#And this brings me onto my second problem which is to do with women and age

[the-busy-ghost]

Me normally: Let people love what they love

Me, after a Test Match Special commentator expresses their belief that the new All Creatures Great and Small is somehow "better" than the 1978 version: This is pure insanity and TMS can no longer be trusted on anything, how can they even be trusted to know about cricket, do they have no TASTE

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 1: Cat Adams

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 4986

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you finally understand what is going on. and that leaves you more lost than ever.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

The first thing you notice is the colour of the walls– beige and cold and not green. You don’t say anything to Spencer, though; you couldn’t even if you tried. Not with all those eyes on you. Your visitor’s pass clicks and clanks against the buttons of your shirt and your hands still shake, even with how tightly they are holding onto your bag. Morgan and Spencer have been very careful to not make too many sudden moves near you, but they are not the problem, it’s the situation. It’s the fact that Spencer doesn’t tell you who is Cat Adams. Is the fact that they made you put your phone in a metal box before entering the building, and then proceed to talk about as if you are not right there. 

“She’s going to need a security detail,” Morgan sighs, sunglass finally off and it knocks your breath away how worried he looks. He can’t really hide it, you think, not with how expressive his eyes are. Spencer, on the other hand, is unreadable. His face is set and frozen in a blank expression that has all the hair on your arms standing up. He doesn’t speak, though, and that is probably the first time you’ve ever seen Spencer Reid that quiet. “Kid, are you listening to me?” 

“Security detail won’t do,” Is all he says before guiding you out of the elevator and into an open space filled with office desk, trapped inside those god awful beige walls. Fuck, you think you are starting to hate beige; that specific shade of it. You hate how it numbs out everything inside, how trapped it makes you feel. No one really talks to you, but from the way they stare, it’s quite obvious that they know what Spencer won’t tell you. 

At this point, there are various things happening inside of you and you can’t quite keep up with them all. Your stomach is roaring, sending sharp jolts of pain up and down your torso and you wince a little with each step you take. In turn, each step you take has you wobbling on unstable legs, and you take deep breaths to try and keep it together. Though every time you inhale, your lungs burn from the panic that lingers in the back of your brain. And finally, you brain, tired and overused, still seems to have an issue with processing the situation, and it takes you to a time that no longer exists– a time in which Spencer laughed at your literary themed jokes, or when he would come with coffee and nothing more than a smile. You understand now, why he kept you in the dark about his job; you understand the weight that this job has on him. 

It makes you wonder if it’s a weight you’re strong enough to carry on your shoulders.

By the time you blink yourself awake from your world of past memories, there are people around you and you don’t recognise any of them. Somehow, you are seated at what looks like a very typical office desk; the chair swivels as you look around. The copy of The Argonauts on the desk is a dead giveaway of whose desk you are on, but then why isn’t he here? Why did he bring you to this cold, cold place and left you by yourself? Why– “Y/N? It’s Y/N, right?”

There are two women next to you, one to your right and one to your left. You don’t like how they make you feel like a cornered animal, but their faces show nothing but understanding and compassion, and you don’t feel like being a bitch will help your situation. Your anger, building higher and stronger with each passing second, is not because of them, and you are many things, but you like to think you are not unfair. “Yeah,” You croak out, gulping the ball of emotions that seemed to be stuck halfway down your throat, making it hard to talk or breathe without your lower lips wobbling pathetically. 

“Y/N, my name is Jennifer, but you can call me JJ. This is Emily, we both work with Reid.” 

It takes you a second to know who they are talking about. For you, it’s never Reid. It’s Spencer when you are laughing at one of his rants about something so niche and specific that you couldn’t find it anything other than amusing. It’s Spence when you’re heart is full and the butterflies are awake. And it’s Favourite Customer when you want to tease him. It’s never just… Reid. “Spencer,” You nod, embarrassed by your own need to say his full name. You don’t want to need him, right now, but you can’t help but look around the open bullpen. His wild, shaggy hair is nowhere to be seen and you don’t understand how the sweet man that stole your heart can do something like this. You are scared and confused and he just left you with strangers. “I uh, I’m sorry, but wha-what’s going on? No one will tell me anything, and I think I have the right to now why Spence had a gun and why I was dragged away from my shop and–“

If you had anything in your stomach, you’d vomit again but all you manage is to double forward a little, the pain of your hunger and your nausea together starting to get a little too much when the added stress of being alone with strangers got added into the mix. “Here,” JJ pushes a packet of saltines towards you. “Got into them when I was pregnant with my boys and now I always keep one here. It’ll be good to eat something, Morgan mentioned you got sick.”

“Thank you, I– Penelope?” Seeing her there, with her pinks and oranges and yellows, makes as little sense as seeing Spencer with a gun. Her warmth and happiness don’t fit in a place like this, that, so far, has only brought you anxiety. 

“Y/N! Oh my god, sweet, pretty Y/N!” For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you chuckle. And it breaks you down inside, how fragile you must seem for Penelope to wobble towards you in such high heels and yet, hug you with the utmost care in the world. It’s in her arms that you start crying again. “Oh no, no no no, don’t cry, it’s okay… You’re safe here.” 

“Safe from what?” You wail, and if Spencer had bothered enough to be there, that would’ve been the first time he would have seen you raising your voice. 

Ever since you were little, you never raised your voice. As an adult, it has happened once or twice, but never at someone specifically. Your nature is that of a more reserved person, someone who enjoys the spectator role a bit too much and prefers to observe from afar. There is power in knowledge, and it shouldn’t be surprising to anyone that you value the little bit of it that you have– so much so, that you built a business in which you could gather all the knowledge you deemed special and worthy and important, and then you could share with other people. Sure, you don’t always feel like your job is significantly important for the betterment of the world, but every time a client leaves with a smile, you know you’re doing your part. 

“Cat Adams.” 

The name alone is enough to make you fall onto the chair again, body limp and drained. Spencer is back, but he’s off. His lips are pursed in that way he does when he is unsure of what to say and he’s hidden his hands inside his pockets. It’s his own way of keeping secrets, hiding his hands from you… and you don’t like it. For as long as you have known him, his excitement shone through his hands; it’s the fast movements and the wiggle of his fingers that always make you smile. It’s how he best communicates and now it’s how he pushes you away. “Miss Y/L/N,” There is a man in a suit standing next to him, and you shrink in your chair under his stare. It’s heavy and cold, and you think that if he looks at you for a second longer you might start crying all over again. “My name is Aaron Hotchner, I’m the unit chief for the BAU. Please, come with me and I’ll explain everything. JJ and Spencer, you too. Penelope, prepare to brief the team in 20.”

Part of you wants to tell him no just to see what would happen. It’s clear, from more than just his title, he’s in charge. Your one and only connection to these people and this place is Spencer, so he is your tell-tale. He is your magic ball. It’s a skill, rather than a gift, being able to sense people like this– it’s something that years in retail and sales have taught you– and right now, you see how Spencer shifts his weight from one leg to the other while looking at his boss, waiting for instructions as if he couldn’t come up with them himself, and that, more than anything else that has happened today, is what scares you the most. 

Because if a man like Spencer can’t come up with an answer for this specific issue, you are not sure anyone else can. 

—————————————

“Can someone please tell me what is going on?” You are not above begging, hands balled into fists on your lap as you look up at Aaron Hotchner with pitiful eyes. You probably look messy, at this point, but you can’t bring yourself to care. All you care about is you. And your store. And the fact that an hour has passed since you first got to that godforsaken office and no one seems to care; no one seems to care about your time or your personal affairs. 

They only care about that stupid package. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I apologise for the confusion we’ve caused, but I guarantee that everything that has been done so far was to keep you safe,” His words, as strong as they sound, don’t feel any more assuring than then tentative glance Spencer throws your way. 

“Oh god,” You breathe out, eyes wide while your mind ran circles around you. It is a dangerous thing, to let a literary lover imagine– your brain, filled with epic tales and unforgettable real stories, starts rushing towards the worst case scenario and you find yourself reaching out to hold at something, anything, that might make you feel grounded in reality again. It’s how soft Spencers suit feels in your fingertips that makes you realise you reached out for him. “Oh god, was that like, a bomb? Did I sign for a bomb? Oh god, Spencer, do people send you bombs? I didn’t know, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, Spence, I–“ 

“It wasn’t a bomb,” Spencer is quick to interject, hands finally out of his pockets when he reaches out to hold your shoulders. His thumb gently caresses your arm and you try to breathe somewhat regularly, imitating the rise and fall of his chest like he is the beacon light bringing you back home in treacherous waves– like he is the only one you can trust in that place. “Y/N, it’s okay, it wasn’t a bomb. The contents of the package are not important and they were harmless. But we need you to focus. I know I scared you and that this is all very overwhelming, but you need to listen to Hotch. Please.” 

In your mind, you keep repeating those words to yourself– Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch.

“Cat Adams is a prolific serial killer,” Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. “We’ve arrested her a few years ago and we believe she has resurfaced.” 

Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch.

“And that she has been targeting Reid.”

With one panicked look his way, you say what the words stuck in your throat can’t convey– I can’t listen to Hotch anymore. “She… She is a serial killer,” You whisper, eyes focused on Spencer in search of a nod or a shake of his head. This is the FBI, but you only trust him. “And she is after Spencer. Okay, I uh– I need– I don’t know what I need.” 

If you asked Spencer, he would tell you that you have a certain something about you whenever you are tired. Your shoulders slump forward and your head fall on your hands in a desperate way to keep your neck upright. The lack of energy is almost visible in you, and sometimes he has to fight the urge to hold your head up for you. 

But you don’t ask Spencer. Actually, you don’t say anything at all; you let people talk about you and around you, but your brain shuts down with each and every word, unable to retain any more information. “Can I go home?” There is a minute of silence before Hotch sighs, shaking his head. “But you said you arrested her, correct? Therefore I shouldn’t be in any immediate danger. I mean, it’s not like she has access to USPS delivery data from prison, right?” The more you speak, the faster you try to get up. You’re not thinking straight, and with all due reason– there is no power left in you to do this. There is no energy, no will, no strength to keep on going because it feels like you’re running in circle. 

Spencer notices it, too, and in what can only be interpreted as a daring attempt to calm you down, he let his hand rest on your shoulder for a second. It’s a subtle way to tell his team to go easy on you, almost like he’s having a full conversation with Hotch without opening his mouth. You, however, don’t catch it, and you continue to try and push yourself upright and away from them. You need to get away from them.

“So she has no clue who I am and I have nothing to do with this because I’m just a bookseller! And I just happened to sell Spencer some books and we’re just friends!”

A wave of shame downs on you when the words leave your mouth, like you are admitting to failure when  you haven’t even had the chance to try it to begin with. It’s like you deny Spencer’s presence in your life as a whole, like he has no significant place or role next to you, and you can’t seem to meet his eyes even when he starts speaking. “Y/N, I am so sorry,” The choked out sound that escapes him is the only thing that makes you look, makes you raise your eyes to meet his and you gasp when you notice he is holding back tears. “I’m so sorry, I thought she was gone, that she was not a threat anymore, I–“ 

“Reid,” JJ sighs, and you see something in her that makes you shift in your chair, a bit uncomfortable with the way his name sounds coming from her lips. “Reid, she’s going to be alright. We will get some officers to keep watch by her place, and we can file a request for protective detail during the day.” 

“You know as much as I do that none of that will help!” Spencer’s voice gets higher and louder with each word and his hands are back at it again, flying around the room in frustration. You have never seen him like that before, and it scares you more to see him scared than to hear that you might now be placed under protective custody. 

“Spence,” This time, when your voice wobbles in fear, it’s not because of him. “Spence, is it really bad?” 

When you were little, you used to refuse to admit your were scared. You’d use any other word– frustrated, spooked, uncomfortable– but you would never admit fear. Your dad always thought it was the cutest thing, though, because despite you puffing your chest out and crossing your little arms over your chest, the one thing that always gave you away was the way your lips wobbled. Right now, you feel like that little kid again, refusing to admit to how you really feel but giving it all out anyways. 

Spencer’s eyes read you like a book. You can feel the weight of them, moving across your face, taking in the lines and expressions you make without even realising. It’s like every part of you is a new chapter, telling him more and more of a story he is yet to finish, and with a sigh, sad and defeated, he nods. “It’s really bad, Y/N, I’m so sorry… this is all my fault. I should’ve been honest with you, I should’ve told you what I did and who I worked for and all that it brings with it.”

“No, Spencer, this is not your fault,” You breathe out, reaching for him in a moment of weakness. Your anger is still there, still simmering at the way that, in a sense, this is very much his fault, but you manage to rise through it when his nervous hands try to reach for you but fall nimble by his sides instead. “I mean, it kind of is, but it isn’t. And it’s okay. I’ll be okay. Right? I’ll be–“

“You’ll be just fine,” Hotch interrupts. His brows are slightly raised and from the way he looks at Spencer you think he knows something you don’t, but you’ve been feeling like that ever since you’ve stepped into that office. Everyone around you knows something you don’t– they know things about each other, about Spencer, that you simply don’t, and that you think you never will. Because after this– this betrayal, this hurt, this fear– you just don’t think you and Spencer can coexist anymore. You don’t think you can forget, as hard as you might try, the sight of him holding that gun to your head. So for now, you try to calm down. For now, all you can do is try to calm down. “Miss Y/L/N, we need to asses the situation, understand if you are in any kind of immediate danger. While our team works on this, we will ask that you relocate. Do you have relatives you can call? Friends?”

Technically, you do. Your parents live in New York and so do most of your friends– all it takes is one call. But that is one call you really don’t want to make. “I don’t want to leave my store,” Looking down at your hands, you wonder how easy it is for them to see right through you. “I just moved here. I know it might sound stupid, specially considering the… you know, this whole situation. But my life is here now and I would rather stay, if, if that’s okay, of course, I mean, you know… best.” God, you look so uncomfortable trying to stand up to his boss that the pity in Spencer’s face is almost palpable. “Please.”

“Hotch, she can stay with me.”

“Do we think that is a good idea?” JJ frowns, and you can’t help but nod, looking at Spencer as if he’s insane.

“I– That’s a very kind offer, but isn’t she after you?” You manage to ask, looking around for any clue their team might give you. These guys are professionals, though, and they know how to keep up their masks of indifference. 

“Yes and no,” He explains, sighing before crouching next to where you sit. “Y/N, this woman– Cat– she is psychology disturbed. She is what we call a black widow, do you know what that is?”

You nod, blushing a little with how close he is to you. “I uh, I read a book that the main character was a black widow. Butter, by Asako Yuzuki.” 

His smile makes you melt a little, and you hate how weak you are to the little windows of personality he allows you to see from time to time. “Yeah, I like that book too. But… this is real life. Cat Adams goes after cheaters, liars.” 

“Then why is she after you?” 

“Because I lied to her,” He admits, your eyes stuck on his expression and if you were anyone else, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his jaw ticks in response to what you can only assume to be anger. But you are not, anyone else, you are very much so yourself, an observer, a quiet listener, and it just so happens that your favourite person to observe and listen to is Spencer Reid himself. “I was our decoy to capture her and now she sees me a as a game. Almost like, like a game of wits, to see who’s smarter, to see who will win. Is this making sense, Y/N? Do you need a break?”

“I just, I don’t understand where I fit. I was just housesitting for you, I could’ve been a complete stranger.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Hotch interrupted, leaning forward in such a somber way the hair on your arms stand up. “You have managed to get something she never did. Cat Adams is acting out in jealousy.”

“What did I get? I’m sorry, I don’t–“

“Me,” Spencer said, eyes piercing into yours. “You got me.” 

—————————————

By the time you make it back home, the moon is high and the roads are clear. It has been a while since you last got out of the house at the early hours of the morning. Fresh from the move and focused on your new store, making friends wasn’t at the top of your priority list when you landed, a year and something ago. Without someone to drag you out to bars or bribe you to go to clubs, you don’t really leave the house much at night, preferring the comfort of your own couch and the company of a book in the weekends. 

“You know,” For a second, you almost forget that he is right there behind you, and you jump a little when his voice echoes in your empty apartment. “You’ve been to my place so many times, but I never really even seen your apartment.” 

How do you tell him that there is not much to see, anyways? How do you tell Spencer that, in the time you’ve been here, the 365-plus-something days, you just never really thought about your apartment the same as your home? Your walls are empty, and it’s a little embarrassing, the way his brows shoot up when your turn on the lights. Besides your couch and a centre table, the place is almost empty. The TV stands on an old piece of furniture, a unit too dark and too classic to match with the rest of the things you have, and it’s a little too obvious that it came with the place and you were just too lazy to get rid of it. There is a singular throw pillow on the couch and a blanket, with a pile of books standing by the foot of it. But what really strikes him as odd, what really makes Spencer look around and make sure that yes, this is your apartment, is the fact that there are no shelves. There are no books, besides the four or five pilling up on the rug. 

“You know, for a book lover, you have… no books,” He mumbled, hands on his pocket as he offered you that smile you used to adore so much, but that now makes you a bit uneasy– tight lipped, never really reaching his eyes. “Why do you have no books?” 

“They are all downstairs,” You say, marching straight to your room to grab a backpack. “How many days do you think I’ll be staying with you?” 

“Honestly? Until we solve this.”

“…And how many days is that?”

From where he stands, he can’t see your sagged shoulders, trembling hands holding onto the blue backpack you had laying around the back of your wardrobe. “Pack for as long as you can,” He shouts from somewhere deep inside your place. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Too late for that,” You mumble to yourself, grabbing the closest items your found– a couple of shirts, sweaters, and jeans. After today, it’s not like you have much energy left to try and plan outfits ahead, so anything will do. 

It’s borderline funny, when you think about it… Just yesterday you were worried about what to wear, nervous hands sifting through your endless collection of sweaters to try and find just the right one for the day. Spencer visits you everyday, so everyday is a new day to impress him. You even start wearing makeup; a bit of mascara to make your eyes shine behind the glasses you refuse to wear, some blush to make the natural flush you get whenever he’s around seem more normal. It’s vain and futile, you know, but it makes you feel a tad more confident. A tad more… colourful. Like Penelope. “I think I’m ready,” You say once you’ve gathered all items you might need from the bathroom. “I’ll still be good to work, right?”

He nods, a smile on his face as if this is good news to him too. “Yes, we will have men stationed outside your store all day, so you don’t have to worry about anything while I’m away at the BAU. I’ll personally drop you off and pick you up myself.” His words don’t make you feel any more confident, hands fidgeting with the straps of your backpack. “Y/N, I promise, we will get to the bottom of this as fast as possible. This is temporary, and uh… I’d like to think that, you know, staying with me is not all that bad. You’ll get the bed and you are comfortable in my apartment, anyways, right? And, and! And we can have movie marathons and talk about books, cause I have a lot of books! You know that, of course you know that, you sold me half of them.” Clearing his throat when you just stare at him, you can see how Spencer is ranting. But you don’t mind the rant, actually; oddly enough, his nervous words are the one thing giving you a sense of normalcy right now. “Cat won’t come to you personally, if that helps. She is in federal prison, we’ve confirmed it yesterday, and anyone that comes in and out of your shop will be checked. Y/N, we– I’m not going to let anything happen to you, you need to trust me.”

“I do,” And you don’t mean to sound so sad, but you can’t help it. Right now, he’s the only person you can trust, and for you, that is one of the saddest things you’ve ever experience, because even though you know you need to pull away from him, that you need to put some distance between yourself and the man standing right in front of you, you just don’t trust yourself to be able to do it. “Anyways, can we go? I’m really tired, it’s been one hell of a day.” 

The walk over there drains the last bit of life you still have in you, foot dragging and tripping on the road, and you hate that this is how Spencer holds you for the first time– stopping you from falling on your face. “Sorry,” You mumble, following him once you’re on your feet again. The way his hands hover around you while you slowly make your way up the stairs of his apartment is adorable, and each and every time your heart skips a beat for him, it also breaks for yourself. You are digging your grave, and the worst part is that you don’t seem to care. You’re weak, you think to yourself, exhaling heavily when you finally walk inside the familiar apartment. 

You are so tired that you don’t really think about things too much, dragging yourself to the armchair you adore so much and sitting down. The way you kick your shoes off isn’t very polite, but you’ll worry about that tomorrow; for now, all you want is to shut your eyes and drift off to sleep, lulled by the muted green walls and the stories they told. While you slip into the hypnotic pull of a dreamless slumber, you can hear shuffling in the background, and later on, much later into the night, you don’t feel it, but Spencer covers you with your favourite blanket– the wool one his mother gifted him ages ago, the one you always leave tossed aside on his armchair. And you don’t see the way he smiles at you either, like he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders and doesn’t mind; not as long as you get to sleep as soundly as you are then. 

Actually, when it comes to Spencer, you are blind. To logic, yes, but to him, too. For someone as observant as yourself, it’s a little ridiculous how oblivious you are to the looks he send your way when you’re not paying attention. They linger, and he smiles in a way you’re yet to witness, but they are all for you. It’s the one bit of him that Spencer can give you, and you’re not even aware of it enough to take it and keep it safe. 

But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better to not have hopes. 

Sometimes, Spencer thinks, fixing your blanket so that it tucked under your chin just right when your curl into a small, defenceless ball of exhaustion, it’s better to never have loved, then to have loved and lost.

He would know. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

aaaahhhh this is really happening! it's now official: a muted shade of green is an active series :D sorry if it felt like it took so long for an update, I just don't have much time to write recently, but I'm working on it! hope you like it <3

[prettiestofpisces]

could you write a stewie comfort sex fix of reader comforting her after the finals loss last year?

Breanna Stewart x Reader

🤍: smut, thigh riding

love your feed back, thank you…muah

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tears streamed down stewies face as soon as she entered the car. she was angry, angry at herself as she was unable to play breanna stewart basketball tonight.

you couldn’t bring yourself to console nor comfort stewie being her feelings were so fresh. you didn’t want to invalidate all the hurt going on inside.

therefore the car ride home was silent, new york street lights illuminating the salty streaks that fell from breanna.

once you’d arrive home the silence was disrupted by breanna slamming the car door shut.

startled, all you do is stare.

she walks around the front of the car to meet you at the door to your house.

“for fucks sake, i was named mvp and played like that…” her tone of voice soft yet sharp.

“baby you’re going to be okay. you had an off night and sandy still trusted you every single second” your keys jingled as you unlocked the door.

walking inside your home with her head held low, her voice trembles “she trusted me and i couldn’t deliver, i wasn’t able to capitalise on a single play”

you turned around to see the love of your life sulking in pity.

“breanna mackenzie stewart, enough!”

“you and i both know what you’re capable of, so does the world, sandy, and the 11 other women in that liberty uniform”

you grabbed her face to look at you.

“please baby give yourself some grace”

lacing your hand in hers you guide her to your bedroom “i’m going to run you a bath, so you can rejuvenate and just relax, okay?”

entering the bathroom you run the water in the tub. as it fills, steam expels from the bath and you assist breanna in taking off her clothes.

“c’mere baby…” you start with her shirt, moving on to her sports bra, topless stewie folds her arms over chest.

bringing her sweats and boxers down to her ankles she kicks them off and is ready to step foot in the hot water.

before allowing her to, you throw in some salts and essential oils in attempt to calm her nerves.

dipping her toes in breanna submerges the rest of her body and every muscle that makes up her 6’4” stature untenses.

“babe, will you join me?” she looks at you with glossy eyes.

“of course my love.”

you proceed to remove your own clothing which consisted of a dress and panties.

dropping down into the tub as well you straddle breanna.

her palms come to rest in the small of your back while her face lays on your bare chest, your breast doubling as pillows. she lets out a deep sigh against your soft skin and you remain in this position for another ten or so minutes.

suddenly breanna’s body shakes repeatedly, emotions swallowing her whole.

“please baby i hate to see you cry, tell me what i can do, anything.” you hug her head burying her face deeper into your chest.

you give her a moment to collect herself, and she slowly lifts her head with a sniffle.

“i want you to make yourself feel good, like you always do for me…”

“…i want you to ride my thighs” again her voice soft, not demanding at all, however you rush to have her thighs against your puffy clit.

situating yourself over one of her muscular legs, breanna takes hold of your waist and grinds your hips down.

the warm water and dragging of your clit swarming your body with pleasure.

“you make me feel so good stewie” you slurred

“what’s that honey?” she says.

“win or lose my pussy is yours” still, your words almost incomprehensible.

it didn’t matter to breanna what you said, she knew she made you hot, bothered, and soaked, even outside the tub.

“come all over me princess”

breanna takes one hand from your waists to grab a handful of your boob, her mouth latching onto the other.

“shit shit shit” you grind a little harder.

“i’m almost there” edging yourself on.

water splashed outside of the tub soaking the ground however neither of you dared to care as it was a problem for later.

the water cooled but the steam from you body heat made its way to the air, thickening it.

with one more rough thrust against her thigh you feel yourself squirt, adding to the liquid in the bath already.

“fuck baby i love you so god damn much” your body convulses over and over as you ride out your orgasm.

you connect lips with hers and share the most passionate kiss. breanna murmurs “i love you too” in between kisses. once separated a string of saliva trails from your mouths.

you make an effort to catch your breath.

“tell me you’re feeling better because i sure as hell am” you heave.

“as long as you feel good, so do i” she looks at you with utter fulfilment.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[im-not-batman]

Okay i am SO excited that people were interested so here it is. I need to preface this with the fact that it won't be totally 1-to-1.

9-1-1/The West Wing Fusion crossover AU thing

SO, i already said Bobby is the President. Not only does it make sense for his relationships with everyone else, but he is also very similar to Bartlett in a lot of ways: the Catholicism, the hidden illness (Jed's MS and Bobby's Alcoholism and PTSD), the strong moral compass and the way they are always everyone's go-to for advice. Also the way they deal with problems and conflict.

Athena is obviously FLOTUS. Unfortunately i suffer with Can't-Stand-Athena Disease, so i'm leaning on my love of Abbey for this one. But they're both very capable, intelligent women who can't be told what to do. Both are completely devoted to their families and are even self-destructive with that love sometimes. (Athena going after Amir (DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THAT - FUCKING ACAB) and Abby secretly treating Jed's MS and putting her lisence in question).

May and Harry should take on the roles of Zoey and Ellie respectively. May still being the older sibling, i just think they fit the personalities of the siblings better that way. Harry being distant and aloof until they have a breakthrough, May being close to the family and friendly with the other staffers. Also the Charlie/Zoey of it all.

Hen (my beloved) is Chief of Staff. This feels obvious. She's already Bobby's second in command, she's got the instict for it, and the respect of all the others. I also think she would still have a fire fighting background and she got into politics later. I just think that experience would be vital for her as COS, similar to Leo's military service. I also think a professional history like that would also commmand respect from strangers.

For Deputy Chief of Staff I'm (perhaps predictably) going with Eddie. I was toying with the idea of it being Chim but you'll see why i didn't got there when i explain his role. But yeah, Eddie's perfect for this one. Both he and Josh are dramatic about everything, they both have well-meaning hearts that sometimes results in them doing or saying stupid shit, they have deepseated issues that cause them to push people away. Also, need i say it? SHOOTING ARC! This also (again predictably i fear) allows for the EPIC ROMANCE of Josh and Donna to be mapped onto Buddie.

Which brings me of course to Buck. He's gotta be Donna. They've got the shared history of failed relationships with some not great people (but remain hopeless romantics anyway), Buck flitting from job to job and Donna not having much work experience go hand on hand too. Also they're both very capable and intelligent but hide it/don't realise that fully. I like to think that Maddie qas the one to get him his job amd Eddie was just a bit too scared to question her.

Now Maddie. This might be an unpopular decision because on the surface they are nothing alike, but I'm putting Maddie in Toby's spot. Not only does she suit Director of Communications perfectly – Maddie is the fucking QUEEN of coomunication (season 5 notwithstanding lol) but she and Toby share a lot of their values. Sure, Toby's a miserable, pessimistic asshole about it, but they both believe in a very black and white definition right and wrong. They are both loyal to a fault (even Toby's treason was an act of loyalty you can fight me on this but you will LOSE) and do everything they can to protect the people they love. Also i just love them both so much i want to fuse them into one because it makes me feel like a mad scientist in a lab trying to create the perfect character out of goo and slime and glitter.

Anyway! For Maddie's second, I'm really not sure. I was thinking maybe Linda or Josh but neither fit particularly well to me. Idk, let me know what you guys think.

Okay. Chim. Think how perfect he'd be as Press Sec. Please. That man is BORN to be on camera. He's charismatic and friendly and relatable, he comes across as approachable but fr who would cross him if he put his foot down? No one! Also. I IMPLORE you to please imagine him doing the Jackal. It was so hard to figure out who i'd trust to take up the mantel of CJ "baddest bitch around" Cregg because i love her so much but when i started to consider Chimney it felt obvious 😅 i also just think he'd love to have the opportunity to evicerate an asshole on live television, and he DESERVES that opportunity too. And if you were wondering: Yes I DO ship CJ and Toby. Hence Madney being their counterparts.

Now for my boy Charlie!!! It of course HAS to be Ravi!! Those boys are the sweetest loveliest boys on the planet! They pair up so well! I also have a headcanon that, similar to Charlie, Ravi has younger siblings he's always had to take care of because their mum died and their dad worked too much. So. Yeah. Also lowkey May x Ravi nation where are you please accept me into your ranks.

Anyway, i hope this is acceotable to everyone who was interested. I might write something in this AU one day but if you have ever interacted with me before you should know not to hold your breath lmao

Tagging @pangrams-n-palindromes from my other post so they see this, I hope that's okay!

[soleminisanction]

I just went through most of your character rants and analysis and I love them so much!❤️ It’s so nice to find someone with a lot of the same opinions as me, especially after seeing a good bit of Tim hate in TikTok comments lately. I love the animatics and cosplays on there but it sucks that it seems like it’s seen as cool to be nasty to Tim’s character over there, or maybe it's just the comments of the videos I get? It’s usually people thinking he’s a misogynist or that his character steals from and or makes other robins look bad to hype him up. I don’t get these comments because I feel like all of the bats have been written with misogynistic dialogue at some point, even the girls! I don’t understand why people latch this on to Tim as some big character trait. Maybe it’s some joke I’m just not understanding. Also with the bringing other characters down to prop his character up, isn’t that what pretty much every character that is currently in the spotlight does at some point (like Steph’s Batgirl run infamously does to Babs and Tim)? Why do they attribute this only to Tim? Also, all the robins steal traits from each in adaptations and other comic runs, again why do they act like it’s a Tim only thing? Basically, all the other Bats do what they claim they hate Tim for?! It’s genuinely mind-boggling to me!

TikTok's algorithm is the worst thing about that app, because it's got a terrible tendency to send peoples' feeds into negativity spirals, and that in turn fosters a community of people who are either looking for rage-bait, are mad because they can't get away from the rage-bait, or try to bait other people to rage because that gets them engagement. There's no way off the merry-go-round once you get on it either, it's just miserable; it's why I eventually had to drop the app and now only watch the videos ported over to YouTube or Tumblr.

For my money, the reason Tim specifically gets blamed for this thing that is very obviously a problem with comics as an industry, not with his character specifically, comes at least in part from the drama involving Steph.

Because see, defenses of Steph tend to start from a seed of truth -- she was the subject of sexist writing in War Games, both in the fact that they chose to fridge her for Bruce's manpain and that artists during cuts away to the infamous torture sequence (which did not need to be as long as it was) drew her in a highly sexualized manner. But some people took that truth and ran with it, leaping onto this frustrating, stupid second-wave feminist idea that women are inherently innocent and can only ever be victims of The Patriarchy and therefor if anything goes wrong in the life of a woman, it MUST be the fault of A Man. And since it can be hard to pin-point which comic creators are responsible for these things, the brunt started to fall on the in-universe men.

So all the men around Steph became scapegoats, and Tim is the man she's both around the most and whom she has wronged the most. And then that attitude got amplified by her Batgirl run, which does this really manipulative bullshit where it only brings up Steph's past in terms that make her look like a helpless victim with no agency, without acknowledging or even mentioning any of the things she chose to do of her own free will. It especially went out of its way to demonize Tim and paint him as unreasonable, judgey and sexist, because the alternative would mean acknowledging that Steph had done some really fucked-up shit to him in the last days of Robin, and it was in fact perfectly reasonable for him to want her out of his life.

But see, that would mean that a good guy (gasp) didn't like her. And had a good reason not to like her. And trying to write a character who rises to become a true hero because they're fighting to make up for the shitty things they did in the past is so much harder than writing a innocent widdle victim who only has the best intentions and whose only problem is that the world is unfair to her specficially. White women with no self-awareness can project themselves on the latter, but not the former.

Amplify that by the faction of Damian stans who treat fictional rivalries as Deadly Serious Business and the fraction of Jason stans who hate him for existing as the result of Jason's death, both of whom will jump on and amplify any criticism no matter how baseless and uninformed just to score points against their perceived "enemy," and there you go. That's what I've observed unfolding since about 2007 anyway.

[ghostjunksickness]

The Medium Character Analysis at long last!

Oh man this one was slippery one.

The Medium is a shape shifter both physically and narratively, and is very difficult to pin down as a character.

Luckily, we can catch glimpses of what’s going under the surface through a few of the characters, mainly Aiden, Nowe, Ghost/Jan and briefly Erich.

Starting with Aiden, I don’t think it’s an accident the cyclops is our first “medium” for the Medium. Ghost definitely screwed Aiden up in his attempt to help him, but I have a very specific theory of what was driving him so crazy. Rereading that chapter, I strongly believe Aiden was already living an analogous life style to that of the Medium. All he cared about was eating, and Aiden’s inner monologue / possibly the Medium themself chastised him for squandering his second chance. I think Ghost, in attempting to break the deal, accidentally put a bit of the Medium into Aiden. My evidence for which is the following:

The presentation and transition of the word bubbles.

The physical mutation going on i.e. extra pupils and the blood grappling hook.

The knowledge of what Vahn’s tattoos are and finding them irritating (more on that later.

And, ya know. The sudden urge to eat people.

Which if this is true, tells us a little more about what being the Medium is like. We already knew they liked eating people. But whereas before I thought they were doing out of spite towards their mom the Crane Women (permanently taking away the mortals she loves so much), dude might not even have a choice in the matter. The Medium also probably lives a very solitary life much like Aiden. Their only long lasting companions are the Crane Woman, with whom they have mommy issues, and Huko, with whom they have everything-else issues. While that sort of isolation shouldn’t (and doesn’t appear to) be bad for a normal Immortal, the Medium isn’t an Immortal. They’re an immortal Mortal.

(Thanks mom)

And Mortals kind of need a certain level of physical and psychological maintenance to be functional or happy. Which I somewhat doubt the Crane Woman thought of let alone provided.

While it’s been moved around, there’s a brief interaction between the Medium as Hadar and Erich that tells us a lot about the Mediums mental state. Both of them are creations with some sort of obvious tell that they are something else. The Medium seems to project their own upset feelings onto Erich, but when Erich tries to reach out, the Medium freaks a bit. The Medium has had untold eons to learn how to read people and play the stage as needed. The Medium loves to act as wacky over the top characters but doesn’t seem to know how to be a person.

Which brings me to the big part: The Mediums relationship with Nowe!

When I made my first theory on the comic, I thought Nowe got the Mediums character nailed from the get-go. A cosmic loan shark, a trickster that’s three steps ahead and already knows what you’ll do next. And then I reread the comic with a fine toothed comb and formed a new theory:

Nowe and the Medium have one thing in common and it’s that they both suck at their jobs.

To be fair to the Medium, I haven’t really been given any examples of what normal successful deal is supposed to look like.

We’ve got:

Aiden, who’s deal was broken by the Ghost.

Trigger, who made a deal to fix a problem I’m pretty sure the Medium honest to god caused by accident.

And Nowe, whose first deal had to be nullified because while the Medium is powerful, they sure as shit aren’t omnipotent in their current state.

Which following up on that last point, we haven’t seen much of what a normal deal entails but I can’t imagine the Medium getting dressed up in a maid outfit and baking Trigger muffins. A significant part of this analysis was just working out why the Medium is so kind and supportive to Nowe. The deals been struck, they technically don’t need to do more than what they’ve already promised. If Nowe can’t deliver then that’s on him and the Medium gets a snack. Except, this time the Medium wants the agreed upon outcome of the deal. With Aiden, what the Medium wanted was to eat him, but they need to go through a whole song and dance first to get there. Being paid back as much as they give is normally a net zero gain for the Medium. They want to eat people so they want people to fail their deals.

The deal with Nowe is different because this is probably one of the few, if not first times the Medium has ever wanted something from somebody. The Medium is asking for help in the only way they know how (or maybe even can). I don’t imagine this is a familiar predicament for them so the Medium is being extremely kind to Nowe because technically, Nowe is doing something incredibly kind for the Medium. And the Medium gets a Snack.

Lastly there’s Ghost/Jan, whose in the iris of this mess.

If I had to guess on how the Medium actually lost their heart, they probably gave it to Jan thinking it would “release them from their mortal bindings” before later realizing “oh shit I actually need that”.

My reasoning here is that every flashback we see of the Medium depicts them in bandage like bindings, placed there by Hoku. Ghost is perpetually wrapped in bandages himself (just realized we never got pronouns for them, was/were maybe?) and is presumably the test subject aka sacrifice used to make contact with the Medium. Jan took the Medium’s heart and bindings but also took a good chunk of their power to.

When Dr. Yaromir said Vahns brands were the key, I think he was right but for the wrong reasons. It was Hilo’s powers that locked the Medium, it’d likely be the same power to unlock the bindings now on Jan.

TLDR: the Medium is a hungry theater kid with mother issues and struggles with introspection

This was a blast to read, thank you so much for all your thoughts!! Being the Medium is a strange predicament for something as you said, an immortal mortal. There’s pain points in being in the middle of these omnipotent beings that cannot possibly understand the agony that comes with having a human heart and when it suddenly disappears. When that particularly desperate mortal comes along with just enough power and drive to do just about anything… You don’t let him go!

[hannieehaee]

hi! first of all, i love your writing. i read of lot of your svt related works and enjoy them thoroughly. i want to give some feedback as someone who has experienced sexual assaults to various extents. that being said, your series ‘bite’ brings up a lot of triggering emotions for me and while it can be argued with validity that triggers are a person’s responsibility, i believe i also have some valid concerns. the story's premise is based on jeonghan being coercive towards the reader, and not just sexually. her boundaries are consistently tested and despite the self awareness he possesses, he continues to do so. while they are kissing the reader tells him to stop and he does not, this is a problem because while we know that she does not want him to, that is not explicitly stated which means he had no way of knowing. this scenario is common in movies, books, pornography and other forms of media. this trope is common and the issue is way bigger than one piece of ff but it still perpetuates the idea that women and femme presenting people secretly want what they say they do not, and this is a mentality that contributes to rape culture. it can indirectly encourage us to say what we don’t mean and neglect our own needs, and encourages men to assume that no means maybe or yes. while it’s triggering to me, it’s also a harmful trope to spread but unfortunately it’s common and needs to be called out. again, i know these are not your intentions, and i was debating even giving this feedback because it was hard to sit with the discomfort long enough to write this but i feel like giving you a chance to see this perspective is a way to use the pain for good, i hope you’ll consider my perspective and understand that it truly is coming from a kind place! sorry for the long paragraph, thank you if you made it this far.

hi! i appreciate your feedback very much so thank u for sending this in!

im sorry that the story brought you any negative emotions or memories. i intended to make it clear that reader and jeonghan had built a dynamic in which it was obvious that he was being annoying with the purpose of amusing the reader, but i understand if my visualization of it was not transferred properly onto my writing (as i guess that is difficult to interpret with a second person pov only) that being said, jeonghan never kisses reader when she tells him to stop, this is something that happens in relation to being spotted alone rather than in relation to the actual physical contact. i made sure that he received verbal consent before any sexual or physical contact occurred, which reflects on the scene you mentioned. however, if any instance between reader and jh made you uncomfortable, that is totally valid and i apologize.

i will add better content warnings in my other writings to ensure that you do not have to read something that makes you uncomfortable within my writing.

[chaotic-super]

Joining The Superfriends - 2

Well, this isn’t where Lena was expecting to be less than twelve hours after putting in her job application and yet here she is anyway: the office of John Jones’ PI firm.

Her hands are sweaty and she brushes them down her suit pants out of nerves, worrying about the creases she doesn’t have an iron to get rid of and despite hanging it up whilst showering, hoping for the steam to pull some of them out, it didn’t take out the folds from being in her suitcase so she’s nervous about that.

For whatever reason, she’s more nervous about that than she is about the actual interview, as strange as that sounds, and it makes her feel shallow and undignified.

Lena wills herself to gather her confidence and hold her head high then brings a hand up to knock firmly on the large wooden door to the office.

It swings open just a second later and it occurs to her that they might have known that she was out here and were waiting for her to get the courage to actually make herself known. The idea of these people standing inside judging her gives her an uncomfortable pit in her stomach, like she’s swallowed a lead pipe, and she can feel her cheeks heating up in a red flush.

John Jones is not what she was expecting at all. While stern, she can see a gentle kindness behind his eyes and she can’t help but envy the clear and precise way everything he says hits the mark perfectly, like he is the embodiment of a dictionary and thesaurus that can magically find the right words.

Lena is led further into the office by Mr Jones and sat on one side of a large oak desk which she’s happy for because the lip of the desk hides her creased pants from view. Two other women come and join him and they sit across from her, pulling up extra chairs so they can do so, even if it means that the women are only half behind the desk because of lack of space.

“Alright then, let’s get into it.” John states, pulling out a copy of Lena’s resume and smoothing it onto the desk in front of him. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice Ms Kieran.”

Lena puts on her best polite smile and looks over at the three of them, trying to make eye contact because that’s the only thing she can remember from a website that gives instructions on how to impress and interviewer. “No problem, and please, call me Lena.”

“Ok, Lena.” J’onn seems to sense her nerves and smiles softly at her across the table. It does give her a sense of calm in the middle of a storm because he has such a fatherly air about him, something her own father lacked when he was still alive. “You have a very impressive resume.”

“Thank you.” Lena feels like she should elaborate but her brain is coming up blank.

The woman on the right has short red hair and sits up ram rod straight in a way that Lena is sure must hurt her back at least a little bit. “I can see that you don’t have any IT experience.”

Lena clears her throat. “Whilst I have no experience in regard to qualifications, my previous job required a lot of IT skills, although that was mostly coding, and I have taught myself how to do a great deal of my IT skills, so I have no doubt that I am computer literate enough for whatever tasks you may need me for.”

The woman narrows her eyes, staring at her like she’s trying to burrow her way into Lena’s brain to see what she’s thinking. “Have you ever hacked into anything before?”

Lena isn’t shocked by the question, she’s sure that private investigators all do the odd sketchy thing to get the information they need but it still feels wrong to admit it, yet the way that Mr Jones is looking at her makes her want to be truthful, his earnestness seeping into skin.      

“I know that I shouldn’t admit it, but I have, yes.”

The woman leans forward now and if she were to have puppy ears, they would have perked right up at that answer. “Can you elaborate on that? What did you hack into?”

Lena presses her lips together. She’s definitely not getting the job now. “My previous employer. I found out that the money that they crowd funded with a gala for a children’s hospital was never donated so I hacked into their data bases to find out where it went and funnelled it to where it was meant to go in the first place, to the children.”

“Is that why you are now job searching?” Lena had almost forgotten about the other woman, a beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed woman with the kindest face she’s ever seen on a person, and she’s immensely jealous of her black framed glasses because they get to sit on her face and she doesn’t.

“No, I should have left after that, I was expecting to get found out and fired but it never happened so I stayed. I left because the company I was working for was manufacturing weapons against aliens and leaving the designs in the names of engineers in the labs, including myself, so they take the fall if it gets discovered.”

John tilts his head. “So you left because you were being set up and were afraid of going down for something you didn’t do?”

“Partly, but also because I turned a blind eye way too many times when I shouldn’t have and my designs and my work were my way of making up for that, I was working on a new medical device before I quit, and then I found the CEO in my office redesigning it to be used against Superman specifically and if I couldn’t make something good enough to outweigh the bad, then I wasn’t going to be there at all.”

The blonde woman watches her for a second before smiling. “So, you worked for Lex Luthor, huh?”

Lena was not expecting them to know that, she purposefully left the company name off of her resume so she wouldn’t be linked back to it.

“I did.”

The red haired woman stands sharply, leaning over the table. “I heard that he had a little sister who worked in the R&D department at Luthor Corp and her name was also Lena.”

The air around Lena is suddenly stale and she can do nothing but stare blankly across the desk at the three of them, John and the two nameless women.

“I think we all know who I am.” Lena forces out. “As much as we would all like it if I wasn’t.”

“Alex, sit down.” John’s voice is commanding and it seems like the red head, Alex, reacts on instinct because she lowers herself down all without losing an ounce of her hatred and rage. John redirects his attention back to her. “Why are you here, Ms Luthor?”

Lena ducks her head, trying to escape his probing looks. “I – I just moved here, I’ve been trying to summon up the courage to leave my family and their awful business for years but never had the guts. I rage quit Luthor Corp after the incident I just told you about and moved here. That was less than a week ago. I want to make a name for myself outside of my family, in spite of my family, can’t you understand that?”

A silence takes over the room, the words sitting heavy on their minds.

“Yes.” It’s the blonde who says it, her voice soft and thoughtful.

She and John share a look and then she nods at him.

“Lena, I don’t think I introduced myself before, I’m Kara Danvers, and that’s my sister Alex Danvers. Let me show you around and while John here gets you your written offer for you to look over.”

Alex’s glare turns into bafflement, and her confused look matches Lena’s own. “You’re offering her the job? Kara I –“

Kara stands, prompting John and Alex to do the same and then she steps in front of her sister, resting a calming hand on her forearm. “Alex, please just trust me. I have a good feeling about this.”

They stare at each other for a few beats, seemingly having a silent conversation of their own before Alex gives in and steps back. “Fine.”

“Lena, come on. I’ll give you the tour.” Kara turns to her with a smile.

In that moment Lena decides that she would be willing to follow this woman anywhere and rises from her chair to follow her across the room.

She follows close behind Kara, keeping her eyes at a respectable level even though she is very tempted to sneak a look at the behind of the beautiful blonde that just stuck her neck out for her.

At the back of the office is a staircase which then splits both left and right to lead upstairs with a wall being directly ahead to so you have to turn however when they get closer something strange happens to the wall – it starts to shift.

The bricks begin to part and move away from each other, opening up to reveal a strange set of metal doors which then open in turn to reveal the small open space of an elevator to them.

“What in the- you have a secret elevator? What kind of private investigators are you?” Lena watches as Kara steps into the elevator and gestures for her to join her inside.

“It’s actually easier for me to show you. Come on in.”

Lena pushes down her gut instinct telling her that doing so will get her in trouble and steps inside where she tracks the doors as they slide shut, trapping her inside. As soon as the doors shut she lets her eyes wander and finds it even stranger that there is multiple floors available. Surely there isn’t enough space in this building for more than two floors, three at a push, but there is four available floors according to the buttons.

Her heart feels like it’s going to explode out of her chest with how fast it’s beating which makes her nervously rub her palms down her pants again, still worried about the creases despite everything.

Kara catches her gaze and smiles at her in what Lena thinks is a reassuring way. “I’m going to be honest here and say that I’m probably more nervous than you.”

Lena’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “I doubt that.”

“It’s true. You’re about to see something we keep hidden from literally everyone else and I don’t really know you. I do have a really great feeling about you though.”

“Is this some kind of criminal stuff? If it is then I want nothing to do with it.” Lena steels her gaze. She really means her words. She’s only just got away from the criminality in her own family, she’s not about to get caught up in someone else’s.

The last response she’s expecting to get from Kara is hysterical laughter. Kara is even clutching at her sides and is still cackling away while Lena stands awkwardly beside her when the elevator doors open and expose them to a wide open room with computer at the ends that look like they are packing some serious hardware.

Kara gasps for breath, stumbling forward into the room before forcing herself to speak. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’ll see how funny that is when I explain in a second because we are really doing the exact opposite of criminal activity.”

Lena doesn’t know what to say to that but her face reacts quicker than she can control it, one perfectly sculped eyebrow lifting up into a raise that brings a pretty flush to Kara’s cheeks, something Lena enjoys the sight of very much.

Kara ducks her head shyly and clears her throat before wandering over to the other side of the room where a whiteboard is set up beside the fancy looking computer.

“Right so, this is going to be a bit shocking for you.”

Lena takes a deep breath, preparing herself. “Can we skip to the part where you tell me? The anticipation is killing me.”

“Of course, yes.” Kara rubs at the back of her neck then moves her hands down to unbutton her shirt. “This is what you’ll need to know.”

Lena is about to stop her, completely blown away by the fact that the woman that was just interviewing her for a job is now stripping for her, that is until she sees what’s beneath the shirt.

She knows that glyph.

“You’re Supergirl.”

Kara just nods, sensing that she needs a minute to process.

Lena turns away but doesn’t head for the elevator, her hands in her hair, messing up her previously neat ponytail. “I don’t understand.”

She turns back around to face Kara and she had no idea that Supergirl could look so sheepish. “Listen, Lena. I’m being upfront here, we need someone to help us out with our day to day vigilante goings on and that includes a lot of technological stuff we can’t do on our own and unfortunately, people who can help us out with stuff like that don’t just fall into our laps, we have to find them.”

“So, you would tell anyone who got the job your identity right away and just hope that they are willing to keep it a secret?”

Kara shakes her head. “Not exactly. John isn’t who we said he is. His name is actually J’onn J’onzz and he’s a Martian. He can read minds and also erase memories if he has to, although that is something we try to avoid at all costs. He wouldn’t have let you up here if he had sensed even a tiny bit that you would use this information against us.”

Lena feels both violated and flattered. On the one hand, she’s happy that these incredible people, superheroes, have enough trust in her that they told her their massive secret just a few minutes after meeting her, but on the other hand, they have looked at her private thoughts without consent and they could also wipe her memory if they want to.

“The job is real? It’s just working IT for superheroes and I’m guessing you want someone to design fun little gadgets for you since you want someone who knows engineering too?”

“It’s real. We didn’t know how else to look for a new team member. We had our IT guy before and he was great and will always be great. He had to go to the future to save the world and we realized that we have no idea how to do half the stuff he did so we need help and based on your resume and the whole vibe you’re giving off, I think you’d be a great fit.”

So, apparently time travel is real. That’s a good little titbit to be dropped in the middle of this already confusing conversation. Lena used to pride herself on having a quick brain and now she’s come to the conclusion that she was just deluding herself because she is very slow right now.

“I can’t believe that this is happening right now.”

Kara’s mouth opens like she is about to say something and then closes again because really, what else can she say?

“I think I need to sit down.” Lena’s eyes are wide and frantic making Kara snap into action, using her superspeed to get her a chair and carefully help her down into it, a glass of water appearing in her hand before Lena can register it. “Thanks.”

“Do you want me to give you a minute alone to gather your thoughts?”

Lena nods absentmindedly. “If you don’t mind.”

Kara squeezes her shoulder on the way past her and disappears through a door somewhere off to the side.

Then Lena is left to her own devices and the storm raging on in her head. How in the world did she leave her psychopathic family and get offered a job with by the family of her brother’s greatest enemy. Not only that but Supergirl believes in her despite not really knowing her.

Looking around the room there is several things that she takes note of: the buttons on the wall with all of the symbols of different heroes from many different cities, the whiteboard displaying different types of aliens and the best ways to take them into containment, the lit up computer screen that has surveillance of the entire city and the red cape draped over the banister of the stairs leading up to the balcony.

This is real and this is a real opportunity to separate herself from the Luthor name for good and build a legacy of her own, with the good guys on her side this time. This is too good of an opportunity to turn down now.

“Supergirl?” Lena calls out in the direction of where she thinks she saw her go and makes her way over to the doorway on the other side of the room.

She doesn’t get an answer but when she peeks around the doorway she sees why. Standing in the middle of the kitchen she catches Supergirl herself with her hand in the cookie jar and her mouth full.

“I’m in.”

Kara tries to answer but can’t because of the cookies she stuffed into her mouth so she just does a happy little excited dance and gives Lena a thumbs up while she chews.

She swallows the cookie as quickly as she can, grabbing more cookies before closing the jar. “Want one?”

Lena is about to politely decline but changes her mind, gone are the days when she has to listen to her mother tell her how she’ll ruin her body if she so much as looks at foods with sugar in them. “You know what? I do.”

Kara gleefully hands one over. “We’re going to get along just fine, Lena Kieran.”

Lena squints at her. “Why are you calling me that now that you know who I am?”

“I used to be Kara Zor-El, still am sometimes, but now I’m Kara Danvers. Circumstances change and so do people. We get to choose who to be and it wouldn’t be fair to lump you in with people you don’t want to associate with, even if they are family. I know better than most what it’s like to want to separate yourself from your family.” Kara bites into her cookie, at the end of her little speech and leaves Lena speechless.

“You really have a way with words, you know that right?”

Kara smiles at her, crumbs gathering on her lips. “Thanks! Now, how about we finish up that tour and I show you what will be your lab?”

“I get my own lab?” Lena’s excitement overtakes her to the point where she has to stop herself from skipping down the hall after Kara.

Read chapter 1 on A03 here

Read up to Chapter 8 on Patreon here

[kuro-ttsuki]

One | Rising High

My fist connected to my opponent's jaw beautifully, his skin rippling like a wave at the aftermath, a mixture of blood and spit escaped his busted lips and onto the mat beneath us in slow mo.  I watched him as he hit the floor hard with a thud, just waiting for him to get up but he never did, he just laid there, unconscious. The arena was silent for a while, I guess they were also trying to  process what just happened too, then the sound of people chanting my name filled the place. But yet I just stood there, tired, shocked, confused, everything and anything filling my head as  a fake smile was  plastered on my face.

Can't let the people see me stuck in thought.

The referee held my arm up for a few seconds  before giving me my titles. I placed them both over my shoulder as I just stood there again, this time drinking in the chants and screams of joy. I won, even though I had a busted lip, bloody knuckles, bruised ribs, and even maybe a concussion... I won. I just beat the best UFC fighter there was for his title.

This is has to be the greatest moment of my life, even if this wasn't the career I wanted in the beginning, this is my life and let me say I fucking love it. It brings me joy, happiness, excitement. It's a challenge everyday and each challenge is harder than the next.

And to think, all of this started with my dad training me how to fight and protect myself in his basement. And look at me now, I'm the first ever UFC and MMA women's champion to hold not only two championships but also a male championship. I even beat Ronda Rousey's winning streak, which..she didn't like so much. But hey, if she has a problem, she could just fight me and get her ass handed to her. Again.

After taking in the chants and cheers, I finally left the arena. The sound of people yelling and cheering became muffled as I walked further out and to my own locker room. The cold air hitting me in the face as soon as I stepped in the hallway to my room, its less crowded than usual. Usually the place would be filled with staff just running around. If I wasn't in such a hurry to get to my room, I would probably go investigate, not.

Once opening and closing the door, I threw the championships on my couch near by and just slid on the floor face first,  groaning at the sharp pain coming from my ribs. That guy really fucked me up badly.

My eyes felt heavy, I couldn't fight it any longer so I let them shut. I just need to rest a bit before getting up to shower. I just wanted peace. But the sound of knocking interrupted that.

"Hey, vonna ? Yovanna? Nana? ANNA!? I know you in there bitch, open the damn door you cadela." The high pitched voice yelled at me through the door as the sound of the door knob rattling followed. That annoying high pitch voice that definitely sound like it belonged in Disney was my childhood best friend Eva. We met in Rio, Brazil when I first came with my father and twin sis. Eva was the only welcoming one there, the rest of the Brazilians was so rude, not because I was mixed...well..maybe, but it's because I was American. And Brazil was never the one to take kind on foreigners but not Eva, she clunged onto me since day one. She helped me learn Portuguese and the Brazilian culture. Ever since then we were like sisters, I forced her to move to America with me so I could start a career. My father made me join UFC while Eva started her own dancing company which fucking gain millions if I might add.

The sound of her yelling and banging on the door like a mad woman broke me out my thoughts and forced me to get up. My legs felt like jello, just being up caused my body to react poorly. I felt so much pain, my arms and legs wanted to give out but I pushed through it like I always do. Opening the door, I was greeted with a tackle combine with a hug and before I knew it, I was back on the floor. My poor ribs man..

"Oh my gawdd! You took forever to answer, I was this close of being dragged out by security but they know I would just slip out and run back to your room. Anyways, congrats on retaining your championship girl! You almost broke that guy's jaw.." She added which made me frown a bit. I'm glad I was able to beat one of the toughest guy in this joint but I didn't want to hurt him too bad. Hurting people so much to where they gotta go to the hospital was never my intention in this. But it always ended happening, I can never control my strength and I always end up badly hurting people, I went so far to end a girl's career last year...which earned me the nickname "The Serial Killer" or "The Goddess of distruction." My personal favorites was; "The sociopath of the century" and "The Devil's Daughter."

It was cool and all but me being the  person I am, I always end up feeling guilty as hell. It was like I was playing god with people's lives and I fucking hated it.

Eva must've noticed my frown because she just simply squished my cheeks and pecked my bruised lips, which stunged like hell if I might add, before pulling me up from the floor. "Don't worry about it vonnie..I'm sure he's fine. Probably embarrassed that he got his ass kicked by a 5'7 girl...but fine." I just sighed deeply which was my only response.

"Don't worry about him, what you should worry about is showering because you smell like a football team. To think...a beautiful girl like you smell so damn bad." She pinched her nose with a disgusted look behind it, I  didn't even bothering commenting, I just simply rolled my eyes at her harsh insult as I made my way to the shower. I don't think I smelled that bad but damn...she went a lil overboard with all of that.

30 minutes later

I finally stepped out the shower, I'm pretty sure I used up all the hot water by now but at least I'm clean and smell....fresh...? I was clean, super clean, let's just leave it at that.

Putting on my leggings and a hoodie, I walk out the bathroom only to spot Eva on my phone. "Hey did someone call or something?" I asked, peering over her shoulder which was a wrong move. She jumped violenty, hitting me in the face with own my phone. And yet she didn't even apologize...She just glared at me before answering my question.

Bitch...

"Yeah, it was some old dude named Vince mac-whatever. I told him you was in the shower so he told me to deliver a message...he wants you to join this place called WWE."

She said with a shrug of her shoulders, meanwhile I stood there completely dumbfounded. WWE?! Really?! The fucking place that caused my aunt's fucking career to downfall. She was so heartbroken once she was fired, no...she was heartbroken when she found out she was cheated on. She was actually pissed once she was fired or at least that's what I thought, even though she pretended to be fine..I knew she wasn't. She did things she never would of done and then..she overdosed. Her death hit everyone hard, it pushed my mom so far to commit suicide without no one to save her.

They want me to join? How could they want me? I mean I'm happy where I'm at. The pays good, the company let's me do whatever I want, fight who I want. Why would I leave?

Why would they even think I'll join their stupid company anyway.  From what I heard, WWE was corrupted, toxic, and not to mention sexist as fuck. I see those divas they got there, plus almost everything in there was scripted meanwhile here, when I kick ass and win it's real. When I knock someone's tooth down their throat or break their nose till they are bleeding during our match..it's real. I want to say no but shit...being in WWE is a really great opportunity and is the only thing I have to remind me of my aunt.

Mix emotions began to clogged my head, part of me wants to tell Vince to fuck off but the other part wants to give in and say yes. What would my fans think? What would my coworkers think? I've been working in UFC for five years, I can't just abandon them to wrestle.. I would seem like a traitor or a sell out. This could ruin everything I worked so hard for. What about my titles? My championship run, how can I end that without ruining my winning streak?

I was so busy being in my head that I didn't even notice Eva getting up and approaching me only to slap me right in the face which was her attempt to bring me back to reality.

She just loves hurting me.

"Earth to vonnie. I would appreciate if you get out of your head and off your fat ass so we can go. I'm starving!" She grabbed ahold of my hand and just dragged me out the building. I followed behind with my bags in my hand but my thoughts still drowning my mind as I just continue thinking over everything. This is a awesome opportunity but this company was known to be toxic, let alone racist too.  If I do join, I'm definitely going to make some changes in my contract with that company. Jesus..I might regret this but...I think I'm going to join WWE.

Notes;

Soooo, Hope you guys enjoy the first chapter but I want to clarify that the timeline is wrong on purpose. This story takes place in 2013-2014 when the shield dominated the wwe and when CM Punk, John Cena, and Daniel Bryan was against the authority. Ik Chyna died in 2016, just pretend she died in early 2013 for the sake of the story. Thanks! ❤

[maren-reads-books]

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

Alex has been offered a second chance. When she wakes up in a hospital bed, the sole survivor of a gruesome multiple homicide, her life takes a turn, just not one she expected. She has been offered a full ride to Yale, an unusual offer for a high school dropout. But she has a skill that no one has seen before which will make her a valuable asset to the secret societies and brotherhoods that operate in the shadows of this elite institution. Magic Mystery and murder intertwine in this gorgeous dark rollercoaster of a story that will give you whiplash when you least expect it.

----SPOILERS----

I know I’m late to the game but it ended up working out for me extremely well! The sequel to Ninth House comes out in one day, so you guys get two reviews, one right after another! So here we go. I fucking loved this book. I knew I would because Leigh is a genius, but I still had some skepticism going into it as it is drastically different from her other series. I originally purchased this book when it came out a few years ago, and started it as soon as it was in my grubby little book nerd hands, however, the first time I attempted to read it, I couldn’t make it through the first (appx.) 150 pages. It was extremely slow and hard for me to connect with, it also took me a second to get with the program on the time skips and the changing POVs all in one. But once you round that corner, around page 150, everything gets good fast. I fell in love with the mystery of Alex’s character, she’s so intriguing, and learning all the little details about her life before Yale really provides a way for you to connect and understand her mannerisms and attitudes towards her new life. (The bathroom scene? Put things in a whole new perspective for me when it came to her interactions with the greys on campus). Alex isn’t the only character that was brilliantly written, everyone in this story, no matter how inconsequential they may seem, has a part to play and I love it, Leigh does such a good job making even minor characters built out in a way that makes you think they might be important, or unimportant, it's brilliant. If I wanted to be as vague as possible, this book is a murder mystery, a very convoluted and magical murder mystery, which I had absolutely no problem with. I love it so much it’s fucking amazing. You get so caught up in trying to solve the mystery with Alex, you almost forget that we’ve been waiting for the new moon, the night they want to try and bring Darlington back. *short rant* I love Darlington so so much, I wish we’d gotten to see more of him in the story. *rant over* So we get an intermission from the murder to perform a ritual that left me so upset, I did not see that coming. A fucking hell beast? What the fuck? I wanted Darlington to sweep back into their lives and help them solve the murder. The last 100 or so pages of this book gave me whiplash. My notes for this review are all over the place. First, we think it’s blake, which I did not see coming, he just seemed like too obvious of a douchebag to be the killer. But then we see he was under compulsion (I was so nervous Dawes was gonna die when Blake attacked them, I was about to have a heart attack). And then her mom shows up which has nothing to do with the murder, which was an interesting but somewhat inconsequential choice, however, I am glad someone took care of her and made her go to the doctor. And then we’re back into the thick of it thanks to North, who I love so much?? I love ghost characters, they’re the best (sometimes). The revelation that the nexuses had been created from the deaths of murdered women is so interesting. Add onto that the fact that it wasn’t actually Blake and it was Sandow (I fucking called it), and I was not surprised, he just seemed off to me the whole time, a good old-fashioned money and power motive, gotta love it. And then he’s not even the worst bad guy. Here was my reaction to the Belbalm revelation “WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK, Belbalm was in on it? the whole time?!?!? DID NOT SEE THAT COMING”, I think that my notes summed up that plot twist pretty well. As someone who prides themselves on seeing the twists and turns in mystery novels and shows, I was so surprised, it was crazy, I don’t think I can even put into words how much I didn’t expect ANY of that. There were so many details in this book I think I missed because I read it so fast (less than a day), in order to pick up on some of the more intense or obscure details of this book I’ll have to go back and read it again, but it was amazing and I can’t wait to see what’s in store for us in Hell Bent!

- Maren

[a30somethingslookatpopculture]

Halloween Ends

This one took a lifetime to complete, as my thoughts were all over the place. But, my thoughts on Halloween Ends 👇🏻

I literally typed up notes the day it came out, and felt too overwhelmed to even finish this until recently (yay, anxiety) 😱

Enjoy!

(Sorry it's lengthy).

____________________________

Where do I start with this one? Halloween Ends was…well, I don’t know what it was. The thing about this movie is that it left you unsure of what you thought in the end. It took time to gather your thoughts. Whether or not that's a good or a bad thing, idk. 

After I watched this movie, I remember thinking so many things. One of those is that perhaps maybe this should have been the movie we got in 2018, kickstarting a “reboot series’...considering they were trying something new with this one. I like the idea that perhaps it isn’t Michael who is evil, but rather something in the town. It’s creative and fun. Tacking this idea on at the very end of the series feels gratuitous. Why try something cool and new...only to end it in the same movie? Another way I see it is what if the Laurie/Michael saga wrapped up with Ends (in a different way), and then the next movie followed Cory and Allison similar to how it did in this film? We see the curse of the town live on even without Michael. That may have been the better route to go, honestly. Because they needed the idea of Laurie and Michael being back to even sell audiences on a revival in the first place. 

Until the drain pipe thing, which saw a total shift in the story, I was into it. I didn't mind following Cory around and seeing how life was now for both he and Laurie after trauma. I liked seeing the parallels in their lives (with parallels between Cory and Michael as well later in the movie).. I was just thoroughly confused after the shift. Like what even? Michael just stares into his eyes, and suddenly this "thing" is passed onto him? Did they scrap the supernatural aspect of Michael, only to bring it back? I had some Jason Goes To Hell vibes, and idk if that's a good thing. 

I believe the marking for this film left us all a little bit disappointed in the final product. We expected an epic showdown between Laurie and Michael and all of the best things the Halloween franchise (can) offer. And we did get that, to some degree. Obviously, there couldn't be a 2 and ½ hour movie of fight scenes without a story arc. And I personally am not sure what else they could have done to end the series satisfyingly. So I like that they tried something interesting and unique with it. It just felt too disconnected from the previous films, and the franchise really. They REALLY zagged with this one. And I don’t think we got the proper ending we deserved. 

Now let’s talk about some of the plot points or things that kind of irked me. First, Michael. We’re supposed to fear him and root for Laurie. He should be unkillable with inhuman-like strength and the ability to take damage. He always has been. Even from the beginning. But it was incredibly hard to see Michael as a decrepit, vulnerable old man. How did Michael not seem to deteriorate much at all in 40 years, but then 4 years pass and he's falling apart. I guess an argument can be made that him living off dead rats or whatever in the sewer and not receiving proper health care could make him deteriorate faster...but idk. I don't buy it. C’mon! It’s Michael Myers! 

Another thing, Allison saw what evil really is when Michael killed her parents and destroyed Laurie's life for 40+ years. So I have problems with her not seeing it in Cory. Or heck, even just accepting it without even a second thought. I guess it's a way to show that the Strode women are drawn to evil, or it's drawn to them. But I just can't see how she'd not see it or question it even a little. They took a character I kind of liked and made me question everything about her. By the end, Allison became just another dumb Slasher character to me. 

The final showdown between Michael and Laurie was the highlight of the movie. As it should be. It felt like old times with these characters; a contained battle, complete with knives and Laurie outsmarting him to gain the upperhand. I take issue with how it all ended for them, though. It felt a bit anticlimactic to me. Michael has been shot, stabbed and burned a gazillion times. But he dies in a shredder? I mean sure, that would definitely kill someone for good. I think my issue was mostly just with how it was shot. The scene with the whole town at the shredder felt way too drawn out to me. I personally would have preferred if they just showed his throat being slashed, then a few seconds or so at the shredder. I’m not super fond of it, but that’s all that was really needed. Otherwise it just comes off too awkwardly for me. But that’s just my personal opinion. 

Don’t let everything I have said thus far fool you. I didn’t hate this film at all. In fact, I think I like it more than most. I kept asking myself throughout the movie, "would I like this on its own, if it didn't have anything to do with Michael and Laurie?" And I think the answer is, yes. More or less. Without the connections to the previous films and massive franchise, it would be good. Even the parts of the story that I take issue with, wouldn't happen if I didn't have prior knowledge of the other films. Everyone thinks differently. So things that do or don't work for some, might or might not work for others. Casuals may have enjoyed this movie more than die-hard fans. Because they are more than likely to go to slasher films for the gore and mindless fun and not read too deep into the stories. And let’s be real, most slashers lack solid stories anyways. 

All in all, I had fun with Halloween Ends. It’s something that I would watch again, and I'd recommend it to anyone. I’d just suggest they go into it with an open mind. More than anything else I think It’s not a bad film, it probably just has bad placement in the series. The music was great, as always. And the Halloween III font and vibes in the opening were chefs kiss! Actually the inclusion and love for all things Halloween III in the reboot series has been perfect! And hey, did you spot Darcy The Mail Girl in this movie? So cool! 

2.5-3/5 Stars.

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Nine

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 23k (have fun!!)

18+ MDNI!

Chapter Warnings: so we're hitting the ground running here - poppy is horny in abundance tbh so smut!! thigh riding, dry humping, unprotected p in v, she's just a girl who wants what she wants and who are we to judge or kink shame?? that's what I thought. and the rest of this chapter just has some lighthearted banter between two pals welcoming a baby into the world. mentions of anxiety, the usual. poppy is on edge because there's another jensen family dinner. nia being nia, the boys being the boys. if guys talking about women's hormones disturbs you look away now. jealous nico once again, a gender reveal!!!! the fluffiest one you ever did see to be honest. there's maybe a point in this where you could get second hand embarrassment but that's not my problem. honestly I've written this chapter so out of order I don't even know what else is in here or if it all links but you get what you're given atp.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Eight)

A/N: this is potentially my favourite chapter yet these two are so stinkin cute!!!! months ago I had a fleeting thought about a pregnancy pillow and wrote a little thing in my notes about it, and this whole fic so far (150k+ words shoutout all my yappers) has been bred from that single scene which is in this chapter. nine chapters to get the the first thought I ever had of Poppy and Nico. I really hope you guys like it and I'm sorry that this has been the longest between updates yet. hopefully a 20k chapter makes up for it. my plan was always 12 chapters but idk if it will end up being more but just the thought that this is potentially over in 3 or 4 chapters is CRAZY I'm so attached to these two idk what to do with myself!! also once again shoutout to rory @h1sch13r for always inspiring me when it comes to these two and little baby (pepper) cheeto I hope I can make up for spoiling the gender to you like an idiot weeks ago with how cute this reveal is lmao

Poppy

Poppy has given endless thought and mind space to the situation that might bring her and Nico back into some sort of intimate space, together.

A romantic, candle lit dinner, where she’s so in the moment that it only makes sense for them to turn it into something more - baby steps be damned, and he’d take her back to that huge bed of his that she loves so much and keep her there until she can’t function properly, anymore.

A movie night, cuddled up on the couch together, where them spooning ends up with his hand down her pants, or her on top of him as whatever scene flashes in the background, the movie long forgotten as they get lost in each other. 

She hadn’t given much thought to it happening in her office, with him finding her all pent up and frustrated after a long day, and he’s all freshly showered after training, his hair still damp and his t-shirt clinging to him in all the right places.

It’s a single look that has her throwing herself at him, hands cupping either side of his face to pull him down until he’s tired of craning his neck, and his hands lift her hips until he’s walking her back and planting her down on her desk.

He pushes at her skirt, pulls at her panties, and pops the buttons of her blouse, all while their mouths move around each other’s, gasps and groans falling between them and hands wandering everywhere they can possibly go. 

She tugs at his hair, bunches his t-shirt in her grip and leans into his every touch, falling back onto her palms when their lips part and moves to pepper kisses along her jaw.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” she whispers as his lips press into her neck, pressure firm as the sensitive skin there gets sucked into his mouth, his stubble scratching into her skin in such a way that she opens up even more for him - head craning back, legs widening, hips pushing right to the end of her desk where his thigh presses between them.

“No?” He mutters into her, “You want me to stop?”

“No.” She pouts, and he chuckles against her flesh, the hot air from between his lips sending shivers all the way down her spine. “Of course I don’t want you to stop.”

He hums, pressing his thigh straight against her heat, and she grinds onto it through sheer instinct, seeking whatever pleasure he can give her and moaning out in response as soon as she feels the contact.

“Good girl,” he praises, swiping his chin against the skin he’s marked up until she hisses at the feeling, the prickly hairs on his jaw scraping against where she feels like she’s been rubbed red-raw.

It isn’t until he takes her jaw in his hand, pinching slightly to pull her toward him and slotting their lips together that her hips start to gyrate of their own accord, rubbing against his thigh without shame in the middle of her office, her nails clawing into the wood of her desk until she hopes they leave some sort of mark.

“That feel good?” He mumbles into her mouth, a hand of his falling onto her hip to assist with the movements before he kisses her again.

She just hums against him, eyes screwed shut as she tries to savour the feeling when her clit presses straight against his thigh, his pants being the only barrier. 

“M’just gonna move you a little, yeah?”

She nods, mindlessly.

And then his hand is gripping at her thigh, fingers and thumb pressing into the flesh firmly to push her legs even further apart so that he can stand between them, and he unbuttons his jeans with his free hand until he can push them down. 

She can’t complain at the lack of friction when this is what she’s getting as a result.

She can see the firm outline of him through his briefs as she looks down between them, her mouth watering slightly just at the sight, until her view is obstructed by his face when he kisses her again.

She tilts her hips in anticipation, ready to meet him when he moves to push into her, but the feeling she gets instead is different. Similar to before, a layer of fabric sits between them as he presses his hips into hers, still not having undressed completely.

She whines, lips pouting so he’s kissing at them as they remain still, and he keeps at it, hips working into her own until he gets frustrated at her lack of response. 

“What’s wrong, huh?” He asks, pulling her hips forward himself until he’s right against her and she gasps, “Why’re you being pouty?”

“S’not enough,” she mumbles, “Need more.”

“Aw pretty girl,” he pouts himself, mockingly, “I’m not giving you what you need?”

She shakes her head.

“Thought this is what you wanted? To take things slow?”

“Not this.” She whines, her hand trailing down his abdomen, feeling the soft ridges even beneath his t-shirt, until they meet the elastic of his pants, snapping it teasingly against his skin. “Think you should fuck me.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

The smile he gives reads like a promise of everything to come, of all the dirty, sinful things he’s been waiting all this time to do for her, and she feels her heart jump and thud in response. 

He closes the distance again, so that she can’t see between them, his tongue lapping languidly against her own and she’s moaning into his mouth when she feels what she has been craving pressing against her entrance, pressing to slide up until it bumps against her clit and her back arches straight into him.

She feels sticky all over. Lightheaded and far-off like she isn’t even here, and when he finally pushes into her, she’s startled back into clarity.

The shrill beeping of her phone alarm rings on the nightstand right beside her head, and when her eyes adjust to the light, she feels tears of frustration well up in them at the realisation of what she’s just been deprived of.

She still feels sticky. Still feels lightheaded. Feels hot all over and tingly like she’s been left unsatisfied.

Only now, there’s no promise of any sort of reward for it.

She’s alone in her bed with nothing but a pillow for company, and she’s so exasperated she wants to scream.

Yet another cursed pregnancy dream she gets no form of relief or respite from.

She could honestly curse the Hischier genes if this is what they bring.

She’s tired of it, now.

Most of the time, she’s usually able to shake her dreams off as soon as she’s awake, but this one seems to linger in her mind, an ever-present heat creeping up her skin despite the fact she tries to wash it away in the shower.

She feels hot as she gets ready, feels hot as she drives to work, and even in her office, where she can turn on the AC and try to distract herself.

Only that doesn’t work, either. 

Obviously.

She’s brought herself to the one place that’s going to bring the whole picture back.

So she ventures upstairs to the supply closet, deciding to fill a box with everything she’s low on just to pass the time - to occupy her mind with something other than the thought of Nico, and him having her legs spread on top of her desk.

She’s closing up when she hears the distant call of her name.

“I’ll take that.” Luke appears seemingly out of nowhere as she’s in her own world, coming toward her before she really has a chance to do anything about it. “Can’t have you carrying these things on your own.”

“It’s not that heavy,” Poppy protests as he takes the box from her hands, clearly not believing her or expecting how light it would be when he takes it into his own. “Told you.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s best you don’t lift anything, too much work on your body could make your feet swell, and that might not go down. Did you know most women go up a shoe size when they’re pregnant?”

All she can do is blink at him, narrowing her eyes as he talks like he isn’t being a complete weirdo. “I didn’t, how did you know that?”

“I bought a book.” He shrugs as he starts on the way back to her office.

“You bought a-,” she stumbles to follow after him, his long strides already carrying him halfway down the hall, “Luke, you’re gonna end up weirding yourself out with that sort of stuff.”

Him and Jack have both been on at her all week since they found out, appearing to take it in turns to bombard her with gross pregnancy facts, like Nia and the girl with the list - although she’s at least had the decency not to mention that since finding out, herself.

The boys, however, have branded themselves the Funcles, already regaling Poppy with stories of how they’re going to be the ones to make her baby laugh for the first time. 

It shouldn’t stress her out, the thought of those two being responsible for a baby - not with Mr Research in front of her - but it does. Luke would probably learn too many weird facts, and stress himself into some kind of almighty meltdown.

She had to block them last night for her own peace.

“Too late. I already know too much.”

“Like what?”

“I know that as of this week, your baby has started peeing inside you, which is absolutely gross.”

That is gross. She didn’t know that. She doesn’t really want to know that. If only she could block him in real life, too.

“I need you to hand the book over.”

“Can’t, Jack’s reading it now, we’re very serious about this funcle thing.”

“Luke,” she warns, not wanting to be on the receiving end of this horror from everybody.

“What? The more we know the better we can help you.”

“What book did you get that from?” She scoffs, pressing the button for the elevator while his hands are full.

“Same one. It’s good, I’ll tell Jack to give it to Nico after, it’s all about what you’ll be going through in each stage of your pregnancy-,”

“Nico doesn’t need the book, Luke, he’s going through it with me.” She frowns a little as she says it, a little voice in her head telling her it isn’t exactly working out like that. “And I thought me blocking you guys would have made it clear enough, I don’t want your weird facts. If I need to know something, I’ll find out from my doctor, not your deep dives on the internet.”

“Hey, to be fair, I was just trying to prepare you with the thing about your brain.” They step into the elevator and she presses the button for her floor,  “Maybe yours won’t shrink, maybe you’ll-,”

“Nope. No more talk about pregnancy symptoms. You’re on a time out, funcle privileges revoked. If you want to be unblocked, you’ve got to give up Google.”

“I don’t know if it’s worth it, I use Google for everything,” he frowns, like this is an actual thing he needs to seriously consider, “How will I know what I can and can’t eat?”

“You’re not a dog, Luke, if you can buy it, you can eat it.”

“I can buy bleach-,”

“You know exactly what I meant.”

“Fine. No more Google.” Luke huffs, stepping out with Poppy as the doors slide open, “But if I eat an unidentifiable seed and it’s poisonous, we all know who’s to blame.”

“Maybe stay away from seeds, then?”

“My body is a temple, PJ, you can’t tell me what goes in.”

If he wasn’t doing her a wasted favour with the box, she’d probably give him a hearty shove. He can be so irritating when he wants to be. Now she has his death-by-unidentifiable-seed weighing on her conscience.

“Got to get all my nutrients in if I’m gonna be Mitchie’s favourite uncle, Nico looks like the type of dude that makes chunky babies.”

He probably isn’t wrong, not that she entirely wants to think about it, but baby Cheeto measures a little over expectations every time she has a scan, and her bump is a little bigger than the average, she has been told.

“I really don’t want those kinds of ideas in my head,” she pouts, her mind immediately going to the delivery aspect of it all, relief flooding her system as her office finally comes into sight, “And for the last time, I’m not calling my baby Mitchie short for Michigan.”

“It’s better than calling it Cheeto,” Luke scoffs, “At least Mitchie is unisex.”

Poppy gasps, stopping and placing two hands over her bump as if she’s covering tiny little ears in there. “Words hurt, Luke, you’re hardly gonna be favourite uncle chirping my baby in the womb.”

“Actually, it can’t hear anything outside of your body until like 28 weeks.”

“If I could block you in person, I would.” She’s pushing the door to her office open as she says it, turning to face him and walking in backwards to give him a meaningful glare when she notices his face twist in confusion at something behind her.

When she spins around to see what he’s bothered by, she sees a tall figure stood by her wall, hands in his pockets as he looks over the photographs that line it - and even from the back, she can tell who it is.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Looking at all your pictures, I’ve never seen any of these before.”

That’s because you don’t care about my work, she withholds from biting back, remembering Luke’s presence behind her and not at all prepared to have any sort of family bust up today - especially not in work. “You’re from this one. 43. A little scrawny to be an athlete, aren’t you son?” He points to one of the pictures, one of Poppy, Luke, Johnny and Holtzy before a game at the beginning of the season. 

“I’m-,” Luke frowns, almost comically if Poppy wasn’t too tense now to laugh, “Scrawny?”

“Look like you’d snap in two if I ran at you too hard.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be running at people?” Maybe she isn’t too tense to laugh. “Respectfully, I mean.”

“Thank you for your help, Luke,” Poppy takes the box from his hands and immediately puts it on the couch in the corner before he can protest, making eyes at him to get out of there before it’s too late. It’s for his own safety. “I’ll unblock you later, I promise.”

“Right.” He nods, “Catch you later, PJ. Good to meet you, sir.”

He dashes out so quick she swears he leaves a Luke shaped outline in his wake, her door swinging shut before she can even call out a response. 

“No pictures of the boyfriend?” Her dad asks once he’s gone, taking another quick look over the wall.

“They’re at home.” She says, going around the other side of her desk so that there’s some sort of barrier between them. “Did something happen? Is that why you’re here?”

“Cant a father visit his daughter at work?”

“If he can name her job title without looking it up, then sure.”

“I don’t need to know your job title, Poppet, I know the day you were born and how much you weighed, beyond that, I’m not expected to remember the little things.”

It isn’t the little things, she thinks, it’s my career.

“Whatever,” she sighs, not wanting to get into it, “What are you here for, dad?”

He sits in the chair opposite her, looking a little large for life now that she’s properly seeing him in front of her. It’s like when he would sit at her tea parties as a kid, always too big for the chairs and table.

“I came to say that what happened at dinner last week was embarrassing.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes, despite how petulant he probably thinks it is, crossing her legs and wiggling her mouse to bring her computer to life, hoping if she looks busy enough this conversation will be much shorter.

She’s been trying not to think about it, trying to suppress the floods of disappointment that wash over her every time she remembers it. Her mother’s biting words, her father’s indifference, it all hurts just the same.

“I’m not gonna apologise for defending myself, or defending Nico, I don’t care if I humiliated-,”

“I was embarrassed of myself.”

“I-,” Oh. Just as she feels herself start to get defensive again, his words register. “What?”

“I’m your dad, I’m supposed to stick up for you and have your back.” He frowns, “Especially knowing how hard your mom is on you, and what you’re going through, I was just blindsided by the whole Rich Horowitz thing with your brother, and-,”

“You’re supposed to stick up for him, too, dad. You’re just as hard on Oli.” She doesn’t know why she’s defending her brother after what he did, but after all these years it’s almost like a second nature. She can snap at him, but if anyone else does the same, she won’t let it slide.

“Says you, you called him an idiot.”

“Yeah, well he got under my skin.”

“He was being an idiot. We all were, that’s why it’s embarrassing.” He sighs, “It took your boyfriend stealing my job for me to realise-,”

“Stealing your job?”

What on Earth does he mean by that? 

“What is it that you kids say? He handed my ass to me?”

“What kid taught you that?” Oli’s boys are too young to know that one, and it won’t have come from her brother. Is the demographic at the club really that young these days that someone’s teaching her dad the meaning of having his ass handed to him? It can’t have been Nico. “What do you mean?”

“After you and your mother stormed off, he gave me and your brother a verbal spanking, if you will.”

I won’t, she thinks, unable to stop the grimace that comes out in instinctual response at her father mentioning spanking.

“He yelled at you?”

“Well I can’t picture the boy yelling, Poppy, he’s a little gentle-mannered, don’t you think?” His tone is patronising, but from the way this conversation is going, she doesn’t think that’s his intention, for once. “That isn’t a bad thing, of course! I wouldn’t want my daughter to be with a man so quick to raise his voice, anyway.”

“What did he say?”

“That’s probably up to him to tell you.” He shrugs, “He just made me realise that I haven’t been the most supportive of you lately. With all this,” his hands gesture around the room, “And that,” and then towards her belly. “And I didn’t give either of you a chance the other week. I’d like to get to know the guy who sat at a table in my house and had the guts to put me in my place. Have a do-over.”

Her mouth hangs open at the revelation, blinking slowly as she tries to come to terms with what her father has just said.

Nico stood up for her? To her dad? After how eager he was to impress him and bond with him over something - he just laid down the law on how she deserves to be treated? Like it’s nothing for him to do so? And he didn’t even tell her he’d done so, didn’t even try to get some brownie points?

And her dad respected it enough to come all the way out here and ask for another shot?

“You want a do-over?”

“I do. One of my golfing buddies has a suite at Madison Square Garden, he’s a big Knicks guy, but he rarely uses it for the Rangers, he’s said we can use it for the game on Wednesday. It is your guys they’re playing, right?”

The game on Wednesday.

Who is this man and what has he done with her dad?

Her dad who has never shown anything but distain for hockey in his life, has voiced it so much to Poppy since she started working with the Devils that she stopped talking about work, entirely.

She nods, anyway.

“And then we’re gonna treat you and Nico to lunch on Thursday, if he’s free.”

“We?”

“Me and your mother.”

Poppy gulps. She’ll probably have something to say about Nico speaking up in her defence. 

“She’ll be on her best behaviour, I’ve had assurances.”

“Right,” she scoffs, finding that hard to believe. “I don’t know, Dad, I don’t think a game against the Rangers is the best place to do this-,”

“I want to understand your world, Poppy.”

Well that’s a cruel thing to say to an overly emotional pregnant woman, she thinks, eyes watering at the thought that maybe this could actually be a turning point for them. 

All thanks to Nico.

“Okay.” She agrees, despite her better judgement warning her against doing so.

“Great. I’ll email you the details for the suite. I have to go, your mom is getting her hair done and I won’t hear the end of it if I’m late to meet back up with her.”

“You guys are over this way?”

“We’re in midtown for a conference on Tuesday, we’ll be going back on Thursday after lunch.”

Poppy just nods in response, having nothing more to say to the fact they’re just across the river and neither thought to check up on her.

She supposes this is that, her dad checking up, so she lets it go as she rounds the table to hug him goodbye before he leaves her alone with her thoughts.

She’s only alone for a minute before her door opens without a knock, and she looks up to see an out of breath Nico barging into her office, skin almost glossy with sweat and still donned in his team gym gear. 

He pants to catch his breath once he has closed the door behind him, putting his hands on his hips and frowning over at Poppy, who can’t help the alarm that crosses her own features.

“Are you okay?” She stands and rounds back to his side of her desk, standing before him to get a better look, assessing for any way in which he could be hurt, because why else would he rush straight here in a panic?

“Yeah,” he breathes, tongue swiping out against his bottom lip as he looks over her in the same way, head tilted and eyes blinking slowly, “Are you? Luke said your dad was here, I was worried you’d be upset.”

“Oh,” her lips remain in a pout around the word as her eyes dart to where she can see a little bit of sweat trickling down the side of his neck, and she feels hot, herself, all of a sudden. “I’m good.” The words slip from her mouth before she can even think of them, making up for the way her mind is racing at a million miles an hour out of nowhere.

“You sure?” He runs a hand through his hair, and she sees his t-shirt strain against bulging biceps, making her struggle to swallow and only able to nod in response. “I ran up here like a madman,” he chuckles, stepping around her to sink down into the chair behind, spreading his legs and laying his arms on the rest in a way that reminds her of the dream she had been woken too soon from this morning. 

It’s a real mental effort not to let her eyes travel lower than his broad, heaving chest as she looks down at him, perching herself on the edge of her desk, awkwardly, not knowing what to do with her own arms and legs that isn’t going to elicit such sinful thoughts.

“Sorry, I didn’t tell him to go find you or anything.”

“No, it’s okay, I asked the boys to come get me if they think you need me,” he shrugs, like that isn’t going to cause her heart to do little somersaults in her chest. “Would have ended up here at some point this morning, anyway.”

“Less stressed, though.”

“Always stressed when it comes to you.” She kicks softly at his calf, underestimating just what the effects of the touch would do to either of them when he smirks up at her, his eyes dark and inviting.

All she wants to do is crawl into his lap.

This isn’t your ridiculous dream, Poppy, she tells herself, chewing at the corner of her mouth to ground her mind.

“He wants a re-do.” She tells him, “My dad. He and my mom are staying in Manhattan for something this week, and he wants to come to the Rangers game on Wednesday, and have lunch with us the day after.”

Nico straightens up in his seat, leaning his elbows onto his knees as he looks up at her. “That’s a good sign, right?”

The gleam in his eyes paints a picture of optimism, and the thought that anything about this is going to result in a positive outcome, but Poppy knows her parents too well to get her hopes up.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “He seemed apologetic, but I doubt my mom is going to have magically changed her entire outlook in the span of a week.”

“Getting your dad on side is still a win,” he keeps that sweet smile despite her pessimism, and she feels a little lighter just looking at the curve of his lips. 

“Yeah, I heard I have you to thank for that.”

He pauses a second while he thinks over her words, before slinking back into his seat, defeated, but still deciding to feign ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?”

“Nope.”

“That’s a shame,” she pouts, “‘Cause my dad told me about someone matching your description, sitting at his dinner table and putting him in his place about not sticking up for his daughter.”

“Sounds like a decent guy,” Nico shrugs, standing from the seat, closer to Poppy than either of them could have anticipated, their knees bumping together as she’s now the one looking up at him. “Probably didn’t mean to cause any offence and just wanted to defend the mother of his child like she did for him.” His hand reaches instinctively to settle against her side, the tips of his fingers on her waist and his palm caressing her belly. 

She hums, lips curving as she watches his eyes drop to where his hand is, fighting the urge to touch him back.

“Sounds very decent.” She agrees, “No one’s ever gone to bat for me like that, before.”

“Yeah, well, whoever he is, he knows he’s the luckiest guy in the world to have you.”

A large palm comes to cradle her cheek as she beams up at him, and his touch lights all her nerve endings ablaze.

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, she thinks, with him practically stood between her legs and his melted chocolate eyes looking into hers, swirling with what feels like adoration. 

They dart down to her lips, and his tongue swipes at his own, and just when she thinks this is it, think he’s going to lean in and close the gap, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his shorts.

He sighs as he retrieves the hand from her face to get it, frowning as he looks down at the screen while his other palm stays on her belly. “I have to get back,” he mutters, “But Thursday is fine with me, I’m free. I’ll text you when I’m done with practice, we’ll figure everything out,”

“Okay,” she smiles, despite the fact that she feels like she’s now wound tighter than a drum, all the anticipation in her body stiffening her muscles as she watches him retreat.

“Or we could do lunch together later?”

She should be embarrassed of how quick and how eager she nods in response, but she can’t really be ashamed when he smiles the way he does, a soft laugh accompanying it as the dimples settle into his cheeks. 

“Let me know what you want and when you’re free and I’ll bring it by.”

“Okay,” she breathes as he gets a little closer, smiling back shyly.

He swipes his knuckle along the curve of her bump, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek, and she hopes he doesn’t notice the way she smushes herself into it, nuzzling into the feeling of his lips against her skin. She can feel him smile against her, though, so that hope goes out of the window too quick for her to really care.

“I’ll see you later then, Poppy.”

“And Cheeto.”

And he leverages two hands at either side of her hips on her desk before leaning down, face level with her belly as he says, “And you too, Cheeto.”

She's gonna have to stop letting him into her office, for her own sanity.

“I’m gonna need your dad to tell me who hooked us up with this suite, this is insane!”

Poppy hadn’t been sure when her dad had sent over the instructions on how to get to his friend’s suite at MSG, especially not when the staff had been so attentive and treated the girls like they were the most important people in the building, having a guide literally walk them to the door before letting them know where he’d be if they needed anything replenished while they are here. But now that she’s in the suite, she gets it entirely.

She’s used to watching from the staff suite at work, but even those aren’t as nice as this one. 

The room itself is intimate, dim, warm lighting cast across leather seating, pictures of the arena on the wall, and a few pictures of Knicks winning their championships in the 70’s. Thankfully not a Rangers themed box or Poppy’s nausea might have returned. 

“It’s alright,” she shrugs, trying to ignore how incredible it is to be in a private suite at MSG. She’s a Prudential girl, always loyal to The Rock. Private restrooms and a VIP entrance won’t sway her to the dark side, she isn’t that fickle.

“Oh my God, they have baked cookies.”

When she looks over at Nia, she has the lid lifted on one of the trays in the chafer in the corner, the smell of fresh, hot cookies flooding the room and luring Poppy over like a siren-call. There’s a tray of quesadillas, some crudités, a salad and some chicken fingers, and she wants to eat all of it.

It’s probably a good thing she can’t drink, because the mini bar might have done the trick.

“I’m not waiting for my parents to dig into this.”

“You’re pregnant, they’ll understand.”

The two best friends share a knowing look before breaking out into laughter, and filling two plates with food before going to sit at the counter-like table that overlooks the ice. 

Poppy feels her anxiety slip away a little as her and Nia catch up, hearing about her work and her dad’s new random venture into woodworking that has him flooding her apartment with new shelves and a TV unit so that he can test their durability before he builds Poppy a crib, her heart melting at the thought of him being so sweet to someone who isn’t even his own daughter. 

They watch as the arena fills up, the noise building to a continuous buzz that always makes her hands shake a little, and Nia, knowing her all too well, is able to distract Poppy entirely from her parents impending arrival and whatever else is going on in her crazy mess of a head.

That is until she gasps, pointing toward the jumbotron that’s playing some sort of preview. “Look, it’s your man.”

“I don’t know if I’d call him my man.” Poppy huffs as she manages to catch a glimpse of him, a 2 second flash that has her whole body vibrating.

“I thought things were going well?”

“I don’t know, Ni,” Poppy sighs as she leans back, snapping a cucumber stick in half, “I mean, they are, but I guess I just thought he would have made a move by now.”

“Haven’t you been pushing him away every time he tries?”

“No. I pushed him away once.” She frowns, rolling her eyes when Nia raises a single brow at her incredulously, “Maybe twice, 3 times, maximum. But that was so long ago, now. And things have been so good lately, he’s been incredible.” Poppy’s limbs feel a little like jelly as she melts into her seat, her mind relaying all the ways in which Nico has been a rock for her over the past few months. Taking her to her appointments, going on grocery runs with her, coming around and helping her put them away. The whole family dinner ordeal and the agreement for a re-do. 

He’s so good to her that it’s driving her up the wall.

“But?” Nia asks, knowing her best friend all too well.

“But nothing! I wanna,” Poppy looks behind her to double check her parents haven’t arrived yet, “climb him like a tree,” she whispers, “and he’s being respectful and decent about it.”

“Ugh, what a dick.” Nia scoffs in faux-agreement, raising her arms mockingly. 

“I know.” Despite the fact that Poppy knows Nia is being sarcastic, she carries on anyway to further drive her point home. “He came by my office the other day, and he was all sweaty and gorgeous, and things got all intense, and kissed me on the cheek. How am I supposed to slip him some tongue when he kisses my cheek? And then he came back later for lunch and pretended like everything was normal.”

He had brought her a wrap and some juice, and the two of them had sat and eaten together in her office like he wasn’t about to kiss her stupid in the morning, stood between her parted legs like something fresh out of a literal fantasy she’s already had.

“I thought you’d last a little longer before you completely lost your mind, to be honest. You’re falling apart before my very eyes.”

“I haven’t even told you about the dreams yet.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” 

“I just feel like I’m running out of time, or something.”

“You guys are having a baby together, Pop, you literally have forever to figure things out.”

Poppy knows that’s technically right. It had been her exact sentiment when she had suggested taking things slow in the first place. They don’t need to rush into something just because they’re going to be parents, soon, but she had thought those things at a time where everything was confusing. 

She was still hurting a little, fresh from almost a month of the two of them not talking, of him rejecting her and telling her he wouldn’t have the capacity to be a good partner. And she had been a little overwhelmed at the time, her life changing before her eyes, and all. But he’s done so much to disprove all of that, since. 

He’s there for her, physically, emotionally, however she needs and whenever she needs him. He looks after her, tries to help in whatever way he can when she’s exhausted or feeling sick - brings her food and smoothies and sends her pick-me-up texts that make her feel like she’s floating. 

All that when he’s in the thick of his season too, fighting what is looking more and more like a losing battle for playoff contention, going home every day exhausted and beaten and bruised, and he always makes the time to call her. To ask how she’s doing, how she’s feeling, to make sure she has eaten and is tucked up for the night and safe. 

They kiss each other, they hang out like old times, he caresses her belly when they’re in private and she rubs his back affectionately when they cuddle, and sure, her hormones are all out of whack and her brain is shrinking and maybe she is falling apart, but she wants him so bad she doesn’t even know how to function, anymore.

Everything they do together points to the fact that they should be together, but he isn’t doing anything about it - and so all Poppy can think is that maybe he doesn’t want that, still.

“He’s going home for the summer, Ni,” Poppy frowns, “And we haven’t even really talked about it, but I feel like if something doesn’t happen before then, then maybe it never will.”

“That’s ridiculous, you said it yourself, the two of you are in a good place.”

“This time last year we were in a good place too, and then he left and came back with a girlfriend.”

Nia’s eyes widen as realisation flashes across her features, and Poppy’s brows push together at the depth in which she’s being perceived by her best friend. “You’re really worried about that?”

Poppy shrugs, shuffling in her seat as she watches the lights dim across the arena, thankful for the darkness so that Nia can’t notice the heat creeping up her neck.

She doesn’t want to be told she’s an idiot, right now.

“You’re being an idiot.”

Great.

“Poppy, c’mon, this isn’t even remotely the same situation, anymore. I know I’ve been giving him a hard time since he hurt you, and I’ve had a lot of other things to say, but that guy worships the ground you walk on. I posted a picture of you on my story the other day with some writing on there, and he replied to it asking me to send him the original picture like a giant lovesick dork. That’s like obsession, there’s no chance in hell he’s going home and not thinking about you and your baby every waking second of his life.”

“You unblocked him?” Poppy can feel her lips twitching a little into a smile.

She knows Nia never hated Nico after what he did - she was angry, and probably felt betrayed herself a little that she had trusted him with her best friend’s heart and he had stomped on it - but she’s never really been a forgive and forget kind of person.

But she’s been doing her own version of baby steps with Nico. When they cross paths at Poppy’s apartment, one on the way out, one on the way in, she no longer scowls at him. No longer rolls her eyes when he’s brought up in conversation.

And, evidently, she no longer has him blocked 

For everything Nico has done to prove himself to Poppy, Nia has seen it, too. 

Even just to let him back in, in such a small way, is such a big step.

“He’s on a probationary period, three strikes and he’s out.”

“Wrong sport.” Poppy smirks.

“Don’t care. Besides the point anyway, what I was trying to say is that you’re worrying too much about stupid things when you should be focusing on the things he is doing. He literally endured dinner with your parents, and is going to do it again. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

“I thought the point of this pep talk was to stop my anxiety, not double it.”

She’s been trying not to think about lunch with her parents. Has been trying even not to think about them coming to this game, Nia being the only reason she hasn’t tried to make her escape by now.

They probably won’t show, anyway, and it will start their meeting off tomorrow with already raised tensions, just how her mom prefers it.

Her stress levels dip and rise like a rollercoaster in the build up to the game. The announcement of the players, the national anthem, the tension in the room palpable as the clock ticks down, high already from the last time the two teams met and the constant chatter of a fight breaking out on the ice - and she’s feeling more and more grateful that they haven’t arrived yet.

Until the door to the suite swings open, and her dad walks in on his own, an apologetic smile on his face as he rushes over.

“Sorry I’m late,” He kisses Poppy and the cheek, and greets Nia with a warm hug, sitting beside his daughter and looking out into the arena, “Did  I miss anything?”

“Pucks about to drop,” Poppy tells him as he gets himself comfy, watching as he scans the crowd with an expression that kind of, sort of, looks like awe. “Mom’s not coming?”

“Not this time,” he shrugs, patting a hand against her back gently and not really delving any further into it. “We’ll have more fun without her though.”

Nia scoffs from the other side of her, hiding her smile with a bite of a cookie while Poppy tries to swallow down her unexpected disappointment.

This will have to be enough - her dad trying his best while her mom sulks on her own in her hotel room. He’s right, anyway. It will be more fun without her here.

Poppy has work the next day, Nico having a rare morning off, himself, and so the two of them arrange for him to pick her up at lunch, driving over to meet her parents together. She blocked the afternoon out of her diary, having to account for the travel either way across the river, and for whatever trauma the two of them are about to face, no doubt needing a good 20 minutes to wind down in the car after, and her morning goes by way quicker than she probably would have liked.

She packs up her office with as much delay as she can cause, stopping every couple of minutes to put her hands on her hips and try out a couple breathing exercises that Nico has been teaching her, huffing out long breaths through puffed out cheeks and letting the tension drop from her shoulders. Once she has everything, she reluctantly heads down to meet Nico where they had agreed after he sends her a text to tell her he’s there.

She straightens her skirt out as she waits in the elevator, making sure her hair is neat and her top isn’t riding up against her small bump as it has been all morning, no longer able to cover it up with her cardigan tied around her waist, knowing her mother would call her out for being unkempt.

She wouldn’t be wearing heels if it were up to her, a subtle ache already settling into the soles of her feet, but it’s only for an hour or two, she has some sneakers in her trunk for when he brings her back for her car, and if anything, they make her legs look good so it isn’t entirely a bad thing to be wearing them around Nico.

When the doors to the parking level open, she has the expectation that he would be in his normal spot around the corner, where the players usually park - the spaces a little bigger, less chance of anyone being careless with the way they open their door and dinging it against another like she’s had happen before - but she’s surprised to see he isn’t too far, parked straight ahead so she doesn’t have far to walk.  

Nico leans against his car, dressed smart in charcoal pants and a light grey shirt, and she finds herself doing a not-so-subtle once over, mainly to check he isn’t wearing sneakers. 

She’s grateful she has a little time to walk over to him, to admire him before it’s too obvious she’s doing so, because if he got a close enough look at her, he could potentially call her out for drooling. 

She catches him doing the same, eyes lingering on her bare legs as she closes the distance between them, before flickering up to greet her with a dimpled smile.

“You look good,” she comments as she steps toward him, reaching to smooth his hair where he’s slicked it back a little, swiping her finger along his clean shaven jaw as she retreats.

“It goes against everything I believe in, wearing dress pants this early in the day.” 

“I appreciate it.”

“I know you do.”

He opens the car door for her and walks by the front to round to his side, giving her a chance to admire the back of him as he moves before he’s jumping into the drivers seat. 

She reaches to put the AC on low as he drives, getting a little hot watching his fingers flex around the wheel, and tries not to spend all her time leaning against the headrest and looking over his side profile like a crazy person. 

Although, if admiring a guy as gorgeous as Nico while he’s in her presence is a crime, she thinks she probably deserves to be locked up.

She’s a repeat offender, after all.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I feel weirdly good, actually.” Her morning at work hadn’t been too hectic, a meeting and a few calls, and she hasn’t really felt sick all week, so things are definitely looking up.

And last night with her dad went better than expected, despite her mom not making an appearance.

She’s even slightly optimistic for this lunch, oddly enough, not having that nagging voice in her head telling her everything is going to fall apart, for once.

“What about you? You aren’t gonna threaten to drive off again, are you?”

“Nah,” he chuckles, casting her an amused glance before focusing back on the road. “I think I’ve got a good read for how these Jensen table talks go by now.”

“I think my dad will be okay today, he got really into the game last night. I think it was all the fighting, and my mom not being there, it was like he’s been holding back all this time.”

She had been initially disappointed when her mom hadn’t shown, but when all the fighting had started, she had been relieved. She had warned her dad when he had made the suggestion in the first place, but nothing could have properly prepared him for the carnage of a game against the Rangers, and so she just had to let him endure it.

And he loved it. It was bizarre to see. He’d been cheering on the boys, oohing and aah-ing in time with the crowd, and jumping whenever she and Nia did.

She had actually had fun, and it seemed like he did, too.

“He’ll be coming to The Rock in a jersey before we know it.”

“Is that how things work out for you, everyone just comes around in the end ‘cause your so charming?”

“Surprised it took you this long to notice.” 

Poppy’s parents are waiting in their hotel lobby when Poppy and Nico arrive after their almost-hour long drive, thankfully both dressed just as smart as they are, because she knows Nico would have something to pout about if her dad showed up in khakis. 

The four of them sit around a table in the lounge restaurant of her parent’s hotel in Midtown, her dad having tried to find another spot and her mom having quickly vetoed every cafe or restaurant in the area after vigorously trawling through the Yelp reviews and no doubt turning her nose up at every picture she came across.

Despite the setting being suited to her, she still rearranges her table setting when she arrives, still swipes at the surface and assesses her finger for dust or grime with a dissatisfied look on her face, and Poppy’s trying her best to ignore the little things. Her mom would be like this in the finest restaurant in the world, it isn’t specific to Jersey, it isn’t entirely personal.

It has been cordial, so far. Pleasantries exchanged, small talk conversed. The food had been nice, the wait staff thankfully avoiding her mother’s daring glares, and Poppy starts to feel her anxiety dwindle the more her father talks.

He asks Nico of his interests, trying to find something shared, but coming up slightly short - but that’s okay, she thinks, not everyone has something in common. Maybe they’ll discover that down the line. Maybe there’s something niche that their conversations haven’t sparked yet. 

Nico is his charming self, she has no worries there, and her dad is putting in enough effort to make up for the lack of it on her mom’s end.

Then he moves onto hockey, and Poppy can tell he had been paying attention when he had watched them play the day before. 

She and Nia had been too invested in the game to explain much to him, and it’s hard - being in the arena, watching it live - without having heard most of the terminology through commentary or any sort of breakdown of a play, and so Nico ends up pretty much going through plays and game structure with him, explaining penalties and power plays, shift switches and face-offs, and Peter sits, nodding along as if he’s actually taking it on board. 

“And what do you do with yourself when your season is over?” Her dad asks, and despite the depth in which she knows him, can see the lingering suspicion and distrust in Nico, and of their situation as a whole, she’s grateful for that fact that he’s at least trying.

“I usually go back home and spend time with my family, sir. My brother plays in the league over there so I don’t get to see him when we’re playing at the same time.”

“That’s nice. And that’s Sweden?”

“Switzerland, Dad.” Poppy corrects him, her fingers tickling mindlessly at Nico’s palm in her lap. 

“Of course! Beautiful country, Poppy’s mother and I always used to stop by Zurich whenever we were in Europe. You loved the Opera House, didn’t you, Cilla?”

“Hm,” Poppy’s mom confirms, sipping at her wine with feigned disinterest. Poppy knows she’s paying attention, is going through Nico’s every word with a fine toothed comb. “I much preferred France.”

Poppy rolls her eyes, shifting a little in her seat until her knees knock into Nico’s.

“What do your parents do, son?”

“They both work in insurance, my dad has his own firm.”

“Ah, they’re not athletic, like you and your brother?”

“They were. My mom was a swimmer, my dad played footba- sorry, soccer. And my big sister, Nina, she used to play volleyball.”

“I bet your family game nights get heated.”

He really is trying, Poppy thinks, smiling softly over at Nico as he chuckles in response, lips twisting fondly at whatever memory that invokes. 

“They aren’t too bad, only a bit competitive. No major fights, thankfully.”

“Is that what you want for our grandchild?” Priscilla chimes in, only proving Poppy’s point that she isn’t as disinterested as she’d like to seem. “For them to put all their focus on games and competitions?”

“Mom,” Poppy frowns, shuffling uncomfortably again, all too ready to jump to Nico’s defence until he speaks up from beside her.

“It’s okay,” he assures her, “I haven’t thought much about it, to be honest, I would just want them to be happy.”

He doesn’t say it like he’s trying to win points or be corny, when Poppy turns her head to look at him, she sees the slight dopey smile he has whenever he talks about their baby - a look of pure adoration for even the unknown - and she smiles too. If anything, his outlook would have the opposite effect on her mother than to give him any sort of kudos, but her heart warms, all the same. 

She clutches at his hand under the table, giving him a reassuring squeeze that he returns three times over.

“Nico plays for Switzerland, too,” she directs more towards her father, who might be a little more receptive to the fact, “They have the world championships in Prague this year, if the Devils don’t make the playoffs, Nico might be going over earlier. Might even captain the team.” She beams with pride, using her other hand to rub at the arm of the hand of his that she’s holding.

“That’s great-,”

“That’s an awfully busy schedule for a father-to-be.” Her mother scoffs from across the table. “How are you supposed to look after my daughter from half way across the world?”

“I can look after myself, Mom.”

“You shouldn’t have to. What if something happens, and he’s 9 hours away?”

Why does she have to be like this?

Poppy can feel the responsive insolence brewing within her, bubbling and steaming and about to rear it’s ugly head when another voice speaks up.

“Cilla, that’s enough. She’s shown us she can take care of herself, stop trying to instigate something and scare her for no good reason.”

Poppy feels herself mirror her mom’s expression, her mouth gaping open in shock at the nerve of him to stand up to her like that out of nowhere. As Priscilla presses her lips together in indignation, Poppy prepares hers to speak when her dad turns to Nico, completely disregarding the interruption in their conversation. 

“Is that different? Being a captain for your country compared to the Devils?”

She could lean over the table and kiss him on the head, beyond grateful for the interest he’s now showing, hoping it overpowers the venom spewed from her mother’s mouth. 

“A little bit,” Nico nods, lips curving softly at the corners, clearly appreciative, too. “I don’t really have to worry about trades and contracts and stuff when it comes to my national teammates. I grew up with a lot of those guys, and the tournament is a lot closer to home than the games here. I don’t want to say I prefer it, but it’s always nice to play closer to my family and friends.”

“You’ll have to let me know when it’s on the TV, Poppy. After last night, I’d love to watch more games. It was quite exciting.”

She squeezes his hand again, her smile wider when she looks up at him this time, her eyes settling on the dimples she wants to press her lips to. 

Her dad’s words from the other day ring in her head.

He made me realise I haven’t supported you in the way I should be.

Her dad has never stuck up for her like this. Always turning a blind eye to the way her mom zeroes in on all the things that could possibly sting her - and here he is, in public no less, putting her in her place to protect Poppy. To protect Nico, even. 

“I don’t know if that game was the best introduction for you, sir.” Nico chuckles, “We lost, too.”

“I have it on good authority that that’s only because the Rags are a bunch of no-good cheaters.”

Nico snorts, glancing down and meeting Poppy’s gaze, fondly. “Is that so?”

“I said dirty, rotten, no-good cheaters, actually,” she shrugs, “Dad, if you’re gonna start chirping, you’ve got to put a little more heart into it.”

“You’ll have to teach me, Poppet,” Peter tells his daughter, “Maybe that’s how we keep you busy this summer, you can get me up to scratch for the next season.”

And despite the way her heart hammers in her chest at the mention of her having to be kept busy and the thought of being apart from Nico, she feels the tension in her shoulder slip away. Even her mom’s sour face can’t ruin this moment, where her dad starts showing slight signs of approval for the first time in her life, she feels.

“We can discuss my rates, later.” She smiles over at him, cheeks tightening and eyes watering slightly as she smiles, her appreciation for his time, and for the moment, far outweighing her disappointment in the woman sat beside him. 

It’s only two days later that Poppy and Nico are separated again, him and the team leaving a day early for their game against the Senators, situating him overnight in a hotel in Ottawa when she really wants him back with her in Jersey.

It’s getting pathetic now, she thinks, the way she misses him all the time. It’s one day. She’s still texting him, still speaking to him practically every hour. She shouldn’t need to have him right next to her at all hours of the day.

If anything, she needs to start getting used to this - him not being around. Within the next month, he’ll be back home in Switzerland and she’ll be here, grumbling and moaning to herself and everyone but him about how she wants him back.

She’s been trialling out other people’s company too, as pitiful as that sounds. Nia she knows is a safe bet - she’ll be around, already in full auntie mode and more than ready for Poppy to enter her nesting and shopping phase. Jack and Luke will be going back to Michigan, no doubt, but they’re bound to have some trips back to Jersey. Kelsey is kind of a no-go, because despite the fact that she still considers her one of her best friends, she’s all of a sudden under the impression that Poppy is no fun now that she’s pregnant, and she doesn’t have the energy in her to prove her otherwise. Josh at work had come with her for lunch earlier in the day. He’s alright company, but a little boring, if anything - doesn’t make her laugh straight from her belly, not like Nico, not that she’s comparing them.

Nothing really compares to him, if she’s honest, so it’s a fruitless task to even try.

And so, she’s resigning herself to the little version of him that sits in his poor-signal box on her FaceTime app, crashing and pausing and cutting out sometimes when he speaks.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” Poppy groans, leaning forward onto her elbow in front of where her phone is rested on the counter, a pout on her lips as she watches Nico situate himself on his hotel bed.

“I thought you were getting food, before? Didn’t you say you were gonna have a late lunch?”

“We did,” she sighs, remembering the disappointment that the first bite of her bagel had elicited and swearing that even the memory of it has her stomach growling.

“We?”

“Yeah, I went with Josh.”

“The PR guy?” Nico looks so cute when he’s frowning, she thinks, his eyebrows pressing together and his doe-brown eyes going round, his screen pausing on a very adorable pout for a few seconds. 

“Yeah.”

“You went on a lunch date with Josh the PR guy?”

“I wouldn’t call it a date, we just had the same lunch hour.” She shrugs, trying not to get distracted at just the sight of him on a phone screen. Nia was right the other day, she really does need to pull herself together, she thinks. “I don’t think anyone in their mind would want to date me right now, I’m distinctly round and up until a week ago was walking around with a gross vomit smell about me.”

“Was it just the two of you?” He asks, doing little to dispel her undateable theory and causing her to frown, too.

“Yeah,” she drags out with the tilt of her head.

“And you went away from The Rock?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did he pay?”

“Well, yeah, but-,” He probably wouldn’t appreciate her telling him it was Josh’s turn, implying they had shared other lunch breaks, but he cuts her off before she can.

“And you walked back to work together after?”

“We’re in the same building, and it was nice out today.”

“Has he text you since?”

“I-,” She doesn’t actually know. Poppy swipes up from their FaceTime to check her messages, seeing his name near the top. Sent 30 minutes ago, I had fun today, with a smiley face - a blushing smiley face, at that. “Yeah? But you used to pay for my lunch and text me when you got home,”

“Yeah and now you’re carrying my baby.” He’s smiling when she brings the FaceTime back, a soft smile that barely meets his eyes but melts her heart, all the same.

“Can’t argue with that logic.”

“It was a date.” He tells her, and he shifts on the other end of the phone, discomfort evident as she realises that the smile is more resolute than she first thought. “A cheap one, if you’re still hungry.”

“Well he wanted to go to that bagel place a couple streets from work,” she says, ignoring his jab, “You know the one with outdoor seating?” He nods, “He said it’s his favourite spot nearby.”

Maybe it was a date. Walking in the soft sunshine together to his favourite spot. Him buying her a bagel, an iced tea and a little tub of tiramisu for her to eat at her desk that had way too much coffee for her to eat.

Shit.

“You hate that place.” That frown comes back, defensive, almost, and he leans back onto his bent arm in a way that makes his muscles flex, distracting her entirely.

“I know,” she sighs, at the sight of him or at this conversation, she doesn’t know. “They’re so dry, I swear they’re stale, I ended up just picking mine apart, but now I-,”

“Could eat a horse?” He grins, flexing his arm like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Exactly,” she smiles, “And I have nothing in.”

“You went shopping yesterday,” he hums, leaning back and getting comfortable, looking back at her with that sleepy smile that makes her want to cuddle into him. She could so slot into that space that his arm makes - it’s literally Poppy shaped.

“Yeah, but yesterday I had all the intentions of buying things to cook, and now I don’t want to cook.” She walks over to her couch with her phone in hand as she talks, throwing herself down into the cushions with a heavy sigh. “I saw someone with this giant soft pretzel earlier, and I know it isn’t moving yet, but I swear Cheeto started doing backflips at the smell. It’s all I can think about. Soft pretzels and melted cheese, I could actually cry right now just imagining it.”

“Maybe take a shower,” he hums, and he looks like he could fall asleep, any second. “You might have some energy after to make something.”

“Maybe,” she hums, back, soft tone matching his as she watches his eyes flutter. “Still won’t be a soft pretzel, though.”

“Keep me posted on whatever you pick, I’m gonna go before I fall asleep, I’m grabbing dinner with the boys.”

“Show-off.” She pouts, lips twitching when he smiles big enough for his dimples to form. “Text me when you’re back?”

“Sure thing. Make sure you eat something, yeah?”

“I will. See you later, Nico.”

Once her screen goes black with the end of the call, she falls into the back of the couch with a heavy sigh, head craned back to look at the ceiling. 

This is so hard, she thinks of missing a man that isn’t entirely hers, of trying to suppress her feelings before they spread to every fibre of her being. 

And with her patience wearing thin, all she has left is to listen to him - to follow his instruction in the hopes that this is what will make the universe reward her, subliminally giving him what he wants.

She showers, trying not to think about him as she faces up into the spray and lets the hot water rain down on her, lathering her hair in a shampoo she wishes smelled like him and dressing herself after in a hoodie she had stolen a while back, all remnants of his scent long washed away. 

She’s staring at a full refrigerator with a head empty of ideas when there is a knock at her door, and she trudges toward the entrance to her apartment with heavy feet. 

She knows as soon as she opens the door what it is, her nose perked like a sniffer dog as the aroma floods from the paper bag being held out to her.

“I got a delivery for Poppy?”

“Thank you so much,” she smiles, taking the bag from the pre-pubescent looking Postmates delivery guy, and handing him a tip from the little stack of notes she keeps on the table by her door. 

The name on the bag is for a bakery she knows is around 15 minutes away, closer to her old place up in Hoboken, and she practically skips around to her couch to open it up. 

Two soft pretzels and a tub of Cranberry-Bacon Swiss cheese dip that she had forced Nico to try one time a few years back, and hadn’t had since she moved - still warm in the bag and the smell of it causing her mouth to water.

She thinks this might be the sexiest thing he’s ever done.

Remembering a random order for a soft pretzel from years ago. Relaying her schedule over the phone before, how she didn’t like a certain bagel shop that she had probably mentioned one time before, how she had gone shopping the day prior, something that had probably been a passing comment in a text earlier in the week - flooding her with his perfect recall and insistence on delivering a love language from hundreds of miles away. 

I think I’m in love with you, she types out in a fit of giddiness, senses overpowered by the delicious smell from the bag in her lap, her judgement thankfully coming back before she can hit send, because sure they’ve told each other they love each other before, but never like that. 

Instead, she types out something much more reasonable for the occasion to send along with a selfie of her holding the bag with a stupid smile on her face.

Poppy: You’re my favourite baby daddy 😊 

Nico: I’m your only baby daddy 🙄 

Poppy: Potentially my favourite person 

Nico: Potentially?

Poppy: Cheeto’s first

Nico: So I’m second?

Poppy: Potentially 💖 

Her mind goes back to something Nia had said at the game earlier in the week, about how Nico cared for her like it was an obsession.

Maybe she’s obsessed, too.

Nico

“What do you know about Josh from PR?”

Nico knows that he should probably feel at least an ounce of shame for going to the rest of the guys about this - should feel childish for letting his own insecurities cloud his mind like this, but he’s tried talking himself out of it, and it hasn’t worked.

The locker room has kind of always been his safe space to vent - in a room surrounded by his peers, where better to air out his grievances and have his irrational feelings validated than here?

Especially on the road, after a rough night’s sleep in a hotel bed, and in a practice facility that has a distinct chemical smell that is making him a little loopy.

This is truly his last resort, and he’s already regretting it from Jack’s response, alone.

“I know that his name is Josh and he works in PR.”

“Funny,” Nico scoffs as he leans back into the bench of his locker, running a frustrated hand through his sweat-matted hair. 

“Why, what beef do you have with Josh?”

Jack sits a few cubbies over, the distance causing his voice to carry and opening the conversation up to the other stragglers, namely Timo, who doesn’t speak up but Nico can see his attention pique.

“He took Poppy out on a date.” He grumbles.

“Our Poppy?” 

Mine, Nico thinks, but nods in response, anyway, hoping only Jack takes notice but wincing when another voice responds, instead.

“Damn,” Timo teases, “Going after a pregnant woman is ballsy.”

“Do you think he’s a problem?” He knows he shouldn’t rise to Timo’s ribbing, the panicked raise of his brow only eliciting a smirk from his fellow countryman and longtime friend, but he can’t help it.

“The last time I had any dealings with him, he was wearing a tie with turtles on it, so the chances are slim, but what do I know?”

“Poppy does like her guys dorky,” Jack joins in, a taunting glint flashing across his eyes.

“Does she like him?” Timo asks, throwing himself down beside Nico, who shrugs in response.

“She didn’t even know it was a date,” he tries to brush it off a little, to sound cocky, but he doesn’t really pull it off.

“Hardly sounds like a threat to me, Cap,” Luke speaks up from the other side of his brother, always the voice of reason. 

“I’m not threatened.” He gives a nonchalant frown.

“Sure you’re not.” Luke scoffs.

“I’m just looking out for her.”

“Of course you are.”

“Stop being annoying.”

“Stop being a liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

Luke is always so quick to call Nico out that it’s starting to remind him of Poppy, a little - sharp tongue and a slight disregard for where he pokes it, if needed. It almost makes him appreciate it, all the more.

“She’s the mother of my child, it isn’t a crime to care about who she might be going on dates with.”

“Buddy, she’s carrying your baby, the last thing she’s looking for is a serious relationship with someone else right now.”

Nico narrows his eyes at his best friend, waiting for the follow up he knows is coming where Timo says something to chip away at his dwindling resolve - something to keep him awake, tonight.

“She’s probably just looking to get some.”

Something like that.

“Get some?” He scoffs, uneasily, his face curling in disgust, “This is Poppy we’re talking about, she isn’t like that. It was a stale bagel and an iced tea, not some sordid hookup.”

“You said she didn’t know it was a date.” Luke chimes in, his tone bored and his expression the same - halfway done with having to entertain Nico’s incessant talking and no action. 

“She didn’t, he took her out to lunch. But she didn’t seem entirely opposed to the idea it was a date when I pointed it out to her.”

“Well maybe,” Timo drags out as he pushes himself off the bench and stands before him, a playful smirk on his lips, “And hear me out before you go crazy,” Nico rolls his eyes, swallowing hard in anticipation, “She’s just crazy horny.”

“Fuck off,” Nico throws one of his pads at him, bouncing off his shoulder before he catches it with a chuckle.

“No, I’m serious,” he throws it back for Nico to catch, “Pregnant women are freaky, it’s all the hormones, and most of them have their partners to scratch that itch,” Nico wonders where he’s getting all these ridiculous sayings, all of a sudden, “But you two aren’t together, so she has to get her fill from somebody else.”

Nico tries looking at the other boys for validation. Jack is already distracted on his phone, and Luke looks too grossed out to comment.

“I don’t know why I’m even speaking to you about this, I should have asked someone with at least two brain cells to rub together.”

“Fair point, hey, Curtis, come over here a sec!” Timo calls out, swinging his arm over his shoulder as he approaches, “Tell Nico, in graphic detail, just how freaky pregnant women get!”

“I want nothing to do with this conversation,” he grimaces, shrugging out from under Timo’s grip and carrying on over to his cubby. 

“He didn’t deny it!”

And he knows, deep down, that Timo has been on a personal mission to grind his gears the last few months, finding joy in getting Nico all riled up for no good reason other than it makes him laugh. He knows he shouldn’t take him seriously, but all of a sudden, his chest feels tight - and the feeling won’t go away.

He tries not to overthink any of it, but it’s no use.

All the little nagging thoughts he’s had about his relationship with Poppy over the last few months start to surface, and bubble into something dark and ugly.

Sure, they’ve had their baby steps, they’ve had the odd kiss here and there, they have told each other’s families that they’re together, have spent an awful lot of time together for two people who aren’t together, but that’s just it.

They aren’t together.

They haven’t had that conversation, haven’t set any boundaries, and as much as he hasn’t even looked at another woman since New Years Eve, he can’t expect Poppy not to have done the same.

Why wouldn’t she date Josh?

He has a decent job, seems like a nice enough guy despite his poor timing and his weird need to always be in Poppy’s office. He makes her laugh - Nico’s seen it, has felt his ears go hot as her eyes have crinkled at the corners and that sweet, melodic sound has crossed through the barrier of her lips in his presence - and she clearly likes his company enough to grab lunch with him in the first place.

And it’s those lingering worries that put him into a funk.

When Poppy texts him, his replies are short. He misses a call from her after their win in Ottawa, and doesn’t find the time to call her back. He doesn’t stop by her place when he lands after their flight back, going straight back to his apartment and tossing and turning all night wondering how long it will be before she finds someone else to keep her company and googling all the ways in which her hormones are about to come at her full force - finding an article that points out the exact timeline of it all in gut wrenching detail. He doesn’t see her before he’s locked away for their game against the Predators the next day, either - and when they lose after overtime, and a poor shootout, he feels guilt more than anything when he checks his phone after his shower and Poppy is still texting him like nothing could possibly be wrong.

Poppy: I’ve left a key under the mat if you want to drop by after the game 💖 

It had been sent sometime in the third period, over an hour ago at this point, and she’s more than likely asleep, he thinks.

But God, he wants to see her.

So where he’d usually drive straight home, he drives to her place, instead, hoping they can have some sort of conversation that suppresses the uncertainty that is starting to keep him awake at night.

He parks up beside her car on the street, and takes the stairs instead of her death-trap elevator, ignoring the protesting ache building in his thighs as he climbs all six floors in a hurry.

The key is where she said it would be, and the weight of it is nothing in comparison to the meaning of her leaving it for him, the responsibility of handling it causing his hands to shake as he opens the door quietly, in anticipation of her already resting up.

The lights are off, but there’s a lamp on beside the couch in the living room, and commercials are playing on her TV, and when he steps fully into the space, he finally sees her, and he can finally breathe.

She’s curled up on the couch, dressed in pyjama shorts that sit low on her hips and a tank top that rides up along the curve of her bump, and is snuggling into a pillow while the flashing lights from the TV reflect on her skin. He reaches onto the coffee table for the remote and puts it on mute, watching her for a second as soft snores fall from between her lips.

Jesus, he thinks, she’s beautiful.

Every time he looks at her, he finds himself picturing her features on their baby. The colour of her eyes, the roundness of them when they look straight at him, or the crinkling in the corner when she smiles, the slope of her nose, the fullness of her lips.

He wouldn’t be mad if there was nothing of his. If their baby didn’t have his eye or hair colour, his nose, his smile. He’d be happy with a mini-Poppy.

She must feel his presence as he kneels down beside her - probably hears the crack in his knees or the grunt he thought he was withholding on his way down, because her eyes flutter open slowly, focusing on him with a mellowed, dreamy gaze.

“Hey,” she smiles softly at him, voice thick with sleep and eyes still half-scrunched shut. “Tried to wait up for you.”

How could he let anyone get in his head about this? He thinks, as she looks at him with eyes that sparkle and a smile that grips at his heart like a vice. 

Is this what being apart from her is going to keep doing to him? Forcing him to spiral out of his own mind until he sees her, again?

“I was surprised to see you text so late to be honest,” he hums, reaching out to tuck her sleep-mussed hair behind her ear. “You’re usually out by 9 these days."

“Growing your baby is exhausting,” she sighs with her whole body, shifting on the couch to make room for him, and he falls down into the space she makes, positioning his body to her liking as she snuggles straight into him. He feels himself sigh, the content kind, where the aches in his muscles wither into something a little more comfortable, and everywhere she touches feels warm and soothed.

“You could have gone to bed, Poppy, I was going to see you in the morning, anyway.”

“Missed you.” He likes how there’s no preamble about it - the two of them no longer skirting around their feelings as much, not needing to think up some other excuse for wanting to see each other. She missed him enough to leave a key under the mat, enough to stay up despite her body being overworked, enough that waiting less than twelve hours just wouldn’t suffice the desire to see him again.

He has nothing to worry about, he realises. 

“Missed you, too.” He relaxes fully into the couch, an arm slung around her shoulders and the other reaching to rest in its default place on her little bump. “And Cheeto.”

Poppy hums, and he swears he can feel her arch into his touch.

It’s quiet between them for a moment, illuminated by the muted flickering of game highlights flashing across Poppy’s TV screen, and he can’t help but feel like this is where he is meant to be. This is what he’s meant to come home to. Not an empty apartment with leftovers in the fridge and a bed 10 times too big for one person.

Poppy, on the couch, warm and receptive to whatever he can give her, slow, content sighs slipping from between her lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he hears after a beat, he gives an affirmative hum as a response before he even registers what she’s said. She uses the hand on his chest as leverage to push herself up, still leaning on him slightly but able to look him in the eye. “Are you mad at me?”

“For what?” He frowns, his heart jumping under her touch.

“For Josh,” her body leans away from his a little as she rests back with her knees beneath her. “I swear I didn’t realise that he even liked me like that, and then after we spoke last night I started getting in my head about it, I don’t want you to think I’m just out here going on dates with other people.”

“I don’t think that-,”

“I just miss you a lot when you’re not here, lately,” she admits, nervously, most likely not even hearing what he had said. “And I’ve been trying to fill my time with other people so that I don’t think about you as much and that I won’t go crazy when you leave again in a few weeks.”

“Okay,”

“Not that it actually works, I-,” her lips twist as she looks down at her lap, her hands both fidgeting between them, “I just feel like I’m getting super clingy, and with you going home soon, I don’t want you to feel like I’m smothering you or something.”

“I don’t feel like that,” he doesn’t know why he keeps trying to reassure her. She’ll listen when she’s finished talking, herself, he figures, because again, she doesn’t acknowledge him. He feels his lips twisting in amusement as she carries on, revealing probably more of herself than she had originally intended. His chest warms, weirdly, at the idea that they’ve both been apart, wanting nothing more than to be with each other, worrying that they’re overbearing the other. 

“And I know this whole,” she lifts a hand to point her finger frantically between the two of them, “thing between us is moving super slow, and I know that’s my fault, but I feel really good about it. It feels really right to me. But we haven’t really talked about it since we agreed on baby steps, and I don’t know where your head is at around everything, but I don’t even see Josh like that, and I wouldn’t agree to go out with him when we’re-,” 

He wants her to finish that thought so badly.

When we’re what, Poppy?

She sighs - another big kind, where her shoulders rise slowly and drop suddenly. Like she’s gearing herself up to say something she thinks he won’t like.

“I don’t want you to go back to Switzerland and get over me again.”

What?

Where the hell did that come from?

He doesn’t think there was even a second he was ever over her. Not entirely, at least. Distracted, maybe. Ignorant, obviously. But never detached.

“And I realise that’s a stupidly super clingy thing to say, but-,”

“Hey,” his tone is clearer, firmer than the last few times he had spoken, and he reiterates the sincerity in what he’s about to say with a calloused hand to her face, the touch shocking her into reception. Glassy eyes sparkle back at him, like rippling water under moonlight, and he wants nothing more than to dive in, to bathe in the hidden vulnerability until his skin prunes, and he’s the one who bears the burden of it. “There is no getting over you. Not then, not ever.”

“But what about-,”

“Joshua’s been doing the groundwork to ask you out for months, Poppy. Probably for even longer, but I first saw he was into you back before that auction.” Back when he’d colour-coded notes for her and stared after her like she was a mirage and he’d been stranded in the desert for weeks.  

“I told you, I’m not-,” He’s doing the same thing, now, not letting her get her say. But he has a point to make, and she needs to understand the depth of his feelings for her in the only way he knows how to express them.

“I know. You didn’t even see it is what I’m saying. And you notice when one of the guys starts using more emojis in the group chat or when the coffee shop around the corner uses a different kind of milk. Why do you think that is?”

“It tastes different-,”

“Not the milk, Poppy. Why do you think you didn’t notice the guy following you around the office with hearts in his eyes?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’ve been,” she frowns as if she’s actually thinking about this for the first time. “Distracted. I don’t understand what this has to do with-,”

“Why?”

“You know why.” She levels him with a glare.

“Wanna hear you say it,” he smirks, a flicker of his eyes to her lips that twist at the attention.

“No.”

“C’mon,” he drags out, teasingly, reaching out to tuck her hair back behind her ear after it had fallen back over the side of her face, “Wanna hear you tell me how you’re so obsessed with me that you don’t even consider anyone else.”

“This has nothing to do with what we were talking about.” She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance and trying her best to look offended. She doesn’t deny it, though.

“Doesn’t it?”

“No. We were talking about you. I’m not obsessed with you.” She grumbles the last part like her mouth is fighting the truth. 

“I am.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Obsessed with you. Could throw a thousand women in bikinis my way I wouldn’t notice a single one of them.”

“Why’d you have to specify bikinis?” She frowns. “Who’s throwing half naked women at you?”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“You can’t say something so ridiculous and not expect me to comment on it, Nico.”

“Fine, I take back the bikini thing,” he rolls his eyes, affectionately. “What I’m saying, is that me going back home for the summer isn’t going to change the way I feel. It never did in the first place, Poppy, I was just stupid and afraid of my feelings, last year.”

“And you’re not, now? This doesn’t scare you?”

From the second he found out the news, Nico can recall a bunch of times where he has thought that he should be scared. Should be spiralling out of his mind and anxious as hell about the way his life is about to turn upside down - but those kinds of feelings have just surpassed him. He has no doubt they’ll come at some point - the panic, the fear, the trepidation - but with every day that passes in the calm of it all, he feels more prepared to tackle those feelings when they do swarm him. He’s aided by the comfort of knowing that something in his life is a sure thing.

Playing in the NHL, maintaining his role as a captain of a beloved franchise, making it to and succeeding in the playoff finals, winning an international tournament, they’re all dreams. They’re all things he wants and wishes for, but may never get. He may never lift the cup. He may get a season-ending, or even worse, career-ending, injury out of nowhere. He might one day have to give up the C for someone else to lead his guys on the ice. He may fall out of contention for the national team, have to watch from the sidelines as they thrive without him.

But no matter where he ends up in all of that, he knows now who will be there.

Poppy is a certainty. 

Even if they’re not together, if they never cross that line completely, if the baby steps they’re navigating so well stumble so far out of control that a relationship is out of the picture, their futures are intertwined now. 

She will always be a part of him - of his life. Her and the little Cheeto in her belly. 

“No.” He says it with conviction, which his chest puffed as much as he can muster through the exhaustion that overwhelms his body. “You don’t scare me, Poppy Jensen."

She watches him for a bit, trying to gauge the honesty of his sentiment, and he waits with bated breath, his gaze switching smoothly in a triangle between her soft eyes and pursed lips. Once she has deliberated what he’s stated, has assessed the weight of his words until the sincerity of them settles into her bones, she leans forward until she’s resting back into his outstretched arm, head resting on his chest as the thumping of his heart beats against her ear. 

She sighs, big and tired, and her body melts completely into his, the curve of her belly pressed into his side and her arm slung over his torso. 

“Thought you weren’t obsessed,” he whispers teasingly, pointing toward the TV, where a slow-mo replay of him on the ice is taking up the screen. 

She just hums in response, nuzzling sleepily into his side, and he tries to even out his breathing, leaning back and closing his eyes to bask in the moment.

How could he have ever thought this wouldn’t be enough for her? All those months back when he’d spinelessly disregarded the beginnings of something more. When he had thought that this would have been something she would only settle for - the girl who has moulded herself to fit into whatever shape he leaves beside him and makes it seem like it’s everything she wants it to be.

He’s never known calm like it.

On the back of a loss, leading a team that is potentially one game away from losing out on playoff contention entirely, ending a difficult season plagued by injury and turbulence within the organisation. 

He’s physically depleted - his muscles stretched, his bones banged up and bruised - and he should be the same, mentally.

But he gets to come back here, to Poppy, who misses him when he’s gone, who stays up despite her own exhaustion just to see him, who keeps a place warm for him on the couch and curls up into his side until he forgets the rest of it. 

Until he forgets his instinct to second guess either of their feelings, or the need to overthink how her words might measure up to her actions.

Until he forgets the notion Talia had implied that he wouldn’t be enough, wouldn’t make her happy, makes him forget the comments her mother had made about him being absent or distant and unable to support her, or the suggestion from her brother that he wasn’t the right fit.

“You can’t fall asleep.” She speaks slow, like she isn’t far off falling asleep herself, and it isn’t until he hears her voice that he realises just how tight his eyes have welded themselves shut, too lost in the comfort of her embrace to notice that he was about to drift off. 

“Why not?” He huffs, feeling the weight of her head on his chest when he tries to sigh.

“‘Cause I don’t wanna be blamed when you mess your back up on my couch.”

He chuckles, appreciating how her impertinence doesn’t wear off even when she’s half asleep, herself. 

And despite every instinct in his body telling him that he wants to stay like this forever, he shifts his hip to nudge her upright. “Alright,” he groans as his muscles protest at the straightening of his posture, “Let’s get you to bed first then I’ll head out.”

“Carry me?” She holds her arms out as he stands, and he swats them away.

“No."

He helps her up anyway, and keeps a hold of one of her hands as he sets off down the hall toward her bedroom, taking slower steps than usual so that she doesn’t have to stumble after him - knowing she will drag her feet, anyway.

He drops her hand when he crosses the threshold, allowing her to do whatever she needs while she’s in here without him hovering. 

“What the hell is that thing?” Nico rubs at his eyes as if he’s imagining the giant, elongated cushion that takes up more than half of Poppy’s bed, only when he pulls his knuckles away, it’s still there, sprawled out and taking up the entirety of what would be his side in another universe.

“It’s my pregnancy pillow,” Poppy follows him into the room, chuckling as she sidles past him to the bed, “It’s supposed to be really good for resting on when the bump finally comes in more, after a certain point I’m not supposed to sleep on my back. But for now it’s nice to cuddle. Nia got it for me!”

“Of course she did,” he mutters, narrowing his glare at it like the pillow has personally been placed onto this Earth to spite him. He’s been tossing and turning at night wondering if Poppy is okay on her own, yearning to be closer to her, and she’s been here cuddling a pillow?  

He wants it gone.

“It’s comfy, you should give it a go, might help you relax”

“I don’t need to cuddle your giant pillow, thanks,”

“Okay, Captain Grumpy, suit yourself,” she shrugs as she edges past him to her en-suite, and he stalks behind her, watching as she reaches to grab for her toothbrush.

It’s the rattling noise of another in the holder that captures his attention, the red handle of the one she had given him all those months ago still stuck out of the glass, and he feels the tension in his shoulders dissolve somewhat just at the sight of it - waiting there for him to pick back up again like an inevitability. 

He leans against the door as he watches her, head lulling against the jamb as his eyelids grow heavier by the second. He just needs to make sure she gets into bed okay, then he can leave. He can drive back to his apartment, throw himself into his own bed and try not to grind his teeth throughout the night at the fact that a bunch of fabric and fibres is taking his rightful place. 

“You could stay.” He hasn’t even realised she’s watching him, too, hip resting against the sink as she takes the toothbrush from her mouth. “It’s late and you’re clearly spent, and you need to be back here in the morning anyway.”

“Thought you didn’t want me hurting my back on your couch?” He hums, sleepily.

There’s a beat. A heavy silence as she levels him with a look that’s more intense than her pretty eyes allow. “I don’t.” 

Oh.

He can be cool about this, he thinks, despite his exhaustion. He doesn’t want to overreact to the thought of sharing a bed with her, doesn’t want to make her rethink it or scare her away. It’s just the two of them sleeping beside each other. It’s not the craziest thing they’ve ever done.

The ever growing roundness of her belly peaking out the bottom of her tank top is evidence enough of that. 

“Your bed isn’t big enough for the three of us,” he nods back towards the pillow, his lips twisting in mirth.

“Four,” she says around her toothbrush, spitting out the paste into the sink before adding, “Five, if you’re taking Bunny into account, too.”

“Jesus, Poppy,” he snorts, and he doesn’t know why he’s pushing his luck anymore, risking the fact that she might change her mind, but he likes pressing her buttons. Likes the soft way in which she looks up at him, her eyes going round as she waits for him to respond with a slight smudge of white at the corner of her lip that he wants to swipe at with his thumb. “You sure you can fit me in?”

She nods, tilting her head like she has to convince him at all. “We could cuddle?”

He scoffs, more so in disbelief that she actually thinks he needs to be talked into it somehow. “Thought that’s what your pillow is for?” He teases, pushing himself off the doorjamb and sliding past her with a steadying hand on her hip, reaching for his toothbrush and holding it out for her to add the paste. 

“You’re really gonna use up the last of your energy to chirp a pillow?”

“It’s hideous,” he mumbles almost intelligibly around the toothbrush, snickering when Poppy bumps her hip into his. 

“It’s relaxing.” She pouts, leaning once more against the sink instead of vacating the bathroom, watching as he brushes his teeth with a lingering gaze stuck to the movement of his lips. “You did this to me, you should be more concerned about my comfort.”

“I’m very concerned about you,” he coos, finishing up at the sink and wiping his mouth with his wrist before rinsing it off. “Lie awake worrying about you here all alone, turns out you’re snuggled up to a big, strong bunch of fluff every night.”

“Ohh,” she taunts, backing out of the bathroom before calling him out. “You’re jealous.”

“M’not jealous,” he scoffs, following her and watching as she climbs into her all-too-inviting bed. “Just not playing three in the bed with your body pillow.”

He rounds the frame, and before she can protest, he grabs the thing with an unassuming grip, not expecting the weight of it and only able to fling it to the floor by his feet - not as far as he’d like but at least it isn’t on his side of the bed, anymore, he thinks.

“Hey,” she pouts adorably, lips round and too alluring for him to focus on for long. “If I can’t sleep on that, you’re gonna have to let me sleep on you.”

“On me?”

“Yep. Wrapped around you like a vine,” she affirms, “And I don’t wanna hear you whining about dead arms or dead legs, the pillow doesn’t talk back and I’m not above kicking you out in the middle of the night.”

“Can’t see myself complaining about being wrapped around like a vine,” he chuckles, his fingers working deftly to unbutton his pants, chest heating at the way her eyes follow the movement and her lips part. He tries so hard not to let the smug smile that’s threatening to break out fully take over his lips, biting at them to withhold it as he notices her stare go glassy. 

“Good.” She mutters, distracted as he pushes down, the fabric bunching at his ankles before he kicks it off and bends to take off his socks, too. 

He moves to take off his shirt, stopping with his fingers clutched at the back before he asks, “This okay?”

Her throat bobs, and her eyes flicker from the flex of his muscles to meet his gaze, widened and dazed. She presses her lips together and nods, and he can feel the heat of her stare prickle at his skin as he works the t-shirt over his head, shaking his hair back out once it’s off.

Even in the dimmed light, he can see the warmth creeping up her neck, the flush on her chest and the tug of her bottom lip between her teeth.

That article he had found the night before flashes clearly in his head, and reads back to him almost verbatim.

With the loss of fatigue and nausea at the end of the first trimester, expectant mothers may experience an increase in their sex drive. 

Poppy looks like she wants to eat him whole.

It makes him feel like he’s on fire. 

Especially when he considers what happened the last time they were in this bed together.

If she wasn’t fighting so hard to keep her eyes open, he might have called her out on it. 

He reaches to turn off the light before he crawls under the covers and sidles up to her body, laying on his side and watching as she mirrors him, the two of them knocking knees in the middle of the mattress. 

“C’mon then,” he mutters lowly into the space between them, “Do your worst.”

“You don’t actually want me to sleep on you.”

“I don’t care how you sleep as long as you’re actually sleeping.”

“You’ll regret that when I keep you up all night fidgeting in my dreams.” Her body relaxes a little more as they carry on talking, her legs loosening until he starts to feel them press a little more against his own, and he tries to best to make his limbs receptive, adapting to her touch - adapting to her needs, even. 

“You’re still having bad dreams?”

He remembers her talking to his mom about them before - about them making her feel restless, so vivid that she wakes up still feeling exhausted. He remembers his mom talking about the kind of dreams she had when she was carrying him, about animals and aliens and weird, subconscious fears she didn’t even know she had before she was pregnant.

“They’re not all bad,” she hums, “Just strange.”

“What are they about?”

Her eyes flicker up to his, still shining in the darkness of the room, and it makes his throat go dry.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Talking about it might help,” he insists.

She considers it for a second, and he holds his breath while she does, watching her gaze go back and forth between his eyes until it settles on his mouth. “I dream about you.”

“About me?” He frowns, despite the jump of his heart rate, “Like nightmares?”

“No,” she shifts toward him, closing the gap between them just that little bit more, “Not like that, not scary.” She presses her hand to his chest, soft fingertips toying with the gold chain that sits around the base of his neck. “Sad, maybe.”

“Sad dreams?” He asks, and she’s close enough now that he extends an arm out under the covers to rest on her hip, flexing his fingers out to the small of her back.

“You keep leaving me.”

“Oh.”

Great, he thinks, even the dream version of him lets her down.

“It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a dream. I know you wouldn’t, ‘cause you’re obsessed with me, and all,” Closer again, her hips wiggle and his grip on her tightens ever so slightly. “But it feels real, and I guess I get upset about it.”

“Poppy-,”

“It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” he frowns, clutching at her with purpose now, using the leverage he has on her hip to push his own closer to her, their legs fully intertwined now. “I mean, it’s stupid in the sense that I would never leave you, but it’s not stupid that the thought of it upsets you. I’d be upset, too.”

“You would?”

“Mohn,” he doesn’t know how they can get closer, but he can only try. His legs are slotted between hers, her thigh draped across his, the swell of her tummy pressed into the curve of his waist, bare skin touching where her tank top has ridden up and it’s warm and soft and intoxicating, almost. Her hands are pressed to his chest and shoulder, short nails tickling at the flesh there when she chooses to gently scrape and scratch at him, and he could so easily inch his face toward hers until their mouths meet. “If I kept dreaming that you were leaving me, I’d be waking up screaming and crying and holding onto you for dear life.”

The smile she gives him is almost shy, and he feels his heart melting into a sticky, gloopy pile in his chest. He’s so far gone for her it isn’t even funny anymore, isn’t something he feels like he can shoulder the jokes of for much longer. It’s all-consuming, and serious, and it washes over him like a tidal wave when she says, “I’d never leave you either.”

He presses the tip of his nose to hers, bumping at it until she angles her head how he needs, and he can press his lips to the swell of hers.

This kiss reminds him of the one she had given him back in her bedroom at her parent’s house.

It’s gentle, unassuming, tame, if anything.

It might be one of his favourites.

Because this kind of intimacy with her means more than the rushed, frantic collisions they had found themselves in before.

As much as he enjoyed those, and if you’d have asked him at any other point in the day, he’d have given an arm and a leg to have experienced them again, these kinds of kisses mean more to him than that. 

They’re precious to him - provide comfort when he’s laying awake most nights in his own bed, and thinking of all the ways in which he wants to take the next steps with her. He thinks about the soft press of their lips together, and the deeper meaning of it being the sturdy foundations of something way bigger.

This is where it starts for them.

It’s about more than that - it’s about the dedication the two of them share to do things right. To take their time with each other to make sure that it will last this time.

And it’s in her lips he always finds the affirmations he needs. It will last this time. 

He lets out a self-satisfied hum when they part, half chuckle, half sigh, and she tilts her head inquisitively before her eyes flutter open. “What?”

“Nothing.” And when she leans back and looks up at him with a pouty frown, he snorts. “Maybe I should be jealous of the pillow if this is what you’ve been getting up to.”

“Shh,” she cranes her neck and presses her face into the warmth of his chest, before mumbling “Pillows don’t talk, remember,” into it and smiling into the vibrations of his fond laughter.

He falls asleep thinking about the way all the curves of her perfectly fit into the curves of him - the puff of her smiling cheeks pressing into his chest, the swell of her belly pressing into his waist, and the wrap of her legs locking him into an embrace he wouldn’t want to leave even if he had a choice about it.

Nico had thought it would have been the fidgeting that kept him awake. The first few times he woke in the night to Poppy shuffling in his arms, he had just waited it out until her body relaxed, and would subtly and softly tighten his hold on her until she settled into it - the warmth of him easing her back into slumber and allowing him to fall back, too.

He had gotten used to it after that, his body not rousing fully from sleep most times, instinctively accommodating whichever position she needed to be in until he slipped back under, and he could hardly say it irritated him - the desire to be in this position far outweighing his need for an uninterrupted, full night’s sleep.

But then the noises had started. The hums and the whimpers, the staggered breaths, the whines - and he couldn’t stay asleep thinking she was having another of those dreams.

The one where some alternate, dip-shit version of himself leaves her for whatever stupid reason. 

That brings him into full consciousness, tightening his hold on her with a furrowed brow, hand splayed out across the exposed part of her lower back, where her tank has bunched up to reveal warm skin, and he presses firmly until they’re touching at every which point of their bodies they possibly can.

Maybe in her dreams she’ll feel his presence, feel comforted, and the rational part of her brain will kick in that it isn’t real - that she has nothing to worry or be afraid about if he can seep into her subconscious with every touch.

And then she makes another noise - a mixture of a shudder-like breath and a gasp - and her hips jut forward, and he realises that maybe that isn’t the kind of dream she’s having. When he focuses on the other places they are touching, he knows for sure.

With one of his thighs slotted between hers, pressed right up against the apex where they meet, he swears he can feel a dampness even through her shorts.

Fuck.

Oh God.

He can feel himself half-hard already, he’s been that way since he crawled into bed beside her and they snuggled up so close, but this is impossible to ignore now. It doesn’t help how close they are, feeling himself stiffening into her side.

Arousal swirls like a whirlpool in the pit of his stomach, and it whooshes almost out of control when he feels her jut her hips again, grinding down onto his flesh and whimpering into his chest.

“Poppy,” he breathes, figuring he can’t let her carry on now that he’s awake, himself. It wouldn’t be right, he thinks, and curses the part of himself that argues internally. He pinches at her hip, careful not to aid her in her movements, before he tries again. “Poppy, wake up.”

She whines, shuffling as she regains consciousness, her face pressing into his chest as he just about makes out her grumbling, “Don’t want to.”

“You’ve got to.” He squeezes again, willing himself to ignore how good it feels to hold the fleshy part of her hip in his hands. He leans back a little with his neck, careful not to move any part of his lower body now that she’s awake, and looks down at her as her face contorts in confusion. “C’mon, need you to look at me.”

“Nico,” God help him, it sounds like a moan. And double God help him, because she shuffles with her whole body against him, and presses one of her thighs straight into the hardened length in his briefs. She gasps at the same time he winces, and her eyes shoot up to meet his, glistening in the dark of the night and panicked. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-,”

“S’fine,” he mumbles, desperate for her not to shuffle back away from his touch, and he feels relief flood his system when she keeps his leg slotted between hers, only separating their bodies at the top.

“Do you need to handle that?”

“No, I’ll be good.” It’s probably a lie. If she carries on the way she has been, he’ll no doubt have some sort of internal meltdown. He’ll stay hard just thinking about it for weeks. “Do you?”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you were uhm-,” he breathes, not knowing why he’s embarrassed to say it when she’s literally pregnant with his child. They’re both adults, who have been there and done that once before - and have spent the last few hours slotted together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. “Dreaming.”

“I was-,” she frowns, brows scrunching together and lips forming a pout around her next words that don’t quite tumble out before she gasps, her hips shifting like she has realised what rests between them for the first time, “Oh my God.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures her as she begins to shuffle back.

“Oh my God!” She scrambles away from him, the sheets twisting around her body, and he feels an almighty loss when the warmth of her is no longer pressed up against him. It makes him realise just how hard he is, now, his focus entirely on the pulsing pressure gathering between his legs instead of her touch.

“It’s fine, at least you weren’t having a nightmare-,”

“No, I’m just living one, now.” She groans, the end muffled by the fact that she pulls her sheets over her face to hide the heat creeping up her neck. 

“Poppy,” he feels a laugh rumble from the depths of his chest, and his brain works too slow to stop it before it comes out in a low chuckle, Poppy responding immediately by poking her head out with a glare.

“You think it’s funny?”

“No-,”

“Tell that to your face!” She pouts, brows furrowed in an attempt at intimidation that she’s too cute to get away with - cheeks flushed, skin glowing from the soft sweat that arose from them bundling up together for so long. “You’re laughing.”

“Not laughing,” he says through a smile, lips twisting in amusement as she huffs in response, and before she can burrow herself back under the covers, he reaches under them to paw at her hip, “C’mere.”

“No.”

“Come here.” He gives her little choice about it, firming his grasp on her flesh and reaching with his other hand to lift and pull her over, twisting his body so that they press back together and he can hold her on top of him. She puts up little protest, balancing herself with soft hands pressed to his bare chest, and he likes the way her fingers curl just a little, nails scratching just enough to feel it. She does make an effort to keep her hips raised, never pressing them fully down as he holds her above him. “It’s fi-,”

“It’s not fine.” She frowns, her nails digging in a little harder, and Nico can’t help the slight buck of his hips. “It’s not fair, I’m so worked up all the time and nothing helps and you’re not doing anything about it-,”

“Me?” He scoffs in amusement, “You want me to do something?”

“Not if you’re gonna keep laughing about it!” She swats at his chest, and he takes a hand from her hip to grasp at her wrist. “You come in here all warm and snuggly, telling me you’re obsessed with me and taking your shirt off in slow motion-,”

He uses the grip on her wrist to catch her off guard, tugging at it until she stumbles, her other wrist going limp as she falls forward, and he leans his own head up to bump their mouths together on her way down.

Poppy’s lips are parted when they meet his, and he takes immediate advantage, slotting his tongue between them until it presses straight against hers, and she responds with fervour, her body arching straight into the curves of his and hips pushing down until he feels that press of the damp patch on her shorts on his bare thigh.

She moves like putty in his hands as he repositions the two of them, twisting his body until he can lay her on the mattress, pushing down into her with the steady rocking of his hips as she lifts hers to meet his in a slow rhythm. 

She breathes soft moans into his mouth, and her legs part completely to accommodate him, wrapping themselves around him for leverage so that she can grind her core directly onto the stiff length in his briefs.

It’s heaven - the way she manages to rock herself straight onto his cock with every roll of her hips - and with the way her lips part with a gasp, he knows she feels it too.

They’re hardly kissing anymore, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths as the friction builds between them - he’s pawing under the hem of her tank top, sliding to push it further up to expose her belly, and she’s clawing at his back, gripping him closer than he thought possible as their chests press together and he realises for the first time all night that she hasn’t been wearing a bra when he feels the hardened buds poke through her top. The hand sneaking up her skin heads straight in that direction, thumb wiggling between their bodies until it runs over her nipple, the sensation furthering the arch of her back and eliciting a deep whine as she bites teasingly down on his bottom lip. 

“S’that feel good?” He mumbles into her mouth, barely able to get the words out before the pressure of her lips around his closes, her tongue darting out to poke at his. She gives an affirmative hum, and he feels the vibrations of it travel all the way down his throat, filling his chest with a warm buzz. He blames the lightheadedness it causes for his incessant need to tease her, but is thankful it doesn’t entirely ruin the moment when he follows up with, “Better than your dreams?”

“Depends if you make me come this time.” She teases back, the tip of her nose bumping his.

Whatever version of him she’s been dreaming of is a loser. A certified idiot. What kind of man has this girl at his fingertips and doesn’t finish the job? Doesn’t satisfy her the way she deserves?

A schmuck.

“Can feel you soaking through your shorts,” He has a hand on her hip that slides down, over the roundness of her ass and grips at the soft flesh of her thighs until he can push himself straight up against her core, his entire body thrumming at the way she writhes in pleasure. “How long you been like this, huh? All desperate for me?”

“Too long,” she whines, pushing back against him, seeking whatever touch or friction she can get, “Need you to fuck me, Nico.”

“Can’t,” he sighs out a halfhearted denial, to which her lips pout in response. He probably could fight through the almighty ache that has settled into his bones, he definitely wants to, but it might not live up to her expectations - the last thing he ever wants to do is disappoint her. “Not tonight, I’d last 10 seconds,”

“I don’t care.” He can tell she means it, she probably isn’t far off, herself, having gotten halfway there just in her sleep. “C’mon, you’re being mean,”

“I could be meaner,” he smirks, his cheeks pushing into dimples that she immediately presses her lips to. “You know how long I’ve waited to touch you again? When you give me those sweet little kisses,”

“Touch me then,” she breathes not too far off his ear, eliciting shivers that creep down his spine until he arches into her. “Please.”

“You don’t have to beg me, pretty Poppy.” He tells her, his voice low as he works at taking her shorts and panties off one leg at a time, her knees bending in time with the movement of his hands. “Remember what I told you before, I’ll give you whatever you want,” he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Whatever you need,”

“Need you inside me.”

“Do you have a condom?”

“Now you ask me that?” She scoffs in disbelief, breaking out into a chuckle that quickly dies off when she takes notice of where his hands are going, pushing at the waistband of his briefs until he bears his all to her hungry eyes. Her lips part as he stumbles to kick off the fabric, and her gaze lingers as he takes himself into a firm grip and closes the distance, her lashes fluttering in anticipation. 

He slides his length teasingly against her folds, pressing into the wetness that has gathered there, coating himself in it and hearing her pleasured gasp echo around his skull.

“Is that a no?”

“Nico, I swear to God, if you don’t-,” He cuts her off as he pushes his cock into her, further than he thought it could go at first but she’s so wet that he moves with slight ease, already. She’s eager, too, lifting her hips until they meet his, and he’s as far inside her as he can possibly go, settling there as their breathing syncs and he presses his clammy forehead straight to hers.

She’s the one to start shifting, rocking her hips as they both groan and gasp into the small space between their mouths, and their matched desperation seeps into the frantic movements between them, him fucking into her in a building pace and her meeting it with the arch of her back and the scratch of her nails down his. 

He has to be careful not to collapse on top of her entirely, muscles flexing at either side of her head as he holds himself up, and she’s mindful of winding her legs too tight around him, instead working from below to push up to meet him instead of pulling him down to meet her.

It all catches up to him quicker than he would like, overstimulated by the sticky press of his chest to hers, sweat accumulating between their bodies and he feels it everywhere they touch. The clamminess of his neck under her hand at the top of his back, the sheen on his forehead that he uses to reach up to push his hair back when it starts to restrict his view of her, the curve of her belly when she arches a little too much into him and they slot all the way together. But his worries are quelled by the soft trembling of her thighs around him, and the way her mouth falls agape in unadulterated bliss. 

She’s close, too.

“So good to me,” he presses his lips clumsily to the corner of hers, remembering how she’d liked it the last time when he praised her, “My pretty flower, my good girl,”

“Yours,” she pants out, bumping her nose against his before chasing another kiss, muttering, “I’m yours,” between his lips. 

“Mine.” He affirms, his big, calloused hand cupping the side of her sweaty face, possessively. He loses his rhythm as he loses himself in her, his hips stuttering sloppily as he chases his high, “All mine. I’d give you anything. You gonna come for me?”

She nods, and when Nico gets a good look at her, her eyes are glazed over, dazed and on the verge of falling apart, and he balances himself on one hand to reach between them and press at her clit until she stumbles over the edge, legs tightening in a shaky hold around his waist as she comes around him.

He’s actively trying to commit it all to memory, the sweet sounds that spill from her lips, the delicious dig of her nails into his flesh, the tremors that travel all throughout her body as it wracks with pleasure, the way her muscles contract around his cock as it spills into her, filling her with the stutter of his hips.

He collapses to the side of her, their limbs tangling limply between them, her body twisting with his so that he stays inside, and the room filled with the noise of their panting as they both try to catch their breath.

They lay together in blissful peace for a good couple of minutes, her pointing a finger and tracing mindless doodles into his chest and him raking his fingers gently through her hair. Months, and years before that, of tension leading them both to this point, where Nico feels lighter than a feather laying beside the girl of his dreams.

He blames the dizzying way in which she consumes his thoughts for what comes out of his mouth next - but he just feels so content, so at ease, that the stupid joke stumbles out before his brain can register to stop it.

“Don’t think your pillow can do that.”

She snorts from beside him, her eyes crinkling in genuine amusement, and the way her body shakes with laughter has the rumblings of arousal travel through him again. 

“You’re such an idiot,” she giggles, swinging her leg over him and he twists in sync, making sure he stays inside her as she lifts her lips back towards his - any earlier exhaustion from either of them long forgotten as their mouths slot back together and their hips start to move again, chasing further euphoria.

Nico wakes the next morning with a sense of deja-vu that strikes at him like a bat, a full bladder, an ache that settles over him from top to toe, a buzz on a nightstand, and a sleeping Poppy beside him, tucked up against his body with tangled legs and her face pressed into his chest. 

The sun is peaking through the closed curtains, casting the room aglow, and he watches her rouse from her own sleep at the continuous vibrations from beside her. She groans as she twists out from their entanglement, and he keeps a hand at her hip to make sure she doesn’t move too far, already missing the warmth of her.

She checks her phone before she answers it, rolling back over into his side and settling next to him as she shuffles up so that they’re a bit more level.

He watches her as she speaks, admiring how she glows in the small slither of sunlight that casts directly upon her like an angel - despite the mess of her hair and the sleepy-swelling of her face. He isn’t entirely paying attention to what’s being said, watching her fingertips play with the chain that sits on the base of his neck while she talks, leaning forward to bump his nose at her brow and pressing a fleeting kiss there, content in the domesticity of it all. 

He wants all his mornings to start like this.

“That’s perfect, I’ll see you then, thank you.” She closes her call before hanging up, discarding of her phone behind her and focusing her attention back on Nico’s chest.

“Who was that?” He hums as she shuffles back up against him, his hand slithering over her hip to rest on the small of her back.

“Just my ex,” she shrugs, “I’m gonna leave you here on your own and go meet up with him.”

“Wow,” he chuckles, eyes dancing over her lips as they curl into a self-satisfied smirk, “You’ve been dying to fire that bullet, haven’t you?”

“Mmhm, I’m making the most out of my quick wit while I still have it, Luke told me the other day that women’s brains shrink during pregnancy.”

“We need to start taking Google rights away from people.” 

“That’s what I said!” She smiles like she’s proud of the way they think the same things, “It was the doctor’s office. They had a power cut and they’re gonna be running behind so our appointment has been shifted to later.” Her fingers start to dance teasingly across his chest, her tone carrying a suggestive lilt as she continues to speak, her touch moving down as she suggests, “So we could go back to sleep, or we could-,”

He leans up and kisses her with his hands cupping her cheeks, holding her firm against him as he feels her smile against his lips. “I’ll take option two.”

After a blissful morning in Poppy’s apartment, where the two of them, both literally and figuratively, stayed joint at the hip - in her bed, in her shower, no funny business, she said she just wanted to wash his hair, in her kitchen, drinking his morning coffee out of a mug she painted just for him, on her couch, snuggled up when exhaustion caught back up and they had a quick nap together, bad backs be damned - and an early afternoon spent in the doctor’s office, where they learn that their baby is now growing bones, which Poppy should start to feel move soon, and can smile and frown and squint, Nico glides through his afternoon practice with a smile of his own that won’t shift.

He has a new picture that he elatedly displays on the shelf in his cubby, the boys all getting a good look at the now not-so-Cheeto-like shape of his baby, cooing over all the new developments like proud uncles and chirping Nico for the ever-present dopey look on his face. 

No amount of jokes directed his way will ruin this for him, though. 

This feeling of rapture that hasn’t left since he first opened his eyes in the morning. The way his body buzzes at even the thought of the girl waiting for him to finish practice, to come home to an apartment that she had told him earlier to keep the key to, to kiss at her rounding belly and know that their baby is growing hair and limbs and expressions in there.

To finally say goodbye to the baby steps that he’s been taking for what feels like forever, and dive head first into the crystal clear waters of life with Poppy. Sharing a space, being intimate in every which way with one another, it feels like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

And he wants to bask in this feeling for as long as he can, pushing down the impending date of his flight back home, replying to the emails from his national team coach about the upcoming world championship games and then pretending they don’t exist. 

The idea of being in Switzerland for the summer has always filled him with joy - being home, being with his family, it’s where he needs to be after a season like he’s had - losses and injuries and all the turmoil that comes with them - but the thought of being away from Poppy, of missing any of these scans or moments with her and their baby, it fills him with dread. Her mother’s words from their dinner the week before ring through his head like a bell, loud and impossible to ignore. 

Which is why he finds himself heading for her place when his practice is over - after showering at the rink and dropping home to pick up an overnight bag, he drives over with all intentions of spending the night again. Sitting her down and talking over the potential of him flying back out for appointments and visits.

She greets him with a kiss once he’s gotten to her apartment and found her in her kitchen, rendering him stunned for only a second before he responds to her touch, hands falling to her waist and lips closing around hers.

It only drives his point further home that he can’t go too long without seeing her, now. Not if this is how he’s welcomed back, not if this is going to become a thing. 

He pulls her body flush against his, deepening the kiss like it’s been more than a few hours since he last saw her, savouring the taste of her vanilla lip balm and the way her bump presses into his stomach. 

When they part, he finds himself chasing her, pressing quick pecks at her swollen lips until she’s beaming in response, and he feels like his entire body is on fire. 

“Wow, you really are obsessed with me,” she giggles, pressing her hands to his chest to keep him at bay, looking up at him with the glimmer of the light reflecting in her eyes. “You okay?”

“I think your mom was right.”

He doesn’t even know why he said that, the words tumbling out before he can even think them over, and as he can feel his own forehead crease into a frown, and his own brows push together, he sees Poppy’s do the same.

“That might be the most unsexy thing you’ve ever said to me.” She pouts, balm smudged still around her lips as they form into a confused pout that he already wants to kiss away, “Where did that come from?”

“When she said I won’t be around enough,” he flexes his fingers against her hips, tightening his hold on her, “I was thinking about going back home before and I realised I don’t want to miss out on anything, I want to be around if you need me-,”

“Please don’t let her get in your head,” Poppy worries as her hands travel up, her fingers curling delicately around either side of his neck, “She doesn’t understand what being home means to you, she just says things she knows will sting, you shouldn’t have to fly back and forth just to make her happy-,”

“I want to make you happy.”

“You do.” She promises, “When you don’t mention my mother, at least.”

He feels a little better at that, at the conviction of her words, the honesty in her eyes, the soft curve of her lips. But the conversation needs to be had, something needs to be set in place to quell the flickering flames of anxiety that fill his chest before it becomes an inferno. 

Before he can open his mouth to carry on, she speaks instead.

“Go sit down, I have a surprise for you.”

And despite the itch in him to say something else on the topic before she completely shuts it down, he follows her command, the excited sparkle in her eyes hypnotising him into compliance. 

He waits on her couch for her to come over, and when she does, she has a small, white box in hand. Rectangle in shape, around 5 inches deep and 8 inches long.

“What’s this?” He asks when she places the box into his hands, the lid blank and closed.

“Cupcakes.”

“What’s the occasion?” When he goes to lift the lid, she places her hand over his, shuffling until she’s kneeling on the couch, ankles tucked beneath her.

“I’ve been sneaky.”

She looks proud of herself, a sweet grin hesitantly stretching her lips as her eyes dart between his, and he can feel his lips mirror hers.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she hums, “When I had my blood taken before you came in for the scan earlier, I asked Lucy to write down the gender if she could see it clear enough.”

Nico feels his heart stutter.

It’s one of the big things he had feared missing out on, having been told they wouldn’t get a proper view of it until 16 weeks - in another 2 weeks time - at which point he would more than likely be back home. He had resigned himself to finding out over the phone - still exciting, but not the same. “But I thought they couldn’t see it yet?”

“Depends on the position Cheeto wants to be in,” Poppy shrugs, “They do say it isn’t definite, so if it grows or loses an appendage in the next few weeks, blame Lucy, not me.”

“So you know?”

There’s no way she could have hidden it from him, so far. Poppy can’t keep a secret from him to save her life.

“No. Bonnie at the bakery on the corner knows. She hid it in the frosting.”

Nico takes the lid off the box now on his lap, looking into it to see two cupcakes, a thick serving of white frosting and a round, disc-like cake topper with blue and pink writing.

“Baby Hischier?”

He feels warm all over, a static-like tingling spreading across his skin, and he can feel heat creeping up his neck. It all feels so real, so overwhelming. Seeing their baby earlier, the blurred, splotchy shape of it’s head, little features like a nose, lips and eyes starting to form more clearly in the picture. A little baby with his last name.

“It is your baby,” Poppy chuckles, reaching for the box herself and handing one of the cupcakes over to him. 

“No hyphen?” He elaborates, and he can feel his brow twitch of its own accord, catching her eye and making her lips twist, fondly, in the way that makes him already anticipate some smart-ass comeback.

“It’s a cupcake, not a billboard,” she quips, “We could do that, it that’s what you want?”

“I thought that would be what you wanted.” If it is, he’ll do it that way, but God does he all of a sudden hate hyphens. 

“I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest. Hischier just felt right when I wrote it down for Bonnie. I like your name.”

You can have it, he thinks.

“The less claim my family have to our baby, the better. Plus, it’s kind of the tradition, to give the baby it’s father’s surname.”

“Because we’re so traditional,” he chuckles, liking the way he makes her laugh, too.

“That’s true. Maybe we should make up a name, then? Say, fuck the system,”

“Hischier’s fine.” He says, resolutely, a sudden wave of possessiveness washing over him, and he only feels slightly ashamed of it.

“Hischier is great.” She reassures him, enough to make his chest puff with pride, and the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth is enough to tell him she’s proud of her own teasing - and all too aware of his mini-neanderthal moment. “Can we get on with it, I’ve been glaring at this box all afternoon.”

“I don’t know, I’m all of a sudden nervous about eating a cupcake.”

“Welcome to my first trimester.”

He can feel the beat of his heart in every inch of his body.

He hasn’t really given it much thought, before now, if there’s any specific gender he wants it to be. He’s always thought it corny, when people say I just want a healthy baby, but that truly is all he wants.

He sees the best of both worlds - a mini him, or a mini Poppy. Half of each of them in one bundle of joy.

He’ll be in love with it, either way.

“We’ve just got to do it,” Poppy says, placing the box down on the coffee table and holding her cupcake across from his. “Close your eyes and take a bite after three.”

He nods, before cheers-ing his cupcake against hers, and then closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and waiting for Poppy to start the countdown. 

“One…” He peaks an eye open, watching and unable to stop the grin that spreads into his cheeks, already. “Two…”

She opens an eye, too.

“Close your eyes, Mohn.” He warns her.

“I was checking yours were closed.”

He makes a show of scrunching them shut, assuming she’s doing the same, and she starts the countdown back up again.

On three, he takes a bite and opens his eyes, disregarding whatever colour sits on his own cupcake and immediately watching for Poppy’s reaction.

Her bite had been clumsy, the frosting smearing on her lips, and where he had wanted to see her eyes light up, his gaze is stuck in a magnetised grip to the soft pink colour of the sugary goodness that now surrounds her mouth. 

A girl.

A mini Poppy - pretty eyes, a killer smile that he folds to in an instant, a sharp tongue that fills his life with equal parts sarcasm and light.

He’s so done for.

Before he can help himself, he discards his cupcake onto the coffee table and pounces forward, hoping that she flings hers in the same direction as he takes her face between both hands and pulls her lips into his, licking the frosting straight from them before he kisses her with all the passion he can muster.

It’s messy, he can feel the icing transfer to his own upper lip, tasting the sugar as she giggles into his mouth, and his whole body lights up with the joy of it all, their teeth clashing in a messy abundance of shared glee.

He can’t get enough of this feeling, of the sound of her blissful laughter, and so even when they part, he keeps going back for more, pressing his lips to any part of her face he can reach - her lips, her chin, her nose, her cheeks - and when they’re touching the corner of her mouth, he feels the movement of it as she asks, “Are you happy?”

“So happy.” It’s an understatement, but he’s hard pressed to think of more elaborate wording, so he kisses her again before saying, “Come home with me. To Switzerland. I don’t want to spend another summer missing you, Poppy. I don’t want to be apart from you and our baby girl.”

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t asked before. He knows it’s what he’s wanted this whole time, to be in the place he loves the most with the girls he might love more. 

“Really?”

“I wanna share the other half of my life with you. We can sort out a doctor so we don’t have to fly back and forth or miss any appointments, and it gives my family a chance to spend time with you, I can show you all my favourite places, we can-,”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You don’t have to sell it to me, Nico, I’m already there.”

“Yeah?” The thumping of his heart is so vigorous he thinks she can probably see it, breaking out of his chest and flying out toward her like a cartoon. 

“I’m hardly gonna say no to a European summer.” She teases with a shrug, licking at the remaining frosting on her lips before she leans in to press them softly against his, again. 

“The fact I’m there is just a bonus?”

“If that’s what you want to believe.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk @dasiysthings (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

[martensite-triangulation]

Rambles and reflections under the cut

That "women imagine themselves with a big scary love interest because of irl issues" insight applies to me very much because when last year I Examined My Kinks™️ I came to the conclusion that I'm into them party because *gestures around vaguely* and partly because of my dogwater of an ex. This is how I process all that shit

Of course what helps me tremendously in exploring those things is the fact that there's nobody in my life right now who is, like, saying shit like that to me earnestly with their whole heart. I can explore yandere mindbreak scenarios because there's nobody in my life to go "you can't think for yourself and you're stupid if you think otherwise" and I can explore pregnancy scenarios (vanilla or otherwise) because there's nobody in my life to go "I might not be able to make you pregnant but I'll still throw a massive fit over the idea of you getting a hysterectomy". You see what I'm driving at?

And part of me exploring those scenarios right now is because I had them happen to me and I NEED PROCESSING. I am processing them through a pretty fictional girl

Ah, and this brings me to my second point. I also used to be team "projects onto a fictional guy because projecting onto a fictional girl would be too raw and direct for me". Up until 2 years ago, when my ex despawned out of my life and, together with him, all the Problems and Issues that came into existence with him (or some even existed before him). So projecting onto fictional girls was good to go

And oh, projecting I'm doing. I have found out, also through Examination™️, that right now it's that very lack of any degree of separation is what makes it cathartic for me. The rawness and directness of projecting onto a fictional girl is no longer a bug - it's a feature

Cause y'know, despite everything, existing as a woman where I live is still SO DAMN HARD. The mainstream here is still stuck in the "ehm actually a woman belongs in the kitchen" phase so I'm coping with it as best as I can. Through a pretty fictional girl

Oh right, and doing it all to a fictional girl instead of a fictional guy allowed me to up my degree of fucked upness. When handling fictional guys, I was afraid of going deeper than surface level because, well, that's not my department and I just go there. But fictional GIRLS? Ohoho. Buddy now THAT'S my department. Want an alphabetical or a numerical order of the fucked up shit I'm doing to her? It's so much fun dealing with your problems and anxieties through a fictional girl. Please please if you (general you) will be ready (only when you will be ready. Like I did) to go one step deeper in projecting onto characters, PLEASE try out projecting onto a fictional girl. You will NOT regret it

Uh right, this ended up being all over the place so TLDR:

I indeed am working through my problems and anxieties of being a woman (cause again, I don't live in the USA so the general public is still stuck in the "women should be in the kitchen" mentality here) through fictional awful guys

I am throwing those fictional awful guys at a very lovely fictional girl

I used to also practice the "throwing fictional awful guys at fictional guys" thing until I no longer had the issues in my life which made projecting onto a fictional girl so FUCKING hard

(alternatively, the unserious and funny explanation to why am I projecting onto fictional girls is because hey guys is that not what you wanted? I am being a good little girl you see, I am not barging into mlm spaces by projecting onto fictional guys, I am staying in my own lane and projecting onto fictional girls like a good girl)

[riotgrrrl200]

Destroy Boys: Dissecting the Lyrics of “I Threw Glass at my Friend’s Eyes and Now I’m on Probation”

“I Threw Glass at my Friend’s Eyes and Now I’m on Probation” actually has nothing to do with glass but it discusses the idea of grooming and having a relationship with an older man. It talks about how it can be super confusing to be in that situation. This song can be used to help other women in a confusing and mucky situation. Hearing other people singing about being in a grooming situation while simultaneously hearing the voice of the song discuss how confusing the situation truly is can be very validating. Having music like in the media is so helpful to individuals experiencing these situations because they can start to understand what is going on from a different perspective. The first section I want to discuss is the first verse. It is as follows: 

You're ruining my life day by day

The butterflies you give me are literally making me nauseous

This is disgusting, like seriously dude?

What do you think you're doing?

You're like way older than me and you're gross

And I don't wanna do that

The first verse of this song is used to introduce the problem which is that there is a confusing situation between an older person and a younger person. The young person is meant to be the voice of the song and we are hearing their side of the story. We as the listener are to assume that this is a heterosexual interaction which means that the framing of this song is that the older man is preying on the younger girl which is a very prevalent issue plaguing the United States and the rest of the world. The first line is to introduce that she knows this is not a good situation. The line where she discusses the butterflies that she has is meant to show that she is having a bad gut feeling about the overall situation. Lines three and four are meant to discuss how in a grooming scenario, the fault is on the adult and the younger person is the victim. Adults who groom children and young adults are fully aware of what they are doing and it is very important to put that idea back onto the perpetrator. The last two lines again show that the younger girl is not accepting of the idea and knows that it is not appropriate. The next section that I want to discuss is the chorus which is as follows: 

Never invite me over ever again

Just kidding, please do!

I really wanna hang out with you

Ooh, ooh, ooh

Ooh, ooh, ooh

The chorus’s purpose is to show the confusion in which the young girl is faced with. She is conflicted because she knows that it is wrong to get involved with or even date someone who is grooming her but she is intrigued. She finds herself drawn to the situation but this brings up the idea of male validation. In our patriarchal society, male validation is one of the highest valued measures that we have. The opinion of men is drilled into our minds and it can manifest into wanting to please men even when it is at the detriment of yourself. The second verse quickly snaps us back into criticizing the actions of the adult and the lyrics are as follows: 

But fuck you! You're so old, dude!

Like seriously, what do you think you're doing?

Your hands are so big and you're so tall, wow

You know, I kinda wish I had let you do that one thing that one time

But in retrospect it would've been a bad idea, because

You don't care about me like I care about you, so that'd be bad

After a chorus that shows us that the young girl is confused, we get a verse that reminds us again that it is not the voice of the song's fault. She calls attention to the fact that the older man is doing something wrong in the first two lines. The third through fifth lines of this verse are to show confusion within her because she wants to be a part of the situation but knows it is not okay. The final line is an important one because this is where she explicitly states that the situation is very different for the both of them. For the adult man this is a perverted and disgusting fantasy in which he wants to have relations with a child or at least a much younger person. For him it may also be a power trip that he is seeking out but whatever the motive, it is disgusting. He is using manipulation to try and trick the young girl into thinking that they should be together but this is why the song goes back and forth, the voice is confused because he is confusing her. On her side, she actually likes him and her feelings are a mix of her actually liking this man and his manipulation playing with her mind. The last section I want to discuss is the third verse which is as follows: 

I'm really ironically pissed off right now

I'm feeling quite lost right now

Like in a really big forest like in Lake Tahoe or something

Somewhere big and scary 'cause you're scary as shit, dude!

Like, I don't really know what I can tell you

You kinda freak me out but we could be friends!

This verse shows another side of her confusion. She says that she is “ironically” pissed off but this line actually means that she doesn’t actually feel angry at him. Everyone is expecting her to be angry at him so she is pretending to be but is not actually mad at him since she actually likes him. The next five lines show that by the end of the song she acknowledges that she is scared of this man and that she knows that she should most likely not interact with him. She finally gets to a point where she is scared of the man because she realizes that she is being preyed upon. The whole time the voice is aware that she should not be entertaining this man but she is getting so confused. I think this song is so important because it discusses this topic as what it is which is confusing. The feelings that the voice of the song is experiencing is clearly hard for her to understand which puts a more human undertone to an otherwise black and white concept of grooming is bad. It helps the listener understand a little more that these situations are complicated and that if they are experiencing something similar, they will be able to relate to the lyrics. Anyone listening to this song while going through a situation like this may find it helpful to relate to such a blatant discussion of this topic. 

Source: https://genius.com/Destroy-boys-i-threw-glass-at-my-friends-eyes-and-now-im-on-probation-lyrics

[e-the-village-cryptid]

Yes!!! "Portraying women in a way which allows them to be heard but not misunderstood" — I really enjoyed the part of the podcast, especially her discussion of rage and how that rage is both necessary and allowable, and can lead to people dismissing you. She says something along the lines of "Electra's right to be angry, but people also see that rage as permission to dismiss her. But you also have to go through that stage of anger in order to mature into it and articulate it more clearly. I would love to play Electra as growing into that rage throughout the play, not denying her anger but allowing it and learning to articulate it in a way that allows her to be heard." and that was just *chef's kiss*

I'm so glad you brought up Lady Macbeth, I wrote about her (and was fascinated with her) in school. (I was SO hoping that Denise Gough was about to bring her up as an example of "women who wanna destroy the world" as she'd just said, but alas. Lady Margaret works too.) We got to write a research paper on any theme within Macbeth we chose and I went ham digging through psychology journal databases finding stuff on guilt and thought suppression trying to psychoanalyze Lady Macbeth haha. I was also interested in the notion of her as powerful— in particular, the way her power feels so tenuous and sort of breaks down throughout the play. My thesis was basically that Lady Macbeth's deterioration throughout the play followed the track of her obsessive suppression of any thoughts regarding her fear or guilt or other negative emotions, and of course, attempts to suppress thoughts only make them grow in their power over you until they overwhelm you. I didn't get into the gender politics of it because I had no idea what to do with them at the time, but if I were to do it again now, I absolutely would. She suppressed so much of herself so strongly because she felt like any sign of anything anyone could take as "womanly" would be a sign of weakness. Looking back, I was definitely inventing an internal world for her that Shakespeare was probably not thinking of at all, because I just couldn't get behind the incompleteness of leaving women as only one of two extremes with no complexity behind them.

I haven't seen Arcane but I'll have to check it out! I'm sorry you haven't found other shows that portray women as equal in internal complexity to men, there's definitely a pervasive problem of women being portrayed that way but it's by no means everything out there, especially in more recent years and with a rise in women writing and directing. It's always a work in progress— even Andor isn't perfect on that front, I was unimpressed with the way they portrayed (or rather, didn't portray) Bix's internal world and complexity in the second half of the season especially. But there is definitely plenty of media out there with amazingly written women if you go looking for it, and overall, it's gradually getting better. And in the meantime, I will continue to latch onto women whose internal worlds felt incompletely written to me and write pages and pages constructing them for myself lmao why do I frustrate myself like this

Agreed! I love the way that with characters like Dedra and Mon and Cinta and Vel and Kleya and really every morally grey character, Andor doesn't sink into "positive" stereotypes of women being warmer, more nurturing, more emotionally intelligent, less capable of evil, etc. Positive stereotypes are often disregarded for the harm they cause, but they can have just as harmful an impact as negative stereotypes and often fly under the radar when it comes to avoiding stereotyping in a piece of media. I appreciated Andor's in-your-face showing you that NO, women can be equally corrupted by power, equally cold and ruthless (on both sides of the war), equally faced with difficult decisions and equally likely to make questionable ones as men, because women are just people. And I appreciate Denise for not shrinking from that for Dedra at all, for showing that Dedra can BOTH face gender discrimination within the Empire AND STILL BE fully accountable for her actions. Denise put it best: "She is not just a woman in a man’s world, but a fascist in a world of fascists. It was important to see that power corrodes women as much as men."

I need to talk to someone about this podcast episode for like 3 hours

no specific fandom or context necessary, just a really amazing conversation on addiction, recovery, treating your past self with understanding and respect, the value of rage, acting roles of "unpalatable" women with compassion and honesty, and the importance of truth in telling stories

I listened to it and then immediately went back and listened to the whole thing again and that is the only time I have ever done that, it's a beautiful episode please consider giving it a listen

and if you do listen. please. talk to me about it. I am bursting with things to say and questions to ask. I'm losing my mind over this. I'm begging you

[whatamesswehavemade]

I Want My Boyfriend Back- Eddie Munson x Reader

Pairings: Eddie x female!reader

Request: No, but I am taking requests :)

Word count: 2149 (I let it get away from me, sorry!)

Summary: Eddie has been distant and you have felt alone. You confront him after tireless nights of crying, feeling like you’re losing your boyfriend. 

Warnings: cursing, crying, allusions to sex–– but all fluff nonetheless.

“Why are boys dumb?” Max throws herself onto your bed with a huff. El follows her.

“I ask myself the same question every day,” you reply, finishing applying your concealer–– the bags under your eyes a deep, puffy purple that needed to be covered up in order to look stronger. You turn to the two girls and cross your arms. “But guess what–– while they can be stupid as shit, we can be crazy as shit. Let’s go.”

Max and El jump to their feet. You grab your keys and head out, hearing the girls’ footsteps behind you.

Lucas had stood Max up on two different dates this week: one due to “basketball practice”–– which she later found out was him hanging with the jocks–– and the second one was to be with Hellfire Club dweebs.

Mike had stood El up–– she was visiting from California, and instead of spending time with his girlfriend, he’s been working on a campaign with the same dweebs.

And you? Your boyfriend stood you up every day for the past three weeks, complaining about his band or getting this game started for the boys. Your boyfriend was the dumbass leading these dweebs: Eddie.

You pulled up outside Gareth’s house, knowing this would be where they’d be playing tonight. All of the boys’ bikes laying across the grass–– incriminating evidence.

You turn around from the driver’s seat and look at the girls. Their eyes were glued to the house, a mixture of anger and nervousness washing over their faces. “Stay behind me and look like the badass, bitchin’ women you are.”

“Bitchin’,” replied El with a smirk.

You walk up the steps of the house. You’ve been here before with Eddie, watching his band practice. Gareth’s mom likes you, so this part is no problem.

Rapting your knuckles gently on the door frame, you put on your best fake smile and wait for his mother to show up. The calm before the storm, you think, making sure the boys won't see this coming.

The door opens to Gareth’s middle-aged, adorable little mother. “Oh, Y/N! How are you, dear? And who are these adorable girls with you?”

“Hi! I’m good! This is Jane and Max,” you gesture to the girls behind you, both of them waving timidly. “We’re here to see the boys. Are they downstairs?”

Before she could answer, you hear the boys all yell and cheer. His mother looks at you with a laugh, “I guess they answered your question, sweetie.” She steps away and lets you three in. 

She hands you a plate of her freshly baked cookies in the process. “Could you take this down to them? You girls are more than welcome to help yourselves as well! I have another batch in the oven.”

You gladly take the plate in your hands as El reaches up and grabs one off the plate, Max following. You knew she wasn’t lying about that second batch; the entire house smells of warm chocolate chip cookies.

The three boys didn’t deserve these niceties.

You lead the girls to the basement door, opening it slowly, not to bring attention. The smell of gym socks wafting over you, taking over the pleasant baked-goods smell. You roll your eyes and start down the stairs–– inevitably, the steps creaking.

“Mom, I said not to come down here!” the boys quiet at your footsteps, and Gareth sounds annoyed. You smile and turn your head to the girls. Jeez, they looked excited. That’s my girls.

When you come into view of the boys, you see Eddie gulp. Max is behind you, and Lucas looks worried. But no one seems as scared shitless as Mike when El comes into view. 

“W-what are you girls doing here?” Eddie clears his throat as he stares at you, anger and fear washing over his expression. 

You don’t get a chance to say anything. El speaks up, “Mike. We’re leaving. Now.”

She looks pissed. He doesn’t even argue. He glances at Eddie but quickly gets up and walks over to El.

They start up the steps. “Wait, don’t you need a ride?”

“No. We’ll walk.” El shrugs and grabs Mike’s hand, and goes up the steps. You smile and look over at Max, who is staring at Lucas.

“Lucas, we’re leaving too.”

“But we’re in the middle of this campaign! Max, just let us finish and––” 

“Nope, we’re leaving. Now. Unless you don’t want a girlfriend anymore.”

With that, he quickly gets up, ducking his head to hide the embarrassment, and leaves swiftly with Max. “We’re good too. No ride.”

That leaves you and Eddie. You’re clutching the plate but smiling at his annoyed look. “You happy, Y/N? You’ve ripped apart our campaign. Now we have to be done for the night. This sets us back a week now!”

Dustin gets up from where he’s seated and approaches you. This was the only member of Hellfire you were somewhat scared of–– his ego was bigger than his little body. He’s never gone off on you, but he definitely holds his ground against Steve, all his little friends, and even Eddie–– no one talks back to Eddie but you and Dustin.

But, he smiles at you, grabs the plate from your hands, and takes a huge bite of a cookie. “That sucks. I was hoping to move further tonight, but whatever. Y/N, will drive me home?”

You smile down at him and ruffle his hat. “Sure, but that also depends if you’re chill with a car ride with a pissed-off Eddie.”

Dustin looks at Eddie, who is scowling at you. He looks back up at you, “Sure, just take me home first before all the yelling starts.”

“What about my van here?”

“You can get it later, right, Gareth?” you snap, but then look at his friend, who just looks scared.

“Yeah, that’s fine. No problem, Y/N.” It makes you smile at how most of Eddie’s friends are scared of you. Eddie may be their club leader, but they all know what you say truly goes.

“Eddie, let’s go.” He stares at you as if he’s not going to follow, but he sighs and slowly gets to his feet. He follows behind you and Dustin–– who is still holding the plate of cookies, probably on his fifth one already. You say bye to Gareth’s mom in the sweetest tone you can and head out with the boys.

“Shotgun!” Dustin yells, running to your car and getting in the front seat.

“No, dipshit, back seat. This is my girlfriend’s car,” Eddie barks.

You turn and put your hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “No, no, he sits in front. You’re the dipshit that’s sitting in the back. Unless you’d rather not see me again.” You poke harshly at his chest. He rolls his eyes and gently bats your hand away, walking towards the car and sliding into the back.

The car ride is silent between you and Eddie but loud with false excitement between you and Dustin. You love entertaining Dustin, even when in a bad mood. He’s one of the only boys you actually can put up with. Hmm, maybe we both have the same ego.

Once Dustin is dropped off, you drive down the street a bit before Eddie pipes up, “So my place or yours? I know my uncle is outta town. And your mom is still outta town too, right? So we have all of the privacy we want.”

You break hard, making him hit his face against your seat, and put your car in park. He’s rubbing his forehead as you turn around and look at him. “You think you’re getting laid, Munson? Are you fucking kidding me?”

His eyes turn lust-filled. “Isn’t this what all of this is about? That I haven't been paying enough attention to you?” He reaches for your arm, rubbing his hand slowly up and down your skin.

“Yeah, not enough attention, but not in a sex way. In a ‘I want to see my fucking boyfriend because I haven’t seen him in three fucking weeks, and I-I just want my boyfriend back’ kinda w-way.” You turn back before he can see the tears well in your eyes, but you know your cracking voice gave you away. You drive off again towards your house. 

Funny that I asked the girls to be badasses when I can’t.

Eddie’s eyes were glued to your review mirror, trying to get you to make eye contact with him. He looked to be pleading with you through just his eyes. He knew you weren’t in the mood for talking, so he sat silent, listening to your heavy breathing that you tried to calm.

You pull into your driveway, shut the car off, and slam your door, Eddie trying to keep up behind you. Once inside your house, Eddie grabs your hand, making you turn to him. You look at him, annoyed and waiting for him to speak. But he was waiting for you as well.

“Ugh, never mind,” you try to pull your hand away, but his grip tightens. You feel defeated. You feel stupid. I don’t own him, I shouldn’t make him see me weekly. Maybe I’m not enough for him.

You start crying, raising your free hand to wipe away the tears, but they kept coming. Eddie pulls you into a hug, letting you sob into his Hellfire shirt. 

He strokes the back of your head. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distant. I should’ve called. I should’ve stopped by. I should’ve been here. I don’t know where my head has been. I’ve been so invested in this campaign, I haven’t made time for us. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He takes this time to look around your living room, seeing it’s a mess of dishes, take out, clothes, and blankets. 

Your mom keeps the house pristine, and that had rubbed off on you. Most times you’re in his trailer, you’re cleaning it. He always begs you to stop, but you hate filth. He thinks about when you had said your mom had left. You had nudged him about it, that you two could be completely alone–– you’d have the house to yourself for six weeks, the first time your mom had ever left you that long. You had been alone for half the time she’s been gone and Eddie hasn’t even come over once to at least watch a movie with you or even stay the night.

“Shit, babe. I’m so sorry.” His arms tighten around you, and he starts crying as well.

You whisper into his soaked shirt, “I’ve missed you. I’ve felt like you don’t care, and I’ve just missed you.”

He pulls you back so he can look into your eyes. “Of course I care about you. Of course I do.” He wipes his thumb under your eyes, picking up your tears. He lets go of you and shrugs out of his jean jacket. He wraps it around your shoulders and guides you to a clean spot on the couch–– the one spot you’ve been sitting in for the past three weeks. “I’m gonna make it up to you, princess. Stay here.”

You watch him as he walks over to the lighswitch, flipping the living room lights on. It’s the brightest it’s been since your mom left. You watch him as he disappears into the kitchen and it back within seconds with a trash bag. He starts picking up your mess. You feel hot, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He looks up and catches your look. 

He smiles, “Babe, you always do it for me. I’m taking care of you now.” You smile, realzing everything is OK again.

“When you’re done, do you wanna go to Family Video and pick up a movie?” you ask, timidly.

“And annoy Harrington? Fuck yeah. You get to pick the movie babe. And when we get back here, we’ll cuddle and pop some popcorn and watch whatever you want all night. And I’ll stay the night and we can do it all again tomorrow.”

You giggle and wrap his jacket around you tighter as he goes back to cleaning.

He flips his hair over his shoulder, but it goes right back into his face. He pops his head up and looks at your hands. “Hey babe, can I borrow your hairtie?”

You take it off your wrist and motion for him to come over. “C’mere, I’ll tie your hair up.”

Eddie is quickly sitting on the floor between your knees as your collect his hair back into a tight ponytail. You lean down and kiss his cheek when you’re done. He turns his head and catches your lips with his.

He pulls away slightly, leaning his forehead against yours. “I love you, Y/N. So much.”

“I love you too, Eddie.”