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the-firebender-girl · 4 years

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The Songbird (Zuko x Reader)

-> Takes place during “The Promise” comic timeline, about a year or two after his coronation and Zuko is 18 years old here.

Fire Lord Zuko is trying his absolute best to make good on all his promises. To his nation... his hopes and dreams of restoring it to what it was before Fire Lord Sozin’s reign. To the rest of the world... in helping them heal the wounds that his ancestors have inflicted on soo many innocents.

No, he doesn’t want any of them to forget or for history to be rewritten. He proudly shouldered the burden from all those heinous crimes against humanity, to serve as a reminder, especially for himself. Of what happened if kings or leaders become arrogant and greedy, if power is unchecked. The kind of leader that to Agni he prayed, he would never turn into.

And everyday he paid the price, even though it’s not even his to begin with, but still it passed down from generation to generation. Like a snowball, growing bigger with each tumble down. It’s taking its toll on him to the point that it’s not even possible to hide how worn out he is. The dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever, sunken cheeks, hollowed eyes. But Zuko would never yield, not until he knows he has righted all the wrongs. But with each day, Uncle Iroh realized he has to step in or else this load that torment him would ended up killing his nephew. Literally.

And he has just the solution in mind.

———————————————————————

“I think we should establish an official court entertainers for this palace.” Uncle Iroh said in between sips of another one of his exotic tea.

Zuko merely looked up briefly from the correspondence that he has in hands, “There are more pressing issues than extravaganza, Uncle.”

“Indeed, indeed. But entertainers would bring life to this dreadful palace, Fire Lord Zuko! Agni knows the staffs and ambassadors need it. With all that’s been going on with the rebellion within this capital, we all deserve some distraction.” Uncle Iroh continued. “There is an unrest brewing in this palace, people are scared for their safety. We need to contain it and what’s more delightful than musics or dances to bring people together?”

Zuko only hummed and shifted his attention back towards the letter. His frown returned as he let out a loud sigh and slumped in his chair.

“Any news that I should be aware of?” Uncle Iroh asked. If Zuko doesn’t want to consider his idea then maybe he should try another approach and let him vent first.

“It’s about the Harmony Restoration Movement... I launched it with the aim of transferring the Fire Nation colonials back here to their true home. But new disputes arose and now we risked war with the Earth Kingdom if we don’t handle this delicately.” Zuko answered. “How am I supposed to deal with both this and the civil war that we already have in hand within the nation, uncle?”

“As I said before, Zuko. Sometimes we need to step back and renew one's assessment. To see the big picture instead of braving the storm without any solid plan in mind. That would be both foolish and futile.” Iroh replied, letting his words sinks into his nephew’s mind.

Zuko squared his shoulders and sit straighter, putting down the letter that he has been holding for hours and look at his uncle. “About that court entertainers idea, is there any candidate that you have in mind?”

Uncle Iroh mentally pat himself in the back and let himself smile now that he got Zuko where he wanted him to be. “There is this band of traveling musicians from North Chung-Ling that I constantly heard about. They said that the mysterious lead singer’s voice is so lovely that it can put whoever’s listening into a trance. I only know that they nicknamed her as ‘The Songbird’ but other than that nothing else, and I for one would like to find out.”

Zuko nod his head a few times, “Then I should find someone who can reach out to them and invite them here.”

———————————————————————

A month after the invitation has been sent out and the palace received the confirmation that this famed band accepted the offer, preparations are made. Not only to welcome and host them for the time being but also for the ball where they will perform before the ambassadors from other nations and all the palace staffs. Turns out Zuko haven’t had the slightest inkling as to how popular they actually are before he made the announcement and suddenly the whole palace is in a frenzy. Everybody wants to go and watch the performance.

And the night that they’ve all waited for is now upon them. Sadly Zuko cannot welcome them himself because he was held up in the meeting so it was only Uncle Iroh who greeted and escorted them. He has heard from the tittle-tattle exchanged between the staffs though that the band consisted of 9 person and they’re all women.

It’s been a while since Zuko got to relax and enjoy the luxury that came with his position. And not many know that their Fire Lord is actually a huge art nerd especially for theater, but music performances has a special place in his heart too. He could only hope that this band lives up to their reputation.

———————————————————————

Zuko sit at his ornate covered throne (minus the wall of fire that usually accompanied every reigning Fire Lord) and he’s embarrassed to admit that he may or may not be shaking from anticipation. Tapping his right foot on the floor to ease some of the tension. Even Uncle Iroh noticed his behavior and looked at him questionably to which Zuko only waved his hand in dismisal.

The Throne Room is crowded with people dressed to the nines in elaborate robes and gowns. But the center of the room remains empty for the musicians before they take their place there any minute now.

Some minutes later the door opened and nine women stepped in. Their colorful dresses so different from what he’s used to seeing amongst his people in their go-to black and red. Their hairstyle elaborate and completed with large hairpiece accessorized with beads, pins, tassels, or fresh flowers.

“Qitou” Zuko thought to himself. That’s why he recognized the style of hair from the time that he spent as a waiter in Jasmine Dragon. The women in the upper ring of Ba Sing Se sported that kind of hairstyle.

He spied them carrying various musical instruments ranging from pipa, guzheng, dizi, and others. Holding it close to their chest as if it’s a baby.

When they reached the center, they wordlessly take their designated position forming a half circle but left an empty space right in the middle of their formation.

Before Zuko could watch any further, the door swung open again and the last of the member entered. It’s her.... The Songbird.

She walks as if she’s floating, the fact that her feet are covered by her trailing dress produced an even more dramatic effect. But it works in her favor, Zuko realized, as all eyes in the room immediately goes to her.

There is something magnetic about her, he could feel it as he drink her in, a tug in his chest. She graced him with a small smile and a bow before she took her position and motioned to the rest of her companions that she’s ready.

Melodies filled the room as the musicians played their instruments expertly, hands moving with little to no effort as if it’s all already imprinted to their muscle memory.

Zuko never thought that it’s possible for her to dazzle him even more than she already did, but that was before she opened her mouth and starts singing that heavenly tune. After that, Zuko knew that he’s a goner.

He clings to the lull of her voice, letting it fill him, resounded in him. He never felt this serene ever since he found out that his mother had left. But The Songbird managed to accomplish the impossible and made him feel alive. Truly live instead of just existing.

It seems like he’s not the only one who she won over. Uncle Iroh’s gapping like a fish, some of the palace staffs eyes are either glazed or filled with tears, and the ambassadors for once are not in each other’s throats.

If he wasn’t convinced earlier on making them this palace’s official entertainers, he sure is now.

———————————————————————

On the next day after the ball he immediately approached one of the members when he saw her in the hall to inform her of his offer so that she can tell it to the others and discuss their decision.

He doesn’t need to wait long for in that same night he just got himself an official court entertainers.

Starting from there he invited them to play at dinners and afternoon tea times. Any excuse that he can get really to see her. Y/N... that’s her name, the girl who has been living in his head rent free ever since she walked into his life.

Sometimes it’s only her that he called for to sing for him as she strums her pipa. Her voice accompanying him while he sorts through correspondence, writing back a reply, or draft up a plan.

Zuko and Y/N grew closer and became friends, they share about their day to each other. All that they’ve been up to before they finally got the time to enjoy each other’s presence.

Spending soo much time with him daily makes Y/N aware of certain things. The most pushing matter is the fact that the Fire Lord is close to burning himself out yet there’s no sign of him stopping anytime soon.

“You know you should get more rest, you look awful.” Y/N said to him that night instead of jumping to another song as she just finished the last one.

“Ouch you’re hurting my feelings, Y/N. Do I really look that bad?” Zuko replied but his manners is all teasing.

“I don’t mean that you look ugly, I don’t think you’re even capable of it. It’s just that you look like you’re about to drop dead anytime, Zuko. It’s killing me to see you this exhausted but I couldn’t do anything to help it.” She murmured, looking at him tenderly, the man she has grown to care for much more than she ought to.

Something in her words served like a lock that turned open the vault of Zuko’s hidden emotions, to the ugly burden that he insisted on bearing alone. He let his guard down and made himself vulnerable in front of her, all his raw emotions on display.

“I have trouble sleeping, because of nightmares mostly, but some nights sleep just doesn’t found me at all.” Zuko confessed, the words pouring out before he could think it through.

The encouragement in her eyes made Zuko go on and he told her all about the things that troubles him so. The rebels inside the capital planning to usurp him, the conflict with the colonies, the impending possible war with the Earth Kingdom, even his own insecurities about his credibilities to rule. He bared it all to her and once he finished, he saw no judgement or pity in her eyes, only understanding.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be you... but you have been so strong, Zuko. And i’m proud of you, I bet so is your uncle, the Avatar, and the rest of your friends. Please stop doubting yourself too much, you’re capable of achieving soo many incredible and revolutionary things. And I want you to know that I believe in you.” Y/N said as she slowly took his hands in hers, running her fingers across his knuckles.

And Zuko felt himself beaming, because for once he truly believes that he is indeed capable and in the end he’ll figure it all out. All thanks to her, his Songbird, if she even wants to be his.

———————————————————————

Zuko and Y/N talked late into the night and she ended up falling asleep right where she sat in a divan across from his bed.

When she woke up sometime later, she saw that it is already 1 in the morning. And she felt like she’s overstaying her welcome by being in his chambers, it wouldn’t be appropriate at all if a servant were to discovers them.

So she stretched her body, hearing some cracks from the stiffness, but then she heard a whimper. It’s coming straight from Zuko’s bed where he’s trashing around and getting himself all tangled up in his silk blanket. At this rate she’s afraid he might accidentally choke himself to death.

Y/N lowers her feet to the rug covered floor and slowly padded her way to his bedside. She went down on her knees and reached out a hand to rub his hair back, hoping that he could feel her touch and that it would call him down from his nightmare.

“Shhh....shhhh” She cooed to him, her heart broke in her chest when she saw how pained he look. “It’s alright, Zuko. I’m here and it’s just a dream.”

Zuko flung himself up, his eyes wide open. Chest heaving frantically and she can see the sweats trailing down the side of his head.

It took him some time before he calmed down and became aware of her. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

Y/N shaked her head, “Don’t worry about that, is it always this bad? the nightmares?” She asked him, her heart fluttering over the fact that he’s aware of her hands holding his yet he doesn’t pull away.

“Yeah... sometimes even worse, this is actually a mild episode compared to the others. Some night I actually woke up screaming.” He said as he lowered his head, avoiding her eyes.

But she softly grasped his chin and tilted his face back up, “Hey now don’t shy away from me, we’re way past that don’t you think?”

“Do you want me to sing you a song? I’ve been working on it for some time, it’s for you actually.” Y/N said.

Zuko stammered over his words, “Y—you wrote me a song?”

“Uh huh, scoot over if it’s a yes.” To which Zuko gladly did and gave her a generous amount of space.

“Sorry if it’s a weird request but can you hold me?” Zuko asked timidly.

Y/N answered with a nod and smile at him as she tugged him close, letting him rest his head on her stomach and draped her hands on his sides. Once she deemed that he’s comfortable enough with the position, she took a huge breath and starts to sing.

Sweetheart, you look a little tired when did you last eat?

Come in and make yourself right at home, stay as long as you need

Zuko’s eyes found hers as he listened to the words that she wrote with him in mind. A weary smile bloomed on his handsome face at the realization that all this time she was paying attention to how he has been doing.

Tell me, is something wrong? if something's wrong, you can count on me

You know I'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat

He gulped, hard. This girl with a golden voice, wrote all this... for him? Agni, this is too much for him to even process. He could barely calm his heart, it’s pounding so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if it actually burst.

Like a force to be reckoned with

A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss

I will love you with every single thing I have

Y/N forced herself to hold his searing gaze, every part of her body feels warm and alive at the way that he’s looking at her. Like he’s truly at awe and he doesn’t deserve any of this. But she continued, pouring her feelings into every single word so that he would understand, could see how wonderful he is in her eyes.

Like a tidal wave, I'll make a mess

Or calm waters, if that serves you best

I will love you without any strings attached

There is a hidden but lingering promise in this song, one that Zuko founds himself debating whether or not he dare tread to. Because he knows that if he took that one step in, he could never go back.

No, I don't want to talk about myself

Tell me where it hurts

I just want to build you up, build you up

'Til you're good as new

And maybe one day I will get around to fixing myself too

Zuko reached out a hand and rub her cheek, marveling in the softness of it under his touch. He felt her breath hitched for just a second but she never faltered.

And what a privilege it is to love

A great honor to hold you up

Zuko let out a chuckle as he heard the word honor, how different he perceived it now from a few years ago.

She reached the final lyric and the song came to an end, for a while they can only look at each other.

“Thank you.... it’s lovely, you’re lovely.” Zuko murmured to her, with a hand still on her cheek.

“I’m glad you like it.” Y/N said, smiling down at him as she relishes in the feeling of his soft strands between her fingers.

“Would you stay here with me, Songbird?” He asked, hope alit in those amber eyes.

“Yes.. yes,” She replied. “Tonight, tomorrow, the day after that... as long as you want me here then I won’t go anywhere.”

Zuko grinned, “Then you’ll be staying here for a long, long time.”

Y/N leaned down and planted a kiss on the crown of his head, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

So they stayed, together in that bed, all tangled up. For the first time in forever, the nightmares didn’t come and Fire Lord Zuko got the best sleep of his life.

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baepsaesbae · 4 years

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Office Hours

Pairing— Kim Namjoon x female reader

Genre— Smut, pwp, college au

Warnings— Inappropriate student/professor relationship, fingering, spanking, oral (male), dirty talk

Word count— ~3k

Summary— You visit your professor’s office hours to seek some help

A/N— Happy Birthday Namjoon! Fun fact: this story was the first time I ever attempted to write smut. Huge thank you to @taemaknae for making this pretty banner for me! Enjoy~

It’s just for the grade. Just for the grade. The words paced back and forth across your mind in the same chaotic motions that your own emotions took on. You made your way up the steps of the history hall, towards Professor Kim’s office. All your nerves were hyper aware of the surrounding and each step was deafening, threatening to pop your eardrums. The nervousness of it all flushed your cheeks with a warm glow that slowly grew into an uncontrollable forest fire.

And then it all climaxed as you stood at the closed door of Professor Kim’s office. Your heart skipped and sputtered and protested, but you vowed to push onward. It was just a meeting with a professor. No biggie, you tried to reassure yourself.

But the little angel on your right shoulder (the one you had always ignored up until now), whispered in your ear about how you got yourself into this predicament. Y/n, the social butterfly and socialite-to-be, was, admittedly, a flirt. Of course, this had always gotten you into predicaments that often left more to be desired, but they always resolved themselves. Besides, if you couldn’t concoct a solution for yourself, your parents always helped out their little. They both came from money so old the corners of the bills were fraying. But this time was different; this time you bit off more than you could chew. This time your parents wouldn’t be there to bail you out.

It all started the same way as always: with you being the ever flamboyant ___ and locking your eyes on the target of your next fling. Professor Kim Namjoon was a young professor, one with the worn down charm of an old bike, and he had just started teaching at your university. His hair was dark and fell in delicate waves, and his face was charmingly disheveled by the cute glasses he always wears. You knew since the first day of class that he would be your newest toy, and what’s more? You were tired of the boys your age.

Now, you were here, three months later, facing the door that led to the mess you created. Just for a grade. Your shaky hand knocked a nervous knock, one that begged the person on the other side to not open the door.

“Come in,” you heard his voice from the other side of the door.

God dammit why did I do this to myself? you thought. Although you had been quite flirty with Professor Kim ever since the semester started, any romantic interactions with him had all been just a fantasy. Well, romantic OR sexual interactions.

You put on your best smile in an attempt of exuding false confidence before opening the door. Once inside the office, you locked eyes with Professor Kim. He was wearing a light blue button up shirt with a cute tie that had a colorful paisley pattern. His black glasses were simple but only added to his charm. You began to wonder who chose the tie, whether it was him or maybe a significant other when your train of thought was interrupted.

“Ah, Miss ___. How are you? I assume you’re here to ask about the final paper? Please, sit down,” Professor Kim flashed you a smile. It was the type of smile that would have women of all ages swooning.

“Ah yes! I uh, have a rough draft that I wanted to review with you. If you have the time. I’m not sure if I’m addressing the prompt properly. I think I had an issue with that on the last essay,” you began to explain.

“Of course we can do that. Office hours are specifically set aside for students anyway. Whether that be for academic purposes or...other things…” his voice suddenly got lower and dropped off before he continued with his usual cadence, “Anywho, let’s take a look at your paper!”

You nodded and tried not to pay any mind to his odd remark. You chalked it up to him just not knowing how to end his sentence. You whipped out a printed rough draft and slid it over to Professor Kim. You found it more beneficial to make revisions on physical paper. You both sat in silence as he began to read your essay.

After what felt like the larger portion of a decade, Professor Kim’s eyes rose from the paper to meet yours, and they were murky with a mixture of amusement and something a bit darker. Your heart skipped as you scanned the dark brown pools for confirmation that what you had read in his eyes was a brewing lust.

“Miss ___, you have a fine craft for writing history papers don’t you?” his lips tugged at the corners into a charming half grin, “Have you written anyone’s papers for them for profit?”

You let out a breathy laugh that betrayed your false confidence, “Um, sir?”

He chuckled, “Just messing with ya. Lighten up, Miss ___.”

Again, you let out a breathy laugh and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, an annoying habit you had picked up when you were nervous (though it was rare anyone ever saw you nervous).

“S-sorry, sir,” you wanted to kick yourself for being such a wuss in front of him. I am ___, and I’m not supposed to lose my nerves!

Before you could collect your feelings, you felt your heart chase up your throat when Professor Kim suddenly leaned in and the distance between you two went from close to very close. You could smell the light musk of his cologne, a lovely scent that folded itself into a strange warmth in your chest. Perhaps it was Aqua di Gio? A man of taste, you noted to yourself.

“You’re quite the social butterfly in lecture, and yet here you are stuttering,” he chuckled, his eyes betrayed nothing except a shadow of lust. You could almost see your own nestled desire in your reflection on his glasses. “Tell me, ___. Why are you really here? Surely, an excellent writer like yourself wouldn’t need my guidance on such an elementary paper?”

As if his direct confrontation wasn’t enough to send you into a frenzy, Namjoon’s hand shot out to tap the tip of your nose teasingly. You felt your lips part, in an unconscious expectation for him to run his fingers along them. He didn’t, but you could hear him chuckle again.

“I’m not quite sure,” you spoke, and as you continued to speak, you felt your confidence- your real confidence- sink back in, “I just thought it would be...entertaining. One for the books?” You even allowed a single eyebrow to make its way up, challenging him.

Professor Kim leaned in even closer, until his lips almost (but not quite) brushed your ear, “Go make sure the door is locked, Miss ___.” His breath was warm, and the musk of his cologne grew stronger, caressing you invitingly, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to reject it.

Slowly, you stood up from your seat to the door before turning the lock with a quick, deliberate movement. Your breath came in quick bursts, your legs pressed together tightly as you made your way back to the desk, and, for the first time since entering his office, your face slowly cracked into a slight, sly smile.

Professor Kim was leaning back in his chair, as if the situation hadn’t taken a turn at all. His calm demeanor put you on edge, especially when he beckoned you over to him with one finger. You arched a brow and smirked at his boldness, but nonetheless made your way to him. Raising the stakes, you plopped into his lap, straddling one of his thighs.

“Did I say sit down, Miss ___?” Professor Kim’s voice was deeper now, and the light aura about him had vanished.

You were taken by surprise and didn’t know how to react. Before you could reply, Professor Kim leaned in to whisper in your ear, “From now on, you'll do as you’re told, understand? Only good girls get rewarded.”

That sent chills down your spine. All the boys that you’ve been with before had tried to put on a dominant act. Some of them were more convincing than others, but none of them were as authentic as this. Your excitement grew and you became cheeky because of it.

“What if I wanna be a bad girl?” you teased, trying to place a kiss on Professor Kim’s neck.

“Then you can get the fuck out of my office,” Professor Kim said abruptly, and pushed you off his lap. Stumbling backwards before running into the desk, you were shocked again. You realized you had never met anyone like Kim Namjoon before, and he wasn’t going to put up with your antics. You were helplessly at his mercy, and you couldn’t be more turned on.

“Turn around and bend over,” Professor Kim commanded with a new edge to his voice. You did as you were told, thanking god that you chose to wear a seemingly innocent dress with red lacy underwear that day. From Namjoon’s angle, you were sure he could see everything. You heard Professor Kim click his tongue as he got up from his chair. He leaned over you and whispered into your ear, “You’re such a naughty thing. You think I don’t notice the skimpy outfits you wear to class? All the innocent little bends you do when you ‘accidentally’ drop something? I think I’m going to have to discipline you to act properly in class. I will not be disrespected in my own classroom, do you understand? Outside of class, however, you can act however you please.”

“Yes Professor Kim. Punish me however you like,” you decided to play along looking back at him with a smile. The smile didn’t last for long, as you felt a hard slap on your ass that stung like hell. You let out a loud gasp.

“I’m not playing around. I’ll be the one calling the shots, Miss ___. You can call me ‘Sir’ from now on, Professor Kim is too long, it’ll be hard to scream it out later,” Professor Kim landed another hard blow on your ass. You let out another whimper. Usually, you love getting your ass slapped, but no one has ever done it like this before. A few seconds pass another slap echoed throughout the room. The pain was starting to mix with pleasure.

“You didn’t answer me, Miss ___. I do not like being ignored,” Professor Kim admonished.

“I’m sorry, sir. Yes sir you will be calling the shots from now on,” you quickly responded. As good as the spanks were starting to feel, you would have preferred a more tender touch.

“Good girl. What do you want me to do now? You want me to touch you?” Professor Kim said with a deep sultry voice. His voice alone had you soaking through your panties. All you could do was whine in response and sway your hips in Namjoon’s direction. Namjoon chuckled at your reaction as he slipped off your panties.

“Already so wet for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet. Is this what you’ve been wanting all semester?” Professor Kim questioned.

“Yes, oh my god yes. Please sir, just touch me already!” you couldn’t help but cry out; you were dying from the anticipation. Without warning, you felt your professor rubbing your clit in circular motions. The sensation was pleasurable but left you wanting more. Moaning, you tried to push your hips closer to Professor Kim.

“Oh you want more? This isn’t good enough?” Professor Kim teased, slipping a finger into you. You gasped at the feeling, as Professor Kim pumped in and out of you slowly. Professor Kim took note at how easily he slipped his finger inside, as you were dripping for him.

“Do you think you can handle two fingers, princess?” Professor Kim asked, keeping his pace agonizingly slow.

“Please! Please I need more,” you begged.

“What a greedy girl,” Professor Kim growled, adding another finger in. His pace quickened at an alarming rate, curling his fingers at just the right spot. With each pump, he hit your sweet spot and soon you was having a hard time keeping quiet. Your whimpers turned into moans that were mixed in with your increasing panting. Namjoon listened to you and took your rapid panting as a signal to go faster.

“Oh my fuck. Oh god. Yes, right there,” you moaned out as you were reaching your climax.

“Do you deserve to cum?” Professor Kim asked without slowing his pace.

“Yes sir PLEASE I’m gonna- ahhhhh,” your body jerked involuntarily as waves of pleasure coursed throughout your entire body. Despite your cries, Professor Kim kept up the same pace, helping you ride out your orgasm. Afterwards, Professor Kim helped you into his chair. You looked up innocently at him before sweetly saying, “I’m ready for round 2, sir.”

Namjoon, who stood over you in his towering stature, allowed his face to betray a grin of delight, and he leaned in, placing a hand on each side of the arm rests. You didn’t even flinch as Namjoon established a dominating stance, but rather you teasingly leaned in and pressed your lips to his neck, just below his jaw.

This motion elicited a soft growl from Namjoon, and he grabbed you by the arms and gently pulled you up from the chair. His face was beginning to lose the structure and reserved nature that it had been carefully maintaining, and his eyes became dark with greed and lust. He loosened his button up from its tucked state in his trousers before beginning to undo the belt.

You caught on quickly with what he was about to do, and you took a kneeling position on the carpet. You looked up at him expectantly with your signature devious smile, and you were surprised at how pleased he was when his eyes narrowed in response.

“Look at you, Miss ___. Keep smiling cos in a few minutes you won’t be,” he threatened, “I’m going to shut that dirty mouth of yours up. God, your lips were meant to do that weren’t they?” He reached down and roughly moved his thumb over your plump, parted lips.

Namjoon finished up undoing his trousers, and he finally said, “Open your mouth, Miss ___.”

You obeyed without a word this time, because for some reason you were so eager to see his face wrinkle in pleasure. There was this burning need to please him that you had never felt in any other lukewarm hookup you had previously. Namjoon gently released his erection, and you were left to admire its length. But before too long, he slipped into your open mouth, and you could feel its warmth and texture. Experience kicked in, and your hands moved expertly over his erection. Your tongue played at his tip, and you watched as his face that was always so charming yet reserved crumpled into one of sheer pleasure.

You couldn’t help but smile as your mouth moved along his cock, and Namjoon responded by growling through quick breaths, “God, your mouth feels so good, princess. Keep going.” His hand became entangled into your locks, and he held your hair up to ease your movements. The ego boost of knowing you had this effect on him was a catalyst for you to speed up.

In response, Professor Kim groaned under his breath, and as your pace picked up, his hips began rhythmically moving along with you, driving his erection deeper into your mouth. Your own heart was racing as you felt him nearing his climax, and your face was warm as you felt the wetness from your mouth spilling onto your chin. You felt Namjoon’s grip on your hair tighten as he began to cum, releasing himself into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, as you continued your motions, his body sending rhythmic waves from his release. Through his heavy breathing Namjoon managed to command you, “Swallow.” Finally, he pulled out of your mouth and leaned over you, giving you several light smacks on your cheeks. His lips found yours, and you felt his kisses all over your chin, neck, and cheeks before traveling back to your lips. In that moment, your desire almost toppled over because there wasn’t enough skin, enough spit, or enough of him.

You giggled under his lips, and closed your eyes from the pleasure of his light smacks again. Namjoon then stood up and fixed himself, as much as he could after receiving such marvelous head, and then addressed you again, in a more collected voice, “What do you say, Miss ___?”

“Thank you for cumming in my mouth, sir,” you responded promptly.

He arched an eyebrow, “Getting cheeky are we? If it weren’t for the end of my office hours I would’ve fucked you so hard it would knock that smile of yours off your pretty face.”

You pouted playfully, but there was a sense of urgency as you realized this might be all you would be getting from him, “Are you sure you can’t extend your hours?”

Namjoon smiled amusedly, his face carefully composed again. You knew then that he had the upper hand, and even though you were always used to being the flirt, the girl with men wrapped around Tiffany clad fingers, you yielded control to him.

“I believe your essay could use some extra guidance a different day,” he answered pointedly, “Oh, and Miss ___?”

“Yes, sir?” you perked up at his change in tone.

He tossed you a handkerchief from his trousers, “Clean up a little. We wouldn’t want our little secret out and about would we?”

#bts smut #kim namjoon smut #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #namjoon pwp #kpop fanfic #namjoon x reader #bayanihanboost #bts fanfic

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hslllot · 3 years

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Part I. Draft Day

fic masterlist | rated: m, mature | word count: 4.6k content/warning: hockey harry, nosey family members, a very brief mention of anxiety, overzealous hockey stans.

DRAFT REPORT: The 411 on Harry Styles by John Michaelson for Sportsnet

There’s this kid named Harry Styles. He plays hockey. Ever heard of him?

At this point there’s not much else to be said about the british Fighting Hawks’ centre, a lock to be the No.1 pick in the 2015 NHL Draft.

Dubbed a generational talent, Styles’ abilities are at a level typically only seen in video games. We all know the Edmonton Oilers will select him with the first overall pick on June 26. In years to come, hockey fans from around the globe (but especially Oilers fans) will be on the edge of their seats, watching to see if the phenom can develop into a future Hockey Hall of Fame talent the way Wayne Gretzky and Mario Lemieux did.

Here’s what you need to know about Harry Styles:

Age on June 26: 19 Birthplace: Redditch, Worcestershire, England Current team: University of North Dakota Fighting Hawks Position: Centre Shoots: Left Height: 6-foot Weight: 190 lbs NHL Central Scouting Rank (North American): 1st

Harry Styles is a franchise-changing player in every sense of the word. He looked like a pro player even before he flew across the pond at a young age to play in the Canadian Hockey League. This has been a long time coming but the future is finally here.

He is talented beyond his years and always has been… Styles has played against older competition his entire career. Growing up in the small village of Holmes Chapel in Cheshire, England, the options for minor hockey teams were limited. Styles struggled to find a team in his age group that matched his talent level and was forced to play with older kids - and even then his talent was unmatched. Like the two other players from the UK currently playing in the NHL, Styles eventually had to leave home and play junior hockey in Canada, where he still had to play up a year against Canadian kids that grew up in a country that eats, sleeps, and breathes the game.

He should have been drafted 1st overall last year… Styles shocked the hockey world in 2013 when, instead of declaring for the 2014 NHL Draft, he announced he would be attending the University of North Dakota and lead the Fighting Hawks to an NCAA Championship. Styles, ever the media-trained athlete, dodged questions about why he chose to go to university for a year before joining the NHL, simply stating “University was always a part of the plan, no matter what happened with hockey.” The hockey community let out a collective sigh of relief when his agent, Jeffrey Azoff (whose father was, coincidentally, Wayne Gretzky’s agent), announced shortly after his championship win that after one year at UND, Styles would be declaring for the 2015 Draft.

His trophy case is full... Harry Styles has won pretty much every individual hockey award he could possibly win in his career so far. During his CHL career with the Vancouver Giants he won Rookie of the Year, multiple MVP awards, the award for most goals, assists, and overall points, and scholastic player of the year. During his short-lived NCAA career with UND, he won Rookie of the Year, the Hobey Baker Award as the top men’s hockey player, and was named to the Academic All-American team. Unfortunately, Great Britain’s ice hockey team will not be qualifying for the Olympics or the World Championships any time soon, so unless Styles applies for Canadian citizenship, international trophies and medals will be difficult to come by. Regardless, I have a feeling that there will be many Stanley Cups in his future.

He really hates underperforming… The kid puts a lot of pressure on himself. As we have seen with many successful athletes, an insatiable inner drive to compete can lead to greatness. Styles has that drive to be great and can be his own worst critic. “When I was growing up, my mum was worried about me because I was a bit of a perfectionist.” Styles told The Hockey News back in December. “When I had a bad game, I would get so upset about it. It’s just how I am and how I think every athlete should be. Good is never enough. It’s important to always keep learning and growing to better yourself.”

He is excited to play for the Oilers… Not that he would have anything bad to say about any of the 30 NHL teams, but the Oilers do hold a special place in Styles’ heart. “It’s a great hockey town with fans that are super passionate about the game.” He told The Hockey News. “They’ve been on a bit of a slide the last couple years but the team has a great history. Not many people watch the NHL where I’m from, but my dad was always interested in it and that’s how I got into the game. He was an Oilers fan during their dynasty years with Gretzky and Messier… So if they do end up drafting me first overall, I’ll feel honored to be a part of the team, and it’ll be a nice tribute to my dad.”

Be sure to catch our live 2015 NHL Draft coverage on June 26 starting at 5pm EST/2pm PT only on Sportsnet.

“With the first overall pick in the 2015 NHL Entry Draft the Edmonton Oilers are proud to select, from Holmes Chapel in England, Harry Styles.”

The room erupted in loud cheers and applause as the Edmonton Oilers drafted the National Hockey League’s newest and most sought after commodity.

Y/N’s closest friends and extended family roamed around her parents’ living room, congratulating one another with hugs and handshakes like one of their own family members was just drafted. That wasn’t the case though, they were all just deeply invested in the hockey team and the boy from England that was meant to turn things around after so many years of losing. They were so invested, in fact, that the family organized a gathering similar to something you might see on a holiday, like Thanksgiving or Christmas.

While it was not a normal holiday, for Y/N’s family it was just as significant. It was Draft Day. And every hockey fan in North America wanted Harry Styles to play for their team.

“That’s quite the suit, isn’t it?” Her uncle Will pointed to the television where the young man is dressed in an ornate red floral suit and black dress shirt. The suit was flashier than what most hockey players would wear, but it’s clear that Harry Styles is not like most hockey players. The camera panned to him as he stood up from his seat and hugged the two brunette women sitting next to him. He stuck out like a sore thumb among a sea of other young hockey players all dressed in variations of black and grey as they patiently waited to be drafted from the stands of the BB&T Centre in Florida. It was clear to Y/N that, much like his hockey skills, Harry Styles’ fashion sense was superior compared to his peers.

There was an air of excitement in the room as the draft party, all clad in blue and orange jerseys, watched the generational talent walk down the stairs of the arena and make his way to the stage. They collectively held their breath, the room becoming silent, when he arrived at the stage where both the owner and general manager of the team were waiting to greet him. Harry shook their hands before they handed him his own blue and orange jersey. As he slipped the jersey over his head and posed for a photograph with the executives, the silence in the room broke and excited conversations and speculations for the upcoming season continued. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a stir in her belly and a sense of anticipation for what the upcoming hockey season would bring.

Her thoughts lingered on the man on the screen, wondering what it might be like to meet him, when her brother pulled her out of her reverie. “Can you believe you’ll be working with the Harry Styles?”

No - she couldn’t quite believe it.

In fact, everything happening in her life right now seemed a bit too good to be true.

Set to start her third year of university in September and having to complete mandatory practicum hours in order to graduate the following year, she somehow managed to secure a placement with her favourite hockey team. The Oilers were only taking three students from the university program and everyone in the program wanted one of those spots.

The application process was incredibly stressful for Y/N. One telephone interview, one in-person interview, and a practical session where she had to demonstrate her athletic therapy skills to the team’s head trainer. She did well with the phone interview, given that they weren’t able to see her. She was able to look down at the talking points she wrote in her notebook and pause to take a couple deep breaths without making it obvious that she was reeling on the inside. Her anxiety got the best of her during the in-person interview though, freezing up when they asked simple questions like “why do you want to work for the team?” and “what experience do you have working with sport teams?”

She left the interview feeling embarrassed, but instead of taking the time to wallow and feel sorry for herself, she went home and spent hours upon hours taping her brothers’ ankles in preparation for the practical session the following day. There was no way she was going to let the opportunity fall through the cracks. Her dream of working for the Oilers was the whole reason she decided to go to school for athletic therapy in the first place. She was never any good at playing hockey but she knew in her heart that, someday, she would work for the team she loved so much. At the end of it all, she reckons her taping skills saved her, so she took her brother out to his favourite restaurant to thank him for letting her use his ankles for practice.

Fast forward a few months and she’s now stood in her parents living room thinking about how in three months she could be taping Harry Styles’ ankles.

At the time of her application, no one knew the Oilers would be picking first in the draft. The aura around the team was a bit negative at the time (because of all the losing) and there were rumours circulating the city that some of the star players were rude to the support staff and liked to party a little too hard at The Ranch (which contributed to said losing).

When she first decided to apply for the position her father warned her, “there’s a saying that you should never meet your heroes. What if they’re all a bunch of assholes and you end up hating the team you’ve loved your whole life?”

Y/N ignored her father’s warning but silently hoped that others would feel that way, narrowing down the applicant pool. However, the rumours circulating the team had no effect on the amount of students applying for the job. The fans were loyal in Edmonton (a city not known by many around the world unless you follow hockey or are compelled to visit North America’s largest shopping mall) and although the team was losing, every kid studying athletic therapy wanted a shot with their favourite team. Y/N knew of at least fifteen students that she beat out for the position.

Now, it’s late June and there is a general hype surrounding the team, as if Harry was about to come in and shine a light on the Decade of Darkness (a term Oilers fans use to characterize the recent years in which their favourite team hadn’t made the playoffs). That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person, but Y/N supposed that he’s been dealing with this kind of pressure since he was sixteen, maybe even younger.

Everyone at her family’s draft party was, yet again, watching the television intently while Harry gave his first interview as an official member of the Edmonton Oilers hockey team. While Y/N normally loved watching these types of interviews, she was a bit zoned out- mesmerized by the look of him. The suit, the wavy chestnut hair, the dimple in his left cheek, the accent. The accent. She had never really been that attracted to hockey players, which many people found hard to believe given that she’s such a fan of the sport. All of the guys from her high school who played minor hockey were rotten and thought they were better than everyone else. She did have favourite players in the NHL, players that she loved and admired, but they were her favourites because she loves how they play the game, not because she wants to fuck them.

There was something different about Harry Styles though. Not necessarily that she wanted to fuck him (especially since she recently signed an employment contract that would forbid it), but she was certainly feeling intrigued by him. He doesn’t look like the boys she went to high school with. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s British, or that he opted for a suit that set him apart from the rest of them, or maybe it was the duality of the way he held himself with unshakeable confidence in his floral suit, his gaze set intensely on the person interviewing him, posture strong and dominant, while simultaneously speaking so softly, his words laced with kindness and gratitude.

“When do you start working with the team, Y/N?” Her uncle Will asked from across the room, prompting everyone to look in her direction waiting for her response.

The news that Y/N would be working for the Oilers this season shook the family. As soon as her dad shared the news with his brother, she started receiving messages expressing congratulations from her many aunts, uncles, and cousins, shortly followed by messages asking if she would be getting free tickets to games.

“Um, mid-September, for training camp.”

“You get to meet Harry Styles?” her 9 year old cousin, Billy, asked.

“I do. I will be one of the team’s trainers.” The young boy held a look of wonder on his face, as if realizing for the first time that that his oldest cousin was actually kind of cool.

“Do you think he’s single?” Her aunt Maria asked with a smirk on her face, turning to the television to look at Harry Styles. Aunt Maria doesn’t care much for hockey but she never failed to mention which players she believed to be handsome. She was also the nosey type of aunt that liked to inquire about Y/N’s dating life. “Maybe you two will hit it off.”

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes at her aunt, waving off her comment. But before she could retort, her father chimed in. “Ha! Yea, right! That’s not going to happen. She’s not allowed to date anyone on the team, it’s the rules. Plus, Y/N knows better than to get involved with any of these guys.”

Her father was right. It is the rules. Y/N thought back to when she went into the Oilers headquarters back in April to sign her employment contract. She asked a lot of questions, making sure she understood everything about the document she was signing.

“Personal relationships? Even friendships are forbidden?” she asked the head trainer, TJ, for clarification.

“It depends. You can be friendly, sure, but I would avoid spending time with the players outside of training and game times. Could be seen as unprofessional.”

Y/N understood why such rules were in place, and she had no issue with it at the time. A woman securing a position on a professional sports team was rare, let alone a woman securing a position with a professional men’s team. She knew when she chose this career path that it would always be an uphill battle and that she’d have to work harder and be more strategic than the men in her field. She wanted- no, needed to excel and prove that she could be a talented athletic therapist and a valuable member of the team, so she had no intention whatsoever of messing that up with any type of personal relationships. She also understood the power dynamic between the professional athletes and the support staff, the different ways in which power can be abused, and how personal relationships could complicate things. It all made sense to her. Plus, she was happy enough with just becoming friends with the other trainers and she probably wouldn’t have a lot of free time, anyways, balancing her practicum and her school work.

Today, however, she couldn’t help the very slight pull on her heartstrings at the thought of not getting to know Harry Styles on a more personal level.

As if he’d even be interested in the first place.

In a hotel restaurant in Sunrise, Florida, a few hours after the draft, Harry Styles sat with his mother Anne, sister Gemma, and agent Jeff, celebrating his newly drafted status over a bottle of champagne. He knew he should be feeling elated, like it was the best day of his life, but all he felt was exhausted. The conversation at the table happened around him while he sat in his own head, unable to think about anything but what it might feel like to be tucked into his bed in his childhood bedroom in Holmes Chapel.

The weeks leading up to the draft were an absolute circus filled with interviews and talking to the media nearly every day (he hates talking to the media), shooting promo for all of his endorsements (he’s thankful for the money they give him but he knows he is an excruciatingly terrible actor), and flying around North America to visit all of the potential cities where he might be drafted (it was a pointless tour because everyone knew where he was going to end up).

He had only tonight to celebrate with his family before it was all set to start again. Him and Jeff will fly off to Edmonton tomorrow morning for a week to speak to the media there, meet the teammate he’ll be living with, and do a surprise skating session with some kids at a summer camp. Meanwhile, his mum and sister will fly back to England.

“Any idea where you’ll live then?” Anne asked her son, pulling him out of his thoughts and back into the conversation.

“Hm?” He hadn’t a clue what his mum just asked him but he’d hate to admit that rather than listening to anything the three of them had been talking about for the last hour he’d been thinking about how he’d rather be sleeping “Sorry, I think the champagne’s got to me a bit.”

“The team’s got him living with one of his older teammates and his family.” Jeff stepped in, knowing Harry wasn’t fully paying attention. “They do this with the young guys to get them used to living on their own. Teach ‘em how to cook, do laundry, and keep ‘em in line. He won’t be partying every night and bringing girls back to his place if he lives with the guy’s wife and kids.”

“Oh please,” Gemma chimed in. “Not like any of that would be an issue for Harry. He’s been away from home for years. And he’s hardly got time for partying and dating.”

Harry shot Jeff a look warning him to keep his mouth shut. When Harry found out about the living arrangements the team had planned for him, he was less than pleased. After all, he’d just spent the last year living in a dorm room at the University of North Dakota where he had complete freedom. Gemma was right, he didn’t have much time for partying and dating. But he liked having his own space, and he really liked being able to invite someone over after a game, either to celebrate a win or relieve some stress after a loss.

“You never know, some of these young guys get their first big pay cheque and a taste of the big leagues and it can go off the rails pretty fast.”

“I like to think I raised my baby to know better than to get caught up in a pay cheque.” Anne placed a comforting hand on her son’s shoulder and he quickly reciprocated, reaching up to place his hand over hers.

Not liking where this conversation was going, Harry finally cut in. “You did. And Jeffrey, you know I’m not that kinda guy. Either way, none of this matters if I don’t make it past training camp. For all we know I could be going back to the juniors for the season.”

“Doesn’t matter who you are or what kinda guy you are, H, it’s just what the team does. It’s tradition. And c’mon, I know you like to keep your expectations in check, but the team’s made it pretty clear that you’re gonna be in the starting lineup come October.”

Jeff was right. The team had all but promised that he would make it past training camp. The question wasn’t if he’d make it past training camp, but in what shape he’d be in and how long it would take for the team to start winning games.

“The coach said I’m small and need to bulk up, especially since I’ll be playing against older, more experienced men.” Harry could feel the weight of his mum’s gaze as she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not quite where I need to be yet, but I’ll get there.”

Harry and his family were stood in the hotel lobby with Jeff, convening on plans for the morning when he felt a small tug on the hem of his red floral suit jacket. He spun himself around, ready to confront the individual bold enough to touch him without his consent, to find a young girl, no older than five years old staring up at him.

Harry looked at her, a bit taken aback and undoubtedly with a bit of confusion written on his face, and then spotted, a few feet behind her, two individuals who were most likely her parents. Suddenly, he realized that he may have actually had a few too many glasses of champagne and immediately tried to compose himself, standing straighter and trying to will away the exhaustion in his eyes and the haziness in his mind.

“Oh - um, hello there.” He cleared his throat before using the soft voice he reserves for adorable, small children like the one stood before him.

“Are you Harry Styles?” She asked with wide eyes and a small, timid voice.

“I am, sweetheart. What can I do for you?”

A bright smile etched itself onto her face. But instead of answering him, she looked back at the adults standing behind her, motioning for them to help as she was too shy to proceed on her own. The man, who Harry presumed was her father, moved to stand beside her.

“This is Millie. She wanted to say hi to you because she’s a big fan of yours.”

Harry lowered himself in front of the young girl so that he was crouched down and eye-level with her. “Hi Millie, it’s a real pleasure to meet you.” He reached out to shake the young girl’s small hand. “Have you got anything that I could sign? Or I suppose we could take a photo if you’d like?”

The young girl removed her hand from Harry’s, nodding her head eagerly. She began to unzip her jacket, revealing a bright orange Edmonton Oilers jersey underneath.

“Oh? Look at that! You’re an Oilers fan. In Florida?” Harry lifted himself from his crouched position and directed his question toward at the girl’s father.

“Yes, well, we actually travelled here from Edmonton, to watch the draft in person.” Harry raised his eyebrows in shock. He knew that the flight from Edmonton to Florida is long, and likely expensive. The tickets to attend the draft live probably weren’t cheap either. “It’s not every day your favourite team picks first overall! Let alone gets to pick a player like you. We were so excited so we decided to make a family trip out of it. Turn around, Millie, show him the back!” Millie’s father handed Harry a sharpie as Millie turned her back to Harry.

It was at that moment that Harry started to understand the weight of the moment. The name ‘STYLES’ was embroidered on the back of Millie’s Oilers jersey, above the number ‘15’ indicating his draft year. He was speechless. This was, after all, the first time he was seeing his name in the classic Oilers’ orange and blue colours adorned on a fan’s back.

The feeling was different from earlier at the draft when they presented him with his own jersey. This one belonged to someone else. Someone bought his jersey before he’d even ever played a single minute for the team. They flew across the continent, from Edmonton to Florida, just to watch him get drafted. It was a lot for his hazy, champagne-diluted mind to take in.

Realizing he’d just been standing there staring at the jersey, he cleared his throat once again in hopes that he could hide the unknown thoughts and emotions he was trying to reconcile. “Wow, um, I didn’t realize you could get these already.”

Millie’s father laughed, “Man, they’ve been selling these in Edmonton since they announced we’d be picking first in the draft.” Again, the feeling was overwhelming for Harry.

We’d be picking first in the draft.

To this family, and probably others in Edmonton, the Oilers were “we”. They win together, they lose together. If the Oilers pick first in the draft, they all pick first. It was their team. And now he, Harry, was a part of that “we”.

Harry reached down to sign the jersey on Millie’s back, quickly scribbling his autograph on the left side. As he straightened himself, he felt Anne move to stand beside him, apparently having sensed her son’s unease and unconscious need for his mother to join him in this moment.

“Hi, I’m Harry’s mum, Anne. Would you like me to take a picture of the four of you?” Millie’s father eagerly handed his phone to Anne and waved his wife over to be in the photo. Several photos of Harry and the family were taken, followed by a few of just Harry and Millie.

“Would you mind if I took one of Harry and Millie on my phone as well?” Anne asked as she snapped the last photo. “This is the first time Harry’s met a fan wearing his name on an Oilers jersey. We’d like to remember it.”

The family was more than happy to oblige so Anne took a few more photos on her phone, including one where Millie’s back was to the camera and the ‘STYLES’ name in full view.

It was so like his mum to understand how special the moment was and to come in and save him. He couldn’t quite articulate what he was feeling in that moment, as understanding emotions and sentimentality were not his greatest strengths, and he most definitely never would have asked to take a photo to keep for himself had she not done it.

The obvious feelings were joy and gratitude. Every day he was thankful to play the game he loved, to be successful, and to have fans that loved and supported him. It didn’t always make sense that complete strangers paid him so much attention just for playing a game, but he accepted it and always tried to show those strangers kindness in return. However, there was another feeling lingering, one that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Looking at his mum, he knew that she knew what it was. She always knew. And certainly she would make him talk about it later.

As they separated from the family and walked toward the hotel elevators, where Gemma and Jeff were waiting, Anne grabbed onto her son’s arm, holding him close as they walked side by side.

“Do you see that they love you already, my darling?” She asked. Harry raised an eyebrow at his mum, unsure of what she was going on about. “I know you. I know that you care what people think and that you are scared to disappoint them. You just need to step out on the ice and be yourself. Just be Harry. They already love you and this is only just the beginning.”

WOW! OK. I know it’s a bit of a slow start, but I wanted this chapter to be more of an introduction to harry and the mc and to the fan culture that harry is about to experience!! I’ve already started on the next part so that should be up before Christmas! If you’ve made it this far, all I can say is that I love you and appreciate you. If you liked it, please let me know. I debated not posting this so many times (and I might even regret it later) so feedback will certainly ease my troubled mind!! I ALWAYS LOVE YOU, BUT ESPECIALLY TODAY!! xx Shan.

Harry’s Draft Day Look

talk to me about generational | fic masterlist

#wow i'm so nervous to post this #generational #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles series #harry styles au #harry styles x reader #hockey harry styles #athlete harry styles

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mydearesthrry · 3 years

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places we won’t walk (chapter one) || peter parker

summary - the doors at midtown seem a little boring, but when you get introduced to someone you seem to remember, what happens when they seem to remember you too?

word count - 2.9k (wow shes gettin better!)

pairings - peter parker x fem!reader

warnings - like mild mention of s*xual assault, angst if you squint really hard, mj being a softy for you, mj being a lowkey bi, peter being stupid as always, y/n calling peter a colonizer.... thats it ok enjoy

a/n: so i know i last updated in october, but as u all saw i have a 25 days of xnas thing going on (PLS I WROTE THE A/N LIKE A MONTH AGO PLUS I FORGOT ABOUT THE XMAS THING DISREGARD) so pwww updates will be slow (as if they werent already omg) but the next chapter will be arriving hopefully, fingers crossed, on xmas eve or xmas! also, are you guys watching the new euphoria episode? also, i’ve stopped using the word ‘stuttering’, as it may be ableist, and i’d never wanna come off as insensitive. anyway lmao, enjoy chapter one, the trials and tribulations of hitting someone in the nuts.

also side note psa: biggest thank you to @blossomparkers for helping me so much w this chapter. i owe it all tooooo u lani yani. thank u for everything !!!!!

series masterlist | regular masterlist | series playlist

(gif not mine!)

when y/n y/m/n stark was in her early years, she was never aware of the impact her father would and did hold over her life, and in turn, the whole world. for the longest time, you’d always assumed that your father wasn’t real, and everything that had been told to you by malicious family members who were jealous over your father’s “successes” had been lies, and you had it believed yourself. no one would even think that you were tony stark’s daughter until it had been mentioned. tony’s snarky attitude had been a character trait that you’d gotten, and you always took pride in your humor and attitude.

the story of your mother and tony had been messy and all over the place. from a drunken hook-up followed by multiple days of morning sickness, to a surprise pregnancy test, the storyline of your parents had been.. well.. interesting to say the least. you never focused on your family’s history, solely based on the fact that you didn’t have two fucks to give about your family history, but you also never knew your father which was-- bizarre.

when tony had found out about you, he claimed it was a drunken accident, a mistake, and one he made when he was “less responsibly a stark”, which was actually just some fucking bullshit, but he didn’t wanna admit that he hooked up with some random chick at a bar that he thought was hot.

since you had been raised by a mother who was barely there, you had to raise yourself. you were kinda street smart and book smart, and you were always smart when it came to books, because you were the type to want to learn-- unlike others.

when you were in your teen years, you had tabs on you and the media on you 24/7 to make sure you didn’t royally fuck up. the unwanted attention became too much when you started realizing that people didn’t want you for your personality, they wanted you for your title. but this was after you moved from brooklyn. nuvale and peter never saw you as some “movie star”, or some famous person in the media because you weren’t. but when you had grown to learn what your father did, he had forced you to not fuck up to maintain his-- somewhat okay reputation.

you always wanted that superstar life, as a fantasy of course, but when you got to it, you realized the cliche-y-ness of it all. you’d idolized the famous women in the media-- idolized how they looked like. you realized fairly quick how fucked up the media truly is. you realized how things really aren’t as they seem. its not just the galas that look extravagant, or getting to wear a fancy new gucci outfit every night. it honestly was a whole bunch of other shit you wouldn’t even imagine. it comes with the no privacy thing- people stalking you in public, the death threats, so much shit that wouldn’t happen as common if you were just anonymous.

being an avenger (basically), your dad had natasha teach you the ropes; the basic rules of how to kick someones ass. it was a handbook that the women of the avengers had created, and it had all the rules and regulations of how to spar someone on the team, and basically how to righteously beat someone's ass up. it was never really something you found too important, but as you grew older, you realized that it was very important to know, especially since you were a girl.

despite your harsh remarks and snarky attitude, your father always knew how to hit a sensitive point in you that always managed to break you down. you never quite understood why he would want to make you feel worse about yourself than you already felt, but regardless, you always felt underappreciated by him. being a stark, you were expected to be a genius, get over the top grades, and constantly be able to keep up, but with your luck, you were graced with depression, social anxiety, and a 4.0 gpa. fun, right?

wrong.

when you were 11, you had made friends with the kids in your apartment halls, and you learned that their names were nuvale jones and peter parker, and you were basically the golden trio. you were hermione, peter was ron, and nuvale was harry. which, now that you look back at it, makes much more sense than any other arrangement. you also had another friend, harry osborn, but once he moved away, there was no way for you to talk to him anymore. he had moved across the country to california, and from then, it was just you, peter, and nuvale. your best friends ha been there for you for what seemed like decades, although you only knew them for about three.

peter was the boy with the rosy cheeks who little 12 year old you would get butterflies in her tummy. or the type of boy to bring you an extra snack if you weren’t able to pack it the night before. he was the type of boy to walk you to the nurses office if you got hit with a dodgeball. he was the type of boy to fall for someone like you. but he didn’t. or so you thought.

little prebubescent y/n was an awkward girl who thought the world would be on her side when she needed it the most, or that whenever you needed peter or nuva, they would be there. you didn’t think your best friend would stop talking to you after you had moved away. you were too naive to know that peter liked you, and you were too naive to know that he had liked you back, but you wanted to believe what your brain would tell you, so you decided to flush your feelings down the drain and forget about them, which, in hindsight, was a pretty shitty idea. who would’ve known?

your alarm clock blared loudly from beside you, causing you to let out a loud groan in protest. you hit the side of your head angrily, then whining and rubbing the spot which you hit. whines and loud sighs fell from your lips as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and pulled the covers over your head, knowing what would come next after you would try to snooze your alarm.

“good morning, miss stark, how could i be of service to you this morning?” friday’s voice echoed through your large bedroom. you peaked your eyes and forehead from beneath the covers, your eyes slowly starting to adjust to the light that was pulled through the big blinds which were now open.

“mmm, fri, just tell happy to get the car ready, ill be ready in a few min- nevermind, tell him to get ready in thirty, im probably gonna fall asleep in the shower.” you croaked, taking your phone from the charger which was on your nightstand. you slipped on your bunny slippers and turned on the heater in your room, the draft filling your room with cold air throughout the night.

-------

once you walked through the large industrial doors of midtown’s cafeteria, everyones voices started to drop into sharp hushed whispers, making you roll your eyes and pull your hood up over your face. you pulled your airpods from your pockets into your ears and tried your best to avoid any and all eye contact with anyone you did end up coming into contact with. you walked over to the food bar where you grabbed a red school tray and plastered on your best smile to the lunch ladies who work oh so hard to make sure you all were fed. as you walked through the line, you could feel the intensified stares on you, making your back erupt in chills. you didn’t like to be watched, and the fact that you were a so-called celebrity didn’t help your cause in any way.

“hey.” a low voice called from behind you. it was a girl with curly hair with gorgeous light brown skin, and a jawline that would cut you. you were almost astonished by her beauty, but you remembered the facade you had to hold, especially to strangers that you didn’t know.

“hey?” you asked unsurely, wondering if she was with the media or not. which was something that tended to happen quite a bit.

“don’t worry, i’m not with the press. you just seem interesting.” she said in a monotone voice, but still with a strong look of seriousness on her face. you giggled softly when your eyes locked and your faces went totally still, making the girl in front of you laugh as well. she held out her hand in front of you, while also balancing her tray and book in the other hand. you placed yours into hers and shook it, smiling when she told you her name.

“michelle jones.” she smiled, your throat getting a little tight at her last name, and you had to admit that it struck a little chord within you, but you quickly cleared it from your thoughts and introduced yourself as well.

“y/n stark. pleasure to meet you, jones.”

“pleasure to meet you too.”

“so, i get that you’re new here,” she started walking, inviting you to walk along with her. “what- what are you doing here? i mean i get you’re smart and all, but this is a nerd school; you literally could’ve gone anywhere, so, might i ask, why here?”

“hm, interesting question. seriously i don’t know. my dad and i don’t really get along so he makes the decisions and i tell him if i like it or not. which by the way, i’m gonna have to stay near you-- you’re the only one making this bearable for me right now.” you snorted, nudging your elbow to hers.

“hm, daddy issues. great song, love the artists.” she smirked, making you shoot your head back in loud laughter, gaining some side eyed glances from a few people sitting at the tables around you.

“so, where are we sitting? i usually nev-”

“hey mj!” you were interrupted by a boyish laugh and hoots and hollers coming from a table two tables ahead of you.

“jesus fucking christ. what? just because i got some and you didn’t doesn’t mean that you have to be that fuckin’ loud about it.” she grumbled, placing her tray down, slinging the backpack on her right shoulder beside her. you looked at her with a nervous but curious glint in your eyes. she gave you a knowing look which said, ‘just go with what i say’, making you nod in understanding.

“woah! holy shit! i m- i mean woah- nice to- nice to meet you!” the boy fumbled over his words, looking at you and michelle in disbelief, shaking his friends shoulder and poking at his cheek.

“nice cut, g. looks nice.” you said to him, giggling as you stuck your straw into the mini juice box.

“o-oh, thanks… g?” he said back to you, observing your looks with a confused expression written on his face making you giggle at his confusion.

“peter! look! y/n stark is at our table!” he whisper shouted to his friend, making you look at michelle with a smile on your face and playfully rolling your eyes. she looked back at you, rolling her eyes as well, gesturing to her head as if saying ‘idiots’, making you giggle and turn back to them.

“so, bowl cut dude, what’s your name?” you nodded to him, picking at your salad with the blac spork that was so cordially given to you by mj.

“n-ned, ned leeds.” he smiled sheepishly.

“and you, colonizer, what’s your name?” you tapped on the table, alerting the boys attention. you could hear michelle and ned hollering and snickering from their seats, but decided to keep your poker face rolling. but i mean, how couldn’t you? the look on his face was absolutely priceless.

“peter park- wait did you just call me a colonizer?” he cut himself off in his own sentence, looking at his other friends for confirmation, to which they nodded, still cackling at the fact that you had indeed call him a colonizer.

“peter park, hm?” you teased, ignoring the way you hesitated and ignoring the way your chest felt heavy when the name of peter was said.

“n-no thats not my name-” he said, tripping over his words, making you let out a chuckle.

“i’m messing with you. with what you’ve given me, i could only guess your name is peter parker?” you rested your chin on your hand, engaging in the awkward conversation.

“yeah. thats my name.” he said more confidently, giving you a tight lipped smile.

“nice to meet you, parker.”

“you too, stark, my pleasure.”

----

after the small encounter with your new found friends, you had gone back to your respective classes, which meant that your next class had peter in it. after you had split up, you decided to get there early to avoid any commotion surrounding you.

as the boring class continued, you heard the loud clicking of high heels in the hallways, which had to be one person and one person only.

“stark,” someone shouted from the door which swung open. low and behold, in front of you was the prickly bitch, your principal, mrs cunningham. “come with me, eugene’s parents have requested a meeting with you and your father considering that you had just hit their son in the private areas!” everyone snickered and laughed. finally someone had stood up to flash’s shit.

“y- you punched flash in the nuts? i thought that was just a rumor?” peter stuttered, looking at you in disbelief.

“yeah, the fuck was i gonna do? let him flirt with me? no. that bitch tried to grab my ass. i’m a stark, i was raised better than that.” you whispered to him, packing your bag as you did so.

“hm, guess you’re right. well, good luck stark.”

“thanks parker.”

--------

once you arrived in the principals office, you saw what seemed to be his mother in one of the seats decked out in expensive pearls and diamonds. typical.

“little miss over here punched my son in the privates! i will not allow this to happen!” fuck. you thought; another one of those stuck up cunty parents.

“pfft, probably paid to get their son into here.” you muttered under your breath, playing with your protection bracelets incase anything was to ever happen.

“wHAT? mrs cunningham, i will not allow this child to talk about my son this wa-”

“hello! i was called in?” a voice interrupted, one you could only peg as your father.

“ahh! mr stark! you’re finally here!” your hilarious excuse as a principal said cheerfully.

“i am! and i am here to.. come and have a meeting about my daughter's- behavior?” he asked questiongly, already seeing the triumphant and cocky look on your face. he knew you weren’t at fault, and you were gonna lie your pretty ass out of it.

“well, mr stark, we have a student in the nurses room due to the actions of your daughter!” she looked at him menacingly. he shook his head with a smile on his face and walked over to you, grasping your shoulders in his hands.

“well kiddo, wanna explain what and why you did what you did?” he smiled, giving you two taps on your shoulder, already knowing what was next. you two had a pretty good acting schedule when it came to it, when in reality, you despised eachother.

“sure daddy! eugene had been hitting on me for several days now, and even found my private social medias in use to.. how can i say this, use me for my fame? he tried talking to me, very inappropriately on several occasions, and even went as far as to try and grab me in areas in which i find extremely inappropriate, without my consent, might i add, which doesn’t seem okay with me. does it seem exceptional to you, mrs thompson?” you asked, while only keeping your eyes on his mother.

“why, i am so sorry miss stark! his father will be in contact, i did not raise my baby to be this way! im sorry for any inconvenience he may have caused you!” she gasped, raising a hand to her heart.

“it’s okay, i just request, may this never happen again? i would not like my privacy to be invaded, much less from your son, and can i please ask that he never try to hit on me, nor any girls at this school ever again? i can only imagine how many other girls this may have happened to, mrs thompson.” you sighed, your eyes filling up with fake tears. you reached up to touch your fathers hand, tapping it twice back, knowing that you both had just won.

“never again miss stark, once again, i am so sorry this happened to you.”

“it’s okay. now mrs cunningham, shall we see our way out?” your father answered for you, looking over at the old white woman who looked like a piece of cheese. she could only nod in awe, giving you the cue to pick up your bags and walk proudly to the door.

“thanks i guess.” you muttered, pulling out your airpods once more, hoping to seal the conversation with your father.

“yeah yeah, no problemo.” he muttered back, avoiding eye contact and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

once you reached the door, you remembered that you had left something in your locker, and informed your dad that you’d be going back to get it. he all but nodded and looked back at his shoes before trudging to the car.

once you entered the seemingly halls, much to your surprise, you saw a scrawny teenage boy lifting open a set of lockers, which you didn’t even know was possible, and pulling out a red and blue suit. once you saw who the hands belonged to, your mouth fell agape as you gasped,

“peter?”

46 notes · View notes

rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

My Little Brawler - Feysand Headcannon 2

I’ll just go ahead and preface this by saying it’s long as SHIT. I went a little crazy. But here’s the second headcannon for Feysand. Thank you for the love on the last one! Next one out tomorrow.

Synopsis: Feyre Archeron is a 31 year old researcher who has devoted her entire life to her work. Her dating history is a mess, from an ex-husband to one night stands. A serious relationship? Hell no.

Rhysand Turner is a Virginia-born quarterback living it up in a football-crazy city. He doesn’t date and sticks to dumb blondes who look good on his arm and think how far he can throw a football is better than sex. Marriage? Not in a million years.

________________________________________________________________

Feyre swung the lab door closed, locked it behind her, and headed toward the hospital exit.

“Calling it a night?” Howie, the night-shift security guard asked from behind his desk.

She glanced at her watch and winced. “More like a morning now, but yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

He laughed and went back to his crossword puzzle. Nothing interesting happened in the hospital this late at night outside of the ER, so Howie was basically only there for her. Feyre frequently was the last staff member to leave the place, something her coworkers never understood.

She came in early, left late, and worked holidays. To say she was married to her job would be an understatement.

Grabbing her keys and walking out to her car, she had to admit they had a point. She’d given up her entire life for her work, but she had no regrets.

She’d made countless breakthroughs in nuclear medicine and had changed the face of chemotherapy and radiation. It payed off every day when she heard from the oncologists that one of their patients was cancer free.

As she drove to her townhouse--only four minutes from the hospital--she wondered if it was strange she preferred to be alone.

Then she remembered how she’d ended up when she committed herself to a relationship and shook her head. If you can’t trust the man you’re married to, who can you trust? No one.

She didn’t miss being married. At all. She didn’t miss having to come home from a long day at work and muster up the energy to talk about whatever was bothering him.

She did miss sex, though. She never went out, never invited anyone over. It’d been so long since she’d been with a man, she was pretty sure she had cobwebs down there.

Ignoring that thought, Feyre walked through her front door, threw her keys on the kitchen table, and went to bed. She had to be in the hospital in four hours if she wanted to get ahead of her schedule.

_________________________________

Rhysand jogged off the field, grinning at the look on his coach’s face.

“If you’re in love with me, I don’t want to know,” he joked.

Coach Matthews was at least five inches shorter than Rhys, but he reached up and smacked the back of his head anyway. He wasn’t actually mad, though. There were about three people in the world who could get away with talking trash to Adrian Matthews, and Rhys happened to be one of them.

“Shut up, smartass. I’m just excited. If you play like this tomorrow, we’ll wi-”

Rhys cut him off. “Don’t jinx me.”

A raised eyebrow. “After all this time, you’re superstitious?”

“It could be my last game,” he said, ignoring the look on the man’s face. “I don’t need any bad luck.”

He’d never admit it, but losing tomorrow’s game was easily the scariest thing in Rhys’s life.

Talent wise, there was no one better than him. He wasn’t cocky, but he knew it. He had better stats, better knowledge of the game, better everything.

But, according to sports, Rhys was old as dirt.

No matter how good you are, football isn’t a lifetime sport. Even though thirty-eight would be young to almost anyone’s standards, network channels and reporters were all wondering how long he would push on.

The guys he was competing against were all in their twenties, young and fresh and without back pain. And knee pain. And-

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, idiot. No matter what happens tomorrow, you’ve had the most impressive career as a NFL quarterback in history. So get your head out of your old ass and play the game you know how to play.”

Rhys just laughed. “My old ass? What about you? When did you even sneak out of the retirement home?”

Before Matthews could attempt to kick his ass, a beefy hand smacked into Rhys’s back and Cassian--the other person allowed to talk shit to coach--said, “Oh, I see. You made a few good passes out there and now you’re over here drinking water and gossiping with coach like a couple old ladies. Cute.”

“Both of you, get your asses home and in bed,” the coach ordered, rolling his eyes. “I cannot believe I let myself draft two hard-headed, pain in the ass hillbillies,” he muttered, walking toward the other players.

“He’s just mad because he’s in love with you,” Cassian said, throwing a thick arm around Rhysand’s shoulders, and dragging him to the locker room.

Rhys pushed him off and laughed. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“So about tomorrow-”

“I swear to god if you mention the game one more time, I’ll tell everyone you wear women’s underwear when you play,” Rhys threatened, then ducked to avoid the helmet flying towards his head.

“Shut the fuck up, man! That was one time! And I wouldn’t have done it, but you made me watch Bull Durham and it seemed like a decent idea at the time. And I wasn’t even gonna talk about the game.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. If Cassian wasn’t talking about football, he was droning on about women, booze, or hunting. Sometimes a mixture. Before he could continue, Rhys made a bet it was women on his best friend’s mind this time.

“Anyway, me and Az were thinking we could go somewhere new tomorrow night. Regardless of how the score turns out.”

That caught his attention. The three of them had been friends since high school and had all played together till Azriel blew his knee out two years ago. They all lived in the same apartment complex still and got together almost every weekend. In all their time of friendship, they’d maybe gone to five bars. Once Cassian found a place and racked up enough of a tab, he stayed until they wouldn’t let him through the door anymore.

“Where?”

“There’s bar about twenty minutes from here. Az apparently knows the owner or something.” It made sense. After his injury, Azriel had gone into broadcasting and had made a ton of connections in the PR world.

“I don’t want to go anywhere crow-”

Cass cut him off. “He said it’s a small bar. No crowds.”

The one negative aspect of his life was the never-leaving pack of fans and paparazzi following him around. After the game tomorrow, it’d be hectic. He didn’t want to deal with that if they won, let alone if they lost.

Rhys shrugged. “Fine by me. Either way, I’ll be needing a lot of booze.”

“You’re so fucking dramatic man,” Cassian laughed. “It’s just a game.”

Rolling his eyes, “It’s the Super Bowl, idiot. It’s not just a game.”

“Okay,” his best friend and defensive tight end said lightly. “It’s a big game.”

As he thought about how a loss tomorrow could be the end of his career, Rhys could only nod and agree.

________________________________

Feyre walked through the front doors of the cancer wing and halted. John Weatherly, the Chief of Staff of the hospital--and not to mention a huge pain in her ass--stood at the threshold.

“You look annoyed,” she stated, ready for whatever lecture he was about to give her.

After all the time she’d worked for him, she’d never really gotten past her dislike of her boss. Or his misogynistic rants. Or the fact that he smelled like cigarettes. They worked in the cancer wing of the hospital, for crying out loud. And he had the nerve to smoke a cigarette every chance he got.

“I am,” he said, equally as blunt. “Are you aware you’ve worked at least 120 hours a week for the past two months?”

“Considering I log my own hours, yes.”

“That is a huge waste-”

“Are you aware that I’ve published three research articles during the past two months? Generating publicity, not to mention patients, for the hospital?”

“Considering I’m not an idiot, yes,” John snapped sourly. “But this isn’t about me. The board is implementing a new rule this week. No more work weeks over 100 hours.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he held up a hand in annoyance. “Don’t bother. I already tried to tell them you practically live here. It’s not flexible for anyone.”

Feyre allowed herself to steam for a few moments before muttering, “Fine.” She tried to walk around him to the lab, but he stepped in her path.

“Since you’ve already worked over the limit, you’ll have to go home. Come back Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?!” she practically shouted. “Why not tomorrow? The time cards reset every week.”

“You’ve worked 115 hours this week. They told me to tell you specifically that if you want to continue to receive a paycheck from them, you will come back Tuesday.”

“This is so-”

“Have a nice two days off, Dr. Archeron.”

She couldn’t not work for two days. “What am I supposed to do all day? Just let me go get my paperwork, and I’ll work from home.”

“Feyre, I have specific orders from the hospital’s board to have the security guard escort you out if you try to go in the lab.”

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could tell him how ridiculous this was, he said, “Go home. Sleep. Watch the game.”

“Game? What game?”

It was his John’s turn to look shocked. “The Super Bowl is tonight. Did you really not know?”

“No, of course not. I don’t care about football.”

Her boss was silent, stuttered a few words, then said, “How do you not like football? You live in Boston! Rhysand Turner is practically a celebrity around here.”

She didn’t know why any medical professional would encourage grown men to smash into each other for sport, but kept that to herself. “Who is Rhysand Turner, exactly?”

“For a genius, you’re such an idiot,” he said bitterly. “He’s the quarterback about to win us the Super Bowl tonight. You should watch the game in your time off. Speaking of, leave. Now.”

“But-”

“Nope. Now.”

The urge to call him a jackass was so strong, she left before it slipped out. How ridiculous was this? She worked her ass off every day researching nuclear chemistry and the effects of chemotherapy in the body. It was important. Her work changed lives.

And they were telling her to go home and twiddle her thumbs. Or watch football.

She drove home angrily, wondering what on earth she would do with 48 hours of uninterrupted free time.

After finishing two loads of laundry, scrubbing her entire bathroom and kitchen, and grocery shopping, Feyre was bored. She tried to sit down and watch TV, but there was nothing on that interested her.

She flipped to the news, thinking she’d distract herself with politics. But no, everyone was talking about the game. Apparently, John was right. No one cared about anything except football today.

An idea popped in her head, and she smiled and picked up the phone.

“Finally!” her best friend shouted happily as she answered on the first ring. “I’ve been waiting for you to call; I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Hi, Mor,” she laughed. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. Work is-”

“-crazy, I know,” she finished her sentence. “What’s up?”

Trying not to sound bitter, Feyre said, “Well, I actually have today and tomorrow off, so I was wondering what you were doing tonight.”

A pause.

“You know I own a bar, right?” Mor asked, as if Feyre were dense.

“Yes, of course.”

Another pause, then, “And you know it’s Super Bowl Sunday, right? It’s a busy night for us. Well, as busy as a tiny ass bar in the suburbs can be.”

Feyre laughed. “Oh, no worries, I’ll see you some other-”

“Wait! Why don’t you come?”

“Oh... uh...” How could she get out of this? Fake illness?

A knowing town crept into Mor’s voice as she said, “Don’t even think about telling me you’re sick, bitch. You already said you don’t have anything to do tonight. Or tomorrow. Which means you can get drunk! Ooh, or laid!”

Feyre sighed. “Mor, I don’t want to watch a football game. And I definitely don’t want to get drunk.”

She could tell her friend was smiling as she said, “Just laid, then.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and stayed silent, trying not to think about how true that statement was.

“Fine. Come at like 11. It’ll be pretty empty by then. But you’re definitely drinking.”

She debated arguing, but Mor would likely show up and drag her out herself if she tried. “Fine. One drink.”

____________________________________________

Rhys couldn’t stop smiling as he drove himself and Cassian through the city in his truck.

“You know you’re a millionaire, right, Rhysie?” his best friend asked with a laugh.

He just rolled his eyes, having heard this argument at least 20 times. “Don’t hate on the truck. I’ve had her since senior year.”

“It’s rusting. You’re a millionaire. Buy a new one.”

“Nope.”

Cassian groaned. “Why not?”

“She’s been with me through every win, every loss, everything. You know I lost my-”

“Stop! You already told me, and I almost throw up every time I get in this ass-mobile.”

Rhys laughed and punched his shoulder, then said thoughtfully, “You know, I think it was right where you’re sitting.”

Cassian swore and scooted as close as he could get to the door.

“Don’t worry, you can get out. We’re here.”

As soon as he put the truck in park, Cassian jumped out of the cab and wiped the seat of his jeans off with his hand, making Rhys laugh.

He climbed out of the truck, his body still lined with adrenaline. He’d played his ass off, crushed the opponent, and carried his team to victory.

He supposed he had Cassian to thank, too, considering he’d also played his ass off and kept Rhys from getting pummeled.

Their success was echoing through the city on excited whispers. Both of them had already turned their phones off they were getting so many calls from team managers.

They walked into the wonderfully slow bar, nodded to the few people still around who luckily didn’t ask for pictures, and went to find Azriel.

He was sitting at the bar, chatting to the bartender. Even though the bartender was hands-down one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen, it was the woman near Azriel that gave Rhys pause.

Cassian saw the look on his face, smirked, and nodded toward the empty chair between Az and the girl.

A good end to a good night.

He winked, then slid in the chair, nodded to Az--who rolled his eyes--, and turned to the woman.

She had clear blue-gray eyes, dark blonde hair, and full lips. She was... exotic. Different.

He smiled confidently and said, “Hey. How you doing?”

It was a simple line, but one that worked countless times when paired with a southern accent.

He couldn’t tell if the look on her face was amusement or shock. “Where the hell are you from?”

That reaction was one he was used to, so he grinned and said, “Virginia.”

“What are you doing in Boston, then?”

He couldn’t stop his eyebrows from pulling together. She was in a sports bar, where his face had just been plastered on every TV for four hours, but she didn’t know who he was? “Work,” he said simply.

Rhys could feel his best friends’ eyes on him, but he ignored them. “So, what’s your-”

The girl turned to the bartender, ignoring him completely, and said, “Mor, I’m going to make a call.” She cut her eyes toward the men around her and murmured, “Watch my drink.”

Every single one of their eyebrows shot up. Did they look that much like criminals? Sure, they wore a lot of black, but every one of them were multi-millionaires. Did he come off like a date-raper or something?

The bartender, Mor apparently, rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t take it personally. Even balls to the wall drunk, she’s cautious.”

Rhys could tell there was more to that story but shrugged and asked for a beer.

Mor slid it across the counter and smiled knowingly. “She’s pretty, right?”

He just turned to Azriel and asked, “How have you been, man? Did you report the game?”

“Yeah, they had me follow your stats the whole time. Boring shit,” he replied, laughing.

“I bet you could hardly talk fast enough.”

“Cocky bastard,” Cassian muttered.

Azriel nodded to the bartender and said, “This is Mor, by the way. I’ve known her since I left the NFL. Mor, this--as I’m sure you know--is Rhysand and Cassian, although I call them Dumbass 1 and 2.”

“You’re a funny, funny man,” Rhys muttered.

Mor’s friend came back and slid into her seat. Mor put another drink on the counter. The woman raised an eyebrow. “I said one drink, Morrigan.”

“Morrigan? Jesus, you’re already drunk aren’t you?”

Before she could respond, Az said, “Mor, perhaps you’d like to introduce the guys to your friend?”

She smiled and said, “Guys, this is Feyre Archeron, my very best friend who loves me so much she’ll stay and have another drink.”

“Since you’re buying,” Feyre said sweetly, picking the drink up. “And because I know you’ll make me feel bad about leaving so soon.”

Cassian asked, his accent even thicker than Rhys’s, “Why the bad mood, gorgeous?”

She turned and leveled a look at him. “I’d rather be doing something else.”

Rhys rolled his eyes as his best friend leaned down towards the woman and smiled slowly. “Well, you should’ve told me sooner. I’d be glad to do something else with you, baby.”

Azriel and Rhys both looked at each other and shook their heads. Cassian flirted with everyone. It drove them insane, but it was at least predictable.

The woman unlucky enough to have his current affections set her drink down with a little too much aggression, making Rhys chuckle. “What’s your name?”

“Cassian,” he replied confidently.

“Cassian, believe me when I tell you I have absolutely no interest in having sex with you. Leave me alone and go shook a chicken or something.”

The look on Cassian’s face was priceless, and Rhys bit his lip to keep his laugh in. Like Rhys, he was used to women being very... open to his suggestions.

Before Cass could even retort, the woman looked to her friend and asked, “Who the hell are these guys? Your friends?”

Mor pointed to Azriel and responded, “He is my friend. Those two rednecks,” she jerked her head toward Rhys and Cassian, “I don’t vouch for.”

Rhys put a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “We’re Azriel’s friends, which makes us pre-vouched.” He turned to Feyre and smiled. “You single?”

________________________________________

“No,” Feyre said at the exact same time Mor yelled, “Yes!”

The man next to her smiled smugly. “Since you’re single, let me buy you another drink.” She opened her mouth, but he said quickly, “Say yes. It’s just one drink, darling.”

His accent was so ridiculous, it sounded like he should be riding on the back of a horse in cowboy boots and a hat.

“I said I’d have one drink,” she stated to Mor. “I’ve had two. I’m going home.”

“Of course you are.” Her best friend sighed dramatically. “You don’t care about me at all, do you? I haven’t seen you in a month, and you come to my bar and stay for all of ten minutes-”

“Mor-”

“Then try to leave, and I probably won’t see you for another-”

Feyre gave in with a huff. “Oh, my god, fine! I’ll stay. You’re so damn dramatic.”

Her best friend jumped up and down like a toddler, clapping her hands stupidly.

“Now I don’t have an excuse, do I?” She tried not to roll her eyes at how big Rhysand’s smile grin grew.

“Don’t get so excited. I’m just using you for liquor.”

“Fine by me,” he replied smoothly. “I’m trying to get you drunk.”

Despite herself, she laughed. She wasn’t used to such honesty. She definitely wasn’t going home with the guy, but she couldn’t deny how insanely attractive he was to her. The kind of attractive that drove women crazy.

He was so tall, he towered over her even sitting down. He had dark hair, tan skin, and the most unique shade of eye color. They seemed almost purple and practically glowed as they raked over her.

She turned to Mor and gestured for another drink. “You associate yourself with the strangest people.”

Mor just shrugged.

“So, what do all do for work?” she asked the men around her, trying to make conversation.

Rhys quickly said, “We’re- uh- in sports.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he didn’t give her a chance to ask any more questions. “What about you?”

She saw Mor roll her eyes, but she kept it simple as she said, “I’m a scientist.”

“That explains it,” Cassian said with a laugh.

This man had a special talent for pushing peoples’ buttons, it seemed.

She turned to him and narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to go ahead and guess that you ‘being in sports’ means you’re a football player, since everyone in this city is so obsessed with the sport. And you know what? Between the constant head trauma and the accent...” She looked him up and down with narrowed eyes, then said sweetly, “It explains a lot.”

Rhysand launched into a coughing fit. She saw Azriel glance towards Mor, but her best friend just shrugged and said, “Not a big football fan.”

“We can tell,” Cassian muttered.

“What kind of scientist are you?” Rhys asked, ignoring his friend.

Mor sighed, but Feyre said, “It’s complicated, but I’m basically a nuclear chemistry-”

“It is boring as hell, I assure you all,” Mor cut in.

Feyre rolled her eyes and sipped her drink.

Mor got a strange look on her face, bent down, and grabbed a bottle of tequila. “Who wants a shot?”

All three men at the bar raised their hand. Feyre just rolled her eyes. Looks like it was going to be a long night.

_____________________________________

As Feyre got up to use the bathroom, ignoring all of their taunts about having a small bladder, the bartender looked at Rhys and waggled her eyebrows.

“What?”

“Oh, we’re going to act like you weren’t just eyeing my best-friend’s ass?” She laughed, then said, “Feyre.”

“What about Feyre?” he said, keeping his voice neutral.

He liked her, sure. Over the past couple hours, she’d loosened up around him. She was... funny. And smart. And sarcastic.

And yeah, she was beautiful as all hell. He’d love to take her home, but... he wasn’t a relationship guy. Football took all of his time, and he traveled practically every weekend. The women he slept with were all young and didn’t care about anything other than his latest game.

Feyre was different.

“You like her, don’t you?” The bartender was nosy, that was for sure.

“She’s... serious.”

Mor raised her eyebrows, clearly waiting for him to continue, so he said, “I don’t date. And Feyre is... serious. She probably wants a relationship and marriage and all sorts of shit-”

“You know,” Mor interrupted, “I thought people were crazy for saying a southern accent makes people stupid. But you have got to be one of the biggest idiots I’ve ever met if you think that girl wants a relationship.”

“What?”

“She works over fifteen hours a day. Spends all her time in a hospital with nerds looking in a microscope. She wants nothing to do with a relationship, let alone marriage. Trust me.”

“Oh.”

The woman rolled her eyes and nodded to where Feyre was walking back to them.

Before she made it to the bar, he turned to Cassian and said quietly, “Get a ride back with Az.”

“Gladly. I hate that truck.”

He glanced toward Feyre and muttered, “Now, idiot.”

Cassian, brilliant actor he was, yawned obnoxiously and said, “Well. I’m gonna hit the hay.” He winked at Feyre. “It was nice meeting you, honey. Call me if you ever need some southern hospitality.”

She shook her head but a smile ghosted on her lips.

“I’ll refrain from the innuendo, but it was nice meeting you, too,” Azriel said to Feyre.

Mor followed the two of them toward the exit to say goodbye.

“You’ve had too much to drink to drive home,” Rhys stated as soon as they were alone. Feyre laughed, clearly onto his game.

He rose and extended a hand. “Come on. I’ll drive you back. I only had one drink.”

“Is this your version of southern hospitality?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

She seemed to consider this, then murmured, “It’s very different from Cassian’s.”

Rhys smiled. “I’d be happy to show you that version. Let me drive you home.”

“I live close to here,” she laughed. “I’m walking.”

He tried not to be too disappointed. The odds of her taking him home were slim anyway-

She slid off the stool and put a hand on his arm. “But Boston can be a dangerous city. Come with?”

_____________________________________________________

Rhysand got up from his seat and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Lead the way, darling.”

“You really have to stop calling me that. You sound ridiculous.”

She didn’t really mean it, though. His accent was... different. Sexy. He was sexy. Something he was most definitely aware of, but Feyre currently didn’t care.

Cobwebs.

He was funny and seemed nice enough and...

She ignored Mor’s knowing smile as they left, telling her she’d call her later.

“I have a feeling you’ll be busy,” she said knowingly.

She ignored that, too.

As they started the short walk toward Feyre’s townhouse, his arm still slung across her shoulders, she asked, “So, did you win tonight?”

She could feel his chest rumble as he laughed. “Yeah, we won.”

“And you played the...”

“Steelers.”

“Right. Congratulations, then.”

He seemed to think her lack of football-knowledge was amusing. “Why the hell do you live in Boston?” he asked with a smile.

She froze.

“What do you mean?” she said, trying to be casual.

She led them around a corner that led to her block.

“You hate football. You don’t like crowds. You could probably work anywhere. Why not live somewhere else?”

They walked up to her house, and she answered simply, “I moved here to do my PhD at Harvard, and they offered me a job. Made sense.”

“And do you like it here?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She smiled, unlocked her door, and replied, “Ask me in an hour.”

He mirrored her grin, then pushed her by the shoulders through the door. “Give me two, and it’ll be your favorite place in the world.”

Feyre laughed, locked the door, then turned to him. Leaning against the door, she looked him up and down and muttered, “Clocks ticking, Rhysand.”

________________________________________________________

As Rhys opened his eyes, he was wonderfully aware of the weight atop him.

The naked weight.

Blowing Feyre’s hair out of his face, he smiled as she murmured something in her sleep. She was probably tired.

They hadn’t gotten much sleep.

Given how cautious she was when they’d first met, he’d half expected her to kick him out pretty early. Needless to say, he’d been pleasantly surprised.

When the feeling of her on top of him grew to be too tempting, he ran his fingers through her hair and murmured her name.

She shook her head, making him grin.

His fingers drifted over her back and he loved the way she felt in his arms. After a minute, she turned her head, chin resting on his chest, and looked up at him.

“Good morning,” she said simply.

He just pulled her up to him, pressing his lips to hers. She smiled against him, legs coming up to straddle his waist.

Rhys took in their position and smiled, leaning up to kiss his way up her neck. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “Cowgirl’s your favorite position isn’t it? And you say I’m country.”

He snickered, proud of his joke, then practically choked on the sound as she slid herself onto him. “Shit, Feyre.”

"No more jokes, Rhysand?” she murmured, rocking her hips slowly.

“Just Rhys,” he panted. He leaned forward to take one of her breasts into his mouth, and she gasped, the sound music to his ears.

“Rhys,” she moaned, fingers digging into his back.

“Yes, Feyre?” He gripped her hips to keep her still as he asked, “Do you need something?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he tried not to grin.

“I said ‘Good morning.’ Don’t make me liar.”

This woman would be the death of him. He laughed and released her hips, reveling in how she responded to every movement, every touch.

She picked up the pace, and Rhys just sat there with his teeth gritted and tried not to ruin the moment for both of them.

He could tell when she was close, her legs tightening around him, voice shaking as she called out his name. He pulled her hair, kissing up her exposed neck and across her jaw to her ear.

“Come for me, Feyre darling,” he whispered, pulling on the shell with his teeth.

She moaned, falling apart in his arms, and Rhys had to use sheer will to wait until she was done to finish.

This woman... was the definition of seduction. Even after a whole night together, he couldn’t get enough.

As they came down together, he looked at her and smirked. “Good morning.”

She smiled and kissed him, biting his lips gently. Even though he’d just had her, his body was ready for more.

He was about to flip them over when she ruined the moment and said, “You have to leave.”

She climbed off him, and he watched with amusement as she sprung from the bed, ripped the sheet off of him, and started pacing around the room.

She found his pants at him and threw them at him. “I’m serious, Rhys. I have to... do stuff.”

He ignored the clothes on his chest. They were both completely naked, and if he had anything to say about it, they’d stay that way for a while. “Like what? You told Mor you have the day off.”

“I do, but-”

“Then come here.”

She crossed her arms. “Rhysand.”

He sat up and extended a hand. “Just shut up and come here. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

_________________________________________________________

Oh, I’m sure you will, Feyre thought as she rolled her eyes and took his hand.

Then gasped as he used the other hand to rip the sheet off her and throw her on her bed.

She barely had time to process before he was on top of her, pressing kisses across her chest, down her stomach. Further.

Sweet Jesus, she thought. The man hadn’t let her sleep more than two hours last night. Not that she was complaining. The cobwebs were completely gone, that was for sure.

A moan escaped her lips as his teeth scraped her thigh, and he chuckled. She was about to flick his shoulder, but then his lips slid higher, and every thought emptied our of her head.

She couldn’t keep herself still as he kissed her, so he held her hips with both hands.

Hers found themselves in his hair and she pulled as he ran his tongue up her center.

“Rhys, baby,” she panted. She didn’t care how she sounded. Didn’t care about anything but the sight of his head buried between her legs.

She didn’t know if it was because she was out of practice or because he was some sort of sex god, but she was already close. Again.

By the time she came, her entire body was limp with pleasure and she was close to seeing stars.

When she opened her eyes, he was above her, smirking like a cat.

He leaned down to kiss her, but she flicked his nose in annoyance.

“If you try and fuck me again before I get some food, I’ll strangle you.”

Ignoring the warning, he buried his head in her neck and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Feyre darling.”

She laughed against her better judgement, but pushed his shoulders until he let her up. If she didn’t eat something, she might pass out when they went again.

She grabbed his t-shirt from last night and threw it on as she walked to her kitchen. It came down to practically her knees, making her look ridiculous, but she didn’t care. It was soft and big and smelled like him.

“Pancakes?” she asked, turning around to catch him looking at her in amusement. At what she was wearing.

She raised an eyebrow, daring him to say something.

“Pancakes would be great.”

Feyre ignored the look in his eyes and started cooking. And kept ignoring it as he watched.

Every time she looked at him, he looked like he was five seconds away from throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her back to bed.

The idea of messing with him a little more was too tempting to ignore.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered secretively, reaching into her fridge.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but gave in when she raised her eyebrows.

She used a finger to tip his head backward, then whispered, “Open your mouth.”

His lips curved into a smile, then opened. She took the can of Ready Whip and sprayed some whip cream in his mouth, laughing as his purple eyes shot open, full of amusement.

“Cute,” he muttered, swallowing the whip cream.

She leaned in and licked some of the remainder off his bottom lip. He froze, then reached for her. Before he could get those arms around her, she walked to the stove and took the pancakes off.

Sliding an unhealthy amount toward him, she said, “Eat your breakfast, dear.”

Rhys gave her an annoyingly perfect smile and devoured the food. She looked at him as he ate, wondering how he looked like a Greek god when he ate like... that.

He looked up as he finished and laughed at the look on her face. “Baby, don’t invite a football player over if you don’t expect him to eat all your food.”

She took their plates and stuck them in the sink. When she turned around, he immediately strode over and grabbed her face, pulling her lips to his.

He kissed her thoroughly, then pulled back far enough to say, “Meet me in your bedroom.” Another kiss. “And Feyre? Bring that whip cream.”

__________________________________________________________

By the time Rhysand left, Feyre could hardly stand up. She had no idea how she was going to make it through her shift tomorrow, given that she was so exhausted she could sleep probably for a day straight.

That’s when she realized that for the first time in her career, she didn’t want to go to work. She wanted to call Rhysand and tell him to come back.

That’s not an option.

A relationship was out of the question. It’d be cruel to him to invite him back, knowing it would never go anywhere. For all she knew, he was trying to settle down. With a nice girl who’d give up her life to have his babies and be a football wife.

Hell no.

As she got out of the shower, giggling at how shaky her legs were, she told herself to forget him.

But when the phone rang, she was surprisingly disappointed when she looked at the caller id and saw it wasn’t him.

As soon as she picked up, Mor practically yelled, “How was it?!”

“How was what, Mor?”

“The sex last night, idiot. Was it good? I bet it was good. You don’t look like that and not have a seriously huge-”

“Mor! Calm down.”

She could tell her best friend was enjoying this way too much. “I’ll calm down when you tell me. Everything.”

Feyre laughed, then gave in and asked, “What do you want to know?”

“How long did he stay? Oh, you made him walk back to his truck in the middle of the night, didn’t you? Mean woman.”

When she didn’t respond, Mor pushed, “Unless you didn’t. When did he leave, Feyre? Hm?”

“An hour ago,” she admitted.

The howl that Mor let out was practically inhuman. “Oh my god! You nasty bitch! Or, wait. Is he the nasty bitch?”

Feyre laughed. “You have no idea.”

“I cannot believe you let him stay all day. He must be good. He’s good isn’t he?”

She didn’t have to think back to remember the answer to that question. “You have no idea,” she repeated.

Mor laughed. “I’m so happy for you. Are you seeing him again?”

“No, probably not.”

She stopped laughing. “And why the hell not?”

“I don’t date. It wouldn’t be fair to him to keep sleeping with him and lead him on-”

“You’re both idiots.”

That stopped her. “What?”

Mor sighed on the other end of the call. “He doesn’t date. At all. He’s seen with 20 year old blondes who probably don’t know their head from their ass. You don’t have to worry about him trying to tie you down.”

“Oh,” she said stupidly.

Of course he wasn’t the dating type. He was a professional athlete. Women probably threw themselves at him.

“For someone so smart, you really are an idiot.”

“You have a point. Look, I have to go. I’ll call you later.” It was only eight PM, but she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“Worn out, aren’t you?” Mor asked in a knowing voice.

“Good night, Morrigan.”

____________________________________________________________

Rhys wasn’t surprised to see Azriel and Cassian in his apartment when he got back the next day.

“You dirty dog,” Cassian said smugly, throwing a pillow at his head.

Rhys smiled and told him to shut his fat mouth. “What are you idiots doing here? Get evicted?”

“Waiting on your ass,” Azriel said. “We’re going out.”

“Not everyone got laid last night,” Cassian said sourly. “Ruined a good win.”

Az and Rhys both ignored him. “Wanna come?”

“I’m gonna crash, actually. I have an early meeting tomorrow with coach.” It was an excuse; he’d barely made it home without falling asleep at the wheel.

“Mmhm, an early meeting with coach,” Cassian said knowingly. “More like a late night with a pretty blonde.”

Rhysand just winked and said, “We made sure to avoid your seat in the truck.”

“Disgusting,” his best friend said bitterly as the pair walked toward the door. “I hate that truck.”

As soon as the door swung close behind them, Rhys showered and passed out.

_______________________________________________________

Three days later, Rhys was watching highlights from the game when his phone rang. He smiled as he saw the caller ID.

“Unless the hospital is calling to tell me I’m dying,” he said as he picked up, “I’m going to assume this is Miss Feyre Archeron.”

“Wow, an athlete with a brain,” the sarcasm flowed through the line clearly.

“I’m a package deal, baby. So, what’s up?” If this was a booty call, he’d make her say it. He’d definitely give in, but he’d make her ask first.

“I don’t date,” she blurted suddenly.

He paused, then said, “Me either.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just mimicked, “Okay.”

“Then come over.”

Rhysand smiled, looking at his watch. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

_____________________________________________________

Two months later, they’d spent practically every night together. Either he’d stay at her house and get kicked out at the ass crack of dawn when she left for work, or she’d stay with him and he’d wake up alone.

On the rare days her boss forbade her from working, they’d spend all day together, running errands, cooking, fooling around. Hell, she’d even come to one of his football practices. “Out of pure boredom,” she’d claimed.

He’d never tell her, but seeing her had become the best part of his day.

Sure, he’d resigned his contract for the next year to keep his dream job, but even that paled in comparison to her coming over. He’d started to depend on her. He’d started to care about her.

Only Cassian--who gave him shit about it daily--knew. And had been told to keep his mouth shut about it.

Because he knew that as soon as he told Feyre, she’d bolt. He just had no idea why.

Sure, he’d said he didn’t date. He was thirty-eight and had a terrible relationship track record, having only had a handful of serious ones. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try, right?

He’d never felt like this before... never been so desperate to spend time with someone. And it wasn’t just the sex like he’d thought for the first few weeks.

Because even when they weren’t having sex, he wanted to be around her. Wanted to hear her laugh, the one she let out when he surprised her or she made fun of his accent. Wanted to see her smile. Wanted to see her asleep in his bed, wearing his t-shirt.

He wanted her.

Ridiculous.

The first woman to openly not want a relationship with him, he can’t get out of his mind.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he noticed her staring up at him. “What?” he asked, worried everything he’d been thinking was written on his face.

“Nothing,” she said for the fifth time, stifling a giggle.

He rolled his eyes. “Just say it.”

“I cannot believe Dirty Dancing is your favorite movie!” She exploded, gesturing to the screen as if he were blind. “You’re a football player.”

“Which means I can’t have a good taste in movies?”

She shrugged. “It’s just not what I was expecting when you suggested we watch a movie. I figured you just wanted to come out here and have sex again.”

He grinned. “I did that for your sake. I figured if we stayed in bed any longer, you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

With her head on a pillow in his lap, she looked completely adorable as she looked up and stuck her tongue out at him. “How considerate.”

“Southern hospitality knows no limits.”

As they watched the movie, Rhys couldn’t help but sneak glances at her. She was... distracting. The ocean eyes, full mouth, and delicate features were pretty much a constant distraction for him.

When the final scene started playing out, Rhys grinned like an idiot and said, “Dance with me, Feyre Archeron.”

“What?”

“Come on. I wanna show you something.” He took her hand, hauled her off the couch, and took her to the biggest open space in his apartment.

He put his hands on her shoulders and told her to stay put, then walked to the other side of the room.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she said immediately, realizing what he had planned. “Absolutely not.”

Rhysand laughed and said, “Run and jump.”

“Hell no! You’ll drop me.” She crossed her arms and stayed put.

He rolled his eyes. “I promise I won’t drop you. You’re about a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

“No.”

“Chicken.”

“Excuse me?” she asked incredulously. “You seriously think that’s going to work on me?”

“Yep.”

“You’re right,” she admitted, barely giving him any time to prepare as she ran toward him, yelped, and jumped.

His hands wrapped around her waist as he lifted her up above his shoulders. She hollered like a wounded cat, but she stayed in the air and lifted her legs as he spun her around slowly.

She giggled as he held her up, and the sound was so adorable that as he let her down, he slowly dipped her. Her hair brushed the floor as he held her, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed a kiss to her lips.

He could tell she was surprised when she froze, but then she melted into him.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close and opened her mouth for him. It was like it was the first time they’d kissed, and he couldn’t get enough. He kissed her like his life depended on it, and she responded to every movement. She sighed into his mouth and he drank the sound in.

When he finally brought her back up and pulled away, she had tears in her eyes.

“What?” he asked, concerned.

Feyre’s brow was creased as she brought a hand to her mouth. “I have to go,” she whispered.

“Feyre.”

She paced around his apartment, picking up her clothes and throwing them on as she went. “I have an early morning tomorrow.”

“You always have an early morning. What’s wrong?”

She pulled her boots on, zipped her jacket, and smiled tightly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ll... see you later.”

He didn’t have time to say anything before she sped out the door.

Shit.

______________________________________________________

“He kissed me,” she said as soon as Mor answered the phone.

A pause. “He hasn’t kissed you before?”

Feyre sped down the road to her house, explaining, “Of course he’s kissed me. But this was different. He dipped me, Mor. Like actual dipping. And he kissed me. Not to get in my pants, but just because. Like he couldn’t stop himself.”

“Oh. You think he has feelings for you?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out.” This was the last thing she needed. The past month had been good. So good.

But it had to end. She didn’t want a relationship... even if the idea of never seeing him again hurt so much she couldn’t breathe.

He’d become someone to her in the two months they’d spent together. And even though it’d hurt like hell, she had to cut it off. Before it got worse.

“Feyre-”

“Don’t ‘Feyre’ me. I’m fine.”

Her best friend didn’t let up. “No, you’re not. Ever since Tamlin, ever since that night, you haven’t been fine.”

“Stop talking. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Mor-”

“He hurt you, and now you don’t trust men. You got freaked out tonight because this thing with Rhysand could be real, and you’re scared. You’re scared if you let yourself love him, he’ll hurt you.”

Feyre suddenly yelled, “Wouldn’t you be?”

The line went silent, so she continued, “Yeah, I’m fucked up because of my marriage. It’s pretty easy to figure out. But wouldn’t you be? I was with Tamlin for eight years! Did you know that after hearing your worthless and pathetic and that you deserve what happens to you for so long, you start to believe it? So unless you’ve dealt with that for eight years and been trapped in a marriage to someone like that for eight years, don’t you dare bring it up to me. I have to go.”

She didn’t give Mor a chance to respond as she hung up.

She pulled into her driveway, took a deep breath and told herself the tears flowing down her cheeks were from her fight with Mor.

_______________________________________________________

“We’re closed,” Mor yelled as Rhys walked in the bar, then looked up and froze. “Oh.”

“Tell me, Mor. Tell me what happened to her.” He knew there was a reason she’d been freaked out after he kissed her. He just didn’t know what it was.

“To who?”

He came and sat in one of the bar stools, leveling a look at her. “To Feyre. Why did me kissing her send her running for the hills? I know she told you. She hasn’t answered my calls in six days.”

She shrugged, trying to make herself look casual. “Maybe she’s just not into you.”

“She’s into me.”

Mor snapped, “Maybe she’s not.”

His eyes softened, and she knew he saw it for the lie it was. “What happened to her?”

He could tell she was struggling with not telling him. She might not. But he wanted to fight for her. Wanted to make her happy. He just had to know how.

She took a deep breath and said, “Feyre and I used to live in New York, you know. That’s where we’re from. And Feyre was married.”

He nodded for her to continue.

“They got married young, and he... changed. He... just.. he was so angry. All the time.” She took a shaky breath.

“At first, I didn’t notice it. I didn’t see that anything was wrong. But one night, about five years into their marriage, I went to their apartment for dinner, and I saw that she had makeup on her cheek. Not a lot, but... like she was covering something up.” A tear that rolled down her cheek.

“And he saw. That bastard saw me notice it.” She wiped her cheeks, trying to compose herself. “And I didn’t see her for three years. He wouldn’t let her go anywhere besides work. And he hardly let that happen.”

Rhys closed his eyes sadly, but she continued. “I didn’t see my best friend for three years. Until she showed up in the emergency room.”

His eyes snapped open.

“I’m her emergency contact. I don’t know why she never changed it when she got married, but she didn’t. So I got the call, and drove to the hospital, and she was-”

She swallowed a sob. “She was in a coma for two days.”

Mor cleared her throat. “When she woke up, I don’t know how to describe it. She was... different. I helped her divorce him and get a restraining order, but it wasn’t easy. He controlled all her shit. Bank accounts, everything. She was never the same. We left, packed up, and moved to Boston together. She didn’t want him to know where she lived. I think... sometime I think she’s still scared he’ll track her down.”

“It took her three years to even go on a date. Another to have sex. She says she’s fine, but ever since that night, she won’t let herself actually let anyone in her life. She’s always been a workaholic, but after what happened... I don’t know. It’s like moving on, having a life, makes her remember her life before.”

Mor sobbed, “And I don’t know how to help her. Because he’s a cop, you know. That’s why it was so hard for her to leave him. We had to go to the freaking governor to get the restraining order.”

A sob wracked her body, so Rhys leaned across the bar and pulled her into a hug. It made sense. Why him showing any sort of feelings freaked her out. Why she’d been cautious around him, Cassian, and Az when they’d first met. Why she didn’t want a relationship with him.

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t fight for her. That he couldn’t tell her that he’d never hurt her.

“Mor,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

She pulled back and wiped her eyes. “Well, now you do.”

“I want to be with her.”

She nodded, and smiled sadly. “I know.”

“And she wants to be with me, too.”

Mor nodded again. “Go get your girl, Rhysand. But, just be careful. And I swear to God, if you’re anything like him-”

“I’m not,” he interjected.

“-I’ll shoot you. I’m not making the same mistake twice.”

“I’m never going to hurt her. You can count on that. Do you think she’s still at the hospital? If she’s not going to answer the phone, I’m gonna track her ass down.”

________________________________________________________

Feyre scribbled down her note, then peered back into the microscope. She knew it was late, but it’s not like she had anywhere to be. The thought sent a pang through her chest, but she ignored it.

She was so distracted thinking about how big of a mess she was that she didn’t hear him come in the lab.

“Feyre,” a familiar male voice said from behind her.

She spun around and opened her mouth to scream, but he was faster. She cried out as his fist connected with her ribs, but he stifled the noise when he slapped a hand over her mouth and shoved her against the door.

She tried to swing a fist toward him, but he pinned her arms against the door.

“It’s been a long time,” Tamlin said, smiling. “It took me a long time to track you down. You know how I found you? Paparazzi posted a picture of you leaving some football player’s apartment at three in the morning. Little whore.”

She whimpered as he squeezed her jaw.

“So I came to see you. At first, I wanted to punish you. You were my wife. Mine. And then you go and divorce me. For no reason. I wanted to know why.”

Howie, she thought desperately. If she could signal Howie, he’d come and save her.

She ignored what he was saying, blocked it out, and bit his hand as hard as she could.

Tamlin jumped back with a surprised yelp and she barely had a chance to scream before his fist connected with her eye. She fell to the ground and he kicked her in the side, making her curl into a ball.

“You bitch! Why are you screaming? If you’re trying to get that fat security guard, he can’t hear you.”

No one’s coming. A tear ran down her cheek onto the floor.

“Now, as I was saying,” he continued as if nothing had happened. “At first, I wanted to punish you. I had it all planned out.”

He knelt on the floor, brushing the hair off her cheek.

“But then I realized something. I realized you ruined my life. You told everyone I worked with, hell you told the governor, that I abused you. You got me kicked off the force.”

“Why are you here? What do you want?”

Please leave please leave me alone-

“I want you to suffer for what you did-”

“I do-”

Her cheek stung as a palm connected with it, making her cry out.

“Do not interrupt me again.” His voice was so cold, so calculating. “I want you to suffer. I want you to lose everything, like I did. But the only thing you ever cared about is work. And I couldn’t get you fired. No, you’re too good at your job.”

She shook with fear as he smiled down at her.

“But then I thought, if the job won’t lose you, you can lose the job.”

He ran a thumb over her lip, and she was paralyzed with fear when she realized the bitter taste in her mouth was gas.

“What did you do?” she asked softly.

His fist closed around her throat. She clawed at his hand, kicked at him, tried everything, but she was stuck. It had never mattered how hard she fought.

When her vision started to fade, he let go.

“Don’t question me,” he snapped as Feyre hauled oxygen into her burning lungs.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a lighter, grinning down at her.

Feyre’s stomach bottomed out.

She had to think, had to do something. Or else she was going to die in here.

“You were so consumed by your work, you didn’t even smell the gas I lined this fucking room with. Always so distracted by your work.”

He laughed softly, “And now you’ll burn with it.”

He flicked the lighter open, and time seemed to stand still. Feyre didn’t let herself hesitate as she reached onto the counter, grabbed the beaker she knew was sitting there, and broke it over Tamlin’s head.

He swore and closed the lighter, then swung at her. She rolled away from him, placing a kick in between his legs that had him gasping for air.

She got up and sprinted for the door. Her fingers were closing around the handle when he caught up to her, grabbing her head and slamming her face into the metal door frame.

Feyre sank to the floor, and Tamlin knelt in front of her. She tasted blood, felt it running down her face, and knew from experience her nose was broken.

As he punched her in the stomach, she could tell she’d have a ruptured spleen.

He was still dripping wet from the beaker, but he leaned close and laughed.

He opened the lighter close to her face, the heat warming her skin.

“You always were a fighter.”

This is it. If she didn’t fight now, it was over. He’d drop that lighter, and they’d both go up in flames. Together at last.

Gritting her teeth, she told herself she wasn’t going to die here tonight. She was going to live.

She was going to kill her ex-husband.

Bringing her knees close, she rallied her strength and kicked his chest as hard as she could. As he fell backward, she jumped to her feet.

Before he could react, she grabbed the lighter out of his hand, threw it on his chest, and rushed out the door.

What Tamlin hadn’t realized when he’d lined the room with gas was that there were more chemicals in there than anywhere else in the hospital. He didn’t even have to use gasoline. But now that he had, one open flame, and the whole place was going to blow.

She ignored the growing flames on the other side of the glass as she engaged the door’s security lock. Ignored Tamlin’s screams as the petrol from the beaker reacted with the oxygen in the air and the present flame, erupting in flames twenty times hotter than usual.

She ignored everything happening around her except Rhysand.

Rhysand, who was running toward her, a confused and terrified look on his face.

She had no idea what he was doing here, but she sprinted full force at him, also ignoring the fact that he was a professional football player. She wrapped her arms around him and tackled him to the ground as the room behind her erupted.

Glass and debris and pieces of paper still on fire rained down on them as she looked down at him.

She laid on top of him, shielding him as best she could, and grabbed his face. Please be alive, please be alive.

His eyes shot open, arms coming around her to brush debris off her back.

“Feyre, are you all right? What the hell happened?” His voice was fuzzy, like she was underwater.

She probably had a concussion from where Tamlin had slammed her against the door.

Tamlin.

Tamlin was dead. She’d killed Tamlin.

“He’s dead,” she whispered. “He’s dead.”

Rhys was shaking her, telling her to stay awake. Alarms were going off, the sprinkler system sensing the fire and raining a flood down on them.

He was screaming her name.

She just looked at him and smiled softly. “I love you, by the way,” she whispered. Like it was the easiest thing she’d ever said. Like she’d been waiting to say it.

“I love you,” she whispered again.

Then passed out.

_______________________________________________________

There was something warm and heavy on her lap. And it had hair.

She opened her eyes and looked down at Rhys, peacefully sleeping with his head resting on her legs.

Gently, she ran a hand through his hair.

She was in a hospital bed, that much was obvious. There were probably police men outside waiting for a statement from her about why her much-beloved lab had been blown to pieces under her watch.

She knew from experience that as soon as she officially woke up, she’d be surrounded be nurses and police officers and doctors asking how she felt and...

She ran a finger down Rhys’s cheek.

She knew he was awake when his mouth twisted into a smile and he murmured, “Do that again.”

She did.

His eyes opened to meet hers, full of worry and passion and anger.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi.” He picked his head up and put a hand on her cheek. “You’re so beautiful. This gown suits you.”

She knew he said it to distract her, and smile tugged at her lips, even as tears sprung to her eyes.

She was in the hospital. Again. Because of her ex-husband. And Rhys was here. He’d probably never look at her the same after this. Would probably pity her now.

He leaned in, and she thought he was about to kiss her, but his mouth landed on her cheek instead. As he licked her tear off her face.

“That’s disgusting,” she murmured, not pushing him away as he moved to the other cheek.

He pulled back and grinned.

“Mor told me about your ex-husband,” he said softly.

Before she could reply, he surprised her by murmuring, “And I honestly don’t know why you say you don’t have any country in you.”

Had he hit his head when she’d tackled him?

“What?”

“Considering you barbecued his ass,” he finished with a laugh.

Despite how awful and wrong that was, a giggle escaped her. And another. And another, until she was laughing along with him.

“That’s so fucked up,” she said, still smiling.

“Yeah, it is, but it’s all I’ve been able to think for the past four hours.”

Then his smile faded and his eyes grew serious. He put both hands on her face and pulled her close to him. “Feyre.”

“Rhysand.”

“It’s over now. He’s never going to hurt you again. No ones ever going to hurt you again. I’m so proud of you.” He said it all in the softest tone possible, and it made her chest hurt with how much she needed those words.

“I killed him,” she whispered, the reality of it crashing into her.

He shook his head. “You defended yourself. He was going to kill you. You fought like hell, and you won.”

Feyre nodded, pulling him closer until his weight was on top of her and his arms were around her.

“You kicked his ass,” he murmured through her hair. “My little brawler.”

She smiled, running her hands over his back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her.

She pulled back far enough to say, “What do you possibly have to be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here faster and I didn’t protect you-”

“Rhysand.”

“Yes.”

She shook her head and flicked his nose. “Shut up.”

“Okay.”

He hugged her again. “You should know,” he said a moment later, pulling back to give her a smile, “that Mor is outside with Azriel and Cassian.”

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah. I think they had to give Mor a sedative to calm her down. I’ll go get her if you want.”

Feyre shook her head, deciding to give herself another moment before dealing with that brand of crazy.

“Do you remember what you said to me? After you tackled me? Which, by the way, was insanely sexy.”

She knew under the humor was a twinge of anxiety, so she said, “I could talk about the homo-eroticism of what you just said, but I’ll give you a break. You’re under a lot of stress.”

Rhysand grinned and raised an eyebrow.

“I love you,” she murmured. “You know I do.”

“I do,” he replied smugly, smirking like a cat. “I love you, too.”

He leaned down and kissed her softly, ignoring the probably nasty black eye and bruised jaw. He kissed her, and she didn’t care about anything in the world.

Until the door banged open.

“You’re awake and you didn’t tell me!” Mor screeched, running in the room and throwing herself on Feyre, bruises be dammed. “Of course you didn’t because you wanted a chance to make out with your boyfriend before you did. Selfish, Feyre! Selfish!”

“Mor,” she muttered, hugging her back tightly. “I’m awake.”

“You’re such a bitch,” he best friend laughed.

“I love you, too.”

Rhys laughed and got out of his chair, probably going to talk to his friends and update them.

For the first time in years, everything felt right. It felt good. She was excited for tomorrow, not because of work, but because for the first time in a long time, she had people in her life she was going to fight to keep there.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid.

_____________________________________________________

FUCK sorry this is so long! I literally had no intention of taking this route when I started writing it, but shit happens when it’s 2 am and you’ve had a long week.

As always, feel free to send me requests/asks/whatever. I love hearing from yall.

@bamchickawowow

#feysand #feysand fanfiction #rhysand #feyre #feyre archeron #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of dreams #a court of starlight and frost #feyreandrhysand #feyre darling #feyre x rhysand

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

Text

One In A Million - Chpt.4

Summary: After a nearly perfect Thanksgiving Rose does her best to enjoy her final days in 1941 with the guys. As much as leaving will hurt, she takes comfort in knowing she’s doing the right thing. But sometimes, doing the right thing isn’t what you had planned. Content Warning for very brief sexual content.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! There is a whole lot packed into this chapter and I apologize for exactly none of it. Especially the last bit :D XOXO - Ash

Chapter Four

You had expected a month in the 40s to feel like a long time but the first three weeks fly by before you can blink. You’ve adapted to life there pretty easily, though you do miss modern conveniences from time to time. There are moments where would murder for a Starbucks and just ten minutes with your iPhone. It’s worth it though. You are getting to see life in a completely different time period and learning so much more than you expected. Macie has been a great friend both at work and outside of it as well. It’s refreshing having a close female friend who you actually get to see frequently. You haven’t had regular girl time since you were studying for your bachelors degree.

Bucky and Steve have become fixtures in your life even though you know the risk you’re running with timelines and realities. It’s only a month, you keep reminding yourself. You can’t change someone’s life that much in just a month.

The guys come over for dinner more days than not during the week, and on weekends you find yourself hanging out with them those days too. You refuse to show either man any preference, not that you would be able to pick between them if you tried, and you hope it will keep either of them from getting any ideas. You wouldn’t do anything to intervene with what they have anyway, they’re perfect together. They both make comments from time to time about taking you out on a proper date but you just laugh off their sweet advances as nothing more than joking flattery.

Despite Thanksgiving being abnormally late due to the way the weeks fell, the holiday sneaks up on you and you find yourself scrambling to find a turkey that Monday. The SSR office will be closed for Thanksgiving and the day after, giving you an unexpected four day weekend. The prices on meat and butter are up due to it being war time but you planned well and get everything you’ll need to make a traditional dinner for the three of you. You even get enough supplies to make both pumpkin and pecan pies. You’re looking forward to seeing Bucky’s face when he tastes the pecan pie, his sweet tooth is ridiculous.

The girls in the typing pool are given leave at noon the day before Thanksgiving. It’s a thank you from the senior agents for their hard work and the assumption that the women will be busy in the kitchen preparing for the holiday. You don’t complain as you’re still being paid for the full week despite the time off and you hurry home to get started on the pies.

When Steve and Bucky arrive on Thanksgiving they’re barely speaking to one another and the tension is palpable. Both men are cordial towards you but don’t spare so much as a word to the other. You settle in around your dining room table and after a few niceties from them about your cooking, the room quiets to the point where only the scraping of silverware on china can be heard.

“Okay,” you say, setting your napkin on the table, “I��m not putting up with this shit.” two sets of eyes snap to your attention. “What on earth are you two fighting over?”

Steve glares at Bucky who sends daggers of his own right back. “Why don’t you tell her, Steve from Murray Hill?” Bucky snipes at him.

“Don’t start this at dinner. Please, Buck. I won’t apologize for it.” Steve grits out at him.

“One of you had better start talking or I swear I’m throwing the pies out the window.” you threaten.

Bucky sighs and scrubs a frustrated hand through his hair, “Stevie here went and tried to enlist again yesterday. Earned himself his fifth 4F letter. Claimed he was from Murray Hill this time. Because he’s so eager to get himself killed overseas instead of listening to what his doctors keep telling him.”

“I’m only doing what’s right. Good men are putting their lives on the line for our country, why should I be any different?” Steve challenges, his voice low and firm.

“Because damn it Steve, you are different! What do you think you’re gonna do when your asthma stirs up in the middle of a firefight? Or when you get pneumonia again from being out in the damp cold for too long? God, or what happens when those coke bottle glasses of yours break and you can’t see two feet from your face?” Bucky’s trembling by the time his outburst is finished and he gets up, heading outside for a smoke to settle his nerves.

“I’m sorry we ruined dinner, Rose.” Steve says quietly, his head hanging in shame and defeat.

“You did no such thing. But Steve, another 4F? Really?” you get up from your seat and go over to stand behind him, leaning over to hug him tightly. You know this is part of his story but it doesn’t make witnessing it any easier.

“I have to. My pa served in the first great war and it’s my turn now. I’m just doing what every man should.”

You measure your words carefully, “You know if the doctors are worried about your health it’s probably for good reason, right?”

“I know, but I manage just fine even with everything I’ve got going on. I can do it, I know I can.”

“I’m sure you could, but sometimes life has different plans than we do.” you press a chaste kiss to his cheek and squeeze his thin shoulders just a little tighter for a moment. “I’m going to go check on Bucky, see if I can coax him back in so we can eat.”

Steve nods as you grab your coat and head outside.

Bucky is leaning against the wall of your apartment building, smoking; thick tendrils of blue smoke wafting up from his lips to the sky. He has to be freezing, having hurried out without his jacket. He watches you walk down the steps and over to him, studying you as if to try and figure out if you’re there to take his side or push Steve’s.

“Hey you.” you say when you get in front of him, giving his boot a little kick with your shoe.

“Hey.” his tone is guarded and he looks tired. Your heart clenches, knowing how worried he must be about Steve.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this today. I mean… I get why he’s doing it. But it has to be hard for you to watch him do it.”

“It’s hell. He’s better than any of us, ya know? He wants to go do his ‘civic duty’ more than anything, regardless of what it’ll cost him. And here I am, terrified that my number is gonna be the next out of the fish bowl.”

You pull Bucky into a tight embrace, holding onto him for dear life. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

Bucky drops his cigarette and wraps his arms around your shoulders, hugging you back and letting your warmth leech through to his goose bumped skin. You want to tell him it’ll be okay but you know it won’t be. By this time next year he’ll have been drafted and off fighting in Azzano. Steve will keep trying until he meets Dr. Erskine and then it’s all history from there.

You hold on for what feels like hours until Bucky finally pulls back. He gives a harsh sniff, his face ducked out of view and you suspect he’s hiding a few tears. You give him a minute, rubbing your hand from his shoulder to his elbow a few times in a meager offering of comfort.

“You said there’s pie?” he asks finally.

You laugh at his question before pulling him in for a quick hug and a soft peck on the cheek. “Two kinds. But only if you eat your dinner first.”

“Well then we should probably get back to it.” he slings an arm around your waist and together you rejoin Steve in the dining room.

The air having been cleared, the rest of Thanksgiving dinner goes much better. You keep everyone's wine glasses full of the nice red wine you had found and stocked up on. It had been an unnecessary indulgence but you’re glad you had bought a few bottles to share. By the end of the meal their argument is long forgotten and Steve and Bucky are back to their normal bantering. You top off everyone’s glasses and move your little party to the living room to listen to President Roosevelt on the radio. The three of you are sprawled out on your sofa, limbs overlapping in a haphazard, yet comfortable, way. It’s probably not era appropriate in the least but the guys don’t seem to mind and you are too buzzed from the wine to worry. You giggle when you catch Bucky running his fingers through Steve’s hair and smiling down at him fondly. You wish more than anything you could tell them how sweet they are together, how absolutely right they are for each other, and that someday the world will be a friendlier place for their love. Instead you burrow yourself into the warmth of Steve’s chest and hum the tune of your favorite song, wishing you could hear it for a moment.

“That’s pretty, what is it?” Steve asks when you’re done your sporadic humming.

“Ah, you haven’t heard of it.” you wave your hand dismissively, “We should go dancing.” you topic hop trying to avoid having to explain a song that won’t be written for another seventy years.

“I’m in.” Bucky mumbles from the other side of Steve. “I’ll even keep Stevie from stepping on your toes.”

“It was one time!” Steve protests.

“I’ll wear sturdy shoes.” you assure them, “I want to dance with both of my guys.”

Steve blushes lightly, “Oh, we’re yours now, are we?”

You nod, the wine making you bold. “Yep. You’re stuck with me fellas.”

“It ain’t a hardship, doll.” Bucky chimes in.

The guys don’t stay late that night. While you have off work the following day neither of them do. You stretch out on the sofa which seems too big now that you’re the only one on it. Normally you would go out the weekend after Thanksgiving to start your Christmas shopping. You only buy big presents for a few close friends and you need time to have them picked out, wrapped, and shipped to arrive on time. You also pick up smaller things for the guys at work and you like to take your time picking things out so they are personalized for each person. You don’t have to do that right now though. It’s only October back in your real life and it’s not like you plan to take anything back with you. Well, not much anyway. You have a blouse you’ve become fond of that is absolutely going with you. There’s a lot about 1941 that you’re going to miss, both people and things. It’s going to be harder than you originally expected to go back to your time but you take comfort in knowing it’s for the best.

You end up spending the weekend hanging out with Macie. Bucky and Steve are going to see Bucky’s family for a late Thanksgiving gathering on Saturday and plan to stay over, getting back at some point Sunday night. It’s your last weekend in 1941 and you’re a little disappointed but that’s a feeling you’re just going to have to become comfortable with. You have less than a week left and a little distance from the guys might be exactly what you need, despite it being the very opposite of what you want. Your phone rings a little after eight o’clock Sunday night and you almost jump out of your skin. No one calls that late in this era.

“Hello?” you say into the mouthpiece.

“Rose! We’re back.” Steve’s voice comes through the receiver, a slightly tinny quality to his usual baritone.

“Great! How was your trip? Is everything alright?”

“I told you it was too late to call!” you hear Bucky shout in the background, followed by a thump sound and a hiss of pain. “Sorry, Rose. Everything’s fine. We just missed you, is all.”

“I missed you guys too. How was it with Bucky’s family?”

Steve tells you about their trip and a few anecdotes about Bucky’s sisters and how they tormented him as usual. The conversation doesn’t run overly long but hearing his voice, and a few choice interjections from Bucky in the background, have the ache in your chest dissipating. You invite them over for dinner on Wednesday, wanting to see them just one last time before you leave. It’s stupid, you’re only making it harder for yourself but you need to see them. One more time can’t make that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things.

Dinner on Wednesday is a lavish affair, you’ve pulled out all the stops wanting to make sure the last meal you make them is one they’ll remember. They fawn over your cooking and insist you come over one night soon so Steve can cook for a change. In the end, it’s no different than every other night the guys have come over. You laugh and talk late into the night, happy to just sit around and enjoy each other’s company.

“We still have to take you out dancing.” Bucky reminds you as you’re saying your goodbyes for the night.

You nod past the lump that’s formed in your throat. “We do.” you agree.

“How about Saturday night? We can get all dressed up and go down to the Stork Club.” Steve suggests.

You fight back the wave of emotion rising up. Steve will be saying something very similar to another woman in about four years if the transcripts from the Valkyrie crash are accurate. “Sounds great.” you manage to respond, burying your face in the crook of Steve’s neck while you hug him. It’s excruciating forcing yourself to let him go.

Bucky pulls you in for his hug next, “Wear something pretty for us, okay doll?”

You nod against his chest, “I’ll put on my best dress. You won’t know what to do with yourselves.”

“I can’t wait.” Bucky lets you go and turns to Steve who’s waiting patiently next to him. Slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders the pair head out into the cold December night. You stay on the stoop watching them go until they disappear around the corner. It’s only once you’re back inside your apartment that you let yourself fall apart. It’s wrong. It’s impossible. It’s completely ridiculous, but you know you’ll be leaving two pieces of your heart back in 1941 when you leave. You barely make it to your bed before the tears start up and once they do, they don’t stop until your eyes are burning and your throat is sandpaper raw. Forgetting about your lights and the dishes you let your anguish consume you until sleep comes to claim you at last.

You take off work the day of your jump back to modern times. It’s not like you’ll be needing the paycheck and you want time to get your apartment in order. Someone will come find it the way you leave it in a few days and you at least want to make things easy on them. You also want time to write a letter to Steve and Bucky. You can’t just leave without a word at this point, who knows what they would do to find you and how that might upset the timeline of things. It pains you to write them your goodbye letter but the closure is good for everyone. You claim you’re moving across the country to help your ailing Aunt, which seems like a plausible enough story for the times. You tell them how much their friendship means to you and that you’ll miss them. You tell them to take care of each other, wishing them only the best in their future.

You’re wandering around your apartment, trying to find ways to kill time until your jump when you decide to make a pan of brownies to drop off with your letter. It feels fitting to leave them with one last treat. You still have all the ingredients and just enough time to make them. You get to work, not a minute to spare. Afterwards, having to re-clean the kitchen gives you something to do and fills your time while you wait for them to bake. By the time the brownies are cool enough to transport you have half an hour to your jump time. It gives you plenty of breathing room to drop off the brownies and the letter before heading to SSR.

Steve and Bucky should both be at work but they never bother to lock their front door. You plan to leave everything on the kitchen counter and be on your way within five minutes when you arrive. A creaking, thumping sound is your first indication that something is amiss as you open the front door. The door is in mid-swing, your arms full of your bag and the brownie pan, when you hear a throaty gasp that stops you in your tracks. You’re standing in the doorway when you see them and you drop everything you’re carrying.

Bucky is seated on the sofa, his pants down around his ankles and his shirt tossed carelessly off to the side. His head is canted back against the top of the sofa, an expression of strained determination on his face as his hips snap up against Steve’s. And then there’s Steve. He’s so beautiful, his hair shining in the midday light that filters in through the curtains. A sheen of sweat covers his naked body as he rides Bucky, meeting him thrust for thrust. He’s breathless and panting, his blunt nails scrabbling mindlessly for purchase against Bucky’s chest. It’s raw, hedonistic, and you can’t help but stare even as you drop everything in shock. At the sound of the pan and your bag hitting the floor both men’s eyes snap open to see you standing in the doorway. Bucky shouts your name and Steve flies off of him with a yelp, both of them equally frantic to cover themselves and chase after you. You grab your bag, leaving the brownies, and run down the street to the sound of Bucky calling your name.

You don’t stop running until you’re outside the SSR office. You check your watch as you lean against the brick wall to catch your breath. You have just under ten minutes to get in and in position. God, but the looks on their faces when they saw you. You know that being a known gay man in the 1940s is as good as a death sentence and they have to be terrified you’ll turn them in. Friend or not, the ‘40s were not a forgiving time for homosexuality. And you’re leaving, they’ll never see you again so of course they’ll assume the worst. You look down at your bag where your goodbye letter to them is still safely tucked. It all went to hell so fast. You wish you had time to go back and tell them it’s okay, you won’t turn them in. You still care about them and you’re happy they have each other. You don’t realize you’re crying until you notice the tears falling on the pocket watch you’re still holding.

You have four minutes to get to your jump point. It’s just not enough time. This is why there were alternative jump points, in case something went wrong. Well, something had sure as hell gone wrong. You can’t leave them like this, you just can’t. They’re too sweet and kind and good to abandon like this. You rub the antique brooch on your collar, you’ll just have to make the next jump instead. It’s only five more minutes in your world, the team will just have to be patient and wait. Your mind made up, you toss the goodbye letter in the trash and head down the street back to the guys apartment.

“It’ll be okay.” you hear Bucky saying as you climb the stairs to their door, “I promise, sweetheart. No matter what happens, it’s gonna be okay.”

The sound of Steve’s sobs tears your heart in two. You open their door unannounced yet again, letting the sound of it get their attention.

“So, are you two decent yet so I can come in or do you still need a minute?” you joke through your tears.

Two sets of blue eyes stare at you in disbelief.

“Oh come here you idiots.” you move towards them with outstretched arms, welcoming them to your embrace. Both men dive into your arms, clinging to you while muttering apologies and desperate thanks that you came back. You know that you did the right thing. Timelines and timing be damned. You needed more time with your guys and you’re gonna have it.

#one in a million #steve rogers #bucky barnes #reader insert #named reader #stucky #stucky fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #time travel #captain america #marvel #marvel fanfic #1940s setting

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delta-roseblr · 4 years

Text

Weekly Writing Updates

***********READ THIS FIRST**************

Before I get into the actual update I want to explain a bit of what has been going on in my own life first because you are going to see that dates have changed.

I am going to be taking Two Months Off from posting and will be returning in DECEMBER. For the sake of transparency and hopefully understanding I want to explain why this is happening.

Lets go all the way back to March when things really started getting crazy with COVID and schools (including the one I work for) moved to virtual learning. I experienced a lot of initial anxiety with that (which I think we all did) that kept me from writing as much as I normally do. I have a pretty significant history with anxiety that I’m not going to outline here but I can say that it has been bad in the past. I thing I have never experienced before was how Anxiety can shift to Depression but as COVID stay at home orders went from being a couple weeks to pretty much being for the foreseeable future that happened to me. There was a period of time where just getting out of bed was really hard- Obviously this further impacted my writing.

Over the summer things started to get better- I started to get better. I found a routine that worked for me, and I was looking forward to the start of the school year even though I knew it was going to be chaotic. Then right as I got my feet under me, it happened- My supervisor was fired. Not because she did anything illegal or anything like that, just district politics. Beyond the personal disappointment that came with the fact that we worked well together, and I was going to miss her, there was the problem of who was appointed to replace her. It became clear very early on that the new women didn’t have the knowledge to do the job. It took a little longer to realize just how unprofessional and retaliator she is. I can’t go into a lot of detail about what has been happening due to confidentiality reasons, but I can say that the last two months (since this woman was appointed) has been HELL for me. I have cried almost daily because of this woman and her horrible treatment of myself and others.

One thing I learned from my last job was that you should never stay at a job if you are miserable so as hard as it was for me (because I still love many of the people I work with) I began looking for a new job. The good news is that within a week and a half of seriously pursuing something I was offered a new position, and that is such a relief! The thing is they want me to start in October and the position is in Delaware.

So I’m moving again which wasn’t exactly the plan. Right now I am in a whirlwind of applying for my licensure in Delaware, completing all my employment paperwork, trying to find a new apartment, and packing. It’s all happened so fast and I’m still a big old ball of anxiety but at least there is hope at the end of the tunnel now.

So I have decided to take a few months off from posting to take a stressor off my plate as I move and settle in. I will still be writing as time allows, just without impending due dates.

What I’m asking for from all of you is understanding and patience. PLEASE DON’T send me asks asking me if I’m really taking two months off or can’t I start posting sooner. I know asks like that come from a good place but it fucking hurts. This WAS NOT an easy decision for me. I want nothing more then to keep posting and interacting at my normal rate but I’m also trying to get through one of the hardest things I have ever dealt with.

I’m still going to post my weekly writing updates because it is a good way to keep all of you up to date with what is going on. I’m always going to try to post updates about my life as things happens even though that in general is hard for me.

Now onto the actually updates!

All Moments Delix

Chapter 31- Complete -Anticipated Post Date 12/4

Chapter 32- Draft Complete - Anticipated Post Date 1/

Chapter 33- Complete- Anticipated Post Date

Chapter 34- Draft Complete- Anticipated Post Date

Chapter 35- Complete- Anticipated Post Date

Chapter 36- Complete- Anticipated Post Date

Chapter 37- Complete- Anticipate Post Date

Chapter 38- Draft in Progress- Anticipated Post Date

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Prompt Based Ficlets

Delix & Solangelo kid fic -Outline complete

Anon- Felix thanksgiving prompt

Kyle and “Mysterious Handsome” (AKA- Cecil) meeting- Draft in progress

Solangelo spanking prompt

Delix & Solangelo double-date prompt- Outline Complete

@ satan-with-grey-socks Morning after prompt- Outline complete

Anon prompt: How everyone acts toward Felix following the break up with Dean

@fionaisabel13 prompt Felix acceptance letter

Sex toy prompt

Felix prom prompt

Delix at Camp Half Blood fic-

Chapter 19- DRAFT IN PROGRESS- Anticipated Post Date 12/7

Chapter 20- Outline Complete- Anticipated Post Date

Chapter 21 Anticipated Post Date

Other Projects:

Solangelo Mortal Delinquent AU-

Chapter 13- Complete- Posted on Website – Ao3 9/26

Chapter 14- Complete- Posted on Website – Ao3

Chapter 15- Complete- Posted on Website – Ao3

Chapter 16- Complete- Posted on Website – Ao3

Chapter 17- Complete- Posted on Website – Ao3

Chapter 18- COMPLETE- Anticipated Post Date 9/24

Chapter 19- DRAFT IN PROGRESS- Anticipated Post Date 12/30

Chapter 20- Anticipated Post Date 1/27

Chapter 21- Anticipated Post Date 2/25

Chapter 22- Anticipated Post Date 3/25

Chapter 23- Anticipated Post Date 4/29

Chapter 24- Anticipated Post Date 5/27

Chapter 25- Anticipated Post Date 6/24

Chapter 26- Anticipated Post Date 7/29

Chapter 27- Anticipated Post Date 8/26

Chapter 28- Anticipated Post Date 9/30

Chapter 29- Anticipated Post Date 10/28

Chapter 30- Anticipated Post Date 11/25

Chapter 31- Anticipated Post Date 12/30

Chapter 32- Anticipated Post Date

Chapter 33- Anticipated Post Date

PJO Fancy Word One-Shot Compilation-

Aesthete – Draft complete

Ailurophile – Draft complete

Lascivious -Outline Complete

Prurient- Outline Complete

basorexia – Draft in Progress

Mellifluous- Draft Complete

Sweven- Draft complete

Liaison

Seraglio

Serendipity

Bibliophile

Kismet

Lascivious- OUTLINE COMPLETE

College AU

Chapter 1- Draft complete

Chapter 2- Draft complete

Chapter 3- Draft complete

Chapter 4- Draft complete

Chapter 5- Draft Complete

Chapter 6- Draft Complete

Chapter 7- DRAFT IN PROGRESS

Chapter 8- Outline Complete

Chapter 9- Outline Complete

Chapter 10- Outline Complete

Chapter 11- Outline Complete

Chapter 12- Outline Complete

Chapter 13- Outline Complete

Chapter 14- Outline Complete

Chapter 15- Outline Complete

Chapter 16- Outline Complete

College AU Delix Companion Fic

Chapter 1- Outline Complete

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Other Projects

Sequel to the Hogwarts AU

Chapter 1- Draft Complete

Chapter 2- Draft Complete

Chapter 3- Draft Complete

Chapter 4- Draft Complete

Chapter 5- Draft in Progress

Chapter 6- Outline Complete

Chapter 7- Outline Complete

Chapter 8- Outline Complete

Chapter 9- Outline Complete

Chapter 10- Outline Complete

Delix as Demigods 😉

Chapter 1- Draft Complete

Chapter 2- Draft Complete

Chapter 3- Draft Complete

Chapter 4- DRAFT COMPLETE

Chapter 5- Outline complete

Chapter 6- Outline complete

Chapter 7- Outline complete

Chapter 8- Outline complete

Chapter 9- Outline Complete

Chapter 10- Outline Complete

Chapter 11- Outline Complete

Chapter 12- Outline Complete

Chapter 13- Outline Complete

Chapter 14- Outline Complete

Chapter 15- Outline Complete

Chapter 16- Outline Complete

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

18 notes · View notes

ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years

Text

Haymitch, Effie, and Hayffie

(Musings, character analysis, my headcanons about their backstories and forward stories, especially about their relating and relationships. I felt like I needed to think through some of these ideas before writing more fics. These reflections got incredibly long, and I considered just keeping this in my drafts for myself, but maybe something here will resonate with someone else too, so here we go.)

I’ve been writing about Hayffie for a month, and I have some thoughts about their relationships/sexual histories both individually and together. It’s film-Hayffie that I’m into, so some of my ideas might conflict with what’s canon in the books, which I haven’t read in nearly a decade. When I eventually reread the books, I may feel differently, but these are my musings for now.

Haymitch:

We know Haymitch had a girlfriend when he won the second Quarter Quell at age 16. Snow had her murdered along with Haymitch’s mom and younger brother, so I’m guessing Haymitch loved her, otherwise Snow wouldn’t have bothered to have her killed since Snow always kills with intention.

Haymitch I imagine has probably always been good-looking-enough, but not extremely handsome. (I say this despite the big crush I have on Woody). I can see Haymitch as a kid having been witty, reasonably athletic, reasonably popular, a class clown and fairly obnoxious. As a teen without a father present/alive, home would have been a place of hard work, so school was likely Haymitch’s primary outlet for fun. I figure that particular girlfriend may have been his first serious love (and probably his only love).

I think he and she had some experience with sex but not a lot. They probably explored each other and discovered things together. They may have had sex only soon before the reaping, just in case the worst happened and one of their names was pulled. I’m remembering the guy I dated when I was 16. I loved him, but I didn’t want to have sex with him. However, if it had been the feeling of the end of the world, I probably would have slept with him. So, logic tells me they did.

Fast forward. Traumatized post-Games Haymitch wouldn’t have been with anyone else for a long time. I think it may be canon that he refused prostitution because he had no loved ones left to lose, but even if Snow did prostitute him, it would have been maybe once when Haymitch was still a minor, like Snow’s last nail in the coffin of crushing him. But Haymitch would have ultimately proven himself to be too much of a loose cannon/liability for Snow to use in that way.

So I imagine Haymitch has some history of sexual trauma. First in the intensity of sex with his beloved girlfriend within the feeling of coercion (let’s do it now or maybe never). Then with being prostituted to likely some wealthy middle aged woman. Rather than being the prostitute of a man, I think Haymitch would have killed the man or killed himself, depending on his trauma state at the time. So I don’t see sex with men, forced or otherwise, in his history.

It’s canon that Haymitch is basically a loner/shut-in who doesn’t like people in his house and sleeps holding a knife (when he’s able to sleep). I see him having the potential to be quite desirable to women and the potential for being a player. But trauma put a damper on those potentials. I think he could have sex whenever he feels like it, but for a couple of decades after his Games he just doesn’t very often (on average over those years once or occasionally twice a month maybe) because women are too much of a hassle, and they aren’t the love he lost. Alcohol is strongly his drug of choice over sex.

When he does have sex, I believe it’s one-night stands or casual sex with women who are players themselves and probably who he mildly dislikes. He steers clear of relationships that seem at all likely to become emotional. He firmly does not want to get attached to anyone again. Liking people is something he perceives as risky. Loving people is something he perceives as suicidal.

Haymitch is perceptive. Over the years, he’s learned some basics about what feels good to women physically. Pleasuring women has never been his first priority during sex, but I see him as the kind of guy who gets off on them getting off, so he would have made an effort to experiment a little and pay attention to the results. Unfortunately, alcohol often gets in the way of really focusing on women while he is with them. Which is one of the reasons Effie likes him better sober...

Effie:

I like to imagine Effie in early life, 0-9 maybe, with a very old great-grandmother in her 80s-90s. This great-grandma had memories of growing up in a free-er nation before the dictatorship gained in intensity, before the first revolution, before tyranny. I imagine she told Effie folktales that Effie remembers as bedtime stories. Those appeared to be fictional but were filled with archetypes and the roots of humanity. Her great-grandma was careful to protect the family, so she never spoke openly against the Capitol, but she understood and communicated deeper truths which shaped Effie’s heart/unconscious mind. I like to imagine Great-grandma offered Effie a reflection of the girl’s authentic self and offered her a small taste of empowerment. “Never forget you’re more than a pretty, well-mannered girl. Your wit is sharp. You have the capacity to be so much more than a face and a body bending to someone else’s will.”

To Effie’s controlling parents, and even to Effie herself in time, the great-grandma would seem eccentric. I envision her telling Effie that a woman doesn’t need a man to please her or to achieve greatness, and teaching her that she can please herself in all ways including financially and physically. Those lessons sunk in. I see Effie’s great-grandma having possibly been widowed young and surviving on her own awhile, with kids including Effie’s grandparent. In many ways Great-grandma was a self-made woman in her time.

Effie lost most of that connection to antiquity and to her authentic self when her great-grandma died, and she had nothing substantial to shield herself against the tight control and will of her family and Capitol life.

I imagine Effie mostly complied with that control but claimed autonomy in subtle ways. I think she had sex throughout the second half of her teens and throughout her 20’s, always being discerning, discrete, and selective about partners, rather than *sleeping around.* She had an intention behind each conquest. These conquests often had to do with aspects of self discovery, the desire for validation, and facilitating what she wanted in life, especially the ability to project a certain image in order to get where she wanted to go.

Did Effie fall in love with some of those young men? Probably, because underneath her thick facade, Effie has a tender heart which the facade protects like armor. Did she ever have her heart broken? Seldom. For the most part, she inherited and practiced ways of staying in control of her emotions within relationships. Most men thought of her as a desirable pain in the ass, but worth the high maintenance because she knows how to pleasure a man, she gives that focused attention during significant times including sex.

Did she ever experiment with sex with women? Possibly at some point out of curiosity and in seeking validation, but I don’t see women as her jam. Pretty and popular in childhood, she got along with girls in school. Later in her teens and adulthood, women mostly resented her natural beauty, fashion sense, drive to achieve, ability to attract attention, and her perfected facade. I see Effie feeling wistful at times for the quality of connections she had in youth, but her understanding of survival in Capitol society dictated that image and career-based connections were more important than purely emotional ones.

By age 30, during her years as an escort, Effie is quite singularly driven. She knows her body well, but there’s a veil over much of her inner self. The facade she’s built up is so thick that she doesn’t know much anymore about the vulnerable self beneath it. Haymitch can see the softness in her, whether he’s sober or drunk. She is both terrified and thrilled by his capacity to see the self she hides.

Hayffie:

I picture Haymitch as one of the first crushes Effie can remember having. I think of her as 8-9 years younger than him, so she would have been 7, nearly 8, when he was in the second Quarter Quell. She would have been quite taken with the way he held Maysilee’s hand as she died. Just as Effie was genuinely touched by Katniss caring for Rue as she died.

I see Effie having only been an escort since maybe the 72nd Hunger Games — long enough for the District 12 folks to know and mock her, but not too long. She had ambitions to move up in the districts, and she was on her way to proving herself as an effective tool of the Capitol: looking, sounding, and acting the part she was playing, and keeping herself veiled to the injustice of the Games and of tyranny in general. She was brainwashed by a lifetime of coercive propaganda, not because her mind is weak, but because the propaganda was so prevalent and multifaceted, including coming directly from her primary caregivers.

I think she probably expressed interest in Haymitch early on in their work together, seeing him as his idealized younger self. I think he turned her down then, in part because there was something about her that he enjoyed too much, even though he may not have been able to pinpoint what it was, because in the beginning he perceived her to be mostly ridiculous.

I see Hayffie playing cat and mouse for a few years — teasing, taunting, holding each other at bay and not doing much beyond tormenting one another during games 72-74, and learning each other’s nuances along the way. Effie would find Haymitch’s uncoothness off-putting and his wildness tantalizing. He would find her poshness annoying and the woman underneath all those layers a sensual curiosity.

The third Quarter Quell effected a personal transformation for each of them. Haymitch accepted the reality that he was caring about people; he couldn’t stop those emotions, even with alcohol, and he really didn’t want to. Effie’s eyes were opened to the injustice of the Games through her deep affection for her team of victors. Her armor came down enough to experience heartbreak — a related heartbreak to what Haymitch was experiencing as he lost old friends, like Chaff and Mags, and as he cared for Katniss and Peeta and helped launch a revolution.

I see this as the vulnerable time for Hayffie when their personal games of cat and mouse would pause, and intimacy would creep in and feel scary. They’d banter it away for a while but by then they’ve seen each other’s heartbreak, and the contents of a heart once seen, can’t be unseen.

In the absence of liquor for him and in the absence of facades for her (i.e. in District 13), hiding authenticity from each other would be tough. The taunting chase would continue in spirit, but physically they’d be ready to catch each other and play with that physicality if for no other reason to provide distraction.

“Let’s keep this casual,” they’d say. “No strings.” But the tapestry that had been weaving so long would take shape nonetheless. Strings would be everywhere, drawing them together faster than they could cut them.

Sex between them, after years of avoiding it with each other, would feel easy and alive, like breathing. Their bodies would fit well, so neither would have to work too hard to pleasure the other. I can see that sex between them has the potential to be very rough at times, though always with mutual consent. They both would be this interesting mix of selfish and giving. Their parting and coming together I see going on for years with feigned casualness. Cat and mouse again. The lightness would become more and more of a lie. Sex with other people would eventually whittle to nothing without much discussion about it.

They’d meet themselves in time as free individuals, and they’d realize they had fallen for each other all along, despite everything and because of everything. They would keep trying to stop it, and they’d keep failing miserably until finally moving into acceptance.

I don’t picture them ever married. Haymitch would want no government or religious bullshit in their personal business. But I see them eventually sharing their lives with increasing intimacy, how ever that might show up. I’m not sure yet how it would show up, though I like to think that several years down the road, Effie will move to District 12 “as the place becomes more civilized,” and when she perceives that there is meaningful work for her there. I also believe Effie’s perception of “meaningful work” will shift in time, initially out of necessity and then organically as she reconnects with her deep self and reclaims it.

I don’t picture Hayffie with kids. Okay, that’s a lie. I totally picture them with a kid and would have a blast writing the humor, affection, and angst inherent for them within that choice, but I don’t think that choice is in character for them. If they conceived a child, that would happen inadvertently. They’d both be terrified of parenthood, given their histories individually and together. Most likely Effie would terminate the pregnancy, but she’d be conflicted. And the more opportunity Haymitch would have to think about it, the more conflicted he would be as well.

The Hunger Games takes a toll in both ways. Kill a fetus to keep it from being born into a world where they’ve participated in and witnessed the killing of children? Or let the fetus become a baby with traumatized dysfunctional parents and hope for the best? I think they’d see it as a lose-lose, but also would feel so much tenderness about the possibility, especially if it happens years down the line in the feeling of “let’s do it now or maybe never.” Sound familiar? There’s some trauma reenactment there.

Trauma bonding and secure attachment:

I think that Hayffie could fall easily into reenacting trauma with each other. Here are some ways I see that playing out...

Haymitch experienced severe attachment trauma while still in early life, losing his parents and everyone he loved. This was on top of the trauma of being hunted and killing and witnessing death within the Games. This trauma was inflicted directly or indirectly by the Capitol. Haymitch has a lot of unresolved anger at the Capitol. Without integration there’s no healthy way for someone to cope with that severity of trauma. Hence, his addiction/alcoholism.

From the perspective of dysfunction, I can see him drawn to Effie because she’s a Capitol girl, controlled/controlling and emotionally abandoning. She doesn’t show up all warm and fuzzy and “talk to me, honey.” She shows up with open criticism and disdain for him. On the surface, she has those fundamental qualities in common with the primary abuser throughout his life (Snow). So through the lens of trauma reenactment, it makes perfect sense that he’d want to fuck her.

I imagine Effie experienced early life trauma that was more subtle but still impactful. She grew up in a place where one misstep could lead to her family’s ruin. She grew up with parents who likely demanded no missteps and were emotionally unavailable, being so focused on achievement over emotional health. To keep her parents’ approval Efffie needed to do everything precisely: appearance, manners, attitude, performance. When she didn’t exceed par, I imagine she was criticized and chastised. When she exceeded par she was praised. (Intermittent reinforcement.) Throughout her early life, she marinated in rigidity with constant reminders of what happened to people who were imperfect. Effie became an attention seeker and a people-pleaser. She sought validation from not just the masses, but also specifically from people who were the most critical of her and dependent in some way upon her *performance.*

From the perspective of dysfunction, I can see her drawn to Haymitch because he doesn’t offer her consistent validation. Even his *compliments* are teases, taunts, and mocking sarcasm. His alcoholism makes him emotionally unavailable and at times intermittently reinforcing. In moments, he’ll look right into her with unmistakable genuine attraction, and she’ll feel high when he does. The high comes because the attention is intermittent and unpredictable. In that state of emotional drugs flowing through her, it makes total sense that she’d want to fuck him.

Their potential for trauma bonding will make their relationship at times explosive and volatile, not overtly abusive but with sharp tongues and intense physicality that at times borders on punishing. Their desire for each other grows like wildfire, their bond tightens, and sex between them is compelling and delicious in a way that I don’t think either of them has experienced before.

I like to believe their potential for trauma bonding is only part of what draws them together.

I think Haymitch’s compassion in the second Quarter Quell touched young Effie’s heart very genuinely, and her young heart was also shaped by her great-grandmother’s unconditional love. With that heart, she in time grows deep affection for “her victors,” not just as validations of her self-worth, but as people who are truly deserving because of who they are, not what they do.

I think Haymitch has the capacity to see through Effie’s walls of makeup, clothing, and attitude to the heart of the girl who has watched him kill but doesn’t regard him as a murderer, rather she sees him still as the boy who held his friend’s hand in death. I like to think of him seeing that core aspect of himself through her eyes. Each time he sees it, he forgives himself a little more for the responsibility he feels for the death of his loved ones and everyone he ever killed in order to stay alive, and evey tribute who died under his mentorship. Haymitch carries impossibly heavy burdens on his shoulders, hence the alcoholism. Effie’s regard for him as a victor, a victor who showed compassion to Maysilee, to Katniss, to Peeta, and so on, lightens more and more over time the burden he carries.

I think their relationship is an interesting mix of dysfunction and healing. It’s raw and messy, and Effie desperately needs raw and messy, even though she fights against that a long time. Their relationship also has the capacity for deep tenderness and connection, and Haymitch desperately needs tenderness and connection, even though he fights against it a long time.

I so want to see Effie raw and messy. I so want to see Haymitch tender and connecting. That’s the unfolding I write for them together. It’s tough not to rush it, because it’s so interesting, and I want to see it all so badly.

After all these years, I am adoring Hayffie in this unexpected way. This ship is surprisingly intricate and beautiful.

P.S. If you made it this far, wow, and thanks for caring about the characters enough to read my extended ramblings. Comments welcome. I love to hear other people’s thoughts about Hayffie.

#hayffie #hayffie musings #effie x haymitch #haymitch x effie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #thg #hunger games musings #the hunger games #hunger games #character analysis #trauma reenactment #attachment trauma

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tainted-sentimientos · 4 years

Text

Barack Obama’s DNC Speech

“Good evening, everybody. As you've seen by now, this isn't a normal convention. It's not a normal time. So tonight, I want to talk as plainly as I can about the stakes in this election. Because what we do these next 76 days will echo through generations to come.

I'm in Philadelphia, where our Constitution was drafted and signed. It wasn't a perfect document. It allowed for the inhumanity of slavery and failed to guarantee women -- and even men who didn't own property -- the right to participate in the political process. But embedded in this document was a North Star that would guide future generations; a system of representative government -- a democracy -- through which we could better realize our highest ideals. Through civil war and bitter struggles, we improved this Constitution to include the voices of those who'd once been left out. And gradually, we made this country more just, more equal, and more free.

The one Constitutional office elected by all of the people is the presidency. So at minimum, we should expect a president to feel a sense of responsibility for the safety and welfare of all 330 million of us -- regardless of what we look like, how we worship, who we love, how much money we have -- or who we voted for.

But we should also expect a president to be the custodian of this democracy. We should expect that regardless of ego, ambition, or political beliefs, the president will preserve, protect, and defend the freedoms and ideals that so many Americans marched for and went to jail for; fought for and died for.

I have sat in the Oval Office with both of the men who are running for president. I never expected that my successor would embrace my vision or continue my policies. I did hope, for the sake of our country, that Donald Trump might show some interest in taking the job seriously; that he might come to feel the weight of the office and discover some reverence for the democracy that had been placed in his care.

But he never did. For close to four years now, he's shown no interest in putting in the work; no interest in finding common ground; no interest in using the awesome power of his office to help anyone but himself and his friends; no interest in treating the presidency as anything but one more reality show that he can use to get the attention he craves.

Donald Trump hasn't grown into the job because he can't. And the consequences of that failure are severe. 170,000 Americans dead. Millions of jobs gone while those at the top take in more than ever. Our worst impulses unleashed, our proud reputation around the world badly diminished, and our democratic institutions threatened like never before.

Now, I know that in times as polarized as these, most of you have already made up your mind. But maybe you're still not sure which candidate you'll vote for -- or whether you'll vote at all. Maybe you're tired of the direction we're headed, but you can't see a better path yet, or you just don't know enough about the person who wants to lead us there.

So let me tell you about my friend Joe Biden.

Twelve years ago, when I began my search for a vice president, I didn't know I'd end up finding a brother. Joe and I came from different places and different generations. But what I quickly came to admire about him is his resilience, born of too much struggle; his empathy, born of too much grief. Joe's a man who learned -- early on -- to treat every person he meets with respect and dignity, living by the words his parents taught him: "No one's better than you, Joe, but you're better than nobody."

That empathy, that decency, the belief that everybody counts -- that's who Joe is.

When he talks with someone who's lost her job, Joe remembers the night his father sat him down to say that he'd lost his.

When Joe listens to a parent who's trying to hold it all together right now, he does it as the single dad who took the train back to Wilmington each and every night so he could tuck his kids into bed.

When he meets with military families who've lost their hero, he does it as a kindred spirit; the parent of an American soldier; somebody whose faith has endured the hardest loss there is.

For eight years, Joe was the last one in the room whenever I faced a big decision. He made me a better president -- and he's got the character and the experience to make us a better country.

And in my friend Kamala Harris, he's chosen an ideal partner who's more than prepared for the job; someone who knows what it's like to overcome barriers and who's made a career fighting to help others live out their own American dream.

Along with the experience needed to get things done, Joe and Kamala have concrete policies that will turn their vision of a better, fairer, stronger country into reality.

They'll get this pandemic under control, like Joe did when he helped me manage H1N1 and prevent an Ebola outbreak from reaching our shores.

They'll expand health care to more Americans, like Joe and I did ten years ago when he helped craft the Affordable Care Act and nail down the votes to make it the law.

They'll rescue the economy, like Joe helped me do after the Great Recession. I asked him to manage the Recovery Act, which jumpstarted the longest stretch of job growth in history. And he sees this moment now not as a chance to get back to where we were, but to make long-overdue changes so that our economy actually makes life a little easier for everybody -- whether it's the waitress trying to raise a kid on her own, or the shift worker always on the edge of getting laid off, or the student figuring out how to pay for next semester's classes.

Joe and Kamala will restore our standing in the world -- and as we've learned from this pandemic, that matters. Joe knows the world, and the world knows him. He knows that our true strength comes from setting an example the world wants to follow. A nation that stands with democracy, not dictators. A nation that can inspire and mobilize others to overcome threats like climate change, terrorism, poverty, and disease.

But more than anything, what I know about Joe and Kamala is that they actually care about every American. And they care deeply about this democracy.

They believe that in a democracy, the right to vote is sacred, and we should be making it easier for people to cast their ballot, not harder.

They believe that no one -- including the president -- is above the law, and that no public official -- including the president -- should use their office to enrich themselves or their supporters.

They understand that in this democracy, the Commander-in-Chief doesn't use the men and women of our military, who are willing to risk everything to protect our nation, as political props to deploy against peaceful protesters on our own soil. They understand that political opponents aren't "un-American" just because they disagree with you; that a free press isn't the "enemy" but the way we hold officials accountable; that our ability to work together to solve big problems like a pandemic depends on a fidelity to facts and science and logic and not just making stuff up.

None of this should be controversial. These shouldn't be Republican principles or Democratic principles. They're American principles. But at this moment, this president and those who enable him, have shown they don't believe in these things.

Tonight, I am asking you to believe in Joe and Kamala's ability to lead this country out of these dark times and build it back better. But here's the thing: no single American can fix this country alone. Not even a president. Democracy was never meant to be transactional -- you give me your vote; I make everything better. It requires an active and informed citizenry. So I am also asking you to believe in your own ability -- to embrace your own responsibility as citizens -- to make sure that the basic tenets of our democracy endure.

Because that's what at stake right now. Our democracy.

Look, I understand why many Americans are down on government. The way the rules have been set up and abused in Congress make it easy for special interests to stop progress. Believe me, I know. I understand why a white factory worker who's seen his wages cut or his job shipped overseas might feel like the government no longer looks out for him, and why a Black mother might feel like it never looked out for her at all. I understand why a new immigrant might look around this country and wonder whether there's still a place for him here; why a young person might look at politics right now, the circus of it all, the meanness and the lies and crazy conspiracy theories and think, what's the point?

Well, here's the point: this president and those in power -- those who benefit from keeping things the way they are -- they are counting on your cynicism. They know they can't win you over with their policies. So they're hoping to make it as hard as possible for you to vote, and to convince you that your vote doesn't matter. That's how they win. That's how they get to keep making decisions that affect your life, and the lives of the people you love. That's how the economy will keep getting skewed to the wealthy and well-connected, how our health systems will let more people fall through the cracks. That's how a democracy withers, until it's no democracy at all.

We can't let that happen. Do not let them take away your power. Don't let them take away your democracy. Make a plan right now for how you're going to get involved and vote. Do it as early as you can and tell your family and friends how they can vote too. Do what Americans have done for over two centuries when faced with even tougher times than this -- all those quiet heroes who found the courage to keep marching, keep pushing in the face of hardship and injustice.

Last month, we lost a giant of American democracy in John Lewis. Some years ago, I sat down with John and the few remaining leaders of the early Civil Rights Movement. One of them told me he never imagined he'd walk into the White House and see a president who looked like his grandson. Then he told me that he'd looked it up, and it turned out that on the very day that I was born, he was marching into a jail cell, trying to end Jim Crow segregation in the South.

What we do echoes through the generations.

Whatever our backgrounds, we're all the children of Americans who fought the good fight. Great grandparents working in firetraps and sweatshops without rights or representation. Farmers losing their dreams to dust. Irish and Italians and Asians and Latinos told to go back where they came from. Jews and Catholics, Muslims and Sikhs, made to feel suspect for the way they worshipped. Black Americans chained and whipped and hanged. Spit on for trying to sit at lunch counters. Beaten for trying to vote.

If anyone had a right to believe that this democracy did not work, and could not work, it was those Americans. Our ancestors. They were on the receiving end of a democracy that had fallen short all their lives. They knew how far the daily reality of America strayed from the myth. And yet, instead of giving up, they joined together and said somehow, some way, we are going to make this work. We are going to bring those words, in our founding documents, to life.

I've seen that same spirit rising these past few years. Folks of every age and background who packed city centers and airports and rural roads so that families wouldn't be separated. So that another classroom wouldn't get shot up. So that our kids won't grow up on an uninhabitable planet. Americans of all races joining together to declare, in the face of injustice and brutality at the hands of the state, that Black Lives Matter, no more, but no less, so that no child in this country feels the continuing sting of racism.

To the young people who led us this summer, telling us we need to be better -- in so many ways, you are this country's dreams fulfilled. Earlier generations had to be persuaded that everyone has equal worth. For you, it's a given -- a conviction. And what I want you to know is that for all its messiness and frustrations, your system of self-government can be harnessed to help you realize those convictions.

You can give our democracy new meaning. You can take it to a better place. You're the missing ingredient -- the ones who will decide whether or not America becomes the country that fully lives up to its creed.

That work will continue long after this election. But any chance of success depends entirely on the outcome of this election. This administration has shown it will tear our democracy down if that's what it takes to win. So we have to get busy building it up -- by pouring all our effort into these 76 days, and by voting like never before -- for Joe and Kamala, and candidates up and down the ticket, so that we leave no doubt about what this country we love stands for -- today and for all our days to come.

Stay safe. God bless.”

- Former President Barack Obama

To the decided:

To the undecided:

To the opposed:

#politics #usa politics #democratic national convention #dnc #dnc 2020 #dnc speech #barack obama #president barack obama #forever my president #john mulaney #kid gorgeous #ariel #the little mermaid #nicki minaj #stupid hoes #vote #vote 2020 #cnn

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crystalessenceswrites · 4 years

Text

You’re Enchanting--Chapter One

Guess who finally got her shit together enough to work on this WIP again! I originally started this off as an xreader but as I got into it I decided the storyline fit my Treveylan almost too well...

Updates will be posted here and also on A03 (linked if you prefer the other platform)

Thanks to @toshmmm for listening to me go on about this for months now and has probably read 5 different drafts of this chapter

Summary: Delphine always told Elazar she would do anything to help him if he was ever in trouble, even knowing his knack for finding it. She didn't expect to be helping him save the world after someone blows up the Conclave and tears a hole in the sky. Nor did Delphine expect to be falling for anyone, let alone a troubled, former templar, while she's watching her best friend shape the future of their world with a green glowing hand.

Pairings: Cullen/Trevelyan & Dorian/Lavellan

Warnings: none besides canon-typical mage-templar relations... I don’t think there’s even any swearing in this one...

Chapter One- Whirlwind

The wailing continued in the village for three days. No one seemed to know what else to do after the hole appeared in the sky. They were close enough to see what had happened at the temple in the valley but far enough away that there was next to no news. Three days since the explosion and most had come to accept the worst. Their loved ones weren’t coming home. The Conclave had been the end of them, the Temple of Sacred Ashes their tomb.

Delphine couldn’t bring herself to wail like the other women in the village. A part of her would not give up hope that he was still alive. After all the time they had spent together this could not possibly be the end. The rest of her was saying that she had to face the truth. An explosion at the temple had opened a hole in the sky- there was no way anyone could have survived that. Delphine had to accept that he was gone. So, while the families of the village wailed in the streets and looked on at the hole in the sky with horror, Delphine curled up in her room at the inn, his last letter clutched to her chest.

It took more mental coaching than she would want to admit for Delphine to get out of bed on the fourth day. Dread and exhaustion were a nasty combination. Delphine has not slept through the night since the hole had opened in the heavens. The dreams- the nightmares- crashed down upon her in waves. Some familiar, some not. None were pleasant. There had been whispers of demons floating around the inn since the explosion, some falling from the hole, others crawling through tears in the Fade that had supposedly begun to appear in the area. Delphine almost hoped it was a demon that plagued her nights. Demons were easier to kill than the fear and sadness gnawing away at her insides.

There was not much sense in moping about it, no matter how sleep-deprived she was. The world seemed to be falling apart around her- there was a hole in the sky and a war that was sure to carry on. The question was, what could Delphine do about that? She’d been hidden away for so long like a coward. It had only been his final pleading letter that had pulled her out of the protection of her family’s villa. Would it be possible to make it all the way back to the Free Marches safely? She doubted it. Continuing to the temple in the valley was not an option now, either.

A grumbling stomach interrupted any concentration she may have had in weighing her options. So, Delphine continued her musing downstairs, over a bowl of odd tasting porridge.

“The Inquisition! The Inquisition sent news from the temple!”

Everyone milling about the inn jumped as the runner shouted in the doorway. This is what everyone had been waiting for. Though Delphine has a sinking feeling that there would be little good news to share.

Delphine shuffled outside with the rest of the crowd to the square where a soldier in a green hood waited. There had been whispers along the roads about an inquisition when Delphine had reached Ferelden but she had not known whether or not believe them. If she remembered any of her Chantry history correctly, it had been ages since there had been a need to call an inquisition. With all that had been unfolding across Thedas it was not uncalled for- the Chantry needed some force to keep the peace now that the templars were gone- but was it truly wise to introduce another army in all the bloodshed?

The crowd formed around the soldier who stood stone-faced. Nearly the entire village had come to hear what word was being sent. All the clamoring ended when he finally spoke, though.

“The Divine Conclave has been destroyed. Divine Justina is dead.”

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Devoted to the Chantry or not, hearing the Divine was dead so suddenly was enough to shock anyone to the core. She was the hope during this time of war and turmoil- the Divine was going to bring the templars and the mages to heel- she was supposed to fix the mess that Thedas had become.

“But there is hope!” The soldier shouted, “before her death the Divine ordered an inquisition. We are working in her name to the close the Breach in the sky and slay the demons! Among our ranks is the man chosen by Andraste herself. She has sent us a herald to put and end to this disaster!”

Delphine looked on at the messenger in disbelief. Andraste sending someone to save Thedas from the hole in the sky seemed more than a bit farfetched. Nothing she remembered from her Chantry lessons spoke of a herald or anyone else coming to save them. Delphine didn’t seem to be the only one skeptical of the news.

“Andraste sending someone to save us? To close the sky? What nonsense do you think we’ll believe?” One man from the crowd shouted back. Most of the crowd seemed to nod in agreement. Who would believe that the Maker would allow the Divine to die in order to send down a herald?

“I speak the truth! The Herald came out of the Fade after the explosion at the Conclave. He has already sealed the Breach in the sky. It no longer grows! The Inquisition knows with his help we will be able to close it completely!”

It had been growing before? That hole could have killed them all.

Delphine wrapped her arms around herself, bracing for the next wave of dread and worry.

How had the world come to this?

“The Inquisition needs help to restore order. If you wish to protect your families, your loved ones, we are taking recruits in Haven!”

With that the crowd dispersed. Some stalked off, angry and balking at the bearer of bad news. Others stood in groups; hushed whispers followed by glances at the soldier who was preparing his horse for departure. A handful of young men approached the soldier, probably not much younger than Delphine, faces painted with determined looks. It appeared some had been swayed to the messenger’s cause. Protecting those you care about was a noble cause, she could not fault them.

What did she have left to protect now that he’s gone? She’d abandoned her friends at the first sign of trouble and hadn’t spoken to her family since the rebellion had begun.

But a hole in the sky? That was more than her family or the Circle. With the world already up in arms maybe this… this Inquisition could actually do some good. Andraste’s chosen herald or not. If not, Delphine could continue on. Find some other way to survive until she could make it back to the Free Marches.

Delphine rushed back to her room to gather her things.

Traveling to Haven was not what Delphine had expected when she had settled her tab at the inn and left the village. She found herself among throngs of people making the trek into the frozen hills. With the threats of rogue templars and mages and the possibility of demons, Delphine hadn’t expected to see so many risking the trip. The crowds offered a sense of protection. She couldn’t imagine either side of the rebellion attacking with so many civilians on the road. As the day progressed the more obvious the Inquisition patrols became. Their green hoods stood out among the plainly dressed travelers.

When she had started off, Delphine kept to herself, just as she had since she’d landed on this side of the Waking Sea. She harbored no desire to interact with the crowds, even if most of them looked innocent and trustworthy enough. By midday she was chatting with her fellow travelers, hearing their stories. Some were like her, on their way to Haven to see what part they could play in fixing the sky. Others were family members of those at the Conclave, headed to the Chantry there to mourn their dead or check if their loved ones were among the survivors. A few seemed to be devoted Andrastians, making the pilgrimage to see the blessed Herald of Andraste.

Delphine was still unsure of where she stood on the topic of the Herald. Just like the small corner of herself she allowed to believe he could still be alive, she allowed herself the hope that maybe someone out there was looking out for them. Andraste was said to be merciful, after all. Yet there was the rational part of her that saw the story as a tidy way for the Inquisition to draw more people to their cause. She kept her skepticism to herself, not one to squash out the hope of others.

The innkeeper in the last village had told her when she set out that it was about a day and half journey to Haven on foot. Delphine sought out a room in the next settlement she reached as the sun started to set over the Frostbacks. The tavern and inn were packed when she arrived with travelers, pilgrims and soldiers. So crowded that Delphine couldn’t even pay for a space in the stable to sleep in.

“Miss, if you’re looking for a place to stay, I know someone with rooms!”

Delphine happily approached the barkeep as he waved her down after her disappointing conversation with the inn owner.

“Is there another place further down the road?”

“Not quiet. My sister’s a widow, lives down the road ‘bout half a mile. S’got a big old farmhouse with plenty of extra rooms. She puts pilgrims up during the summer season for a few coin.”

The weight began to lift off Delphine’s shoulders at the prospect of being able to sleep in a bed again tonight.

“Just let her know I sent ya’ over and she’ll get ya’ settled for the night.”

Delphine shuffled around in her coat for a moment before passing the barkeep a few bits. She didn’t have much more to spare but it was the best way she had to show gratitude for his help. “Thank you.”

He sent her a toothy grin as he swept the coin up off the bar, “ ’ave a good night, miss!”

Delphine reached the home of the widow Emelia as night fell and she thanked the Maker for the gift of warm food, a roof and a soft bed. The greying woman had welcomed her in with a soft smile and open arms. Delphine couldn’t remember the last time anyone had treated her so warmly. A small part of her wondered if Emelia would be so welcoming if she knew the truth. She shook the thought away as she slipped out of her coat and left her rucksack at the door.

It turned out Delphine wasn’t the only guest that had been sent Emelia’s way. An Inquisition soldier was already enjoying a warm meal by the fire when she arrived. Emelia instructed her to join him while she disappeared into the kitchen. She gave the man a small, polite smile as she settled in across from him. He returned the gesture in kind before returning to his dinner.

Emelia bustled back in moments later, placing a bowl of soup and thick slice of nut-filled bread before her. The smell of her fellow boarders’ meal had already awoken her stomach, Delphine did her best to thank the older woman before digging in.

“I’ll be upstairs making up a bed for you. Help yourself to a second bowl if you need it, and just shout if you need anything, miss…”

“Del. My name is Del.” She’d been in such a hurry to warm up inside she hadn’t properly introduced herself. Delphine could only imagine the scolding she’d receive from her mother if she knew. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Emelia just smiled and walked off, cooing something about how polite she was.

The pair ate in silence for a while. Delphine silently thanking the Maker for the warmth filling her belly and the feeling returning to her frozen toes. The closer she gotten to Haven the colder it seemed to get. Oh, how she missed the mild winters in Ostwick.

“Headed to Haven then, miss Del?”

Delphine nods at the soldier as he stands, finished with his own meal. She keeps her eye on him as he wanders the room, seemingly interested in the knickknacks Emelia has decorating the space. He didn’t appear untrustworthy but the rigid posture and polished armor was too much a reminder of a life not far in her past.

“And you’re with the Inquisition?”

He looks at her briefly, over his shoulder, “I am.”

“The green is already recognizable. Lots of you on the road these days.”

“There are quite a few people on the roads to keep safe these days.”

Delphine nodded in agreement as the soldier settles back into his spot at the table. “So why are you headed to Haven?”

“To help.”

The man almost looked amused. “To help?”

“There’s a hole in the sky. For the sake of the world not ending I’d like to help the people trying to close it,” she must have sounded as unsure of her decision as she felt because the man just quirked an eyebrow. “Forgive me for not being reserved at the thought of Chantry authority with all that’s happened.”

“Your caution is warranted. It is always wise to question those you follow.”

He almost sounded as if he spoke from experience.

“And why did you join the Inquisition?”

“I was in the right place at the right time when the world first went to shit. How the Inquisition has stepped up with this mess just proved I made the right choice, found the right people to follow. You don’t have to worry, miss, about the people at the Inquisition.”

His words sparked a slight glimmer of hope, but Delphine had seen too much that to trust a stranger at their word. “So, they’re the kind of people who just want to close the hole in the sky. They’re not interested in trying to take over all Thedas, or something like that?”

“If the Commander is planning on conquering Thedas, he hasn’t informed the rest of us.”

Joshua, the Inquisition soldier, departed Emelia’s farmhouse at first light and Delphine left with him. It seemed a safer bet to make the final leg of the trip with her new acquaintance. Along the way he was checking in with the sentries and patrols, even taking a moment to introduce her to some of them. Delphine caught accents of all kinds; most were human or city elves but there were a handful of Dalish and dwarves among them. It seemed all walks of life were intent on making a difference. She hoped that was a good sign.

When they weren’t checking in, Joshua turned out to be a rather chatty traveling companion. It gave Delphine the chance to gather bits and pieces of what she wanted to know.

“The Herald? To be honest I don’t know all that much about him. Most people don’t,” Joshua admitted.

“Except that he walked out of the Fade after the explosion?”

That tidbit was the part of the story Delphine couldn’t wrap her head around. To physically be in the Fade…the implications of the went far beyond Andraste.

“That and he’s a Dalish mage-“

Dalish? How many elven mages could have been are the Conclave besides him? Did she dare let herself hope he could have been the one to step out of the Fade?

“Del?” Joshua’s brow was furled as he placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Oh? I’m fine. Just lost among my thoughts. You were saying?”

“I was saying-” Joshua makes a sweeping gesture towards a semi-fortified village- “that we’ve arrived.”

Apparently, he was a bit of a dramatic as well.

Looking up at the gates of Haven was not overly awe-inspiring, though Delphine figured it was never meant to be. The village was supposed to be a stepping stone on the way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, not the lodgings of a budding army. Like the village, the masses weren’t all the impressive either. Considering how many Delphine had seen on the roads leading into the valley, there was next to no one walking around. It was all a tad underwhelming.

“If you’ll come with me to the Chantry to drop off a report, I can help find you a place to get situated,” Joshua offered.

Delphine agreed, following Joshua up and into the slow, snow-covered village. As they approached the chapel the chatter began to grow. On the front steps of the Chantry it seemed a fight was ready to break out- an apt metaphor for the situation of the world at the moment. Now Delphine understood where everyone in Haven was.

The tension in the air was palpable. Joshua gestured for Delphine to stay behind him. She scoffed, only slightly offended by his protective instincts. Though, the two sides gathering did look to be more than ready to attack the others.

“Your kind killed the most Holy!”

Delphine noted the man at the front of the crowd wearing the most recognizable armor in all Thedas. So, if he was a templar that meant the side he was arguing with was compromised of mages.

“Lies- your kind let her die!”

Delphine’s fists clenched as the templar grabbed at his sword. “Shut your mouth mage!”

Before the man's sword left his scabbard another figure stepped between the pair, his voice echoing across the gathered crowds. “Enough!”

“Knight-Captain!”

She marveled at the second templar- in her life Delphine had seen few in the Order who would stop a templar from lashing out at a mage. Yet this man was not only a templar but one of importance. His armor looked expensive and well kept, covered in a full fur mantle.

“That is not my title. We are not templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition!”

Both the mage and the templar appeared to back off, if just a bit, but neither looked pleased. Even in the face of natural disasters or the end of the world, templars and mages would not get along. One well-dressed soldier wasn’t going to change lifetimes of tensions.

“And what does that mean exactly?”

Joshua began to grumble under his breath as a man decked out in chantry robes approached the Inquisition Commander.

“Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I’m curious Commander, as to how your Inquisition and it’s “Herald” will restore order as you’ve promised.” Delphine would have been happy to hear the answer to the Chancellor’s question but the malice rolled of the cleric in waves. His smirk was more than enough an indicator the he held no desire for a true conversation about restoring order.

“Of course you are-” the Commander turned to each group gathered at the entrance- “back to your duties, all of you!”

Grumbling, the groups slowly dispersed, while the Chancellor remained to stare down the Commander. Joshua didn’t budge, probably curious with whatever was about to go down between his boss and the cleric.

“Ah, Herald, you’ve returned.”

Delphine followed the Commander’s gaze down the path to see a party approaching. The woman in front bore a Seeker’s emblem on her breastplate. Delphine wondered if she was the Right Hand of the Divine that Joshua had told her about. The figure behind the Seeker brought her world to a halt.

He walked up, draped in leather armor, a simple disciple staff at his back. For a moment she wondered where his lightning staff was- he had worked tirelessly on it for weeks- but it would make sense he had lost it in the explosion. Otherwise, he seemed to be in one piece. His mousey hair was still as messy as ever and his signature half-smile graced his lips.

It took every ounce of self-control Delphine possessed to not run out to him. She had nearly come to terms that he was almost certainly dead, yet there he was, the one they were calling the Herald of Andraste.

“Mages and templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death,” the Commander explained as the man Delphine had mourned stopped at his side.

“Which is why we require a proper authority to guide it back to order.”

The chantry chancellor obviously rubbed the Commander the wrong way and he was already beginning to do the same to Delphine. It was obvious that the Chantry had already failed at forging peace in Thedas. What more authority did he think they held over the people?

“Who, you? Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”

It appeared the Commander had a sharp tongue when provoked.

“The rebel Inquisition and it’s so-called “Herald of Andraste?” I think not,” the Chancellor spat back.

The “Herald of Andraste” was not pleased either. His upper lip twitched up at the name, something Delphine could pick up on, even from a distance. The title must not sit well with him, not that she blamed him. “I don’t believe I’m Andraste’s Herald any more than you do, Chancellor.”

“That laudable humility won’t stop the Inquisition from using the misconception when it suits them!”

“The Inquisition only claims that we must close the Breach or perish.”

Delphine didn’t quite enjoy the picture the Commander painted with that claim. A supernatural disaster, the downfall of the Chantry, the destruction of the Circles and a civil war. The world was looking at the threat of unraveling, so his picture was accurate, but that didn’t make the idea any less terrifying.

“You say that now Commander. We shall see if the sentiment remains true.” Everyone in the vicinity seemed to let loose a sigh as the Chancellor strutted off.

“Don’t let anyone riot while we’re gone,” the Herald joked, shooting the Commander a small grin.

“The walls will still be standing after you leave. I hope…”

The Herald won’t be standing for long, Delphine mused, a small smirk growing on her lips. Before Joshua had a chance to stop her, Delphine bolted out towards the elf, and for once managed to catch him by surprise. The pair tumbled into a heap on the ground while everyone looked on in shock and confusion.

“What in the world?”

The body under Delphine began to shake with laughter. “It’s all right, Commander. I brought this upon myself.”

“You surely did.” Delphine shoved herself up into a sitting position so she had him pinned by his stomach. “So now you must suffer the consequences.”

Joshua’s horrified face made Delphine snicker a moment while the rest of the Herald’s new friends watched with varied levels of amusement. If her mother could see her now, oh how she would die of embarrassment.

“Is she your girlfriend, Herald?”

Delphine made a face at the dwarf. As if she would ever think of being with this lug of a mage. “I would say that would never, ever, happen… but it seems stranger things have been happening in the past few days.”

His dwarf companion got a good laugh out of that.

“You have a point, Delphine. Now I think I’ve learned my lesson, can you let me up now?”

“Not yet,” she gripped both sides of his collar and began to give him a solid shaking to drive home her point, “Elazar Lavellan! Don’t you dare let me think you’ve died again! Next time I’ll kill you myself!”

“Alright, alright. I am truly sorry I worried you Delphine. It won’t ever happen again, though. I promise.”

Accepting his apology, Delphine rolled off, allowing Elazar to stand and then help her to her feet at his side. The pair dusted themselves off, Elazar sneaking a toothy grin in her direction as they did. They had been apart for what felt like ages now. So long that even despite their reunion Elazar was practically buzzing with joy. Delphine could read it plain as day on his face, even without his smile.

“So, if you’re not his girlfriend, who are you, Miss Delphine?” The dwarf asked, looking her over not so subtly. Delphine had chosen to dress as inconspicuously as possible for her journey so her clothes offered few clues.

“With a whirlwind entrance like that, you must have some past with the Herald,” the last member of Elazar’s party chipped in; a bald-headed city elf in a green get up.

“Unfortunately, yes. I’ve spent quite a lot of time with this idiot. As for formal introductions-” curtseying slightly, despite the fact she was wearing trousers, Delphine gave the Inquisition members a wide smile- “my name is Delphine Athelyna Trevelyan, I’ve studied nearly my entire life with Elazar at the Ostwick Circle. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”

“The pleasure is mine, because now I have a source of embarrassing stories on our lovely Herald.” The dwarf grinned, “Varric Tethras, by the way.”

“As in the author?”

“The one and only!”

Delphine had so many questions for the dwarf but Elazar quickly cut in to finish introductions, he always was one to lead conversations. “Delphine this is Solas, our resident Fade expert, and Seeker Cassandra keeps everyone in line.”

“Herald, that is not my-”

“Oh, come on Seeker. We all know that’s what you do,” Varric added, sharing a grin with Elazar.

He already was sharing inside jokes with these people? How long had Elazar been with them? What had she been missing for all these months?

“Ugh.”

“And lastly, Delphine, this is Commander Cullen.” Elazar clapped the blond man on the shoulder. Cullen seemed momentarily thrown by Elazar’s friendliness but his strong posture never changed.

She’d never seen Elazar so friendly with a templar before. Delphine decided she’d follow his lead for now.

“A pleasure, Commander. I’ve heard many good things about you.”

Cullen’s brow scrunched up, “who’s talking about me?”

“Why Joshua, of course.” Delphine glanced over to the soldier who was looking a little hot under the collar.

“And what has the Lieutenant been saying about me?” Although he came off as strait-laced, Delphine didn’t miss the mischievous glimmer in his eye as he stared down the nervous lieutenant.

Oh, had Delphine thrown someone from the pan and into the fire? “Only good things, I can assure you, Commander.”

“As much as I’d like to stay and watch this unfold-" Elazar chuckled, watching the Commander’s stone gaze turn Joshua into a sweating mess- “I believe Delphine and I have much to discuss.”

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