#absolutely insane to me that other people’s parents don’t expect them to do something exceptional with their life

[faillen]

.

[hansensgirl]

not all who wander are lost.

summary. | He’s got your name on his tattoo, wearing the same damn clothes since three days ago. A bottle of gin in his hand, and you’d say he’s just wandering.

warnings. | Strangers to lovers, smut, naive reader, mentions of trauma, angst, fluff, slight violence, slight dub/con, slight blasphemy, drinking, DD/LG, daddy kink, corruption kink, ring/hand kink, size kink, creampie kink, teasing, spanking, choking, spitting, manhandling, praise, male masturbation, handjob, degradation, a bit of humiliation, oral sex, virginity loss, marking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 11k

pairings. | Daddy!Destroyer!Chris x Little!Reader.

a/n. | one of the few fics inspired/based off of chemtrails over the country club. please heed the warnings and don’t forget to reblog. ily! thank you so much to @dragon-of-dreams @mypoisonedvine @tenuntilfightcall and everyone else for helping me out with some information! and thank you to my bb sara @asadmarveltrashbag for beta-ing and being there for me during this insane month, ilysm!!

The first time he laid eyes on you, was six months ago.

Meadows like the ones that surround him only exist in movies and Instagram posts. But even those need editing for perfection. Yet, the ones around him made him feel as though he has camera lenses for his eyes. Each piece of grass is a beautiful green, and some had flowers between them. His thighs may hurt but the view is a reward for all the trouble he just went through. A cute cottage lies on the hill he stands on. It resembles one from a Pinterest board but he doesn’t mind.

Birds chirp, sheep bleat, cows low and chickens cluck amongst Ella Fitzgerald's rendition of Summertime. Chris walks a few more steps and onto the porch he goes. This isn’t his destination. Well, technically, it is. But he isn’t supposed to be knocking on your door like he is now, and his heart shouldn’t be beating out of his chest. To the right of this cottage ��� Chris’s right — is another cottage.

It’s more modern than he’d prefer it to be. It only looks so because inside lives a drug lord who is on the run. It’s truly unfortunate his girlfriend sold him out for immunity. He knocks on the wooden door and takes a step back. Who knows what kind of person is behind it. “Coming!” your sweet voice calls. Chris doesn’t let go of his grip on his gun that’s down the waist of his pants.

Even the sweetest seeming things can always end up being sour.

You struggle not to trip over your own dress. The tail of it drags behind you and sweeps the floor, too. But it makes you feel just like a princess, so you don’t care. On your hip is a basket, and inside is Cotton. Your bunny. She’s been your company for years, and you don’t know what you’d do without her. Barely anyone visits anymore, only because cars can’t handle the long drive up and many people hate nature. But when the occasional knock on your door echoes throughout the house, you can barely keep your excitement inside.

You open the door and gasp. The man… is brooding. And he’s not the type of broody that would grumble insults under his breath or the type that would stalk people, either. He’s the dreamy type, the man your parents say is bad news when really he just needs love. You take in his form. You can tell he’s slightly tired and you just have to give him credit for walking up to your home. He has no flaws, except for the dirt that stains his clothing.

“Hi, do you live here?” the strange man asks, looking around the inside of your home. You jump and you’re not sure why but your skin raises with goosebumps. His voice is deep yet so soft-spoken. For some odd reason, his hand is reaching backwards and you assume that it’s because he has some sort of ache from the walk. You finally register his words and look up at him.

“Y- yes, do you live here?” you stupidly ask. You don’t even realize what you just said until you noticed his puzzled look. “Oh, sorry,” you look down and notice that his black boots are covered in pollen, something that can be oh so bothersome. “‘S’alright, I was hiking a- and I don’t have anywhere to go… Do you think you could let me stay here?” he asks, letting go of the gun. “Uhm, s- sure, what’s your name?” you ask him, moving out of the way.

Naive, so fucking naive.

“Chris, what’s yours?” he asks, stepping inside. You give him your name and he nods. He goes to wipe his shoes on the rug in front of the door but there is no rug. You hand him a rag and he gratefully takes him, mumbling a small ‘thank you.’ “Are you a tourist?” you ask him, setting your basket down onto the floor. Cotton hops out of it and runs off to the kitchen, probably to chew on your apron. “No…” he solemnly answers. He hands you the rag back and you shyly take it.

“O- okay… Are you a photographer? I’ll tell you God’s truth, the most beautiful photos are taken when the sun rises, when it sets and when it’s raining,” you pointedly inform him. You drop the rag into your basket and turn back around, your dress spinning in a slight swirl. His eyes rake your body up and down, taking in every inch of your body. Red cloth with white polka dots covers your body and your mushroom earrings bring the entire outfit together.  Chris has to assume that the heavens above or whatever the fuck else is there have handcrafted you to absolute perfection.

He’s never read any stories about Greek gods, but he knows that Zeus would be absolutely infatuated with you. He takes note of how your body tenses up when he makes eye contact with you, and he gives you a small smile.

“I’m not a photographer,” he clarifies, looking around. He can’t believe you let him in just like that, but the more he found, the more he understood why. A lonely, innocent little girl like you doesn’t have anyone to tell you right from wrong. “Then what are you, sir? Are you lost? I can call the Consulate if you’d like,” you offer, walking towards him. “I’m not lost… I’m a wanderer,” he whispers almost hesitatingly.

“But you only ever wander when you’re lost, no?” you confusingly ask him. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, before peering out of the window. Luckily, he has a direct view of the other cottage. He really did hit the jackpot. “Not all who wander are lost, little girl. Now tell me, why would you let a stranger inside your home?” he asks you.

Cotton hops from the kitchen to your bedroom, and you stand in place. “I… Well, I’m not sure. You didn’t give me any reason to not let you in or to make me believe you’re dangerous, sorry…” you shyly tell him. “Don’t apologize, just know that not everyone in this world is good. There’s always going to be someone with a little more darkness than the rest of us…”

Chris unzips his duffle bag, and you let out a giggle. “Quite ominous of you, but then again, it suits your whole aesthetic. The cool, bearded man, with his cool words,” you smile at him, but it carries a bit of sadness. “Treat this place as your own, make yourself at home. And if you need anything, I’m always here.”

Chris stays at the window for most of his days. Always with a pair of binoculars and a pack of saltine crackers. Sometimes, he pulls a juice bottle out of his duffle bag, You’ve countlessly offered him something that’s actually filling, such as angel cake and sandwiches. He rejects them all, and you wonder if he’s some sort of super-human. But technology hasn’t invented wireless technology yet, so it’s impossible.

“Uhm, Mr. Chris-Sir? I don’t think those crackers are good for you, they’re all you eat…” you sheepishly admit, carrying a cup of water to him. The mug has a little frog painted on it, but the green paint has chipped away over seven years. You set it down gently, onto the table next to him and Chris just stares out at the cottage. “Bird-watching is so cool, isn’t it? If you see a robin, let me know, they’re so beautiful,” you tell him, before walking off.

At first, he doesn’t take in your words. But once they’ve settled deep in his mind and sunk in, he realizes that you assume he’s bird-watching. He’d honestly take any other assumption, but at least you don’t know he’s spying on the criminal next door. He looks down at the table with a sigh and then notices what you’ve done. Not only did you set a cup of water down, but you also gave him two slices of toast. One has strawberry jam on it, and the other has melted butter.

His mouth surprisingly salivates, but it also doesn’t shock him. Every day he sits there, basking in the beautiful smell of your food and humming. His personal favourite is the smell of focaccia bread being baked. He watches and waits until you leave the room to go tend to the chickens. Apparently, one of them laid a few eggs. He quickly shovels the two slices of toast into his mouth and downs the glass of water like a starved man. Because he is one.

Cotton hopes around once again but all Chris sees is a fluffy white blur. He recalls his memories from when he was younger. Younger him always wanted a pet. Even a fish that would die in the span of two weeks would suffice. But his mom couldn’t afford it, so he dropped the idea. Sometimes, he wishes he had dropped other ideas, as well. Like the idea that he’d enjoy life as an undercover agent, or the idea of sacrificing himself for Erin.

His fingers are sticky with jam. He hates the feeling. He spreads his fingers out and goes to get up from his seat. “Shit,” he curses, realizing that something may happen while he’s away from the window. He stands there, contemplating whether or not he should risk his mission just to wash the fucking jam off of his stupid fucking hands. He calls your name, loudly, hoping you’ll hear him all the way outside the cottage.

“Is everything alright?” you shout, running inside the house. He didn’t expect that reaction, but he’ll take it. You’re holding onto the corner of two walls, slightly bent over. Your chest, your beautiful chest, is the first thing Chris lays his eyes on. He nearly chokes on his saliva, and he just can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. “Uh, hi, I need help,” he gruffly says, his voice a bit deeper than usual. He clears his throat with a loud ‘ahem’ and you begin to stand up straight, much to his dismay.

But he doesn’t think the image of your tits nearly falling out of your dress will leave his mind any time soon.

“Of course… Did you enjoy the toast? I can make you some more if you’d like,” you shyly offer him. “It was good, but I’m fine, thanks though. Can you stay here, right at the window, while I go wash my hands? If anything happens, you have to tell me.” Chris doesn’t leave any room for argument, but your curiosity and naivety get the best of you as always.

“What happens if I don’t tell you?” you ask him, walking towards the window. He blocks your path and suddenly personal space is no longer a thing you need. “You don’t want to know what I’m gonna do if you don’t, little girl,” he warns with a hint of lust in his tone. You nod your head and feel tingles bloom just above your core. You’re not sure whether they’re butterflies or those tingles.

Chris walks past you and you quickly rush to the window. You never realized how beautiful this view is until now. The sun is bright, angled in the most perfect manner so that it doesn’t shine directly in your eyes. The sky is so clear, even with the occasional fluffy cloud that always manages to look like some animal. The window blows gently, shaking the sheer curtains that frame you. You sigh and fold your arms, resting them on the windowsill.

You lay your head on your arms and stare out the window with joy filling your heart.

Chris watches you as you look out the window. You’re slightly bent over, once again. Your ass sticks out, and you subconsciously sway your hips side to side, almost purposefully teasing him. Your white dress has a few strings hanging from the hem, but it doesn’t make you look any less gorgeous. He feels like he’s in a dream.

Not only because of the beautiful scenery, and the beautiful woman in front of him but also because he’s trying his hardest to wash his hands quickly, but his movements are so slow. He looks down and rubs his hands together at a furious pace. Chris hears you gasp and he looks up. “Did you see something?” he asks you, turning off the sink.

“Yeah, my neighbour! I haven’t seen him in months, I need to go say hi,” you tell Chris, before rushing out the door. He only then registers your words once you’ve run out of the house and into the unknown. “Fuck- Wait!” he yells after you. He runs behind you and is so grateful when he notices you haven’t gone too far. But you’re still running and Chris’s target is about ten meters away, so he decides to do what he does best.

He decides to save you.

Chris’s feet hit the ground harshly, crushing the flowers beneath him. Running in socks isn’t fun, but at least he has something to protect him. He calls your name and crashes into you with all the force in his body. You both go down and hit the ground from his fierce tackling technique. You go to cry out in pain and lose your mind, but Chris clams his hand over your mouth. “Shh, be quiet. You’re not hurt, okay? I’m sorry I had to do that, but you can’t go running off like that,” he lectures, throwing his right leg over your body. He frames you down, and you don’t have much room to move. You’re frozen in place, chest heaving, and you furrow your eyebrows at his words.

“Listen, I need you to listen. You may not know me and I may not know you, but when I tell you to do something, you’re going to listen. Understood?” he chastised with a harsh tone. You nod meekly, like a little kid who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “And just so you know, that sweet neighbour of yours over there is wanted by the Feds.” Chris looks over his shoulder and doesn’t see the man there anymore, so he begrudgingly climbs off of your body.

You gulp thickly, out of fear and nervousness. Chris doesn’t seem to want to add on to this newfound information, so your anxiety makes work of it. For all you know, your neighbour could be a murderer. Chris senses your nervousness and gives you a pat on the head, almost as if you’re his pet.

Unbeknownst to you, the sight of you under him, helpless and with his hand clamped over your mouth is something that gets his blood (and hand) pumping. He helps you up, and you don’t even realize it until he brushes some dandelion seeds out of your hair. “Thank you… and thank you for saving me, I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” you shyly speak to him. He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, finding an old cigarette from before he quit.

“‘S’alright, I just need a few things from you,” he gruffly reassured. “O- Of course, anything for my guest and for the man who saved my life,” you beam with a small giggle punctuating your words. He basks in it, almost as though it’s sunlight over a beach. “Ah, you flatter me. Just tell me about yourself, I’m going to be staying for a while,” he says as he turns around to walk back inside.

A bottle of gin is in Chris’s hands. The colourless yet pale yellow liquid swishes inside its rightful bottle. It’s half full, only because last night, he downed the rest. He hasn’t drunk in a while. Since he got over being left for dead. And that’s only six months ago.

He’s shirtless. Only left in his grey jeans and jewelry. His rings clink against the glass bottle and his bracelets hang a little past his wrist. The gunshot wound on his left side had a faint scar on it. He hates it. Every single time he stares in the mirror, that fucking scar just stares back at him.

His father told him it makes him seem more ‘manly’, but it just feels like a point of weakness. Maybe if he was a little quicker, he would’ve saved that bank teller. He would’ve gotten Silas behind bars. He would’ve been able to be proud of himself.

Chris groans at the memories and spins the cap off of the bottle. It flies somewhere across the room, probably hitting one of the wood walls. He mumbles a ‘fucking hell’ and brings the bottle to his lips. The last time he drank like this was three months ago, and he ended up fucking the bartender.

She was bent over the counter, her tits spilled out of her bra and his cock pummeled into her sloppily.

She ended up kicking him out after they were done.

Chris groans again and sits down on the bed, kicking his legs up. His pants are stained with the pigment of dandelions and grass. The splotchy stains are juxtaposed to the grey of his old jeans. They have wear and tear all over them, but he doesn’t care.

Every now and then, he sighs — he sighs quite deeply. The puffs of air come from deep inside his chest. He tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking back to earlier today. He smiles to himself, recalling the way you looked so innocent beneath him.

He’s only known you for a few days, and he already has lewd thoughts for you. Fuck. He just can’t help himself, though. Especially with your innocent doe eyes and pretty little dresses. He closes his eyes slowly, using that memory to fuel his much-needed mental images.

You’re beneath him once again, but you’re naked. His hand is wrapped around your throat, and he’s naked too. His cock is slowly driving in and out of you. He’s teasing you. Your pulsating, wet walls hug his fat cock, and you’re both moaning softly.

“Daddy…” you whisper to him, clenching around his cock. “What’s wrong, baby?” he softly asks you. “Please fuck me harder, please, Daddy,” you beg to him, before biting down onto your bottom lip. “I don’t think you’ll be able to take my cock like that, baby,” he shakes his head.

“I can take it, Daddy, I’m your good girl.”

Chris opens his eyes and his right hand has found its way down his boxers. His cock is all swollen and hard, hard as a rock. He places the bottle of gin down on the bedside table and gets himself all comfortable. Chris slowly begins to stroke himself gently. He goes from the base all the way to the top, and then back down. His thumb occasionally swipes against his leaking tip and all he can think of is teaching you how to make him — your Daddy — feel good.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans, feeling a vein throat against his hand. He moans your name and speeds up his movements. His fingers are slightly sticky, but it’s the type of sticky he doesn’t mind. He begins to slow his hand down, and he sighs, not wanting to come just yet. He hasn’t been this hard in ages, and touching himself feels so fucking good.

“Did you say my name? Is everything alright?” you ask, barging into his room. He jumps and his hand flies out of his pants. You both stare at each other, not even daring to blink. You eventually break eye contact and notice the bottle of gin sitting on the bedside table. There’s only a sixth of it left, and you frown. You don’t like it when people you care about drink. “Uhm…” he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and then takes in your form.

You’re in a nightgown, and it’s sheer as fuck. The gin gets to him and his mind has a slight buzz to it. His heart beats rapidly and his cock throbs with want and need. Chris’s eyes rake up and down your body like how they usually do whenever you’re in front of him. His mother would scold him for ogling at you, but he just doesn’t care anymore.

“I- I am so so so sorry, I should’ve knocked. I just thought you needed help with something because I heard you say my name, but sometimes I just tend to hear random things, so sorry,” you apologize in a panicking manner. You slowly walk back to the door, but you don’t turn around. Your bare feet leave a faint imprint on the floor from the cold sweats that have taken over your body.

“Come back here,” he orders, sitting up on the bed. Chris’s unbuckled belt clanks quietly, and he begins to remove it in one quick motion. You gulp thickly and exhale shakily. You slowly walk to where Chris is sitting, and he pats the spot next to him. You’ve never had such an interaction with anyone, ever. You sit down next to him, but you keep your distance.

Alcohol should not be called alcohol in Chris’s utmost humble opinion. No, it should just stick to its nickname ‘liquid courage’ because it’s more accurate than anything else. He may not seem like it, but he’s just a man who doesn’t have the heart to do much. Adrenaline doesn’t exist for him anymore, not since the incident.

Chris turns his head and stares at your pretty face. You look down, unable to make eye contact with such a God-like man. You have to assume that even Apollo is envious of Chris’s beauty. “How’d you hear me? Because I know these walls aren’t thin enough, and I know I wasn’t being loud, so tell me; How’d you hear me?” he interrogates you like one of Silas’s companions, but this time is slightly different.

Lust is what’s pumping through his veins, not rage.

“Uhm, well… My room was right there, and I wasn’t doing anything but thinking, and since your bed is against the wall, I- I heard you say my name,” you explain shyly. He hums, and you’re not sure whether it’s a hum of delight or disbelief. “Thinking of what?” he presses, inching his body closer to yours.

You continue to stare at his hand, even though you can feel his heavy breathing against your face. “I… Well- I was uh,” you stutter embarrassingly, and it makes you burn up with shame. “Spit it out, little girl, and don’t think of lying to me,” he growls, placing his hand on your thigh. Your gaze follows his movements, and you take in the set of rings that adorn his fingers.

They’re all black and of similar styles. One has a skull, one is completely plain, one has a cross on it and the last one has the word ‘Daddy’ engraved on it. His veins are so prominent. They bulge out with intensity, and you’d just love to trail your fingers along each of them. “Am I going to have to force an answer out of you?” he roughly asks. His other hand goes to the back of your head and he brings your gaze to his face.  

You quickly shake your head in objection, and he raises his eyebrows for you to spit your answer out. “I was thinking about you, and the way you tackled me…” you admit to him in a low and soft voice. “You liked the way I was on you, little girl?” he asks, moving his hand to the back of your neck. “Y- Yeah, made me feel all… Tingly…” you whisper to him.

“I want to hear you say it, little girl,” Chris ushers, squeezing the back of your neck slightly. “I liked the way you were on top of me…” you tell him breathlessly. “Good girl,” he praises in a slightly deep voice. He pulls you onto his lap and you gasp. His hard, wanting cock is right under your thighs, and you exhale nervously.

“You feel that, little girl? That’s all because of you, you did this to me. And you’re proud of it, aren’t you? Got me so fucking hard just because of you.” Chris squeezes your waist, and you really can feel it all. He’s not wrong, either. You’re so proud that you’ve made a man like him so desperate for you. “Do you know what I was doing, little girl? I was jerking off to the thought of fucking that cunny of yours until you’re begging me to stop,” he growls in your ear.

You moan softly, and the picture comes to mind, making your pussy gush with want. “Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, placing his hand on your inner thigh. You nod, and he raises his eyebrows in warning again. “Yeah, I want that so bad,” you murmur to him. You and your pussy want him so bad. Chris’s hand inches further up your thighs until he’s just an inch away from your bare pussy.

Your thighs are already slightly sticky from your arousal. “Do you know what jerking off is, little girl?” he asks, pulling his hand away from your pussy. You hold back a pathetic, child-like whine, and he begins to lift up your nightgown until he sees your naked body. “Kind of… Isn’t that when a man touches himself? Like how women touch their… down there?” you innocently ask him.

Chris chuckles at how cute you are. So innocent yet oh so slutty. “Have you ever touched yourself, little girl?” he asks, lifting the nightgown over your head. It’s strewn across the floor behind you, and neither of you cares. But you quickly use your hands to cover your most precious, most private parts. “No, no, I don’t want to see any of that. You’re so beautiful, baby, you’re built like an absolute angel,” he husks, and you feel so flustered that you can’t help but giggle.

“T- Thank you… And I’ve done it a few times,” you inform him. Chris nods and smirks, catching the way your nipples have pebbled up. “Have you ever made someone feel good before?” he questions, trailing his broad hands up and down your body. “N- No, it’s pretty lonely up here…” you almost-ashamedly admit. He coos at you. “Do you want me to teach you how to make me feel good, little girl?” he questions, palming your tits.

You moan softly and rub your thighs together as he pinches and pulls at your hard nipples. You’re so small in his large hands, it makes him even harder. You nod your head fervently, wanting to make Chris feel so fucking good. Chris takes his hands away from your body and shifts you in his lap. He reaches down his pants and pulls his cock out of his boxers.

You gasp, having never seen something as big as that. He smirks and uses his right hand to grasp the base of his thick cock. Chris brings your dominant hand down to where his cock is and guides you to wrap your fingers around him. Chris shudders at your soft touch, and he moans softly. “Good girl, yeah,” he praises. “Wrap your hand around me a bit tighter, baby,” he urges, and you do exactly that.

He groans loudly and a small smile stretches across your lips. “N- Now, you’ve got to move your hand up and down. Start off slowly, go all the way to the tip, and then back down,” he instructs, even though he’s helping you out. His hand brings yours all the way to the tip, and then back down; just like he said. His hand leaves yours and goes back to feeling up your pretty body.

“Now do it by yourself, but in a twisting motion, little girl.”

You listen to his words and jerk him off, feeling yourself get wet as his cock twitches in your hand. Your clit throbs and so do the veins on the side of his shaft. Chris curses, and you bite down on your bottom lip. “Good girl, just like that. Fuck, your hand feels so good around me,” he moans, squeezing your waist. You focus on his cock, watching as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down the side of his dick.

It drips onto your slow-moving hand, and you exhale as your movements grow a bit faster. You look at him, watching as his pupils darken with lust. You can tell — it’s written on his face — he wants you to go faster. Your hand speeds up around his cock, making him a moaning mess. “Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. You like making me feel good, don’t you? So eager to please like the good little girl you are,” Chris husks.

His praise goes straight to your needy cunt and he knows this because he can just tell. Your thighs rub together, your breath hitches, you let out a giggle and squeeze a little tighter around his cock. Chris’s hand goes up to your head and smashes your lips against his. You both moan into the kiss, and you straddle both his thighs to get more comfortable.

You place your other hand on his cock and mimic your dominant hand’s movements. You try to keep up with the kiss, but you just can’t. Teeth clash and so do tongues as Chris moves his mouth against yours. He pants and his chest heaves as you continue to stroke him. “Go faster, baby,” he urges, and he pulls his mouth away from yours. He can feel you soaking his jeans, your wetness joining the abundant amount of rips and tears in the material.

Your hand moves faster, twisting perfectly and occasionally squeezing his most sensitive spots as well. Chris pushes your hands away abruptly, and you’re confused. Did you do something wrong? Does he not like you anymore? What happened? “Shit, wrap your mouth around the tip, little girl. Trust me, you’re gonna fucking love it,” he says, and you quickly do so.

You’ll do anything to please him. His mushroom tip is leaking and a raging red. It’s the same red as the rest of his cock, and you could swear it’s almost purplish. You can tell he’s aching because you’ve been through a similar thing. You drop down to the floor and kneel in front of Chris. Your lips smooth around the tip of his hard cock, and you can taste him as soon as he hits your tongue.

He tastes of musk and manliness, along with a hint of saltiness, and it’s oh so addicting. You keep the tip of his cock in your mouth like it’s one of your favourite lollipops and smile around him. Chris smiles and wraps his hand around himself. He jerks himself off quickly, desperate to come in your mouth. “Fucking shit– god, you’re such a good fucking girl,” Chris rasps as he reaches his climax.,

His balls tighten up and his blue eyes roll back into his skull. White, hot, thick ropes of cum shoot out of his tip and fill your mouth. You’re not sure why, but a moan escapes past your throat, and it only makes Chris’s high much better. Chris places both hands on the sides of your head and holds you there, gently. You swallow all his cum as it fills your mouth and leaks from the corners of your lips.

Chris so desperately wants to push your head farther down his cock, but he knows he shouldn’t. Plus, there’s always going to be more time for things like that. He pulls your head away from his cock and watches as a string of saliva tries to keep the two of you connected. You gently lick your lips, still savouring his taste and he smiles down at you. You can’t lie — you feel giddy. Giddy in a way in which you crave his praise and approval like no other.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that? Thank you for helping me out… I do suppose I should return the favour, right?” he teasingly says, lifting you up into his lap. You shake your head out of nervousness. “No? … Why not, baby?” Chris asks, and you gulp thickly. “Don’t wanna rush it… I- never mind, you wouldn’t understand,” you look down and fiddle with your fingers.

The grooves of your nails are smoothed over by your pointer finger. Some dips and rises make you cringe, and others satisfy you. He looks down at your hands and notices the skin picked on the sides. He knows how painful those can be, and he doesn’t want you to feel any pain at all. “I’ll try to understand, darling, but if you don’t tell me, then I’ll be completely clueless,” he speaks to you lowly. “I like the way your words make me feel…” you shyly admit to him.

“Aw, how do they make you feel, baby?” Chris presses, grasping your two hands together. “All warm and small… makes me feel like I have it all. Hey, that rhymes!” you exclaim, bubbling in the utmost adorable giggles ever. “You’re a natural poet, darling. But tell me more…” he urges, rubbing his coarse thumbs against your soft skin. “I get butterflies, and I feel all shy and safe. Your words make me so comfortable yet so vulnerable…” you describe to him even though words can’t describe what you feel.

“Is that right, baby? You’re so cute… Do you- Do you get all tingly and babyish when I use my words?” Chris hesitatingly asks. His voice is so gentle and soft, a low whisper that is so soothing to your ears and rough edges. You nod meekly and smile to yourself. Your cheeks may hurt from all the laughter he caused earlier today but that doesn’t refrain you from hiding your smile.

Now, Chris is no doctor. He’s no professional, he’s no master. He’s just a broken man, but he knows exactly what you’re talking about. But he won’t explain what it is, because he needs you to learn on your own. Maybe with some guidance from him, but he won’t trick you into thinking something completely off base.

“Let’s get cleaned up, okay? Then we’ll sleep, you need the rest. We both do.”

He’s got your name on his tattoo, wearing the same damn clothes since three days ago. A bottle of gin in his hand, and you’d say he’s just wandering. But he isn’t. He was never. The stick-and-poke tattoo may seem a bit much, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. Your name is written in your pretty handwriting. The ink is in his skin, and he’s practically marked as yours, now.

The days go by slower, much slower than he’d like them to. But it doesn’t matter now, because his mission is over, and he’ll be leaving soon. But Chris doesn’t want to leave. His wanderlust has found an end as he finally has a place where he’s meant to be. He’s found heaven in the hills, and between your legs.

“D- Daddy…” you whisper under your breath, loud enough for him to hear. Your hands are locked with his, and they rest at your sides. You’re just in a small bralette, and your hard nipples poke through the fabric. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders and your ankles lace together behind his head. Your neck aches from the angle your body is in, but the pleasure blooming from your core is much more powerful.

Chris is between your legs, and he hums against your wet, throbbing pussy. You moan loudly and squeeze your eyes shut from the feeling. He sucks on your clit harshly, and wetness seeps from your hole. “Feels so good… Oh, my…” you pant. Your hips gyrate and you subconsciously grind your wet cunt against Chris’s face. He pulls his face away from your pussy and licks a broad stripe against you.

You moan again and squeeze his hands tighter. His tongue swirls around your swollen and throbbing clit, bringing you closer and closer to your release. Your taste is addictive, and he could stay between your legs for hours on end, if not for eternities. His beautiful, lovely rings dig into the sides of your fingers, but you don’t care. Chris may treat you like a delicate doll, but he should know how much you love it when he’s rough with you.

“I think I’m gonna come, Daddy…” you cry out to him before a strangled moan leaves your mouth. Chris pulls away from your pussy once again, but this time he spits on your lips. His saliva drops down your cunt and mixes with your wetness, and he goes back to devouring you. He eats you out like a starved man, and you’re squealing at the overwhelming pleasure.

If he was on death row, he’d have your sweet pussy as his last meal.

His tongue works over your clit and brings you closer and closer to your release. It’s coming fast. A searing, heated feeling takes over your body and abdomen as your back arches off your couch. Chris is as hard as a rock, staring you directly in the eyes, and he makes you come on his mouth.

“Oh- Daddy!” you cry out loudly, your mouth falling open into a silent, voiceless scream. Your eyes roll back into your skull and in Chris’s past words, you look like a brain-dead slut. Your wetness gushes out of your drooling hole, and he laps it all up with no problem. He drinks up everything you give him, and then some. Your hands are still laced with his and your chest rises and falls at a fast pace.

“Shh… You did amazing, little one. Taste so fucking sweet, just like nectar,” he hums like a hummingbird, before smacking his lips. You slowly come down from your high as he strokes your hands with his thumbs. Your lids are slightly heavy, but you don’t want to get any shut-eye. Time away from Chris is practically a sin in your eyes. “Thank you, Daddy,” you gratefully reply.

“You’re welcome, little one. Got me so hard,” he husks as he moves to get up. He carefully handles your body and pulls out a handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans. They’ve been washed and scrubbed but there are still faint dandelion and pollen stains that he just doesn’t care enough about. Though the adorable face you were making whilst washing them is something that’ll never leave his mind.

Just like the mental image of you coming undone beneath him.

“Can I make you feel good, Daddy? Pretty please?” you ask sweetly and Chris knows he could say yes, but he doesn’t want to. Making you feel good pleases him, but he doesn’t want to sound so poetic so he chuckles. “Soon, little one, I need to clean you up properly,” he tells you and you jut your bottom lip out, pouting. He coos at you and you scrunch your nose up at the attention.

“But I’m all clean, Daddy!” you reason, reaching over to palm his hard cock through his jeans. Chris chokes on his saliva at the feeling of your touch. “In a bit, little one, you need to listen to Daddy. Okay?” he rasps with a warning in his voice. “Okay, Dada…” you trail off with a deep sigh punctuating your sentence. You fiddle with your fingers as Chris carefully cleans up your pussy.

The damp washcloth is gentle against your sensitive skin. Each movement of his is carried by gentleness and love. “I have a question, Daddy,” you hum after a few seconds of silence. “Go ahead, mushy one,” he says with a smile. You giggle at the nickname before calming yourself down. “Were you really wandering?” you bluntly ask him. Chris’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets, and you gasp.

“What do you mean, little one?” he asks, looking up at you. “Well… You said you were a wanderer! And that’s how you found me! But you don’t seem like a wanderer, you’re too clever to be one,” you explain with a smile on your face. Chris begins to chew on the inside of his cheek, and the skin has already been filled with bite marks and scars. At this point, he should tell you, right? You already know the deepest, most darkest pieces and part of him.

You’ll love him no matter what.

“Well, I wasn’t wandering. You’re so smart, little one. The smartest baby in the world!” he cheers and moves to get up. He sits in the empty spot next to you and lifts you into his lap. You’re still naked and Chris has his shirt off (as usual), so the skin-on-skin contact has you feeling even sleepier. “Sometimes, we lie to protect people. I lied, to protect you, along with many other people. Myself included, of course,” he starts.

“I was sent here with the sole purpose of bringing in your criminal neighbour,” he pauses “and I did.” You nod along with his words, your mind only allowing the most important phrases to sink in. “I arrested him around a month ago, and I was supposed to leave three weeks ago,” he sadly sighs. You look up in a panic, and you’re in shock. “Two weeks ago, I turned in my resignation. I’m not going anywhere,” he quickly adds and your face lights up.

“I’m staying with my best girl, okay?” Chris smiles and leans in to kiss you. You let him do so because God-damn, you’d let him do anything he wants to you. “T- Thank you so much, Daddy!” you squeal and hug him tightly. He laughs in a beautiful cacophony of sounds, and it’s right in your ear.

Chris feels a weight being lifted off his shoulders as you writhe around in his arms. You wiggle around on his hard cock and Chris suppresses a groan. His hands trail from your shoulders to your waist, down to your hips. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and excitement runs in your veins at his touch. Your head rolls back and you exhale shakily. He grips your hips tightly, and you involuntarily buck your hips against his crotch.

Both you and Chris moan before he moves both his hands to your ass. He gropes you roughly, feeling a bit of your wetness on his fingers. “Oh, baby… What’s all that for? Hm? Didn’t Daddy just eat your sweet little pussy out?” he asks in a slightly worried tone. “Y- Yeah… But I can’t help it, Daddy, you always make me so tingly…” you admit to him, shyly.

“Mmm, I like knowing I do this to you. Gets me so fucking hard,” he groans, slapping your ass. You yelp in surprise, but it gets cut off by a whimper. Chris caresses the hit skin and soothes you down from the shock. He smiles at you and then lands another hit. Then another, and then another.

The sting is addictive, just like he is. It leaves you writhing in both pain and pleasure and yet you still want more. “M- more, please,” you quietly beg and Chris coos at you as if you're a pet. And the truth isn’t far off. The coolness of his rings is both brutal and comforting. It soothes you yet acts as if they didn’t just hurt you. “You want more, baby?” he asks in that sweet yet sultry condescending tone of his.

You nod your head and chew on your bottom lip. “‘S too bad you’re gonna have to take what I give you and keep quiet, baby,” he husks, and you whine loudly. Chris flips your bodies around and suddenly you’re on your back, and he’s leaning over you. He locks lips with you and you try your hardest to keep up with the kiss.

His lips move sloppily against yours, but you don’t mind because you’ll take anything he gives you. You moan into true kiss and Chris wedges his knee between your legs. You’d hump him like a bunny because that’s what the demon on your shoulder is telling you to do. But the last time you did something without his permission, you weren’t allowed to make him come for a week.

You just know you’re soaking his jeans but neither of you cares. Chris kisses the corner of your mouth and trails down to your neck, peppering kisses behind as if he’s leaving a trail on your body for when he’s going to explore you later. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw tickles you and Chris falls even more in love with you as your laughter fills the air.

“D- Dada…” you whisper to him as you tilt your head back. His lips land on that sweet spot of yours and your back arches off the couch. Chris smiles against your skin and begins to suck on that sweet spot. Your breath hitches as he bites, licks and sucks on your skin. He marks you up like no other, and you know how much he loves to know that you’re all his.

“Dada… No teasing, please,” you sweetly ask in your soft tone. And how can he turn you down? “In a bit, little girl, be patient for Daddy.” Chris continues to mark you up until he’s satisfied. The feeling of his teeth against your neck and collar bones makes you even wetter than you already are. Possessiveness is carried in his movements, and it only drives you to be needier.

Chris moves further down from your collar bones to the valley of your breasts. Each curve of yours makes him want to sin without any repentance afterwards. He places a kiss there and then looks up at you. “Please, Daddy,” you whisper so quietly it takes him a few seconds to realize what you’ve said. Chris’s hand wraps around your body to your back.

He slowly unclasps your bralette and drags it away from your body at the same pace. You both maintain eye contact all whilst he undresses you to your vulnerability. Chris throws your bra somewhere behind him and places his hands on your body. “Aw, baby… You’re so cute and small,” he sweetly says in an almost shocking manner. Almost as if he doesn't use the size difference as a weapon to make you all soft and mushy.

“Hm, thank you, Daddy,” you tell him because good girls always have manners. “So good, using your manners for Daddy,” he praises, and you wonder if he can read your mind. Your Daddy can do anything, so it would be no surprise if he can. Chris sits upon his knees, but he remains in his towering position. Gently, and with care, he spreads your legs open until he’s satisfied.

He watches as you clench your needy pussy. He just knows your clit is throbbing, and you’re tingly because he just has that effect on you. “Poor baby… Is this all for Daddy?” he asks, and you quickly nod. “Say it, tell me it’s all because of me,” he growls placing his hands on your thighs. Chris slowly moves his hands further down your thighs. His touch is gentle, and he can feel the goosebumps on your thighs beginning to raise.

“‘S all yours, daddy. It’s all because of you,” you tell him breathlessly. “And this pussy is all mine, isn’t it, little girl?” he asks, inching closer to your wet pussy. “Mhm, only yours, Daddy!” you happily assure him, and he smirks at you. “That’s right, little girl. And since it’s all mine, doesn’t that mean I can do whatever I want with it?” he questions, and you nod with no hesitance at all.

Chris traces your wet pussy with his ring-donned pointer finger. “Oh my…” you gasp at the feeling. It may not be much, but your sensitive little pussy struggles to handle it. You clench around nothing again, and he watches, before chuckling at you. “Such a pretty pussy you have, baby, I can’t fucking wait to ruin it,” Chris growls, and you whimper. “Gonna fill you up with my cum after I fuck you, little girl,” he promises, and you never wanted to be fucked so badly until now.

He wonders if his cock could even fit inside you. Usually, he’d want to eat you out and finger you to prepare you. But he’s now thinking with what’s between his legs, and not what’s between his ears. He trails that same pointer finger on your pussy, and becomes mesmerized with the sight. Chris watches as your hole drools with want and need, whilst you watch him.

His already dark eyes are blown out with lust, and it only turns you on even more. Chris knows you’re watching him. He’s not one of the best agents in the FBI for no reason. He looks up at you, and you lock eyes with each other. He smirks and pulls his hand away from your pussy. You hold back a whine, but you still pout in disappointment. Chris begins to unbuckle his pants, and you’re filled with eagerness.

You smile widely, and he coos. “Aw, you’re such a desperate little slut, it’s adorable,” he chuckles, and you shy away. He pulls down his jeans along with his boxers slowly. Chris takes off his jeans and boxers completely, and throws them somewhere around the house. You watch as his cock bounces up and leaks with pre-cum. You just know he’s aching because of how red his cock is.

He’s big, and you already know that. But seeing him in all his naked glory is just something else. The simple yet not so simple idea of Chris’s cock being inside of you is electrifying. It’s both terrifying and exciting. He grabs the base of his cock and the prickly hair pokes the soft skin of his hands, but he doesn’t care. His left hand goes back to your pussy, and begins to rub circles on your clit.

“Oh… Daddy,” you moan quietly. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, so you involuntarily try to shut your legs and keep Chris out. Your knees touch for a brief moment, and he’s having none of that. He separates your legs and climbs on top of you, all while staring you directly in the eyes. His cock drags against your inner thigh. “Oh, is it too much for you, little one?” he asks with faux pity in his tone. You nod and clench your fists to control yourself.

“Too fucking bad, you’re gonna take whatever I give you, and you’re not gonna complain. Isn’t that right, little girl?” he sneers, and you gasp. Usually, you can’t handle someone who raises their voice in the slightest. But hearing Chris do it makes the butterflies in your stomach fly. “Yes, Daddy,” you hum delightfully, and he smiles. “Good girl,” he praises. Chris presses harder on your sensitive pearl of nerves and rubs you in faster circles.

“Daddy…” You moan and it goes straight to his cock. He looks up at you and just knows you’re beginning to drive up that cliff. He slows down his ministrations on your nub, and you bite back a loud whine. “You’re so needy, baby… Already so close to coming, it’s kind of pathetic…” he trails off and more wetness leaks out of you. You’re absolutely soaked and are a little bit ashamed of it.

“Please, Daddy! I’m so close, I’ll do anything,” you beg, but he just doesn’t buy it. “You’ll already do anything I tell you, baby, begging is so useless,” Chris chortles. You let out a small huff and move your hips in a circle, grinding against his thumb. In a flash of blurry moments, Chris pulls his hand away from your pussy and wraps around your neck. He squeezes the sides of your throat, and you gasp quite loudly.

He raises his eyebrow in warning, and you nod in understanding. “Good girl, I don’t want to put you over my knee when I’m feeling so gracious,” he assures, and you smile. Chris brings the tip of his cock to your swollen, needy clit and his pre-cum begins to mix with your wetness. You both moan softly as he rubs his tip on your clit. Your bottom lip finds a home between your teeth and Chris’s tongue swipes over his.

The sight and feeling of his cock on your silky pussy make him so weak in the knees. “Fuck, baby, do you like that? You like it when Daddy makes you feel good with his cock?” Chris asks in a deep, gravelly voice. “Yeah, Daddy… love it so much…” you tell him through a mushy haze of pleasure.

“You’re getting all dumb and stupid already? You’re so cute, little one,” he purrs, and you giggle at his words even though there’s nothing funny about them. “Do you want my cock, little baby? Say it, tell Daddy you want his cock,” he urges, and you look down to where you’re both nearly connected.

“I wan’ your cock, Daddy. Want it so bad, I need it, Daddy,” you beg, and Chris hums. “Just a little more, little girl, it’s like music to my ears,” he smirks, and you bite your bottom lip. “Sing for me, hummingbird,” he pushes, and you just go with whatever your neediness tells you to do.

“I wanna feel your cock deep inside me, Daddy. I want your cum to fill me up until I’m leaking and all stupid. Please, Daddy, please fuck me. I really want your cock, I need it,” you beg and blood rushes to his face and cock. “Fuck, yeah, I’ll give you my fucking cock, and you better take it like the good girl you are,” he growls, and you whimper. Chris slowly drags the fat tip of his shaft down to your drooling, slutty hole.

You whimper loudly, and he looks back at you. Fear is written all over that pretty face of yours, and Chris knows the exact reason why. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be gentle, okay? If you want to stop just say so, and I’ll listen. I won’t hurt you, darling. I promise,” he gently reassures you. You sigh with an almost heavy yet full heart.

You then nod and Chris thanks you for allowing him to fully make you his. “Wanna hold your hand, Dada… Please,” you ask pleasantly, and he nods. “In a bit, little girl, I just need to be careful,” he whispers. Chris slowly begins to push into your wet, tight cunt. You swallow him slowly, and the sight is mesmerizing.

The tightness of your cunt squeezes him in a strong hug, and he wishes he could be buried deep inside you for the rest of his life. “Fuck- Baby, you feeling so fucking good,” he moans while trying to compose himself. You’re still whimpering from the pain, and your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace.

“C- Can I push all the way in, little one? It’ll only hurt for a bit,” he asks, and he looks deep into your eyes. “Mhm… Wanna feel your cock deep inside me, Daddy, please,” you beg, and Chris tries his hardest not to come right here, right now. He thrusts his hips forward, and bottoms out inside you completely.

Your mouth falls open, and you’re silently screaming. The pain isn’t too much, but you feel as though the wind is being knocked out of you. Chris shifts a bit, and that’s when you start to feel it more. He’s so deep inside you, and he’s splitting you in two. “Breathe, baby, breathe,” he says.

You realize you’re holding your breath and it’s no wonder why your heart was beating out of your chest. “You’re doing so- so well, darling. Your little cunny looks so nice when it’s stuffed full with my cock,” he groans, and you whimper. “Dada, is hurtin’...” you whisper, and Chris wants to pull out because he can’t stand the thought of his little girl being hurt.

“Do you want me to stop, little one?” he asks, but you quickly shake your head in objection. Even though the pressure in your core is dwindling, and even though you feel a little too full, you don’t want him to stop. “No stopping, Daddy, please,” you whine and flail your arms towards him. He shushes you soothingly, and you calm down as soon as he flashes a stern look.

The pain soon burns away into nothing but dust and ash, and you finally see why he was so desperate to shove his cock inside of your cunt. It turns into pleasure and your pussy leaks around him. You’re soaking Chris’s cock with no shame at all. “Oh, fuck, baby… You feel so fucking good,” he moans, and you follow with a gasp. “I like the way y- you feel inside me, Daddy, makes me all tingly…” you admit shyly, and Chris chuckles.

“Yeah? Bet it makes you want to be fucked stupid, right, baby?” he questions with a playful smirk on his face. “Yes, Daddy,” you moan. You’re never aware of your surroundings because you’re too caught up in the moments. It’s something Chris scolds you for, but you never learn. But in this moment, you can feel everything. The veins on his cock throb against your silky walls, and you can feel his balls against your ass. His hot breath fans over you as Chris struggles to compose himself.

He slowly drags his hips backwards, pulling out of your pussy until his tip is the only thing in your cunt. The sudden almost-emptiness is surprising, but you quickly get used to it. Chris then pushes back into your pussy, and you moan loudly. “Fucking hell, little one,” he curses under his breath as he bottoms out again. He begins to fuck into you slowly and gently, careful to not hurt you. Even if he wants to fuck you until you’re crying.

The sound of skin on skin is quiet and almost unintelligible. The squelching sounds from your wet pussy and moans fill the room. Chris gently grips your hips and watches as your face contorts into a frown of pleasure and not pain. “Daddy…” you pant softly as you look up at Chris. “Yeah, baby? Am I hurting you?” he asks out of worry. “N-No, it feels so good…” you trail off as one particular thrust lands near your g-spot. And he knows that.

“Wan’ you to fuck me hard, wan’ you to destroy me, Daddy. Please fuck me like the slut I am…” you gently beg and Chris halts his thrusts. His cock twitches inside of you because of your words. Only he can corrupt an innocent angel such as yourself. “Shit- Little one, I don’t want to hurt you, that’s why I’m being so gentle,” Chris explains, but you shake your head. “You could never hurt me, Daddy. Please, I need you,” you beg for one last time, unaware of what you’ve done to him.

Chris roughly pushes his cock back into your cunt without warning. “Awe, I see. My little princess wants to be fucked like the whore she is, hm? Well, whatever princess wants, she gets,” he growls because beginning to fuck you roughly. You moan loudly at the feeling as with each thrust, his cock pummels against your sweet spot roughly. His pelvic bone rubs against your swollen clit and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Daddy!” you cry out as Chris pounds into your poor pussy. The room fills with moans, groans, curse words and wet sounds that all come from the art you two are making. “Aw, what’s wrong, little girl? Can’t take daddy’s cock anymore? Hm? Well, I don’t really give a fuck, you’re just gonna lie there, and take what I give you like a good fucking girl,” he sneers, and you push at his chest.

“It’s so sensitive!” you wail like a little bitch in heat. “But I bet you don’t want me to stop, do you?” Chris asks as a moan bleeds past his plump lips. “Uh-uh, please don’t stop, Daddy!” you squeal after a harsh thrust. The stretch of Chris’s cock is amazing, and you never want the feeling to stop. Chris’s hand leaves your hip and crawls all the way up to your neck. He wraps his fingers around your throat, and squeezes the sides, making you clench tightly around his big, thick cock.

He lowers his face to yours and watches as you react to the way he’s being rough with you. “Oh, God!” you cry out as he makes his thrusts more powerful. “Actually, it’s just ‘Daddy’, but I’m fine with that too,” he slyly smirks. You’re too fucked out to even laugh at his joke. Your eyes roll back into your skull and your back begins to arch off of the couch.  “Awe, are you gonna come around my big fat cock already, slut? How cute,” Chris mocks.

You nod your head and begin babbling like a baby. “But remember, little girl, I have to give you permission to come, okay?” he reminds you, and you whine. Chris’s hand around your throat moves up to grab your jaw, and he stops thrusting into you. “None of that is allowed. Don’t forget your place, little girl,” Chris warns with fury seething through his words. You mumble an apology, trying to formulate the proper words to speak.

“Seems like I really did fuck you stupid,” he chuckles, and you moan at his words. You clamp down on his cock, tempting him to do what you want, like a siren using her voice to lure men into the sea. “Open your mouth up first, little girl,” he orders, and you obediently listen. The searing arousal in your core begins to fade away, and you feel a panic beginning to rise inside you.

Chris drags his hand back down to your throat and rests it there. You watch as he puckers his lips up, and suddenly, he spits into your mouth. You open your mouth even wider and stretch your tongue out. His saliva lands directly on your tongue, and you wait for further instructions before you give in to your desires.

“Swallow it, little girl,” he instructs, and you do exactly so. You open your mouth back up just to earn some praise. “Good fucking girl. The best baby ever,” he smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, Daddy! … Can I have cummies now?” you lovingly ask your Daddy.

“Of course, little one,” he says as he smiles down at you. Chris begins to fuck into you again, deep and hard. With each thrust, he pounds your g-spot and his balls slap against your ass. His remaining hand on your hip moves down to your clit, rubbing your little button with rough circles.

“Daddy… ‘m gonna come!” you moan loudly and Chris fucks you harder. “Come one, baby, come all over my big cock like the good girl you are,” he urges. The building feeling inside you increases, and you feel yourself getting closer to your release. “Fucking come, little girl, wanna hear you sing for me,” he growls. And with one specific thrust, you find yourself coming undone beneath him.

The sight is so fucking beautiful. Watching you as your eyes turn up, your mouth falls open and your cunt hugging his cock just gets him going, and he wishes he could take a picture of you right now. “D- Daddy! Oh, my-” You cut yourself off with a loud moan and Chris keeps on rubbing your clit and fucking you through your orgasm.

You soak his cock until it’s dripping and even then you’re still coming. You moan loudly and Chris can feel himself getting closer to his orgasm. His balls begin to tighten up and a droplet of sweat drips from his neck down to his chest. “Daddy, are you gonna come?” you sweetly ask as he fucks you through your orgasm whilst chasing his own.

“Yeah, baby, Daddy’s gonna fill you up with his cum. I’m gonna leave you leaking with my seed,” Chris growls as he fucks you faster. “Please, Daddy… Please, I want your cum so badly! Please fill me up with your cum, Daddy,” you beg and Chris tosses his head back.

“Fuck, yes, yes yes,” he shouts as his balls tighten up again. He quickens his pace until white, hot, thick ropes of cum spurts out from his aching tip. He fulfills his promise and your wish, filling you up with his cum until there’s nothing left. His cum mixes with your juices as he paints your walls with no expertise whatsoever. Chris slumps on top of your body, engulfing you in a bear hug as his cock remains buried inside of you.

You’re both panting and struggling to come down from the euphoric feelings. You look up at Chris make lock eyes with him for the nth time. There’ll never be a day where you don’t get lost in his eyes. They’re beautiful, absolutely beautiful. “You did so fucking good, little one,” he praises, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Thank you very, very much, Daddy,” you slur, feeling yourself beginning to sleep into little space. “Daddy?” you call out, tapping his bicep after a few seconds. “Yeah, baby?” he asks, lifting himself up to get a better view of your face. “Will you really stay?” you ask with a bit of worry in your voice. He sighs with a full heart.

“Always.”

[skepticalarrie]

Allie whenever you're free can you tell us about your experience... How you felt... I have never been to a concert so I love reading how it feels to be there!!

Hi!! 🥹🥹 Oh my god… about Louis, there’s not much left to be said, I feel like I would be repeating what everyone says all the time. He’s absolutely amazing on stage, he glows, he’s beautiful, his voice is angelical, his band is amazing!!! I’m so so so so proud of him, it’s incredible to actually be part of something like that. I feel like my heart could burst at any moment, he deserves everything!

About the experience and the fandom as a whole, I think I have more to say about that, all my previous experiences were very different from this one. I attended to one previous 1D show in Brazil and the others in the UK, and I was never this emerged IRL in the brazilian fandom for such a long time before - I spent around 16 hours waiting in line. So:

- Everyone loves Louis so fucking much, it’s insane to feel this kind of energy irradiating from people. So many people that were passing by and saw fans waiting in line said they would check who this Louis guy was because the fans seemed so passionate about it

- Safe space for everyone 🏳️‍🌈❤️

- Not that easy to spot larries at all. I bet a massive part were larries (not sure if it was the majority though), but I only saw 2 or 3 people wearing more obvious blue and green accessories and that was it. And then when I was inside I noticed a lot of people had Harry or larry on their lock screens and many were raising the flags on lines that are very often associated to that on this side of fandom. But people were very lowkey about it

- Me and @lets-laughagain were absolutely surrounded by antis and “neutrals”, unfortunately LOL Larry and babygate subjects came up and we had to sit there and listen to them talk and ask about Freddie and completely play dumb. I just wanted to dig a hole and stay there forever. It was an experience 🫠🫠🫠

- Young people. I was the older (I’m 30) everywhere I went, except for the parents accompanying their kids.. which was also A LOT people doing that (parents were having the best time and completely passionate about Louis as well ❤️❤️) Average age was between 15-22 I’d guess. At the barricade where I was at I kind of asked around and people were around 15-16, so I was at least twice their age. They called Louis “old” multiple times and I kind of snapped saying I was 30 too and that’s why I was ~playfully~ asking their ages. Also I noticed most people call him “gay” all the time in a very weird way? It’s weird as fuck, man. And everything about the younger people bothered the shit out of me. I knew brazilian fandom was predominantly very young (and that’s why I rarely engage with it), the show I went in 2014 was basically the same but I mean.. that was 8 years ago?! So I was expecting that people were growing up with it lol and not stuck in time with One Direction.

- Speaking of 1D, many people are clearly stuck at that. Which is both a good thing and bad thing, I guess. And that would explain about the age range on the previous topic. But it’s weird because - and that’s just an example - they were really bothered at Louis’ pre-show playlist and asking for people in the venue to change to 1D songs and stuff like that. It’s upsetting because those are the songs Louis likes and that’s where he’s going with his own sound and career and people don’t really seem to understand that.

- No one knew the set list and the lyrics for 7 and Beautiful War LOL I was clearly one of the only person screaming in both songs at the top of my lungs.

- By far the most “aggressive” show I have ever been to.

[alluringjae]

it’s a royal order - jjh

⤑ summary: one of your royal campaigns became a success, and your bodyguard jaehyun was there to see it all happen. it’s only fair to celebrate, right?

⤑ pairing: jaehyun x female reader

⤑ word count: 2k

⤑ genre: fluff, suggestive (dirty talk, jaehyun got a daddy kink, superiority complex!!), implied smut | bodyguard!jaehyun, princess!reader, slight enemies to lovers!au, modern royal!au (where south korea remains under monarchial power)

⤑ warnings: mentions of alcohol, drugs, family problems and therapy, explicit language

⤑ playlist: lows by pink sweat$ | céline by gallant | i put a spell on you by iza | nasty by ariana grande | dance for you by beyonce | body by sinead harnett

⤑ author’s note: this is definitely less emotional than all i do is wait! i got this idea from a show i really enjoyed before it got cancelled named the royals. specifically, i really liked the story of eleanor and jasper, which is the whole princess x bodyguard dynamic. the pining and tension, ugh! if you know this show or not, it doesn’t matter. anyways, thank you for the 30+ followers and 200 notes on aidiw! enjoy!

i need holy water because of this piece.

⤑ credits to jeongjaehyuns for the gif above uwu

⤑  leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

“On behalf of the royal family, I would like to extend my utmost support for the Anti-School Violence campaign for all students to have a safer and more meaningful learning environment.” You proudly announced to the board of officials alongside other influential individuals in Korean society.

Being the only princess in the current royal line may have its pressures, but holding a strong, direct impact for a brighter future for the people motivated you to take advantage of your platform for the better. As the image of pure innocence and revamped women empowerment, you aimed to accomplish all the things your mother wished she could before her untimely death alongside your personal aspirations.

Expressing genuine joy with the campaign, with a tinge of desire to annoy the old-fashioned and closeminded officials, your prying eyes were more enamored by a certain man in the back clapping by the ballroom doors. You can’t help but act flustered whenever he witnessed you in a state of success and satisfaction.

This man went by the name Jeong Jaehyun, your trusted bodyguard since you were in your early twenties. 3 years later, he still stuck by your side and helped you endure all the darkness as a royal.

Back then, you went through a rebellious phase that was ruining the image of your family. Clubbing almost every night, drugs, skipping school, you even managed to get all assigned bodyguards to quit! The media ate up all your tricks, turning them into scandals. That was the plan, of course. You desired your own freedom from all the royal obligations because you didn’t ask to be born into that lifestyle. To all of your peers who wished to be in your footsteps, you would’ve impulsively passed your title to them. There’s so much deception that lies behind the glitz and glam of it all.

This unexpected change in your former untainted attitude came to the point that your father, the king himself, stepped in and personally assigned one of his men to get you in check. He figured that appointing a guard nearest your age may lessen the tension and mend you back together.

In the start, you absolutely despised him. There was no way to fool him when you were up to no good. He easily found your alcohol and drug stash which he disposed of on the spot and stood by your bedroom door every night so you wouldn’t sneak out past curfew (which your father also strictly implemented).

One big turning point in your relationship was when he rushed you to the royal hospital when you drank a cocktail that went unnoticeably spiked. To think that this was a typical social gathering with other royals and officials, you’re a constant target to many. You didn’t wake up for a few days, and the entire time, Jaehyun willingly stood by your bedside and outside your hospital room.

Since that and more instances your father insisted you get involved in royal affairs, you softened up. As cliché as it was, the more time spent with him, the more you knew about him and vice versa. He was the one that got you to fully open up about your grief towards your late mother, encouraging you to seek help. Turns out you weren’t as different as you thought despite your differing ranks in society when he also had a void for a missing parent. In his case, it was his father, who ditched his family for his mistress. Silently, you helped each other recover from your traumas alongside therapy. From dreading his presence, you started treating him more casually. Your father’s tactic of assigning a bodyguard around your age admittedly worked.

Oh, how time flies.

This campaign was the last thing on your weekend agenda, so you had the entire late afternoon and evening to yourself. Bowing one last time to the audience, you stepped down from the platform and accepted the soft hand of your bodyguard, who quickly made his way to you despite the flashing cameras. It was something he got used to as it is part of the job.

Once he successfully ushered you out of the ballroom, his hand still held yours. Nothing new, except this event was quite public and you didn’t want anyone to get any wrong ideas. Strolling down one of the many hallways in the palace became a pastime for the both of you, where no one can catch you. It was a safe haven within the destructive life of the Park kingdom.

“You did phenomenal as I expected, your highness.” Jaehyun complimented, recalling your panic the night before as the stage fright hit strong when you were reciting your speech to him over and over again.

“We are in private, Jaehyun. Must you really use those formalities with me?” You taunted, bobbing your head sideways mockingly. With him could you felt like a normal young adult, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Jaehyun loved being frisky with you, catching you get irked up. And he was up to do it again.

“Hmm last time we strolled these halls, Yuta caught us making out after a successful meeting with the Prime Minister.”

You gasped at his statement, conscious of whoever may be in the vicinity. But before you could refute, your hand that was interlocked with his were mightily slammed against the white wall. You lost your breath for a moment, his warm body closely on yours. His free hand freely roamed up and down your covered waist. His lips were dangerously near your neck, where you’re sensitive. Your hips naturally grinded against him to release the pent-up tension.

“Something tells me you want to do it again, princess?” Now he’s just using your title as a pet name, but you couldn’t complain. It just hits differently when the situation was set up like this.

“I deserve it, don’t I? Got a lot of those hell-driven officials on my side for this round.” You raised both your brows cockily, licking your lips.

“Hell yeah, you do.” Finally, he rids of the tension and plants open kisses on your bare neck. Your throaty moans were uncontrollable, and you could care less.

“My princess,”

Kiss.

“So intelligent,”

Kiss.

“So benevolent,”

Kiss.

“So helpful,”

Kiss.

“But,” He changed his pace and direction, swollen lips near your ear.

“But?” You question naïvely. He scoffed, smirking at your antics of playing dumb.

“But a total slut for her bodyguard.” He dominantly planted his lips against yours, one of his veiny hands gripping on your waist and the other by the arch of your butt. He was hungry, needy even. Due to your shared schedules, it’s been a constant struggle to have proper alone time from the snooping eyes of Korean society. After all, it wasn’t in the norm for a princess to fall deep for her bodyguard. Nor were you sure you would be accepted by anyone. Yuta, the bodyguard of your oldest brother, the crowned prince Jinyoung, finding the both of you at that time was a total shock but didn’t care either.

All that mattered was that your feelings towards each other are real and strong. Accepted or not, you had each other.

All this lust put you in a daze, wanting much more than another smooch fest in the hallway. Tugging on his belt, he squeezed your butt tightly. You emitted a moan, which allowed his tongue access. No way could you keep your hands to yourself, touching his upper body and the flexing of his abdominal muscles from his button-up. You felt his now hard member poking through.

Analyzing your area, you were on the other side of the palace. Farther to your bedroom where numerous rendezvouses were made, one kink you’ve considered in the past amplified your mind. Considering this area was also the king’s side, and he was abroad for royal affairs, this was your chance.

“I have an idea, my love. You up for it?” You rose a brow at your lover, challenging him. Not one to overpower this man in bed, but always suggesting a way on how to spice it up.

“And what exactly does your feral brain want to do with me, princess?” His finger lifted your chin so you meet eye to eye. You can just see the fire still burning, and oh how you were ready to intensify it.

“The main ballroom, where my father and late mother’s throne rest, are a few doors away.” Your fingers signal him to lower his stance as his tall height was difficult to reach. With a sneaky smirk,

“Let me ride you in the king’s throne, my love.” Your lips brushed over his and sucked his bottom lip, tugging him by his belt. He groaned, squeezing your butt. “It’s a royal order.”  

“Nasty, your highness. Insanely nasty, you are.” His hands hoisted your waist, boosting you up in his arms. You gasped with profanities, ravenously cut off by his lips again. His nails digging deep in your bare thighs, your legs naturally linked themselves around his torso while your arms passionately intertwined his broad neck.

In between kisses, he carried you to the said main ballroom. One of your wildest imaginations, just a second away. This room remained to be the only place without any guards stationed technological advancements or updated interior designs to preserve its traditional beauty. Dated as far as the 19th century, only special events were held and the highest of the high were allowed inside. Spacious, surrounded by gold linings majestic paintings of angels from above with a huge crystal chandelier right above the center. Right ahead, the original thrones that your ancestors, grandparents, and parents sat on when they were throned in its pure glory.

Pushing your lover on the king’s throne, the gold sun-like rays plastered behind the headrest, he cockily leaned back and manspread his legs for comfort. He rubbed his hands before patting his thigh, waiting for your submission. But you weren’t going to give in just yet.

Not when you prepared a mini-show just for him underneath your designer silk dress.

Jaehyun’s solemn eyes marveled over your gorgeous figure as you stripped down one strap after the other. Due to its silk fabric, it effortlessly dropped down to your figure to reveal a new set of black lace lingerie from your previous trip to Paris. Ages ago, Jaehyun unhesitatingly ripped your favorite ones during his birthday, so you decided to get a mature version of it. A version where your bra lifted your breasts more and undies hiked up to your waist to elongate your legs. Only for the eyes of yourself and the man in front of you, establishing that you were a powerful woman who can be absolutely anyone she can be. Princess, a normal young adult, or his slut, it’s up to you how you see yourself.

Jaehyun mumbled all the profanities he could think of at the moment. Looking like a divine angel when the sun from outside shuns behind you, his slacks tightening so much more than a while ago.

“All this for me?” He ogled shamelessly, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and untying his necktie. “What did I do to deserve such regal treatment?”

You sneered at his comment, stepping out your dress in your heels and stationing right in front of his luring lap. “You’ve always been there for me, thick and thin. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

Lowering yourself to straddle him, his breath hissed when your damp core collided with his crotch. Distracted and caught in your trap, “I don’t think you answered my question, my love.”

Rather than a verbal response, he roughly pulled you back in for a kiss. His hands scattered to explore from your back down to your waist. Your hands messily ran through his hair, tugging on some when your body got too sensitive to his wild touches. The thrilling sounds of the two of you drowning in your fiery romance bounced throughout the ballroom, not minding if anyone passed by the hallways outside. It was a private room after all, and whatever happens here, stays here.

Rolling on his crotch while his lips trailed down to your collarbones, the quick snap of your bra wires echoed. The tight lift lessened as Jaehyun’s fingers dropped the straps, unveiling your bare chest covered in his marks.

“Enough playing, princess. Let daddy have some real fun with you.”

[duuhrayliegh]

Hello, darling! I was wondering if you could right some Bucky x reader, where the reader worked along Sharon during Civil War and she meets Bucky. Then she runs always with Sharon and meets Bucky again in Madripoor and continue their story. I hope that makes sense. Thank yooouuuu✨✨✨

hey babes!! yes i absolutely can! i kind of gave more background than i meant to making it way longer, but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i do want to continue this story and most definitely will be so be on the lookout for the other parts of it lovie <3. i hope you still enjoy it even though it isn’t quite what you asked for yet :)

A Friend of Yours

FATWS SPOILERS

warnings: not much, canon lvl violence, some suggestive stuff closer towards to end, language, i think that’s it

word count: 6140 i went a bit overboard, it’s fine i’m totally fine

a/n: i got this request and then didn’t stop writing all day. i didn’t get anything else done all day. i got home at like seven-ish? and i’ve been sitting on the floor of my bedroom just writing this fic (for context it is now 12:47 pm where i’m at)

check out A Friend of Yours - pt. 2 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 3

p.s.: this is the first fic that i’m writing with an actual ‘x reader’ i’m so proud

xoxo ray

ray’s m.list

******************************

You grew up with Sharon, the two of you were best friends from birth it seemed. Honestly, Peggy raised you more than your own parents did. When Aunt Peggy got Sharon her first thigh holster, she got you one too. You enlisted together, moved up the ranks together, everything. So, it was of no shock to anyone that after the fall of SHIELD, you both moved together into the CIA’s Joint Terrorism Task Force.

You were inside the hotel with Sharon, Steve and Sam when the bombing on the UN took place. The look of unbridled fear that fell over Steve’s face as they announced Barnes as the primary suspect was heart wrenching. You weren’t able to watch it for long because your phone was already ringing off the hook.

“Look, you need to get me more information, and now.” You gritted into your phone speaker before quickly hanging up the phone and turning to a crestfallen Steve who was still watching the news casting. Sharon ended her phone call and turned to you.

“We have to go to work.” A few short hours on a jet later, you and Sharon were coordinating the operation. Close by, Steve and Sam were awaiting new information. Steve had this insane plan to find Barnes before the whole rest of the world did. Like that’s going to happen, it took the world 70 years to find Barnes. Of course, Steve and Sam are going to find him in about half that time.

You followed the blonde woman into a busy coffee shop and up to the counter. She slid a manila folder over to a well disguised Captain America. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everyone thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it’s just noise, except this.” Sharon was talking quietly, trying to not draw attention to the fact that she was committing a serious offense.

“We have to give the briefing, like now Shar, so we have to go.” The two of you pushed off the counter and you turned quickly to say one last thing. “And you better hurry. They’ve given the order to shoot on site.”

You left the shop quickly and made your way back to the white tent, passing the redheaded spy who was watching you like a hawk. A look of understanding crossed her features as you kept a calm facade. She fucking knows, how the hell could she read you that easily?

*********************************

The next time you saw any of them, they were exiting the back of an armored prison van. It was no surprise that his eyes flitted over to his best friend from childhood. You glanced over at Barnes, who was strapped in all different ways, and your heart hurt for him. You tried not to pity him, you know you would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist from Aunt Peggy about it.

Bucky must’ve felt you looking at him because his steel blue eyes locked with your pair. This was the first time that you’ve ever actually seen the man in person. It was startling, in a good way. You grew up going to the Smithsonian and hearing Aunt Peggy’s stories about the great James Buchanan Barnes. You never thought that you’d get the chance to meet the man you did a history report on your freshman year of high school.

“Y/N?” Sharon’s voice cut through your thoughts, recalling you to reality and out of your past. “We have to go. We’ve been assigned to monitor Steve and Sam while they’re here.” Sharon was clearly not a fan of this, which made you laugh loudly.

“Oh, score! We get to babysit Captain America and the Falcon!” You spoke in an unnecessarily upbeat voice and then clapped your hands together. “Our dream job! Let’s go, Shar!” She stared at you for a millisecond before slapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s go, you fucking dork.” You followed her through the office building into the control room where you observed Tony talking to Steve. Apparently, the conversation was not going well because both their faces held angry glares. Eventually, Tony left the room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and that can never be good.

“How you doing, Cap?” You asked as you less-than-gracefully plopped yourself into the chair across from him. He looked over at me and released a heavy sigh.

“Honestly, Y/N, not that great at the moment.” He looked at you with his iconic mom Steve stare. Wow, so that’s what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that. Sam walked in and sat next to you. You drowned out their conversation as your gaze focused on screens outside of the glass office.

The video feed of Barnes in his metal cage was displayed on a TV screen. How is this considered humane? Obviously you knew that the CIA had pushed boundaries in the past, but this was just insane. “Are those restraints really necessary?” Sam seemed to be just voicing his thoughts, not expecting a response back.

“Well, he is considered an international terrorist, so yeah, they’re kind of necessary.” You said quickly and then muttered under your breath, “No matter who thinks that it’s excessive.” Steve’s gaze met yours and he was about to speak when Sharon walked in and dropped a paper in front of Sam.

“The receipt for your gear.” A scoff sounded from Sam as he glared at Sharon.

“‘Bird costume’? Come on.” Always quick to defend your best friend.

“Hey, we didn’t write it up.” It came off snappier than you had meant it. Sharon shot you a look, signaling you to back off. You raised a brow at her as she leaned over the table to the intercom buttons.

The audio from Barnes’ evaluation echoed through the glass room. Everyone around you was unsuspecting the four of you listened in. The psychologist was talking to Barnes, who seemed incredibly closed off. Who could blame the guy though?

“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The psychologist paused for a second, looking down and off to the side. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.” The caged man spoke for the first time.

“My name is Bucky.” His voice was rough from not being used. A look crossed Steve’s face and he turned to Sharon.

“Why would the Task Force release that photo to begin with?” Sharon’s body turned to face the man speaking to her. Her brows furrowed while she answered.

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Your head tilted, trying to follow Steve’s train of thought.

“Right. Good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” Oh shit.

“You’re saying someone framed him?” You wanted to believe it with every fiber in your being.

“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” Sam reminded in a calm tone.

“Yeah, you didn’t bomb the UN though. That turns quite a few heads. Especially if prominent people like King T’Chaka end up dead because of it.” You made a good point, but there were still pieces missing.

“That doesn’t guarantee that they would find him. It guaranteed that we would.” Sharon and Steve began examining the room around them. Your attention returned to the audio emitting from the intercom.

“You fear that,“ the doctor paused, “if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.” He glanced down again and moved his hand to swipe something away.

“Guys?” You pointed to the screen as the doctor held up his pointer finger.

“We only have to talk about one.” All of the sudden, the screens went dark and the lights flickered off. Secretary Ross was yelling at technicians to get his video back. Tony was speaking to his AI, Friday, about locating the source of the outage. Steve and Sam tensed at the thought of what could be going on with Barnes.

“Sub-level five, east wing.” was all Sharon said as the pair ran off. You looked at her and threw your hands in the air.

“What the hell do we do now, Shar?” She glared at you as she started reasoning with you.

“They’re stronger than we are. If they can contain whatever the hell is happening down there then great. In the event that they can’t, we’ll be up here with Natasha and Tony to deal with it.” You nodded quickly as you both ran out of the room.

You quickly followed Natasha, Tony and Sharon to the main level of the building. Clearly Steve and Sam were unsuccessful in containing the situation because Barnes could be seen through the glass, fighting his way to his destination.

Tony stunned Barnes with a previously concealed Iron Man glove. Barnes started towards Tony and quickly attacked. After Barnes bested Tony, it wasn’t long before Natasha rushed the man alongside Sharon. It wasn’t hard for Barnes to throw Sharon across the room. Natasha took the opportunity to launch herself onto his shoulders, which caused Barnes to slam her into a table with his metal hand wrapped around her neck.

She mumbled something to him as you kicked his ribs, releasing his chokehold on her. He stumbled backwards, his hard gaze landed on yours as he approached. Your eyes locked on his as the two of you traded blows.

They weren’t the same eyes as before. Those eyes were soft and remorseful, these were hard and unattached. There was no emotion behind the pair staring at you. The fraction of a second that you were analyzing his eyes in your head was enough for him to catch you off guard. His metal fist landed in your rib cage. The opposite hand jabbed at your face, busting your lip and sending you flying backwards.

You hit your head on the concrete below, making your eyes roll back. The wind left your lungs and you gasped to get it back as Barnes and T’Challa fought in the background. It was a few minutes later that a concerned Sharon made her way over to you.

“Are you okay?” You looked her over as she did you, checking for any severe injuries. You offered a small nod, not wanting to shake your head too much in fear of a concussion. “Let’s go check in with Ross.”

******************

“And how the hell did Rogers and Wilson even know where to find Barnes?” Ross’ voice boomed through the office. No one said anything, not wanting to incur the wrath of Secretary Ross. “I’ve already allowed Stark 36 hours to find them and bring them back here.” Ross turned to you and Sharon standing in the corner of the room. “If they contact any of you, report it immediately.” Rounds of ‘yes, sirs’ bounced around the room, then chaos ensued as everyone got back to trying to clean up this mess.

“Carter. Y/L/N. Elevator now.” He raised two fingers to point toward the elevators before walking into one. It was just the three of you in the enclosed space. He clicked the button for the ground floor. “I know you have some kind of connection to Rogers but do not let that cloud your judgement. The both of you are CIA agents first.”

“We understand, Secretary.” The elevator doors opened again and you went to step out when Ross stopped you again.

“I mean it, girls. This is your job on the line here.” You and Sharon shared a look before continuing walking. Did he just call us girls?

“Do you think that was supposed to be intimidating?” You laughed under your breath as you went out to the parking lot. Sharon sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably.” She looked at you over the top of her car. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Where do we start?”

****************************

Getting that fucking shield and bird suit wasn’t easy. They had moved it from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre to the US Embassy to await transport back to the States. It made it easier but still damn near impossible to get. Thankfully, you and Sharon are good liars. Skills of a misspent youth.

The two of you walked in the front door and displayed your badges. “We’re here to pick up Captain America and the Falcon’s effects.” The man behind the counter didn’t even question it. Man, they need better people at the Embassy.

“You’ll have to sign some paperwork saying you picked it up.” There it is. You both flicked a brow and Sharon held her hand out for the clipboard. Small scratches from the pen in her hand were echoing throughout the empty building.

She handed the clipboard back to the man behind the counter. “Okie dokie, just pull your car around to the side of the building and we’ll get you loaded up.” He shot them a small smile and turned around to file the papers.

“That was easy enough.” You whispered to Sharon as you left, not wanting your voice to carry. You walked to your car that was parked in front of the iron wrought gate. Pulling your car around to the side of the building, you popped the trunk. The gear clad Embassy soldier carelessly tossed Sam’s suit inside before gently placing the shield on top of it.

“Hey, if there’s a scratch on that suit, it’s coming out of your paycheck buddy.” You held your pointer finger up to the man’s unimpressed face.

“Y/N, let’s go. We’ve got to get these to the jet or Ross will have our heads. Remember it’s our job on the line here.” What Sharon said made you laugh big while hauling yourself back into the driver’s seat of the car. As you pulled out into the street, Sharon was typing away on her phone and pushing it to her ear.

“This is a secure line but I don’t know for how long, so don’t talk just listen.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “We want to help. Meet us under the bridge on Route 6. We’ll be there in two hours.” She ended the call quickly and threw the phone outside the car. Glancing over at you, she nodded and sighed again.

“We’ve gotten this far.” You had one question burning in your throat that you were afraid to ask.

“Where do we go after they’ve gone?” She looked at you and she was biting her lip, something she only did when she was incredibly stressed.

“I don’t know yet. Do you have any ideas?” You smiled and thought of the one place that you wouldn’t be followed.

“Yeah, I’ve got one, but it’s rough.”

***************************

The drive to the underpass wasn’t a hard one. You had beat the boys there so you and Sharon were sitting in the car. You had the radio playing softly in the background.

“Who the hell do you know in Madripoor?” You laughed and shrugged.

“I’m supposed to tell you all my secrets for free?” You shook your head and shifted in your seat to face her fully. “I was tasked with tracking some artwork down there. One of my assignments when we went through initiation for the Agency.” You picked at the holes in your jeans. “I thought it was just all fake stuff, but I researched it more and more. Turns out, the underground artwork dealing is really lucrative over there.”

Sharon stared at you in amazement. “What did you do, Y/N?” You smirked.

“I haven’t done anything.” You held her gaze, “Yet.” She released a small laugh and her mouth hung open a bit. “I may have a warehouse out there.” You squinted one of your eyes, and leaned forward. “And the apartment above it.” She was going to say something when an old ass blue Beetle pulled up behind you.

“Now how the fuck did they all fit in that tiny ass car?” You both laughed as you stepped out of the car with big smiles on your faces.

“Not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.” Steve walked up to Sharon and they began talking as she popped the trunk, revealing their gear. Your attention was on the men in the car behind them. Barnes was stuck in the back away from cameras and Sam was lounging in the passenger seat. Your eyes met Barnes’ again, they were back to the remorseful pair you saw the first time.

“You know he kind of tried to kill us.” You waved your hand in gesture to the man in the car.

“Sorry, I’ll put it on the list too.” He glanced back down at Sharon, who had migrated closer to him. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

She nodded, “I know.” Then the most awkward kiss in all of kissing history took place. Your brows shot up then furrowed quickly, a small wince overtaking your face. They pulled apart and traded more words. Sharon began walking back to the passenger side of the car.

Steve turned around and you looked back at the two men in the car. Both of them were wearing proud, smug grins. Steve threw his head back as if he was berating them.

“About damn time, Cap! She’s been pining over you for God knows how long now.” The windows were down in the Beetle so the other two heard you shouting at their friend.

“Y/N!” Sharon was a bit embarrassed.

“What? It’s the truth, Shar!” The two of you began bickering like an old married couple as you started the car again. Steve got all he needed from the trunk and shut it quickly, slapping it twice. You began driving off with Sharon giving you directions to an airport on the opposite side of the country.

***********************

That was the last time you saw Steve. Last time you saw anyone for a while. You had been dusted in the Blip. Sharon had followed you to your apartment in Madripoor. The two of you were able to figure the city out pretty quickly. Learning the ins and outs of the island, where to go, who to sell to. One afternoon, you and Sharon had been surveying a Van Gogh piece for your gallery when you flew away. In the middle of a fucking deal, what perfect timing.

Five years later, you were reunited with an even more successful Sharon. “I kept your room the way you left it.” She said as she led you through your shared home. “I figured that you’d be back and you’d be pissed off if I fucked with anything.”

You smiled at the woman gratefully and hugged her. Neither of you let go for a while. When you did, she started filling you in on everything. She had continued to split all her profits and had been depositing the money into your account. “Even if you didn’t come back, I could’ve used it if I needed to bug out. Win-win.” She explained with a smile.

The two of you had about six months of getting back into the groove of things. It was quickly cut off by a ping of your phones one day. A look of confusion and anger crossed her face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” She locked eyes with you and told you to get your gear.

“Where are we going?” She threw her phone at you and you looked at the screen. As soon as you read the notification at the top of it you understood. Repeating your question from before, you tied the knots on your Converse. You followed Sharon to the Low Town side of the island.

“Now what the fuck are they doing here, do you think?” The two of you camped outside of the Brass Monkey nightclub, ready for whatever came your way. Deciding that you were too visible to everyone else, you moved to the building across from the club. Something is bound to go wrong and the first place they're going to get ran to is this dead end alley.

Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, Sam, Barnes, and Zemo got cornered in the alleyway. Sharon had decided to stay on the ground floor next to the door. You shot two of the assassins following the group of three and Sharon took out the final one.

You made your way back down to Sharon, who was still holding her gun up. “You cost me everything.” She focused her gun on Zemo.

“Sharon, wait. Someone recreated the super soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam remarked calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Explains why you guys are here and Selby’s dead.” Your brows shot up at that, must of been new information that she got while you were upstairs.

“Why are you here, Sharon?” Sam questioned.

“She was one of the ones who stole Steve’s shield, remember?” You stepped forward, raising your gun to gesture to the men in front of you. “And the wings, so your ass,” you waved at Sam, “could save his ass,” at Barnes, “from his ass.” You lowered your gun and stepped in front of Zemo, staring the man down. Your fist balled and you launched it at Zemo, landing a solid hit to his cheekbone.

Barnes grabbed your hand, twisting your body to slot against his with your arm bent behind your back. He leaned close to your ear, breath making shivers trickle down your spine. “I only let you do that because I’ve wanted to for a while now, so don’t get any more ideas.” Your breath hitched because of the proximity of the man behind you.

“Alright, give me my Y/N back.” Sharon said, lowering her gun to holster it. Bucky held onto you for a few more seconds than necessary and then pushed you towards Sharon as he released you. You scoffed, then shoved your gun into the waistband of your jeans. Sam and Sharon had already started their own conversation by the time you calmed down enough to face Barnes.

Sharon bobbed her head to you, an unspoken language between the two of you. After bringing them into your home, Sam began admiring the artwork in the first floor gallery. “Looks like breaking the law is treating you two well.”

“Before even graduating into the Agency, I had a place over here. Never had any intention on using it, but here we are.” You started, “Then, after having to flee Berlin, for you,” You shot a look at Bucky, “we figured if we had to hustle, might as well enjoy the good life. Do you know how much we can get for a real Monet?”

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monet’s.” Sharon shot him a look, about to defend us when Zemo cut in.

“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. All the classics.” Sam made a face of disbelief.

“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.” Bucky gestured to the gallery. Sam pulled his phone out of his suit pocket.

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” He was typing furiously as he spoke. Bucky passed him, soundlessly following you and Sharon to the upstairs apartment.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?” Once the five of you got upstairs, Sharon began walking them into her office, telling them that they needed to change because we were hosting clients. It didn’t take long for the men to switch outfits. It was refreshing to see Barnes in something other than combat gear or a torn Henley. Sharon followed you in the office, making a remark at Sam while he apologised.

“Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy.” She said as you plopped yourself on one of the plush chairs across from the couch, holding a clear glass full of whiskey.

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo added quietly, since when is Zemo informed? Sharon glazed over his comment, opting for asking about the new Cap while filling a glass for herself.

“Don’t get me started.” Barnes spoke for the first time since being downstairs. You narrowed your eyes at the man.

“Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” You swung your glass to Zemo, “Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” His gaze darted over to you, nose wrinkling at your comment.

“Do you know who I am?” He tried to be intimidating but it was just funny to you. You were taking a drink to moisten your throat to fire back a witty comeback, when Sharon spoke for you.

“Oh trust me, she knows. She did a report on you freshman year of high school.” You started choking on your drink as Sharon smirked from the couch next to Barnes. His brows raised and a smug smile graced his face.

“She did now?” Clearly he was a different man from the last time you saw him. Meeting his eyes for the fourth time ever, you were surprised with what you saw. There was almost a hunger lingering behind his eyes.

“Most definitely. I don’t even know how many times she went to the Smithsonian to see the exhibit about you.” You glared at Sharon, who continued to talk, unbothered by you. She raised her own glass to her lips, speaking into her cup, muffling her words.  “Honestly, think she developed a little crush.” Barnes’ eyes never left your face, his mind racing.

“Wait, so the entire time you were helping me and Steve, you had a crush on Tin Man?” Sam interjected, wanting to be included in the conversation. You rolled your eyes and gave a subtle nod to Sam. The action wasn’t missed by Bucky.

“Which is why I think it must’ve been really hard for you to ask him of all people for help. They comin’ down real hard on you out there?” You asked Barnes with a smirk and a head tilt towards Zemo. “I know he fucked you up real good, triggering the Soldier, Barnes.”

Sam laughed beside him. “Dude, that’s basically what you told Walker.” Barnes threw a glare at Sam, who had clapped a hand on his metal shoulder. The conversation dissipated after your comment, guess you killed the vibe.

Sam turned to a relaxed Sharon, “We need your help.” Her body tensed, neither one of you was ready to throw yourself back into enemy territory. “I can get your name cleared.” He dangled a huge bargaining chip in front of her face. You knew Sharon was eager to get back to the States. She misses her dad. It was unfair of Sam to use that as a way to gain her favor.

“Haggling with someone’s life like that isn’t okay, Sam.” You said quietly, focusing your gaze on the glass in your hand.

“It’s not like that, Y/N.”

“Yes, it is, Sam.” You said firmly. “You can’t just say something like that. I know you’re an Avenger. That’s great shit, but you need to realize that if you can’t deliver on your word, we go to jail or worse. You know that.”

“I don’t trust charity, Sam.” Sharon said from beside Barnes.

“All right, a deal then. You help us out, and I get your names cleared.” Your nostrils flared and you shook your head. Sharon agreed, blinded by the possibility of seeing her family again. You don’t doubt that she thought through all the outcomes, it just wasn’t the route you would’ve taken.

“We sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, and enjoy the party.” She got up, exiting the office.

“Try to stay outta trouble, boys.” You said placing your glass on Sharon’s desk as you left. “We’ll see what we can find.”

*********************************

You were standing next to Sharon when the three men joined the party. Leaning over to Sharon, you told her you were going to get a drink from the bar. You pushed your way through the crowd, planting yourself on a stool in front of the countertop. Nodding your head at the bartender, they passed you a bottle of club soda.

“Not drinking tonight?” A raspy voice questioned over your shoulder. You turned to face the owner as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Already had my fill. And technically, I’m supposed to be working, Barnes.” Your eyes met with his again. You couldn’t tell if it was the light in the room or if it was just him, but they were a deeper shade of blue than before. He leaned his weight on his elbow that was resting on the bar top next to you. He was so close you could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves.

His eyes roamed your face, stopping on your lips as he spoke. “You know you can call me Bucky, right?” You made a face, bringing your bottle to your mouth. He watched intently as your lips wrapped around the opening.

“We’ve never had a single conversation before today. And the first time you actually met me, you twisted my arm behind my back because I punched the dickwad standing next to you.” You took another sip and his eyes drifted down to your throat. He watched as it bobbed when you swallowed.

“So, yeah. I’m going to call you Barnes.” You leaned closer, “I’ve never been given permission to call you anything else.” You could tell you struck something. Something that he didn’t even possibly know about. His face heated and he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Um, okay. Well you can call me Bucky or if you want, James.” Your brow quirked and you pulled back to take him in fully.

“How many people have you let call you that since you got your free will back?” Your tone was serious, but your face held a smile.

“None, doll.” His eyes ran over your face again. “I just want to hear how it’ll sound coming from your mouth.” One of his metal fingers came up to rest on your bottom lip as your smile grew.

“James.” You whispered, just for him. What he was giving you was a privilege, one you were going to revel in. One corner of his mouth tugged upwards.

“Again.” He growled as his finger remained on your lip.

“James.”

“Again.”

“James.” The party around the two of you faded away. In your reality, it was just you and the man in front of you. A peaceful place, where nothing could change what was happening right at that moment.

Of course, reality is a bitch. And you never got what you wanted. Your jaw clenched as soon as your phone pinged. James dropped his hand from your face as he read the text with you.

Found Nagel. Meet us outside and if you find Bucky, tell him too.

You scrunched your nose and bit your lip. James’ hand was quick to pull your lip from your front teeth, before resting there for a second as he studied your face. He stepped back quickly, nodding his head for you to follow him.

**************************************

You don’t know how the hell Sharon managed to find him, but she did. You were in a shipping yard for storage cars. “Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam said as the five of you weaved your way through the containers.

“With a bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” She glanced down at her phone in her hand. Nodding toward a red container, “Alright, he’s in there. Container 4621.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out five earpieces.

“We’ll keep watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” You said as you watched everyone situate their pieces. Sharon turned around and began walking down an aisle not far from the container Nagel was in. You stopped James before he could go anywhere.

“Hey, be careful.” His eyes met yours and they were back to the normal steel blue. “Don’t forget who you are, James.” Something flashed behind his eyes, but his face showed no change.

“You too, Y/N. Don’t make me come out here and save your ass.” His eyes flicked down quickly and a smile spread quickly. “I mean, not that I would mind.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, turning and walking down the aisle Sharon did.

“So,” She was leaned against a rusted container with a smug smile. “You and Bucky, huh?” You groaned and stood next to her.

“I don’t know, Shar. Neither one of us should be in a relationship. Especially since we’re both Enemies of the State, well one of us is, the other one was.” You turned your head to look at her. “What do you think about all of this?” She opened her mouth to speak when you both heard something ricochet off a metal wall.

She raised a finger to her mouth and crouched down before pressing that same finger to her earpiece. “Guys, we have company.” She took off down one end of the aisle and you down the opposite, ready to attack from both sides. There were three men walking towards Nagel’s container, you shot a look down to Sharon and she nodded.

She came from the back with a baton, whacking the last guy once in the knees and once in the head, disarming him. When the front man turned to help his comrade, you did the same move to him with your own baton. You both continued trading blows with the men. You had effectively taken out the first man, using his thigh to latch yourself to the third man’s shoulders. Situating yourself to use your body weight to flip him over, definitely knocking him out.

“Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go now, boys!” You yelled to your earpiece as you watched Sharon fight off another opponent.

It wasn’t until the gunfire started that Sharon said something else into the piece. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” You both split off, out of each other’s view, battling your own demons. You were currently dealing with two of those said demons, when a third approached from behind. Locking you in a chokehold as the other two continued punching your ribs.

One of the hunters was suddenly ripped away from you. Punches were landing and groans were echoing through the alleyways. You threw all your body weight forward, throwing your assailant over your shoulder. Two gunshots rang out and then a third one, which landed a bullet hole between your aggressors eyes. Your head whipped around to face James, whose arm dropped back to his side.

He walked towards you, putting a hand on your back leading you to where Sharon and Sam were standing. Zemo pulled up in a blue convertible car, “Supercharged.” was all he said. Sam pointed his finger at the man in the driver’s seat.

“You’re going back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” James sighed heavily, his shoulder sinking with the action.

“He’s right. We need him. And there’s two of us, and at least twenty of them.” James got in the front seat, leaving the door open for Sam.

“Fine. But if you try that shit again--”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo raised his hands in surrender. Sam turned to Sharon.

“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” You leaned over the open door to talk to James. He looked at you with a sad face.

“Why don’t you come back to the States with us?” He tilted his head. “We could clearly use your help, doll.” You smiled at that and licked your lips before responding.

“You know we can’t. Not yet anyway.” He placed his finger back on your bottom lip, maintaining eye contact. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me, James. That I can promise you.” He smiled and dropped his hand back to his lap.

Sam climbed into the seat behind James. “You’re not going to move your seat up, are you?” James smirked before replying.

“No.” You watched as they drove off, desperately wanting to see James again already.

You turned back to Sharon and the two of you began walking back towards High Town. “I think you should go for it.” 

[vivithefolle]

Can I join your anti-Hermione club? Is there an application form? (In all seriousness, I'm so glad there's someone on Tumblr who is anti-Hermione for good reasons. It drives me absolutely insane how much the fandom worships her. I respect her intelligence, but there are so many absurdly unethical things she does. The hexing of Marietta Edgecombe - I researched it, it's both against contract law and would almost certainly be considered assault - was crazy, and even crazier was that it's excused.)

Hahaha, no application form needed, just a lot of bitterness and a touch of rage.

Something that really annoys me is how people are trying to tell me I'm doing Hermione-bashing when I give her the what-for. Or try to say "but she was a teenager :(". Really, freaking really? So when Hermione scars people on the face she's being a teenager but when Ron is pissy for a night in fourth year he's a total asshole? No, nope, not gonna let that lie.

My issue is that Ron's mistakes are teenager-sized; making an ass of yourself during a soirée, dating someone you're not really interested in because you're flattered by the attention, getting mad at your friend over silly stuff, saying stupid things without thinking... teenage mistakes. Those are teenage mistakes. (Something could be said of his leaving on the Horcrux Hunt but. Bitches. Voldemort himself (a part of him at least) was there singling him out for torture. Not to mention the heavy blood loss, the fact that his family's in danger, etcetera... But of course nobody is willing to accept those circumstances, nooo, it's only Ron who's the sole responsible for leaving absolutely, right, "Hermione is a teenager :(" and "Harry has PTSD :(((" but Ron isn't allowed to have problems of course. Fucking hypocrites.)

Meanwhile Hermione wakes up everyday and chooses violence and not for good reasons. I mean when your first reflex to distract someone is to set them on fire surely that indicates some issues? (Later on she forgets that she can use magic to light a fire... against a plant. I mean. How. How do you come to the conclusion that you should light a person on fire to "distract" them but cannot apply that reasoning to a goddamn killer plant.) The thing is people just... because we're constantly told that Hermione is intelligent/has good grades/works hard, people are quick to assume that she's obviously the most mature one in the room. But being a hard worker isn't necessarily a "proof" of maturity. It's just that people's expectations are that "a studious kid" is a mature kid, but really what they mean by "mature" is "doesn't annoy me to hell and back by playing noisily".

There’s this huge manipulation that plays on people’s expectations: being coded as “the studious girl” people are told through stereotypes that Hermione is smart, mature and logical… and the text is quick to try to reinforce the idea by having her spout definitions (=”smart”, for a degree of it; it’s mostly good memory), scold others for being rowdy (=mature, except that she’s not above it all either and a big part of maturity also involves REALIZING YOUR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES which, Hermione’s don’t, so oops) and have her solve some puzzles or explain things (=logical… but sometimes her reasoning is based on emotion and she just tries to find evidence to justify why she thinks it’s right, rather than go from one thing to another).

When people try to brush off the fucked-up things Hermione did with "well she was a teenager" or "it was the war effort"... no. Fuck no. She didn't have to wipe her parents' minds and memories, there was the Order, the Dursleys were treated better than Hermione's parents for God's sake. But the only thing that matters about Hermione's parents is that they can be conveniently sacrificed to let us know how brave their daughter is right, it's not like she's in anything called the House of the Brave or something, it's not like she's constantly being thrown in mortal danger and is scared but keeps pushing forward, no we absolutely HAD to have a plot point that involves Hermione destroying two people's identities so we know how brave she is (how was any of it brave? Bravery is risking yourself, not the life of two innocents who barely know what's going on and are in no position to fight back).

And with the Romione fandom trying to push back to "nooo but she was a teenager m'kay she had her reasons for everything"... You want to get back to the Dark Ages where Hermione can do anything to Ron and it's his fault for not being perfect enough for her? Because that's how you go back to the Dark Ages.

In concept I love Romione. In the books I love it till about Book 3 (and even then that's pushing it because Hermione's utter disregard for Ron's pet sits very unwell with me, BUT okay fine she's still a child, it's her first pet, she has no idea how to own a pet and she's not used to being mindful of others' feelings. Then she gets validated by the plot because Scabbers was Pettigrew and somehow that means Hermione wasn't horribly callous to Ron's feelings or anything... meanwhile had it been Ron buying Crookshanks and Scabbers being Hermione's pet everyone would have been like "but who cares that Ron was right in the end, do you see how horribly he hurt poor Hermione's feelings!!!"...

It's just. No more excuses. Hermione is fucked-up. As a person, not just because of the war. She had a vicious, vindictive streak that only got enabled through the books because she never was called out on it. And I mean, I'm all for standing up for yourself, or for slapping Draco Malfoy's bitchy ass ferret face. But fuck. When you're doing the magic equivalent of an acid attack on someone's face, when you're physically abusing someone you're supposed to love AND THREATEN TO DO IT AGAIN AS IF IT WAS SOMETHING CUTE OR QUIRKY, when you're brainwashing your own parents into compliance because you can't be bothered to lie to them or make the Order get them... You know how many fics I've seen that take the "I did actually Confund my examiner" exchange from the Epilogue and run away with it to make it so Ron gets in a horrible car accident or invent entire collapses of the Statute of Secrecy as a result of an investigation connected to this "ha ha look it's funny Ron cheated on his exam" moment? Why don't I ever see a fic talking about how Hermione erasing her parents from existence leads to the destruction of Wizarding society through the legal bullshit that follows? Because Hermione dear, did you think to alter "Wendell" and "Monica"'s birth certificates? Their marriage contract? Their VISAs? Their bank accounts? Otherwise you've just turned your parents into homeless vagrants hopelessly lost in Australia who can't ever find a home anywhere because they simply don't exist in the eyes of any government. But hey nobody ever thinks of that because it's so much easier to nitpick everything Ron does. The only thing folks notice about Hermione nowaday is Emma Watson's boobies.

... I'm sorry, I just... Ugh. People.

[mha-platonic-yanderes]

Settling In: Parentals

Inspired by @i-cant-sing and their Yandere Todoroki Clan AU

The room is pink. Well, it’s mostly pink. It’s pink with white furniture and embellishments. The closet doors are white and so is the windowsill. The floor is hardwood brown. But everything else is a bubblegum pink.

You’d prefer another color, one that wasn’t so bright and grating to the eyes. But you don’t say that. You just fiddle with your one dufflebag’s handle. This is all you have left, after bouncing around from group home to group home. A year ago—when your parents died—you had thrice as much. Now this and the backpack for schoolwork is all you have left.

“Do you like it?” The mother of this house and wife to the current number one hero, asks you a question. He’s not here; nobody’s here except you two. The house seems too big for three people, but there are pictures on the wall of others. It doesn’t look lived in; there is no semblance of a family. Though, the pictures on the wall show a six person family. It shows that there are four more people here and you get your own room. In a house with now seven people, you get your own room and you aren’t giving it up.

Despite the pink color and the vast emptiness, you answer honestly, “Yeah, I do.” You do like it, even if it's not for the right reasons

Her hands are on your shoulder. You can feel the increased pressure on one side lift up, almost as if she’d been purposefully holding onto you too tight.

“Good. Now, let’s unpack.” She gracefully takes the bag out of your hand, setting it atop the bed. You sit down alongside it, opening your backpack. A couple of notebooks, pencils, and two textbooks sit inside.

You start to stand, heading to take the materials to the desk they’ve provided. Though, whilst holding a pair of pajamas—slightly too little but in [y/f/c]—she takes the books out of your hand.

“Just relax, [Y/N].” Rei replies, “Let me handle it.”

You sit on the bed twiddling with your blouse’s edge. You wore your best outfit, even though it was just your school uniform, without the frumpy sweater. 

The bed is insanely soft. With satin sheets, a thick, fluffy comforter, and a healthy amount of pillows, it's easily the softest place you’ve been.

“I’ll have a driver return your school books back to your former school.” Rei replies, on the other side of the room. You shift to look at her, but she has her back turned to you. “I’ll discuss with my husband what school to place you at.”

“Alright.” You’ve had to transfer schools about three times since last year. Moving again isn’t a hassle anymore. You know not to hope you won’t move again. Though. you know not to get attached to anything in case you have to—in case this doesn’t work out.

“We’ll get you a better education than the one you were definitely receiving.” You can hear the gentle thump of one of your textbooks. She heads back to your duffle bag; it’s now half empty. “My eldest three all went to Somei Private Academy for junior high. Two ended up continuing through highschool as well. My eldest went to Shiketsu and my youngest is in Yuuei now.”

You know those schools. They’re expensive, private academies. You’ve only ever been in public schools. The wealth was obvious when you were picked up in a blackened car with a driver. You just didn’t expect them to spend that money on you, a lowly orphan.

“Or we’ll just hire a set of tutors like we did for our youngest before he went to Yuuei.” She decides what to hang up or fold. You’ll have to go through it all later to find everything. Luckily, you don’t own much—or unluckily, depends on how you look at it. But you don’t dwell on the issue long, responding quickly to the lady, “Alright.”

She smiles at you. It’s sincere, motherly. It’s what your mother would’ve done, before the accident. It’s something you sorely missed since then.

“You’re extremely agreeable, aren’t you?” She finishes out the bag, pressing it into the top of your closet. Your backpack gets sat beside the desk. This room is large and your things are set in its appropriate places across from it. 

“I guess.”

“That’s a good thing, darling.” She goes to mess with your hair, “Now, for dinner tonight, let's change you into something a bit nicer, yes?”

You pause, looking at your toes in their pristine white socks. You can see her legs as well, considering how close she is to you, “This is the nicest thing I own.”

“That’s fine. We’ll just have to go shopping for some new things.” Rei replies, taking her other hand to your chin, forcing you to look her in the eyes, “Enji and I know what we are getting ourselves into, buying you a whole new wardrobe will be nothing.”

She takes her hands from your head and into your hands, helping you up.

“Where are we going?” She leads you back from your room to the rest of the house.

“Shopping, darling.” Rei replies, “We have five hours to do so, before I must start dinner, that is. Is there anything you want?”

“No, not really.” She’s already planning to drop a substantial amount of money on you and she’s already being incredibly maternal. You aren’t going to stretch that patience thin and have her snap already. You aren’t going to ruin this for yourself.

She smiles at you, “I’ll figure out what you like soon enough.”

===

The shopping mall standing in front of you was not where you usually would’ve gone. A basic department store, maybe a strip mall if you’re lucky would be where you usually shopped. This place however, is at least four stories high standing stark white and black against the almost colorless blue-grey sky. Though, you don’t get to admire it long. Rei quickly pulls you out of the cold outdoors and into the perfectly heated building.

“Now, I say we head to clothing stores first and then to more home goods type stores, so we don’t have to pack the heavy stuff around. Though, if we get too much to carry, we can send it back to the car and then continue shopping.” Rei replies, “Is that alright?”

You nod, still reluctantly going along this whole situation. The car is actually a limo and you have your own room in a massive estate. You have an impossibly nice and maternal caretaker who’s insanely rich. This is your “Annie” moment; this is your fairytale scenario. The shoe has to drop at some point. You aren’t going to be blindsided when it does.

“Good.” She locks arms with you, holding you close. It’s weird, but not entirely uncomfortable. You want to trust her. Your sense of judgement is clouded, knowing that she can’t really be this nice, but you want her to be like this

She leads you into a clothing store, taking you to the brightly colored section. Rei silently holds a peach colored sweater up to you. She grabs an orange skirt, looking at them both together.

“What do you think of this?” She asks, holding them up together. The sweater is thick, 

assumedly warm. The skirt however, isn’t,. You tell her that.

“That’s what some white stockings are for [y/n].” She laughs lightly, “and please call me Rei. You don’t have to be so formal.”

“Alright... Rei.” Acclimating to her is easy. At the moment, you don’t care what the rest of her family is like, she’s nice and maternal and everything you miss from your own mother.

She grabs multiple sweater and skirt combinations, not grabbing a single pair of pants for you. This store doesn’t sell tee shirts or blouses, sticking to a younger, but put together catalog. You briefly entertain the idea of them being traditionalists, but you don’t mind that. You’ve lived in worse houses than one with conservative ideals.

And besides, the outfits are cute. You hope you can keep them if everything goes south.

“Put these on.” She hands you the clothing, “and I want to see every outfit you try on. I want to see if it looks good.”

The fitting rooms are nicer than any you’ve ever been to. When checking the price of the items she’s handed to you, you can see why. The least expensive thing is a 10,000 yen skirt. It’s plain blue, just like the 1,500 yen one you have on now. It's obviously of higher quality, but guilt pangs in your chest at the thought of her spending so much money on you. This is at least a dozen items in here.

You slip it on, alongside the white sweater, filled with gold stars. You look at yourself in the mirror, before heading out the door. Rei sits in a chair, looking at you.

“You look absolutely adorable.” Rei comments, “We’re keeping it.”

She doesn’t let you put your input in. But she’s paying for it, so you don’t complain.

Five more times, you come out in sweater and skirt combinations. She has nothing but praise for each outfit. It’s refreshing. Your last home was less than pleasant.

Rei leaves you to change back into your uniform. All six outfits are bought and placed into two bags, both on her arm away from you. She wraps her other arm into the crook of your arm.

“Onto the next store we go.”

As you all head to a different floor of the mall, you voice concerns you originally had back in the dressing room, “You know… you don’t have to spend so much money on me.” You tell her, then backtrack, “Not that I’m not grateful! I am really! It’s just that I don’t need stuff this fancy, you know?”

“[Y/N], I am your mother now. It’s my duty to get you clothes and stuff.” She says it with a certainty that is oddly comforting. Everything about her is that way, from her soft, smooth skin to her warm, grey eyes to her bright, white smile. She’s intensely maternal, something that you didn’t realize you wanted anymore, until today, “and we must keep you up to the Todoroki standard. After all, you’re going to be one of us for now on.”

Being one of them. You don’t know of any Todorokis; you’ve never been a huge fan of heroes like some of your peers. But belonging, that’s something you’ve craved since it was ripped away from you. A family—that’s what you’ve always wanted.

“All right.” 

“Chin up, shoulders back.” She tells you, “You’re new life begins tonight.”

===

Rei never let you carry a single bag throughout your trip. She also wouldn’t let you see any of the receipts or let you have a final word on anything you got. But, you got all nice things—all things you like. So, you don’t mind.

“Change into the white dress with the red and pink roses.” She instructs, “And redo your hair. First impressions are important, after all.”

You haven’t met her husband, nor any of her children. But, as the pictures on the wall show, her husband is Endeavor, the number one hero. Usually you’d meet the person fostering you beforehand, but with his affluence, there needed to be no meetings beforehand. 

Following her instructions, you rifle through the bags, finding the dress she wanted you to wear. Slipping out of your old clothes and into the cold, expensive dress is a quick process. Doing your hair to a standard that would make her proud, is not. Eventually you get it right. 

Unlike earlier, you take the time to unbag your stuff. You mimic what Rei did in your closet. Shirts, sweaters and dresses are hung up. Skirts, leggings, and stockings are folded in the dresser. The shoes are placed on the inside of your closet. The few decorations you got are placed so that they don’t move what Rei and her husband already got you. She’s extremely peculiar about order. You won’t break that order.

“[Y/N].” She knocks on the door that doesn’t lock, “What’s taking you so long. Do you need help?”

You open the door for her, “I was just putting everything away, Rei.”

She comes in, looking at the room. She pulls the draws out and reopens the closet door, looking inside them. It’s an inspection, to see if everything is up to code.

Rei pinches your cheek, “ It’s perfect, exactly how I imagined it.”

Perfect. She’s praising your work. The word warms your heart, bringing a smile to your face. You haven’t gotten enough praise in your life, clearly.

“Thank you.”

“Now come on.” She tugs at your wrist, “Enji will be here any moment and I need help plating the table. Usually Fuyumi would do it, but you’ll meet my other children at a later date. Tonight is just about you, me, and Enji.”

“Alright.” Relief settles from your scrunched up soldiers. You only have to meet one new person, not five like you assumed. One person is better than five people—even if he is the #1 Hero. 

You’re led back through the sitting room and into the dining room. It’s nice, well lit. It’s low to the ground and cushioned. You’ve expected this from this house. Every room besides your own is extremely traditional. You expected the whole house to be like this, once you walked through the doors.

“The plates and cups are in the left cabinet, do be careful with them.” Rei points to a side room, at the back of the dining room, “I’ll bring in the cutlery. Enji should be here soon.”

As if on cue, you hear the front door being opened. A low voice calls out, “Rei, darling? [Y/N]?”

You freeze, plates and cups in hand. Something about the number one hero calling out of your name unsettles you. Though, somehow immediately aware of your apprehension, Rei places a cold hand against your back. You can feel it through the dress, which isn’t surprising, considering how thin it is.

“We’re in the dining room, honey.” Rei takes the plates and cups from your hands, placing them down and simultaneously leading you to your seat. You sit, legs together and bent to the side. You sit currently in the seat to the left of the table’s end. 

The number one hero—Rei’s husband—kisses her cheek. He towers over her. She was waiting for him at the entrance. You try not to make any noise; you try not to interrupt them.

She heads to the seat across from you, leaving Endeavor to sit at the head of the table. You aren’t surprised; this family gives of very traditional vibes. He radiates heat to your right, still aflame, showing off his powerful quirk.

The food is already on the table. It’s more than enough for the three people here, possibly more than enough for the six people in the photos—plus yourself. You make your own plate, only getting what you know you’ll eat. You don’t want to take too much, you don’t want to be greedy. 

“Make sure you actually get full, [Y/N].” Rei smiles at you. It’s warm and soft.

“I am, Miss.” You can feel Endeavor staring at you, but you don’t look at him. You shift your head down, looking at the plate in front of you. You don’t grab more; you don’t want to ruin their hospitality with your selfishness.

Rei and Endeavor talk to themselves, mostly about work. They occasionally talk about three other people—Shoto, Fuyumi, and Natsuo. There are four children in the photos on the wall; it’s a family of six. Though, you don’t ask about the unnamed child, it isn’t your place to do so.

You finish your food fairly quickly, but so do the other two. You look up at Endeavor for the first time tonight, asking, “Can I be excused, sir.”

“No.” He replies, “We have things to discuss.”

“Oh… alright.” You fiddle with the hem of your dress underneath the table, “What do you want to discuss, sir?”

“I’ll take the dirty dishes and excess food.” Rei smiles at you, “You’ll be fine, [Y/N]. Pass me your plate.”

Endeavor waits for Rei to leave to start talking. You are acutely aware of how hot it is now, without Rei’s cooling, calming effect.

“How was your day today?” He starts the conversation off decently well. You look him in the eye, “Good.” You were taught manners growing up; you know how to hold a conversation, no matter how intimidating the person you’re talking to is.

“That is a pretty dress on you, [Y/N].”

“Thank you.”

“Now then. While you are here, there shall be rules you will follow. Rei and I have devised a fair list and she’ll go over them with you extensively in the morning.” He tells you, “Though, the ones concerning you tonight are: no technology post-dinner and that you shall be in bed by ten o’clock. Rei shall wake you up at seven am tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Those aren’t too harsh rules; other homes have had worst lists. Though, you won’t make a final decision on that until tomorrow. You tentatively ask another question, “Uhhh, sir. Rei mentioned other children. If you don’t mind me asking, where are they?”

“Shoto goes to U.A. They have dorms now and are forced to stay there. Fuyumi and Natsuo have since moved out, but visit occasionally. You’ll meet them when it is appropriate.” Endeavor tells you, “And [Y/N], call me Enji. You are now dismissed.” 

“Alright, Enji.” As you stand to leave, you use his name, “Thank you.”

[theregoesmylurkerstatus]

So... I have a lot of thoughts on the finale. I've deliberately kept my mouth shut, more or less, on the campaign overall because I'm a firm believer that you can't pass judgement -- at least not complete judgement -- on stories until they're over and done with.

Well, it's done! Kind of crazy. I've been watching Critical Role with almost insane consistency, viewing almost every single episode live, with maybe five-ish exceptions, since episode 19, and I've been blogging it for, what, two and a half years?

It's a weird feeling. It's been such a constant thing for me that I'm always gonna have love for it and remember with a lot of fondness.

...Which is in spite of the fact that I can now comfortably say I'm pretty eh on the ending. I know not being positive about something most of us have loved a lot for a very long time can sting a bit, but I personally think it also stings when people relentlessly crow over how good they think it is or want it to be, to the point where you feel you can't voice your absolutely valid upsets or dissatisfactions. So, here goes, if anyone's interested! I'd be curious to see other opinions, too!

I actually drafted a post talking about my overall frustrations with the campaign a whole two weeks ago, and then scrapped most of it when 140 blew me out of the water. I was really touched, and really happy. I hadn't expected it, but it shockingly felt right, you know?

Unfortunately 141 robbed me of most of that satisfaction and brought me right back to neutral.

The blanket statement you have to make, of course, is that you can’t criticise this as a DnD game, and you can’t be mad at the cast for playing it in a way they think is best for them. They’re the players, Matt’s the DM, and in the end it makes no sense for them to try to make themselves act how they think the audience wants them to, and I’m sure most of the audience wouldn’t like the result anyway.

That said, there is an audience. And that’s where I see this clash coming in. As a DnD game, as long as the players and DM have all enjoyed it and been satisfied, it’s a successful game! But for us, it’s not a DnD game. For us, we’re watching a story be written in real time through the medium of an RPG. And while as a DnD game you can’t fault it, as a piece of media, I completely get why the way things have gone has sat weirdly for a lot of people.

It's not satisfying to see so many character hooks dealt with so quickly or left as an offscreen "and then you do it." If they don't want to keep playing to dive into it, absolutely, but for us who have been watching this as a story with all these character elements get so built up, it's a huge anti-climax.

Which is a lot of what this campaign has been, really.

Oh, Nott’s cursed! But through a really cool character moment that problem is completely taken care of with no consequences we see. Yay, I want her to be Veth and that was an iconic move from Jester! Still, it kind of feels like this was built up to be a big problem and at the first success it was let go... Caleb's got a really intense frightening past he tries to hide, I wonder how the Mighty Nein will respond? Oh, they found out, but it's not a difficult revelation for anyone. Looks like it's easy for them to move past it and forgive. Yeah, that's healthiest for the characters, but huh, kinda undercuts it as a storyline or point of interest. Oooh, Avantika’s back! Ah, they’ve killed her and grabbed the eye again. I mean I don’t want them to die or for Uk’otoa to be free, but I’m starting to feel like that’s not much of a threat anyway. The Traveler’s been kidnapped! Nah he hasn’t, he tried to save Jester so he was let go with no further issue, and also he wasn’t actually in any danger anyway. Oh... Cool. So... Why should I care or be worried?

And these are just the biggest ones I remember being kind of let down by. I wanted to see them STRUGGLE for the successes to have meaning. To my view, threats of failure -- real failure -- really decreased the more the campaign went on, with a few exceptions.

Because don't get me wrong, we've definitely had struggles, and those have made for some of the best moments! Molly’s death, Yasha’s kidnapping, Yeza’s imprisonment. When failures that were threatened are allowed to occur, it’s far more gratifying when it’s followed by success, because you understand that that success was actually necessary. It shows us that what they do really means something.

Honestly, that's why the final battle really shut me up, because nothing makes you quite feel stakes and failure like having two PCs die, and having a resurrection ritual fail -- AND knowing that failure would be delivered on, had it not been for a seemingly miraculous roll of the dice to turn it around. One of the greatest failure's -- Molly's death -- made the success of his resurrection put a lot of my other issues to rest immediately, because to be honest? Molly's resurrection was the biggest success of the campaign, exactly because it was originally the biggest failure.

But this episode, we got to see the other side of making threats and successes feel disappointing -- when you get the impression that success was robbed from you. Again, their characters, their choices, but to have them roll an intervention to get Molly's soul, to convince Molly to come back with his own possessions they've so loved, after so long and so many struggles... only to apparently not get Molly at all?

Changed, of course. Memories, maybe he'd never get them back, though that seems inconsistent to how the initial resurrection was played and Matt's hints. It even makes sense that not having his memories and being a bit different, he might forge a new identity, but insisting Molly was a different person entirely after such a supposed hard won success to get Molly back, especially after what his death meant to the audience and potentially healing that old wound? It robs the narrative of a LOT of catharsis, at least for me and I know many others.

Trent, too, I'm very up and down on. He was so built up -- and what fun that build up had -- and I very much disagreed with the idea that the best story would be dealing with him offscreen.

It's true that you don’t need to explicitly address, confront, or explore every big aspect of character's story hooks and background ties for PCs to move past them and grow healthily. But that does not make it a satisfying viewing experience. People quietly healing in real life is healthy. People quietly healing in an explosive fantasy setting is frustrating for the audience.

What on earth is the point of a story if you don’t get to SEE THE ESTABLISHED CONFLICTS go anywhere? A lot of the characters got distant, quiet resolutions, if that, to everything we wanted to see.

Except, we did get to see Trent. It was a really fun, inventive battle, from opening to conclusion, but much like Travelercon, much like Nott's/Veth's problem with the hag, these were things that the audience in general wanted to see be really dug into and explored, and every single one of them got, in my opinion, quickly tidied up instead. Trent got beaten in the first and only proper battle they had with him, which, after all his build up, is pretty disappointing for a villain many of us wanted to see be a big deal. It really just felt like they were trying to tidy up to get on with the epilogue, which is not what a lot of us were looking for with Trent especially.

And that's how most of their endings felt to me. It didn't feel like any of them had reached a comfortable conclusion. Literally all of them, bar Veth and Caduceus, continued on their character journey threads, without each other and very quickly. Meeting Yasha's tribe and Vandran, Caleb finally openly debating changing time for his parents, Trent and Zeenoth's trials and the changing of the guard at the Assembly... All were things it would have been so fun to have all the PCs react to and explore together, and instead they were fleeting encounters in the latter half of a seven hour finale.

Is all this, from Molly not really coming back to Trent being a finale side plot to the Nein continuing on their individual journeys, potentially realistic to how these fantastical things might go down in real life? Sure! But that's not necessarily a good thing.

Stories THRIVE on conflict and resolution. That’s what makes them FUN! Conflict isn’t nearly so fun in real life and resolutions are often frustrating question marks, so no, past a certain point I don’t WANT stories to be realistic. I want stories to be SATISFYING.

And campaign 2 has fallen far short of the mark.

I haven’t spoken... Basically a word of this for most of the campaign, because as I said I’m a firm believer that you can’t necessarily judge something until it’s over, and because I ALSO firmly believe that being negative WHILE trying to enjoy something is counterproductive. I have had no interest in spoiling or naysaying the fun of the campaign for anyone, least of all myself.

But it's done now, and all I can say is... I really have had fun. I love the characters. I love their relationships. I’m pretty okay with where they’ve ended up. I’m not mad, really, and I’m still going to think of this campaign with a lot of affection. But it hasn’t been a satisfying story, even though for a week following episode 140 I thought, despite all the brushed over story threads, it might be.

So... to try and reclaim some of that satisfaction for myself, I might ignore some aspects of the finale proper. Namely Kingsley specifically. Taliesin's choice -- but to me, it's pretty clear that who we saw at the end of 140 was Molly, and the tags on my posts will reflect that, just as my 141 tags will be for both Kingsley and Molly, for clarity's sake. I personally want to believe Molly did come back, however others might want to interpret it. The victory in 140 that meant so much to me is hollow otherwise, and it just kind of hurts that we would lose Molly after everything. I was okay with him being dead -- I'm not so okay with his resurrection being stolen.

Kingsley will always be canon, but Molly is what I choose to acknowledge. I get if you don't like that take, and that's okay! I didn't care for canon's in the end. That's the good thing about storytelling, is that no one can stop you from making your own versions.

For the people who are hopefully hyped for campaign 3, heck yeah have fun! I’m on the fence. My investment, which... I think I can objectively say was pretty substantive as this blog will attest, doesn't feel rewarded, so I’m not convinced I can faithfully keep up for over three years all over again with a strong possibility that I will once again be left disappointed. It's been a huge chunk of my life, and... yeah!

I’ll take a break, probably, view (and liveblog, if people want!) campaign 1 when I’ve had a mental stretch and vacation, and then... I might start campaign 3. I definitely won’t be able to put the same time in it I did campaign 2 (my first love no matter what), knowing that it’s likely to not be so vindicated, in the end.

I swear I’m actually writing this in fairly good humour, but I totally get its always disappointing when the people you come to for fandom enjoyment just aren't sharing your fun. Honestly I’m half tempted to write all those frigging AUs I have sitting around! But I wanted to say my piece, and try and logically outline why this ending has been lacklustre for so many people, ultimately myself included.

Episode 140 felt right because it felt like a natural conclusion -- these disparate people coming together and finally being whole, finally soothing the hurt that MADE them so long ago. Episode 141 spat on that sentiment -- they all scattered to the winds, not as happy people to live out their dreams, but as confused people chasing up loose threads towards an unknown future, with the friend they thought returned still lost to them, ultimately.

It doesn't feel like the ending we should have gotten for the Mighty Nine, who were finally, finally all together. Until they weren't. So to me? I choose to acknowledge that they were, even if I have to force it to happen post-epilogue in my head.

[thefanficmonster]

My friend, I need some mithanberg fo life. Sum fanfics headcanons😭 (sorry, u r bussy at this momeent)

Don't apologize hun - Mithanberg content gives me LIFE

Here are the headcanons you asked for ~ Enjoy 💕

- Ethan and Mia never expected that having a powered ex-Lord living with them as an addition to their marriage and family would be so...interesting

- Better yet, they absolutely didn't think it'd fly so well with Rose

- They'll probably have some explaining to do when she gets older but as of now she's quite fond of the family mechanic they have going on

- Speaking of said mechanic....

- Every chore, responsibility and task is evenly distributed amongst the three

- Except the cooking because oh boy Karl cannot be left in the kitchen unsupervised

- Sure, everything goes smoothly enough, but Karl using his powers to manipulate the metal objects around him in that well tidied place is not up Mia's alley and he knows better than to not listen to her

- Instead of spending his time cooking or washing dishes, Karl serves as Rose's personal entertainment

- She loves the man and finds him the biggest and funniest dork

- The giggles in the household are practically endless when the two are left alone with Rose's toys he often makes float around and gives odd voices to

- Ethan and Mia have spent a lot of time getting Karl used to the normal human life people like them live and while they still have a long way to go, they are glad they've at least been able to get him to know how to behave around children

- Truth be told they didn't even do much to help the process since it all came naturally to Karl, the whole parenting instinct and all

- Since Ethan went back to his job and Mia found herself a new one, Karl is the stay-at-home dad of the trio

- Ethan's the one who comes home with all the groceries

- And Mia always comes back with a surprise for Rose in the form of a toy or a story book

- And they always find Karl watching cartoons with Rose in the living room

- Well Karl is most often the only one watching since Rose isn't that interested and drifts off to sleep on his chest 90% of the time

- In some instances he falls asleep as well

- Mia has a pic of that scene saved on her phone and casually smiles every time she sees it

- Ethan has another picture that serves to capture Karl adapting to the domestic life

- It's a pic he took of Mia teaching Karl how to prepare Rose's food

- He looks so focused on it, his gaze fixated on the ministrations Mia's showing him as if it's rocket science

- It's as though this is the most extraordinary procedure he's seen despite being the creator of something as insane as a human weapon creating factory

- No one could guess he used to be a monster manipulated by an even bigger one, seeking his revenge for what Mother Miranda did to him

- No once could tell Mia had suffered so much loss in her life: loss of her husband, loss of herself, loss of her mind and control and then when she gained it all back she lost it all over again, with the most painful hit of losing her daughter temporarily

- No one could tell Ethan wasn't entirely human and had been beaten and battered by life one too many times but got up and carried on as though unharmed every single time

- Nobody could see the brokenness within them because they helped each other heal

- That's what a real family does

[szeherezadaa]

Bakugou HC

We know canonically Bakugou is a good pickpocket (chapter 219). Bakusquad learns about it (and some more) gradually.

(It turned out to be long af and drabble-ish, but it’s basically fluffy Bakusquad shenanigans with Bakugou being talented in yet another field.)

It starts with Kaminari who wants to mess with Bakugou a little. They’re studying in Bakugou’s room, but Kaminari is exhausted and wants a break, so he steals the pen Bakugou marks their mistakes with that is currently laying on the table — alone and unprotected, easy prey. Bakugou is distracted at the moment, he’s explaining something to Sero once again. Kaminari hides the pen in the pocket of his hoodie and shoots a smile at Ashido who’s also low-key dying and has asked for break at least three times already.

“Okay, Sparky, your turn,” Bakugou says and Kaminari slides him his worksheet on the table, and then finally looks at him with an innocent face-

-and sees Bakugou marking all of Kaminari’s errors with the exact same pen he did it all this time. Kaminari checks his pockets frantically, but they’re empty.

“Something’s wrong, Sparky?” Bakugou asks in a daring tone not even sparing him a glance. Kaminari just shakes his head, blurting out one nervous “no!”. It’s too nervous to pretend nothing happened, but Sero is too engrossed in correcting his mistakes and Kirishima looks like he’s fully focused on the textbook but while his body is here, his mind is probably fifty thousand miles away, so only Ashido actually notices.

She’s the next one to try to stea- to borrow something without asking from Blasty. She wants to see if it were Kaminari who messed up or if it’s the case of Bakugou being insanely good at something once again. Honestly, is there anything this guy can’t do? So, she decides to kill two birds with one stone. She has an agenda of stealing clothes from her boys to wear them, but she didn’t try to take Bakugou’s clothes yet. It’s a good opportunity to do so.

She sneaks into his room one day, right after school when barely anyone is back in the dorms yet; the excuse of organizing a movie night later at the tip of her tongue if for some reason Bakugou is already in his room. She’s lucky though, because when she enters his room, it’s empty. She opens his closet, pulls out a black hoodie with some band logo on it — it’s the softest one he has, she knows — and she’s about to put it on and leave, when the doors to Bakugou’s room open and Bakugou himself enters. She hides the hoodie behind her back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bakugou demands, opening the closet and pulling something out of it. Ashido laughs nervously and avoids looking him in the eye. In this brief second she did, she felt like his piercing gaze reached her soul. She starts to babble — how she was looking for him and about the movie night, it would be great if he joined them — while he goes to the bathroom to change from his school uniform. When he opens the bathroom doors, he’s wearing black hoodie with some band logo on it, the softest Bakugou owns.

Wait.

“Wha-” Ashido checks her hands and sees a dark red jacket she’s not sure she’s ever seen before.

“I’m not gonna be an easy target like Shitty Hair or Tape Face. If you want to have my hoodie, you have to put some fucking effort into it. Now get the fuck out of my room.”

Ashido leaves.

Kirishima and Sero know because Ashido barged into Kaminari’s room, when they were playing video games together. She tells them everything. Kirishima isn’t exactly surprised, his bro is amazing after all.

Kaminari decides they should test it. See if there is something they can steal from Bakugou and have him not notice it. Ashido agrees eagerly. Sero shrugs, says he will help if he can, but mostly will be there as a witness. And a reporter, kind of, with his phone always ready to snap a photo or record a video. Kirishima isn’t sure if it’s a good idea — mostly because stealing isn’t manly — but the rest convince him, arguing that they don’t actually want to steal anything from Bakugou, just tease him, mess with him a little- The point is they don’t have any malicious intent, just want to have some harmless fun and judging from Bakugou’s reaction when Ashido tried to steal his hoodie, he knows it and already treats it as a challenge. So yeah, Kirishima agrees in the end, sue him.

The problem is, Bakugou is insanely good at it. He notices every time and it’s almost scary — whenever one of them have their hands on something belonging to Bakugou and are ready to present it to the rest of the squad, it turns out he already pickpocketed it back. He’s quick, and subtle, and efficient, and although two of these things are normal for him, Bakugou being subtle is somewhat surreal. They don’t really give up, but they stop focusing on it. They try to gain the element of surprise back, so they have to stop for a while. Lull Bakugou into a false sense of security.

They are kinda taken aback though, when Bakugou uses his skills out of his own initiative instead of as a mean to get his stuff back.

They’re sitting in cafeteria during lunch break, and Kirishima gets a text that makes his face as red as his hair in a matter of a second. It doesn’t go unnoticed by his friends.

“Who are you texting? You’ve got a crush on someone? Did they agree to a date?” Ashido floods him with questions, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Kaminari and Sero join the teasing, so Kirishima blurts out hurriedly:

“No! My mom was cleaning our attic and found a photo album from my childhood. She just sent me an embarrassing photo.” He hopes it will calm them down. He forgets one thing.

“Show me!”

“C’mon dude!”

His friends are a pain in the ass, all of them.

“No way!” he screams and tries to keep his phone out of his friends’ reach. He picks up his bag, hides his phone inside, zips the bag and holds it close, as if it was his most precious possession. It kind of is in this particular moment.

“Please, bro. I swear I won’t laugh.”

Kirishima knows it’s a lie. He refuses, stares down at Ashido and Kaminari and Sero (the traitor. Kirishima didn’t expect anything else from Ashido and Kaminari, but Sero? He trusted him) and refuses to give in to their puppy eyes. It’s tough, he’s gotta admit it. And then…. And then he hears Bakugou’s voice.

“I thought it would be something more scandalous given your reaction, Shitty Hair.”

No. He didn’t.

Except he absolutely did.

Kirishima glances, panicked, at Bakugou holding Kirishima’s phone in his hand.

“It’s not that bad, don’t be a pussy.” Bakugou rolls his eyes and puts Kirishima’s phone on the table - closest to Kirishima but not out of Kaminari’s reach. Kirishima sees this little smirk on Bakugou’s face that Bakugou always wears when they manage to convince him to some shenanigans he won’t admit out loud he enjoyed. Kirishima knows Bakugou will use his skills more often, now.

They created a monster.

Luckily Bakugou doesn’t really use his powers for evil. Well, he doesn’t use it for evil on Sero, just on Kaminari, Ashido and sometimes Kirishima, and for Sero it’s enough actually. The number of times it happened doesn’t mean they know everything about his skills though, Sero discovers one day. It should be obvious in hindsight, but Bakugou has this weird talent where whatever he does, whatever new thing you get to know about him, you’re both surprised and not at all, at the same time.

They’re doing groceries together, and they’re getting back to the dorms already, when a villain attack happens. The villain in question isn’t really strong, luckily, but has some weird teleporting quirk that moves random people to random places. They help the hero who arrived at the scene and once the villain is arrested, the hero asks them to stay here a bit longer and help people who weren’t hit with the teleporting quirk find their friends and family. More specifically help some kids, who can’t find their parents now. More specifically Sero and Bakugou are supposed to babysit the kids until the hero and his sidekicks find the missing parents.

Sero sees Bakugou frown but he doesn’t argue. Sero knows kids aren’t exactly Bakugou’s forte, especially not crying kids, so he tries his best to calm them down quickly. It’s not that easy. Sero sees Bakugou’s hand sparkle with mini-explosions. It doesn’t really calm the kids down either.

Finally, Bakugou snaps and points at a little girl with a witch hat on her head and a dark blue cape with yellow stars on it on her shoulders.

“Will you shut up if I show you a magic trick?”

The girl doesn’t look even a little bit calmer, but she hesitantly nods her head nonetheless, her lips still trembling and tears still streaming down her cheeks. Bakugou’s roar, although scaring some kids more (or, like, again; Sero actually made them stop crying and it’s all for nothing now, thanks Bakugou), brings all the kids’ attention to Bakugou. He kneels on the ground and shows his little audience that his hands are empty, then proceeds to pull a coin out off the witch girl’s ear. He shows the coin to all the kids, rotates it holding it with his index finger and his thumb, then closes his palm into a fist. When he opens his palm once again, there are two coins — between his index and middle finger, and between his middle and ring finger. He closes his palm into a fist one more time, and when he opens it, it’s empty again. The kids gasp.

“Your other hand!” one kid exclaims.

“Clever little shit,” Bakugou grins, “You thought you’re so smart, huh? Well, not this time.” He shows the other hand too; both are equally empty.

“Once more!” one kid demands.

“Once more!” the Clever Little Shit agrees.

“Once more! Once more!” the witch girl starts to chant. Other kids join her.

“Fine,” Bakugou says, then pulls out the coin again. He moves it on his fingers, throws it in the air, then catches it in his fist. Once he opens his palm, there are three coins, all between his fingers, minus his thumb. He closes his fist again and once he opens it, it’s empty once more. He looks at all the kids, then at Sero.

“Yo, Tape Face, check your pocket.”

There’s no way, is there?

Sero swears if there are coins in his pocket, he’ll start Bakugou’s fanclub. He’ll build him a shrine, because apparently Bakugou’s not entirely human.

His pockets are empty. Kids moan with disappointment (and to be honest Sero doesn’t know himself if he’s more disappointed or relieved he doesn’t have to build the shrine after all), but Bakugou’s not deterred.

“Well, then maybe you check under your hat, brat,” he addresses the witch girl. She looks at him with doubt but also with hope and takes her hat off.

A dozen of coins fall to the ground. Kids scream — excited, full of awe. Bakugou gathers all the coins from the ground, closes them in both of his cupped hands and shakes them.

“Blow,” he says to the Clever Little Shit. Clever Little Shit does as he’s told and Bakugou opens his palms. There are candies in his palms, the ones that Hagakure likes and of which they got three packages earlier, because she asked. Kids squeal, gather around Bakugou, each takes one candy and there is just excited chatter, no wails for lost parents anymore. Bakugou shows one more magic trick before the hero and his sidekicks appear with the kids’ parents.

The police takes Sero and Bakugou to leave their testimonies, and they’re finally free to go.

“So. Magic tricks,” Sero starts, once they’re on their way to dorms again.

“Shut up.”

“No, dude, wait! It was so cool! You should do it more often.”

Bakugou only grunts something that sounds like “fuck off, I’ll do what I want”. Sero knows Bakugou’s just abashed, because there wasn’t any of his usual bite. He smiles.

He has to tell the rest of the Bakusquad all about it.

Their class gets to know how skilled Bakugou is when one evening they’re all sitting in the common room and Bakugou wants to go to sleep but his friends want him to stay for a movie night. Or, at least one movie. They all deserve a break after a long week full of surprise quizzes! The rest of the class tries to respectfully convince him too, some tell him to “live a little” but before Iida, as the responsible class prez he is, manages to tell everyone that they should respect Bakugou’s opinion instead of flooding him with silly reasonings, Bakugou pulls out a sheet of paper, writes “all the fucks I give” on it, shows it to the whole class (they’re all quiet now, curious what he’ll do, although half sure he will just explode it), then proceeds to make it disappear in a true illusionist fashion.

Some of their classmates lose their shit, some stare in awe, some in shock. Midoriya smiles this soft smile of his, with stars sparkling in his eyes.

[dangermousie]

Case File Compendium - ch 55

Good God, these are getting longer and longer, I feel like the ghost of Leo Tolstoy, sans the beard, is possessing me.

This was hilarious! And I love that despite last night, HY does not get the balance of power permanently altered. He Yu is so very young. And underneath the madness and the rage and the violence, he still has that remnant insecurity and awkwardness that could go away with age.

If he could use a scalpel as well as he can use his tongue, XQC would be the premiere surgeon of the country. But this was brilliant! God, I love XQC so very much!

I wondered for a minute why XQC does not act more distraught and destroyed and then it occurred to me - he is literally incapable of it. This is the same person who saw mangled bodies of his parents as a kid and moved on, the same one who kept functioning when he thought the sole person he loved, his sister, was dead. And this is the same here. He already doesn’t care if he lives or dies, this won’t change that. He will do with the latest horror the same as he did with the rest of the horrors in his life - shove it in a small room in the back of his mind and padlock it, while smoking three packs in a row. It’s not healthy but it enables him to survive.

YESSSSSS! He Yu was clearly fooling himself when he was all “he is gonna hate me and this is great!” He is distraught at the thought of XQC hating him but what the hell else did you expect?! It’s like a teeny baby step on the long road of remorse and groveling MB is gonna stick him on.

YES!!!! Applause!!!! Regardless of what one thinks XQC did or didn’t do, nothing he could have ever possibly done could justify what He Yu did. Not to mention, he treated He Yu when he was his doctor to the best of his ability. (Whatever one thinks of their post-employment interactions, he was not his doctor any more.)

The other thing, I don’t think XQC is a therapist. He’s a psychiatrist. He was clearly there to monitor HY’s illness back way when but it’s to treat physical manifestations and similar. That is why so many of his interactions come from this place. Sure, he talked about HY reintegrating back into society but it wasn’t part of any specific structured therapy sessions, it was just his personal beliefs/conversations. HY needed a bona fide therapist for proper therapy. But his parents never got HY one because they only cared about him being controlled enough to not cause issues to them, they never cared about his well-being. Hell, they never bothered to get him ANY doctor once XQC left and HY was only 14. Because hey, he controls himself so who cares about mental trauma. They are the worst!

Oh God, I want to cosmically slap HY into next week. “You Honor, I drugged and raped a dude but that’s justified because I never got birthday cake as a kid.” I am imagining that as a defense in a court of law.

Yes, I am being snide and disingenuous and reductionist because He Yu’s issues are obviously way beyond that and are genuine and serious, but I have absolutely zero sympathy for a rapist telling his victim that he is the one actually wronged.

And then he says he wouldn’t tell the truth because HY couldn’t bear it.

And guess what? Last night has proven XQC right on all accounts - yes, XX should stay away from He Yu as should anyone who likes self-preservation. And yes, learning that things were hallucinations was something HY couldn’t bear (yes, it got aggravated by finding out people concealed that, but I don’t think reaction would have been in the realm of good even without that.)

I loved that bit so much and I love that He Yu was sooooo close and then wrecked it himself.

The thing is, I don’t think all of the “XQC didn’t see the strength/validity of He Yu’s feelings” is what it seems. I don’t think it’s because he’s paternalistic or weird or heartless. I think it’s a defense mechanism due to trauma. He refuses to see ANYONE’s feelings - hell, he refused his wife’s! I think once his parents were murdered, he locked his heart to survive and refused to allow anyone or anything is so as not to be hurt again. XX is the only exception and that is because she was grandfathered in, so to speak.

And then HY’s actions actually did manage to make it through to the armor. Only for He Yu’s other actions to slam that door shut and put an extra layer of protection on.

Ummm, there is nothing in these chapters that is convincing me that He Yu shouldn’t be locked up forever and instead should be allowed to be in human society.

In general, I keep wondering how XQC will get past chapter 52-53 stuff and my brain breaks. Despite the vast amounts of noncon in 2ha, it is a much easier case there. CWN of main storyline never truly had to - he kept thinking his flashbacks were not real memories but weird dreams and by the time he realized they weren’t, he learned about the flower shortly after and how none of TXJ’s actions were really his fault in close succession. CWN -.5 also learned that near the end of the 0.5 timeline and that is what allowed him to love even that warped 0.5 version of Mo Ran and to tell him to forgive himself before CWN 0.5 died. And when we look at whatever went on with CWN and zombie Taxian Jun, leaving aside that CWN himself was in part looking for the man he loved and lost and being with this tormented, destroyed, controlled version of him was the most he could have, zombie TXJ was not even a proper person to be held responsible - he was a sliver of a soul, mad and controlled and with memory and personality lacunae the size of Australia. And of course the fact that he is the way he is because he sacrificed himself for CWN hangs over everything. We don’t even need to get into “and CWN loves him” to get why for CWN this is really a non-issue.

Despite a much healthier dynamic, Yuwu is interestingly closer. Because Mo Xi x Gu Mang first time is dubcon at best. But even there, it’s a very old-school romance novel set up of “gentleman overcome by his feelings can’t control himself” (and I am not going to get into the fact that Gu Mang’s life is so devoid of love that it’s matter of fact for him to look past the method of expression and fixate instead of the feelings being shown however dysfunctionally, because it would make me depressed.) But it’s basically, intense and terrible at intractions bear child Mo Xi expressing his love/lust/obsession/admiration/devotion to Gu Mang even if in an insane way and Gu Mang is under no mistake than that is what it is and they are in mutual love with GM having the emotional upper hand in every interaction this included (in fact, when he defects some years later, one of the regrets he feels is that he was always more crucial/paramount to Mo Xi than other way around.)

But CFC - forget 2ha, it’s not even Yuwu set-up! He Yu does what he does explicitly to humiliate and destroy and hurt XQC and makes no bones about it - saying things to humiliate him throughout, acting in such a way etc etc. It’s not even a sex version of the infamous Russian proverb “if he beats you means he loves you,” it’s just rape as an act of revenge and power and degradation. (And yes, as a reader, you are aware that the reason HY glommed onto that specifically is because without getting it at all, he’s been obsessed romantically/sexually with XQC for years so he’s acting out. But there is no way XQC can get anything like that from it and even if he somehow magically could when even HY himself doesn’t get it, expressing interest through humiliating and hurting someone on purpose to hurt and humiliate is a whole other level from something like Yuwu.)

So how?!

[moiraineswife]

Jasnah - The Facade Meta

Today we’re going to discuss the stormlight of my life, your life, your cat’s life: Jasnah Kholin. Topics of discussion include (but will likely not be limited to): the face she wears, the effect her childhood and what we know if it has had on her, madness, her mother, her perceived invincibility, and whatever else strikes me as relevant in the midst of this chaotic clusterfuck of yelling tarted up as character analysis. 

Now. To business:

Let us begin at the beginning (of what we know) and talk about Jasnah’s childhood illness, and what this has done to her in terms of her relationship with her mother, her outlook on life, and her perception of, well, perception…

“It’s your daughter,” Dalinar guessed. “Her lunacy.”

“Jasnah is fine, and recovering. It’s not that.”  (OB, 49, Born Unto Light)

Peppered through Dalinar’s flashbacks in Oathbringer are small hints at the dark side of Jasnah’s childhood. We’ve had hints before that Jasnah’s life has not always been...entirely typical for a princess.

Her existence as a radiant was a hint itself, as it's implied most of them are ‘broken’ in some way.

The others are more obvious: Kaladin’s depression, Shallan’s PTSD, anxiety, and DID, Dalinar’s repressed memories, and alcoholism etc,etc.

With Jasnah, you know it has to be there, but it’s harder to see. To use Shallan’s metaphor, she’s like a cracked vase, but the cracked side has been turned to the wall, so the outside world sees only smooth perfection.

This flashback comment is the most obvious indication at what caused Jasnah to break. A fairly shocking one for a reader as 'Jasnah' and 'lunacy' seem to match as well as chasmfiends and tea parties.

It also provides some rather awful context for this segment a few chapters earlier:

“Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done to her.

“It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.”   (O, 47, So Much Is Lost)

We know, given Shallan’s research into Taln at the behest of the Ghostbloods, that the current treatment for madness involves confining the person in darkness.

It seems like far too much of a coincidence that Jasnah, diagnosed with lunacy, would have memories of screaming herself hoarse in a dark room that could somehow be unconnected to this.

Based on my shoddy maths, she was around 11 or 12 at this point, which is marked by many, especially Navani, as a turning point in her life. There was a profound change in how she acted with those around her following this.

“She wouldn’t let me be a mother to her, Dalinar,” Navani said, staring into the distance. “Do you know that? It was almost like . . . like once Jasnah climbed into adolescence, she no longer needed a mother. I would try to get close to her, and there was this coldness, like even being near me reminded her that she had once been a child. What happened to my little girl, so full of questions?” (WoR, 67, Spit and Bile)

It seems like too much of a coincidence, again, to assume that Jasnah’s childhood illness and her confinement had nothing to do with her reluctance to allow Navani to mother her any more.

Jasnah herself reflects that her imprisonment, for lack of a better word, taught her that people she loved could still hurt her. It seems very likely that this refers to Navani and Gavilar, as they would have allowed this treatment to continue. It’s also likely the reason for the change in their relationship afterwards.

Navani's presence didn't remind her she had been a child; it reminded her of what had been done to her.

Navani’s little girl was branded insane and locked away in a dark room with her parents' consent. This removed her ability to trust in Navani to mother and protect her. She kept her distance, she kept herself aloof and removed from everyone, and that’s something that hasn’t changed over twenty years later.

She takes no wards, an expected thing for a woman of her rank. She's unmarried, well past the age she should be. She has no friends, the closest she has are both "pen pals" she communicates with via spanreed.

Jasnah, of all the characters in Stormlight, is the one least emotionally connected. She clearly loves her family, and is devoted to them...But again it's from a distance.

She works in the shadows with assassins to protect them. She studies the end of the world a world away from everyone she loves.

When we see her in Kharbranth for the first time with Shallan, she’s alone.

The servants she uses seem to belong to the Palaneum. She travels alone, she researches and works and bears her burdens alone.

The sole exception is Ivory and she doesn't really have a choice with him BUT to have him with her.

I am NOT suggesting that Jasnah doesn’t actually care about her family/Shallan - we see repeatedly that she absolutely does.

Poignantly, the first thing Renarin’s visions predict that turns out to be false is the lack of love that Jasnah has - they claim she will choose logic and kill her cousin, but she chooses to save him instead.

It’s clear that Jasnah cares very deeply...but she also deliberately distances herself, both physically and emotionally, from other people.

(continued below)

Jasnah is so independent that it’s almost a flaw. She’s an interesting opposite to Kaladin, in this regard.

Kaladin defines himself so much by those around him, his family, his men, those under his care and protection, that that almost becomes a flaw in him. He destroys himself to protect them, and every failure wrecks him.

Jasnah keeps everyone away. She operates alone, in secret, and she clearly struggles to let people get close to her.

The reasons for this are twofold, I feel.

The first one is assassins: Jasnah has been ‘killed’ by one such assassination attempt, has survived another, who made multiple attempts on her life in the form of Kabsal, and has almost certainly experienced more beyond that.

Her casual expectation that Kabsal is trying to use Shallan to get close to her, likely, though she doesn’t say it, to kill her - which turns out to be true.

She knows firsthand how easy it is for someone with enough money and influence to place spies and assassins into a setting- she does it herself all the time. And it resulted in the death of her father.

In a lot of ways, she’s as paranoid about assassination as Elhokar is - she just expresses it in a far more subtle/rational way. Where Elhokar rants and panics, Jasnah blocks up air vents and rejects rooms in the 90000 foot, lost for centuries, tower with balconies because they're a security flaw.

The second reason for her emotional isolation, I believe, is what caused her initial withdrawal from Navani.

Being believed mad, locked in a dark room, screaming for help and being ignored, and knowing that your parents, the people whom you went to with questions and looked to for safety and protection are at least partially responsible, all at the age of eleven is...fairly damaging.

Jasnah hides the effects of her trauma far better than Kaladin or Shallan. This is probably partially because she’s older and has been dealing with it for longer.

By this point, her trauma reactions (which went, by her own admission, unaddressed by her family after what happened, which is traumatising in itself), have melded in with her personality/are brushed off as simply Jasnah being Jasnah.  

“I know what people say of me. I should hope that I am not as harsh as some say, though a woman could have far worse than a reputation for sternness. It can serve one well.”  (TWoK, 8, Nearer the Flame).

As a matter of fact, we know full well that Jasnah ISN’T as harsh or stern as she’s claimed to be. Shallan repeatedly affirms to Kabsal, and to a reader, that Jasnah is not what she expected - a stern, harsh mistress. She also notes that Jasnah believes herself to be one - likely due to everyone else perceiving her that way.

I think the perception of Jasnah is one that she’s cultivated deliberately - a stern, aloof, even harsh person. Not one anyone would want to be close to. Also not someone anyone would associate with weakness, or needing to be cared for or protected.

More than assassins, I think Jasnah fears people who love her with good intentions, and the ability to assert those good intentions upon her, because it's "for her own good".

When she was a child it led to her imprisonment, something which still triggers traumatic flashbacks over ten years later. She fears having people she loves hurt her. And so she keeps them away, and cultivates for herself a presence that doesn’t need to be cared for, that almost doesn’t need or want to be loved, so that can never happen again.

She rejects, most notably and strongly, her mother, and any implication of a husband. This has led to speculation about her sexuality - maybe she’s gay - though it seems fairly acceptable in Alethkar for a person to be gay (they don’t even have to fill out social reassignment forms!). I

It might be more frowned upon in noble society, due to the expectation of forming political marriages, and while I don’t necessarily doubt it (give me queer Jasnah, Brandon, I beg of you, I’m a starving lesbian and I need this) the only commentary we have from Jasnah on the subject sems to suggest a different, sadder, motive:

Jasnah relaxed visibly. “Yes, well, it did seem a workable solution. I had wondered, however, if you’d be offended.”

“Why on the winds would I be offended?”

“Because of the restriction of freedom implicit in a marriage,” Jasnah said. “And if not that, because the offer was made without consulting you.

[...]

“It doesn’t bother you at all?” Jasnah said. “The idea of being beholden to another, particularly a man?”

“It’s not like I’m being sold into slavery,” Shallan said with a laugh.

“No. I suppose not.” Jasnah shook herself, her poise returning.

(WoR, 1, Santhid).

This is the only time, after an entire book of content in which Jasnah, amongst other things: Soulcasts three men into oblivion, is almost assassinated repeatedly, is betrayed by the first person she’s taken in and trusted in a long time, and is researching the literal end of the world, that Shallan notes Jasnah looking nervous/uncomfortable in discussing anything.

And it’s about marriage.

Jasnah views marriage as being a ‘restriction of freedom’ and finds it distasteful because it encompasses the idea ‘of being beholden to another’.

Anything that even implicitly binds her to another or puts them in her power is something she wants nothing to do with. And, legally, if she were ever to be accused of lunacy again, the two people most likely to have the authority to make a decision on her treatment/send her back to the ardents would be either a parent, or a husband.

The first she’s distanced herself from in pretty much every way since the first event, and the second she’s refused to entertain for years, to the point that high society whispers that she must be gay.

I also think she's uncomfortable because she sees what she did here - setting up a betrothal, which she views as a restriction of freedom - for Shallan, without consulting her, as the same thing that was done to her as a child.

A restriction of freedom for Shallan’s own good. The same justification that was used to imprison her. It's obviously not the same, but Jasnah views marriage as a kind of imprisonment. So in her mind it is.

Jasnah also has huge trust issues. She just covers them with what appears to be personality traits - of being independent, and aloof - but that’s largely just a cover for her own insecurities, and her fear of ever having her freedoms restricted again.

This idea also gives a little bit more of a twist (or dramatic gut punch, thanks Brandon), to her advice to Shallan about perception and power:

“Power is an illusion of perception.”

Shallan frowned.

“Don’t mistake me,” Jasnah continued. “Some kinds of power are real—power to command armies, power to Soulcast. These come into play far less often than you would think. On an individual basis, in most interactions, this thing we call power—authority—exists only as it is perceived.

“You say I have wealth. This is true, but you have also seen that I do not often use it. You say I have authority as the sister of a king. I do. And yet, the men of this ship would treat me exactly the same way if I were a beggar who had convinced them I was the sister to a king. In that case, my authority is not a real thing. It is mere vapors—an illusion. I can create that illusion for them, as can you.”  (WoR, 1, Santhid)

Jasnah is talking here with Shallan about being more confident, assertive, and being able to have people do what you want (Something Navani later notes Jasnah is very good at doing).

But I think Jasnah uses this same idea - the power of perception, as a defence mechanism against her trauma, a way to protect herself.

We dismiss her isolation as aloofness. We dismiss her lack of emotional reaction as a cornerstone of the "strong female character" trope. But I think it's deeper than that. Because Jasnah isn't ACTUALLY like that deep down. It's a perception she works very hard to achieve.

Jasnah uses logic in a similar way to how Shallan uses art and drawing, or how Kaladin uses training with the spear. It’s a distraction, a grounding technique, something she can calm herself with. It’s an anchor and a crutch all at the same time.

Jasnah is logical to a fault, to the point that it makes others see her as a monster lacking empathy. I don’t think, at any point in the last few books, we’ve seen Jasnah genuinely distressed/angry/displaying emotion to the point she’d be considered out of control.

Almost all the other POV characters have had moments of weakness/breakdowns/extremely poignant emotional displays. But not Jasnah. All we ever see from Jasnah is the controlled, cultivated perception that she wants us to see. Something which I think is rooted in her trauma.

Logic is the antithesis of lunacy. Rational thought is the direct counter to madness. If the whole world sees Jasnah as logical, utterly in control of herself, if that is the perception she has everyone believe at all times then she can’t be accused of madness again.

Madness, at least in Jasnah’s mind, is an outburst of excessive, uncontrolled emotion. It is the opposite of logic. It’s acting impulsively, without thought, based purely on emotions. Ivory supports this idea:

“Ivory, you think all humans are unstable.”

“Not you,” he said, lifting his chin. “You are like a spren. You think by facts. You change not on simple whims. You are as you are.”

She gave him a flat stare.

“Mostly,” he added. “Mostly. But it is, Jasnah. Compared to other humans, you are practically a stone!” (O, 39, Notes)

Even Ivory, who has been closer to Jasnah in recent years than anyone we know of in the series so far, characterises her this way.

She rejects this idea, telling Ivory that:

 “You call me logical,” Jasnah whispered. “It’s untrue, as I let my passions rule me as much as many.”  (O, 39, Notes)  I think this is true, she does let her passions rule her, but she doesn’t let anyone, even Ivory, see that from her.

That's deliberate. She deliberately makes herself out to be this logic-driven robot, with no feeling or passion.

To the world, Jasnah Kholin is the consummate scholar, the eternally logical thinker, untouched by empathy or feeling. This is how she wants them to think of her.

We know that it’s not true. We know that Jasnah is driven by emotions - her guilt at feeling like she failed Gavilar, her fear for what’s coming for the world, her love for her family, her true passion for scholarship and knowledge.

This is particularly notable when set against a character who exemplifies the opposite in so many ways: Kaladin.

“Yes. The answer is obvious. We need to find the Heralds.”

Kaladin nodded in agreement.

“Then,” Jasnah added, “we need to kill them.”

“What?” Kaladin demanded. “Woman, are you insane?”

“The Stormfather laid it out,” Jasnah said, unperturbed. “The Heralds made a pact. When they died, their souls traveled to Damnation and trapped the spirits of the Voidbringers, preventing them from returning.”

“Yeah. Then the Heralds were tortured until they broke.”

“The Stormfather said their pact was weakened, but did not say it was destroyed,” Jasnah said. “I suggest that we at least see if one of them is willing to return to Damnation. Perhaps they can still prevent the spirits of the enemy from being reborn. It’s either that, or we completely exterminate the parshmen so that the enemy has no hosts.” She met Kaladin’s eyes. “In the face of such an atrocity, I would consider the sacrifice of one or more Heralds to be a small price.”

“Storms!” Kaladin said, standing up straight. “Have you no sympathy?”

“I have plenty, bridgeman. Fortunately, I temper it with logic.”  (O, 39, Notes)

Ah, the old ‘punt the Heralds back to Damnation to buy us time’ argument. Lovely.

Jasnah and Kaladin are at two different ends of the sympathy-logic spectrum and it was kind of inevitable they’d clash. But I think it makes Jasnah’s assertions more...Stark and shocking, when she pitches them to Kaladin.

What she suggests IS logical. And it’s actually the same sort of logic that led the Heralds themselves to abandon Taln to Damnation in the first place: “better that one man should suffer than ten.”

It’s a cold, harsh, brutal logic, and it’s very typical of how Jasnah likes to present herself when she’s speaking to others.

The killing of the footpads in Kharbranth is another prime example - it’s all cold, dissected logic when she reasons through it with Shallan afterwards. (Though I imagine if we saw Jasnah’s POV of it in the moment, it would be very different than what she presents).

Because what I find most interesting about the Heralds argument is that we get Jasnah, just Jasnah, away from anyone who has to view her performance of perception, reflecting on the situation. And her internal thoughts/her private reactions are very different from those she displays in public.

“These words trouble you,” he said, stepping up to her again and resting his jet-black fingers on the paper. “Why? You have read many troubling things.”

[...]

Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done to her.

It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.

“Have you ever wondered how it would feel to lose your sanity, Ivory?”

Ivory nodded. “I have wondered this. How could I not? Considering what the ancient fathers are.”

“You call me logical,” Jasnah whispered. “It’s untrue, as I let my passions rule me as much as many. In my times of peace, however, my mind has always been the one thing I could rely upon.”

Except once.

She shook her head, picking up the paper again. “I fear losing that, Ivory. It terrifies me. How would it have felt, to be these Heralds? To suffer your mind slowly becoming untrustworthy? Are they too far gone to know? Or are there lucid moments, where they strain and sort through memories … trying frantically to decide which are reliable and which are fabrications…”

She shivered.  (O, 39, Notes).

In an ironic (fuck you Brandon) twist: I think Jasnah knows EXACTLY what she’s suggesting they do to the Heralds. She’s also probably the person in that room who has the most experience with/has contemplated most what they would be condemning them to, and who therefore empathises with them the most.

It’s STRONGLY implied in this passage that Jasnah has experienced some sort of hallucinations in the past. Possibly this is connected to some kind of neurodivergence. I think this more likely than the alternative - that she was seeing into Shadesmar, because I believe that her imprisonment was what caused her to ‘break’ and enabled her to form her spren bond in the first place. But it’s possible. 

Regardless of what’s happened in the past, now, Jasnah’s mind is her sanctuary. If she only ever knows one thing it’s her own mind. She’s a rationalist. She puts her faith in things that she can know intuitively, via logic, like maths - things that exist independently of god, that cannot be doubted. Their truth is tied to their very existence. All that's required to know it is to know her own mind and reason. Losing that is quite literally the worst thing she can think of.

And honestly? Taln’s story probably really fucks with her. Because what he went through is what she went through, too, as a child.

Taln was dismissed as a madman, because no one believed what he said, even though it was true. Truth doesn’t matter; not when it comes to being perceived mad. Nor does being right. Taln was telling the truth. Taln was right. Taln was a goddamn Herald. And they still decided he was mad and locked him away in a dark room, alone, the same way they did to her.

Jasnah knows what that feels like. Jasnah empathises with Taln and the other Heralds more than probably anyone else. But she speaks of condemning these people to that fate, to the greatest hell she can think of, calmly, and rationally. But that’s absolutely not what she really feels/thinks. There is...Such a stark difference, when you really sit and think about it, in the Jasnah that she lets everyone see, and the Jasnah that exists only behind closed doors.

She could see Jasnah’s face, hand against her temple, staring at the pages spread before her. Jasnah’s eyes were haunted, her expression haggard.

This was not the Jasnah that Shallan was accustomed to seeing. The confidence had been overwhelmed by exhaustion, the poise replaced by worry. Jasnah started to write something, but stopped after just a few words. She set down the pen, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. A few dizzy-looking spren, like jets of dust rising into the air, appeared around Jasnah’s head. Exhaustionspren.

Shallan pulled back, suddenly feeling as if she’d intruded upon an intimate moment. Jasnah with her defenses down. (WoR, 6, Terrible Destruction).

The text itself characterises Jasnah’s mask as a defence. A defence against being known, a defence against being seen as anything other than perfectly logical. Having this mask so firmly and so constantly in place is a lot of work. It’s almost a compulsion for her at this point - the refusal to let anyone else in, the strict adherence to logic, regardless of her own feelings or how it makes others see her. Better to be emotionless and in control, utterly, unquestionably sane and rational, than to ever go back to being considered mad.

This, ironically, isn't rational behaviour. It's a trauma response. I'm stating this, the idea that being emotionless/always rational prevents anyone viewing her as insane again (though, again ironically, this is exactly what Kaladin accuses her of being (OUCH)). But I think these are facts in Jasnah's mind? It's her coping mechanism. It's a really bad one. But that's what it is.

As an interesting side note - I think the only time we ever see Jasnah draw emotion spren is when she’s on her own (or assumes she’s on her own, as in this passage, or too exhausted to keep them away entirely - like the single fearspren she draws later in this chapter).

This feels notable because every other character who features in the books, even minor side characters, draws emotion spren of one sort or another at some point in the text.

Jasnah, for all that she’s on screen, draws very little. This may be a function of her ability to tap into Shadesmar, to keep them away, remove any trace of emotion spren from spawning around her. That or she just has such a tight hold on her emotions that she doesn’t draw them.

Either way, I think it’s (another) sign that her behaviour isn’t entirely natural. Spren are everywhere on Roshar, you draw them when you feel a powerful emotion - that’s a natural day-to-day occurrence there.

Unless you’re Jasnah.

Maybe that’s straying a little too far into the realms of what’s reasonable, but I do still think that Jasnah’s output, especially when it contrasts, often very strongly, with her internal feelings, is a coping mechanism/a response to the trauma she endured as a child.

Madness is a fairly strong theme in Stormlight, a few of the characters discuss it/experience it. Syl asks Kaladin fairly directly what it is:

“What is madness?” she asked, sitting with one leg up against her chest, vaporous skirt flickering around her calves and vanishing into mist.

“It’s when men don’t think right,” Kaladin said, glad for the conversation to distract him.

“Men never seem to think right.”

“Madness is worse than normal,” Kaladin said with a smile. “It really just depends on the people around you. How different are you from them? The person that stands out is mad, I guess.” *(TWOK) 

Dalinar’s TWOK arc deals very strongly with madness and the ability to trust your own mind. Taln is, as has been noted, locked away for being mad. Several of the Heralds and the Fused are described as mad after what they've been put through. It's something I expect to be explored further as the series progresses.

Jasnah, I think, is the character who tries so hard never to seem that way. Never to be unhinged, or unbalanced, or affected by what's happened to her. But of course we know that she is.

I think, though, that it’s easy to write off Jasnah's trauma. The other characters all have flaws that are very obvious/things that make them obviously ‘broken’ in terms of their spren bond and the oaths they need to speak.

Kaladin suffers from depression, and from crippling guilt, and taking on too much responsibility. But also with his anger, and his hatred towards those who have wronged him, and how that can push him to blame them/avoid responsibility for what’s happened to him. Basically, his inability to let go or move forwards.

Shallan has the opposite problem, and an inability to look back/face the past. She repressed memories of trauma, and wove lies over them to protect herself, which she had to overcome to progress.

Dalinar had his alcoholism, and prior to that, his ‘addiction’ (which I think is absolutely how it’s written/the parallels are pretty obvious) to The Thrill. He had to accept responsibility, and guilt, and grief, and pain. He had to acknowledge that he had been a bad person, who was not worthy of Evi, but also that he’s capable of change, and improving himself, and becoming a better man.

Their trauma responses are loud, and obvious, and messy. They're aware of them, a reader is aware of them, the other characters are aware of them. "They stand out" if you like.

Jasnah does everything she can to ensure the effects of her trauma never stand out. To the point that other characters fairly consistently characterise Jasnah as perfect/an ideal woman.

I’m NOT saying that the text ACTUALLY presents Jasnah as being perfect/without any flaws (that’s...that’s kinda the point of this entire meta) but the characters gloss over these things/her flaws are perceived as good things?

She’s seen as so aloof, so unflappable, so commanding, and in control. She’s highly intelligent, she’s beautiful, she’s a cunning tactician and politician. Shallan claims that she’s almost always right, which Renarin backs up. Dalinar trusts and respects her, and wants her back at the war camps to aid them. She’s a highly revered scholar, respected, and brilliant. She is, in a way, almost beyond human, let alone being flawed or broken like the rest of them.

Jasnah grimaced at the thought. Shallan was always surprised to see visible emotion from her. Emotion was something relatable, something human—and Shallan’s mental image of Jasnah Kholin was of someone almost divine. (WoR, 1, Santhid).

Shallan reflects that seeing her as divine is a weird way to consider a heretic, and we’re kind of led along into that thread. But it’s also very...Othering?

It’s a “positive” kind of othering: she’s divine/superhuman, that’s great! Only it’s...It’s not? It’s so easy to see Jasnah as beyond human, and that makes us forget what she’s endured, and ignore the walls she’s put up and the profound effect that it’s had on her. And the fact that this is not healthy at all.

It's so unhealthy to be put on a pedestal this way. And it's unhealthy to cultivate a persona that makes the only response to you one that sees you as beyond human/without typical human reactions and emotions?

Shallan can be a bit whimsical and can romanticise/idealise people, but even Navani, another deeply scholarly, rational, and logical thinker, categorises Jasnah in a similar way.

She’s dismissive of the idea that Jasnah can have died. Even when others (like Adolin) start getting worried about the ship’s delay, Navani is sure that Jasnah is fine.

Part of this is, I assume, due to the fact that Jasnah is a radiant and, as the Diagram predicts, they survive when they should have been killed - so Navani has had this idea reinforced with empirical evidence over the years, which is noted in the text.

However, when Shallan first brings her the news of Jasnah’s death she refuses to believe it. Even after Shallan tells Navani she watched Jasnah stabbed through the heart, Navani still refers to her as being ‘unconscious’ (which...is actually correct, in this instance) but that is besides my point: regardless of reason or logic, people presume that Jasnah is beyond such mortal, trivial, human things like death:

‘Though Jasnah had been away for some time, her loss was unexpected. I, like many, assumed her to be immortal.’

If she’s beyond death, she’s certainly beyond something like trauma, or being broken, or damaged.

“You’re still human,” Shallan said, reaching across, putting her hand on Navani’s knee. “We can’t all be emotionless chunks of rock like Jasnah.”

Navani smiled. “She sometimes had the empathy of a corpse, didn’t she?”

“Comes from being too brilliant,” Shallan said. “You grow accustomed to everyone else being something of an idiot, trying to keep up with you.”

[...]

How surreal it was to imagine Jasnah as a child being held by a mother. (Wor, 77, Trust).

More ‘othering’, less positive than the divine, but it clearly categorises Jasnah as something other than human, and in this case, it fixates on her lack of (perceived) emotion.

Jasnah has so defined herself by her lack of emotional response to things that even those closest to her -her ward and her mother - view her as emotionless, like a rock, a corpse, dead. Ivory also says this in a previous quote “you are like spren” / “you are practically a stone.” Jasnah is categorised as strong, invulnerable to emotion, beyond human, something other. 

Though Jasnah, as she herself admits, makes decisions based on emotion.

For all that she says about pursuing the footpads in Kharbranth as purely an act of logic/civic duty, I think you can sense the emotion in that moment.

“Besides, men like those…” There was something in her voice, an edge Shallan had never heard before.

What was done to you? Shallan wondered with horror. And who did it? (TWOK, 36, The Lesson)

Shallan can sense it. This is the point where Jasnah’s mask is at its most strong. She defends, calmly and rationally, what she had done. But I think at this point Shallan, and the reader, gets the sense that when Jasnah is her MOST logical and composed, she’s also her most vulnerable and emotional.

She does the same thing in the scene with Kaldin discussing the fates of the Heralds - yet we actually see later, not just through Shallan, the emotions, and the turmoil, and the direct, traumatic flashbacks Jasnah is experiencing in that moment. All covered up with logic and reason.

I think what Brandon is doing with Jasnah is really clever. Because I think media has conditioned us to accept these cold, aloof characters.

Characters who have become hardened to the world, and numbed by their experiences with violence and trauma. So we accept these things more readily as personality traits/a symptom of modern media.

I think especially with female characters. The "strong female character" who isn't allowed to cry lest she be called hysterical, who can't react to trauma or she's weak, who can't have an outburst of emotion or she's mad.

With Jasnah, I think Brandon is continuing to show how trauma expresses itself differently in different people. And I think, once explored more directly, Jasnah will become a condemnation of the easy acceptance/idealisation of these kinds of traits. What she’s doing is not okay. It’s not healthy. It’s as self-destructive as what Shallan, or Kaladin, or Dalinar was doing, we've just been conditioned to accept and even praise it.

Jasnah has so much pressure piled upon her to be perfect. She’s made an illusion so believable even those closest to her can’t see through it. She comes across as divine, as something other than human, as emotionless, and absolute. She’s become a constant in the world of those around her. She’s a law of nature more than a person - like a spren.

Except she’s not.

She’s human.

And she’s broken.

And she’s suffering a trauma that makes her afraid to be even a little bit human - because then they might think her mad again, and she’ll lose everything, and she can’t handle that.

I’m FASCINATED to see Jasnah’s interactions (if we get any on-screen) with Taln and Ash. It will probably give a big insight into her character, her relation to madness/her past illness, and I think it will bring out an interesting side of her, which I’m curious to see.

But I'm also really interested to see how Brandon explores the idea of the "ideal traumatised woman' and how that's absolutely bullshit and completely unhealthy.

Jasnah is, on the surface, everything men demand from a "strong female character". She's been exposed to trauma but she doesn't "let it define her" (ie she doesn't seemingly react to it at all). She's beautiful, and she's intelligent, she's a (literal) Queen, she's a fighter/skilled warrior, she's never "overly-emotional" - she reacts to trauma exactly as she's "supposed" to - as defined by men, she's the epitome of a stereotypical "strong female character".

Except there are obvious flaws in that ideal. The first one being: she does not exist for men. Fairly obviously. She point blank refuses a husband.

Also: it's been implied, as per this meta, that this is NOT an ideal anyone should aim for. It's actually very unhealthy and self-destructive and I really, REALLY hope that when Brandon finally digs into Jasnah that this is something he explores.

Jasnah is not perfect. She is not unbreakable, and invincible, and beyond emotion. And she shouldn't be. She shouldn't be idealised.

She's a person. A human being. And she should be able to express herself and process her trauma in a healthy way that allows her to heal and grow. She shouldn't be forced into anyone's ideal of who or what she should be.

I'm just...Really really excited for Jasnah's arc and what Brandon can say through her and the harmful tropes regarding women's trauma he can explore and god...can I just have the next six stormlight books now please?

[matthewtkachuk]

feel something pt 7 - jj maybank

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents, abuse

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight)

Words: 3.1k

A/N: dealing with the aftermath of our runaway reader. They say you don’t kiss and tell, but some people just can’t help it. Special s/o to my babe @ohfreyfrey for her help with the end 😇 I heard yall like cliffhangers…

series masterlist

The next day, the potential consequences of your actions set in even further. This isn’t some Romeo and Juliet fairytale, you’re y/n y/l/n, your life was never going to be a fairytale. Plus, that play ended with them dying and you weren’t really into that. Taking a page out of Sarah’s playbook, you start ignoring the larger group, only speaking to Sarah and occasionally Kie. You know you’re avoiding your problems and your feelings for the blond pogue, but the alternative is terrifying.

You’re imagining allowing yourself to completely fall for him and the thought is paralyzing. It’s like handing JJ a loaded gun, showing him exactly where to shoot to kill, and then trusting him not to. You haven’t trusted anyone in a long time. Not since your parents first put their hands on you in anger, not since Jacob Kane touched you inappropriately at a party without your consent, not since Sarah Cameron dropped you without warning. It really scares you, the thought that you were willing to risk that again.

Your parents also scared you. Even if you could get the courage to fall into the unknown without JJ, you couldn’t be open with your relationship. It could never get back to either of your parents, or  there would be hell to pay. You were expected to marry rich and marry well. But the thought of spending the rest of your life with a Rafe Cameron or Topper Thornton or Kelce Smith or Jacob Kane made you physically ill. Your parents tolerated your behaviour thus far (if you could consider daily screaming matches and bruises and marks tolerating), but you knew lowering yourself to date a pogue would be the last straw. You didn’t know what they would do, but you knew it wouldn’t be anything good.

It’s two days before the texts start rolling in.

maybank: hey

maybank: just wanted to see if you were ok

maybank: did i do something wrong?

maybank: please talk to me

maybank: i can’t stop thinking about that kiss

maybank: y/n

You don’t know who gave JJ your number but you’re sure it was probably Sarah, who didn’t know when to let things be. You know the smartest thing to do would be to block him, but every time you go to click the button, you hesitate with your thumb poised over your phone and you can never do it. A part of you, one that’s honestly pretty big likes that he’s thinking of you too. It wonders if he feels the same way you do. You’re not stupid, you can acknowledge that he at least likes you a little, if that kiss was any indication. You had felt alive under his touch, with your lips pressed together. That night you had gotten drunk and stoned in your locked bedroom, trying to chase that high but you were right. Nothing would ever come close.

You’re sitting on your bed, staring at the text messages that you have memorized from the number of times you’ve read them when your door is thrown open. You look up in shock, you had definitely locked that to avoid your parents. Chick is grinning at you brightly, holding up a bobby pin to show she had picked the lock. You don’t really acknowledge her presence, only scooting over on your bed to give her room to sit with you. “Sarah’s really worried about you, you know,” she states, and you just shrug. The two of you sit in an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two, before she snatches your phone out of your grasp. You gasp and attempt to pull it from her hands, but she’s a lot smaller and a lot quicker, jumping off your bed and running towards your en suite, ready to jump in and lock the door if necessary. Understanding your odds, you resign yourself to the fate of your little sister reading your text messages and finally figuring out what’s wrong with you.

She looks up at you and gasps your full name, middle name and all, “JJ Maybank??” she screeches. You shush her quickly, not wanting to open that can of worms with your parents just yet. It’s probably a waste of time, if they’re even home they’re likely nowhere near the bedrooms, but still you want to be cautious. “JJ Maybank is the reason you’ve holed yourself up in your room and avoided everyone for four days?”

“Chick,” is your only response, tilting your head as you look at her, eyes silently begging her to stop.

“What’s the big deal, y/n? So what, you kissed a pogue, haven’t you kissed like a hundred boys?” she asks.

“Don’t slut shame me,” you tell her grumpily, “and I haven’t kissed like a hundred people. It’s just…” you trail off, unable to find the words. Or maybe you can find them, you just don’t feel like sharing with your baby sister that you’ve fallen ass over feet over JJ Maybank.

“Oh my god,” Chick says, as something like realization sparks in her eyes, and she stands up even straighter than before and exclaims, “you’re in love with him!”

“What?!” You look at her in disbelief, that was quite a jump from a kiss to love. Your tongue trips over itself as you quickly protest, “Absolutely not Chicklet, that’s actually insane!”

“Is it?” She asks, hands on her hips looking much older than her thirteen years.

“You can’t be in love with someone you’ve only known a few weeks,” you tell her drily, unimpressed with the conversation. Sure, you’ll admit that you’ve got feelings for the pogue, but love? Chick is crazy, love is crazy. That’s not what’s going on here.

“I mean, technically you’ve known him for years.” She rebuts your point.

You sigh deeply, “Okay fine, then you can’t fall in love with someone you’ve only been interested in for a few weeks.”

“So you admit you’ve been interested in him for a few weeks!” She shouts triumphantly, “Wait until I tell Sarah.”

“Chick,” you warn her, “don’t you dare.”

“Your friends are worried about you y/n! I’m not going to lie to them!” She tells you.

“Sarah and Kie will be fine, if you tell them they’ll just go even crazier than they are,” you tell her.

“They’re not the only ones worried, Sarah said they’re all worried. Especially JJ.” She explains, causing your heart to constrict at the mention of JJ worrying over you.

Brushing over the feeling in your chest, you can’t help but ask, “Even John B?” Chicks face falls a little at that, confirming your suspicion that John B still doesn’t think very highly of you. “Right, well tell Sarah and whoever else cares that I’m fine alright.”

“y/n” she says slowly, and the pity in her tone causes your heart to ache. Huffing dramatically, you slide down and under the covers, throwing your comforter over your head.

“I’m fine Chick,” you tell her, voice muffled. You regulate your breathing as you hear her steps near your bed, before she drops what you assume is your phone on your nightstand and then leaves the room, door clicking softly shut behind her.

While you’re talking with your sister, JJ is on the other side of the island in a house that is a lot smaller and less taken care of but has experienced a lot more love, having a similar conversation with the best friend he considers more of a brother.

“What is your problem? You’ve been moping around for two days like someone ran over your dog or something,” John B confronts JJ who hasn’t moved from his spot in the spare bedroom except to eat and use the washroom. JJ can’t really explain, doesn’t want to really explain. He doesn’t need to hear it from John B again about how you are the worst of the worst kook princesses and just messing with him. JJ knows it isn’t true, not that the two of you have ever spoken about it, but from that moment at Midsummers to now, he’s felt something starting between the two of you. Despite initial misgivings, he was wrong about you. Like, really wrong.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” JJ grumbles. Truthfully, he can’t get you out of his head. He had asked Sarah for your number and then proceed to not only text you, but text you five times while being left on read each time. JJ didn’t text girls, he hit it and quit it and dodged texts like it was his third day job. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was worried about you. Having been on the receiving end of a parent’s fist on more than one occasion, he wasn’t sure if you were even okay.

He thinks of how you pressed against him, the way your chapped lips felt against his, the soft feel of your hands on his jaw. He thinks of the satisfaction of finally having you in his arms, the slight lilt of hope in his chest that maybe he wasn’t alone in how he felt about you. But then he thinks of the way you froze, saw the panic in your eyes, and felt the ache in his chest as you ran from him.

“Something obviously happened between you and the princess.” John B astutely observes.

“Don’t call her that,” JJ snaps, frustrated. It’s not really John B’s fault, but the mention of the word ‘princess’ just reminds him of when you told him to call you by your name. Reminds him of that afternoon together, when you had firmly cemented your place at the forefront of his mind. When his initial attraction (and yes he was very attracted to you) had blossomed into admiration of your confidence on the waves and your kindness when dealing with Chick. When he had poked at you and entered your personal space and flustered you to the point you threatened to send him through the windshield.

John B throws his hands up. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with Rafe’s property,” John B tries again. JJ glares at him, body tensing up with unbridled rage thinking of the possessive way Rafe looks at you.

“She’s not-“ He has to pause to unclench his jaw and his fists, swallowing before continuing “she’s not his property John B.”

“She might as well be, the way she hangs off of him. Or are you blind?” His best friend replies.

JJ shakes his head in frustration, pulls his snapback off his head and wrings it in his grasp, “You don’t know what you’re talking about John B.”

John B gives his best friend his best incredulous look, eyes widening comically and head tilting as his hands move away from his brain to mime an explosion, complete with side effects. “Have you actually gone insane? Like, are you feeling okay dude?” John B reaches for his best friends forehead, to pretend to take his temperature, but JJ slaps his hand away.

“Fuck off,” JJ mutters when he tries to do it again, and that’s when John B realizes things are serious.

“C’mon man, what’s going on?”

“I really like her man,” JJ sighs heavily, “like really like her. I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t like girls. I mean, I do, but not like this man. I can’t stop thinking about her. I worry about her and I wonder if she’s okay. She drives me crazy, but like, in a good way. And then I kissed her, and I think I fucked it up.”

“For the record, I think this is a bad idea and I reserve the right to tell you I told you so when shit blows up,” John B warns, JJ rolls his eyes but nods, indicating for him to continue. “But, I have to ask. Did you tell her any of this or did you just mack on her and hope her wealthy parents bought her the ability to read minds.”

JJ’s silence is telling. He pulls out his phone, unable to stop the small pang of disappointment that you haven’t yet responded to any of his text messages. He can’t help but send another text, texting etiquette or whatever be damned, he’ll text you as many times as it takes for you to reply.

maybank: i just want to make sure you’re okay

seen 2:34 pm

JJ tries to not let the disappointment take root in his chest, recognizing that you need time to deal with what happened, acknowledging the many times he has gone ghost on his own friends, but the insidious feeling takes hold of him anyway. Walking away from John B, he reflects on his best friend’s advice and realizes there’s a lot he needs to tell you.

“C’mon y/n/n, you have to get out of this room,” Sarah tells you. You’ve let her into your house, realizing that you can’t just shut her out completely without her resorting to desperate measures (like enlisting your little sister in her quest for knowledge). It may have been a mistake because she’s spent the last few minutes trying to convince you to go out to a kegger.

“I don’t want to go,” you tell her, despite the fact that your base state of being has been stuck on ‘I could really use a drink’ since that kiss.

“Because you don’t want to see JJ? Because you kissed him?” She asks, sympathetically. You gasp, Sarah has been over for twenty five minutes, and you had assumed her silence on the matter meant Chick hadn’t snitched.

“I can’t believe Chick told you, you can’t trust anyone, not even your own blood,” you said dramatically.

“Chick didn’t tell me, John B did.” Sarah replies, and you’re confused at first, and then you groan.

“Oh my god, I bet he had a lot to say,” you tell her, and she winces a little. You nod to yourself, “Great, that’s great. Is JJ just telling everyone now? Does everyone know?” You can’t help the annoyed look that crosses your face, despite knowing the annoyance is just a deflection.

“Well, I’m sure JJ told Pope, and I may have let it slip to Kie.” You groan audibly, burying your head in your hands. “Listen, y/n, I was sworn to secrecy,” you roll your eyes, knowing Sarah can’t keep a secret to save her life, evidenced by the first half of her statement, “but, JJ told John B that he really likes you.”

You groan louder, “that’s worse!” but your words are muffled by your arms.

“You wanna repeat that in English that the rest of us can understand?” Sarah responds sassily, and you just groan again. She gives you a minute to mull it over before she’s grabbing you by your upper arms and shaking you.

“Hey, get off of me you psycho,” you twist in her grasp, swatting at her hands.

“Tell me what you’re thinking!” she exclaims, still wrestling with you

“I really like him!” You admit. She pauses, grip slackening long enough for you to slide out from underneath her.

“Okay, I’m failing to see the problem here,” she replies sassily, hand moving to her hip.

“Sarah, my parents! Their expectations, The Lecture, it can never happen.”

She nods in understanding, considerably more somber than before, before replying, “fuck them.”

“Sarah, come on you know it’s not that easy,” you protest, but she shakes her head and repeats herself.

“Fuck. Them.”

“Yeah, and then what? I don’t get my trust fund until I turn eighteen next year, and you can bet they’ll take it away from me if I stray away from the perfect daughter before then. And what about Chick? You don’t think that they’ll take it out on Chick if I just up and leave?” It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it, throwing it all away and starting fresh somewhere new. But you didn’t think they would let you go that easily, and you could never leave Chick behind.

“Then we’ll get my dad and Rose to do something,” Sarah continues to protest, but you shake your head.

“Sarah, stop. It’s never going to work, your dad and Rose aren’t going to go against my father.” She sighed in defeat, realizing that you weren’t going to budge. At least not yet.

“Will you please just come to the kegger? Me and Kie can run interference for you.” She pleads, Cameron pout on full display and you roll your eyes before muttering fine. Her excitement makes you smile a little, for the first time in a few days.

You don’t know why you agreed to come. There’s an anxious feeling in your chest as you take in all the moving bodies with red solo cups in their hands. You’re not sure if you’re looking to spot JJ or hoping you don’t spot him at all. Maybe it’s both, you think as you take a small sip of whatever swill is in your own red cup. You don’t know whether you would kiss him again, run away, or maybe both like the last time.

Lost in your thoughts of the blond, Rafe’s hand is on your waist before you even comprehend that he’s appeared at the party. “Heard you’re officially with Maybank now,” his grip is tight, but you’re able to peel his hand from your body.

“I’m not officially with anyone!” You let your many frustrations out on Rafe, without even a hint of guilt. “God Rafe, when are you going to leave me alone? I don’t owe you shit.” You see hurt flash in his eyes, but you frankly don’t care anymore. He is persistent to a fault, and you want to get it through his thick skull for once.

There’s a small crowd around you, mouths gaping, more than one person is on their phone, likely frantically texting everyone your business. You roll your eyes and push past them, dropping your cup on the first surface you find on your way back to your car. You don’t stop to tell Sarah you’re leaving, but you figure she’ll get the memo when she hears about your run in with Rafe, if she hasn’t heard about it already. You’re upset and frustrated, and so supremely grateful that neither your parents nor Chick are home as you stomp up the stairs and throw yourself on your bed. You didn’t need to add Rafe’s gross possessiveness to the inner turmoil running through your head.

It’s a solid twenty minutes of you just staring up at the ceiling before your phone buzzes with a text message. Figuring it’s probably Sarah and you owe her at least a brief explanation, you unlock the phone. But it’s not a message from Sarah. At the bottom of a string of unreplied to messages is a new text:

maybank: i’m outside, we need to talk

Feel something tag list (ily guys sm): @thoughtsofthestars @dreamsndior @duskangxl @agirlwholovescoffee @previouslyforgotten @http-cherries @softtfordrew @gigi-june @httpstarkey @meaganjm @oopsiedoopsie23 @margaritatimebaybee @iamaunicorn4704 @5am-cigarette @kahnacademyforfun @rudths  @llvinlavidaloca @arianabrashierstuff @realistic-breadstick @tattered-masterpiece

Everything tag list (yall are rockstars!!): @velyssaraptor @danicarosaline @copper-boom @x-lulu @prejudic3 @ohfreyfrey @downbytheouterbanks / @gforgenevieve​ @ilovejjmaybank

if you want to be added to either tag list, just shoot me an ask/message/comment love you guys!! shoot me an ask if u wanna talk about this part or literally anything i love you guys thank u for the support

[hockeyforthefirsttime]

Nolan Patrick- Coaches Niece

A/N: this feels like a mess, and probably is, however i hope someone enjoys it originally it started out as a 4+1, but like i said, messy

Word count: 6.1k

TW: some angst, mentions of cheating, arguing

Pairing: Nolan Patrick + Fem reader

You are headed to Philadelphia for college, as well as for staying with your uncle. He is a man of few words, but he always means well. When you land in Philly and he is at the airport to pick you up, you are a little surprised. You suspected that you would have to hail a taxi to get to his place, but he sent you a text saying where he is in the airport. You are a little relieved, when you realize you don’t have to sit in a car next to a stranger for however long.

It is currently 6:37 am, and you haven’t slept a wink on your flight, so you drowsily head for the luggage claim. The other people from your flight are there as well. One of them is a kid in a flyers jersey, number 19 to be precise. He can’t be more than eight years old, but he has been babbling about hockey the entire flight. You know from him that the Philadelphia Flyers have a match coming up during the weekend, so when you walk out a little behind him and his parents, you aren’t surprised that your uncle is looking at them with a distant smile. Until he sees you. The smile, it’s more there as he walks up to you and takes the suitcases from your hands.

“Hey, it’s been a while kiddo. How was the flight?”

He greets as he pats your shoulder, careful to not overstep any boundaries.

“Hey Alain, the flight was okay. Some kid was gnawing half the plane’s ears off with Flyers trivia though, didn’t sleep much.”  

You hum a little teasingly. Knowing the fact that your uncle is actually head coach for the team.

“Better get used to that kiddo.”

He chuckles as you walk to the parking lot together. He opens the trunk of the car and lets you help him put your suitcases as well as your backpack in. You don’t miss the overstuffed hockey bag that lies there as well.

“Now, I know you probably want to go home and get settled or maybe sleep, but I’ve got morning practice with the team, so you’re just gonna have to suffer through it.”

That would explain the hockey bag. You just nod as you unlock your phone and start scrolling through the messages and snaps you’ve missed on the flight.

----

You’re sort of used to being around hockey, but when you enter the Wells Fargo Centre at roughly 8am, you would rather be at home to be honest. The arena is a bit cold and you’re glad you brought a hoodie inside, as well as your beanie. They are both pretty plain; you hope to blend in with the seats.

“Okay, I’m gonna go through the locker room, but you can find a place anywhere near the ice okay?”

“Sure, Al.”

You say as you pull the hood of your hoodie up over your head, and go in the direction he pointed out for you. You’re rounding a corner when you crash into something hard. For a second you’re wondering if you’ve gone even more blind, but soon knock that thought away. The wall is actually a person, and from his dropped bag, you’re guessing that he’s one of the team players.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

He says with his slightly hoarse voice, whilst bending down to pick up his stuff.

“No worries, partly my bad as well.”  

You give the man a tired smile and head for the door that leads to the rink. You take a seat near the penalty box, propping your backpack up in one chair and lay flat out on the other chairs, so that your head is resting on your backpack. You don’t think anything of the run in with the player.

Unbeknown to you, he thinks of you. He just raises the question to his coach, who looks at him with disapproving eyes as he enters the locker room five minutes late.

“It’s my niece, she is going to be staying with me for a while, so you might see more of her around here, Konecny.”

This piques the interest of the single guys on the team. All except one. He doesn’t really care about girls right now, just wanting to make sure he does the best he can on the ice. That is until he sees the figure laying near the penalty box. His heart does a little clench when he sees this girl that is laying there seemingly unbothered by the ruckus the other players are causing.

You’re not exactly unbothered, but you try your best to keep it all under wraps. You don’t NEED any hockey players screwing you over. Not again. But you should have known, rowdy hockey players will always be demanding attention. And without fail you give it to them.

Your eyes are drawn to the players joking around on the ice, doing warm ups and various reps that your uncle keeps yelling out. The session is nearing the end and the players are all chanting for a practice game, and your uncle concedes, saying that nothing prepares you for a game like actually playing a game.

You sit up, deciding that trying to sleep is going to be futile, and decide to watch the training session, just to entertain yourself. You can’t recognize anyone, more specifically the guy you crashed into earlier.

Following the puck with your eyes, you admire the players chasing it, their technique is pretty good and while they aren’t as serious or quick as they usually would be, you can tell they are still as swift. They aren’t wearing numbers for training, but there is one guy that seemingly always comes closer to your side. You don’t take notice of it at first, but after he crashes into the wall separating the ice and the tribunes, you take a closer look. Starting to follow him around the rink, reading his play. It even seems like he has realized this, that he has caught your attention, because he now plays more all over the ice.

Hes tall, and you can see darker tufts of hair peeking out from underneath his helmet. There seems to be only one other player who has noticed his askew skating. They are currently playing on opposing teams and as they come closer to your side of the rink, you recognize one of them as the man you crashed into earlier. He body checks the taller man into the wall, playfully. You can see his lips moving as he chirps something into the ear of the taller man. You don’t hear it though. But you see the little smirk he sends in your direction.

------

You often come to the Flyers games if you can, and today after a series of away losses you really feel like supporting the team and your uncle. They end up winning against the capitals and some of the guys decide to invite you to celebrate with them, as well as to get to know you better. Even though it’s a wednesday you still say yes, as classes start later on thursdays.

You are waiting outside the locker room as first reporters exit, coaching and staff and later team members. Lately you have been texting TK, the guy you crashed into on your first day in Philly. It was actually him who had invited you out to celebrate, so now you were here standing outside the locker room, just waiting for them to emerge.

“Hey Y/N! How are you?” You look up from your phone and see TK and the taller man from the first day. You now know him as Nolan, or Nols, just to annoy him.

“Hey TK, I’m good, congrats on the win!”

You smile up at him, going in for a congratulatory hug. He lifts you up in his strong arms and spins you around once before setting you down. Nolan just looks at you a bit awkwardly, right hand rubbing his neck.

You ride with the two of them to the bar. It’s filled with the two of them recapping the game and the radio on low. You just sit in the backseat smiling at the two boys talking about the stuff they do best, always trying to do better. It’s a stark contrast to your ex. He usually blamed everything on everyone else.

While everyone is piling in the doors to the bar you enter last with Nolan, who has held your door open, and stuck by your side as you walked to the door. TK was quick out though, eager to get drunk in celebration.

“So what did you think of the game Y/N?”

He almost mumbles in that deep dark voice of his.

“It was a pretty good game, everyone played decently well.”

You smile at him as he opens the door to the bar. It is filled to the brim with people in orange, not only team players, but a lot of fans as well. It scares you sometimes, almost being in on the insanity that is hockey.

“What does pretty good mean?”

He wonders out loud.

“Well, you had some mishaps as well as shots and passes that should have worked out, but overall a good game.”

He looks at you curiously.

“You sound just like coach Alain.”

Trying to supress the laughter that threatens to escape you isn’t as successful as you’d like for it to be, but you think you manage to hide the smile on your lips.

“You have a pretty smile.”

Nolan mumbles, and you almost miss it as you walk over to the bar.

“Hmm?”

You question out of reflex. Looking up at the tall man, you expect him to repeat what he said, just for good measure as you almost missed it due to the loud music playing.

“Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

He says, ordering a beer. You just shrug, ordering a cider.

“Put it on my tab.”

He says to the bartender. You smile to yourself, but don’t comment on it.

“Well, I’m gonna go play some pool. You’re welcome to join if you want to, I promised TK a round before he gets too drunk.”

You could swear his face falls just a little bit as you mention his team mate, but you try not to overthink it as you make your way over to the tables where the team has gathered. You notice that Nolan has hung back a little. Not following as closely as he did when you entered.

You arrive at the pool tables just in time for a new game. You and Ghostie decide to play against TK and Carter, hoping to win.

Turns out, Ghostie is absolutely terrible at pool. Which means that against the goalie and the forward, you’re barely keeping up even with how much training in pool you have. It doesn’t help that the chirps go to Ghostie's head. Which makes him, if possible, even worse. Just for funsies you throw in some as well, just to mess with him.

Suddenly half the team starts cheering and TK yells out.

“Heyy Patty, just in time to save the damsel from playing another round with Ghostie.”

“I’m not that terrible.”

Ghostie protests.

“My back is literally breaking from carrying the team. I’m sorry man, but you're going to the bench.”

He hangs his head comically low, and you pat it, as he hands the pool cue over to Nolan. He proceeds to wink at you with that stupid smirk all over his face.

That was the birth of the meanest pool duo the team had seen in a while.

----------

You’re in the middle of a lecture when your phone lights up with a snapchat notification. You have turned vibration and sound off, but your eyes are still drawn to the device. As they have been doing for the last few days. Professor Ericsson has been drawing on about the Hidden Markov Model for ages explaining the same thing over and over, going in circles making things more confusing than it has to be. That’s why you decide to pick up your phone with your sweater covered hands and open the snap.

It’s Nolan, he’s sent a message in the chat.

Hey, want to meet up and play some pool later? Just to make sure were on top of our game next time the team goes out?

You smile a little, looking at the screen.

Sure, but I’m in a lecture now, I’ll text you when I’m out.

You type out the message carefully before hitting send, before flipping the phone upside down so you can’t see the response before you leave class.

Professor Ericsson keeps you five minutes past his time, but luckily it’s the last class of the day and you are amongst the first out the door. Tired of all the talking, you plug your music in and open snapchat as you head towards the library.

- Oh shit, sorry

The message reads and you smile to yourself.

- No worries, out now tho:)

Your coat is off  and you sling your backpack to the floor before sending a second message.

- What bar? when?

The response is almost immediate after. You can’t help the little butterflies in your stomach, but you sure as hell can try to ignore them.

- John’s at 8?

He suggests, and you can’t think of any place or time better, so you agree and start studying the Hidden Markov model, trying to get it as well as the examples. Knowing yourself you set an alarm for seven, just to make sure you remember to meet up with Nolan. You have just gotten into the flow of things when said alarm goes off. That is also when you realise that you haven’t got a ride to the bar.

- Hey Nols, mind picking me up at the university? If you’re passing by.

You vaguely know where Nolan lives and hope he hasn’t left yet.

- Sure, on my way!

It’s an actual snap this time, a short video of him opening and closing his door with the text in the middle of the screen. Snapping a picture of yourself with a thumb up, you deem it as enough of an answer. You pack your backpack again and head for the main entrance. It’s cold out and frost is lying heavy on the ground. You pull your scarf higher up so it covers your nose.

Soon Nolan is pulling up and you get into the car, slinging your backpack into the backseats of the SUV.

“Hey, thanks for picking me up Nols”

You smile as he pulls out out of the campus and onto the road.

“No worries, I was gonna pass by either way.”

He answers, as you take in the inside of the car. It smells of energy drink and shampoo, which is explained by the red bull in his cup holder and his wet hair. He’s wearing jeans and a gray hoodie. You assume the jacket in the back is his.

“Straight from practice I’m guessing?”

You ask, looking over at him.

“Yeah, Alain was tough today. Fair warning, I think he might be in a bad mood when you get home.”

Nolan mumbles the last part, seemingly a little embarrassed. That’s when you remember you’ll have to let your uncle know you might be home late, just so he doesn’t get worried.

“That reminds me, I’ll have to shoot him a message.”

You say as Nolan parks the car. He exits before you, after grabbing his coat from the backseat. You type the message for your uncle and hit send. When you hear your door opening you’re a little surprised to find Nolan grinning down at you leaning lightly on the door.

“C’mon, we don’t have all day.”

He smiles. You exit the car, making sure you have your wallet and hear the door shut as Nolan slams it closed and locks the car. Together you walk into the bar. The bartender gives you a nod as you head for one of the open pool tables.

“Want anything to drink?”

Nolan asks politely as he hangs his coat on the back of a chair.

“I’ll just take a sprite, if you don’t mind.”

He nods and heads off to the counter to order. Meanwhile you grab a cue and line up the balls correctly in the triangle. The table is well used, evident by the green felt that has been worn white in some spots.

“I don’t mind if you drink, you know. Even if I don’t.”

Nolan says as he returns with one glass of coke and one with sprite. He sets the glasses down on the table closest to you.

“Nahh, I don’t like myself when I’m drunk anyway, plus I have classes in the morning.”

Nolan nods his head in an understanding way as he grabs a cue for himself.

“Want to split? Or should I?”

You smile, standing at the opposite side of the table to him.

“I’ll split if you don’t mind.”

He answers and goes to the right side of the table, and lines up his shot. You shake your head before you can even begin to admire him. Instead focusing on the game, seeing as he lands one solid into a pocket and the rest of the balls spread sort of evenly across the green felt. You nod in admiration; he still knows how to play.

“That’s good! Let’s see if you can keep it up.”

Chirping him seems to be the easiest way to carry conversation, without it getting too deep. Because if there is one thing you’ve learned about competitive boys, is that you don’t want to have a full blown conversation in the midst of a game. And the fact that he misses his next shot makes it a little more interesting. It goes back and forth like that for a while, you chirping him, and him chirping you.

You’ve played three games now, and even though it's him in the lead with one point, and you don’t want to lose, time is ticking and you should get home soon.

“Okay, this is not finished, I’m still gonna beat your ass in this game.”

You grumble on your way out to the car. Nolan just smiles at you, shaking his head.

“You know, the car isn’t gonna be cold enough for you to wrap that scarf around your head every time?”

He mumbles close to your ear, making you stop your movements as heat rises to your cheeks. He opens the door to exit the bar for you, and immediately you see a shiver run through his body as the cold winter air slithers in.

“No? But it’s still cold outside though, don’t you think?”

You say lowly as you lead the way back to the car. You’re feeling snug and warm, wrapped up in the gray, knit infinity scarf. Nolan never ceases to surprise you with his manners as he opens the passenger door for you, letting you enter the car first. As he closes the door for you, you lean forward and adjust the AC to low, just to mess with him.  

The entire ride to Alain's apartment is filled with Nolan huffing and pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his knuckles. You guessed right when you thought he was stubborn. He hadn’t even looked at the AC controls, so determined that the car would heat up soon. You are pretty sure he regrets tossing his coat to the backseat again.

He is pulling up on the curb of the apartment complex, and for some reason you don’t feel quite ready to leave, but you know you’ll have to.

“Thanks for tonight, I had a good time.”

You smile, looking at Nolan. A soft, almost shy smile is on his lips.

“Yeah, me too. We’ll have to hang some time later.”

He says, looking directly at you. Maybe hockey boys aren’t as bad as you thought. You pick your backpack from the backseat and open the door, but before you close it completely you turn and look at Nolan with a mischievous look in your eyes.

“And Nols? You should probably turn up the heat on the AC.”

------------

Studying is probably the most tedious fun thing you do. Because, while you love system engineering, it’s a tough major and some of the classes are kicking your ass. So when your phone rings repeatedly you take it as a welcome excuse to take a break. However, you regret it just a little when you see Travis’ face light up the screen.

“Waddup, you complete and utter nuisance?”

You answer him before he has the chance to say something first.

“Wazzup, you nerd.”

He smiles back at you.

“Not nerd, it’s called college degree.”

You shoot back at him, playfully.

“You mean to say that my work isn’t actually work?”

Travis acts hurt, you can see the joking glint in his eyes though.

“Yeah, but I can see that it pays your bills though, so let’s call it a job…. for now.”

He laughs while looking at something in the background, before looking back at you.

“So, what big engineering theme are we working on today?”

Travis asks like he cares. You know he doesn’t though so you don’t bore him with small details.

“The Hidden Markov Model, it has to do with probability and stuff like that.”

You can hear rummaging and someone talking in the background of Travis’ end. He looks up at someone before you hear them speak.

“Who are you talking to?”

You could recognize that deep voice anywhere, even though the crackling of your speaker. Of course Nolan is around.

“Your girlfriend.”

Travis answers with a smirk on his lips. Nolan doesn’t show up in the frame, but from the way Travis gives you a cheeky little side eye, you’re guessing Nolan is giving him a death stare.

“Shut the fuck up Teeks.”

You just chuckle, not thinking it is anything serious.

“I don’t date hockey players anyway.”

It’s meant to be light hearted, really, and you don’t think anything of it as you speak up. But when Travis looks at you, slightly shocked and Nolan does appear on the screen, you suddenly feel a bit judged.

“Wait, really?”

Travis questions, looking at you curiously, you don’t notice the way he side eyes Nolan though.

“Yeah? I don’t get the big deal?”

You are confused to be honest. Why would they care about who you date anyway?

“Well, why won’t you date any hockey players?”

Nolan asks. He is trying to play it cool, you can tell. And you have to wonder, if you have sent the wrong signals.

“‘S just, I dated this Penns player a while ago, turned out that he was too busy for me, or never really cared for all I know. He ended up cheating on me while he was away for some games.”

The feeling of  something gathering in the bottom of your stomach makes you feel sick, you would rather not bring all this back up again. It doesn’t help, when you look back up at the screen and see Nolan with furrowed brows and Travis looking generally uncomfortable.

“It’s stupid, I know. And I shouldn't judge people based on him. Anyhow, how are we feeling about the game tomorrow?”

You try to shift the conversation to something else. Of course you haven’t got that much luck.

“We’re playing the Penns tomorrow, you do know that.. right?”

Nolan utters, and all that goes through your head is FUCKFUCKFUCK. Because how in the everlasting fuck could you forget that they were playing the Penns tomorrow? It’s all Alain has been talking about for the last couple of days.

“I completely forgot that’s who you were playing.”  

The sigh that slips past your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by the two boys.

“Well, I’ll be in the stands cheering for you boys.”

Smiling feels heavy and you can tell they don’t really believe it. The silence between the two boys is confirmation enough. And it lasts for a second, until Nolan breaks it.

“Who was it?”

He inquires. The question itself feels a little prying, but by the way he mumbles it you know it’s not intended to be.

“Does it matter?”

You ask, voice almost cracking, hoping he will budge.

“Yeah it matters, he hurt you.”

And he speaks so clearly, there really isn’t any question about it. And in a moment of weakness and hurt you let it slip.

“Marcus Pettersson, okay. No biggie. I’m gonna go to bed now you should too.”

You add before hanging up.

----------

You barely sleep last night, and the sleep you get gives you nothing at all. The hours spent at university are only manageable because of two cans of red bull. For some reason it makes you think of Nolan, about the smell of red bull in his car alongside the shitty shower gel scent that filled up the space. For some reason, the moment you pop open the can, you think it suited him.

“Wanna come out later?”

Alex from your last class asks you as the two of you exit the lecture hall. Usually you would have said yes, considering Alex is pretty cute and you have been harbouring a crush on them for the last few months. However the excitement you thought you would feel is not there. No, because your first priority tonight is a fucking hockey game.

“Thank you for asking, but I have some other plans I have to follow through with, but maybe some other time?”  

You smile at them as you both head towards the main doors.

“No stress then, I will definitely keep that in mind.”

Alex winks at you before holding open the door. You exit together, but each of you head for opposite directions. While they start to head for their car, you start towards the main entrance, where you hope your Uber is waiting. He is in fact not, so you take the time to plug in the earbuds and turn on some music.

When the correct car pulls up, you greet the driver and let him know you’re ready to go. After ten minutes you’re at the Wells Fargo Centre, and you pay, as well as rate the driver five stars.

Using one of the side entrances you start to make your way towards the rink. You’ve been around enough for people to recognize you, but it still feels weird walking around here and hear greetings all around the place. Even if you’re wearing the hoodie, people seem to know who you are.

“Hey sleepyhead.”

But you don’t expect to hear that voice. Not yet. You have barely closed in on the wardrobes. He isn’t supposed to be here. He is supposed to be on the rink warming up. Shit.

“What do you want, Pettersson.”

You almost snarl as you turn around to look at him. He doesn’t look as mean anymore, and the voice he uses isn’t as arrogant.

“To say hey?”

He questions as you look at him, raising your brows.

“It’s been a while.”

He adds, trying to sound innocent. You don’t buy it for a second.

“It’s been a while for a reason.”

You scowl at him, trying to walk away before this turns into something you don’t want to be involved in.

“Wait! Please.”

Marcus says, making you turn around.

“I married her you know.”

He confesses to you softly. And that’s what breaks you for the day. With the little sleep, last night, and him ripping at your old wounds.

“I fucking know Marcus, and that's the worst part! You told me you didn’t want anything serious, you told me you couldn’t commit like that. And not even a year later you’re married! Okay. I get that, I didn’t have to be the one. But I know I deserve the respect of being broken up with in a proper manner. So truly, I know, and I don’t care about it.”

Angrily you wipe the tears that have dared to slip down your cheeks, and nothing is upsetting you more than the fact that he can still make you cry.

“I just wanted you to know, I hope I haven't ruined you for anyone else.”

He almost whispers, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Don’t think so fucking highly of yourself, I’m for no one to ruin.”

You seethe and walk away for the last time. Some of the players from the home team are still outside the wardrobe, which is placed after the away teams. You can spot Carter and Kevin, even Claude is out here. But while your eyes only glide over them, your eyes stick to Nolan. He looks at you, knowing you just lied through your teeth to Marcus, and you hope to some sort of entity that he doesn’t out you for it. And he doesn’t. Even if he looks like he wants to say something.

You brush past the team, up to the VIP booth that has a bathroom connected to it. You look into the mirror, and see a distraught person looking back. With tears streaked through the concealer you used to cover up the dark circles under your eyes, they now seem more prominent.

Digging into your backpack you find some makeup wipes and clean your face before going to your usual spot in the regular stands. You sit there and wait for the game to begin. And when it does, it’s an intense one.

Your uncle seems to be happy for it, cause the guys are playing impeccably. Their passes are powerful and their skates cut across the ice faster than you’ve seen in a while. First period is pretty even though. Both teams are passing great, but at the end the Flyers pierce thought the Penns' defence by having Travis tackle Marcus and Nolan sending the puck flying into the goal. You jump in excitement as the horn blares across the stadium, although you see the angry way the Flyers are playing.  

Second period is the same, however the Penns seem to be gaining on the Flyers and not before long, Crosby scores on Carter. While the other side of the rink bursts into celebration, you sink down into your seat, next to the Flyers' penalty box.

A few minutes before the second period is over, Travis is sent to the box beside you. He gives you a worried glance, which you meet, but then you spot fans standing up in their seats and start yelling. You’re worried, and that worry is not unfounded, because Nolan has dropped gloves on fucking Marcus Pettersson.

You don’t notice it, but your every action is viewed by Travis. He watches with hesitation as you sink down into your seat, and then with surprise as you get up and put your hands to your mouth just as the first hit from Nolan lands in Marcus’ gut. Marcus folds a little, but manages to aim a hit towards Nolan's head. Never in your entire life have you been more happy for helmets. One referee has come over to them and is trying to get in between. Nolan lands a final hit before they each get pulled to their own team. Nolan gets called for a body check and is sent off the ice for five minutes.

Nolan is currently getting checked out by the physio team, and with his previous head injuries, you have to admit that you’re worried. Not one thought isn’t about him and his head, possibly his fists as well.

Before a sane thought can strike your brain you rush to the checkout room. Travis gives a small smile, before entering the ice again. You fly by all the security with a hidden pass you have kept underneath your shirt, and knock on the door before you think twice. But the second it takes them to open the door makes your head spin. You know what it looks like and you don’t want those rumors for either of your sakes. He probably doesn’t even want you there either.

You’re just about to turn around and leave, when Catherine from the physio team opens the door. She looks equals parts shocked and confused when she sees you.

“Hey, Y/N, he can’t really see anyone right now, as we’re still not finished with his check up.”

“Oh, that's okay.”

Your mind is going in overdrive, hoping he hasn’t heard who’s at the door. You don’t have such luck.

“Hey, it’s okay, let her in.”

His voice seems to calm you down. Something about how smooth his voice is. So you take a careful step into the room. Nolan, thank god, seems to be doing alright. His cheeks are tinted pink and he has a slight smile on his lips. That’s also the moment you realise he is shirtless.

Catherine walks up to him and you have no idea how she keeps her cool.

“Now, just stare straight ahead, please.”

She tells him, and his gray gaze settles on yours. Not wavering for a second, not even when Catherine shines a flashlight into his eyes. After a few seconds she puts down the flashlight.

“You seem to be all good, Patrick.”

She takes the hint, from your twiddling thumbs and Nolan's intense stare.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She says as she closes the door behind her.

“I’m.. Nols, I was so worried about you.”

You decide to say, not knowing if there is a better option. He just pats the spot beside him on the bench, indicating for you to sit next to him.

“You know, I’ve been waiting to do that for quite some time.”

And for a second you feel a little angry with him.

“You’ve been waiting to possibly not be able to play again?”

The question comes out incredulous, and you don’t know how he could risk it like that. He sighs.

“No, I’ve been waiting to knock Pettersson on his ass for a while now. He is, if possible, the the most frustrating defenseman ever.”

He admits out loud. You can’t help but sigh as you know where he is coming from.

“That’s not the only reason though.”

Nolan mumbles, and you can feel his hand next to yours.

“I kind of figured.”

You whisper, letting reality sink in. But, just as you’re about to explain, Alain walks into the room. Things never seem to go in your favour.

“You good to go Nolan?”

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you.

“Yes, sir.”

You feel Nolan automatically straighten his back, ready to get out there again.

“Y/N?”

Your uncle asks confused.

“I’ll just head out Al.”

“I expect an explanation when we get home, miss.”

You nod your head, and a feeling of blood rushing to your cheeks almost overwhelms you as Nolan squeezes your hand discreetly when you get up.

-----

The Flyers end up winning on overtime, with Laughton scoring the second goal. And while all the players go out, you decide you need to talk to your uncle. You’re sitting in his car waiting for him to do his last few rounds, when Nolan shows up outside your window. He is quiet, when he should be riding on a high from winning. However when you open the door and step out into the frigid air, a warm smile makes its way onto his face.

“What are you gonna tell your uncle?”

You ponder the question for a few seconds, unsure of what to answer.

“I don’t really know. How do I tell him that I want to date one of his players?”

And that’s the one and only second you regret saying anything at all. Nolan's face moves from a slight worried smile, to a full blown smirk, confidence rolling off him in waves, and it’s worth all the chirping. Because he finally looks like he should after a win.

“You want to date me?”

You don’t want to smile, but when he wiggles his brows excessively, while getting closer to you, you can’t help it.

“Fuckin’ yes, okay? I’m sorry it took me so long to realize, Nols.”

He chuckles and wraps you up in his arms, and you positively melt right there. His arms around your shoulders and yours around his waist.

“I wanna date you too.”

Nolan mumbles into your ear, his deep voice vibrating through your head.

[vivithefolle]

Vivs, I came across this from a "Ron's a jealous slacker" fan, please use your expertness to contradict this stupid statement. Y do ron stans refuse to accept that he just wanted attention without actually doing any hardwork! Didn't he just desire being a headboy & a quidditch captain? He would have achieved it if he would stop being a self piting, lazy person & actually study or practice to achieve his dreams! he doesn't deserve any sympathy we live in actual world where hardwork matters only.

The funniest thing about this is that they’re actually talking about Harry.

Harry actually never did put in effort to achieve things. Except this once when he mastered the Patronus at 13, we’ll give him that. But Quidditch? Oh he just hops on a broom and woah suddenly he’s flying so well he’s in the Quidditch team and gets a great broom and is totally the bestest and a total fucking Mary Sue! Fighting against Voldemort? Well thank god for Loveus Ex Machina that always saves your ass without ever making you lift a finger ever! And how he defeated Voldemort too? With a spell he learned in second year and he only won that fight because ~surprise~ Voldemort’s wand wasn’t okay with killing Harry for bullshit plot reasons. Amazing. Wonderful. Inspiring. Our hero, everyone, never actually worked for anything a day in his life, ever.

Meanwhile Ron? Actually worked hard to get on the Quidditch team, which was something he dreamed of. Actually moved his ass to learn to fight and didn’t have the luxury of ~lurrrrve~ to excuse him out of fights.  Ron actually did MORE than Harry ever did, but of course, protagonist-centred favouritism paired with mindless Harmonian propaganda won’t let you realize that because it’s just so much easier to imagine yourself as ~the special one :))~.

...

Ron is lazy you say.

Did he really believe he was better than Ron? No, said the small voice defiantly. Was that true? Harry wondered, anxiously probing his own feelings. I’m better at Quidditch, said the voice. But I’m not better at anything else. That was definitely true, Harry thought; he was no better than Ron in lessons. But what about outside lessons? What about those adventures he, Ron, and Hermione had had together since they had started at Hogwarts, often risking much worse than expulsion? Well, Ron and Hermione were with me most of the time, said the voice in Harry’s head. - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 9

Harry must be lazy too then.

Ah, but Harry’s word isn’t enough, since, after all, he does say himself that Hermione is like his sister, yet there’s a bunch of irreducible folks who insist on disregarding their hero’s agency whenever it is convenient for them. Therefore let’s go grab quotes that will settle the matter once and for all:

Ron had taken over responsibility for Buckbeak's appeal. When he wasn't doing his own work, he was poring over enormously thick volumes with names like The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology and Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff Brutality. He was so absorbed, he even forgot to be horrible to Crookshanks. - Prisoner of Azkaban, chapter 15

Doing his own work AND working on something that won’t give him extra credit once Hermione finally swallowed her pride and apologized (for the first and last time in the books). But yeah totally lazy blah blah blah.

“But what have you got your broom for, you haven’t been flying, have you?” Harry asked. “I — well — well, okay, I’ll tell you, but don’t laugh, all right?” Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. “I-I thought I’d try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I’ve got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh.” &#145;“I’m not laughing,” said Harry. Ron blinked. “It’s a brilliant idea! It’d be really cool if you got on the team! I’ve never seen you play Keeper, are you good?” “I’m not bad,” said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Harry’s reaction. “Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays.” “So you’ve been practicing tonight?” “Every evening since Tuesday... just on my own, though, I’ve been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn’t been easy and I don’t know how much use it’ll be.” Ron looked nervous and anxious. “Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven’t stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect.” - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 13

……………. Well damn. Remember how hard Harry had to train to get the Seeker position?

Oh that’s right, I forgot: HE DIDN’T! Because Chosen One Boy-Who-Lived poor orphan protagonist blah blah.

Ron though? Ron WORKED to get his position. Ron practiced, Ron worked out a way to practice alone by enchanting stuff to fly to him. When did Harry do that? Ah yes, he didn’t, because he had Oliver coaching him so he never had to figure out how to train by himself.

Meanwhile Ron was reading two years of Charms notes with his fingers in his ears, his lips moving soundlessly; Seamus was lying flat on his back on the floor, reciting the definition of a Substantive Charm, while Dean checked it against The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5; and Parvati and Lavender, who were practicing basic loco-motion charms, were making their pencil cases race each other around the edge of the table. Dinner was a subdued affair that night. Harry and Ron did not talk much, but ate with gusto, having studied hard all day. Hermione, on the other hand, kept putting down her knife and fork and diving under the table for her bag, from which she would seize a book to check some fact or figure. Ron was just telling her that she ought to eat a decent meal or she would not sleep that night, when her fork slid from her limp fingers and landed with a loud tinkle on her plate. - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 31

Another one for “EW FOOD HOW DARE THESE TEENAGERS EAT, DISGUSTING”, and also oh, surprise, Ron actually worked. Incredible. Can you believe. Isn’t he supposed to be lazy. Woah. I totally and utterly did not expect this at all.

Of course I must bring up something else -

“How many hours d’you think you’re doing a day?” he demanded of Harry and Ron as they queued outside Herbology, a manic gleam in his eyes. “I dunno,” said Ron. “A few...” “More or less than eight?” “Less, I s’pose,” said Ron, looking slightly alarmed. “I’m doing eight,” said Ernie, puffing out his chest. “Eight or nine. &#145;I’m getting an hour in before breakfast every day. Eight’s my average. I can do ten on a good weekend day. I did nine and a half on Monday. Not so good on Tuesday — only seven and a quarter. Then on Wednesday —” - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 31

Okay first off - Ron estimates his study time to be “a few [hours]”. That’s more than I ever did for my own exams and wouldn’t you know it, I passed them.

Second off: THIS CONVERSATION IS CLEARLY MEANT TO BE HUMOROUS AND YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO HAVE THE SAME REACTION AS RON.

As in “holy shit this guy is insane”.

To top it off, here’s also Harry’s reaction in case some people still care about their hero’s agency:

Harry was deeply thankful that Professor Sprout ushered them into greenhouse three at that point, forcing Ernie to abandon his recital.

Harry isn’t impressed. Harry isn’t awed. Harry isn’t filled with sudden godly inspiration to “ditch Ron and join a study group and become the smartestest in the school!!!”

No, Harry doesn’t care for studying and spending hours bending over a book. Harry would like to pass his exams and then never think about them again.

But the only thing Harry felt he was really good at was Quidditch. In the end, he chose the same new subjects as Ron, feeling that if he was lousy at them, at least he’d have someone friendly to help him. - Chamber of Secrets

Harry wouldn’t have expected Ron to help him had Ron never helped him before. So we can extrapolate that not only does Ron does his homework, but he will also take time and effort to help Harry out if need be.

But of course Harry doesn’t need or care for Ron totally absolutely of course yes. (Another one for the “Harry picks Ron over Hermione” guys!!! Canon is on our side, sorry not sorry!)

...

Also, let it be said:

we live in actual world where hardwork matters only

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah.

Look at Kim Kardashian, at Donald Trump, at basically any billionaire. Did they really do any hard work, or did they build their whole career out of exploitation, cheap scandals and their parents’ already-existing fortune?

In our world, Harry would be rich because Mummy and Daddy left him a trust fund, Hermione would have Mummy and Daddy’s money to help her get by until she can find some dead-end job she hates because the job market is shit, and poor Ron would be stuck in poverty because he was poor to begin with and getting out of poverty is much, much harder than getting rich.

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 12

A/N: Thank you all so much for the positive feedback on the last chapter despite very minimal Willy/Aberdeen interaction.  This chapter and the ones coming will definitely make up for it.

December 15th, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was trying to get into the biggest gated house she’d ever seen in her life.  

She’d taken an Uber up to the Bridle Path, the exclusive street in Toronto filled with massive mansions the size of her high school with their own private gates and tennis courts and and pools and indoor pools and indoor basketball courts and bowling alleys and wine cellars and all the other frivolous things rich people could build in their houses.  She bet each one even had a heated driveway so that nobody in the house had to wake up at the crack of dawn to shovel.  The Uber driver had already driven away, not even bothering to wait to see if she got in safely, so she hoped to be let in soon.  

“Name, please?” a loud voice asked through the intercom-or-whatever-it-was system these rich people had for their house.  She bet they probably had cameras too and saw her impatiently waiting outside.  

“Aberdeen Bloom.”

“Abba-what?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Aberdeen Bloom,” she enunciated more clearly.  “Brendan Shanahan’s personal assistant.”  She was starting to get annoyed that she had to attach that caveat for anybody in the hockey world or the rich people world to take her seriously.  

The gate buzzed open, and Aberdeen walked quickly towards the front entrance, about the ring the doorbell before it opened magically for her.  A butler.  A butler opened the door for her and greeted her, offering to take her coat and letting her know she could keep her shoes on.  There were waiters and waitresses carrying around plates of expensive looking hors d’oeuvres and others carrying around flutes of champagne.  There was a giant, giant Christmas tree in the – the foyer?  The reception hall?  What did rich people call these things? – decorated with expensive looking ornaments, ribbons, and what Aberdeen thought had to be Swarovski crystals.  It had to be at least 15 or 20 feet high.  It was a far cry from her family’s Christmas tree, which was decorated with all the homemade ornaments she, Siena, and Camden had made throughout their years in school.  She almost felt like she was in the Eaton Centre.  There were even boxes upon boxes of presents underneath it, all wrapped with the same wrapping paper and with giant nametags.  Jolly Christmas carols were being played through some sort of speaker.  

She couldn’t believe rich people lived like this.  She couldn’t believe she was in a house on the Bridle Path with these rich people.  What had her life become?

“Aberdeen!” she heard her name being called.  She looked to her side to see Brendan approaching her, leaving his wife speaking to whoever they were speaking to for a quick second.  “So nice to see you!  You look lovely as always.”

“Oh, thanks Brendan.”

“Come with me,” he said, guiding her towards the people he was speaking to.  “Aberdeen, I want you to meet Dani Reiss, whose house we’re in.  Dani’s the CEO of Canada Goose.  Dani, this is my executive assistant, Aberdeen Bloom.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Aberdeen,” he said as they shook hands.  Aberdeen was hyperaware of his handshake and the fact that she was shaking hands with yet another billionaire.  She truly, truly couldn’t understand what her life had become.  She wished Siena or Kasha were here to do all the talking.  They were much better at it than she was, she thought.  “How are you enjoying working for the Toronto Maple Leafs?”

Aberdeen chuckled nervously.  She wondered if he really cared, but then remembered that they were having their Christmas party at his house, and he’d gone through all this trouble to keep them entertained, so he probably did.  “Oh, it’s amazing!  A bit hectic at times, but overall it’s been a great experience so far.  Everyone’s just been so great and welcoming – you wouldn’t even know that I didn’t watch hockey before I got the job.”

That led to a chuckle amongst Brendan, Catherine, and Dani.  “I bet a million people would kill for your job,” Dani commented through his laugh.

There it was again.  That thing everybody said to her when they learned what her job was.  She’d heard it for months now, since her first day on the job, and it was becoming abundantly clear with each passing day that it was something many people coveted.  “I know, sir.  I’m very lucky to have it and to work with such an incredible team.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Brendan smile.  Dani was already smiling at her.  “Well Aberdeen, mi casa es su casa!  Feel free to take a wander, grab some drinks, and enjoy the food!”

She thanked them as they left her there, walking towards another group with Leanne Hederson.  Aberdeen walked further into the foyer where the giant Christmas tree was, admiring it for a moment before looking around to see if she could see anybody she recognized.  She knew that, at this point, she could walk up to any member of the team or the administration and join in on their conversation, but the setting was slightly different than what she was used to (at the offices, of course) and it made her a bit nervous.  

“Brendan girl?”

Aberdeen visibly cringed.  She looked to her side to see her absolute favourite person in the whole entire world, Ethan Baker, walking over to her with a drink in his hands.  “Why are you here?”

She rolled her eyes at him.  He did this at every event they attended, as if she wasn’t allowed to be there.  “You constantly forget we work for the same team,” she said.

“Yeah, except one of our jobs is more important than the other,” he quipped.  She felt like punching him right then and there until she remembered this was a Christmas party at a billionaire’s mansion and it was socially frowned upon to start fights at parties.  “I didn’t know assistants were allowed to these things.”

“Peter’s here.”

“Doesn’t that mean you two should be helping the waiters?”

Aberdeen’s jaw dropped.  “What is your problem?” she demanded.  

“Aw, come on, I’m just ribbing you.”

“You know, just because I got the job over you—”

“—Cause you look really hot in those pants, Brendan girl.”

She stopped.  She was shocked at what he’d just said.  It had to be because he was already drunk.  She couldn’t think of another plausible expectation.  She couldn’t believe how hot and cold he was at these sorts of events, remembering what he was like at the Major Donor Gala.  “Besides,” she said through gritted teeth, “being a waiter isn’t something to be frowned upon.  A lot of my friends waited their way through university.”

“And you didn’t be a waitress or hostess?  With the way you look, you would have gotten really good tips.”

She felt like spiders were crawling underneath her skin.  She thought back to that day where she let him get in her head – when he’d called her a piggy for warming up a burrito.  “Are you trying to flirt with me?  Because you’re failing miserably.”

“I’m trying to—”

“Aberdeen!”

She looked to her side to see an excited looking Bee McTavish making a beeline towards her.  Bee somewhat-stared, somewhat-glared at Ethan as she hooked her arm with Aberdeen’s.  “You don’t mind if I steal her, do you?  A bunch of her friends are just over there,” she nodded her head towards a group that included Jason and Jennifer Spezza, Morgan, and John and Aryne Tavares. 

“I’m her friend,” Ethan quipped, smiling.

“I’m sure,” Bee nodded her head, grimacing every so slightly.  “Have a good night,” she dismissed him before tugging on Aberdeen’s arm and leading her in the opposite direction.  “God, that guy is such a skeeze,” she whispered to Aberdeen.

“Yeah.”

“Does he work here?”

“Tech and video playback,” Aberdeen informed her.

“Well, you’re with us now,” Bee smiled as she brought Aberdeen into the fold of the group.  

Aberdeen greeted and hugged everyone before noticing Will at the tail end.  She gave him a quick hug and a – God he smelled impeccable – and a cordial ‘Nice to see you!’ before he settled into his usual William behaviour.  “What do you think?” he asked.

She knew he was waiting for one of her famous retorts.  She took another look at his look: blonde hair, navy blue up top and an actual pair of burnt orange pants.  She wondered if his fashionable status edged on the side of completely insane.  Everything was tailored to perfection, and nothing was wrinkled or anything like that, but she couldn’t get over the orange pants.  “You look like Sailor Venus.”

Everybody burst out into laughter.  Even William smiled from ear to ear.  “Alright alright, very funny Aberdeen.”

“You know I’m right.”

The group talked about their Christmas plans.  This was Aryne and John’s first Christmas with baby Jace, so it was going to be extremely special for them.  Morgan’s parents and brother were flying in from Vancouver to spend time with him and Bee.  It was also Jason and Jennifer’s first Christmas in Toronto with their four girls – even though Jason was from here – so that was another special event that they’d be hosting at their house.  William would probably be Skyping with his family in Sweden, having his own version of a family Christmas.  It was unfortunate that whatever plans the boys had with their families would have to be cut short slightly because they had a game in New Jersey on the 27th, and it was even more unfortunate that because of a game in Minnesota, they’d all be away from their families on New Year’s – Aberdeen included.  It was the first time she would be out of Toronto for New Year’s, and not spending the night with her family or out with her friends.  

Jason and Jennifer ended up giving Aberdeen a tour of the parts of the house they’d already explored, with William following behind them somewhat lazily.  She saw Ethan at one point and could feel him staring at her.  There were a couple of different food stations, and she picked up some sushi and other appetizers on the way around.  The house was expansive, and again, she couldn’t believe rich people lived like this.  She could only imagine what the bedrooms looked like, or the basement, where she was sure there were ridiculous things like a bowling alley, or a 10,000 bottle wine cellar, or a home theatre.  

Dani Reiss ended up calling Jason and Jennifer over, so Aberdeen found herself alone with William.  William seemed to enjoy the situation, as he always did – the smirk on his face revealing all – but when Aberdeen looked past him, she saw Ethan staring at her again, pretending to talk to his colleague who worked in tech and video playback.  She bit her lip nervously.  She knew she couldn’t let him get to her, but he already had once before and it almost cost her the job she had – the one he so desperately wanted.  She couldn’t let him keep doing this to her.  She needed to be strong.  She needed to be—  

“Aberdeen.”

William’s stern voice broke her out of her trance.  “What?”

“Did you hear anything I just said about how nice you look?”

“N—N—Yeah…yeah yeah, thanks,” she said absent-mindedly.  

That wasn’t a normal reaction from her at all whenever he complimented her looks.  Usually it was an eye-roll and a ‘stop it!’.  William discreetly looked over his shoulder to where she was looking.  He saw Ethan look away once he caught him.  He whipped his head back towards her.  “Is he messing with you?” William asked, his voice low.

“What?  No no,” Aberdeen shook her head quickly.  “Don’t worry about it—”

“Aberdeen, if he’s messing with you, I’ll fucking kill him—”

“Will, no,” she stressed.  “Just leave it alone.”

“Is he bothering you?”

“No.”

“What was he saying to you earlier?”

“Nothing,” she said.  There was no way she was going to tell him.  “Just…just stupid stuff.  Work stuff.  It was honestly nothing.”

“You’d tell me, right?” William said.  He’d asked that question before.  She couldn’t discern his tone of voice but by the way he was looking at her she knew he was dead serious and knew there was at least a hint of worry.  “You’d tell me if he said something, right?  If he made you feel uncomfortable?  Because I’ve already tried to talk to Babs about it, and I know he’s gone now but I have no problem speaking to someone on your behalf if you’re too scared to.”

She felt like telling him.  She really did.  But she couldn’t – not now, at the Christmas party, and not ever, because it was something she needed to deal with on her own.  Somehow, at least.  She didn’t know how she was going to deal with it, only that she had to.  So instead, Aberdeen shook her head.  “It’s fine, Will.  Don’t worry.  And yes.  I’d tell you.”

So it was a little white lie.  Who hadn’t told a little white lie in their life?

William visibly relaxed at her words.  He finished his drink and placed it on the tray of a passing server.  “You ready to go outside?”

“Outside?” Aberdeen looked at Will strangely.  “It’s the middle of December.  We’re staying inside, thank you very much.”

“Nooooo no no no no,” he chuckled and shook his head.  He went to grab her hand but then remembered where he was, pulling it back towards his body.  “Come on.  Come with me.  You’re in for the surprise of your life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hey Aberdeen!  Willy!  You coming or what?” Jennifer Spezza called out as she waved them down from the sliding doors leading to the backyard.  “Come on!  It’s time to skate!”

Aberdeen threw William a confused look.  “Skate?”

They made their way towards the door, and when Aberdeen stepped through the threshold, she couldn’t believe what she saw: an entire skating rink – boards and everything – where she presumed Dani’s tennis court was, where some people were already skating.  There were lights, people were laughing, and there was even a whole skate rental helping out.  There were even fucking portable heaters.  Again, she couldn’t believe rich people lived like this.  She couldn’t believe that Dani would offer up his house, hire all the waiting staff, hire the catering staff, buy all those gifts, flood an entire portion of his backyard, and put up a skating rink so he could give the Maple Leafs a Christmas party.  Those closer she walked to the rink with William, Jason, and Jennifer, the more she couldn’t believe it.  

“What size are you, miss?”

“Uh, I’m a seven in regular shoes…” she said, not knowing if that made a difference.  The person turned around to look for skates, and Aberdeen turned towards William.  “I’m…I’m not good at skating at all.”

“You don’t have to be,” he smiled.  “You’ve got a team full of hockey players to help you along, minskatt.”

“No no.  I’m not just, like, saying that to be cute or whatever,” she said.  She needed to make that abundantly clear because she was sure she was going to make a complete ass of herself.  “I’m not good at skating.  I don’t even know how to tie them up properly.”

“Again, you have a whole hockey team at your disposal,” William said with a giggle in his voice.  When the skates were handed over, Jason took them before Aberdeen could.  “You gonna lace her up?” William asked him.

“I’ve got it,” Jason nodded his head.  “Aberdeen, go sit on the bench.  And give me your right foot.”

Aberdeen felt powerless as she did as she was told.  Jason shoved the skate onto her foot and kept it between his legs to tighten them and lace them up.  Jennifer put on her own skates right beside her, and William was on her other side doing the same.  “I feel like one of your children,” Aberdeen joked to them.

Jason smiled.  “You’re practically the same age as Sophia.”

“Am not!” Aberdeen protested.  “Sophia was born in 2010!”

“Yeah, and you’re born in 98.  I’m born in 83.  There’s fifteen years between you and I, but only twelve between you and Sophia,” Jason said.

“It’s practically the same thing!”

“No.  You’re a baby,” Jason chuckled.  “The both of you,” he nodded his head towards William, “are babies.”

Once her skates and helmet were fully on, and tight enough so her ankles weren’t moving so they wouldn’t snap in half, Aberdeen wobbled her way over towards the ice rink.  She looked out onto the ice and saw Bee skating, screaming as she slipped and fell right into Frederik Andersen’s arms.  The both of them laughed heartily as he held on to her like a knight in shining armour would catch his princess.  Morgan called out to them in a joking manner, feigning disgust and annoyance.

“Aberdeen?” she heard William’s soft voice.  Jason and Jennifer were already on the ice.  She hadn’t even seen them get on.  She had taken a while to psych herself up, apparently.  “You okay?”

“I’m just being an idiot,” she shook her head, embarrassed.

“You’re not being an idiot, minskatt.”

“Says the guy who was in skates before he was in shoes with soles,” she tried to joke.  “I work for a hockey team and I don’t even know how to skate well.”

Aberdeen watched as William extended his head.  “Come on,” he said.  “I’ll teach you.”

“Will—”

“Think of it this way,” he began.  “If you fall and crack your head open, you’ll probably suffer memory loss and forget who I am.”

Aberdeen snorted and laughed out loud.  She needed to hand it to William – he knew how to calm her down and diffuse any stress.  “You’re the worst, Will,” she chuckled out.

“I know I am.  Now come on.”

Aberdeen took his hand and stepped onto the ice gingerly.  William pulled her away from the edge of the rink slowly.  “Okay, bend your knees,” he began.  “You can’t skate with tight legs.”

For an almost embarrassingly long time, William taught Aberdeen the basic ins and outs of skating.  He was patient with her as he skated back and forth with her, pushing and pulling her along.  He’d grab her if she tripped, wrapped his arms around her if she almost slipped and fell, and tried to make her laugh as much as possible.  Jason would join in sometimes, holding her other hand as he and William pulled her along.  Jennifer and Bee acted like her own personal cheerleaders.  Eventually, she got the hang of it, able to skate around without having her hands out to balance her and with the ability to turn along the edges.  Morgan skated by and joked she was going to replace William on the line with John.  The smile on her face and giggle in her voice could light up the night sky.

For William, it was the best part of the night by far.

***

Brendan was so happy that everybody was having fun; so happy to see the smiles on people’s faces as they skated around the rink, running into each other like bumper cars and taking group pictures.  He loved seeing the comradery of his team outside the rink – the comradery of his entire organization outside of the offices.  The Christmas party was a huge success, and he couldn’t be happier.  

As he leaned his forearms down against the boards outside the rink, he watched everybody having a good time.  A few of the players skated by to have a quick chat.  Auston came first, then Jason and Freddie Gauthier together.  

“What a great party!” William smiled as he skated up to him, looking out at everyone having fun on the ice.  

Brendan nodded his head.  “We’re lucky Dani invited us and did all this for us.  Much better than some stuffy dinner, I think.”

“Definitely,” William agreed, nodding his head.  

Brendan nodded his head too, following William’s line of sight.  Aberdeen was posing with Bee McTavish, Aryne Tavares, and Courtney Muzzin.  Brendan smiled.  “Be careful, William.”

William’s brows furrowed at his words as he turned to look at him.  “Sir?”

“She can’t do anything with you until she leaves,” Brendan said, standing upright.  “And you can’t do anything with her.”