.” “I feel like a prince. Or a tree spirit. Do tree spirits eat soup?”

– He calmed down only when you curled up in the chair next to his bed, reading aloud. At one point he groggily reached for your hand. “You read like summer wind. Warm. Gentle.” “You’re delirious.” “Still true.”

– You caught him later polishing your boots as repayment. “It’s not much,” he mumbled, “but I will earn your kindness.” You shook your head and kissed the top of his stupidly noble head.

– After the fever broke, he tried to sneak off to patrol. You blocked the door and raised an eyebrow and grabbed him by the collar. “Try that again and I’m tying you to the bedposts.” “…I thought you said no threats 🥺.”

– The next time you so much as sniffled, he turned into an overbearing mother hen. “Blankets. You need seven. Eat this bark tea. Sleep now. I’ll sing.” “Are you getting revenge?” “Who, me? Never.”

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Elrond

– Elrond getting sick was so unthinkable that you thought it was a prank. When he walked into your quarters clutching a blanket around his shoulders, face pale and voice hoarse, your jaw dropped.

– “I believe,” he rasped, “I may be... experiencing a mild biological disruption.” Are you saying you’re sick?” “...Possibly.”

– It was absurdly funny watching a healer become the patient. He knew exactly what to do, but refused to admit he needed to. You actually had to steal his own healing supplies and hide them so he’d stop trying to treat himself in secret.

– He refused to call it an illness at first. “It’s an imbalance of humours.” “You sneezed on my sleeve, Elrond.” “A momentary lapse.”

– “I’m merely fatigued,” he said, swaying slightly while holding a cup of tea. “My immune system is…unique.” You’re so dramatic, Elrond. It’s just a small fever caused by your workaholic self.”

– He was so embarrassed. “I treat others. I cannot be the one who is treated.” “Elrond, you’re literally a half-elf. You can get sick. Own it.” He groaned and buried his face in a pillow.

– The worst part? He still tried to work. He tried to get up and write letters to Galadriel. He tried to mix tonics while sniffling. He tried to instruct you on how to care for him, and you occasionally placed a finger on his lips to silence him.

– “You do realise this is the most ironic moment in the history of Middle-earth? The healer, caught in his own web of care.” He sighed dramatically. “I suppose I should have warded myself better.”

– He became clingier the worse his fever got. You were trying to leave the room once and he caught your sleeve weakly. “I am accustomed to the solitude of illness, but...I would rather not be alone this time.” So you stayed. Sat on the floor beside the bed, reading from one of his many ridiculous old scrolls. He fell asleep mid-sentence.

– You caught him mumbling in his sleep once: “No more root paste. Too bitter. I want honey cakes.” All you could do was stare at him in utter disbelief, like ‘Sir, you’re the same healer who scolded me for the same thing and now look at you.’

– Eventually, he allowed himself to laugh about it. “You have my thanks,” he said one evening, watching the sunset with his hair loose, finally looking more himself. “I hope to return the favour…and when I do, I shall do so a hundredfold.”

– When the fever broke, he refused to look you in the eye for half a day. “I apologise for my lamentable state. It was unbecoming.” “You mean the part where you demanded ‘emotional stabilisation’ and tried to hug my pillow? Never thought there would be a day you would become so…dramatic over a fever you caused.”

– That night you caught him placing a small vial on your nightstand. A tonic against fever. “Just in case,” he said softly, not expecting you to wake up. “I’m not risking being out-caretaken ever again.”

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[stxrseer]

Hii, saw your Genya HCS and I love it so much! Is it okay to write HCs of Genya as a overprotective boyfriend with a GN reader? (Fluff)

I hope you have a great day and take care of yourself :)

AWWW YES. i've been really busy with family lately so i'm not sure when this was sent in.

i'm also working on another ask, that should be out soon too!!

gn!reader/fluff

au; original

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Genya never saw himself as someone who would make a good partner.

he thought he was an alright person, but love? relationships?? he never had time to put those things into consideration.

the minute he met you, though? he found his thoughts were plagued. absolutely plagued.

he doesn't fall often, he falls hard.

a gentle lover, regardless of how big and scary people view him. he isn't all too great at expressing himself emotionally, nor his affection due to his shyness but he tries his very best all for you!

but he has no problem expressing how worried sick he is.

you're both demon slayers, same rank, same final selection, fully capable of defending yourself as well as him with one arm if needed.

and yet he wields the power to sicken himself half to death like no other. every time you're gone off on a mission and he simply can't be with you.

the moment you get back he's up on his feet prying about the mission, asking how it went, lots of "did you get hurt??" and "come lie down." before you're whisked away and practically held captive until he's sure you're unharmed.

he's protective in more ways than one, his jealousy often getting the better of him even if he's been assured countless times

he's almost too embarrassed to act on it, but his frustration exceeds his shame most of the time and he can't bite back his tongue much longer.

his rage isn't directed toward you, always the guy that had the tiniest chance of swooning you, in a different universe. maybe.

"..i don't like that guy." with a twitch in his expression and you already know what he's trying to get at.

"neither do i. you don't have anything to worry about, Genya."

he sighs, his shoulders dropping a little bit.

"..Come on." you bap his shoulder lightly, "you know as well as i do that i couldn't replace you. not for anything."

genya seems to have mixed opinions on that at first, his features softening when you reach out to hold his hand

"..i know." he murmurs, intertwining his fingers alongside yours, "it's stupid, sorry."

he can't ever seem to stay mad for long, though.

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[maidenvault]

I feel like it kind of comes out of nowhere how Andor, after Luthen’s death, suddenly wants to prop him up as the guy who supposedly did more and gave more than anyone else for the rebellion, and a lot of discussion of the show accepts this and kind of whitewashes his moral ambiguity that is what makes him a really fascinating character, the standout one of the series imo. Luthen was never the only person building and running a spy network or the only one funding and supplying the rebellion.

And what has he sacrificed that’s supposedly so much more than anyone else’s sacrifices? Compared to all his agents who were more regularly on the ground risking themselves. Or victims of genocides like the one on Ghorman he was happy to have some responsibility for if it made the galaxy wake up more. Or Vel who lost Cinta, Cassian who’s lost everyone like family to him, and Mon who lived with her every move being watched for so many years and left behind her family without even getting a goodbye. If you give up all human connection, you don’t have much to lose, really. (And yet he didn’t even actually do that considering what we learn about Kleya, and his methods would have ultimately been self-defeating if it weren’t for her, the only person he didn’t alienate over the years.)

But even Cassian, of course, clearly doesn’t think everything he did was justifiable. He defends Luthen despite having complicated feelings about him. The series has constantly made a point of juxtaposing his perspective and his methods with those of other characters and he’s not always proven right. So why does the fandom seemingly take Luthen’s rationale at face value?

His defense of the move he made with the Aldhani robbery is to unapologetically tell Mon that the point is to hurt people and escalate things. To him it’s more about that than the money. As Tony Gilroy’s said himself, he’s an accelerationist. And yeah, Cassian being used for slave labor as an indirect result does begin to radicalize him (but the messages Maarva leaves behind are also surely a big motivator in getting him all in). But because of the legislation passed after Aldhani there are probably millions of people still in those hellish prisons for a very long time with the public having no idea how they’re being treated. Luthen doesn’t know about the Death Star project and the gargantuan labor force needed for it. The Empire was surely going to find a way to use slave labor to build it regardless and he quite possibly just gave them an easy excuse to ramp up arrests and extend sentences.

Then he basically plays into the Empire’s hands by aiding the rebellion on Ghorman because he doesn’t know what the endgame is and that the Empire wants the Ghor to fight back. Isn’t it crazy how we’ve been shown from the beginning Dedra is good at her job because she can think like Luthen, and she’s the one who comes up with the idea to stoke resistance among the Ghor and make them look dangerous? But he never considers that using the enemy’s weapons against them can just end up handing the Empire more weapons because chaos and fear are easy to take advantage of. Using those has always been Sidious’s playbook. I mean it’s no wonder nobody at Yavin likes Luthen when he’s still on his accelerationist bullshit two years before the Battle of Yavin, when the rebellion is starting to gather forces there and is already getting stronger every day without the additional push of another genocide.

Cassian’s instincts are right when he doesn’t get involved with the Ghorman resistance, and I think it’s kind of meaningful that Cinta dies so senselessly following Vel on their mission there. Vel’s a very capable rebel but has sometimes served as a kind of foil showing how much more of a natural leader Cassian is, and she doesn’t make the same call when arguably none of them should be there that night.

Ultimately what we see is that the Empire never needed any help from Luthen to hurt people enough that they inevitably fight back. They’ll do that completely unprovoked and with no reason but needing a resource in the ground under people’s feet. Ghorman was going to be destroyed no matter what, which is Dedra’s terrible excuse for her participation and no consolation to Syril, but nonetheless surely true. The Ghor fighting back with help from Luthen only makes it easier for them to control the narrative. A narrative Mon has to risk her life to tear apart on the Senate floor in a move that’s perhaps more powerful in encouraging resistance than the deaths of millions of people who couldn’t choose to sacrifice themselves.

Luthen is human and he makes mistakes. He isn’t a Jedi, he has normal weaknesses and limitations, so he has to make compromises. But after he’s been doing this so long, he clearly has stopped weighing the cost every time and become a little too comfortable with those compromises, like he’s just got to be in for a penny in for a pound to keep justifying to himself what he’s already done.

And in the end, all his work pays off in such a huge way with his Death Star intel only because he got really lucky - or perhaps because he was meant to be there at the right time. It also pays off because he didn’t do the ruthless thing he usually would at the end of season one, never getting an opening to kill Cassian without talking to him first. He breaks his own rules sometimes, he cares about Kleya, and that also pays off. His humanity and fallibility is exactly what makes him a hero - he had to start so small and with absolutely every disadvantage and he still did what he did. He still got a kind of redemption in the end when he wasn’t even looking for it. He could always see the endgame in his designs and that there’d be hope in that he couldn’t share in himself, but ultimately he is part of a destiny that’s even more important than anything he could have expected his efforts would bring about. The hope was always there and maybe he wouldn’t have done some things the same way if he could see it.

[slut4thebroken]

Partners

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jackson Rippner x assassin!reader

Summary | You and Jackson are paired together on an assignment. The job in question? Pose as a couple in a bdsm club and lure your target somewhere more private.

Warnings | Sexual content, 18+, smut, humiliation, public humiliation, voyerism, exhibitionism, praise, degradation, objectification, face fucking, deep throating, girl on girl kissing💅🏻, grinding, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, breeding, choking, spitting, ?, lol.

Words | 7k

Notes | Somehow I wrote this in like one day lol but I kinda love it.

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

If there’s one thing you hate, it’s working with a partner. You’re perfectly capable doing a job on your own, but your employer said you could either work with someone or be fired. Fired means dead— he can’t have people who know what you know, not working for him— so obviously you chose the former. 

Your assignment this time was simple; retrieve his phone, leave him alive. What made it difficult were the amount of guards he had on him 24/7 and his major trust issues. You couldn’t just walk up to him and start flirting— he’d get too suspicious. Which is where your partner came in. 

The target regularly attends a bdsm club and you don't know how your employer knows this, but when he’s there, he only goes to one of the private rooms if it’s with a pair, not just one person. Which unfortunately meant that you have to play submissive with a man you met only a few hours ago— and not just any man. After your brief amount of time together, it didn’t take long for you to completely hate him. He was cocky and unnervingly charming, but had an undertone of misogyny to him— that much was obvious in the way that he undermined your work. But it was this, or death. So you had to put up with him. 

“What should I call you?” He asked, standing in front of the mirror as he adjusted his tie. You were sitting on the bed, buckling the straps of your outrageously high heels. 

“My name?” You said, as if you were talking to a child who just asked a stupid question. He paused and turned to you.  

“No sub goes to a bdsm club with a dom and is called by their real name. Should I choose for you?” He condescended, making you clench your jaw. Should you just come up with a name you don’t actually use or like? You probably won’t be able to get in character as easily though. 

“Princess I guess.”  

“Great.” He said dryly, making you roll your eyes. “You can just call me sir.”  

“Great.” You repeated, in the same tone as him. 

The drive was awkward. Neither if you talked unless it was about the mission, but both of you already knew what to do. You arrived before the target, so you took the time to get a feel for the place and get into character. While this isn’t your first time in a place like this, you haven’t been often and it still makes you blush. He led you over to a quiet corner, then sat down. When you started doing the same, he stopped you. 

“Kneel on the ground.” He explained, making you clench your jaw, but obey. You know what kind of partnership the target prefers. You have to just swallow your pride and do this with a stranger who already infuriates you after only a few hours together. You dropped to your knees next to him, trying to adjust your skirt so it wouldn’t show anything, but it was useless. It didn’t even cover your ass when you were standing, let alone sitting. You were just glad you were wearing underwear. The top wasn’t much better— your breasts were spilling out of it and it was short enough to barely be classified as a crop top. It was basically just a skimpy bra. The collar weighed heavy around your neck and while this wasn’t your first time wearing one, you’re usually in a deeper headspace and with someone you actually like while wearing it. Right now it was just a constant reminder of the demeaning position your boss put you in. You turned over your shoulder to look at the door, but he stopped you. 

“Look at me or your lap. I’ll tell you when he’s here.” 

“We’re just going to sit here until then?” That would be even more suspicious. 

“No. We have to already be doing something when he walks in.” 

“No shit. Like what, genius?” You spat, growing nervous when his lips twisted up into a smirk. 

“Grind on my foot.” He said, extending his leg. You gaped at him, too caught off guard to figure out what to say. 

“What? I'm not— No!” 

“Princess,” he warned, leaning forward to grab your cheeks in his hand, “if you want to live through this and not be killed by the target or your boss, you’ll do what I say.” He said lowly, making you swallow down a moan.  

“Fuck— fuck, fine.” You hissed and he let go of your face, letting you position yourself over his shoe. You let out a heavy breath through your nose and clenched your jaw, not able to look at him as you lowered yourself down until your clothed heat met the smooth leather. 

You started out slow, tentative, your arms moving around awkwardly, not sure where to put them. 

“Hands behind your back.” He said, making you look up at him. Your hands moved behind your back without hesitation and you internally groaned at the fact that you’re already slipping into that headspace. 

“Good girl, just like that.” He cooed mockingly, making you glare at him. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You spat, even though his words added to your unwanted arousal. 

“Careful, princess. Anyone could be listening.” He smirked, flexing his foot up, making you gasp as your hips bucked toward the pressure. He didn’t keep his eyes on you for long, wanting to instead scan the crowd and keep an eye out for the target. 

“I don’t like this, Jackson,”

“Try again.” You just gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes, not wanting to call him that unless you absolutely have to. 

“I don’t trust you, I want to be able to see.” You finished. 

“Your options are this or sitting on my lap, but I’ll have to touch you another way to keep up appearances.” Fuck. Is being able to see the room really worth him touching you like that? He’s probably going to need to do so eventually, though…

“Fine.” You said, standing up. “Over my clothes.” You turned around and sat on his lap, feeling slightly less tense now. 

“Clothes?” He scoffed, making your cheeks flush. 

“Shut up.” You hissed. His hands suddenly settled on your thighs and your breath caught in your throat. He teased you, dragging them up and down, barely brushing the bottom of your skirt. He placed a hand on your chest— your cleavage— and you were about to say something, but he just pulled you back so you were leaning against his chest. 

“Open your legs.” He whispered against your ear, making your shiver. 

“I don’t exactly want to give the entire room a view up my skirt.” 

“Sweetheart.. they’re going to get much more than that soon enough. Might as well just rip the bandaid off.” You gritted your teeth at the pet name, but still did what he said. “Good girl.” One of his hands started drifting higher, pushing under your skirt until he brushed your core, making you bite down on your lip to contain any sounds. 

“You think I want this too? I didn’t exactly picture my next job being spent feeling up a whore assassin in the middle of a bdsm club.” 

“Fuck you, Jackson.” You spat and he reeled his hand back then brought it down just as fast, making you jolt as a quiet whimper escaped you. 

“What did I fucking say?” He growled, roughly cupping your cunt over the lace. 

“Fuck you, sir.” You said viciously, but the breathiness in your voice took away some of the bite. “You think I wanted to spend my next job getting felt up by some ammatuer?” His other hand shot up to grab your neck and roughly pull your head back against his shoulder as he squeezed. 

“If I were in your position, I wouldn’t speak like that.” He hissed. You grabbed the arm of the hand on your neck, clawing at it to get him to let go. “Now, how about you shut the fuck up and be a good little girl, like your employer told you to be, and stop drawing attention to us, hm?” You were suddenly hyper aware of the few pairs of eyes that were now watching you. Your hands went lax and dropped to your sides, making his grip loosen slightly. The hand on your cunt was moving more purposefully now, rubbing your clit slowly as your eyes fell shut and you squirmed, trying to ignore the fact that you were being watched and this was a stranger rubbing your clit right now. 

“I have to know your secret. What did you say to her?” A man suddenly asked and you opened your eyes to find him and a woman standing in front of you. “My girl likes being a brat but it usually takes longer to get her to submit, isn’t that right, pet?” 

“Just helping you practice your authority, sir.” She said sweetly and if you weren’t in your current predicament, you would’ve laughed. 

“Oh you know, the usual threats.” Jackson chuckled with a shrug. 

“C’mon, you gotta help me out— look at her! Only seconds ago she was acting out.” Jackson laughed quietly behind you and you wondered how he was going to play this. 

“I got lucky— she’s a cock hungry little whore. All I gotta do is just threaten to not give it to her and she fixes her attitude almost instantly.” He said proudly, making you blush as you whined and turned your head. “She gets a little shy. This is our first time here and she’s not used to so many people.” He explained and the man hummed in understanding. 

“Well, welcome. I’m Nick.” 

“Jackson. I hope it works out for you.” You could tell he was smiling through the obvious dismissal. 

“Thanks. I’ll give it a try next time.” They both walked away and you let out a heavy breath as his hand slowed to a stop. 

“Screw you.” You muttered, making him chuckle under his breath. 

“Yeah I thought you might like that.” You took deep breaths, trying to calm down and not let your nerves consume you. “We need to do more. We stick out too much like this.” Looking around the room, you knew he was right. Everyone was either engaging in some kind of nudity and/or intense sexual act, or they were watching one. 

“I know.” You sighed. “Like what?” 

“You can suck me off, or if you want to keep watching the room, I can finger you.” He suggested, making your blush deepen. His hands rubbed up and down your legs as he waited for you to decide. 

“Fine. You can finger me, just leave my underwear on please.” You said quietly. It was almost as if he could sense your nervousness about the situation because he didn’t respond with a mean retort or a jab at you. 

“Okay.” Was all he said. One of his hands snaked up, then wasted no time slipping in your underwear and brushing through your folds. “Jesus.” He said through a breathy laugh. 

“Don’t act like I’m not sitting on your fucking hard on right now.” You hissed, making him go quiet. 

“Fair enough.” He pushed a finger in and your hand gripped his leg as you stiffened. He started curling it slowly and you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. “Feel good?” He rasped and you couldn’t tell if he was making fun of you or not. You cursed under your breath and squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to completely give in to the pleasure. When he started kissing your neck, you couldn’t hold down the moan anymore. 

“Fuck,” You whimpered, hips grinding against his hand. 

“You like having your neck kissed?” God— it’s one of your favorite things. For some reason, the simple act never fails to get you hot and bothered and turn you into a pliant, needy mess. 

“Yes, sir.” You whispered, gasping when he pushed another finger in. 

“Look at that…” He cooed. “Just a few fingers and you’re already slipping. I can’t wait to see how dumb you get on my cock.” You whined, hips moving incessantly. Even though you knew he wouldn’t actually fuck you, the thought still made you dizzy. When he lightly nipped at the skin, you let out a low moan and squeezed his leg harder. 

“No marks.” You whispered, despite the fact that your body was begging for the opposite. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.” He mumbled sarcastically. You let your eyes fall shut and rested the full weight of your head on his shoulder as he kept kissing the sensitive skin. He was grinding the heel of his hand against your clit as his fingers curled inside you relentlessly and you could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching. 

“He’s here.” He whispered, making your eyes snap open. Sure enough, he and about five men were walking in. He walked over to a booth and waited as one of the guards spoke to the people sitting there, making them instantly scramble out of their seats for the man. 

“How should we play this?” You whispered and his fingers slowed to a stop, but didn’t leave you. 

“We can’t come on too strong, but we also need to do something to get his attention.” 

“He won’t want it if it’s too easy though.” You added, groaning internally at what that meant you had to do. “We have to be the most desirable people here.” 

“Draw a crowd.” He confirmed, removing his fingers, making you swallow down a whine.  

“How do we do that?” You don’t know why you were asking him and not just deciding. Actually, that’s not true— it’s because you were already so close to entering a head space that you should not be in while working. 

“Get on your knees again. I’ll be right back.” You stood up and watched him walk over to Nick who was watching someone getting spanked while his.. “pet” was working his cock over in her mouth. You kneeled, but kept your eyes on him as you waited. They both looked at you, then back at each other, now with smiles as Jackson patted the man’s shoulder. He made his way back to you as Nick started talking to a few other people. 

“I’m getting a crowd.” He explained. “Just play along. I’ll keep watching our guy and tell you when he’s coming over, okay?” You nodded and he cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “Ready to put that mouth to good use?” He smirked and you swallowed thickly. His attention was drawn away from you when Nick approached, followed by a few other people, some of them crawling and being led by leashes. 

“I was telling our friend here how you want to work on your “stage fright.’” He explained, putting on a show for them. “What do you think, princess? This a big enough crowd for you?” You stared up at them with wide eyes, trying not to shrink under all of their gazes. 

“Yes, sir.” You said meekly. 

“Atta girl. Now how about you get to it? We don’t want to keep them waiting.” You nodded and reached for his belt with shaky hands. When you finally freed his cock, you choked on a gasp at the sheer size of it. You tentatively took him in your hand and stroked slowly, getting a feel for it. 

You’re no virgin, but you’ve been so busy with work for the past few months that you’ve been relying on your vibrator. So you’re a little out of practice and his size isn’t helping much. He placed a hand on your head to pet your hair. 

“You know what I want. Don’t be a tease.” He warned, making you look up at him. 

“Sorry, sir. Just got distracted.” You heard the group behind you chuckle. 

“What’d I say, huh, Nick? Cock hungry whore— she’s practically obsessed with it. Can’t even go a day without it.” He took in a sharp breath when you suddenly enveloped the tip in your mouth, still stroking the base. “Fuck, there you go. Give our friends a show, yeah?” You whined at the reminder that you were being watched, making his hips flinch forward. Despite his request, you kept your mouth on the head of his cock, not going much further. He suddenly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, making you gasp and choke on a moan. He leaned down close to you and you grew nervous because of his expression. 

“I didn’t invite them over to watch you do a half assed job. Either do it right, or I’ll get someone else to do it and you’ll go the rest of the night without it.” He growled, making you press your thighs together. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” You whimpered and he loosened his grip as he leaned back up. You kept your hand at the base, but started bobbing your head more now, taking most of his cock in your mouth. 

“Wow she really is cock hungry.” Nick said, making you whine. 

“It’s a blessing and a curse.” Jackson said through a breath, starting to guide your head. “Can’t get anything done if she’s around.” He chuckled, making the rest of them laugh along with him. 

“Mind if I take her for a spin?” Your stomach dropped at that. Sucking off a stranger who you’ve known for a few hours is different than sucking off one you just met barely ten minutes ago. 

“Maybe next time. Like I told you, this is our first time and she’s already pretty nervous.” He said and you could’ve cried in relief. 

“No worries, man. My girl was the same for our first time.” Jackson was about to respond before you accidentally went down too far and gagged around him, making him moan. 

“Shit— Let’s show ‘em what you can really do, yeah? Attract some more people.” You were pretty sure that meant the target wasn’t watching you yet. You hummed around him in acknowledgment and he adjusted his grip on your head, then started moving you up and down. “Hands behind your back.” You immediately released his cock and put your arms back. He sped up slightly, but was still going slow enough to let you get a feel for it. When he pulled you down, then held you there, your cunt pulsed when you realized what he wanted. 

“Relax your throat, princess. Let me in.” He said through a breath. You tried to obey, but you started gagging, making it almost impossible. “She just needs a little help sometimes.” He said before roughly pulling you down until he breached your throat barrier, making you choke and sputter as he groaned. He yanked you off, then slapped you across the cheek, the suddenness of it all making you dizzy. 

“If I feel your teeth again, you’re done for the night.” 

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry, sir.” You rasped, then opened your mouth, waiting. 

“Fuck- she really is eager.” Someone commented with a snicker. 

“Oh you have no idea.” Jackson said before pushing you back down, then extending his leg so his foot was between your legs. “Go ahead, bitch. Show everyone how much you love my cock.” You whined, but had no control over your body when you started grinding on his shoe. You moaned around his length as you desperately bucked your hips, missing the stimulation you were getting from his fingers before. The tip of his cock was punching the back of your mouth with each thrust, making you gag and writhe. 

Eventually he gave you a break. He pulled you off his cock then immediately forced your head between his legs, pushing your face against his balls. 

“Suck.” He growled, making you obey instantly. As you worked him over in your mouth, he was letting out breathy moans and grunts that had you whining against him, wanting more. “I don’t know what you were so nervous about, baby. You seem to be fine with all the people watching you.” At first, you whined at the reminder, but then you realized that he might’ve said that to let you know the target was watching now. 

“She like rimming?” Someone asked, making you panic because no, you absolutely do not like rimming. You almost pulled away to speak, but he beat you to it. 

“She has to be pretty deep into subspace to get that filthy.” He said, making you relax a little. With his balls in your mouth and his cock resting on your face, you already felt pretty filthy. But it was just the right amount to make your hips move more eagerly against his shoe. He suddenly pulled you back and you looked up at him with an open mouth, waiting. 

“Spit on it.” Your eyes widened at the request but you quickly gathered the saliva in your mouth and spit it on his cock. The second you finished, he was rubbing his length over your face, smearing your saliva, making you grimace. He slapped your cheek with his cock a few times before letting out a quiet chuckle. 

“This filthy enough for you?” He asked, turning your head to face the audience, giving you confirmation that the target's eyes were indeed on you. 

“Can I make a request?” The same man from before asked and you prayed he wouldn’t request anything that required you to get anywhere near an asshole. 

“Depends on what it is.” Jackson said, playing along as he turned you back around to keep rubbing his spit soaked cock on your face. 

“Let some of us spit on her too, yeah? Really get her nice and filthy.” Jackson looked down at you and you were trying to come up with a response. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Sure, you’d have to take a very thorough shower later, but at least if it was interactive, it might entice your target to join. He seemed to be thinking the same thing. 

“What do you say, princess? Wanna be a good girl and let them do this?” You nodded with pink cheeks and he yanked your head back. “Use your words.” 

“Yes, sir. I- I want it.” You whimpered, making him grin. 

“You heard her.” He said, releasing your hair and taking a step back as he slowly stroked his cock. You turned around and the man moved forward, then looked at Jackson before doing anything. 

“Can I grab her face?” 

“If she agrees.” 

“You can touch my face, sir.” You said quietly, staring up at him through your lashes. He looked down at you and cursed under his breath before grabbing your cheeks and leaning down a bit. You flinched when the spit hit your face, then whined when he rubbed it in. 

“Fuckin’ disgusting. She likes it too, huh?” He chuckled, looking at Jackson again as he stepped back. 

“Oh she loves it. I’m sure she’s making a mess all over the floor.” He replied, making your whole face turn red because it sure felt like you were making a mess all over the floor. But from Jackson, not from these other people. 

Someone else stepped forward and carded his fingers through your hair before grabbing it and gently pulling your head back. His cock was out of his pants, fully erect, right in front of your face and you watched it jump when you whimpered after the man spat on you. 

Nick walked forward this time, having the woman kneeling at his feet crawl forward with him. 

“You have a safe word?” He asked and you nodded. 

“Red.”

“Good.” He leaned down and spat on your face, this one feeling more forceful than the others, making you flinch again when it hit your face. “Now, pet, after she tells us her color, I want you to lick it off her face, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” They both turned to you expectantly and your eyes flicked over to the target for half a second before going back to them. 

“Green.” You said quietly, making him beam. The woman shuffled forward and placed a hand on your thigh to steady herself as she leaned closer and slowly licked up your cheek. 

“Clean it all unless she says her safe word.” He commanded and you let her lap up the spit on your face, including over your lips. Your entire face was on fire when she pulled back slightly, her breath fanning your lips. 

“Ever kissed a girl before?” She asked sweetly, making your eyes widened as you choked on your spit. You shook your head, making her grin. “Do you want to?” 

“I- I have to ask first.” You said through a breath, almost forgetting where you were for a moment. Your whole focus was on her— the hand on your thigh, breath on your lips, even her words were intoxicating enough to make your brain go blank. 

“Go ahead then.” She smirked, pulling back a bit, making you finally feel like you could breathe. You cleared your throat, then turned around, looking up at him. 

“She asked if I want to kiss her.” You said meekly. 

“And do you?” 

“I want what you want, sir.” It was hard to tell if you were still pretending. 

“I think it’ll be a good way for you to practice feeling more comfortable in front of a crowd— might even attract some more people.” You knew that by “more people” he meant the target, so you nodded and bit your lip as you turned back around. Her smirk was still intact and she moved back toward you, placing one hand on your cheek and the other on your thigh. When she started moving forward, you closed your eyes and waited. 

The kiss started out slow and tentative, but quickly grew hungrier. Her hand snaked around your neck to hold you against her as she practically devoured your mouth. You could faintly hear whistles and more talking, but it was all hard to focus on. Hands were suddenly on your shoulders and you jumped, but quickly relaxed when you heard Jackson’s voice. 

“Spit on her face.” He rasped, grabbing your chin and tilting your head up once she pulled back. Her eyes flickered between you and Jackson for only another moment before she did what he said. You gasped and he gripped your cheeks tightly to keep your jaw open. “Now in her mouth.” You couldn’t hold down the moan when you felt her spit land on your tongue. 

“Be a good girl and lick it up again.” Nick added and she leaned forward to lick her spit from your face, then kissed you again, forcing her tongue in your mouth, making you whimper. 

“Fuck— that’s it. You’re getting quite the crowd, baby.” He said quietly, then placed a hand on your waist and squeezed to really make sure you understood that wasn’t just a normal statement. When the woman pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips and you panted, trying to catch your breath and clear your head enough to have a coherent thought. 

“Who else wants to spit on her?” Jackson asked, somewhat loudly. A few people started to agree, but quickly stopped once your target stepped forward. “I think we have another volunteer, princess.” He smirked and the woman in front of you crawled back to Nick. You looked up at him through your lashes, trying not to do anything that would accidentally blow your cover. 

“She’s a pretty thing.” He said, stepping even more into your space, making you crane your head back to look at him. 

“Oh yeah. Pretty, but stupid— the perfect toy.” Jackson said proudly as he stood up from where he was crouched behind you. 

“I bet.” He chuckled, making you flush and avert your gaze. “I saw how eager she was with a cock in her mouth. Is she just like that with you? Or is she like that with any cock.” 

“Any cock. But we weren’t going to do much more than this. It’s our first time here and she’s pretty nervous.” 

“I see. That’s disappointing.” He sighed and you craned your neck around to look at Jackson. 

“Permission to speak, sir?” You were really trying to play it up in front of the target. 

“Yes.”

“I don’t mind. I’d just prefer going to a private room than staying out here.” You said meekly and he gave you a small smile as he pet your hair. 

“You sure, princess?” 

“Yes, sir. If he’s okay with going to a room.” Jackson looked at the man expectantly and he stared down at you, thinking. 

“I don’t mind.” He finally said, glancing at a guard and giving him a curt nod. “Shall we?” He motioned to the hallway where the rooms are and you started to stand, but Jackson stopped you as he tucked his erection back in his pants.  

“You can crawl.” He said and you flushed but dropped down to your hands and knees, following along behind them.  

The door shut softly and you waited on your knees expectantly. 

“How about I test that mouth, huh? See how eager she really is.” He smirked and you prayed Jackson would make a move sooner rather than later. He took his cock out of his pants, then roughly grabbed your hair, making you whimper. When he suddenly forced you all the way down, you choked and your hands shot out to push at his thighs. He suddenly released your hair and you pulled off with a cough, finding Jackson’s arm wrapped around the man’s neck, strangling him. After another minute he finally went limp and Jackson let him fall to the ground in front of you. 

“You couldn’t have done that before he fucking punched my throat with his dick? That hurt.” You complained, grabbing his phone from his pocket, then standing up on sore legs. 

“I needed to wait until his guard was down.” He explained and all you did was roll your eyes and start walking toward the door, but he grabbed your wrist to stop you. 

“We can’t leave yet. His guards will be right outside the door and they’ll know something’s up if we leave now.” You paused, then let out a groan at the fact that he’s right. 

“Fuck— fine. But I’m laying down.” You said, snatching your wrist from his hand and walked to the bed. You grabbed one of the small towels from the side table and wiped your face with a grimace as he rounded the bed and sat on the other side. 

“You did a surprisingly good job.” He admitted, making you turn to him with narrowed eyes. 

“Thanks.” You said, in place of ‘fuck you.’

“I just meant that I didn’t think you’d take it that far.” He defended and you calmed down a bit. 

“Neither did I.” You muttered. 

“You make a pretty good sub when you’re not being a stuck up bitch.” He snickered. You threw the towel at his face, then laid down, deciding to ignore him… as well as the arousal still making your cunt ache. 

“If we’re going to be here a while, the least you could do is let me sleep.” 

“Fine.” 

“Good.” You turned away from him and closed your eyes, feeling the bed dip and clothes rustle as he laid down. When he let out a low groan, you stiffened and strained your ear. The second time, you turned over, ready to yell at him, but it died in your throat when you saw his head thrown back as he rapidly fisted his cock. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hissed, making his lips curl up into a smirk. 

“Denial isn't one of my kinks, sweetheart. At least, not for me.” 

“Well— You could at least have the decency to not do it in the bed I’m trying to sleep in.” Your tone was not nearly as stern as you wanted it to be.

“My cock was literally down your throat, but you have a problem with this?” He scoffed a laugh, making your cheeks heat up. “Besides, it won’t be believable if I walk out of here rock hard.” He said, like it was obvious. “You could always help me and speed it up.” He suggested, making your mouth fall open. 

“I’m good.” You spat, making him chuckle. 

“Sure, princess. You keep acting like your pussy isn’t dripping down your thighs and maybe you’ll even start to believe it.” You flushed with anger, embarrassment, and arousal this time. 

“Maybe it is. But if I’m gonna get someone’s help, then I’ll ask the girl who caused it.” You smirked, making him freeze.  

“That’s cute.” He said sarcastically and your smirk widened. 

“Maybe I’ll go get her— tell the guards he wants a foursome instead.” You moved to get up, but he roughly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back until you were laying down again, then got on top of you.  

“Keep testing me. You’re not going to like where it gets you.” He warned, making your cunt throb. 

“I’m not your sub, Jackson. Get that through your thick skull.” He placed a hand on your neck and squeezed, making your breath hitch. 

“Maybe not. That doesn’t change the fact that you want me to fuck you.” That made you scoff. 

“Please get your head out of your ass, it’s not a good look for you.” 

“Sure, baby. Keep pretending I’m wrong.” He smirked. “You have a safe word. Use it.” He dared and you narrowed your eyes as you clenched your jaw. 

“Fuck you.” You spat, pushing at his chest, making his grip tighten on your neck. 

“Use it.” 

Your gaze hardened as you stared up at him, gritting your teeth. You couldn’t make yourself say it though. You’re too curious— too eager to know where this is going. 

“That’s what I fucking thought.” He spat, making you roll your eyes. He removed his hand from your neck to slap you, then immediately put it back. This slap was so much harder than the one he gave you out there and you almost whimpered at the sting on your cheek. 

“Go fuck yourself.” You said lowly, watching his cheeks tense as he clenched his jaw and let out a heavy breath through his nose. 

“I’m sick of your fucking attitude.” He was turning you on your stomach before you even knew what was happening. When you tried to lift yourself up, he pushed you down and held you there with a hand on the back of your head. It was harder to breathe like this, but you couldn’t even slightly  care about that when he roughly pushed your skirt up over your ass, then pulled your panties down just enough to free your cunt. 

The blunt tip of his cock brushed your entrance and he didn’t bother teasing you before forcing it inside, making you let out a strangled whimper at the suddenness of it all. He only stopped once his hips were flush with your ass and you gripped the sheets as you did your best to adjust to the intrusion. 

“Fuck— I can’t believe such an annoying little bitch has such a good cunt.” He said through a breath. When you tried to push yourself up to curse him out, he just pushed down harder on your head, making you whimper. 

He slowly dragged out until only the tip was inside, then snapped his hips forward, making you scream and try to move up the bed away from the intense feeling. 

“Ah ah ah— You’re not going anywhere, bitch. I’ve waited all fucking night for this.” He continued the same pace of slowly dragging out, then roughly slamming back in and you wished he’d do something that felt better for you— not that this felt bad… there are just other things that’ll actually feel good. 

He moved his hand to the back of your neck and you were able to turn your head to the side so you could actually breathe again. At a particularly rough thrust, you let out a choked moan and cried out. 

“I can’t believe you think people could ever see you as a respectable assassin after this. Not when you played your part a little too well.” You squeezed your eyes shut with a whimper, trying not to let yourself believe his words. “This is probably the only kind of job you’ll get from now on. No dignity, no self respect, just a wannabe assassin being used as a whore.” You let out a choked sob, his words going straight to your cunt. 

“And I’ll bet you’ll like it too. You’ll fuck anyone he tells you to, not just because it’s your job… but because you want to.” 

“Jackson,” You cried and he shushed you softly. 

“It’s okay, princess. You can’t help it— you were born to be a whore.” 

“Fuck,” You sobbed out, “oh god, please make me come.” 

“Of course you fucking like that shit.” He scoffed, making you whine. 

“Please, Jackson!” He pushed down harder on your neck, making your breath catch in your throat. 

“Last chance.” He said lowly. 

“Please, sir! Please make me come!” 

“Good girl… No.” You let out an anguished cry at the denial. 

“Please!” He was fucking you brutally now, his hips smacking your ass with each thrust and his cock punching the breath out of you everytime it was forced deeper inside. 

“You can fucking wait.” He hissed, voice getting more and more breathless. “Don’t you wanna be a good girl for me? Come when I tell you to?” He cooed, his tone significantly gentler now. You whined, torn between wanting your long awaited pleasure and wanting to be good for him. “I know, baby. I’m so close though, can’t you just wait a little longer?” You nodded with a whimper, watching him smile through your peripheral vision. “Atta girl.” He said proudly, making your walls flutter around his length. He let out a choked moan at the feeling, then leaned up and removed his hand from your neck to spread your ass apart for a better view of his cock stretching you. You whined loudly when he spat on your hole, adding more lubrication even though you were already doing a good enough job of that on your own. 

“God- you’re so fucking easy.” He groaned. “Praise is what does it for you, huh? Just need to be told you’re a good girl and you get all dumb and pliant?” You whined loudly, burying your face in the sheets to hide your blush. 

“Pathetic.” He spat, letting go of your ass to grab your hips and thrust even faster. 

“Fuck— sir, please.. I don’t think I can hold it.” You whimpered, fisting the sheets and trying to will your orgasm away. 

“I know, princess, it’s okay. You get a cock in that sloppy little cunt and you go all brain dead and come hungry… You poor thing.” He cooed mockingly, bringing you closer to your orgasm. “Go ahead and come, baby. You can let go now.” He said softly— a harsh contrast to his rough thrusts. When you didn’t come immediately though, he got impatient. 

“Go on, needy fucking slut. Come on my cock- prove that you’re nothing more than a brainless little whore.” The knot of arousal in your stomach snapped almost violently and you sobbed out a moan when your orgasm finally crashed over you. His thrusts barely even slowed, not deterred by your walls spasming around his length. 

“Jesus— fucking…” He hissed. That was the only indication you got that he was affected by this. As your orgasm finally started to fade, it was quickly replaced by a more painful pleasure when he continued. 

“Sir- sir, wait,” You choked out, trying to move up the bed to get away from him. He fell over you, completely flush with your back, and kept rutting into your sore hole desperately as he chased his own orgasm. “Fuck— oh fuck, it hurts.” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut to try and focus on something other than the overstimulation. 

“Shut the fuck up already.” He spat, moving his arm in front of your body to place a hand on your neck, squeezing hard enough to cut off any kind of sounds you tried to make. You clawed at his arm, your head starting to feel swollen and your eyes falling shut from a lack of oxygen and blood flow. “You can breathe after I fucking come.” He growled, ignoring your choking and your gasps for air. 

“God- you’re so much hotter when you can’t fucking talk.” He groaned, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he focused on his impending orgasm. You were genuinely starting to worry that you’d pass out before he came, but just as your eyes grew too heavy to keep open and your hearing muffled, you could faintly hear him groaning as his hips stilled, occasionally bucking into you. He released your neck and you gasped and wheezed, heaving in large gulps of air as your head rushed with the sudden blood flow. Now that you could actually focus on other sensations, you noticed how hot your walls felt with his come inside you. 

“Fuck— you didn’t use a condom.” You rasped, letting your head fall onto the bed, too tired to hold it up. 

“I don’t fucking care.” He said, almost amused. 

“…Me neither.” He chuckled breathlessly and rolled off of you, laying on his back. You turned your head so you were laying on your other cheek, wanting to face him. His eyes were closed and he was lightly panting, and you couldn’t help but notice how pretty he is. 

“Stop staring.” He mumbled, making you smile. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s creepy.” Despite his words, the corners of his lips just barely turned up into a smile. 

“Do you think it’s been long enough yet?” You asked, turning on your side so your neck wasn’t bent uncomfortably anymore. 

“Not even close. I’m just catching my breath before round two.” He glanced at you with a small smirk, making you roll your eyes with a blush. 

[witchezandwonderz]

Ashes and Embers

Pairing: Jacaerys x reader

Word count: 3.9k

Jace is sent to find allies, and ends up falling in love.

Masterlist can be found here

Tagged list: (If you want to be added or removed, please let me know.) @leftoverp1zza @somebody6468 @cheesesandwichsanto @diorpar @tessakate @miksmom-blog @whitedarkmoonflower @imagines-halfpai (I know that most of you aren't really into HOTD fandom so feel free to ignore this tag<3)

My requests are open:)

Jacaerys was beginning to resent his own mother. The bright eyed, sassy, sarcastic and powerful woman who raised him had been replaced by a woman who had her same features, but were instead dull, tired and dark.

The heartbreak, loss and betrayal in which she had suffered throughout her life had taken its toll finally. It was not her fault. He knew that. Yet, he could not help but feel negatively towards her.

He had, in turn, spent the majority of his life receiving insults and negative attention- mainly due to the colour of his hair, and the controversial subject of who fathered both him, and his late little brother.

Fragments of his mothers soul began to vanish before the tragic death of her son, and once he was killed, all remnants of joy and hope disintegrated completely. All that mattered was revenge, and she would get it one way or another.

Jacaerys was informed that he was to travel soon, to the Eyrie in the Vale, his mission being to secure the support and loyalty of house Arryn. Quite a simple task, one would usually assume. Since moving to Dragonstone, however, the family stopped being so willing to trust others, even ones who they had known for their entire lives.

He sat up straight against the uncomfortable chair within the great hall, wondering how this trip will end, slightly nervous that he will not get there in one piece. His perfect posture mirrored his recent state of mind; uptight and uncomfortable. He sat, alone, hoping that no one would enter and disturb him. Raising his tankard to his lips for the millionth time that morning, he shuddered as he felt the spiced Dornish wine trickle down his throat.

"Jace?" His eyes rolled ever so slightly at the voice, "Jace?" Rhaenyra repeated.

Jacaerys cleared his throat, yet the annoying tickle that resided there would not leave. Rhaenyra entered the hall, loudly tutting when she saw that he had not left yet.

"Jace, please do not be late." She scolded, yet her eyes were soft, and he knew this meant that she was not angry with him. She continued, "We really need house Arryn on our side, please try to keep up good impressions." She finished her words with a strong huff, and then dabbed a cloth to her head. She was clearly stressed. Jacaerys understood why.

"Of course, mother." He replied, and then took a final gulp from his cup. Rhaenyra furrowed her brows slightly, watching him closely. She waited for him to place the cup back down, and when he did, she swiftly swiped it up and brought it to her nose.

"Jacaerys!" She scolded once more, "You should not be intoxicated before riding."

Jace looked at her blankly, "And you should realise that I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions."

He listened to his mother rant and rave for what felt like an eternity, yet in reality, was probably only ten minutes. Regardless of the exact time, he was just happy when it was over.

He looked forward to riding Vermax- it made him feel free. Truly free. Although he was the Prince of Dragonstone, and in turn was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, he lacked much needed freedom.

The journey to the Veil felt short, perhaps due to how much Jacaerys enjoyed the ride. He wanted to take Vermax for a longer ride, but decided against it- it was time to grow up and take duties seriously.

Much to his surprise, when arriving, there was only one person awaiting his arrival. He had assumed that the people of the Veil would have gone to extreme lengths to greet their guest. Maybe that was just his ego speaking.

He squinted as Vermax lowered and slowed his pace, attempting to make out the person who awaited him. They were a woman, definitely, though he was not sure whether she was young or old- the intense wind made it difficult to do anything but brace, and the bitter rain drops began lashing vigorously; furthering the difficulty of his vision.

As Vermax descended with a shriek that echoed through the mountains, the figure below did not flinch. In fact, she looked almost...bored. Cloaked in a deep blue mantle, she stood with a kind of stubborn grace, her hands folded neatly before her. Wind whipped the fabric about her legs, revealing riding boots muddied from the climb, and a silver clasp at her throat glinted like frost.

As Jacaerys dismounted, boots hitting stone with a dull thud, he finally saw her properly. She was young-no more than his age, perhaps a year or two older-though there was something ageless in the way she held herself, chin tilted as if daring the storm to try her. She was intimidating, in an odd way.

Dark hair, almost black, had escaped from its braid and curled wildly around her face. Her eyes were dark, and her mouth was set in a line that suggested she was unimpressed with dragons, princes, or both. She was definitely unimpressed with something, and he hoped it was not him. He had only been there for five seconds.

“I thought the son of Rhaenyra Targaryen might land with more ceremony,” she said, voice dry and cutting through the wind like a blade.

Taken aback, Jacaerys scoffed, "I thought that the people of the Veil were supposed to be pleasant." He retaliated, and then once realising what he had said, immediately scolded himself. He stared at her awkwardly, waiting for a reaction. She tilted her head, scrunched up her face slightly and then shook her head.

"Not sure why you thought that."

Jacaerys laughed at her reply, in turn earning a small smile from her.

"I did not catch your name, m'lady." He said, politely nodding as he finished his sentence, dipping his body down slightly as a way to show respect. The girl found it amusing, she watched him closely. He was not sure she had looked away even once throughout the interaction.

"Please do not call me that, it does not suit you." She paused, before flashing a small smile again, "Y/N, no need to ask you yours. You are the famous Prince."

Jacaerys returned her small smile, with a slightly bigger one. He had not met a lady like her, she was strange, almost as though she should be awkward but covered it very well. She was beautiful, he thought. And especially unique, it seemed.

He rolled her eyes at her words, he hated being referred to as the prince.

"Well, Y/N, could we please go somewhere a bit drier?" He had been refraining from asking for as long as possible, in fear that she would judge him for not wanting to be out in the harsh weather, that had now turned into a storm.

She playfully sighed, before nodding and using her arms to show Jacaerys the direction that they need to go.

"My father said that you have visited before." Y/N spoke quietly after the two had been walking for a few moments.

Jacaerys turned his head to look at her, yet she did not look at him. "I did once, but that was when I was a child. I hardly remember it." He admitted.

Y/N pursed her lips, then opened her mouth and quickly closed it again. Jace was beginning to feel more confident in her presence, for some strange reason, and so, he encouraged her to speak.

"So you do not remember what you did to me?"

This sent off alarm bells in his head. What had he done. Jacaerys stopped in his tracks, boots grinding slightly against the damp stone path.

“What I did to you?” he repeated, brows pulling together.

Y/N didn’t stop walking. She stepped ahead, hair whipping against her cheek, and for a moment he thought she might ignore him altogether. But then she turned, arms folded tight across her chest, expression unreadable.

“You were six,” she said flatly. “I was five. You pushed me into a fountain and told me that I smelt like goat dung.”

He blinked. “I-what?”

“You did,” she insisted, nodding slowly. “My dress was soaked. I caught a fever. Nearly died, or so my septa claimed- though she was a dramatic woman.”

Jacaerys stared at her, utterly bewildered. “I don’t- gods, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“I assumed as much,” Y/N replied, with a wry smile tugging at her lips. “But I swore if you ever returned, I’d do something equally awful.”

“Like standing out in a thunderstorm to greet me with insults?”

“Exactly that.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, more to cover the slight embarrassment than anything else. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m thoroughly soaked and quite insulted.”

“Then we’re even.���

They shared a look then- longer, quieter- and in that moment, something shifted. The storm still raged around them, but it was oddly muffled now, as if the air between them had changed weight.

Jacaerys cleared his throat. “So, Y/N. Are you always this warm and welcoming, or is it just reserved for those who wronged you in infancy?”

“Depends,” she said. “Are you planning on pushing me into any fountains this time?”

“Not unless provoked.”

Another smile tugged at her lips, and this time, it stayed, and she finally allowed herself to properly smile. She turned and resumed walking, and this time, Jace followed more closely.

The halls of the Eyrie were colder than he expected- beautiful, but hollow in a way that unsettled him. Pale stone, high ceilings, and tapestries faded by age and mountain wind. As they walked, the storm outside thundered against the thick walls, but inside, it was quiet enough to hear their footsteps echo.

Y/N led the way without hesitation, turning corners with practiced ease. “You’ve been given the guest wing at the eastern tower. It has the best view. Not that it’ll do you any good today.”

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can appreciate a good foggy cliffside and storm clouds?”

She glanced back at him. “Do you even like it here?”

He paused. “I like that it’s… honest.”

She stopped walking then, surprised by the answer. “Honest?”

“There’s no pretending here. The wind bites, the stone is cold, the people don’t bow unless they mean it.”

Y/N’s expression shifted slightly, softening just for a second. “You’re more observant than I thought.”

“And you’re more charming than you let on,” he countered, giving her a look that was equal parts amused and intrigued. He knew that they were risky words to form, but the rum in his system and the beautiful girl before him led him to not care.

She scoffed, resuming her pace. “Don’t go trying to flatter me now, Prince. That may work in court, but not in the Vale.”

Jace smirked, "Then why have your cheeks turned crimson?"

Her cheeks burned even more, and she could not muster any words that would save her. So, like anyone would do, she ignored him.

They arrived at a heavy wooden door, which Y/N pushed open without effort. The chamber inside was modest compared to Dragonstone’s grandiosity, but it was warm. A fire was already burning in the hearth, and furs covered the bed and chairs.

“There’s hot broth in the kitchens, if you want it,” she said. “And mulled wine. Unless you’ve already drunk your fill for the day.”

He winced at the jab. “My mother told you, didn’t she?”

“She didn’t need to,” Y/N said, leaning against the doorframe. “You reeked of spice and poor judgement when you landed.”

“Remind me never to trust you with a secret,” he muttered, shaking rain from his cloak. “Will you stay?”

That caught her off guard. “What, here?”

“Not… for long,” he added quickly, though part of him hated saying it. “Just while I dry off. Or eat. Or try to figure out if I’ve ruined this mission already.”

She considered him for a moment, leaning against the wall and folding her arms. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Y/N replied, a cheeky grin on her face.

She stepped inside, and for the first time since leaving Dragonstone, Jacaerys felt the tension in his chest begin to ease. He perched on the bed, expecting her to follow suit. She, however, decided against this, and instead stood above him, her hands once again clasped together in front of her.

"You are to attend dinner this evening, with my family and I." She said simply, looking around the room rather than directly at him. He nodded in response.

"I do not mean to cause offence, but-"

"Why was it only me who greeted you upon arrival?" She finished his sentence. Jacaerys scrunched his face up, and then nodded at her.

"As I am now older, my father thinks that I should hold a greater responsibility within the house, so, in other words." She paused, finally looking at him, "you are my responsibility while you are here." She smiled.

Jacaerys liked the thought of that very much.

The coming days passed quicker than Jacaerys had anticipated.

What was supposed to be a brief diplomatic visit stretched into something slower, gentler- though he’d never admit it aloud, he found himself lingering. Each morning began with long walks through the Vale’s winding paths, where Y/N led the way, spouting facts about the mountains, pointing out birds and ruins like he wasn’t the prince, and she wasn’t… well, whatever she truly was to him now. Something more. Each evening ended by the crackling fire, just the two of them. Endless conversation and laughter were a deadly combination.

Meals were shared with her family in the candlelit hall, and though the conversations were often stiff at first- formalities wrapped in politeness- the walls began to fall. Jacaerys spoke of war and loss, of politics and dragons. But he also laughed, more than he had in months. And Y/N… she listened. Genuinely and sincerely.

One evening, after dinner had ended and her relatives had retreated, Jacaerys and Y/N remained behind in the great hall, seated by the low-burning fire. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It had grown familiar, even comforting.

“You’ve changed since arriving,” she said matter of factly, her eyes fixated on the flames.

“Have I?” he asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

“You carry less tension in your shoulders. You smile more. You’ve even stopped correcting me every time I say ‘dragons are terrifying’.”

“That’s because I’ve learned I won’t win that argument.”

She laughed lightly, then turned to him. “The lords like you, you know. They trust you. My uncle said your presence here has been... reassuring.”

“And yet,” Jacaerys murmured, “I still don’t want to leave.”

Her gaze flickered at that, suddenly serious. “You’ve done what you came to do. House Arryn stands with your mother.”

He did not like her change of tone, it was the same tone that she had greeted him with- formal, not personable.

“I know.”

“And yet,” she echoed, quieter this time, yet the formality disintegrated.

Jacaerys looked at her- really looked. Her hair tied back in a messy plait, her cheeks still slightly pink from the wind, the way her eyes softened whenever she looked at him.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” he admitted. “Any of it. You.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, as if to reply, but no words came. She looked down at her hands instead, clasped in her lap. “You’ll have to leave soon,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

He nodded, but said nothing. Because he didn’t want to.

Not when he realised that the most dangerous thing about the Vale… wasn’t the weather.

It was her.

He pushed out his chair, and began to push his legs; his intention being to leave and go to his room. But something stopped him. He remained sat, and forced himself to muster up as much confidence as he possibly could.

"When I said that I wasn't expecting this." He said, much louder than intended. Her head snapped towards him, not expecting him to continue the discussion. Jacaerys shuffled the chair slightly closer to her. "I meant that I did not expect to grow such a fondness for you."

Her eyes widened at his words, surprised that he had been so bold with his words and feelings. She, of course, felt the same. But, similar to himself, she had no experience in this department.

"I fear that I may have fallen in love with you, m'lady."

She giggled at his words, "I told you not to call me that." She mumbled, her cheeks burning once again with a deep shade of crimson. This was a frequent occurrence since meeting the prince.

Jacaerys grinned, but his heart was hammering in his chest. “You did,” he said, “but I quite like the way it sounds, when I say it to you.”

Y/N tilted her head, watching him carefully now -no longer flustered, but quietly, seriously curious. Her voice dropped, the warmth still there beneath her steady tone. “Is this how princes fall in love? With stolen glances and walks in the snow?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied honestly. “This is the first time I’ve ever fallen.”

She looked at him for a long moment, as though committing every part of him to memory. Then, finally, she whispered, “Me too.”

Jace exhaled slowly- relief and wonder curling through him like smoke from the hearth behind them.

"Gods, I was beginning to think that I would have to ask you outright if you feel the same."

She laughed, "of course I do."

“I don’t want to leave,” he said again, almost to himself.

Y/N’s smile faltered just slightly, and she shrugged. “Then don’t.”

It was a simple thing to say. But they both knew it wasn’t simple at all.

And yet… for the first time in months- maybe longer- Jacaerys dared to imagine a future that didn’t involve only war, and fire, and loss.

Just her.

And a quiet place in the mountains, where dragons might rest, and hearts might heal.

Unfortunately, nothing was ever that simple- not for two high born individuals.

It came in the early morning, tucked inside a roll of parchment and sealed with the familiar stamp of Dragonstone.

Jacaerys had been in the training yard, watching a pair of young squires spar, when a raven landed on the edge of the stone railing. The Arryn guard took it without thought, and handed the letter to him with a slight bow of the head.

He didn’t open it straight away. He knew the seal well- the red dragon of his mother -and something in his chest twisted before he even broke the wax.

It was short. Formal. The sort of letter Rhaenyra might have dictated through clenched teeth. The vision of her was clear in his head.

You are to return to Dragonstone within the week. We have secured an agreement with House Velaryon- you are to wed Lady Baela. It is a wise match. Political. Expected. You have spent too long in the Vale already. Do not keep us waiting.

The words blurred at the edges as he read them again. And again.

Promised.

As if his heart had not made a promise elsewhere.

He closed his eyes and folded the letter with aching care, fingers trembling slightly despite the growing heat in his chest.

Baela.

She was his cousin. A good woman- fierce, proud. He liked her. But he had never looked at her the way he looked at Y/N. He had never felt this.

The ache turned to something heavier. Something more like dread.

He made his way back inside, his boots echoing hollowly against the stone corridors. Every torch he passed, every familiar turn of the keep, suddenly felt unfamiliar- colder somehow.

He found her in the solar, bent over a book by the window, the pale morning light catching on her lashes. She looked up as he entered, smiling- just slightly- and the sight of her smile made his chest twist tighter.

“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, straightening. “You look… upset.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just walked towards her, quicker than usual, engulfing her in an embrace so tight that it mimicked a child seeking comfort after falling.

“My mother has written to me,” he said, quietly. His words muffled as he nuzzled his head into her neck. He let go slightly, but did not step back, instead, he held her face with each hand.

Y/N looked up at him. “And?”

“She’s promised me to another.”

The silence between them dropped like a blade.

Her breath caught audibly, and though she said nothing at first, her expression crumbled- the smile fading, her brow furrowing. She blinked quickly, too many times.

In a slight panic, he brought his lips to hers. He intended it to be a quick kiss, for it was their first. But once he felt the intimacy, he melted into it.

Y/N responded before she had time to think. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, grounding herself, holding onto the moment- onto him.

“I love you,” She whispered once they had broken apart, the harsh reality solidifying itself in her mind.

“And I love you. I didn’t ask for marriage. I didn’t want it.”

“But you’ll go,” she said, her voice sharp despite the tremble. “You have to. Don’t you?”

“I don’t have to do anything, Y/N. Not if it means losing you.”

Y/N’s eyes searched his face as if trying to find a lie, even a flicker of doubt. But there was none. Only him, heart in hand, jaw set with quiet defiance.

She shook her head slowly. “You don’t mean that. You say it now because it’s fresh, because you’re angry-”

“I mean every word,” he cut in, firm but not harsh. “You think I could go back, smile at some highborn girl and pretend I don’t carry you with me? Pretend this never happened?”

Y/N turned away, suddenly pacing, her fingers twisting together. “If you refuse her, it’ll be seen as a slight. Your mother will be furious. The court-”

“Fuck the court,” Jacaerys said, almost spitting the words. “Let them wag their tongues. Let my mother rage. She’s raised me to be her sword, her son, her heir… but never her puppet.”

She turned back to him, eyes glassy now. “And what am I supposed to do, Jace? Wait in this cold keep and hope you return to me? Hope you’re not forced into it anyway?”

He stepped forward, taking her hands again, grounding them both.

“No,” he said gently. “I don’t want you to wait. I want you to come with me.”

She blinked, stunned. “To Dragonstone?”

He nodded. “To hell with what’s expected. I’ll speak to my mother properly. I’ll fight for this. For you. I want them to know you, to see you. Not as some secret I’ve stolen away, but as the woman I love.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t brush it away.

“You really mean it,” she whispered.

He kissed her again -this time slower, steadier, as though trying to reassure her through every movement, every breath.

“I do,” he murmured against her lips. “I’d rather face a thousand dragons than live a life without you.”

"I thought that you said dragons were not dangerous?"

He laughed in disbelief; even in the most serious of situations, she still found a way to keep him amused. And get her point across, of course.

[bunabi]

I'm glad I revisited Origins because Zathrian has some really interesting parallels to Solas

I feel like this is how he would've/would turn out if he ever joined the Dalish and took up a leadership role

Secretive, overprotective, immortal, casually running off on deadly personal missions, killing people, linked by fate to a wolf, all that

Also — it didn't fully click until reading how sylvans are trees posessed by rage demons, but all living things can be posessed, just like all living things can be blighted, because it's the same thing. The Old Gods are just. Possessing the darkspawn, red lyrium, and blighted creatures via the Taint. Thinking about it in those terms its really scary lol.

big ol' DAV Prologue spoilers:

This makes the Evanuris being behind it all a little more interesting (for me)

I don't know what the 'Taint' really is, but its allowing powerful darkspawn to do something only spirits and demons should be capable of: possession

Whether they're behind the Blight or not is irrelevant I just need to know tf going on

And my damn draft published itself before I was done 😭

[oksana-moods]

All Too Well

Summary: Natasha tried to mend what's left broken. Because no matter what, she's the love of your life and she knows all too well.

A/N: It's been forever. This 5k piece felt like I was writing 300k, it was difficult, funny, hard and I miss doing this more often. I hope you guys like it and please, it be amazing for me to know your thoughts about it.

You can read it as One Too Many part 2 or as a single piece, it is up to you.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, torture, mentions of death, alcohol, angst (you know how I am, I can't simply write people kissing without suffering before).

"Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place"

The gun pointing at your face barely meters away should be intimidating, but at this point no one would blame you for not caring anymore. And you didn’t even mean the last couple of days, no, your whole life had been a fight, a struggle, an act of survival after another, so the last few days were nothing but the same blur.

The gunpower inundated your nostrils and the pungent smell masqueraded the smell of blood that clung to your brain and you were sure you wouldn’t erase it even if you got out of your current establishment.

Your heightened senses were capable of decerning all the different blood samples available in your cell: yours and from other occupants that came before you, or the blood that belonged to some of your kidnappers, who’ve learned in the worst possible way that you were not to be underestimated.

Back to the gun, the man behind it kept enchanting the same questions and you wondered how long it would take for them to get tired of your silence or mock replies. A sharp pain in the back of your head made you look up to meet his eyes, another man behind you was forcefully pulling your hair down to force your head up and you were already tired of him doing this.

“Where are the others?” The man with the gun asked, patience waning thin. Good to know you were on the same page. “Where is Romanoff?”

A blooded grin made its way to your face after you spat on his shoe. “It’s funny you think I’ll tell you now after all you’ve put me through. Do you think I’m afraid of your bullet?” And you didn’t even mean the fact that you probably wouldn’t die if he decided to shoot anywhere else other than your head, but you did mean that you were not afraid of dying.

Actually, you were so tired that perhaps laying down cold wouldn’t be unwelcomed. There wouldn’t be any pain, your body wouldn’t try to heal only to get hurt again. You thought it would be refreshing.

Two steps and the man pressed the gun over your knee, and you already knew, his wicked grin grew wider when your body convulsed with pain even though you concealed your scream in muffled grunts by biting your lips so tide you tasted your own blood, again.

“Why don’t you make it easier for you? You tell me what I’ve asked, and I kill you fast.” He pulled a chair and got comfortable for he knew all too well you wouldn’t budge easy. “I promise you. One silver bullet in your temple. Fast. Easy.”

Your eyes flashed to his. Silver bullets were really affective against your healing skills and very few possessed this knowledge. Someone must’ve tipped him off and the idea stung way much more than the powder burning the flesh inside your knee.

Only two women knew your weakness. Well, your creators knew, of course, but they were not in condition of speaking anymore. Unless someone from this organization was capable of going to hell to have a chat and then return to the living world with this intel.

Your love for Yelena was something so natural and it grew so fast for she was just deranged as you were: uncapable of functioning as what people labeled as normal. You were kindred souls and you felt like you were twins separated somewhere along the road and considering both of your past, who actually knew?

After long nights during long missions, you confided in her this. You were scared of losing control because sometimes the beast inside you took over and your brain couldn’t always sway the instincts. So you handed her one silver bullet in case things went south, she was adamant in returning it to you but you asked her to keep it, for insurance.

And the other person was Natasha. You never knew how she learned this but when she recruited you many, many years ago she already knew. If the pain in your leg wasn’t so overwhelming, you could’ve laughed at the memory engulfing your mind’s eye.

Her tide catsuit adorned with nothing but her black widow symbol, swaying her hips and pretending she wasn’t scared of the woman seated in front of her. You remember how her fear smelled, a stark contrast to her pose. You recall her words, her smile, her flirtatious play all to convince you to use your skills to her so called greater good.

And before leaving, she boldly closed the distance between you and placed a silver bullet in your hand. You understood the message. You weren’t stupid. Later she sworn that she was the only one, at S.H.I.E.L.D. or within Avengers, to know your weakness and you believed her.

And this belief comes back to bite you in the ass.

Because you knew full well that Yelena would die, she would kill herself even, before telling someone your secret. But Natasha? You didn’t trust her anymore. She had done it before, and you knew it all too well. If you were to be honest, after one too many treasons, you didn’t care about another.

Or so you told yourself.

“Good luck.” You rasped out after a long time inside your own head.

The man tilted his head to the side and smiled that smile that told you he already knew what you would say. You would go further and say he was eager for it. “I think in the torture manual says I should tell you that I don’t enjoy this, but I’d be lying. We actually bet how long it will take for you to drop the act and start screaming.”

You bet no one thought it would be that fast. He stumped a knife down your thigh so fast and so hard you saw stars. You could feel the silver poisoning the skin and muscle where it was nested, and it burned like nothing else would.

Unfortunately for them, the apex in you was not used to be a prey and this injury was powerful enough to make your survival instincts kick in. It happened so fast it was a haze, one minute he was laughing, the other he was on the ground - lifeless, and just as the others came, they followed their leader – well, who you thought the leader was, at least.

Funnily, your countdown was wrong, or you were not the only one putting your captors down. As the blood ran free down your leg, your strength and capability of keeping fighting diminished. When a body collided with yours, it was a miracle you were still awake.

Her red hair framed her face perfectly, skin white as snow and her green orbs looked like there was an aurora borealis looking down at you as she nested you in her lap as you felt life slipping through your fingers - veins.

“Hey, hey. Stay with me.” Her voice was strange, as if speaking was a struggle and she reeked fear, but not the same you were used to, as if she was feeling a different type of fear, it was a strange concept, but you hated it, nonetheless. If these were your last moments breathing, you wanted her true smell. The one you knew all too well.

“Please, don’t you dare die. I’ve got you.” Her muffled words found your ear, but it was hard to even comprehend anything at all when her lips felt so cold in your forehead. “Heal. Why are you not healing?”

“Silver.” It was all you could say. It was all you had to say.

She frantically started yelling at someone, perhaps the comms, but before you could close your eyes for good, you saw a red blur and he was complaining about your weight.

Her giggle filled the room as the first sun lights announced the day had just begun, you looked at her alarmed, for it was definitely something new. “Are you mocking me?” Enable to conceal a smile yourself.

“I’m not.” She denied, but her laugh told you differently. Her freckles painted her angelical face and her eyes looked like they held the sun captive. And you. And she knew, all too well. “It’s just I can’t believe you still have this scar.”

Her index finger traced said scar as she looked at you expectantly, waiting for your explanation, even though she already knew.

“I didn’t know Wanda’s necklace was made of silver, okay.” You finally replied, pulling her close to you as if her weight meant nothing, right in that moment this action felt so normal, so homely that it ached. “I thought I could take it from that heated place for her, but it burned me as I did. It was silly.”

She giggled again, though muffled by your shoulder this time, there was something new in her eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “It was cute. Silly, but cute. That necklace belonged to her mother.”

“I know.” You were locked in her eyes, and she stared at you as if she was trying to reach your soul, then you felt her fingertip leaving the palm of your hand to intertwine your fingers as she let her eyes stray to look at both of your hands.

The feeling was overwhelming. You were aware of how fast your heart was beating, you could only hope she couldn’t feel or hear it, for in that moment, all you wanted was to engrave the sight of you, together, and you wish you could just have this forever. Have her forever.

“I’ve never felt this before.” Her brows were furrowed in a way that made you upset, but you wouldn’t let go of her hand for nothing in this world, even if it was to soothe the crinkles in her forehead. “I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, there was nothing that you could do but wait for your brain to register her words and meaning, for a whole minute you simply stared at her, trying to search for a catch or a joke but you found none. And she looked up at you so innocently that you found yourself believing in her.

“I thought-.” You tried, but she never let you finish your sentence.

“I know what I said.” She stopped you midsentence, but her voice was not stern, it was almost tired. “This is not what I feel anymore.” Again, her eyes found yours and the way they shone made your knees weak, luckily you were laying on her mattress.

Somehow, they conveyed so much of this feeling she had claimed she was not capable of nurturing that your stomach did somersaults. And right in that moment, you realized that perhaps silver could hurt you, but this woman was your true weakness.

Specially if she’s looking at you the way she was.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You whispered, it was terrifying saying again the three words that you were sure would make her fly away from this strange arrangement you found yourself in. Yet she didn’t.

“I know.” She confirmed after a while admiring your eyes as if she could read your mind. After deciding she was content with whatever she found, she leaned in and pecked your lips so tenderly it hurt.

Then, when she looked at you again you saw, from the small smirk growing in her lips, that she had gone back to play her prime character: the Black Widow.

“Let’s have a breakfast before the funeral, shall we?” As she got of the bad, you copied her movements going back to your own suitcase to find something comfortable as her voice broke the silence filling the room. “I never asked how you and Sharon became friends to the point you’d come to a funeral of her relative.”

The cleanliness of the room was the first thing you were aware of. In fact, you didn’t even realize you were awake, therefore alive, before the smell hit your nostrils. And with it, her scent.

The occasional up and down from her feet and bouncing leg was the only sound in the room except for the noise coming from the heart monitor over your head. She was anxious, that much was obvious even if you weren’t an enhanced being.

Mentally searching for your injuries and pain, you understood that whatever had happened with you, was all gone. Excluding the lingering pain in some specific places that you credited to silver induced wounds that would take way much more time to wear off.

However, considering the state you were in, whoever tended these wounds had operated a true miracle.

As you opened your eyes, you half expected bright lights, common to these hospital rooms to hurt your eyes, but you soon identified that the only source of light was a yellow bulb close to the door.

Natasha.

“Thanks for working the lights down.” You rasped out and stifled a giggle as she jumped from her chair by the wall and bolted to your bed side. The book previously nested between her hands now long forgotten on the floor.

The iron grip which she clutched your hand didn’t go amiss to you. “A week.” The sadness in her eyes was palpable. “A whole week blacked out.” She explained further but you didn’t need to know the details of how long you were sleeping or how many times your heart stopped at surgery.

“You scared the shit out of me.” Then it hit you, the same type of fear your nose caught when she found you in that facility, it was fear but not the one someone feels when they’re actively facing danger, but it was fear for someone else. Fear of losing someone.

Something stirred inside your heart, but it was something that you couldn’t dwell much longer, not, at least, in that moment.

“They had me, after you sent me as scout.” Your tone was flat, and her eyes widened a little at the bluntness of your accusation, though you were far from settling for little. “They knew about the silver.”

Her hold faltered, but your hand was still snuggled between hers. “What are you accusing me of?” She narrowed her eyes, but her green orbs were bright even in the poor light.

“Cynicism doesn’t suit you the way you think it does.” Before you could even pull back your hand, she completely let it go and got to her feet. “Look at my eyes and tell me that you actually didn’t let them get me, just to find their hideout.”

She had her back turned to you, acutely avoiding your gaze. “Look at me!” You demanded and she had the gall to look at you through her lashes, as if her seductive skills could help her now. You wouldn’t fall for that, and she knew it all too well.

“It wasn’t my intention for you to be captured and I never thought someone else would know about your weakness. I thought I was the only one alive to know.” She finally turned to you, eyes now darting around the floor as if it could grant her the answers she sought.

“Lena knows too.” You corrected her, but if she was surprised by your update, she never showed.

Shaking her head right to left as if to deny such possibility, she exclaimed. “She’d never do this to you.” It was funny that at least in this matter you agreed. “I think she loves you more than she loves me.” A sly smile escaped her lips and you had to restrain your heart from fluttering at the sight of it.

“I was waiting for your check-in. I went to your assigned coordinates, and I know I underestimated their numbers, but I would never let someone capture you.” Her feet dragged her back close to your bed but maintained some distance between you.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You shot back without missing a single beat, crossing your arms around your chest.

She sighed tiredly and looked down at the floor. You wouldn’t let her forget that she was the main cause for you to be locked in the Raft, well, her and your support for Steve when Ross tried to shove the Sokovian Accords down your throat, and solely because you shared his point of view.

After being controlled for most of your life by a group with shady intentions, you swore you’d never submit your loyalty and services to a third party again, even if it was a government group – specially a government group, actually, so only over your dead body you’d accept the Accords.

But when you came back to see if Natasha was fine, she had gone without thinking that you were left behind and in the care of Ross to be taken to the Raft with the others, without sparing a single thought to you.

“I’d never ever willingly put you in danger.” She said taking another step closer to you. “I have never mentioned to anyone about your secret, and I purposefully kept it out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files.”

Her eyes kept darting from her hands to your eyes, never focusing, never staying too long. “Look, I know Yelena would never speak about it, but I wouldn’t either. And I didn’t, you must believe me!”

“I must?” Your eyebrows shot up so high so fast it hurt. “Well, you made it pretty damn hard for me to believe, don’t you think, Nat?” Your tone was hard, but you were not even speaking too loud.

Somehow, Natasha thought this hurt way much more.

“C’mon all I feel for you-” She tried to counter, but you wanted to swallow the lump stuck in your throat trying to choke you, so you cut her midsentence.

“Words, Natasha.” She found herself locked within your burning eyes. “I kept you as an oath, yet you hid me like another dirty secret. And all you’ve felt you kept hidden – buried – just as who you really are.”

After years thinking about how she lured and how she hurt you, you thought that maybe spatting what your relationship really was – a hidden lust, would make you feel better, would free yourself from her hold, but it didn’t.

After all, calling her unfair wouldn’t change how lonely she made you feel, how she took your happiness away whenever she drew herself back to her main character as she left you daydreaming about imaginary scenarios built in “what ifs”.

As your words found her ears, they settled heavily in her stomach. She knew she had massed up, she had hurt you many times, yet all she wanted was go back in time and erase all her wrongs and all the times she promised and never delivered.

She didn’t possess a time stone, though. There was nothing she could do about the past, however, she knew she couldn’t run from her mistakes anymore. If she wanted to start anew, she’d have to show she was different.

She wanted to, no, she needed you to understand that she was a whole new person because you’ve changed her. She didn’t want to hide anymore and for that she’d have to let go of her walls and be vulnerable. Truly vulnerable.

Funnily, she had played with her vulnerability before, being vulnerable just enough for people to lower their shields or masks so she could get what she wanted but this was something else entirely.

This time she wouldn’t act. She’d be vulnerable, at your mercy hoping she’d make it out alive on the other side. It was something new and it scared her, but losing you was scarier.

“I didn’t know you came back to check on Barton…” She tried weakly, knowing that this was a sore subject for the both of you. Each with your own views and reasons.

“I helped Clint, yes, but we went back looking for you. Yet, Ross was all we’ve found.” Your glare was cold, perhaps colder than ever. In the pit of her stomach, she knew she deserved it, she just wish you could move on with it.

“I was wrong, okay. Is that what you want to hear?” She snapped, though her voice was still in a low tone, eyes sad. And you hated it. “I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for not going after you that day at the airport or at the Raft.”

Her eyes fell once more to your hands, she slowly nursed them in hers and this action was so soft, so hesitantly as if she was afraid of you taking it away; afraid of you shutting her down once more.

“I wish I could do things differently, but I can’t, and for that I’m sorry. But I- I wish we could try move on from this. I still have feelings for you.” As words flowed through her tongue, you watched as eyes portrayed a sincerity that you rarely saw within those forest green orbs.

Usually, they hid her true feelings or performed like an actress twisting her truths mixed with pieces of lies and characters she created through life until she herself was unaware of what was true or not.

“I hear you, Natasha.” You rasped out after a long moment lost inside her beautiful eyes. “You speak of things as you did before, yet you never act on it.”

Her hands were warm, a muted invitation to go back to your dreams of having a life with her. The only person who never showed any sign of fear about your nature, that never once treated you like an animal.

She never treated you like a woman either.

“I want you to show me.” Your stone-cold eyes punctuated your feelings in the matter at hand. If she wanted to have you back, she’d have to show you she’s changed for words could only take her so far.

“I will.” She vowed and smiled softly, though her heart was shattering inside her chest. She made a career making people believe in whatever she wanted, she supposed she’d be able to make you believe in her heart.

How hard would that be?

Laugh filled the room after another not-so-funny Tony’s jokes and your head throbbed as the sound echoed inside your skull. Parties like these were always a torture for you, after all, your enhanced abilities of hearing and catching smells better than a normal person proved to be really awful in a place full of people with different perfumes, scents, chattering and loud music.

However, Tony himself forbid you from leaving tonight for this was his engagement party and it would be rude to Pepper if you left too early. Deciding that indulging him was easier than arguing with him, you found a safe corner and pretended to enjoy whatever was going on.

Though, your sharp eyes, even though you tried hard, always wandered after a certain redhead and you could all but clench your jaw every time you judged someone got too closer for your comfort.

Jealousy clawed its way through your throat and even the best bourbon from the bar couldn’t help it. You knew you had no right, no claim, especially after your last conversation. Still, your heart acted on its own and made sure you’d regret your words and resolve.

Considering that you were one drink from scooping lower than ever for her, you abandoned your glass on a random table and vanished to the balcony in hopes the fresh air could help your head and brain.

The cars down the streets ran from side to side completely unaware of your inner turmoil as you pathetically looked down searching for answers you wouldn’t find there.

In fact, as your answers arrived at the balcony, you realized that her hills clicking the marble floor announced her before her perfume invaded your nostrils in waves as she moved closer and closer towards you.

“Tired of mingling?” She asked as she lined her body at the railing. Her red hair bobbed around her ears in meticulously designed waves and her dark maroon dress hugged her curves in all the nice places.

She was flawless.

As always.

“I think I might’ve break Sam with incredible five words.” You gave her a sly smile that she retributed with a smirk and a fake gasp.

“This is basically a whole speech.” She clicked her tongue playfully. “I think you’ve been around Tony just too much.”

You snorted a laugh and she let a broad smile paint her lips, content with herself for making you ease the pained expression adorning your face the whole evening.

Uncertenty hugged you like a cold blanket as you pondered your next words. As if rolling the dices in a game you were sure you’d end up losing, you turned to her and spoke. “You’re really beautiful tonight, Nat.”

Your heart fluttered as she fought back a smile trying to win her lips and looked down as if she wasn’t expecting your praise. She genuinely looked flustered by your words.

“Thank you. You’re quite handsome yourself. Well, I already praised your choice of suit, earlier.” She turned her body so now she was fully looking at you and you tried to remember how to properly breath. However, it was as if the air was composed of her scent.

You were intoxicated.

“What do you mean?” You asked confused. “This is the first time we speak tonight.” You clarify. Truth be told you’ve been keeping a fair distance from her and funnily enough she didn’t make the effort to push you and your comfort space.

She did make it obvious that she was trying, though. She invited you out in front of people, she brought you coffee whenever you were reading in the garden in the morning or brought you a blanket when you were on the couch watching movies with Wanda.

Whenever you were called to a meeting, she worked the lights so it wouldn’t hurt your eyes that much. And, one day, she brought you the files they recovered from Hydra from the mission you were taken, and you both learned that one of your creators left behind a journal and there were a lot of dirty secrets down there. Including yours.

To be honest, she was really trying to show her true intentions, but you were still afraid that this was just for show, just a ploy for you to lower your guard and be disappointed after she return to her normal pattern of misleading.

However, the way she stood basking in the moon light looking at you like she was slowly sipped through the cracks of your determination of not giving in that easy.

Her soft smile was a sight to see, and you even forgot that you were waiting for her to reply. “Directly, yes. I sent a drink to you earlier.”

Then it clicked in your head. Your laugh was loud and very uncharacteristic of you, though Natasha simply stood there admiring your carefree stance, a rare occurrence.

Your mind traveled to a moment earlier that night when the waiter approached you with a drink in hand, stating that the lady had sent it to you complimenting your fine tailored suit. At the time, the way he vaguely waved in the direction of Agatha and other ladies, you thought that one of them had been the person.

Though if you thought harder about it, Natasha was at the bar in that moment, right behind said ladies.

“Now it made sense.” You grinned back at her and nodded your head softly. “Thank you for the compliment and the drink.”

“Of course.” She flashed on last smile and turned her body to admire the city bellow and you did the same. Though you found it hard to ignore her presence by your side. You could feel the heat emanating from her skin, her sweet scent still impregnating the air around you and you could hear her fast heartbeat. It was uncommon.

In a haste, you both turned towards each other and started to speak at the same time. A nervous laugh scaped your lips as you signaled for her to go on first. And she did.

She closed her eyes as one does when bracing for the impact, as if second-guessing her next step, but when she opened her eyes again, there was no doubt and no deceit. “I love you and it’s ruining my life not having you, knowing that I am the one who pushed you away.”

You were speechless by her blunt confession, specially because she never, ever, used the word love in such a direct sentence. She expressed her feelings before, yes, but always with an adore, in love with you once or twice, never this straight.

She took your silence as hesitancy and reached for your hand, she yearned for your touch and the closeness of the last weeks made her heart clench with longing. “I am asking for a chance to show you who I really am, and I, please, I know I’ve made mistakes, but I wish to make it up to you.”

Her eyes were pools of emotion and you had trouble in breathing with her so close now. “Please, let me love you the way you deserve, the way I should’ve since the very first time I kissed your lips.” Her free hand caressed your cheek in such a tender way that you felt your knees weak.

She was definitely your true weakness.

You brain was haywire, short-circuiting with the lack of air and the sudden increase in your heartbeats. There she was. The woman you felt like you could love forever, offering you what you always wanted: her heart. For real this time. Not the hide and seek games you’ve been playing in the past.

She promised and have been showing changes, however, if you were to be honest, all she’d have to do was to come at you and say hi. If you were to be honest, she would always have your heart at her mercy.

Unable to form words and knowing that your silence was unnerving for her, as you saw her brows furrowing, you decided to answer her differently as you brought your hand to her own cheek and guided her lips to meet yours.

Her lips were soft as they used to be, and you could feel her body melting into the kiss. Her eyes fluttered open when you broke the kiss and smiled softly at her. “I love you too, Nat.”

Smiling back at you, Natasha circled her arms behind your neck to pull you down for another kiss, and another. And another.

And you knew, all too well, that she wouldn’t stop soon.

taglist: @username23345; @afuckingshituniverse; @strangegardentaco; @waltermis (I know you didn't specifically asked to be tagged, but I am doing it, nonetheless, because if your rb - and because you sparked a fire in this. Thank you.)

[laceymorganwrites]

Himbo!Logan

C/N: dumbification and infantalization yay <3

listen, I love Logan to death, he´s the sweetest baby to ever exist and we all need to protect him at all costs, okay?

but there´s no denying the boy is a bit dumb as well. with people that is. he´s not too bad when it comes to academic smarts actually, super good with his hands too (Keegan hates to admit it but Logan is faster at putting his gun back together than he is and he gets unnecessarily pissy about it), he´s got it all laid out for him to be a stable and fairly normal guy, but he just isn´t

he´s the baby of the group, the youngest, frailest and everyone always coddles him which he hates. so why does he crave it when it´s you who does it? why does he only get so fucking stupid when it´s you? it all starts with this dumb big smile he gets every time you enter the room or his peripheral vision, he just waves at you so stupidly, so excited to be even breathing near you (he wonders how he even can at this point)

and he´s so so young and inexperienced too, poor baby doesn´t even know what he´s doing, the others don´t help him either, just laugh at him as they watch the whole pathetic display

Hesh teases him about being more obedient than Riley all the damn time, and he´s got a point, he´s dumb like the dog and he doesn´t even know it, it´s that level of stupid that´s just mindless, blissful, all he needs is your presence near him, he doesn´t even need to talk to you, not even touch you, he´d never fucking dare, he knows you´re way out of his league, he´s at least smart enough to know his place

there´s not a single thought behind those big brown eyes, none except of you.

and just like a baby he´s not capable of living on his own, he doesn´t know what he´s doing. how could he? he´s so young still, all the others are so much older and more mature, sometimes it´s like they´ve lived many more lives than he has. and he looks up to them but at the same time knows he just can´t compare, he´s just a dumb little boy, how could he?

the others are constantly teasing him about his crush on you, how he should just talk to you already but he doesn´t have the guts to, so Keegan eventually just decides it´s enough because he´s had enough of Logan constantly being distracted on missions so he just drops him off at your room, tells you to finally just fuck him already and put him out of his misery

you just tilt your head and regard the fucking mess Logan is right now, hands and lips trembling, mouth dry, swallowing nervously, not looking at you but too nervous to stand still so he just kind of looks at the floor, flinching like a dog when you finally approach him and grab his face to make him look at you, it´s not gentle either, it´s like you would scold a child, you regard him like an object, nothing more, because you know there´s no fucking agency he has over himself, that´s how dumb he is. and you´re kind enough to take pity on him

his hands tremble and sweat the entire time when you allow him to touch you, guiding him meticulously so he knows exactly what to do. he´s on his knees before you even need to say anything, it´s on pure instinct, as if he knows between your thighs is exactly where he belongs, gets so fucking cumdrunk when he finally gets to taste you, he´s so pathetic and whining constantly, dumb boy literally forgets to breathe for a good minute and gets dizzy, when he speaks it´s only to ask if he´s doing okay, not good, okay. because he knows he´s not good. he needs your help the entire time to make sure you´re pleased, to make sure he´s useful to you. obviously he cums way too fast but continues to rut and thrust anyway, just desperate for the friction to continue, he´ll drool so much like a fucking idiot

[mypoisonedvine]

𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 (part III) | frater imperator x reader

(part I) (part II)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 | your first trip together ends on a sour note as some of your suppressed concerns about your relationship begin to show, but a delayed wedding reception might turn it all around.

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 | 6.7k (fucking hell)

𝔠𝔥𝔞����𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 | jealousy/insecurity, MORE heathers references for some reason???, alcohol consumption/slight intoxication, nothing too bad but I swear the slowburn is almost... burnt, or whatever just bear with me

The next day of your visit to Brussels was mostly boring meetings; you almost wanted to ask him why you both had to travel all this way to do the same things you always did, but ultimately you did understand the value of this trip even if it wasn’t especially exciting.  And though you weren’t really capable of assisting with any of the business side of things, you figured out after a while that you were mainly here just to be here— because it would be weird if you weren’t.  Because it would be, for lack of a better word, suspicious if a newly-married couple were traveling separately.

So, you were here, sitting beside him as he and the clergy of the local church discussed various important topics— mission work, ministry, how best to spread the message of Satan and bring in the age of the antichrist… you know, the usual.

His hand rested on your leg again— maybe a little higher than before?  You weren't certain, but it made you smile to yourself as you tuned out the boring conversation going on around you.

You glanced down at the leather-covered hand by your knee, his fingers moving slightly; the silver grucifix embossed on the back shined in this light.  Absent-mindedly, you traced it with one finger, not even noticing that it made him look over at you— not even really appreciating that his hand was still under there, and could probably feel you drawing shapes over his skin.

“Frater,” a clergyman interjected sternly, “do you have a response?”

You'd both totally zoned out, and were quickly brought back to reality; Copia jolted in his chair and cleared his throat as he sat up straighter.  Worst of all, he took his hand off your leg to clasp them both together in his lap.  “I-I’m sorry?” he coughed.  “I fear I lost my train of thought, could you repeat the question?”

“Don’t ask Frater Imperator so many complex things so early in the morning,” Comis scolded his fellow cardinal, “he didn’t get much sleep last night— non?”

He wore a lopsided grin as he playfully elbowed Copia in the side, who nervously reached up to run his fingers through his hair.  “Oh, well— eh— I just lost focus for a moment, is all…”

“Sure,” Comis agreed sarcastically.  “Maybe we should take a break, anyhow.  Give us all a chance to stretch our legs.”

“That sounds nice,” you agreed quickly, mainly just jumping on any chance to get out of this stuffy room and personal conversation.

The meeting room had a sort of lobby outside— or maybe it would be called a parlour?  A sitting room?  You weren’t really sure, but it was fancy; there was tea and little cakes and things, the whole place was so detail-oriented like that.

Copia was busy making small talk with some clergymen and women, while you were nursing a cup of lemon-water just to have something to do with your hands.

You heard someone coming up the stairs but didn’t think much of it at first.  “Sister Imperator,” a Sister greeted you— though you didn’t really process it until she reached out and touched your shoulder, making you turn around.

“Consortia,” you added once you realized she was addressing you.  “Sister Imperator Consortia.  Sister Imperator was my mother-in-law.”

“Oh, yes— I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offered gently.

You realized they were under the assumption that you knew her much better— maybe you would’ve if you’d been dating Copia before marrying him like, you know, most people do.  Instead of trying to explain, you just accepted her sympathies with a nod; it was a loss, after all, just not as personal as she might’ve imagined.

“I thought you might want to visit our convent,” she suggested.

“O-oh, um,” you stalled, nervously glancing over your shoulder at Copia as he sipped on a glass of water, “I—”

“He’ll be just fine,” she promised, leaning into you and lowering her voice.  “He knows meetings like the back of his hand.”

And he’ll probably fare better without me touching the back of his hand…

Nodding in agreement, you slipped out of the sitting room and followed her.

The woman introduced herself as Sister Nomina and guided you through the winding halls— Cardinal Comis had shown you the wing that housed the convent the night before on his tour, so you knew where it was, but you hadn’t been inside yet.  

“We keep a garden,” Sister Nomina explained, “and we have some outreach programs— an orphanage, a literacy program.  But nothing compared to what your church is doing!”

“Oh, yes,” you replied, “I suppose our reputation precedes us…”

“It must be very exhilarating, being in the Church of Ghost,” she presumed with a wide smile. 

“Well, I wish I could take more credit for all the work that's been done,” you 

The two of you arrived at the convent; visually it was similar to the one you'd been living in up until recently, but the inhabitants were quite different.  For one, they dressed a bit differently, and seemed to be more lenient with uniform (Sister Imperator would've never let that fly back home…).  And for another thing, they were much more excited to see you than anybody in your convent would've been on any given day. 

Actually, a group of nuns flocking to you excited reminded you of that day of the fateful clergy meeting— it felt like a lifetime ago already.

“Ladies, Sister Imperator Consortia from Linkoping,” Nomina introduced you to the group of women surrounding you, before reversing to introducing all of them to you.  “Sisters Mila, Lascivia, Camille, Perita, and Triette.”

“Lovely to meet you all,” you nodded, smiling warmly. 

“Give her some room, ladies, please!“ Nomina scolded gently, shooing them back with her hands until they took a few steps away from you. Admittedly, you appreciated the extra breathing room.

“Everybody's been looking forward to your visit immensely,” Nomina justified. “I hope you don't mind answering a few of their questions.”

“Of course not!”

Sister Camille piped up quickly: “As Sister Imperator Consortia, what responsibilities do you have?”

“W-well, I'm not qualified to serve on the clergy,” you explained, “because I wasn't nominated by the clergy— I was nominated, well, by my husband. So, mainly my job is to support him…”

“Did you grow up in the church?” Sister Perita asked politely.

“Well, yes and no,” you replied.  “I wasn’t raised a Satanist, so not in the traditional sense— but I ran away to join the church when I was still just a teenager… ever since then, up until rather recently, I was living in convents much like this one.”

That seemed to surprise Sister Triette.  “You really were another Sister of Sin, just like us?” she observed.

It wasn’t until then that you realized they didn't just find you interesting, but that they looked up to you— a role model of sorts, a Sister like them who was perceived as achieving some kind of greatness; it was sweet, even if you felt their admiration was misplaced.  “Yes, I was,” you nodded.

“Did you work closely with the Papa?” Sister Mila asked.

“No, my role mostly involved stewardship, administration, occasional gardening—”

That seemed to confuse them.  “So, then, how'd you fall in love?” Sister Perita wondered.

Your eyes widened; maybe you should've seen some of these questions coming and had answers prepared, but you were completely caught off-guard in that moment.  “O-oh, um, it's not a very interesting story…”

“No no, please!  We've all been dying to know since we heard you two were coming!” Camille insisted.

The Sisters leaned in excitedly in anticipation; you hadn't realized the news of your marriage had so much impact.  Then again, Copia was technically a celebrity— you just weren't used to his popularity outside of your own church.  “You're not all just trying to get pointers to seducing clergy so you can get a promotion, right?” you wondered with a frown.

“No!  We just want to hear how you two met,” Perita explained, “and how you realized you loved each other— and how he proposed!”

They all clapped and giggled excitedly, but all you could manage was a nervous grin.  The real story was definitely not going to satisfy them; you felt guilty imagining disappointing them with some clinical explanation of it all.  “W-well, how we met is sort of… obvious, I guess.  We met in Mass, when he was the Papa— he served me communion.  I didn't know him as a cardinal, I hadn't moved to his church yet, but he… well, I was pretty intimidated by him.  You can't blame me— it's the Papa, after all…”

Up until then, you had told the truth— but you started, for lack of a better term, winging it at that point.

“The first time we spoke— it was an unexpected thing, you see.  We bumped into each other, literally; I wasn't paying attention and he was rushing to get to a clergy meeting— I helped him pick up some books he’d dropped.” 

Clichéd?  Absolutely, but you felt like that was ultimately what they wanted to here: a too-good-to-be-true story about how an ordinary Sister was swept off her feet by such an important man.  Why the Papa would be running around carrying a stack of books is an absurd question for another day…

“We got to talking… we had more in common than we expected.  We bonded over—” you fought back a smirk as you figured out an easy lie— “slushies, actually. He said that traveling with the band meant hardly ever being in the same place, but that there was almost always a convenience store with slushies wherever he was. They became a comfort, I suppose.”

You decided not to go on and say that the two of you had played strip croquet together… probably too obvious of a reference.

“We were just friends for some time, but eventually we started to grow real feelings for each other,” you concluded simply.

They broke out into a collective aww; “What's he like?  You know, when he's not in front of so many people.”

“Um… he's not that different, I guess,” you mumbled, “maybe not as dramatic.  But he's so sensitive, too, and gentle…”

“I’ve always thought he would be that way,” Sister Lascivia agreed, “but intense, too, you know— like, dominating.”

You choked on your own throat for a second.  Why were you thinking about him at all?  “U-um, what makes you say that?” you wondered.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, biting back a grin, “he just seems that way.”

“Y-you mean, on stage?” you pressed, but the line of questioning shifted suddenly when Sister Perita interrupted.

“And the proposal?  It must have been some fantastic gesture!” she assumed.  “Only fitting for a rockstar, right?”

“You’d think, but he doesn't really act like that… he's so humble.  Actually, it was very intimate,” you decided.  “He knows I can get a little overwhelmed with those big crowds, so instead we went out in a— um, little rowboat onto the lake nearby our church, right around sunset, and watched the stars come out… he played a little guitar for me, just to be nice because he knows I love how he plays— and then under the full moon, he told me that, uh…”

Why was your heart racing?  Why could you picture it so clearly in your mind, as if you weren’t just making it all up as you went along?

“That meeting me had made his heart whole,” you concluded.  “That he couldn't go on unless he knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together… and he showed me the ring and— and, you know, all that.  Of course, I said yes right away.”

“Oh wow,” Sister Mila cooed— she looked as close to having heart-shaped irises as you’d ever seen anyone in real life.

But of course, another had to chime in as well: “And you don't get jealous, knowing how popular he is?  Plenty of people would kill for your spot, you know.”

You willed your eye not to twitch.  “He's, um��� he's never given me any reason to be jealous,”   He's loyal, he always has been, even when we were just dating.  B-but we didn't date very long before we married…”

You realized you couldn’t retroactively ascribe some kind of fidelity to him— after all, he’d been a rockstar (as Perita had put it) on tour… 

And he’d been to this church before.  Your heart almost stopped as the sick thought entered your mind that he could’ve, potentially, hooked up with any of the people in this room; certainly Sister Lascivia would’ve probably jumped him if she got the chance, but she was far from the only candidate.  Come on, he was Papa fucking Emeritus the fucking IV, he had his pick of the litter if he so desired.

You knew it shouldn’t make any difference to you, you knew it was none of your business and you had no right to worry about it— but just the idea of him with one of them— with anyone—

“I guess he married you so quickly because he loves you so much,” Sister Nomina smiled.

You smiled back, even if you felt like you were still trying to keep bile down.  “Yes, I guess so.”

“And now you’re married to the head of the clergy; it’s like a fairytale or something!” Sister Mila beamed, clutching her hands together.

What kind of fairytales is this girl reading? “It all really has nothing to do with his status— Frater, Papa, Cardinal, he could be a janitor for all I care,” you assured her.  “I married him because he's the most patient, talented, generous man—”

You noticed the way many of them seemed to straighten up suddenly, the way Sister Perita’s eyes widened, and you spun over your shoulder to see Copia sauntering up behind you.  He had a good poker face, but there was an obvious smugness to it.  “What’s that they say?  Speak of the devil?” he mused as he leaned against the doorway.

“Oh, hello… dear,” you blurted out— seems you’d used up all your creativity on that fake meet-cute and proposal, didn’t have any left for a good term of endearment.  

“You’re not telling stories again, are you?” he asked, approaching you slowly, the slightest swagger in his step.

“Everyone’s very curious about you,” you explained.

“No, I don’t think so,” he denied, “they already know about me— they’re curious about us.”

Us sounded so nice when he said it like that.  He touched your shoulder for a moment, sliding his hand down to clasp at your upper arm.  Paradoxically, he acted more confident with an audience; you couldn’t tell if this was for your benefit, or theirs.

“Don’t go running off without me, hm?” he scolded sweetly.

“Yes, Frater,” you answered politely, wondering afterwards if it was too formal.

It didn’t seem to deter him: he brought his hand to your chin and held it delicately, keeping your head tilted up towards him.  “I worry when I lose sight of you,” he explained.  “We have to get ready for Mass soon, will you meet me at the chancel before the service begins?”

“Of course,” you agreed, smiling a little as he looked down at you so… lovingly?  Could that be the word?

You wondered if he would kiss you right then— you hadn’t kissed in public since your first kiss, and you thought you wanted to keep it that way… but wouldn’t it be a little fun, to show him off just a bit in front of these ladies?  Wouldn’t it be the best way to rub it in that he chose you?

Instead he only stroked your jaw with his thumb for a second, before letting go of you and stepping back.  He gave only one moment of attention to the women around you— with a quick bow of greeting and a polite “Sisters” — before spinning on his heel and departing.

You pressed your lips together and kept your eyes on the door even after he was gone; there was a heavy silence until the echoes of his steps down the hall faded.  Then they all broke into the squealy, girlish reactions you were expecting.

“Great Belial below!” “He’s so sensual!” “You can tell he’s completely enamoured with you!”

“O-oh, enamoured?” you repeated sheepishly.  “I don’t know, he’s just— like that…”

But your face warmed and you had to reach up to partially cover it with your hand— you didn’t want them to see your growing smile, in case someone asked why you were so giddy over a small interaction with your own husband.  

You departed from the convent not too long after that, knowing you didn’t have much time before Mass began and wanting to give yourself time to navigate to the chapel.  A walk through the church alone would’ve been a nice opportunity to clear your head, if your head was actually capable of clearing— but no, instead it was swirling with memories.  Memories all the way back as that first time he served you the body and blood, when he’d apparently taken an interest in you which eventually lead to this; memories as recent as the way he’d touched you just before.

Did it still make you feel a little nauseous knowing Sister Lascivia— and likely tens of thousands of other people— were somewhere out there thinking about how dominating he must be?  Yes, but you also felt a little proud of yourself… because that’s all they had, their thoughts.  You actually had a shot at finding out for yourself.

If you ever found the nerve, that is; regardless, you tried to push that thought process aside and actually listen to the priest as he officiated Mass that evening.  Of course, you really weren’t able to do that until being mentioned by name got your attention.

“And we have some visitors this Mass!” the priest announced.  “Frater Imperator and Sister Imperator Consortia—they’ve come all the way from the church of Ghost in Sweden!  Give them a warm welcome, will you?”

As the congregation applauded, Copia stood up; you followed suit quickly, getting a good look at the sea of people in pews all looking at you both.  You hadn’t seen a crowd like this since your wedding.  

Your smile was genuine but flustered when Copia placed his decorated hand on your shoulder; it already made your heart tremble when he did it in front of a few Sisters of Sin, this was on a whole new level.  He guided you a little closer to him, tucking you into his side, and you looked out over the massive crowd before glancing at the glove on your shoulder— namely, the wedding ring on it.

Then you looked at his face, at how polite and distinguished he looked standing before all these people.  “What do I do?” you asked your husband in a whisper.

“Hm?” he pressed, only briefly glancing at you.

“With all this attention,” you clarified, “what am I meant to do?”

“Just smile,” he encouraged.  “All they want is to see you.  Just give them a smile, maybe a little wave if you’re feeling generous.”

He was a showman, he knew what he was doing— you tried to copy him, with moderate success.  It was comforting, somehow, to see him in his element.  Unfortunately, how comfortable he was here only served as kindling for the flame of insecurity in the back of your mind.  Because he’s him, and you’re just… you.

And there in that sea of congregation members were plenty of those people you’d had mentioned to you before: the ones who would kill to have your spot.

~

“You should be proud of yourself,” he grinned as he took his seat across from you on the jet once again— it felt like so much had happened since the last time you were here.  “You shouldn’t be so adverse to social engagements, you’re a natural.”

“No, definitely not,” you laughed a bit, “but I didn’t hate it as much as I thought I would.  You made it easier for me.”

“They love you already, darling,” he promised, and the casual affectionate name made you smile even more, though you tried to hide it from him.  “So does everyone back at our church— anyone who knows you would, really.”

Your heart swelled, but you just hummed and looked away in lieu of responding.  

Of course, as soon as your heart was happy, your brain had to pop in and ruin it: that smile on Sister Lascivia’s face, the way she was so clearly picturing your husband in some kind of compromising way.  And the horrible, sick idea that maybe she didn’t have to just imagine it.

Copia was already prepared for a quiet flight— he had his legs crossed and a book open in his lap, his chin resting on one of his hands as he read.  You looked at him for a moment, appreciating how calm he seemed to always be; sometimes it was hard to believe he was the same man with that rockstar reputation, but you knew it was too naive to assume just because he could be quiet that he must not have lived to the fullest in his time as the Papa.

You managed to distract yourself by watching out the window as the jet took off, but once you were high enough to break through the clouds, the view was basically just white light and was not nearly interesting enough to keep your mind occupied.

It shouldn’t have even mattered!  So what if he was a bit more intimately acquainted with someone you’d met on that trip?  It didn’t make any difference now.  Yet, it was all you could think of, and even knowing it would only bring you pain, you compared yourself to her— she was quite pretty, after all, even with that habit covering up most of her.  Maybe she was more his type… maybe she was exactly his type.

By that point you’d basically convinced yourself it was true, without any evidence at all.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but for some reason you couldn’t seem to hold back the words forming there.  “Do you know any of the Sisters there?” you heard yourself ask before you could stop yourself.  “I-I mean, did you know any of them before today...”

“Eh… no, I don’t think so,” he mumbled.

“But you’ve been to the church before,” you recalled, “you know Comis.”

“Well, yes, he’s their main ambassador— Sisters come and go, you know.”

You nodded, and he looked back down at his book.  You let the moment rest for a few seconds that felt like an eternity.  “It’s just that—”

He sighed a little and shut his book.

“They seemed to be so fascinated by you,” you explained.  “I think you had quite a few fans there.”

“Fans?  You mean, the band?” he raised an eyebrow, and you nodded.  “Then that’s not me, is it?  I just sang for a while— I’m interchangeable, by design.”

“But still— you were, are, so popular.”

“Eh… if you say so…”

“Come on,” you tilted your head, a bit of frustration leaking into your tone, “don’t be like that— you know what you’re doing.”

He looked a little confused, if not almost hurt by the implied accusation of deceitfulness.  “What are you asking me about?” he pressed, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you fuck any of them?”

Your eyes widened when you heard yourself say it— you really couldn’t believe you’d just word-vomited it out like that.  He seemed a little shocked, too, but much more amused than anything.  You didn’t like it at all, the way he smiled; it made you feel even more stupid for asking it, for thinking it even.

“I’m sorry,” you said instantly, “I shouldn’t have—” I shouldn’t have started this conversation while we’re trapped together for four hours, for one thing— “it’s not my place.  Forget I asked, it doesn’t matter.”

“Now now,” he cooed, “if it concerns you, then it matters.”

He was teasing you— dangling it in front of you.  “It doesn’t concern me,” you assured, “in every sense of the word— it’s none of my concern.”

“You look concerned.”

“Yes, but… that's my problem, not yours.”

He sighed, looking at you as if he were a little disappointed for some reason.  “Do you remember our vows, tesoro?”

You swallowed thickly.  Not really, I'm pretty sure I was in the middle of an anxiety-induced blackout.  “Uh…” you stalled.

“We agreed to care for each other, to share our hearts forever,” he reminded you.  “That means that if something upsets you, then it upsets me.  Even if you think it's silly— and from what I can tell, it's not.”

“Of course it is,” you rolled your eyes.  “It's silly to ask a famous musician if he slept with any fans— of course you did.”

“I did,” he admitted, “but surely not with the frequency you're imagining.  And not with anyone in Brussels, if that's any comfort.”

You crossed your arms over yourself self-consciously, looking out the window even though the cloudy scenery hadn't changed much.

“Of course I've had lovers before— you have too, I know.  I hope we won't hold that against each other.”

“Yes, of course,” you sighed.  “Obviously I never expected, or even wanted, either of us to be virginal or something, Satan forbid.  And there's nothing wrong with you meeting women on the road, either… it's just… is it wrong that thinking about it makes me kind of want to strangle someone?”

He laughed; “No,” he assured, “I don't think so.”

Unfortunately, he was right— that talking about it made you feel a little better.  

“Is it wrong that I think you're especially sexy when you're jealous?”

Your throat caught and you looked away from him quickly, holding your face in your hand as an excuse to cover it, but he obviously noticed the way you crossed your legs tightly.  His eyes raked over you, you could feel it somehow even when you were refusing to actually look back at him.

“I don’t think you have much right to be so shy, after asking me such personal questions,” he purred.  

“I-I’m not being shy,” you denied in a mumble, “I just didn’t expect you to say that.”

“I hope it doesn’t offend you—”

“No!  No,” you assured quickly, letting go of your heated face to look down into your lap.  “You’re being sweet, thank you.”

“It’s only the truth,” he insisted.  “Let’s always tell each other that, alright?  Just the truth.”

You nodded in agreement, finding the strength to meet his gaze again; the look in his eyes was just like the one he’d had when he found you in the convent.  It must not have been just for show, then… 

“Promise you’ll get some rest while we fly,” he sighed, “we won’t be landing until the late evening and we have quite a day ahead tomorrow.”

You only remembered it right then: your wedding reception.  As if you hadn’t had enough excitement for a lifetime in this week already.

~

It was a unique reception in a number of ways, probably too many to count.  First of all, most receptions happen right after the wedding, of course— but late night Masses left little time for that.  Secondly, receptions usually have speeches and sentimental things for the families of the betrothed; while Copia’s family of phantasms were in attendance, they didn’t have much to say, and what could they say?  They didn’t even know you.  So, instead, your reception was much more of the good stuff: dancing, eating, drinking, and good old-fashioned partying.

And then there was, you know, the demonic statues and sacrifices.  But that, to you, wasn’t so out of the ordinary.

You were seated at the head table with him, watching the crowd in all their merriment, feeling an odd sense of pride— of responsibility for all this joy.  It wasn’t like you’d planned this, it was a gift from the clergy who had done the work of putting it together, but technically you were half of what was being celebrated.

Maybe it was just appreciation for home, after your trip to Brussels.  It was always nice to see familiar faces filled with joy.

He leaned in closer to you so you could hear him over the music as he spoke, and you felt his breath on your shoulder.  “I'm sorry we didn't have time for this sooner,” he said.

“Oh!  I wouldn't have known what to do if we'd done it any sooner,” you admitted with a laugh.  Not that you especially knew what to do now— but you at least, by now, knew how to fake knowing what to do.

“And I’m sorry we couldn’t do something a little more traditional,” he added.

“Traditional?” you repeated with a laugh.

“What’s that American thing, where they feed each other the wedding cake?” he raised an eyebrow.  “Maybe we should have done that… I’ve always thought it looked sweet.”

You had no idea he had any opinions about things like that; it was endearing to imagine he ended up watching wedding videos at some point and wanted something like that for himself.  “Well, we can still do that another time,” you offered, “when there aren’t so many people watching.”

Again, you didn’t quite put together how that sounded until he cleared his throat and his cheeks pinkened at bit; of course it sounded suggestive when you phrased it like that, how could you have not seen that coming?!

Before you could correct yourself, though— or decide if you actually did need to correct anything— the ghouls on the chancel began playing a familiar song.

It didn’t sound the same, of course, with another singer filling in, but you could so easily hear Copia’s voice in those words:  You'll soon be hearing the chime, close to midnight…

He stood up suddenly, and you looked up at him.  “May I have this dance, cara mia?” he asked with an extended hand.

You took it with a smile; “I think one of the privileges of marriage is that you don't have to ask me that.”

Guiding you to the dancefloor, it felt like one of those movie scenes with the way the crowd parted for you on their own.  Was there a spotlight on you or was that just your imagination?

One of the few things you'd known about him before marrying him was that he was quite a dancer— what you hadn't known until now was how much you enjoyed dancing.  He made it easy, guiding you through the moves so well that people would probably think you had more experience than you did.

You had every right to be nervous, and you were, but for the first time it felt sort of… good?  Surely the alcohol in your system was aiding you, but it wasn’t just that.  Your heart was racing but you didn’t feel the urge to run and hide; he was smiling at you, he was pulling you closer, and for just a few moments you were suddenly fearless.

I just wanna be, wanna bewitch you in the moonlight

I just wanna be, wanna bewitch you all night

He spun and dipped you, making you laugh with exhilaration.  When he pulled you back up, the look in his eyes almost took your breath away… so determined, yet romantic and vulnerable.  A look you felt like only he could pull off.

If the song’s lyrics were some sort of manifestation, then it was working: you were totally bewitched by him.  It was just the two of you and the music playing, it was just his hands holding and guiding you, it was just this perfect moment that you could hardly believe was happening to you.  Weren’t you just an ordinary Sister this time two weeks ago?

You knew when the song was nearly over, and when he spun you one more time and pulled you into him, your hand came up to the side of his face, your leg lifted to slightly straddle his side… your eyes drifted down to his lips.

Just one more split-second and you would’ve kissed him.  Not just any kiss, you would’ve kissed him like you never had before— like nobody ever had before.  

But the crowd of people around you instead began to proudly clap and cheer, and it tore you out of the moment; honestly, you’d sort of forgotten you were surrounded by all the guests.  You looked away from Copia and smiled at the people who had watched you dance, hardly even noticing that he never stopped looking at you.

It went by too quickly— not just the song but the whole night.  All too soon, you were back in your room; ears still ringing, heart still thumping, and (less enjoyably) feet still a little bit sore from dancing in new shoes despite having changed into your night clothes and comfy socks already.

As Copia walked to his side of the bed in his own signature embroidered pyjamas, you fell back on the bed limply, laying your arms out wide and staring up at the ceiling with a sigh— a happy sigh of course, a does this night really have to end? sigh.  “That was wonderful,” you announced with a beaming smile.  “I didn't think I'd enjoy it so much, but it was perfect.”

“I hoped you would,” Copia agreed.  “You've seemed so tense— I'm not sure I ever saw you looking so relaxed, and joyful… you look so beautiful that way.”

“Y-you don't have to flatter me,” you mumbled, pulling your arms back in towards yourself as tilted your head back to look at him— upside down, but still at him.

“Of course, I never would,” he assured, laying down carefully on the bed beside you.  “It's just the truth.  I bet everyone was as taken with you as I was… but only I got to dance with you.”

You smiled a little more softly, admiring how sweet he could be— a side of him you felt privileged to see so close.  You wanted to say something, but you really had no idea how to respond to a statement like that, or even how to just take the compliment.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked quietly.

“O-of course,” you answered, “you can tell me anything.”

“I-I'm a little embarrassed,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but I… I've seen Heathers.”

You tilted your head, laughing in confusion.

“I don't know why I lied to you before,” he shook his head, “I know it quite well— I saw it in theaters when it was released!  I just— I thought— I'm not sure.  I guess I liked you explaining it to me.”

Your heart jumped, and you looked down at the bed under you sheepishly, as if your finger tracing the pattern on the quilt was fascinating all of a sudden.

“I wanted to give you an excuse to talk to me,” he added.

“You… you could've just… talked,” you told him quietly.  “It wasn't like I would've ignored you.”

“Yes, I know,” he sighed, “but the moment never felt right.”

“How does the moment feel now?” you asked shyly.

“Oh, tesoro, everything about tonight feels perfect.”

Your heart skipped a beat; everything?

You wondered, of course, if he would try something again; it was hard not to imagine that, since this was such a similar set of circumstances to that very first night.  But it felt so different, too— it felt less terrifying, for one thing, and less confusing.

But instead of letting yourself wonder about that for too long— afraid he’d somehow see it on your face, and know what you were picturing— you sat up a little bit and propped yourself up on your elbows.

“I asked why you chose me already,” you began, “but I never asked the bigger question, did I?  That is, why you got married at all.”

He sighed shortly before he answered.  “My mother, she asked me to get married.  At first, I thought it was just the will of the clergy.  I understand now it was much more than that.”

“She wanted you to be happy,” you assumed.

“Yes, yes…” he trailed off, looking to the side.  “She knew I didn't want to be alone anymore.”

Your heart twisted a little; “I figure the Papa himself never has to be alone,” you mumbled through a sheepish smile.  “You could take anyone to bed you wanted, a new companion every night.”

He chuckled a little.  “I think you know that's not what I mean— I learned better than anyone that being by oneself and being alone are different things,” he explained.  “Even if I did find the time and energy for a thousand lovers, I would've still been lonely without a real partner… something to call my own.  But I never had the time— or, I told myself that, to justify why I didn't have anyone.”

You understood that better than he could know— better than you wanted to realize.

“My parents loved each other, but spent most of their lives apart,” he explained.  “I don't want to be like that.  I don't want to have something beautiful and let it go to waste.”

He looked at you right then, and it seemed like it meant something but you wouldn't let yourself imagine what.

“Could I kiss you again?” he asked softly.  It sort of completely caught you off-guard, not what he said but the way he said it: the unsureness in his voice, the slight flush on his face.

You didn't answer with words, you simply reached up and brushed your fingers through the hair at his temple, where it was turning silver— another reminder of how long he'd been alone. 

You moved your hand in to cradle his face, leaning closer.

There was something shockingly comfortable about it, like you'd known each other for years.  You had grown to care for him, you couldn't deny that, but you surprised even yourself by how you pulled him closer as he kissed you.

It brought back memories of your wedding night, of course, and you couldn't decide if it felt like just yesterday or months ago.  All that fear and anxiety you'd been nearly crushed by then— it was only a distant memory, to the point that it was almost hard to believe you were the same person who had felt all that.

In some ways, you weren't.

His hand gently rested on your side, before carefully moving around to your lower back to keep you pressed against him.  Why did that feel so perfect?  His head tilted a little more, his kiss deepened a little more, you sighed a little heavier. 

As he pulled away, he looked into your eyes; you saw something new and totally indescribable in them.

If he kisses me again, I won't be able to say no to him, you realized.

He only smiled at you gently, his fingers brushing over your cheek.  “Goodnight, darling,” he offered quietly.

You were still in shock just a bit as he kissed your temple softly, before pulling back and turning to face away from you as he climbed under the covers.  Blinking quickly, you wondered if you would've asked him not to stop if he'd given you a chance.

Slowly laying down yourself, you faced towards him and sighed a little as you looked at the back of him.

You stared at him for so long that night, watching him sleep, willing yourself to just reach over and wake him; to run your fingers through his hair until he stirred and turned to face you.  And then you wouldn’t have to say anything, you could just kiss him and he’d understand.  All you had to do was lift your hand and touch him… then his arms would be around you, his lips would be on you, his weight would press you into the bed…

You fell asleep before you ever found the nerve.  But that’s not to say you fell asleep quickly; no, not at all.

[istoleyoursk1n]

How would the boys react to gn touch starved Tav who always asks for his permission before doing anything? They would respect his boundaries if he said no!

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How would the boys react to a touch-starved Tav?

.

.

: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

“I’m… not quite sure what this is, but it's lovely isn't it? Who knew something as sweetly sickening as intertwined fingers was… just enough if not perfect for me. Thank you, darling.”

He hardly even noticed how touch-starved you were at first. He was far used to people leaning into his touch and whatnot, he even considered himself to be quite the addictive drug.

He’s been ‘touched’ for so long that at this point your cravings for said touch went over his head.

He was perfectly capable of masking himself once more in favor of doing whatever it is you wish, he had initially assumed you wanted what most asked from him.

He was pleasantly surprised when he realized the type of intimacy you craved went beyond just simple carnal pleasures. A soft embrace, a gentle hand in hand, basic gestures he never once had the time to relish.

Little by little his own walls had started to fall in favor of this newly found intimacy that he finds himself adoring. He is more than willing to satiate all your touch-filled cravings if he gets to feel this sudden twinkling joy.

I doubt he would be the one initiating such a gentle form of intimacy just yet but he would be more than happy to provide if you ever ask.

One way or another, he finds himself far happier when you're locked in each other’s arms. A win/win overall seeing as you get to receive all the soft physical intimacy you've longed for and Astarion gets to learn the tenderness that can come with this particular type of intimacy.

: ̗̀➛ WYLL

“Hm. Pardon me if I come across as a tad bit strong... But I find myself wanting to keep you close. To hold you through darkened nights in blissful peace, it won't be better than any dream I could ever conjure… of course, that is if you’ll have me.”

It did take him a while to pick up on how touch-starved you truly were. All he truly gave you at first was a friendly pat on the shoulder but he was more so waiting until you were comfortable enough for more.

He wouldn't outright ask if you were touch starved, but you’d find him often asking you for permission to give you a quick little hug or a playful high five. Anything that could stimulate you really.

He’d ease you into it, not wanting to cross a boundary or overwhelm you with physical affection, especially since the mission ahead should have been top priority.

Regardless, he sits next to you whenever he can, always making sure that he's allowed to do so but otherwise, he's quite comfortable being near you and he hopes you feel the same.

It won't take long for him to slowly make his way into gentle caresses such as wistful kisses against the back of your palm. Nothing too drastic yet, but he's definitely being far more intimate in where he chooses to hold you.

Though, one of his favorite things to do with you is lead you into a peaceful waltz. It would be underneath the brilliant glow of the moonlight, with either you or him leading the sentimental little dance.

Nevertheless, a touch from Wyll will always be one filled with unspoken declarations of love, a love so delicate and sweet that he had only reserved for you.

: ̗̀➛ GALE

“I could list down a thousand reasons as to why I’ve grown to be undoubtedly entranced by your every touch, and a thousand more as to why not a single part of you would ever go unloved again.”

‘You too?’

He’s lived in a tower all by himself for an incredibly long time, he gets it.

Though I doubt he’d notice your own touch-starved needs just yet, especially if you're shy about it. He’s keeping his hands to himself out of respect for you so not much touching would occur.

Going beyond just small talk and the occasional banter with you has crossed his mind multiple times, but he doesn't quite know how to express such a thing without completely humiliating himself.

He wanted to ensure that you carry somewhat of an interest in him before he flat-out decides to ask to hold your hand.

Or he’d be plain sneaky and ever so carefully guide your hands and body every time he teaches you a new magic trick. Of course, it would be with your permission, but these moments would be completely ingrained in his mind for a long time.

He’s practically been craving to be close to you as much as you’ve been craving to be touched. Discovering how touch-starved you are is only something that draws him closer to you.

Suddenly he’s off giving you the faintest of kisses, allowing his touches to linger longer than usual till he’s finally got you in his arms.

Now you both can't seem to stop clinging to one another at any given chance. Both of you have been touch-starved because of your own reasons but at least you have each other now.

One thing is for sure, the wizard of Waterdeep has fallen completely for you, cherishing every touch he receives from you and happily giving the same gentle caresses right back.

: ̗̀➛ HALSIN

“The fact that a body as stunning as yours has gone untouched for so long bewilders me. You are deserving of every caress, every embrace, and every sweet kiss I could possibly give to someone whose beauty rivals the prettiest of flowers.”

Give him a moment but he could have probably sensed how touch-starved you must be. By the way, you come just a bit closer than usual or allow your own touches to stay far more than normal.

But he wouldn't like to assume so quickly, he might have been reading it all wrong in the end.

He's already had a hard time keeping his hands to himself in your presence but for you? He’d be as respectful as he possibly can. He’d never do anything without your consent.

Though his bated breath and his drumming heart were a tad bit too obvious to conceal. He was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, a heart he was more than willing to give to you.

He was a bit shaken when he was finally allowed to touch you as if he’d be aching for you for days (he has).

He tries his hardest to be as gentle as he possibly can, but he's hesitant to even let go of you now that you’re finally in his grasp.

You feel warm in his hands, a warmth he wants to keep close for as long as possible. He's utterly enamored by you and is completely transfixed to touching every part of you.

There's not an inch of you that hasn't been grazed by his calloused hands, and yet he always seems to never tire from having you.

Being with you is a precious delight he had never expected to receive, and the fact that your touch starved only fuels his need to be near you.

A little sweet bonus from Halsin is that his fuzzy bear form would be enough to engulf you during those cold nights, covering you with his warmth and having you snuggle close to him as much as you want!

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

[lookingforhappy]

TUA Inconsistencies, Plotholes and Goofs

before u read, pls know that i adore this show and wouldn't be critiquing it this harshly if i wasn't utterly obsessed with it.

I don't think that all of these need fixes or explanations since they function as fun little plot devices etc but I think it's important to note that they do break the story a little. although there are some that really do need fixes.

this comes from a place of interest, analysis, and frustration but not hate.

(also apologies to all the gifmakers who i have indirectly @'d in this post)

here's a list of all the problems i could remember in tua:

The Commission is too OP

(this one I saw posited by another blog but I can't remember who first brought it up? so credit to whoever said this first i think)

The Commission is shown to be capable of:

time travel

time freezing

body cloning & consciousness transplanting (essentially, their workers can live forever because they can build new bodies and transfer their minds as soon as they start to get old/ill)

paradox-proofing

timeline monitoring/spying (the Infinite Switchboard)

if the Commission has had the ISB all along + infinite time + unaging employees, then they have been able to watch every second of history, and every second of every alternate history ever (Lila watches the timeline Five rewound/erased).

If they can see every second of every possible history, then even if they're the most inefficiant organisation ever, they're able to know everything before it/they even exist.

which makes more or less every plot point impossible:

Five would not have been able to return to 2019 without being spotted and hunted down by people who know exactly what he looks like (13yro not 58 yro), exactly where he is (also making the tracker in his arm, and in the sweet wrapper, redundant), and exactly when he's vulnerable eg. when he sleeps, is injured or drunk.

The Handler would not have been able to hide in 1963 and plot against the Commission without being spotted by the Commission and killed/fired. Same thing goes for stealing and hiding multiple Briefcases.

The 1963 Apocalypse would not have been allowed to happen as the Commsission would have had Viktor killed long before it happened.

The Kugelblitz wouldn't have happened because the Commission would have seen it decades or centuries in advance and prevented it (this should be top priority because this is what kills them!).

Herb and Dot's Goals for the Commission

In s1 the Commission wants a very specific timeline to take place (aka the apocalypse) with no deviations, and are willing to do anything and everything to make it so.

Herb and Dot seem more than happy to go along with this, and even believe that the Commission is correct for doing this.

Dot in particular is the Case Manager for the apocalypse, meaning she is the one who spotted Five when he arrived as a 13yro and left him there to die/live a life of pain and isolation. She also was chiefly responsible for ensuring the deaths of 7 billion people including all the Hargreeves' for "the greater good".

Dot is actually seen snitching on Five to The Handler, was implied to be working with The Handler to prevent Five from stopping the apocalypse, and is the one to alert security/sound the alarm when Five starts fighting The Handler.

So it's pretty weird that in s2 and 3 Herb and Dot are suddenly fine with the apocalypse not happening. It's one thing to change management, and another to completely uproot the entire mission statement/ethos of the Commission. The Commission, from the moment Herb and Dot gain control, has no goal or purpose. because they gave up that purpose when they agreed to let the Hargreeves go to an apocalypse free 2019.

This is also weird as Five is completely fine and trusting of them at the end of s2, when all they've done so far to him is prove that they cannot be trusted and will do anything to cause the apocalypse, as well as having left him to suffer alone in an apocalypse for 45 years as well as force him to join the Commission and become a murderer (or else die alone).

The Two Fives + The Briefcase

old!Five doesn't take his Briefcase to 2019 in the original timeline.

So why don't Five and Luther wait until old!Five has left for 2019 to pick his Briefcase up off the ground, where it's entirely unguarded and completely abandoned, and avoid the Paradox Psychosis altogether.

old!Five wasn't in the timeline or remotely near enough to Five to cause Paradox Psychosis when Five originally came up with this plan.

The Grandfather Paradox + Similar Goofs

TUA Time Travel operates on branching/alternate timelines, like Loki, not on a loop/predestined, like HP, and not on one single malleable timeline, like Back to the Future. ergo The Grandfather Paradox cannot exist within the show.

As soon as Five averts the 2019 apocalypse, his existence would trigger a paradox as without the apocalypse he never got trapped and has no reason/knowledge to return to 2019 to prevent it.

Same thing for S2, the only reason the nukes aren't dropped in S2 is bc Five saw it happen and time travelled back to prevent it, but as soon as that apocalypse is prevented, the nukes are never dropped, and so he never sees the apocalypse happen and therefore cannot know to prevent it.

In fact, the very first episode of S2 as a whole should cause the Grandfather Paradox, by the shows own laws: as by causing a nuclear apocalypse, their mothers were never born/did not survive long enough to birth them -> so they cannot be alive -> they cannot time travel -> cannot cause an apocalypse in 1960s -> the mothers were born -> and around and around and around.

A similar goof happens in S2, as Five helps his older self return to 2019 without de-aging himself. Five is concerned that he will cease to exist if his other self doesn't travel to 2019, but his older self does travel back. But as a 58 year old man. However, Five himself doesn't turn into a 58 year old man as he should have if this was a singular malleable timeline. Hence, he needn't have worried as they created a separate branching timeline rather than edit their own timeline.

so essentially, they're creating entirely new alternate timelines and nothing they do changes their own experiences, lives, memories or bodies.

It doesn't matter that their mothers were killed before they were born in the sparrow timeline, because they're not from this branch and therefore still have mothers in their original timeline. which is proven to not affect their current selves.

Which... breaks the entire plot of S3.

(S3 may have also caused another paradox as the reset causes Five to regain his arm, and lose the tattoo, possibly meaning he doesn't found the Commission, meaning essentially none of the series can even start as Five cannot leave the apocalypse without the Commission).

Polk Salad Annie

Five travels to 1982, Wisconsin, to kill the Commission Board. yet he has no Briefcase, cannot time travel on his own, and is shown to meet The Handler separately rather than be picked up by her for transport.

(If Lila took him, then surely he would have attempted to steal the Briefcase from her rather than go through with the plan.)

furthermore, 1982 should be inaccessable. or at least, it should be a nuclear wasteland.

At this point, the events culminating in the prevention of the apocalypse haven't started: The Handler is not in control of the Commission, so Lila can't kidnap Diego to work for them, so he can't find the ISB and discover Viktor is the cause of the apocalypse, so Klaus doesn't know to take Ben to the FBI building, so the apocalypse can't be prevented. Five's action in 1982 is what sets that in motion (The Handler seizes control of the Commission), but 1982 doesn't exist in this timeline, so how does that work?

Five and the Commission don't seem to know how to Timeline hop, only how to create new timelines, and how to move backwards and forwards on their current timeline.

The only way to make 1982 accessable is to remove Viktor from the timeline or prevent the FBI from capturing him. Which they didn't. So how can Five get there.

The 7 Bells

Reginald's reasoning for adopting the superkids is to send them to Oblivion to use it to reset the Universe. He needs himself and a minimum of 7 superkids to do this, any less and Oblivion won't activate, and without him there to program it, nothing changes.

In the Original Timeline, his plan is foiled in 2002 when he looses Five, and he doesn't try to rectify it. Then again in 2006 when he looses Ben, and yet again doesn't rectify it.

He screws himself over even worse by killing himself in 2019, as now he cannot even go to Oblivion to program it. Klaus could theoretically summon or be possessed by Reginald, but once again, Reginald only has 5 out of 7, and with Klaus indisposed by summoning Reginald, he only has 4 available to power Oblivion.

Even stranger, he could have adopted spares for if situations like Five and Ben happen, in the form of the Sparrows, but he chose not to.

its also a strange choice to build the academy(s) as public superheroes, as he chose to send his only 7 children into life threatening situations repeatedly, which nearly killed Luther, probably nearly killed sparrow Ben, and did kill umbrella Ben.

He also admits that he purposefully stunted the Umbrella's powers, which contradicts his Oblivion plan, where they need to fight 3 near-immortal Guardians. it also contradicts his words to Klaus in s1 - that he's disappointed because Klaus never reached his true potential. Which, if he killed himself with the plan to have Klaus summon him to reprogram Oblivion, he would need Klaus at full power to be able to do that at all.

The Sparrows also don't seem to have this issue, they have great control of their powers, Ben especially. so why bother stunting one lot of kids, but not the other.

Smaller Goofs

-Luther being normal not monkey in 2015 (1x03) when he had his accident in 2012 (1x04) is a big goof up

-klaus not reanimating in the original apocalypse with five remains unexplained

-in s1 the commission is set in 1955 (1x06), in s3 it's set in 1953 (3x07) and this remains unexplained

-klaus was kidnapped in just a towel but Hazel and Cha-Cha have his jacket for some reason

-all of the Founder Five plotline bc there is no given reasoning for why Five would willingly go against all of his morals and create the organisation that caused him pain (both emotional and physical) and got his family killed.

-if Luther was on the moon for a purpose, why not have him running useful tests to make sure Abigail's pod remains functioning? or acting as a sentry to make sure no one sends an exploration mission to the moon/behind the moon? why just have him send samples, that reginald never even opens, every day for 4 years? and how could sparrow reginald know what umbrella reginald planned for Luther? they're different people.

-edit: 12/07/24 the newspaper Five finds in the apocalypse is dated as 1st April, but when he finds the same newspaper at the end of season 1, it's still March 31st and Diego says that newspaper was sold that morning.

[unspuncreature]

Hairy trans obi wan and less hairy trans anakin hyping each other up on what masculinity is (every body is different, every body is amazing) through what they are each experiencing instead of letting each other get down about what media shows masculinity is (toxic, only strong looking and TRULY HAIRLESS are manly, any inch of fat or strand of hair is Gross And Dirty) idk if you see my ramblings but do you see them?

Also. Ofc. Trans sex.

LICHERALY!!!!!!!!!! your mind!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! t4t obikin is sooooooooooooo good

actually slightly to the left of your idea i’m also thinking smthn maybe occurs during or just after a non combative mission where dignitaries and such are all over obi-wan and praising what their society sees as his desirable classically masculine traits

meanwhile anakin gets the same attention in the form of condescending comments about how pretty he is and is seen by these people as unserious, eye candy and a poster boy for the republic. and usually he would be fine with letting obi-wan take the reigns on a mission like this but it’s downright insulting to not even be considered in this way when we was specifically assigned. these people adore his looks but see him as incapable because of them, dead weight to the real power behind the open circle fleet

later on after their meetings have closed obi-wan and anakin visit the city’s public bath in the evening, empty now at the late hour, before they return to their quarters to prepare for the next day

anakin has been insecure before but he’s seeing obi-wan in a new light after their different treatment that day

obi-wan is thick and hairy and full bearded where anakin is more wiry with a full mouth and a smooth jaw even after years on T

obi-wan catches anakin staring in the baths and anakin is humiliated to have been caught, especially after years of staring to… admire. his master is gorgeous. if he thinks about it sometimes aka jerks off about it sometimes… that’s his business. but leave it to him to get caught staring while sulking. he wraps his arms around himself and sinks under the water to his collarbones while obi-wan washes himself beside him, naked and unashamed

under needling by his old master, anakin opens up a bit about how he feels: dysphoric, feminine, dismissed, and praised for all the wrong things. how he feels like he doesn’t stack up

obi-wan pauses his bathing and makes his way to anakin, chucking his knuckles under anakin’s chin to encourage him to stand, and proceeds to describe all of the ways his boy should be so proud of the masculinity he’s grown into and cultivated for himself: the corded athletic lines of his limbs, the curve of his chest muscle that’s filled out so nicely over his top surgery scars, his strong and capable hands, the sharp cut of his jaw, his lovely little happy trail and the smattering of gold blond hairs on his belly

and of course poor anakin can only handle so much of his effortlessly handsome master praising him, gesturing at his naked body, looking at him with warmth and affection, before mortified heat crawls up his neck and he finds his tdick (smaller than obi-wan’s, he notes) getting plump, his hole getting wet, and the water only comes up to his thighs, obi-wan will surely notice and see—

and he does because of course he does

“you like this? being complimented?”

anakin is frozen in place as his master moves closer still, the water lapping at his legs

“yes, master.”

obi-wan fixes him with a pleased and knowing look, infuriatingly rakish in the way his damp hair falls over his brow

“you just finished telling me all the ways you disliked being fussed over back there.”

anakin thinks a spontaneously manifesting black hole to swallow him up would be welcome right about now

“it’s different. w-when it’s you, i mean.” emboldened by the steadfast form of his master only a breath away and the flush he can finally see now high on his cheeks, anakin closes the remaining distance between them.

“i like it when it’s you.”

the feeling of the soft damp thatch of hair between his master’s legs against his own sends fire licking up his belly.

“because it’s you.”

anakin barely catches the humid snag of his master’s breath before obi-wan is on him, hand squeezed tight between their bodies to cup anakin between his legs where he aches, mouth claiming his own in a wet, searing kiss.

“gorgeous, handsome man,” obi-wan pants as they pull apart, pressing his forehead against anakin’s to peer down between them to watch the way anakin squirms as he pinches and rolls his boy’s dick between his thumb and fingers. “let master show you.”

and if obi-wan thinks the way anakin whines at that is girlish, he doesn’t say.

they don’t make it back to their rooms for a while after that

[celaenaeiln]

so my friend, at 12 am, called me just to say that dick grayson is the only one in his family that bruce truly views as an equal and then hung up. what. what do i do.

well, call them back and tell 'em they're right 😂😂😂

I started cackling so hard I began wheezinggg oh my god that's hilarious!!!

But maybe for a more reasonable time to talk about this concept after you wake/have woken up from your dick grayson cameo dreams, I'll drop some comic panels

Dick is privy to all of Bruce because of the way Bruce treats him like an equal

He lets Dick in on secrets that he doesn't tell any of the others

I've made a post before on how Clark views Dick as his equal just as Bruce views Dick as his equal.

I'm going to drop the Bruce segment here:

When Bruce was gone the only person he entrusted any information to was Dick. He left a personalized - voice activated - message for Dick and only him that lists his worries, faults, and regrets.

"The girl, Cassandra Cain... I told her to give this file to you should I fall tonight."

"She's my greatest sin, Dick. My deepest regret. Stay alive, and please. Try to forgive me--"

He lists his insecurities to Dick as friend, as an equal.

Of everyone Bruce left behind, the only person Bruce left a message for was Dick. He relies on him unconditionally to take over because Bruce doesn't seem him as a kid like he does with the other - don't get me wrong, he still values and knows just how brilliant the rest of his children are - but he sees Dick as an equal in terms of intelligence, abilities, and leadership. Actually -

Bruce puts Dick on a pedestal.

He views Dick as the golden standard of everything he's working toward.

The reason I think Bruce is so harsh on Dick in regards to training is he doesn't see him as a kid that needs protection, he seems him equal to himself.

Time and time again he sends Dick on solo missions because of the faith he has in Dick's abilities and intelligence

In another comic there's an Arkham breakout and Bruce just. He just sends sends Dick on a solo mission to contain the entirety of Arkham and the villains inside by himself.

And Dick does. Effortlessly.

The fight for Spyral

"I know the other heroes. I know them all. I'd have them do it, but they can't. They'd fight, but eventually they'd give up, they'd give in."

We all know that Bruce despises himself when he fails at something. He thinks he's the best in the world and struggles to cope with the idea that he failed. As such, Bruce views Dick as an extension of himself. Unlike with the kids where he acknowledges their differences and treats them like children, Dick and Bruce are so intertwined that Bruce considers Dick as the "good part" of himself while Bruce is the "bad part".

He gets the angriest at Dick during times where Dick disagrees with him because he believes that Dick should understood what he's going through and what he believes in. For his part, Dick is always on Bruce's side and acts like Bruce's leash. He'll let Bruce do anything he wants as long as it's within the limits of acceptable behavior. Once Batman crosses those limits, Dick fights with him to bring him back.

As such, Bruce doesn't differentiate himself with Dick. He is the best and as a result so is Dick. Except in his mind Dick is better than him in every way possible and he took the steps to ensure it through training.

One of the reasons people in the comics call Dick the Golden Child is because he's the living embodiment of everything Bruce strived to create. It's not because he follows his orders religiously or anything. No, Dick just gives Bruce a longer leash than most.

In the Spyral fight I think he hits Dick because he is in part frustrated with himself. Imagine seeing someone you have unconditional faith in because you know they're capable of the very same things as you and can even surpass you fall to a threat. Doesn't that mean you would've fallen too? Is their failure just as much yours if you see yourself as a god? But how can a god-like being fall?

Their relationship is complicated because while Bruce sees Dick as his own person, he also sees him as the reflection of his success.

That's why Bruce is harsher on Dick than the rest of the kids. That's why Bruce makes Dick his right hand man. That's why Bruce shares his sorrows, fears, and vulnerabilities to Dick.

The way they interact, they view each other as father and son but with all the roles and responsibilities as partners.

Dick's compartmentalization and the way he mothers Bruce and Bruce allows it? He doesn't let anyone do that. I feel like on some level he subconsciously expects Dick to take care of him. As someone he can turn to with his worst and darkest sides and still be loved and appreciated and told everything will be alright. It's not a burden he places on the rest of his kids. Which is why Dick's relationship with Bruce straddles the line between son and guardian with him playing both roles and Bruce reacting/ forcing him to react that way.

Also

"Robin fuctions as support."

"Robin wasn't your idea, Bruce! It was mine! I sat in your cave and I watched you and I learned-- and when you needed my help I was there!"

"I'm not your employee, I'm not your son. I'm your partner."

One thing that differentiates Dick's robin from the other robins is that while the other Robins were worried about meeting Bruce's expectation, Dick was more worried about Bruce not seeing him as an equal. He ran away from home because he was mad that Bruce was becoming more controlling and not at all like how they used to be - partners.

There's a reason Dick is the only one Bruce views as his equal. It's because the experiences they've shared have woven them so tightly together that Bruce considers Dick his better half and pillar of strength. If he falls back, he can rely on Dick to take over. Emotionally and physically.

Still laughing at your friend lol. Wild

[slaaverin]

With the impending return of BTS I have been thinking how are they going to tackle their comeback. There was quite a few posts on here how it could look like. And I cant help thinking that I truly wish for them, all the boys I mean, to be who they really are - just like Jikook were wondering together how should their future look like after MS.

Because lets be honest, by the time they're back (and I dont think we will get any major album/concerts/tour this year) almost all the boys will be 30 or over. Only JK - one out of 7 members will be still in his 20s. And I truly hope (and someone else wrote about this already) they will cater to a more mature audience. Bc they got older but so did the fans, right? There are so many kpop groups that are younger and they should fulfil that need for having idols playing into their trope of boyfriend etc.

But not BTS anymore. They have shown during their solo chapter how mature they are, how much depth there is to them - they are not boys anymore. There is no need for being blushing mess when singing about sex etc. Let them be the grownups they have become!

One other thing I wish for them is to let go of the constructs of kpop, of fanservice etc. They are succesful beyond measure now, they dont need to play into that shit, into theories of crazy tkkokers, of looking for crumbs of connecetion. And Im sorry (not really though) for saying this, but there is one particular member who LOVES fs and loves to play into it - you know who I mean. He will take any chance to do that - look how he behaved at the movie premiere with JK, or the time they spend time on Hawaii - he milked the fact they were together...

I hope they know the power they truly hold, there is no other BTS and there wont ever be.

And if some fans leave due to things changing - let them go on their merry way - they dont deserve those boys anyway....

(So sorry for this rant! I love you! 💜)

I share your wishes anon really,

The fact they will have time to prepare and regroup before putting new content out gives me hope that they will actually time to THINK and they should think hard about this new direction, it will either make it or break it.

I don't believe they can remain the same as they have been - it's pretty unrealistic and change is normal especially with age.

I also wish they would not play into the kpop game of fanservice in the future, honestly they really don't need to, but look what happened with the anime, and look what this member is doing (and kept doing even during military, this guy is on a MISSION, which obviously isn't good for anyone - whatever his reasons are.)

Unfortunately I don't see any of it stopping unless they all have a serious talk.

My opinion for a while is that Hybe keeps playing it small despite the member's success, it's like they kept a small company mindset and can't seem to ditch the underdog attitude, can't open to new ways of doing things, can't open to how international the band is (this alone needs to be studied because their inability to go international is almost comical - just look at their international job offers written in korean 😂), can't ditch the kpop game because they never believed they would break it the first place and now that they did they simply don't know how to handle it properly.

Some koreans are very conservative, and it seems many at hybe are older people, so my bet is that if you put something like CHANGE into their hands...will they actually be able to do it? Can they handle it?

I am not entirely sure.

Kpop is ingrained into the band since its debut. The members surely don't define themselves with the label anymore, but how does the company see it now? Are they truly capable of handling global superstars, and not just idols?

Can they go beyond the mold of kpop and push a different agenda?

I have a lot of doubts about this.

Yes the members have influence obviously but they need the company to back them up.

The anime was made I guess without the member's consent.

Yet a tk agenda was pushed. In our year of 2025 💀 doesn't it tell us that hybe is indeed playing the game here?

So indeed I share your wishes but I'm not sure realistically we will get them, at least not to the extent we want.

The interactions and pushing of certain subunits will be there.

Unless someone says something, which is not certain to happen.

Because everyone knows "it's the game you must play" YES in kpop but BTS are beyond this.

How much the members and hybe are willing to entirely let go of that label is completely unknown.

As for entertaining younger audiences, imo they can't even do it anymore because now it would simply be too weird. Imagine 30yo singing to 16yo? Trying to sell them the boyfriend fantasy. It's just weird. Creepy, even.

So yes change is absolutely needed.

I guess it also circles back to jikook's questioning "how do we want to live our life moving forward".

What is good about this, is that jikook will be able to think about those questions together and come to conclusions together AND THEN share everything with the group to find a middle ground with everyone. Somehow it eases my heart a little bit that their shared decisions might come first and that they are allowed also to decide how they want to present themselves with the world (more maturely too?).

Maybe everyone will finally cut the crap (ohhh I wish)

That would be good if some fans left indeed and that they kept more mature ones (if all tkkers could go actually...they don't even care about the music 💀)

Whatever the direction (it could go in so many ways) I just hope the members themselves will be happy about it, and that they will be able to express whatever they want just how they want it. That's my only wish.

Sorry if I'm not super optimistic - I just keep my expectations low so when I am surprised I will be even happier 😂

Can't wait to see how it all plays out 👌🏻

You can rant to me anytime! Love you too 💜

Thank you and take care 🫂