#I don’t think it’s about choosing sides (although I can see why people want/need it to be and why the story is criticized so which valid) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bratbarzal · 3 months ago

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On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Three

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

*I say it's an OC, it's just a name and third person POV. I use minor character descriptions because I don’t get on with writing vague reader inserts/YN for long-form, story heavy fics, but I will generally try to avoid including race and body type or really any physical descriptors. I’m always open to feedback on my writing, or how to be more inclusive.

WC: 13k

Chapter Warnings: angst obviously what would this story be without it, poppy and nico having an overdue conversation, nico moping again with his big sad brown eyes, nico being jealous again, drinking, cursing, meddling friends, being stood up, mentions of controlling parents as always, a little touching maybe a little more kissing too and even more meddling friends

Summary: Poppy Jensen’s job with the New Jersey Devils was supposed to be her first big step into adulthood - a way to prove to herself and her overbearing parents that she could make her own way in life. She was never supposed to become involved with any of the players. Becoming best friends with their captain was stupid. Getting her heart broken by him was tragic. Getting knocked up with his child was just plain messy.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Two)

A/N: I have nothing to say honestly just hope you enjoy I really don't know why I struggled writing most of this despite knowing what I wanted to do with it I think just figuring out how I want certain conversations to go and how to get from a to b is pure stresssss I'm not entirely in love with it but what can you do also proofread her? I hardly know her

but if you have anything to say pls send it my way lmao I'd really like to hear any thoughts or opinions 💓

Poppy

Poppy was once told by her good friend, Kelsey, that she would be able to tell everything she needed to know about a guy by the way they answered one very simple question.

If you could have any superpower, what would it be?

She thinks about it more often than she really should, if she’s honest with herself, but Kelsey’s rationale behind each potential answer is actually a stroke of rare genius - and Poppy often finds herself applying the logic to most people that she encounters.

Guys who say super speed are the ultimate red flag. No one wants a quick finisher, no matter how fast they may be in any other aspect of life. Some things specifically require time and patience. Sacrificing your partner’s satisfaction all to say you can run the world record fastest 5k is the ultimate ick.

There’s an argument to be made for the endurance choosers, it sure has its perks, but Poppy thinks it’s a boring pick. To be given the option of any superpower, and to choose perseverance, of all things? Get a life.

Anyone who chooses x-ray vision is a certified pervert, obviously. The same could be said for those wanting to read minds, although most of the guys Poppy has seen in her life struggle to comprehend the things she says in plain words, never mind whatever nonsense is circling through her inner thoughts.

Those who choose flying are one dimensional, rarely able to see beyond what’s right in front of them, because, if they could, they’d choose the much better option of teleportation.

Who chooses flying when you could just think about somewhere and instantaneously arrive? With your hair in tact and no risk of bumping into any territorial birds.

Teleportation is what Poppy would have picked if anyone would have asked her a week ago, for the mere fact that commuting anywhere is the bane of her entire existence, and if she thinks too hard about it or looks to much into it, it always has been.

She associates it with sitting in the back of her dad’s Bentley as a child, a tangible, frosty silence lingering in the air between her parents after one of their many even-toned arguments disguised as discussions, the fresh pine scent making her car sick and the leather seats making the back of her thighs sticky.

Or the fragile bones of her hand being crushed by her mother’s tight grip as they rode the Amtrak over to Manhattan, Priscilla sneering at anyone who dared step too close on the crowded carriage, Poppy being dragged throughout department stores in the name of mother-daughter bonding time, and clutching to a tiny consolation Macy’s bag housing a sparkly lip gloss like her life depended on it the whole way home.

She thinks of all the hours of her life she’s wasted on the Palisades Parkway, no longer able to enjoy the scenic route whenever she has to drive back to her parent’s house in Alpine after having watched one too many crime shows where a broken down car leads to a girl’s face plastered all over the news.

Even driving to work can feel like hell when the traffic is bad, what should be a 30 minute drive sometimes turning into an hour, Poppy’s fingers cramping around the wheel and her feet itching to touch solid ground after too long.

Teleportation sounds perfect.

And, there’s even a romance element to it. Being whisked away to Paris in the blink of an eye, suddenly sitting outside a boulangerie, decadent, rich hot chocolate on a table in front of her and a plate full of pastries, all because she mentioned a slight craving for a pain au chocolat.

Teleportation has always been the only correct, green-flag answer to the question.

Until Poppy properly considered time travel, that is.

The concept of it has always been a little too much or her to handle - too many strange loopholes, too many bad examples from the sci-fi movies her brother had loved as a kid. Travelling back in time to when her parents were her age and accidentally capturing her adolescent father’s attention à la Marty McFly? Sounds like hell and horror to Poppy.

But that was before she screwed everything up.

If she could have any superpower right now, currently weighed down with the burden of hindsight - which people have always told her is a funny thing, but she thinks is actually somewhat diabolical - she would pick time travel a thousand times over.

Because if human beings have a specific part of their brain that is dedicated to forcing them to sit and stew on their every poor decision for days on end - lets them rethink and regret everything until they’re blue in the face, and can’t think of anything other than how idiotic they have been - it should also offer the kindness of being able to go back and change what they so royally fucked up.

That’s what Poppy thinks, at least, as she throws herself down onto her bed, her back hitting the duvet in a whoosh and all she can do is stare at the ceiling and wonder how and when she became such a certified moron.

There’s a part of her that suspects it’s in her genes. Inevitable. Unavoidable. Nature and nurture, she was born and raised to be a full blown fool.

Poppy comes from a long line of privilege, and while it does take a certain element of intelligence to amass the wealth her family has, it also tends to go hand in hand with ignorance in its many forms.

Behind every fortuitous business move her father makes are a million other mistakes - failed ventures, bad investments, shoddy pieces of advice accepted from the untrustworthy snakes he surrounds himself with. Hidden beneath every rung of the social ladders her mother has managed to climb, there are the ugly faux-pas’ slipping through the cracks of a former, more unsavoury life she can never run too far from. And her brother - well, she suspects he’s just an idiot, there are no two ways about it.

She knows that she needs to stop blaming her family, though. This time, it’s all her.

She can’t blame her father for the way she overthinks, the man who makes every decision in life with the littlest regard for how anyone else feels about it. She can’t blame her mother for the way she places such little value on herself, the woman who walks into every room like she owns it and refuses to let anyone make her think otherwise.

Except maybe she can.

If she had the nerve to talk to a therapist, they might disagree - might say her overthinking comes from her dad’s lack of communication skills, a part of her brain always filling in the gaps of a half-assed, other side of any conversation with him. Or they might say her insecurities come from her mom constantly putting Poppy down while telling her to be more sure of herself - stop slouching, Poppy, no one will take you seriously with the posture of a candy cane.

She’d love to know where her need to repress her feelings so deep that she becomes an impenetrable, cold, dark fortress comes from. The need to push and shove when someone tries to get too close, because God forbid anything is ever easy when it comes to her affections.

It would have made the past 4 days since Nico had walked into her apartment and kissed the life out of her a whole lot easier.

4 days spent reminiscing, rethinking and regretting every single thing she had said and done since their lips parted, since he had put his heart on the line and she’d whacked it away, full swing, as if too desperate for the victory of a last-bat home run.

If she could time travel, she’d do the whole thing over.

“Don’t go on that date, Mohn.”

She had read the words on his lips before they registered through her ears, the sound of her blood rushing throughout her body occupying every sense for a brief moment.

What the hell is going on?

Nico had kissed her. He’d grabbed her, pulled her into him, and she’s pretty sure he had made her heart stop for a good second - there’s no other justifiable reason for the way it had been reverberating against her ribcage ever since.

And then he stood before her, a desperate, pleading projection playing in his dark irises, lips still slick from where her own had just been, cheeks flushed, shoulders rising with subtle panting breaths, waiting for a response to a question she couldn’t even remember hearing.

“W-what?” She’d stuttered, blinking hard and shaking her head as if to rattle her brain into whatever semblance of cognisance she could muster.

Nico had kissed her, and then wanted to talk? As if she had the brain power left for any kind of discussion after that?

He seemed proud of the mess he had made of her, lips lifting at one side, drawing her gaze immediately to every movement they made, so focused on the memory of how pillowy-soft they had felt against hers that she didn’t notice him stepping a little closer, raising a large hand to tuck her hair behind her ear until she flinched at the contact.

“Sunday, Poppy,” he had uttered, unfazed by her skittishness, “Your date, don’t go.”

She had blinked again, completely overwhelmed on every front. She could still taste him on her tongue, he was so close she could smell his cologne, tunnel vision only seeing him in front of her and the hand that cupped the side of her face in her peripheral, her heartbeat echoing through her skull and every nerve, every slight hair on her body, standing as if trying to close the distance between his body and hers.

It was the sensory overload that made her go against all other instincts.

“I can’t.” Her voice had sounded like it hadn’t been used in weeks, croaky and unsure, her next words stammered, “I can’t not go, I mean. I have to go.”

“You don’t have to go, Poppy,”

“No, I do.” That had sounded a little surer, the fog in her brain slowly clearing only for something more tumultuous to pass through in it’s place. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Nico blinked once, then again, frustration clear in the furrow of his thick brows as he seemed to stew on his next words, desperate to say the right thing. There was a prolonged, tense beat, before he had asked, “Have you ever thought we could be more?”

“More?”

“More than friends.”

If her heart hadn’t stopped when he had kissed her, it must have stopped then.

His back straight, eyes looking directly into hers, a hopeful, inquisitive gleam shining from within them - he had never seemed so sure of something for as long as she had known him.

Poppy couldn’t stop the little voice in her head questioning, where the hell has this come from?

“Have you?” She had asked with a eyre of disbelief.

Not once in the years she had known him had he ever made it seem like they could be more. There had always been an unspeakable, undeniable barrier between them. They were friends. They’d always been friends. Just friends.

Friends who spent most of their free, personal time together, friends who bought each other sentimental gifts they’d never get for anyone else, who shared intimate details about their lives and their pasts, and kissed each others heads like a goodbye ritual. Friends who broke each other’s hearts, seemingly beyond repair, without explanation.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I mean,” He had paused, breaking eye contact for a second as if wracking his brain for the right answer, sensing a teetering tension between the two of them. “Yeah. Yes. I have.”

She had narrowed her eyes at him, weighing up the possibility in her mind that she wouldn’t have liked any response he gave to her, every prospective answer causing a flood of doubt and uncertainty to crash in rushing, destructive waves through her mind. “Since when?” She’d asked, trying to level her bite.

If he’d ever thought they could be more, what the hell have they been doing all this time?

“Since I met you, I think,” he had shrugged.

Wrong answer, again.

“And you only bring it up when I have a date with someone else?”

She watched a series of antithetical emotions pass through his features, understanding, confusion, acceptance, denial, resilience, cowardice. He had seemed to find the small margins between all of them, when he had come back with, “It’s not because of your date, Poppy.”

“Then why?” She tilted her head as she continued to analyse him, again not sure what she was looking for, or what she wanted to find. That something tumultuous was already whirling within her, too late to be stopped, and Nico could seemingly see the warning signs.

“Why are you getting mad at me, right now?”

“I’m not mad,” she had denied, not even knowing if she was lying or not, “I’m confused. 2 weeks ago, we weren’t even talking, Nico-,”

“You said you forgave me for that.”

“I didn’t-.” She’d cut herself off before she could say something that would upset him, the conversation spiralling so far out of control from the momentary bliss he had provided only minutes ago - but she was too far up shit’s creek without a paddle, there was no turning back. She’d been wanting to have a proper conversation with Nico all week, what better time than the middle of the night on what was now his birthday? “That’s not exactly what I said.”

He had taken a step back, lips parting with an unreleased gasp, the once-hopeful glint in his eyes transforming into hurt. “You don’t forgive me?”

“I didn’t say that either,” she sighed, wanting answers, not to cause him anguish. “Please don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then tell me what the hell is wrong? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t understand where this has come from, Nico! You come in here and kiss me out of nowhere and tell me not to date other people and I’m just supposed to blindly follow along when I don’t get what the hell is happening with you!”

“I think me kissing you makes it pretty obvious what I want to happen, Mohn.” He had tried to ease the tension, his voice level and steady, stepping forward with his hands raised in an attempt to calm her, but she had taken a slight step back, clearly unaffected.

“It doesn’t.” She’d stopped looking at him at that point, keeping an eye on his feet to watch his encroaching steps. “Nothing about you is obvious. You don’t tell me anything and all I can think about is what I did wrong.”

If he couldn’t see the tears pooling at her lashes, he had to have heard the break in her voice - a sure indicator that she was close to crying - but his steps had stopped, feet seemingly stuck to their place on the hardwood flooring of Poppy’s apartment, and she could feel her heart shatter knowing he wasn’t persisting again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He tries to reassure her, but it’s no use.

Maybe she would have believed him if he’d held her while he said it, transferred the meaning through touch to her skin, gripping her with every word until she truly understood the weight of them.

“It had to have been something. You don’t just stop wanting to know a person for no reason, Nico, so what was it?” She made her way to her couch, perching on the edge of the seat with her knees pressed together, and looked over to where he remained standing.

She could feel her temper flaring again.

How could he have the nerve to do this to her - to turn her world upside down in a matter of minutes - and not have the answers she needed to accept it?

“Poppy-,”

“I need to know. I can’t drop it and forget about it, and I’m sorry that I made it seem like I could, but if you want us to move on from this, if you want to come here and kiss me like that, and tell me you don’t want me seeing other people, I need to know what happened.”

“I-,” Nico sighed heavily, shoulders drooping, any confidence and bravado he had displayed after their kiss now a distant memory. “I don’t know.”

She had an immediate, striking thought, that maybe if she asked closed questions, he could give her an answer, and so, with misplaced courage, she asked, “Was it her?”

“What?”

“Your girlfriend. Did she ask you to stop talking to me?”

It was a thought that had been plaguing her for longer than she’d like to admit - unable to shake the idea that maybe Talia had seen one of the texts she had sent, had gone through Nico’s phone and seen any of their older messages, any photos he might have kept on his phone, maybe a memory had come up from snapchat, maybe someone had mentioned Poppy and her curiosity had been piqued.

Poppy had always thought if she was dating someone, and they had a Poppy, she might feel some type of way about it.

But her and Nico were just friends.

Nico rounded the couch, sitting on the cushion beside Poppy, their knees knocking as he reached into her lap and took her shaking hands in his.

“Do you really think I’d stop talking to you just because someone asked me to?” Their eyes had met again, sadness brewing in the dark coffee colour surrounding his dilated pupils, and a glassy film coating her own. “Poppy, I would never.”

“I don’t know what to think, Nico, because you won’t tell me.”

“Because it doesn’t make sense! I try wrapping my head around it, try coming up with some kind of explanation, but nothing I say is going to change what I did to you, Poppy.”

Her question before had gotten her an honest response, had elicited something real and undeniable within him - he’d never stop talking to her because someone asked him to. So it was his own decision, subconscious or not. Maybe she could help dig further, she thought.

“Why did you kiss me?” She asked after a beat.

“I,” Nico pondered over it before rushing his answer, a wave of emotion flashing across his face before his eyes locked on hers, ready to let her in. “Because I wanted to.”

That was a start - a simple question, a straightforward answer.

“Was that the first time that you wanted to?”

“No.”

Poppy could feel some semblance of confidence coming back. Closed questions, concrete answers, she could keep this up.

“When was the last time you wanted to kiss me?”

She could have asked the first - she sure as hell wanted to know it, but if he’d thought of being more the entire time they’d known each other, there was a lingering possibility there were many times - and they would be there until sunrise if they started from the beginning.

“Finnegan’s.”

“The bar?”

“We went there when we came back after we crashed out of the playoffs, do you remember?”

She remembered.

It had only been a couple of days before Nico had left for his summer back home in Switzerland.

Their loss in Carolina had been devastating, the boys came back broken and defeated, and all just wanted to drown their sorrows before they broke for their off-season. Poppy had been out with Nia and Kelsey and a few other friends at another bar when Jack had responded to her instagram story, saying they’d be at the Irish pub that was a staple within the team, and she should come over and join them.

She had made her way over pretty late, wanting to make sure her friends were okay without her, and arrived when most of the boys were completely shit-faced, past the point of tears and moping and deep into a mass state of hysteria and loud jubilation for the successes along the way.

She had found Nico in a booth in the far corner of the bar, head slumped over the back, eyes seemingly tracing the cracks in the ceiling until she crawled into the bench behind him, leaned over with her elbows resting on either side of his head, and took up his entire view.

“What’cha doin’?” She’d asked, lips twisting at the sight of his dizzy eyes trying to correct themselves to focus on her.

He’d quickly given up, pressing his eyes closed to shut out the risk of nausea taking over, the outer corners crinkling, the sides of his nose scrunching and his eyelashes fanning a shadow over his cheekbones - her own eyes were level with his lips, so he couldn’t really hide the way they curved at the quick glimpse of her.

“Suffering,” he had muttered, squinting one eye open to catch a brief, upside down glance of her. Nico was never this down after a few drinks. He was giggly, he was loud, he was touchy and clumsy - he was never the hide away in the corner sad type. “Wanna join me?”

“Always.” She affirmed, making her way around to his side of the booth and sliding in beside him until her bare thigh pressed against the somewhat scratchy linen of the pants he wore.

“I’m probably not the best company tonight,” He remained in the same position, neck craning so the base of his head could rest atop the back of the seat, and his eyes closed - giving Poppy the perfect opportunity to properly look him over.

The few moments they’d had together, alone, over the past few weeks, he’d been pent up, stressed, overworked and on the brink of eruption, so this was the first time in a long time she’d managed to catch him without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Only, that weight wasn’t so easy to shift.

She saw it in the bags under his eyes, in the unkempt playoff beard he was yet to shave off, in the stuttered way his chest rose and fell with his attempts at deep, calming breaths.

As she watched him, the corner of her lip tucked between her teeth in contemplation, she knew there was nothing she could say to make him feel better about this. He just had to feel it out, process it in his own way without her interference - but she wanted to be there, at least.

And as much as she wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he did the best he could, and led his team through one of their strongest seasons in recent franchise history, she wanted to provide him comfort in the quiet, too.

“I don’t mind.”

And so, with little trepidation, she placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, and rested her head next to it, glancing up to see the push of a dimple forming on his cheek as his arm stretched around her and welcomed her into his warm embrace.

“You wanted to kiss me then?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Didn’t seem like the right time, though,” he followed up with an answer to a question she hadn’t even asked, yet. “I was leaving too soon and I didn’t want you to think I’d just kissed you because I was drunk and upset.”

Her eyes moved to his lips, a question for herself whirling around in her head. Would she have wanted him to kiss her then? What would have happened in the aftermath? Where would they be now? Would she have thought that? Would she have spent her summer stewing over what it meant, and how his lips had felt against hers?

Before she had much time to think it over, Nico continued, being spurred on by such a distinct memory that he was rolling towards the answer she had been waiting for, and she wasn’t going to stop him to try and decipher her own feelings.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you when I went home, thinking about wanting to kiss you, or not kissing you, and what it all would mean, and I kept trying to distract myself thinking I could just figure it all out when I came back here but then I met Talia, and I felt wrong for thinking about you when I had her.”

That had made sense. Nico was always a guy that would do the right thing. If he had a girlfriend, he wouldn’t think of the prospect of something with someone else, even if that someone was Poppy, and that something was a culmination of years of pent up feelings finally coming together to form something potentially wonderful.

She didn’t quite need or want to hear the rest. Didn’t want to hear how he’d gone looking for a distraction, and found just that.

Nico was loyal, and for him to maintain that essence of himself, he had to ignore the possibility of Poppy. Some subconscious part within him saw her as a threat to the stability he had with the perfect girl from back home, and he boxed her away to make room for what could be with Talia.

It stung, but he was right. Neither of them could change what had already happened.

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

She’d nodded after only a second, barely even thinking about it.

Jack’s words from New Years Eve rang through her, suck it up and move on.

Nico had his reasons, she had her answers. He wasn’t bored of her, wasn’t tired of her or annoyed by her. He’d been so caught up by his unspoken, untranslated feelings for her that he twisted himself into untangle-able knots that were only just starting to loosen up enough to be picked apart.

“Could you maybe say it?”

“Yeah, I could.” she had said through trembling lips, the hurt in his voice burrowing through her eardrums, lodging itself in her own throat, and dripping slowly but surely into the depths of her chest. “I will.” She had to be more sure, needing to erase any doubt she had planted within him. “I do.”

“You do?”

He still held her hands in his from when he had sat down, palms warm and slightly perspirant from his tight grip around her knuckles.

“I forgive you.”

His mouth twitched into a shaky smile, his eyes catching the soft light and twinkling with emotion, and she definitely wanted to kiss him, then.

She had wondered if this is what he felt when he’d kissed her before, this burning need. Her fingers twitched in his hold, her heart thudded in her chest, and her lips parted in anticipation, until she could finally slam the breaks on her torpedoing thoughts.

“It’s just a lot to process, and I don’t really know how I feel.”

She had wished she could take it back as soon as the words left her mouth, and Nico’s features had folded as he took them in. He broke eye contact almost immediately, head dropping to look down at their hands until he released hers back into her lap.

“I get it.” He uttered, forcing a smile as he glanced back up at her, briefly. “I sprung this on you out of nowhere, I’m s-,”

“Please don’t apologise,” she interrupted before he could go there, knowing it would send her brain into overdrive if he let even the thought of regret fester between them, “I’m glad you did. I don’t want you to be sorry about it.”

Relief washed over the both of them in a warm, steady stream as he nodded, leaning into the back of the couch, legs spreading as an elongated sigh wracked through his torso.

He ran a hand through his hair, and Poppy’s eyes flickered to the flex of his fingers, the strain of his wrist, the flash of protruding veins where his sleeve had pulled up with the stretch of his movements.

His eyes closed, and she took him in just like she had that night in Finnegan’s bar.

She’d had an urge then, a desire even, to provide comfort - to share his burdens, make him forget the pain he had just endured, wash it all away with encouraging words, gentle touches. A shoulder to cry on, two ears to listen, and, albeit she didn’t entirely know it at the time, a whole heart that was his for the taking.

And take it, he did, held it all summer, bent it all sorts of ways out of shape up until New Years Eve, and it was still in his hands. Smushed, dented, squeezed to within an inch of his life, her heart was his.

It was up to her now to figure out what she wanted him to do with it.

“I made a promise to my mom about the date, Nico, I have to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, seemingly resigned to the fact he had maybe been a little too lost in the moment to make such a crazy demand of her.

“And I think maybe we both need a little time to properly think about what is happening here.”

“Time?” He practically shot up, alarm in his eyes.

“We’ve barely been apart all week, Nico, I think that might be why we’re both so,” she struggled for the right word - pent up, emotional, strung out, “Intense.”

She had known she was emotional, overthinking to the point of ruin, but maybe he was too. Maybe that’s what had led to the kiss, to the outburst of sentiment. They were both in the depths of a pressure cooker of emotions, and some space might do them good to gain a little clarity.

Maybe with a little more time to think on it, to consider what he was admitting to, have a little breathing room, and act more on something concrete than a fleeting in-the-moment feeling, he might change his mind. He deserved the opportunity to do so, she wouldn’t hold it against him.

“How much time do you think you would need?”

“I’m driving up to my parent’s house on Friday, so I would have been away for most of the weekend anyway, maybe we check back in on Monday and see where our heads are at?”

“4 days,” he muttered as if he’d just counted them in his head. “I can do that.”

“Yeah?” He had nodded in response, and there was something like hope that lingered between them, sharing small smiles and gazing through glassy eyes. “You’ll be so busy you won’t even get the chance to miss me.”

She believed it to be true - Nico had his family over, would be spending the latter end of the day with them, and had 2 big home games in a row to worry about. Poppy would be the last thing on his mind.

If she had blinked in the moment, she might have missed the way his observation slipped to her lips, lingered there for a brief second, and glanced back up to flicker between her eyes again. “Not possible.”

“Poppy, have you suffered some kind of brain injury I don’t know about?” Nia’s voice rings through the speaker of the phone pressed to her ear, already supposedly-styled hair fanned out around her as she lays staring at the ceiling, willing herself to get up and go before she’s late.

No matter how much she doesn’t want to go on this date, her mother will kill her if she hears anything other than a glowing review. On time, preened to perfection, polite and sociable.

“Maybe I hit my head in my sleep at some point,” she thinks out loud, glancing back to the sharp edges of her bedside table and wondering if she could have thudded into it in the night.

Surely she would have a scar or a bruise.

“You must have,” Nia agrees, “That’s the only logical explanation why you’d ever consider telling the guy you’ve been hung up on since you first met him that you need time to think about how you feel,”

“Ni,” Poppy groans, “I called you for advice, not a lecture.”

“If you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes, and you my friend, are a dumbass.”

“In my defence-,”

“Nope!” Poppy doesn’t know what Nia is doing on the other end, but she hears something clatter as if being slammed down on a table in protest, “There is no defence, you’re an idiot.”

“I didn’t know how I felt about it, Ni,” Poppy sighs, sitting up and catching sight of herself in the mirror. She doesn’t know why so much of her time tonight has been wasted trying to look so good when she doesn’t even want to. When she’d gone to visit her parents, her mother had practically given her a full blown rundown of the guy she was meeting.

Tucker Lyon, she can’t help to instinctively roll her eyes at just his name, works in investment grade finance for one of the Big 4 - she hadn’t cared enough to ask which one. His family are property people, her mom had said, and own enough Manhattan real estate to hold some serious power. Priscilla had met his mother years ago at some luncheon in the city, and apparently the two had been in cahoots since then to set their children up.

Poppy doesn’t want to be set up with some walking red flag, biting her tongue over a plate of food too small to satisfy her hunger while he mansplains stocks and shares to her.

She wants to be in whatever bar the guys are holed up in, tucked under Nico’s arm, side practically glued to his, sipping cocktails and celebrating him like he deserves to be celebrated.

But instead, she can admit, she has been a royal idiot.

“I still don’t know, it’s all come at me full force and I don’t understand my feelings.”

“Bullshit!” Nia scoffs, “You knew you were into him the second he first flashed those dimples your way.”

She isn’t entirely wrong.

Poppy had once harboured a slight crush on him. In the very early stages of their friendship. One small enough that when she realised it was completely one-sided - and she was being delusional to ever think his cute nickname for her and his insistence on spending time only with her was anything more than his attempt to make a friend - she could swallow it down until it was barely anything.

She trained her heart not to stutter when he approached her, told her brain to shut up when he flashed her one of those perfect, all consuming smiles, and could cross her arms to restrain her hands from wanting to hold his whenever they walked side by side.

She’d become so good at suppressing her feelings, she’d forgotten she had them.

She had forgotten all the times they had hung out alone over the years, never second guessing all the looks and the touches, the times he’d let her stay over if it got too late to go home alone, and the times he’d waltz into hers like he owned the place.

She’d forgotten when she had seen him with Talia, always claiming the feeling in her gut was one of loss and reminiscence, not envy and bitterness.

She’d forgotten when the Hughes brothers had helped her move a couple months ago, and Luke had questioned the amount of Nico he was helping to scatter throughout her apartment. Pictures on her bookshelf, pictures stuck to her fridge with souvenir magnets from Swiss gift shops, a couple hoodies, Devils branded shorts and big t-shirts of his he’d come across in the boxes.

“I didn’t realise you and Cap were so close,” Luke had picked a frame out of one of the boxes, the picture of Nico and Poppy at the Halloween party inside, and waved it in her direction as she stood with her hands on her hips, figuring out if she wanted to alphabetise or colour code the books she was displaying.

“Huh?” Poppy tilted her head towards the tall boy, watching as he shook his curls back into place and ran a hand through them. He’d worked up a bit of a sweat lugging her boxes upstairs, and now that everything was finally moved, Jack had gone to get them food, and Poppy and Luke were getting started on unpacking the easy stuff. She looked to the picture in hand, reaching over and taking it to get a closer look. “I guess we were, I don’t really know.” She wasn't a good enough actress to properly pull off the nonchalance she was aiming for.

“You don’t know?” Luke scoffed, rifling through other pictures in the box - all framed, mostly of her and Nico, some just the two of them, some of them in groups, but always side by side. Always grinning ear to ear. “You’ve got like a shrine in here, PJ,”

“It’s not a shrine,” she had argued, “You don’t keep pictures of your friends? Sounds kind of cold, if you ask me, Moosey.”

“I keep pictures on instagram and my phone like a normal person.” He chuckled.

“Generational gap, you kids are done for when the cloud goes down, you know. Physical media is forever.”

“You sound like my mom.” Luke jibed, and true to his nature, unable to stop himself before he inadvertently crossed a line, he asked with a weird wiggle of his eyebrows, “So, you wanna keep Nico forever, huh?”

“Shut up, Luke.” If Poppy had something soft enough, she would have thrown it at his head. The photo frame in hand seemed like overkill, and she didn’t want to hurt the kid, just make him stop. She didn’t much like talking about him, what they once had, what they once were. Even if he did have the wrong impression of what they were. It was upsetting, and she didn’t want to get upset - not in front of Luke. “You can keep those in the box.”

Luke had reached out for the frame in Poppy’s grasp, had watched as she hesitated giving it back, as she looked down and took in the huge smiles on her and Nico’s faces, and as she made the decision not to put this one back. Maybe she could phase it out, wait until she took a nicer, more meaningful picture with someone else before she replaced that one.

“I’ll keep this one out. I look cute.”

"Sure." His sarcasm was not entirely appreciated.

She had heard him chuckle to himself as she stood the frame on one of the shelves, placing it between a scented candle she had no intention of ever lighting and a small faux lavender plant. Not shrine-like at all.

She’d forgotten about any suppressed feelings until Nico kissed her.

Until he opened up Pandora’s box, releasing all her pent up emotions to roam freely, creating chaos and causing havoc through every corner of her entire existence.

For the past 3 days, she’s thought about him with everything she has done.

On Thursday afternoon, sat alone in her office, going over emails and wondering what he would be up to with his family. Was he happy, were they having fun, did he think about her for a second?

On Friday evening, driving alone on the long winding roads to her parent’s house and listening to the commentary for the game on the radio. Making it to the house in time for the 3rd period, and seeing the team celebrate. Was he well rested, excited for his family to watch him play at home, did he look up into the staff suite at the Rock and wish she was there cheering him on?

On Saturday, retreating to her childhood bedroom after another tense family dinner, snuggling up with the dogs on her bed as she watched the game. Was he beating himself up, had he gone straight home on his own after the loss, did he have the same urge to call her as much as she wanted to call him?

Did he, on any of those nights, lay awake thinking about that kiss?

About how right it had felt? How he had exerted his subtle dominance over her with such ease, large hands encompassing her face and holding her to his lips like his life depended on it?

Did he think about where it could have gone if she hadn’t shut him down? Where they could be if he’d made a move before?

She’s been thinking about it. Non-stop thinking about it.

Thinking about that kiss, and the possibility of others - the moment in the bar, all the other potential moments he had wanted to kiss her and hadn’t. The fact that maybe her feelings had never been one sided, and she’s wasted years pushing them down for nothing.

“Do you think I made a mistake not cancelling this date?” She asks her friend in a moment of vulnerability, her mind reeling with the possibility that she has already fucked up what could be.

“No.” Nia assures her, surprisingly. She’s been calling her an idiot all night, what does she mean, ‘no’? “I think he needs to sweat a little, let him think about you out tonight with another guy, and come tomorrow, his mind will be made up.”

“You don’t think we might be overestimating how much it bothers him?”

“Don’t make me call you a dumbass again, Pop.” Poppy can hear the rolling of her best friend’s eyes through the phone. “And send me a picture of your outfit before you leave.”

Nico

Nico has never been so physically uncomfortable in his life.

For a man who plays contact sport for a living - has played it for a good chunk of his existence, and has suffered countless knocks and injuries, slept in one too many uncomfortable positions in planes, buses, trains and even hotel beds, and who’s face has had more than enough encounters with the wrong end of a pair of skates - that is saying a lot.

But every inch of him, every fibre of his entire being, feels irritated in some way.

It’s a feeling like unforeseen static shocks passing over every surface of his skin. Like little bugs crawling all over him and he can’t swat them away. Like random strands of fine hairs that can’t be seen by the naked eye but God, can he feel them. He feels them everywhere.

From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, he feels something prickling, stinging, burning.

Itchy.

Like a scratch he can’t reach in the very middle of his back.

And it’s not like he doesn’t know what it is.

He’s felt it ever since he left Poppy’s apartment in the early hours of Thursday morning. He had hardly slept, getting maybe 3 or 4 hours in before his alarm shrilled from where it charged on his nightstand.

He has tried to use the same coping mechanisms that get him through his bouts of homesickness - where he closes his eyes and tries to provoke a memory for each sense.

He pictures the views from one of his many hikes, endless fields of green grass, crystal clear lakes, winding footpaths and mountains that stretch as far as the eye can see. He imagines gathering around a fondue table back in his favourite restaurant, and can smell the freshly baked bread, can taste the melt-in-the-mouth flavour once it’s been dipped in oozing, melted cheese. He can feel the softness of the freshly washed sheets back in his childhood bedroom and can hear the chorused chirps of the birds outside his window in the early mornings.

It’s a technique that has helped ground him in the past, and he had thought that maybe if he applies the same logic, it will dull the ache in his fingertips that yearn to reach for his phone and text the girl who has asked him for space.

If he thinks hard enough, he can still taste the sweet but subtle vanilla of Poppy’s lip balm. He can smell the fresh-cotton essence of her laundry detergent, can hear the melodic sounds she had hummed into his lips, can feel the softness of her skin on the pads of his fingers, can see, clear as day, the dazed expression etched into her features like she had gotten caught up in the fantasy too.

If it wasn’t so easy for him to mentally transport himself back, he wouldn’t have been able to make it 4 days without seeing her.

He had known it would be hard, but, thankfully, he thinks he got himself enough of a fix to make it to Monday.

He’d taken all he could with just one press of his lips to hers, had taken more of Poppy than he had ever dared to take before, and his subconscious was clinging onto it for dear life, hoping with everything in him she could decide to give him more.

4 days.

He has never known time to be so cruel. For it to drag out every minute like it was an hour.

If his life had a remote control, best believe he would be jamming the hell out of the fast forward button. 4x speed, skip to the next chapter, not wanting or needing to know what happened in the in-between.

He’s always thought himself to have patience - good things come to those who wait, after all - but this had become the ultimate test.

He had tried to immerse himself in whatever was going on each day, hoping they would pass quicker, less painfully, but it had been no use.

His birthday had passed by in a dizzying blur. He’d had a late morning skate, had come home to his family waiting for him, had gone to dinner with them, caught up over Italian food in one of his favourite spots by his apartment, and had driven his parents, his sister and her boyfriend back to their hotel with the promise of dedicating some time to them before the game on Friday.

Every single thing had reminded him of her.

Being at the Rock and wondering where in the building she might be, and if she was reminded of him with the littlest things. If she was thinking about him, what she was thinking about him. Seeing his family, imagining her place at the table as they all exchanged laughter and stories over pasta and wine. Thinking about what she might contribute to the conversation, how she would get along with his sister, how they’d gang up on him and poke fun, but she’d hold his hand under the table and squeeze to let him know it was all in good humour.

In the locker room after the win against the Blackhawks, trying his best to get involved in the celebrations but just wanting to call her, to hear that she had watched, and was proud of him and the team. And even after the loss against the Canucks, he wanted to hear the same. He wanted to go straight to her place, the passenger seat of his car painfully empty as he drove himself home in complete silence.

And he had tried his best not to get too into his head about the whole space thing.

Poppy was right, after all. Things had gotten intense.

He had been intense - marching over to her place and kissing her out of nowhere. As right as it had felt, it was stupid. It was hotheaded and impulsive and it wasn’t considerate of her feelings.

But, God, he was so caught up on her he couldn’t help himself. He should have seen in the days they had spent together prior that they needed to speak more about everything before he threw himself at her like a neanderthal.

He’d only considered what conclusion he had reached, and as much as his conversation with the guys on the plane gave him an idea of Poppy’s mindset, some words needed to be exchanged before he planted one straight on her. The whole thing could have gone so much better if he just knew how to communicate everything with her properly.

Even before the kiss. Before New Years, before Talia, before Summer - if he knew how to speak about his developing feelings for her, this whole mess could have been avoided.

He wouldn’t be sat alone in a bar, yet again, as his friends surround him, partaking in the celebrations that are supposed to revolve around him, wallowing in self pity.

He wouldn’t be thinking about Poppy, out in some fancy restaurant somewhere else in the city, with some stick-up-his-ass loser who doesn’t deserve a second of her time, and imagining her giving him one of those earth shattering smiles - the one where her the outside of her eyes crinkle in the corners, and every time he sees it he imagines the lines settling there as she ages, and it’s always a version of the two of them, old and grey, side by side, smiling together.

He imagines her taking him back to her apartment, curling up with him on the couch Nico helped her haul up the stairs after she had found it for crazy cheap off of some sketchy ad on Facebook marketplace. He sees her slowly replacing all those pictures she has of her and Nico with pictures of her and him, phasing him out of her space like she would eventually phase him out of his life.

He thinks about her taking him to her bedroom - the one he had yet to see in her new apartment, but imagines it’s just like her old one; way too many pillows and throws, a thick, plush duvet that looks like she’s climbing into a cloud, and a beat up stuffed toy her grandmother had given her when she was young.

He doesn’t want to wish that Poppy is currently welcoming someone into her life that doesn’t suit her, but he can’t help himself.

He hopes this guy is late - and doesn’t even apologise for it. He hopes he orders off the menu for her, or criticises her choice of wine for not pairing with her choice of food like a complete snob. He hopes he’s awful to wait-staff. He hopes he’s type of guy who writes a suggestion on the tip line of his receipt instead of leaving a minimum of 20%. He hopes he chews with his mouth open, spits when he talks and scrapes his knife along the ceramic of his plate as he cuts his food, causing that toe curling sound that makes Poppy want to scream.

He hopes he doesn’t offer her his jacket, because she always refuses to take one out. He hopes he doesn’t think to give her a piggy back, because she always wears shoes out she knows she doesn’t want to walk in, but always wants to walk home if it’s nice out. He hopes he walks on the inside of the sidewalk, leaving her to the dangers of walking roadside, and walks too quick for her to keep up with little regard for how she likes to take her time on a night and stretch the evening out.

He even hopes he smokes. Poppy hates smokers. And if, God forbid, they kiss, he’ll have smoker’s breath, and she won’t want to do it again.

She won’t stand in front of him, eyes glazed over, lashes fluttering, brows furrowing, lips still pouting and fingers twitching to reach back out, yearning for more.

She won’t even kiss him back.

Not like she had kissed Nico. Not like she had clutched at his shirt like she wanted to hold him close to her forever. He wouldn’t get to hear that sweet, subdued sound she had made when his tongue had swiped tentatively at hers, or feel that slight pressure of when her lips had closed around it, sucking almost at the muscle before opening back up to allow for more of a taste.

No one else can get that.

No one else will savour it like Nico has, thinking about is for days on end, replaying the moment over and over until he has perfect recall of every small detail.

It’s probably a good thing she hasn’t shared much detail about this date, Nico thinks as he swirls the ice around his empty drink, sat right at the bar away from the sectioned-off area that Timo had rented out for the party.

If he knew more about it - about the who, about the where - he probably would be in a cab by now, knowing he was crossing a line but unable to do anything about it, his will outweighing any common courtesy just as it had a few nights ago. Or he would have spent the last few days in a google deep-dive, trying to figure out the kind of man her mother would approve of. Enough to set her up, at least - he doubts Priscilla Jensen entirely approves of anyone.

Nico finally makes eye contact with the bartender, and as she starts to make her way over, he feels like a divine intervention occurs - an arm falling onto the bar top beside his, a glimmer of metal flashing into his dark eyes - the reflection bouncing from a bracelet that is welded around the base of a slender hand.

“I’ll take another of these,” he lifts his glass when the bartender arrives, gesturing to the old fashioned he’d somehow landed on over beer tonight, “And whatever she’s having, please.”

“Vodka diet coke, please,” a voice rings out from beside him, and once the bartender busies herself with the order, she asks, “Shouldn’t I be the one getting you a drink? I heard it’s your birthday,”

“Why should either of us pay when it’s going on a tab?” He chuckles, angling his body better to face her.

“Ooh la-la, a tab,” Nia mocks, “Now I feel like I’m a part of an elite club!”

“I find it hard to believe you’ve never had your drinks put on someone else’s tab before.”

“Not the New Jersey Devils captain himself, it’s such an honour!” She raises a manicured hand and presses it to her chest, a playful smile etched into her features.

“Did you come over here just to poke fun at me?” Nico asks, touching on the dynamic that has long been between the two of them. She mocks him, mostly all bark and no bite, he takes it on the chest, knowing she’s doing it from of her warped version of almost sibling-like love, and Poppy usually acts as the mostly-unnecessary mediator, dividing her attention between them both.

“Of course I did,” she affirms, “You looked all mopey and miserable, how could I not?”

“How is me waiting for a drink ‘mopey’?”

“Uh, let me think,” she taps her finger to her chin, before lifting it to point at each feature she references, “The huge pout on your lips, your giant caterpillar eyebrows all slanted and frowny-,”

“Forget I asked,” he mutters, lifting his lips into a quick smile and thanking the girl behind the bar as she brings them their drinks. “Didn’t know you’d be out tonight,”

“I’ll be sure to send you an e-vite to my google calendar when I get home later.”

Nico’s throat tightens slightly at how similar Nia and Poppy are - always quick with a response, most of the time sarcastic, most of the time able to elicit a genuine laugh to rumble from the depths of his chest. “I see why you and Poppy are so close.”

“Hm,” she hums, making a show of checking her phone, “You barely made it two minutes, but it could be a new record.”

“A new record?”

“For how long you can go in conversation without mentioning her.”

“She’s your best friend, the one person we have in common, it’s normal for me to bring her up, Nia.” He reaches for his drink to take a gulp, hoping the ice might make his throat feel a little better.

He doesn’t even know why he’s denying his lack of willpower when it comes to Poppy - 2 minutes actually seems like quite the achievement when he thinks about how long he’s restrained himself from reaching out over the past 4 days. Nia approaching him like this has been the perfect excuse to think about her - to talk about her without feeling like he’s overstepping or assuming.

He could use this to his advantage.

“Is she a good kisser?”

Or not.

He chokes on his drink, thankful the liquid isn’t coming out of his nose with how much he hadn’t been expecting that question.

“She looks like she would be. I’ve always thought about it but there’s never been a right time to try it out. Maybe I should take a leaf outta your book and lay it on thick and fast when she least expects it.”

How he even thought he could gain advantage in this conversation is beyond belief. He’s out of his depth with Nia, as usual. She isn’t afraid to call him out - she never has been - and she’s the one person in the world Poppy would confide in. Of course she knows about the kiss.

“Is that what she said, I laid it on thick and fast,”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, lover boy.” She chuckles, picking up her cocktail and stepping away from him, “Thanks for the drink, Nico, try to enjoy the rest of your birthday party.”

“Wait!” He reaches out to stop her, not wanting to let a golden opportunity slip from his hands so easily. “You would have bought me a drink before, for my birthday?”

“I think you earn about 5 times my annual salary in a month, so probably not.”

“How about you answer a question for me?” He proposes, “As a gift.”

“I could,” she sighs, sitting down in the stool beside him, “But I heard you get touchy after gifts.”

He immediately regrets asking, but not enough to let her go. He’s come this far, and he has 4 days worth of questions he desperately needs answers to.

“Funny,” he gives a condescending smile, which clearly pleases her as she gives a genuine one back, lifting her spare hand to gesture for him to carry on. As if it’s that easy to narrow down all the things he wants to ask her.

One question.

What did she say about the kiss? Did she like it? Would she do it again?

What did she say about him? About how she feels? About what she wants?

Where is she right now? What did she tell Nia about the date? About the who?

“The guy she’s out with,” he can’t even bring himself to say the D word, “Is he nice?”

The look she gives him is almost pitiful. In fact, there is no almost about it. She clearly thinks he’s pathetic, but it’s too late to retract the question now that it’s out there.

“I don’t think so.”

He doesn’t like the way his stomach turns at her answer.

He had wanted this, right? For him to be a gratuity-withholding, uncouth slob with bad breath.

But the thought of her being out with someone that has the potential to hurt her, hurts him. His chest feels tight, his head feels muddled, and that everlasting itch returns to the tips of his fingers - the weight of his cellphone becoming that much heavier in his back pocket.

“I mean,” she carries on with a shrug and reaches for her own phone, “He was a no-show, so we’ll never actually know for sure.” She swipes at her phone until she brings up her message thread with Poppy, turning up the brightness to show Nico the picture she had asked her to send earlier.

It’s a selfie taken in the overly tall mirror she had once made him pick up from Ikea, claiming it wouldn’t fit in her car and his was much bigger, and he doesn’t know why his first instinct is to scan the background just to confirm his earlier intuitions about her bedroom. Too many pillows, cloud-like duvet. He can’t see the stuffed toy, but he assumes it’s somewhere in there.

Poppy looks unbelievable.

Her dress is short, like the one she had worn on New Years, fits snug around her waist and emphasises her curves in all the best ways. Her legs seem to go on for miles, adorned in knee high boots no doubt to provide some semblance of warmth. Her hair is pulled back, and she wears gold jewellery - rings, some small hoop earrings, and he’s only just able to stop his fingers reaching out to pinch at the screen because he can see the gemstone bracelet without the need to zoom in.

“Can’t be that nice if you’re standing up a girl that gorgeous, huh?” Nia asks, suggestively, leaning her chin into the palm of her spare hand as she looks up at Nico. “Some guys just don’t know how good they’ve got it.”

He figures he actually should be embarrassed about the relief that floods through him - washes over his entire demeanour, expression changing from defeated to victorious in a matter of mere seconds.

The crease that seems to have permanently formed between his brows smooths out, posture corrects itself, and his lips even almost turn up into a smile.

There’s a childish, territorial voice within him that wants to exclaim, Thank God! But he’s grateful that he’s able to mute it.

And, despite being privy to Nia’s games - despite knowing exactly what trap he is being lured into, what he’s about to fall for - he can’t help but suggest, “You should tell her to come out.” Because, despite knowing he had taken the bait, he can’t find it within himself to care. “I think I asked her one too many times to ask again.”

The one thing he had twisted himself into knots over since first hearing her utter the word date, hadn’t actually come to fruition.

There is no date. There is no uncouth slob.

There is Poppy, dressed as pretty as she is, practically waiting for someone to show her a good time.

He can do that. He wants to do it - to be the someone that’s good to her.

“Oh, should I?” Nia asks, a knowing smirk causing her lips to twitch mischievously. She’s been playing him this whole time, and once again, he doesn’t care. “I don’t know, she seems resigned to spending the evening on her couch watching New Girl,” she sighs dramatically, clearly looking for incentive - once again, reminding him too much of the girl he longs for. “I don’t know if there’s much convincing to be done.”

“I’ll add you to the tab for the night.”

Rookie mistake, offering something up so quick.

“Is that all my efforts are worth to you, Nico, a few measly drinks?”

“What do you want?”

“I’m actually out with a client tonight,” she looks back somewhere toward the other side of the bar, Nico can’t even bring himself to follow her gaze. “Been trying to sign them to my agency for a while, and if I can fix this deal, I’m up for a promotion.”

“Nia,” he warns, not liking how long this story is becoming. Forget good things come to those who wait. He’s waited long enough. “What do you want?”

“They’re big Devils fans, I think a night with the team could really open them up to the benefits of working with me.”

“Bring them into our section.”

“And maybe some tickets, too.”

“Fine.”

Nia gives him a triumphant smile, “Great, I’ll let them know.” She salutes him as she stands back up, gathering her drink and phone between the fingers of one hand before backing away. “Nice doing business with you, Captain.”

“Aren’t you gonna text her?”

“Oh, Nico,” she jeers, using her free hand to grasp him by the chin. “Dear, sweet, naive Nico,” she gives his head a subtle shake before patting at his shoulder condescendingly, “She’s already on her way.”

If anyone asks, Nico isn’t admitting to keeping an eye on the door since Nia had made her way back over to her side of the bar, but he knows as soon as Poppy has arrived. He watches her make her way over to her friend, watches the two of them embrace and talk between themselves for a good minute. He watches and waits until her eyes meet his from across the crowded room, and it’s like everything else stops.

He’d somehow managed to immerse himself in the party spirit since he had found out she was coming, fitting back into the group, toasting along with them, engaging in conversations with his teammates, his mood vastly improved in comparison to earlier in the night - of which he’s sure Timo is relieved after his short-lived exile from Nico’s good graces — but everything fades to black when he sees her lips curve upwards from afar.

Someone is talking beside him - hopefully not to him, he thinks, he doesn’t remember being mid-discussion with anyone - but it’s just drowned out mumbling right now, and all he can do is tilt his head toward the doors that lead to the bathrooms, and wait for her to respond. When she nods and separates herself from Nia, he excuses himself from the group, edging out of their section and following her path, losing her a little in the thick crowd of people - the bar still packed from where they had played the Giants game earlier.

When he gets through the doors, he’s thankful no one else is lingering back there - no rowdy queue for the bathroom, no staff, no one but him and the girl who seems to be holding his heart like a hot potato, not knowing the best way to carry it without getting burned.

“Hi.” It’s a weak starter for a heavy conversation, but if he’s honest with himself, she’s taken his breath away.

The picture from before hadn’t done her justice. She’s a little worn into her look for the evening now, hair not so neat, skin a little shiny, lipstick faded - but this is exactly how he likes her, especially when he takes in the way her eyes gleam and her cheeks puff out with her smile.

He makes a conscious effort not to let his eyes drift directly to the smile - to her lips, which even the thought of them elicits such a vivid memory.

“Surprise!” she sings quietly, arms outstretched and hands shaking theatrically.

He steps toward her with his hands behind his back, fingers clasped together until he’s confident that his knuckles turn white, fighting the urge to curl his arm around her waist and pull her into him, needing to be closer. He watches intently as her eyes flick down to where his hands should be.

She backs into the wall behind her, not to escape his approach, but more to prepare herself for it - like she’s settling in and embracing it.

She isn’t running. She isn’t pushing.

She’s waiting.

“I’ve missed you.” Nico wastes no time in telling her the truth - telling her what she’s refused to believe every other time he’s said it, but he can tell with the tilting of her head and the rounding of her eyes that understanding has settled within her. She has no comeback, no it’s only been a few days, and he thinks she must have felt the drag of them in the same way.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Whatever anxiety has rooted itself deep inside him for the past 4 days dissipates almost immediately.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” He admits, without shame or reluctance. After Poppy had helped him overcome whatever had been censoring him before, there is no point now in holding back or beating around the bush. “You look so good, Mohn.”

A rush of confidence allows for him to close the gap, standing right before her as she leans against the wall, neck craning ever so slightly to look up at him. He still won’t touch, hands laying against the stone at either side of her hips, not daring yet to let even a sliver of his finger graze at her flesh.

“You look good, too.” She breathes, eyes glancing down to do an appreciative once over of his outfit, and he doesn’t miss the glint of pride cross through her eyes when she catches the glimpse of the gold that peaks out from the neck of his sweatshirt.

“I’m sorry about your date.”

“Are you?” Her lips twist into a knowing smile. It’s an example of one of her many traits that he loves - she can detect his bullshit a mile off.

“Mmhm,” he nods, “I’m sorry a world exists where any man is stupid enough to stand you up, Poppy.”

“I’m the stupid one,” she argues, and he misses her gaze as soon as she takes it away, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment. “I should have listened to you and cancelled in the first place.”

“I was stupid to ask that.”

“Maybe we’re both stupid.”

“Definitely.” He probably shouldn’t be agreeing to her calling herself stupid, but it comes out before he can think too much on it. They’ve both wasted too much time.

“Did you have a good birthday?” She asks, and a slight movement between them catches his eye, her fingers twisting together as if she’s withholding her touch, too.

“It’s better now.” He smiles fondly as she rolls her eyes.

“How are your family?”

“They’re good.” He doesn’t want to go into too much detail about how shamefully miserable he has been over the past few days - doesn’t want to tell her how his mom had called him out on his lack of contribution to conversations, and he’d managed to pin it on the stress of the season. She still raises a brow at his insufficient answer, and he expands before she can tell him off. “Everyone but Luca made it out, my sister had to go back already for work, but my parents booked a trip to Halifax to visit the Phillips’, I lived with them when I played up there, they have a few friends to visit in Canada but they’ll drop back to see me again before they fly home.”

He feels the tickle of soft fingertips at the inside of his arm, slowly grazing down as he speaks, and as he watches Poppy, he thinks she must not realise she’s doing it - letting intuition take over as she’s distracted by the conversation. He lets her take the lead on initiating any touching, and it takes all the restraint he has left not to barge through the door she’s attempting to slowly eke open. She’s the only person in the world who could make him audibly hear the metaphorical creaking.

“Did they get to watch you win?”

He doesn’t even know why he finds himself grinning at the question, but the tone in which she asks it bears a hint of pride. She had watched the game on Friday.

“My dad was pretty much in the stands in full gear, everything but the pads and skates, and my mom was repping Foundation merch, she’s run off across the border with my beanie.” He likes the way her face lights up.

“I’ll get you another.” She raises her other hand to card her fingers through his hair, and, for once, he’s thankful not to be wearing any sort of hat. The soft scratch of her nails is soothing, and he just about manages to stop himself leaning into her touch and purring like a cat.

That would be embarrassing.

He feels outnumbered, both of her hands on him, and it feels unfair not to be touching her - so when his thumb extends itself on the wall just beside her hip and strokes at the soft fabric of her dress until it’s softly digging in, he watches intently for any hesitation before he lays a palm flat against her side.

It feels like things are progressing both torturously slow and overwhelmingly fast at the same time. His heart feels like it’s slamming into either side of his ribcage, and like nothing else occupies his chest, the sound of it echoing as if banging on the walls of a deep, empty cavern.

“Did I already tell you how much I missed you?” He honestly can’t remember, but he’ll tell her again if he needs to.

The hand that had run through his hair rests now on the side of his head, her thumb swiping softly at his cheek as she cups the side of his face, and before he can even make sense of what is happening, he’s being pulled forward.

He bends to her advances with quick reflexes to avoid clashing, and their noses bump just before their lips meet.

Her chest rolls forward until it presses into his, and both his hands grab at her sides to pull her flush against him, legs tangling, hips pushing together, bodies touching everywhere possible all the way up to their mouths.

He gives her all the control otherwise, allows her to determine the pace, responding to her every move and every touch with fervour and heat. She pulls at him, one hand grasping at his sweatshirt and the other cradling the side of his neck, and he quickly lifts one to stifle the blow to her head as she collides back with the wall, barely noticing the pain where his knuckles meet the stone.

Their tongues press together at the same time, and Nico doesn’t even realise his lack of patience got the better of him until their battle for dominance kicks off between their lips.

He can taste the same vanilla lip balm, can smell her signature coconut scent, can hear soft, subtle moans, can only see the back of his eyelids, not daring to open them, just wanting to feel. And he can feel everything.

He feels the softness of her hair beneath the hand that is protecting her head from the discomfort of resting against the hard surface behind her, can feel the skirt of her dress bunching up in his grip, can feel her touch, fingertips dancing at the the base of his skull, thumb pressing into his jaw, her other hand making that same grabby gesture at the thick fabric covering his torso, squished between his heart and her chest, and he thinks he can feel the thump of her own heart on the other side.

He can feel her thigh pressed between his, the friction causing a heat to build deep in the pit of his stomach, swirling and whirling down, down, down until it culminates into the hard press of his hips into hers, and a rushed gasp combined with a guttural groan causes their lips to part.

They take deep breaths in unison, their chests bumping with every inhale, and he tries otherwise not to move.

He opens his eyes to find hers still closed, scrunched shut, even, and he tries not to be selfish - ignores the need to get a good look at her, to have this version of her ingrained to his memory too - and attempts to coax her back to him.

“Poppy,” he sounds just about as breathless as he feels. “Are you good?”

She hums in response, a subtle nod given, but he needs to hear her say it, and he tells her as much with a quick squeeze to her hip. Her eyes flutter open, gleaming and bright, framed by thick lashes and crinkling slightly at the outer corners as her lips turn up into a mischievous grin. “Better now.”

His chest feels like it’s about to burst open, like there’s a bear within him that is going to break out and pull her into its clutches, dragging her back safe to her home in his heart.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, because he has to - he doesn’t care if it’s rude to leave his own birthday party, doesn’t care that he’s been the most ungrateful person in the world all night.

He’ll make it up to Timo, get him something big the next birthday of his that rolls around. Throw him a party. Or he’ll take care of the tab the next time they’re out. Maybe even let him have the window seat the next time they’re on the same plane home.

Except, he won’t be doing any of that. He’ll be taking the reins on booking flights and putting Timo straight into economy, smack-bang in the middle of a row surrounded by a family of 5, screaming kids, arguing parents, the back of his seat being kicked the whole 8 hours to Zurich.

Because, just as Poppy’s swollen lips part to accept his advances - as her chin lifts, about to drop with a big affirmative nod, and he’s about to get everything he’s wanted the past 4 days and beyond - the doors to the back swing open, and his 6 foot teammate stumbles through, arms outstretched as he notices the two of them practically intertwined.

“Here you are!” He exclaims, voice booming in comparison to the soft breathy tones he and Poppy had been previously speaking in. “Poppy, you made it!”

“Hi Timo,” Nico feels her retreat, feels her legs brush past his and back to her own space, her hand on his chest now the only part of her that touches him, and he follows her lead, taking his hands back and trying not to clench his jaw or his fists as she converses with the man who was once his friend. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright, should be back on the ice in a couple weeks.” Timo had suffered an injury in one of their games at the back end of December, and hasn’t been fit to travel, and Nico finds an unspeakably bitter part of himself wishing it was something to do with Timo’s legs that were injured so he couldn’t have interrupted their moment. “Glad you’re here, this one has been miserable all night.”

He can’t be this oblivious, Nico thinks. Why is he still here? Why isn’t he retreating back to the bar and leaving the two of them to whatever he had clearly barged in on.

And when Nico looks back to his teammate, his long time friend, he sees the oh-so-evident glint of mischief and disobedience in his grey-blue eyes.

He is getting his own back.

Nico knows he was petulant to blame Timo for Poppy not being invited, knows there was nothing he could have done to change her going out on a date, or them not speaking for months while he was with Talia.

He doesn’t need him to enact his revenge to see he was wrong to ignore his texts, or to mope around at the party he had put so much effort into.

He tries to give him a pleading look to stop whatever he is trying to do, but it’s no use.

“The guys will want to see you, Poppy, Jack’s beating himself up about his shoulder, could use a friendly face.”

“Oh,” Poppy casts a glance back to Nico, and he gives her a nod, implying that she go see to her friend. “I’ll go find him.”

He can wait. He’s waited 4 days. He’s waited years, in fact.

And, after that kiss, he knows he won’t have to wait much longer.

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Nico mutters in their shared native language once he’s watched Poppy disappear through the doors to the bar, with a quick glance back and an apologetic smile before they closed.

“Just saving my brooding captain from being arrested for public indecency,” Timo shrugs with a shit-eating grin as he passes Nico and heads toward the bathrooms further down the hall. “You’re welcome!” He calls back in English, raising his hands and giving a patronising thumbs up.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face and wishing it was Poppy’s in its place.

It’s just an hour, maybe two, in the presence of his friends. Drinks, music, everyone in a good mood for the most part. It’s hardly like he’s walking out into a press conference after a 5 game losing streak and about to have all the blame placed upon his shoulders.

It’s a party.

Poppy’s here.

He can do this.

He can wait.

Next Chapter

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw or if I forgot you I'm a muppet tbh)

#nico hischier #nico hischier x oc #nico hischier fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #*writing #*oys #anywayyyy!!!!!!#sorry for the wait on this one I had poppy's half written really quick and then I couldn't figure out where to go with Nico's part #which is why the beginning is sort of rushed #and also the middle #and the end #I have a big chunk of the next chapter written so hopefully I can get that up soon #I keep trying not to say specific timeframes because do I ever meet them no #like I said Thursday night for this it's currently 2:30 Friday afternoon #so not !!that!! late but what a weird time to post I just want it out lmao #anyway if you ever read this far into my tags I say this not to spoil anything but to prepare you #the next chapter will be smut (potentially poorly written I will leave that up to you to decide)#omg I just remembered and have to include this because my manifestation powers are out of control #I wrote that little random fondue line before I left for my holiday last week and then within days the pics came out of him eating fondue #what should I write next who wants more workout vids I'll make it happen

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marimbles · 27 days ago

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thank u for your takes on the s5 finale. sometimes it genuinely feels like im going crazy when i watch people talk about it being a good wiriting choice… the whole “be nice about everything that happens on screen or shut up” culture that the fandom has cultivated is genuinely becoming a problem imo

I totally feel that. which is part of why I choose to post about it on main sometimes, even though I really don’t want to ruin other people’s enjoyment in the fandom. I might joke about being a hater, but I have been on the other side of this many, many times where I’m just having a good time my favorite cartoon and salters come in and sour my mood with their relentless negativity. So I don’t want to be like that for someone else! But the thing is, as much as I don’t want to rain on people’s parades, MY parade has been rained on, and I have a sneaking suspicion that that is also the case for a lot of people in the fandom who are staying quiet out of a similar hesitation.

if you’re a long-time fan, of course you don’t wanna be a vibe killer, and you definitely don’t want to be seen as a Salter™️ by the rest of the fandom, especially if you historically have been a person who focuses on the positive. But I hope that this fandom is reasonable and open enough to make room for good-faith criticism. Fandom is a community, and I feel like an essential part of a thriving, healthy community is the joint ability to share and engage with opposing perspectives in a respectful way—while recognizing and holding onto the thing that brought you together in the first place.

I think it’s also important not to make unfair assumptions. Lots of the people who currently have mixed or negative feelings about s5 love ML just as much as the people who have positive feelings—in fact, their feelings might be negative because they love ML so much, and the current story direction feels like a disconnect for them. There are also lots of smart, passionate, media-literate people with varying responses to the finale. We have different logical approaches to similar issues. We have different emotional responses. We have different interests and expectations and perspectives and ideas. That’s okay!

I’ll probably share more about my problems with the currently writing direction, but I’ll be sure to tag appropriately so people can filter if they want to. (Staying in your lane is generally a helpful and valid approach if you don’t want to interact with an opposing viewpoint lol.) I’ll also be blocking/filtering where needed, withdrawing when needed, and trying to stay as respectful as I can. For now, I also plan to keep watching, creating, and enjoying what I find to enjoy in the ml fandom. For me, there is space for both enjoyment and criticism in the way I engage with my interests. So this is not going to become a miraculous salt blog lol (although I might come off as salty sometimes because i’m just a dumb little guy with a lot of strong feelings about children’s cartoons and the emotions overtake me sometimes!!). I still want to contribute to the fandom in a positive way, but I also want to be able to speak critically where I see fit on my own blog. Hopefully I can express my criticism in a balanced way and still have fun:)

#anon #ask #ml #ml s5 finale #ml writing critical #ml salt #ml writing salt #ml fandom salt #ml fandom critical #<- btw im tagging anything dealing with criticism as salt even though I don’t consider it ‘salt’ per se #just to be safe tho

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thebibutterflyao3 · 10 months ago

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Day 26 - Prompt: Never @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 768 words

<<<Previous Post OR Start Here

“You know what, never mind,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “I’m just going to-”

“Wait!”

Remus grabbed his hand and pulled him back before he could turn away and flee. He searched Sirius’s face intently. “Did you mean that? You actually like me? Not just half-fancy me or-”

“I don’t half-fancy you!” Sirius clapped a hand to his mouth and closed his eyes tight. This was top tier idiocy. His brother would take the piss out of him if he knew. After a full minute of mental gymnastics, he released it. “I mean, I do, but that’s not why I’m asking.”

When he opened his eyes, Sirius was startled to find Remus grinning. “What’s so funny? Am I a joke to you?”

Remus’s grin widened. “Not a joke, but it is a little amusing that the bloke who swans through a room like the fucking Queen is fumbling this so badly.”

“Swan? First I’m splashy, now I’m a swan? What is with you and these bird metaphors?”

“Uh-uh. No deflecting. You asked me to “try this,” Remus teased, flapping a hand between their chests. “You don’t get to criticise my choice of words.”

“Well, I'll take it back then! You and your Welsh nonsense can go suck rocks!”

Remus threw his head back and laughed. His body shook with his overwhelming glee, and if Sirius’s chest didn’t warm a bit at the raspy sound, he’d have shoved him away. It was a smoker’s laugh, half-cough and half-wheeze. Still, something about it stuck in Sirius’s ribs.

“Kick…not suck,” Remus forced out, holding his side as he caught his breath. “It’s ‘go kick rocks.’”

“Whatever, it’s a stupid saying anyway.”

“Oh, don’t pout. I thought it was sweet.”

Remus was using his own words against him. Clever git. Sirius fought back a smile and pointed at him with a narrow-eyed glare.

“Shut it. Do you want to or not?”

“Are you threatening me if I don’t? Besides, you need to make up your mind if you want me to ‘shut it’ or answer you. I can’t do both,” Remus said. He was entirely too smug now.

Sirius shook Remus’s hand off and threw his arms up in frustration. “Why are you so infuriating? It’s a simple fucking question, Remus!”

“Hmm, perhaps I can do both. I’d have to kiss you though, and I’m not sure that you can handle it in your current state of distress-”

One step forward, Remus’s wool jumper fisted in his hands, and a hard pull. That’s all it took to bring that snarky mouth down to his level. Sirius smashed their lips together, then shoved him away.

“Now who’s in a ‘state of distress?’” he taunted, smirking at Remus’s open-mouthed gape.

The bloke recovered faster than he expected and jerked forward. Remus wrapped his long, knobby fingers around Sirius’s neck and their lips crashed together violently. Sirius gasped into the kiss as a rush of adrenaline surged through his body from the pressure of Remus’s palm against his throat. He swallowed hard and gripped Remus’s jumper with both hands.

Remus deepened the kiss gently and the intensity shift of the snog made Sirius’s chest clench. The hand at his throat slid to the side of his neck as his thumb stroked along Sirius’s jaw. It was hypnotic the way his tongue mirrored his touch, slowly and purposefully softening their connection.

When Remus pulled away, he pressed two small kisses to Sirius’s lips, as if he was apologising for needing to breathe. He rested his forehead against Sirius’s and smiled, a genuine smile this time. There were no remnants of his previous teasing in that smile.

“Yes, if that wasn’t clear,” Remus said, nodding slightly. “I want to try this too.”

“Even if it’s hard? Long-distance is shite.”

Remus released a breathy laugh. “I snogged you in the middle of a pub with dozens of people staring at us. I think I can manage a little travel to see you.”

“Yes, well…alright,” Sirius said, unused to being at a loss for words. It was one thing to choose not to speak what was on his mind, and entirely another to have nothing in his mind.

“Although, I hadn’t expected an audience,” he added, lips twitching as scattered applause sounded from behind him.

Sirius hugged Remus’s waist and tucked his face into his chest. He was surrounded by arms that held him so carefully, as if Remus was afraid to break him. This man was impossibly lovely. He was everything Sirius needed, and in three days he’d have to leave him behind.

That’s future Sirius’s problem.

Next Part>>>

#wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #the marauders #marauders

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nayatarot777 · 2 years ago

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💌✨ what do you need to know about yourself? ✨💌 ~ pac

check out my youtube channel if you’d like! ☺️🤍

• pile 1 •

you guys are so self protective. you really don’t trust anyone and it’s because of a mixture of self-consciousness and trust issues. you don’t trust that people will reciprocate the energy that you give - which is a bunch of love and nurture.

there’s also a message about needing to realise that you need to - and are able to - mother yourself. it’s like you crave love but you also fear opening yourself up to it due to the fear of someone causing you pain.

your boundaries are a bit too strong. again, they’re cemented in place out of fear, and anything created out of fear isn’t created with discernment and rationality. fear causes you to go into survival mode and see everything as a possible threat. your boundaries are a bit too strong. even when it comes to giving out this loving energy, not just receiving it.

you guys could have a fear of giving love to people. you could isolate yourself 24/7, never wanting to be seen and not wanting to be thought about or worried about. it’s like you’re in your own cave, creating a bit of a prison for yourself. you’re stuck in a prison of fear and anxiety. your thoughts have been in a dark space for so long that they’ve begun to develop into more intense rumination and even paranoia for some of you.

you need to self soothe and remind yourself that you are loved whether you’re isolating yourself or not. there could be specific family members or friends who want you to know that although you keep yourself away from them for your own reasons, they still love you and will always be willing to support you. you could even have trust issues with these people. not knowing who to trust. lie down, close your eyes, and think about these people individually. lean into the feeling of being around them, without the interference of your self-consciousness or intrusive thoughts. just imagine calm conversation with them in your mind and take note of how they make you feel. this is how you can discern who you can and can’t trust. if that visualisation leaves you feeling uneasy after thinking about a specific person, question why. if you’re picking up on weird vibes from them, then kick their ass to the curb. they gotta go.

overall message: become more open to love. giving and receiving love. feeling love. observing love (through movies for example, or becoming aware of loving couples that are around you in public). listening to music about love, reading about love, writing about love, dreaming about love. and i’m hearing that it would help if you were to start off thinking about platonic love. like between you and a hypothetical friend. or you and a family member.

• pile 2 •

side note before the actual reading begins: some of y’all be aiding in conflict. you lowkey love drama lmaoo. it’s okay, messiness is fun sometimes but be mindful and try to be the mediator when you can - if you even want to be and if it makes sense to. sometimes you really don’t need to be getting involved in people’s shit to mediate it. just let them argue, you know?

for some reason i feel like a lot of masculines are choosing this pile.

first of all, you guys need to quit playing and admit to yourselves that you are fucking hopeless romantics. you love loving people and giving care to others.

a lot of you have already begun to peel back the veil and peer underneath your usual persona when it comes to stuff like that, and you’ve realised that you’ve fed into a lot of the toxic ways of dealing with relationships. some of you might need to realise that you actually have control issues. or that you try to control situations in unnatural ways. i’m sensing even manipulation of some sort. i believe that this is partly a subconscious thing because it’s like a coping mechanism to you.

for others of you, i’m seeing that you genuinely need to see something or someone from a higher perspective. don’t overlook anything. there could be some love bombing going on with some of you who are in a situation that’s quite intense or full on. i’m literally seeing someone being set up in a situation and led to be trapped. don’t put your rose coloured glasses on now. you need to be paying attention and seeing things objectively. don’t let yourself be swept away with emotion. if you’re not currently in a situation like this, then you could be like this in a lot of situations with crushes or people who you date.

people see you as someone who’s easily manipulated and just full of either curiosity, naivety, or both. playing dumb but actually peeping game is your best fucking friend in the dating scene and relationships that you’re being played as a fool in. you ain’t no fool. the main message with this is that you guys need to discern who to give your love to. and pay attention to the people giving love to you. is it natural? or is there a motive behind all of the compliments and playfulness to get closer to you?

• pile 3 •

not gonna lie, pile 3, you might not like this message at all. it might trigger some egos greatly, and i know that because this is one of my piles and it’s already triggering me (only because i know it’s the truth). if you can’t control the way you behave when triggered, please leave now. i don’t have time for your rant in my replies. have a prayer session with whoever/whatever you believe in and cuss them out if you continue to read and have such a problem with this message.

a lot of us in this pile are sitting in a victim complex of some sort, ngl. i also think that a lot of us are becoming more aware of this slowly, but i just feel somewhat of a “woe is me” energy with this pile. it doesn’t even have to pertain to you in general. it could just be you regarding a specific situation.

either way, we have a lack mindset in this pile. and this isn’t one of those messages that’s just “be more grateful” (although i’m picking up on that as a bit of advice), but i’m seeing us searching for some sort of lost stability or help. and there is help around us but we’re not asking for help. or even realising that help is available to us.

we have a major issue with rumination. such negative thoughts and criticisms that we direct towards ourselves and aspects of our lives, so much to the point where we fail to realise the valuables right in front of our faces. i feel like a lot of us are just so used to disappointment from others and in life in general that we’ve basically started to self sabotage and shut down any possibility of a good/happy existence.

for those of us in a tough financial situation, i’m seeing that we have people who we could ask for help, but our ego gets in the way. not even in a “i’d never borrow money from anyone” type of way, but it’s the fear of being rejected from help and left out in the cold again that gets in the way. or the fear of being judged and criticised.

i would go as far as to say that some of us have the life purpose of learning how to accept help from others. when we do, we have major realisations about humanity, people in general, and understanding that not everyone is a threat and not everyone will just leave us to suffer like certain people have.

i didn’t do this for any other pile, but i’m pulling extra cards for advice for this pile, because lord knows we need it 😭.

the advice cards are literally all linked to family. whether that’s blood family or chosen family. we have select family members in this pile who would really be open to helping us. there’s a main message that we would benefit from learning to gain a sense of control in our lives again. formulating goals and a plan and taking active steps towards them. daily. even if that’s a morning routine. choosing to dress the way that you genuinely want to. eating what you actually want instead of eating what other people would deem as “acceptable”.

a lot of us have literally outgrown our comfort zone. and it’s almost like we’re looking out at the massive world that we’re expected to navigate in and we feel like we have to do it alone. or that we can’t do it. this could also be due to parents who coddled us or sheltered us though? more out of a need to control and not out of genuine love and thinking that they were actually helping us. a lot of our parents were toxic vultures who have hindered our maturity by infantilising us for so long by stripping away our power.

regarding gaining control again, the main message about that is literally to gain control over who you will and won’t speak to in your family group. our parents might be toxic af, but that doesn’t mean that our aunts and uncles have to be, for example. but when your immediate family is dysfunctional, it’s hard to trust extended family members.

these people who reach out to you despite you keeping yourself away from them really do care for you though. this could be a sibling, a cousin, a close family friend. whoever in the family still checks up on you with good intentions are the people who you can ask for help and trust. they want to help you build your life and they’d like you to understand that you don’t have to do it alone. despite having to fend for yourself for so long. most of us are young adults in this pile, and we deserve guidance and help just like everyone else. you just have to take small steps to showing that you’re now more open to their help. even if that means just sending a text message to one of these people and asking how they are, when you usually wouldn’t.

take care of yourself, pile 3. you’re definitely not alone, and you are still very much loved and supported by someone around you. for some of you, this “family” could be a single person. a partner that you have that you’re building a household with. they love and care for you so much. i’m actually feeling my heart chakra activate. that shit’s wild because my heart chakra ain’t felt by me easily lmaooo. this person genuinely loves you. purely. they will literally do anything in their power to help you. let them help you 🥺😪 their love for you has me tearing up over my damn tarot cards. i gotta go 😂

#pick a card #pick a photo #pick a picture #psychic readings #divination #pac #tarot #tarot reading #pac reading #spirituality

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charlesswife · 2 years ago

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My Experience Working For The Formula One Miami Grand Prix 2023 (please read)

Hello dear readers,

In this post I will share with you about my experience working at the Formula One Miami Grand Prix of this year. As well as footage - just in case you don’t believe me. Trust me, I have NO reason to lie to you about the things I’m about to say. I want to bring this post into awareness because I think not a lot of people know what actually happens behind the scenes at all.

I would really appreciate if you guys take the time to read this. It would mean the world to me. Please reblog and share to your formula one friends so they can be aware of this.

You may or may not know, but I’m just getting into Formula One and although there is still some stuff to learn about this sport, it has grown into me and I love this sport as well as the drivers.

When you see videos of people working for the Formula One, you only get to see the good, pretty and wonderful side. You don’t see the nasty, horrendous and overall awful side. That’s why I’m here to tell you the actual truth of what I went through.

I work for this company (safety reason I won’t say which) as an usher, I work for different stadiums and I get to choose my own schedule. To work for F1 you need to fill an application and it’s just a very long process. Initially they only needed security for the job — I am not security, I’m usher so they almost didn’t take me until last minute. I’m a strong believer of manifestation.

My schedule was Friday 9:30am to 9:30pm, Saturday from 7:30am to 8:30pm and Sunday from 8:30 am to 9:30pm

When I got there on Friday at 9:30am I had to park so far and then walk to the Shuttle that was going to pick us up from the parking and take us to the stadium.

I picked up my credential and went looking where to clock in. Here are some of the pics I took

When I finally found where to clock in, I was on hold until 11am trying to figure out where I’m supposed to work. Nobody knew where to go and it was just very disorganized on their part. Since nobody picked me I had to be taken to gate 8. The worker that was taking us got confused and I literally went through the whole place trying to find gate 8. This is what it looked like.

Imagine having to walk all that, under the Miami heat. The sun literally burning in your back. I finally got to my spot at 12pm. They confused me as a security and they put me to work on something I wasn’t supposed to be at by mistake, but regardless I worked it because it was a good one. I was in turn 17, which I saw the drivers slowed down in the turn. I saw Alex Albon get of the grid twice during practice.

I met the flag marshalls there. They were so nice and caring as well.

(I thought this was funny to add)

This is when they were taking Charles’ car out of the race.

I was at this spot until 8pm, which is way later than when they told me I was going to leave the spot, and during the whole day I was surviving in water. Unfortunately that day I did not receive any food. One of the marshalls gave me an apple and another one gave me a vegetable wrap, but after a whole day of not eating; once you eat, your body rejects it. So I literally wanted to throw up at this point. I was very weak.

I was asked to come in at 5am the next day, to which I agreed (big mistake).

I did let my supervisor know that I didn’t eat and while he was worried and was trying to find a way for me to get lunch box, I never received one - so I was dehydrated, starved and lightheaded.

Once I clocked out, I had to walk for 40 minutes to get to the shuttle again and drive for 30 minutes to get into the parking and then a few more minutes to get to my car (since I was parked very far away) and THEN drive 30 minutes to get to my house. I got home at 10:40pm took a shower, set my alarms and went to sleep. I had to wake up and leave my house the next day at 4:10am — drive 30 minutes, get in the shuttle, another 30 minutes to the stadium and walk to clock in.

I’m surviving on 4 hours of sleep. They asked for my security card, which I told them I don’t have because I’m usher. Just then, they realize the mistake they made and told me I couldn’t work the same spot I did yesterday because that’s only for security. So they had me 2 hours earlier than the original time plan for absolutely no reason.

everybody got there in between 6:30am to 8:30am.

I got to work with a nice supervisor to which I worked before for another stadium, I talked to him about the lunch and he ensured me that he’ll make sure I’ll eat.

I was in Marina (big information to know, iykyk) bathroom duty - basically making sure only women were getting into the bathroom (you would think it’s common senses, but the about of men almost accidentally getting into the women’s bathroom and viceversa it’s insane)

I was able to see the practice and qualifying because of a big screen that was in front of me.

I was there when Charles crashed again in the same section too.

Roll the clip!!

I watched the clip replay and saw myself running and also saw how close Charles was to my section. I really wanted to die when I saw the distance between us.

I have another video explaining the distance between us but tumblr only lets me post one video per post.

I really did enjoy myself. However, I was standing since 5:20am to 6:30pm, the whole day… standing up… and this my be tmi but I have thicc thighs so they rub with each other, my feet were sore and swollen and my pussy lips were HURTING, when I peed it felt like acid going down there.

I was drained and sunburned and overall this job is not for the weak. I had to cancel my shift for today because I would definitely not do it again.

I got paid 15/hour, which overall I don’t think it’s worth it at all. Housekeeping gets paid the same and they’re job is making sure the entire arena is clean for the guests. They should get paid more. The food voucher that I was given only covered for $15 so if I went over the limit I had to pay the remaining, which is fucking dumb because I am literally working there, the least they could do is give me a free meal, but they didn’t. They offer you the minimum but expect the best outcome from you. I was met with false advertisement left and right and for that reason I had to leave. You’re telling me that a multimillion dollar event in one of the biggest stadium in Florida is only paying their staff $15/h and can’t even cover their full meal? Please do better.

I cried to my friend after everything that I went through because I although had great memories, and I can brag to my friends and everyone I met that I went to F1, the day was pretty shitty tbh. There’s always a limit to something and I had a limit, that’s why I had to cancel my shift. I knew I couldn’t do this anymore. My love for this sport is big, but I passed my limit point.

I would’ve rather pay $5000 to with paddock pass and everything to see the race, than working in it. For those two days I think I only made $300, and to be honest. I didn’t see worth it.

I would much rather watch the race in the comfort of my house than working in it.

Whenever you go to an event, game, concert, etc. please be kind to the staff you see, the staff that helps you get to your desired place. We do so much, we stand there for hours, sometimes we get breaks, sometimes we don’t— sometimes we get to eat and sometimes, unfortunately, we don’t.

This was definitely an experience, and I am a strong person that likes to work, but I would rather die than do that again.

With much love,

——————————————————————

anyways new chapter coming up tomorrow!

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I know this might not be a post you guys had in mind, but I really wanted you guys to know what I went through. If you guys know about any other better ideas to work for Formula One pls let me know. Also please tell me what are your thoughts in this situation. I want to know your thoughts as well! If you have Formula 1 friends, please share this with them and let them know what actually happen to me.

Since I don't work today, I'm going to focus on watching the race, and writing the new chapter for you guys!!!

Thank you for supporting my writing. The main reason why I started this blog is because I love to write (I want to publish books) and I wanted to put my ideas out in the world and received feedback as well. I am very thankful for you guys! I can't believe I'm almost at 500 followers too! You guys are awesome, truly!

@fandomxs1 @teti-menchon0604 @moonclaine @AmsOffTrack @fandoms-stuff @mac-daddy-210 @bisexual-desi @miureiz @diasnohibng @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @im-just-here-toread @tyskills @rafaaoli @heavengirls111 @lighttsoutlewis @leclerc13 @c4ssi4-luv @livsans @ynbutbetter @marigoldgasly @vita-di-moda @sbrn0905 @leclercsbae @bhiees @empathypostsf1 @marauderlover22 @ushygushybaby @zendayabelova @lord_leclerc @itsmesofia @sebbybucky12 @notleclerc @dicaprio-leo @starkeyellow @spngi @mskeisha69 @prrttyposts @vex-et-soleil @dessxoxsworld @thesurielscheesecake @severenswife @67-angelofthelordme-67 @booksobsess @buckleyverse @mickslover @formula1-bichyslut16 @allgaslynobrakess @shyshva @rossy1080 @celestialcharles @glitterf1

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc one shot #f1 #formula one #formula one x you #working for formula one #ferrari #miami grand prix #miami grand prix formula one #mia

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 7 months ago

Note

Can you do a castor fic where the reader is also in a band? your castor fics are soo good btw <3

A/n: tysm <3 I'm so glad people love Castor as much as I do! I need to write for him more :') I know not many people write for him, I've also been thinking about London Hudson(Slash's son) a lot recently and was wondering if anyone would be interested in something about him🤔

Warnings: Smut, finger(f receiving), oral(f receiving), squirting, size!kink, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Bastardane was going on tour and decided to bring along another band with them, that band just so happened to be yours. You were the drummer of another small band and when you guys were offered the chance to go on tour with another metal band you took it with open arms.

The tour wasn’t a break for your band as you were working on songs for your next album, the driving was a good opportunity for writing and banging out some good riffs and whatnot for when you got back, and when you did you guys went straight to the nearest studio.

During your time with Bastardane your band got pretty close with them. They were great people with great energies to be around and it made the whole trip such a positive experience.

You ended up especially close with the other drummer, Castor. You kept chalking it up to being because you were both drummers but on more than one occasion you two had been caught cuddling together, dancing together and doing other romantic things. Still, you refused to believe it was anything more than just being friendly...

This particular day you were so tired of everyone and everything. You dropped by a grocery store because you were running low on food, a group of girls started following you around and doing whatever they could to make your time a living hell. A random dude yelled at you when your card didn’t work the first try and you almost left without any of your things.

Finally, when you thought you were in a place where you could get out some of that anger you kept messing up on your parts. You started too soon, too late. You hit the wrong drum, repeatedly. Nothing was going your way.

Your band went to get lunch, they wanted you to come but you declined, refusing to leave until you’d gotten through a full song with no mistakes. They asked you over and over again to come with them but you wouldn’t budge and they eventually left with the intention to bring you back something to eat.

Not long after they left you heard a knock on the door and it fucked up what you were playing. You threw your drumstick and it bounced off your hi-tom. The door opened and in came Castor, although he entered hesitantly after having seen your little fit.

“How’s it going?” He asked with a soft smile as he slowly came closer to you. You reached over to pick up your stick and went back to getting through the song, starting at the beginning again. “That good, huh?” You didn’t hear him, choosing instead to just go harder until you had it right.

It wasn’t that easy and you made another mistake. This time you just froze and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before throwing your stick again. It made it across the room and hit the wall on the other side with enough force that it snapped in half.

Seeing the two pieces on the floor you just sat back on your seat and let out the breath you took. Your seat rocked and you tipped back, landing hard on your tailbone. “Mother fucker!” You yelled, getting up and throwing the seat away as well. You were huffing and could feel tears brimming in your eyes.

A hand came on your shoulder and you turned to see Castor looking down at you with a worried expression. “Uh, I was told you were having a rough day.” He said, glancing around the room. “Didn’t know it was quite this bad.”

“Oh, fuck off, would you?” You groaned and went to get your seat back.

“Why don’t you take a break?” He asked, trying to keep a calm tone in hopes of calming you down as well. “Might help clear your mind so you could get it right without putting a hole in the wall.” He had a small smile, adding a teasing hint to his voice.

You dropped your seat back in its spot. “I don’t need a break.” You grumbled.

“I think you do.” Again he turned you to face him.

“I’m fine, I just need to get this right.” You said, taking a step. Castor stopped you, lifted you onto your drumset with ease.

“You’re taking a break.” He repeated more firmly. You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest.

“What, am I just supposed to sit here?” You looked up at Castor and noticed his gaze was wandering. “Cas?” His eyes quickly met yours and he gave a small hum in acknowledgement. You looked down to see what he’d been looking at.

You were wearing a skirt, a tight faux leather one, one that rode up your thighs when you spread your legs even slightly and revealed your panties at the right angle. You looked back up at Castor and his gaze had fallen to your panties again, this time he seemed less embarrassed to do so, biting his lower lip.

You enjoyed the way he looked at you. Hungry, lustful eyes, a window into his filthiest thoughts.

Castor got on his knees between your legs, looking up at you for affirmation that this was ok. You bit your lip and give him a quick nod. He pushed your skirt up a little more and pulled your panties down your thighs. He admired your slick folds for a moment, pressing a few kisses to your inner thighs before lapping up your juices.

You watched him between your head rolling back and your eyes closing from the pleasure. He was watching you, seeing what made you feel the best, how your face morphed when he did something you liked.

He pushed one long digit into you, curling it inside you until he heard a noise he liked. He proceeded to hit that same spot over and over again, relishing the way it made you squirm.

When he noticed you were close he pulled away. You whined loudly at the sudden lack of sensation only to calm right down when Castor undid his jeans and pulled himself out of his boxers. His cock was hard and leaking, begging for you just as much as you were for him.

He held a hand out to you. “Spit.” He ordered. You did as you were told and spit in his hand. He stroked himself a few times, using your saliva as lube before pushing himself into you.

You let out a loud gasp as he hit deep inside you, making your stomach bulge slightly. You always thought you just liked that he was taller than you because it made cuddling easier, you’d never thought it would go deeper than that. Both figuratively and literally.

Castor gave you a moment to adjust to his size, not moving until you told him he could. He went slow at first, trying to savour the feelings but soon the sounds you were making got to him and he couldn’t stop himself from going faster.

He held your hips as he rammed his hips into you, making you moan louder and louder. He groaned in your ear, mumbling about how good you felt around him, how badly he wanted this.

A knot built in your gut, a familiar yet different feeling. “Fuck, Cassey, ‘m gonna cum.” You mumbled. Your hands were on the toms behind you, needing to hold onto something. Castor moved a hand and started rubbing circles on your clit. You came hard around him, watching your cum squirt over his abdomen, soaking into his shirt and jeans.

You knocked your cymbals over and the rest of the set eventually went down with it, drowning out both your sounds. Castor didn’t stop. He held you close while he fucked you, bouncing you on his dick. You could feel him twitching inside you, ready to burst and soon he did. You could feel his hot cum hitting your gummy walls while he moaned into your ear.

He carefully set you back down farther away from the fallen drums. You pulled your skirt back down, Castor examined your drumset. “Nothing seems broken.” He said, picking up your panties off the floor and shoving them in his pocket. He got himself back into his damp pants before turning to you.

You had a knowing look, your arms crossed over your chest once more. “What?” He asked, feigning innocence. He patted the small bump in his pocket. “I’m keeping these.” You smiled at him, taking a few steps closer and leaning up to kiss him. Knowing that he’s a giraffe, he met you halfway.

When you pulled away you looked back to the mess, chewing your cheek. “I don’t wanna clean this up.” You said, looking to Castor for an answer.

“Lunch?” He asked, holding a hand out for you to take. You happily accepted the offer and followed him out of the studio.

#bastardane #bastardane smut #bastardane x reader #castor hetfield x reader #castor hetfield smut #castor hetfield

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averagecontentenjoyer121 · 2 months ago

Text

I don’t like Zeus in normal mythology and that Bias has 100% made its way into this story.

Anyway it times for more of Zeus parenting

Chapter 7: Home

(Now listen to legendary and Little wolf)

Telemachus retreats back to his room when at the top of the steps he sees an exhausted Athena sitting against the wall. He walks to his balcony, “Tell me Athena why you came to my aid.” Athena sat there staring at him, shocked he could recognize her, for the last time she saw him was right before his father set out for Troy 13 years ago. She began to speak.

(Now Listen to We’ll Be Fine)

That night Athena stands outside Ithaca’s walls; she had been reinvigorated through seeing Telemachus, so much like his father. She stood there still catching her breath from the excessive use of her powers, waiting. Then suddenly a bolt of light rushed beside her. “Now did you call me ‘ere to catch up, spend time with my grandson, or do you need help.” Grinned Hermes. “First, is there anything you know about where Odysseus is.”

“Afraid I can’t say I know. Last I saw him he was at Circe’s. My band came down to give ‘em a hand and encouragement. Although I think Dionysus was trying to convince Odysseus to sleep with her, that's just like him.”

“Now, can you take me to Olympus?”

Woah! Hold on, no mortal can go into Olympus. And I’m a messenger, I don’t transport people, I transport words.”

“Father wanted me to prove myself, maybe this is how.”

“Sounds like it’d at best break the rules and at worst tick your dad off. I’m in.”

“Quick to change your mind.”

“All you have to do to convince me of a plan is for it to cause chaos, that’s funny.”

High above the clouds in the palace of gods Zeus waits for his daughter, knowing of her intentions. As soon as she steps into the palace she demands that Odysseus be let free, that what’s happened to him is unjust. Zeus stares down at her, his head shrouded in clouds. He leans forward, “Seems you’ve become more like them. What right do you have to make demands of me as a mortal? You haven’t proven that you should be a god in any respect. You haven’t proven your wisdom, strategies, or justice. So why do you think you can come here?”

“Because, as I’ve said father, what’s happened to Odysseus isn’t justice-“

“He stabbed the eye of Poseidon’s child.”

“Yes but he wouldn’t have had to if the cyclops didn’t threaten them. Doesn’t that break your rules of hospitality? So you choose to be unjust?”

“Smart play daughter. Fine I shall give your audience. Let us meet above the home city of you favored human.”

(Begin listening to God Games then pause at ‘Who’s them?’)

Athena pondered before her father’s voice thundered out once more

(Continue watching God Games until Zeus starts listing off the names of the gods)

Athena stood there for a second scared that she would have to face the gods who she played a part in getting exiled. She then regains her composure.

(Continue after ‘bring it’ until Aphrodite.)

Aphrodite stood there glaring at Athena. She could feel the bitterness in Aphrodite's eyes.

(Continue until ‘Please reconsider this’)

Aphrodite stood there surprised at the desperation of Athena. Her mind began to sway

(Continue until ‘ares’)

Athena stood in pain as Ares used his divine powers to cripple her for the moment. She saw him approach her with a wide grin as sharp as a blade, as he brandished steel talons on his gauntlets

(Continue God Games until it’s finished)

The thunderstorm stood there towering over the charred, bloody body of its daughter. Her hand grasping his then fell slack as she blacked out from the immense pain she was in. It stood there quietly as all the crowd starred in disbelief. It then slid one of its feet under the side of her torso. With little effort it kicked her off. Her unconscious body fell back down to the mortals and landed in the sea. She would later wash ashore Ithaca again. This time however, scarred.

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ourtearsofrain · 2 months ago

Text

The Barbarians (D.R.W/S.F.K) - Chapter 6

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Genre: angst

Word Count: just under 4.2k

Warnings: AU typical events/threats/violence (later in the series), thoughts of killing someone else but it’s very homoerotic

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Still The Children Smiling, Can We See No Sin

Sam

Friday, July 8th

“In two weeks, 23 of you will be dead. One of you will be alive, who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next three days, particularly to what I’m about to say.” Me, I’m going to be that one. Everyone else here will die, by my hands or someone else’s. “First, no fighting with the other tributes, you’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena.” Easy enough, although no promises if Hazel gets on my nerves. And that guy from 7, he keeps flashing me dirty glances and then when I try to make eye contact, he refuses to meet it. What’s his deal? “There are four compulsory exercises, the rest will be individual training. My advice is: don’t ignore the survival skills. Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes. 10% from infection, 20% from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife.” They’re wasting their own time telling us this, well, at least the tributes from 1 and 2, we’ve been fed this shit in school every year since we were 12.

Their lead trainer turns and walks away from the group without another word, signaling to them that their training had begun. What is it with these people and never ending a conversation? Seriously, they all just walk away when they’re done speaking.

“So, what station should we do first?” Hazel appears at Sam’s side with a smile, hope flashing behind her eyes.

“‘We’ aren’t going anywhere. I’m going to the sword station first.”

Hazel’s expression falls as he walks away from her, quickly trying to catch up as she plasters a smile back onto her face. “Then I will too.”

Sam rounds on her, keeping his voice low and even as he remembers what the trainer had said about fighting between tributes. “Why? Why are you following me around? We have different skills; it’ll be more useful if you go to stations with yours.”

“It will be more useful if we both stick together and present as a united front. Just think about it, if the others see that we’re already allies even before going into the arena, they won’t dare try anything with us, they’ll be too afraid.”

Frustration fills Sam at the validity of her argument. He knew she was right, he just didn’t want to admit it. “Fine. Stay out of my way though.” Sam steps up to the station, aware of the assistant watching his every move as he considers each option before him. Are none of these sharpened? How do they expect us to train with them, then?

As if the assistant could read his mind, he steps towards him, offering an explanation. “These dull swords are for sparring, one-on-one combat with me. If you’d prefer to practice on a dummy, we have separate, sharpened swords.”

“Oh, ok. So, I can fight you to practice?”

“If you wish.” Sam looks the assistant up and down, considering his likelihood of winning against him. He was of similar build to him, slightly shorter; Sam knew he could easily win a match against him. Winning was all that mattered, he needed the other tributes to see his skills.

“Alright, I choose a Gladius.” He picks the hunk of metal up, testing the weight of it. It wasn’t as nice as the ones he had trained with, but it was for training; he only hoped that the ones they gave them in the arena would be higher quality. Sam steps onto the mat, immediately falling into a ready position as the assistant follows suit. “You ready?”

He cocks an eyebrow at Sam, a small smile playing across his lips as if he expected Sam to fail quickly. “Are you?”

Before he can respond, the assistant leaps forward, stabbing the point of the sword towards his stomach. Sam blocks it easily, counterattacking with a slashing motion aimed at his exposed side. Just before it makes contact, the assistant recovers, deflecting the move with the blade at the base of the hilt. Damn, thought that would get him. The pair duel for what feels like hours to Sam, his frustration growing each time his opponent blocks each of his moves, attacking with increasingly intricate countermoves. Finally, Sam sees his opportunity, taking it faster than he can think as his training had hard-wired his mind for battle. Catching the assistant’s sword hand with his blade, his grip loosens, causing the man to shift his focus from blocking another attack to getting his grip back on the blade. In this second of distraction, Sam stabs his sword forward, hitting the man in the center of his abdomen.

The assistant relaxes, nodding slightly to Sam before leaving the dueling space and standing wait for his next opponent. Sam returns his sword to the weapons table only for Hazel to find his side immediately. “That was great, and even better, I think more than half the tributes here were watching when you won.”

“Good.” Now they know what I can do, what I will do if they run into me. “What’s next?”

“Knives. You’ve had your time to impress everyone, so now it’s my turn.”

“Seems fair.” Sam follows Hazel as she makes her way over to the knife training station, a long table with assorted blades laid out before three practice targets about 20 feet away from them. He zones out as she methodically considers her options, finally landing on three throwing knives and moving to stand before the targets. She raises one of the knives up, taking a grounding breath before sending it flying through the air with all the strength she can muster.

It hits the direct center of the target, its impact ringing out against the metal walls. She throws the other two knives, one after the other, striking each target dead center with ease. She turns back to him with a self-impressed smile, her eyes darting to something behind Sam’s head. He doesn’t get the chance to turn to see what or who she was looking at as two tributes appear at his side.

“Nice aim.” The male comments, turning his attention towards Sam. “I saw you fight too. We think you could make useful allies.” The female tribute nods in agreement before he continues. “I’m Vanil, this is Amaram. District 2.”

“And what skills do you two have?” Sam asks before Hazel can agree, sensing her excitement.

“I’m also good with throwing knives, and Vanil is deadly with a war hammer. He can do a hell of a lot of damage with a machete too.” Amaram’s response is flat, stating basic information without letting any emotion into her tone. “We’re both highly trained in survival skills too.”

“We’ll consider it.” The other two tribute’s expressions stay neutral, only nodding once as if his answer was satisfactory enough for them.

“Good.” Without another word, the pair turn and leave, making their way over to other training stations.

“Why didn’t you accept their offer?” Hazel questions him the second they’re out of earshot, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“If we accept their offer too eagerly, it’ll look like we need them. They’d think we are weak and unable to survive on our own and they’d turn on us as soon as they could.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess. Alright, have you seen any other tributes you’d like to offer allyship to?”

Sam considers her words, carefully analyzing the others in the room as they’re each consumed with their own tasks. His eyes land on Daniel, a group of three young tributes watching as he explains an axe to them. “The male from 7.”

“What? Why?” She looks towards him, distaste passing over her features. “Just look at him, he’s weak. Offering help to any tribute who’s 14 or younger. What’s he gonna do, become a mother hen to them in the arena? He’ll be killed trying to protect them.”

As she finishes speaking, Daniel turns towards the targets, seemingly easily launching a full-sized axe through the air with one arm. It imbeds itself into a practice dummy, hitting it straight in between where its eyes would be. “Still think he’s weak?” A haughty smile twists Sam’s lips as Hazel’s cheeks tint at how she had underestimated the other tribute. “And the only reason he’s taking them under his wing is to get sponsors, why else would he?”

“How would that get him sponsors?”

“Just think about it; big, strong man from 7 who can probably survive on his own just fine choosing to be allies with younger, less experienced tributes. The Garden will eat that up, call him a hero or some shit.”

“Huh, didn’t know they were so smart with strategic planning in 7. How about a bet, then?”

“What?”

“I think he’ll die in the bloodbath protecting those kids, you don’t. How long do you give him?”

“A couple days with the kids tagging along, maybe a week or two without them.”

“So, it’s a deal?”

“It’s a deal. Get ready to lose, Hazel Fairfield.”

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Saturday, July 9th

The first day of training had passed quickly as Sam and Hazel moved from station to station, sticking to the weapons they knew they excelled at, agreeing to save the training stations dedicated to survival skills for the second day. The pair had been at the edible plants station for no longer than five minutes before they’re joined by two others, Vanil and Amaram.

“Give any more thought to our offer?” Vanil cuts straight to the point the second Sam turns towards him, looking between him and Hazel questioningly.

“We have.” Don’t sound too eager, think of it as a business transaction. They aren’t your friends, in the end, they will be your enemy. “We think you’d make valuable allies in the arena.”

“Good, smart choice. So, I heard you both volunteered?”

Hazel’s quick to respond, her lie convincing all but Sam. “Yep, the female tribute from our district was just a kid, so I volunteered.”

“So did we, not for a younger tribute though.” Amaram offers, her voice and expression still flat and devoid of emotion.

“What about you, Samuel? I heard you were jealous of your brothers.” Vanil smiles at Sam maliciously, as if he were trying to get him to snap.

Keep your cool, don’t let him know that his comment has any effect on you. Sam plasters a smile on his face, not reaching his eyes as he collects himself to respond. “Well, I hate to tell you that you’ve heard wrong, but.”

“Oh? Then why did you volunteer? Some noble cause like your partner?”

“Nope, just wanted a shot in the arena, figured I’ve waited long enough. Same as you, I’d guess.”

“You’d guess correct. Tell me then, if that’s a lie, is the rumor that you took out extra food rations to get into the reaping more a lie as well?”

“That one’s actually true, like I said, I’ve waited long enough.” Sam’s attention is ripped from the other Careers as he sees Daniel move towards him, having been coaching the other three tributes that had been following him around at the fire-starting station nearby. He doesn’t think much of it until Daniel snakes in between the others, his fist suddenly slamming into his jaw, rattling his skull as his vision cuts out momentarily from the sheer force of his punch.

“You fucking entitled ass bitch!” Daniel’s face is painted with rage as he moves to strike again, his voice echoing off the walls as all tributes in the room pause their training to watch the interaction. Just as Sam moves to hit him back, a Peacekeeper grabs Daniel from behind, dragging the man away as others rush to intervene. “Let me go!” As he continues to fight against the Peacekeeper behind him, another moves to his front, sending a punch into his stomach, effectively knocking the wind from his lungs and stopping his fight.

While he’s still incapacitated, the two Peacekeepers grab him by the arms, dragging him from the room, his eyes still furious and trained right on Sam. The second the doors close behind him, the room is silent, all tributes standing with wide eyes at the event that had just unfolded between the two. “Alright people, as you were. May I remind you, there is no fighting between tributes during training.”

And just like that, everyone resumes their previous activities, acting as if nothing had happened. “That was a solid blow, man. You good?”

Sam drops his hand from his sore jaw as Vanil’s eyes find him, keeping his tears at bay. “Yeah, barely even felt it. Have no idea what his problem is.”

Despite his words, Hazel still looked concerned for Sam, knowing better than to voice it with the other two tributes present. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t bruise, it’d be a shame to have it during your interview with Claudius.”

“Yeah, yeah it would.”

Still sensing that something was wrong, Hazel tries to comfort him in whatever way she can, given their surroundings. “Don’t worry, we can get him at the bloodbath. With those kids flocking to him, he’ll be an easy target.”

“Yeah.” Sam offers them a half-hearted smile as he turns back to the training station, busying himself with the activity as his mind wanders back to Daniel. I want him dead. I want to sink my sword straight into his chest, feel his fucking dying breath on my lips. I want to watch the light leave those beautiful hazel eyes, to be so close to him I can see each individual freckle on his gorgeous nose. I want him. Dead.

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Forgetting the End as Your New Life Has Begun

Danny

Friday, July 8th

“In two weeks, 23 of you will be dead. One of you will be alive, who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next three days, particularly to what I’m about to say.” How encouraging. “First, no fighting with the other tributes, you’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena.” Why would I want to fight anyone before the games? Actually, maybe that Samuel guy. He won’t stop fucking looking at me. Maybe trying to determine how easy to target I’ll be. “There are four compulsory exercises, the rest will be individual training. My advice is: don’t ignore the survival skills. Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes. 10% from infection, 20% from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife.” Again, how encouraging. At least she’s being honest.

As the lead trainer turns and walks away from the group without another word, Danny turns to Daphne. “So, what do you want to do first?”

“Ropes course? I’m good at climbing trees, should be fairly the same, right?”

“Sounds good to me, kid. C’mon, let’s go before too many tributes find their way over there.” The pair walk briskly over to their first chosen training station, thankful to find they were the first in line. He lets Daphne go first, watching her carefully as she scurries up the ropes for any minor mistakes that could prove fatal in the arena. Finding none, he smiles, relieved to see that she confidently and easily leapt and balanced on the thin ropes above him. If something happens to me, she can stick to the trees. Keep herself safe enough for as long as possible.

She makes it to the other side quickly, jumping down with cat-like ability. Impressive. I definitely can’t do that. He offers her a light slap on the back as she finds his side again, looking up at him with the need for input clearly written across her face. “That was great, you’re a natural.”

“Thanks, Danny. Now it’s your turn, try and beat my time.”

“If I do that, I’m breaking my neck before I even set foot in the arena.” His words are light as he makes his way to the start of the course, stopping before the rope and inhaling a deep breath through his nose. Knowing he’d make better time (and impress or intimidate other tributes), he jumps to give himself a head start, catching the rope between his hands as he pulls himself to the top, not using his legs to assist himself. Despite the burning in his arms as he hoists himself to the top of the course, he leaps between the netted roping, using his momentum to keep his balance.

The end of the coarse blindsides him, and he saves himself from falling right off the edge by jumping at the last second, his hands blindly finding the last rope hanging from the ceiling. He barely feels the burn against his palms as he slides down it, the callouses from years of chopping wood protecting his skin. When he looks back to Daphne, he sees that she hadn’t been watching him alone, two other young tributes had joined her while he was running the course. They move to leave when they see him approach until he smiles at them, their fear pausing at the warmth in his expression.

“That was cool.” The male tribute speaks as the female tribute nods, still unsure on if she should stay or not.

“Thanks. What’s your guy’s names?”

“Fletch, District 12.”

“Daisy, District 11.”

“Fletch, Daisy; nice to meet you, I’m Danny and my friend here is Daphne.” He looks around the room, trying to find the other tributes from 11 and 12, only to see them occupied talking to the Careers from District 2. “Why aren’t you guys with the other tributes from your district? They don’t want to stick with you guys?”

“Nope.” Fletch’s answer is short, frustrated as anger flashes across his features.

“They said we’re too young, we have no chance at surviving so it’s pointless for them to try to train or be allies with us.”

Assholes. Despite his anger at the other tributes for throwing their partners aside, he manages to control his expression, still knowing to be careful not to scare them. “Well, you guys can stick with us if you want. How old are you two anyway?”

“13.”

“14, almost 15.” Fletch stands a little taller at his words, sending a smile to Danny’s lips.

“That’s good enough for me, Daphne here’s 12. Want me to show you guys something cool?” All three kids nod eagerly, following Danny as he makes his way over to the axe training station. “Any of you have any experience with these?” All but Daphne shakes their heads, leading him to motion them over to the table to explain each weapon. “This one is a throwing axe, they’re lightweight, entirely metal, and sharpened on three sides. The bottom of the handle, or haft, is also pointed, so you can do some damage with that end too. They’re great for distance if you have an accurate aim and good strength.” He sets the small axe down, picking up another, medium sized one. “This is an archer’s axe, good for close range and chopping wood. So, great for fighting and survival skills. This one is a double headed axe, and this a battle axe. The blades are sharp, but the weapon is heavy. They’re really only good in battle if you have a strong arm and good control of it. Now, on to my favorite.”

Danny picks up an axe he had the most practice with, one he had “trained” with for years. “This is a felling axe. Ideal for chopping wood, but if you have a strong arm and lots of practice, you can do this.” He turns away from them, moving the end of the handle to his left hand as he steps to line himself up about 10 feet away from one of the practice dummies. Summoning all his strength, he swings his arm back over his shoulder in a controlled motion before launching it at the dummy. It strikes it right in the center of its head, in between where a human’s eyes would be. Satisfied with himself, he walks over to the dummy, wrestling the imbedded blade out of the material before he turns back to the other three tributes, all watching him with wide eyes.

“That was so- so-”

“Cool?” Danny offers.

As Daisy goes to agree, Fletch cuts her off, his voice riddled with excitement. “That was more than cool! Can you teach us?”

“I can try.” Danny laughs out, replacing the felling axe on the table to grab the throwing axes. “Let’s try with these first though, they’re easier to learn.”

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

Saturday, July 9th

“Alright, so you want to create a clearing for the fire, get rid of anything that could catch. We don’t need to burn down the entire arena accidentally.” I mean that wouldn’t be too bad. As Danny explains, he shows Daphne, Fletch, and Daisy with the small model he had built, moving the dried leaves and sticks until he has a clear circle of dirt. “Then, you want to line the circle with large rocks if you have them, this prevents it from getting out of control. Next, you want to put some small sticks down to act as a platform of sorts and cover it with dry leaves or whatever you’re burning.”

As he tries to gather the last of his materials, he can’t help but overhear the conversation between the Careers a few stations down. “So, I heard you both volunteered?” Can’t fucking imagine volunteering for the games willingly. How much of an ego do you have to have to do that? Danny tries his best to ignore the group, needing to focus on the task at hand.

“So uh, then if you don’t have matches or anything like that, you want to cut a ‘V’ into a flat piece of wood and fill that with bark. Then you take a stick like this and place it in that ‘V’.”

“Nope, just wanted a shot in the arena, figured I’ve waited long enough. Same as you, I’d guess.” God, he thinks so highly of himself. Ignore him, you need to focus.

“Then, you want to rub it back and forth between your flat palms while pressing down gently on the wood. When it begins to spark, transfer those sparks to the leaves and blow on it to create a fire.”

“Tell me then, if that’s a lie, is the rumor that you took out extra food rations to get into the reaping more a lie as well?”

“That one’s actually true, like I said, I’ve waited long enough.” What?! Danny’s mind goes blank as rage consumes him, ripping his attention to Samuel and the other Careers. They look fucking happy about it? As if wasting food to get into a fight to the death is fine? Who the fuck does he think he is?!

Not thinking straight, he stands, stalking over to Samuel and weaving between the others surrounding him. Before he can stop himself, his hand forms a fist, and he sends it straight into his jaw with all the force he can muster. He looks surprised, good. I hope he remembers this shit when we get into the arena. “You fucking entitled ass bitch!” Danny screams at him, his rage tearing his vocal cords apart. As he raises his fist again, a Peacekeeper appears out of nowhere, dragging him backwards away from the other man.

“Let me go!” He fights as hard as he can to evade the Peacekeepers grasp, all the progress he had made ending up useless as another punches him hard in the stomach. Fuck. That hurt, I deserve it. Fuck, what have I done? They move to grab his arms, pulling him away from Samuel. Despite the pain radiating through his abdomen, he keeps his furious eyes locked on Samuel’s, happy to see fear flashing behind them as he’s led away.

The moment the doors close behind them, the Peacekeepers don’t stop their path, flooding Danny with terror. Are they going to kill me for what I pulled? Fuck. Daphne needs me in there. The other kids too. “Where are you taking me?” He tries to keep his voice even, not fighting against the Peacekeepers as they lead him through the halls.

“Back to your floor. You’re done for the day.”

“Really? That’s it?” Neither respond as his body relaxes, their grips on him loosening as they distance themselves from the training room, knowing that he had nowhere else to run. That could have been a lot worse. That was a stupid move on my part, I should know better. He’s just so entitled, so egotistical, it’s infuriating. He took out unnecessary rations, meanwhile my sister and I are near starving in 7, with more families than I can count maxing out their extra rations just to stay fed. I swear to God, if I get the chance in that arena, I’m killing him as soon as possible.

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Taglist: @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @milojames16 @gretnavannfleet @aioba1503-sdm @sanguinebats @cheersdannyx2 @musicislove3389 @holdingup-fallingsky @Maddie-Rae

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fic #daniel gvf #sam gvf #sanny gvf #greta van angst #sam kiszka x danny wagner #sam kiszka #danny wagner #hunger games au

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cheynovak · 1 year ago

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Forest Green Eyes - PART 3

Castiel & Y/N Winchester

Warnings: Bad family dynamic, over protected, abuse, bad language …

Side note: English isn’t my first language.

Words: 1142

This story takes place after the SPN finally. Jack asked Castiel to go back to earth to be the guardian angel of Y/N. Cas accepts this task but only to discover that Y/N is the biological child of Dean.

Part 4 - online now

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

All Castiel could think of is how he wanted to hold her in his arms forever. How right this feels.

It has been a long time since he felt these feelings. But is there a chance he feels this way because she reminds him of.... him?

Even though the bunker had no windows Castiel knew the sun was already shining.

He looked down, Y/N hadn’t moved since last night. She looked so peaceful when she slept.

Her hair was a perfectly untouched, her breath steady and slow, her arm resting over his chest.

Last night was special for him. She had told Steve that she would always choose Cas.

Steve clearly was jealous that Y/N and Castiel were so close. But he of course had no idea what they went through. “You walk around pretty much naked!” He yelled “I’m always wearing clothes!” She answered “Yeah, if you call underwear clothing.”

“Christ! Steve I always wear shirts and shorts! Don’t overreact, Cas never noticed what I wear.”

“Oh really? Cause last night when you decided that it was a great idea to socialise and watch tv together I definitely saw him staring at your legs!”

Castiel knew that ear dropping was bad, but he told himself that all he did was protecting you. “Did he stare at her? Glanced maybe...” Besides after the fight, when he checked on her, she admitted that she needed him, she trusted him.

The angel started smiling like a mad man thinking about that.

Although he didn’t want to move or end this perfect moment, he knew she had to go to work. But it was Friday so maybe they could have a movie night. While the angel was in deep thoughts Y/N woke up.

“Goodmorning.” she yawned. “Goodmorning beautiful.” A silent pause. She lifted herself of the bed. She smiled a little... awkward he noticed, while she searched for new clothes and walked to her bedroom.

“Eh, I was thinking, maybe we could have a movie night tonight?” Castiel asked to change the mood in the room.

“Yeah sure. But I really need to leave now I'm already late.” “Really not looking forward seeing Steve.” She mumbled as she walked out.

Well that couldn’t be more awkward he thought. But at least he had a purpose for the day.

Searching for a good movie and snacks!

It was almost 3 pm when Y/N texted Cas:

“You mind going for a drink instead of movie night? X “

“Where do we meet?”

“Roadhouse? Anna and Tom will be there after work.”

Great he thought, he was invited to go have a drink with her colleague and his girlfriend. She just invited him so she wouldn’t feel bad for ditching their movie night.

“If you want a night with friends, I can pass. No hard feelings.”

“Castiel, YOU are my friend. See you at 7 <3 “

That night you, Anna and Tom walk in straight to their usual table. Anna immediately eyed a not so bad looking man the other end. “Y/N why don’t you get the first round?”

While you walked away. Anna looked at Tom “The best way for her to forget Steve is meet new people.” She grinned. “Maybe we should mind our own.” He answered shaking his head.

The second Y/N leaned against the bar the guy walked over. “Hey honey, haven’t seen you here before.” Y/N side eyed the man, ignoring him hoping he’d walk away.

But instead, he laid his hand around her shoulder. “Listen, buddy, I’m really not interested so take your beer and leave me alone please.” She said while removing his hand a little aggressive.

“Feisty, I love it.” He grinned

" You have no idea.”

Both of you looked behind the man, Castiel had just walked in. He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder passive aggressive telling him to walk away.

“This your boyfriend honey? Isn’t he a little old?”

Without hesitation you walk towards Cas and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“”You have no idea what an older man can offer a girl.” Y/N said in her flirty voice.

Castiel felt his face turning red. But decided to play along. Just as he wanted to kiss the side of her head, she turned and lifted her head to kiss his cheek.

His lips softly stroke hers, not a full-on kiss, but enough for both of them to be startled.

For a second that felt an eternity she looked at Cas, lost in his soft blue eyes, then at his lips. Y/N laid her hand slowly on Castiel’s neck, feeling her fingers going through his hair, and slowly pulling him closer for another kiss. This time their lips touched properly and Castiel pulled her closer by holding a hand between her shoulders and one on her hip.

Even though the kiss didn’t take long, both of them were out of breath. Your foreheads still touching. “Why don’t you go sit with your friends, and I’ll pay for the drinks.” Cas said grinning softly. “Great idea.” She whispered.

Y/N turned around looking at her friends at the table, both looking at her with their mouth open and eyes in shock.

“I don’t want to sound like a drama queen, but isn’t that your roommate?” Tom asked, “You know the dude Steve didn’t have to worry about?”

“Well, Steve doesn’t have to worry about anyone anymore.” You tried to sound normal. “If I had known you were, you know, doing your roommate I wouldn’t have send you of to that good looking guy!” Anna said. “I’m not doing anyone. Cas just helped me out of an awful situation with that so-called good-looking guy.” Y/N’s voice sound frustrating.

After a couple of drinks Anna decided that she wanted a picture. “Social media freak.” Tom whispers to Cas who in return only smiled a little.

“Ok, Y/N get closer to Castiel, Castiel maybe you hold her a little. Tom kneel down in front. I will place myself next to you.”

*Click*

As Anna was giving instructions to the bartender, who was so kind to take a couple of pictures, you felt Castiel’s eyes linger on you.

*Click*

And like a magnet your face turned towards him. You grabbed his hand that hanging over your shoulders. Looking in each other eyes once more grinning.

And alll you could think of was kissing those angelic lips again. But that was the beers you had earlier talking, right...

*Click*

.... Right?

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

If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

#fanfic #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x y/n #castiel x you #dean winchester #fluff #spn #supernatural #sp #spnfandom #spnedit #team free will

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self-shippy · 2 months ago

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Selfship-tober Day 9: Music

A different POV of a previous day’s prompt! This one will have acts of violence described in more detail. Prompt created by @sennamybeloved

That night was truly magical. The temperature was perfect for an outdoor wedding, everyone was well-behaved, and of course, the bride and groom looked amazing for the occasion. Yes, everything was just as Lora envisioned it would be.

If only the night ended as well as it started.

The thing that Lora remembered most from that night was the music. She remembered how it was faintly playing throughout the whole night, and the music was in every memory of her conversations with others.

“Larry, why are you crying?” Phoenix asked. His friend, Larry, was leaning on him, arm draped over his shoulder. “You know we’ll still hang out, right?”

Larry sniffled. “Well, it’s just… I wanted to be the first one to marry in our friend group!” he admitted, very blatantly.

“So that’s what this is about.” Phoenix groaned, eyebrow twitching. Lora couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

“Hey, I’ll be right back, okay?” Lora said. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Phoenix didn’t hesitate to turn his attention to his wife. “Don’t take too long, okay?” he said with his silkiest voice, then gave Lora a quick kiss. “I’ll miss you.”

“You’re so corny,” Lora laughed, then left to do her business.

Navigating the bathroom in a big, poofy dress was no easy feat. She had to choose the biggest stall she could, somehow lift the dress up enough and keep it lifted up, and make sure none of it fell into the toilet water after she was done. When she was finally in the safe zone again, she took a deep breath.

She could hear that the music had turned up, likely an invitation for people to join the dance floor. Well, it’s my wedding, she thought. I’d better go up there at least once! With that, she left the stall to go wash her hands.

Except, she didn’t make it to the sink. Without warning, a piercing pain shot through her side. Well, upon closer inspection, the pain was from a knife piercing her. She followed the hand that held the knife up to the arm, the torso, and finally, the face. The one who stabbed her was a woman, with short, blonde hair. Lora didn’t really see anything else about the woman, as her sight had started to blur and fade out.

“This is for you and your father selling us out a few years ago,” the woman said, then tore through to the front of Lora’s abdomen, letting the knife loose in the process. “And you’d better hope that this kills you, because if it doesn’t, we’ll hunt you down for the rest of your miserable life.”

Someone… Lora thought to herself. I have to let someone know about this! She staggered forward, taking one shaky step at a time towards the door. Her vision kept blurring, and it was going dark in the sides. Eventually, she tripped on her dress, and landed face-first on the floor with no strength to pull herself up.

“Well, I best be going,” the woman said, although Lora could barely register her words. “I don’t want to be here when they find your dead body.”

And then, there was silence. The music from outside was slowly fading away, and Lora was left with nothing but her thoughts.

I hope someone finds me soon. I don’t want to die. But… she said they’d hunt me down, right? She said I should hope this kills me! I don’t want to live in fear for the rest of my life, either! Maybe I could get my identity changed, and they’d never find me. But what about… what about Phoenix?

That’s when it hit her. Phoenix. He can expose them! He’s experienced with exposing criminals! But he’d need a reason to, right? Someone else needs to be framed, right? And above all, how can I guarantee my safety while he finds who did this to me?

Lora could barely hear a scream. Someone must have found me. But I can’t let anyone know I’m aware of this. I must make people think I’m dead.

Acting dead wasn’t all that hard. Lora was practically halfway there, after all. The hardest part was not reacting to feeling Phoenix’s warmth as he held her in his arms. Being dead was quite cold, after all, and she really wanted to savor these few moments with him…

If Lora wasn’t committed to staying perfectly still, she would have shaken her head. I’ll have plenty of time to enjoy Phoenix’s warmth. I’m not dying yet.

Lora could faintly feel Phoenix picking her up and handing her to others. Her body was going numb, so she wasn’t entirely sure what those people were doing. Please let me stay conscious until I can tell someone to announce my death. At least just let me stay alive.

Eventually, Lora could feel air going into and out of her lungs. She knew she didn’t have the strength to be breathing like this. It must have been a life support system. Now’s my chance!

Lora forced her eyes to open, seeing a blurry figure that was vaguely Gumshoe-shaped. She put every ounce of strength she had into speaking. “Gum… shoe…”

The shape turned to her. Perhaps it was from the oxygen entering her body, but she was starting to see and hear clearer. She could even make out Gumshoe saying, “Don’t you worry, pal! We’re getting you to a specialty clinic! You’ll be a-okay!” It was still quite muffled, though.

“Gumshoe…” Lora spoke again. “Tell them… I died.”

Gumshoe stepped back. “But… you just got married! You want to throw that all away?”

Lora slowly shook her head. “It’s temporary. I can’t… explain in full, but there…” she winced from the pain, “there are people… out to get me. They tried to… kill me. I can’t let them know… I lived in such a… vulnerable state. Until they’re caught… I need everyone to think… I died.”

Gumshoe scratched his head. “I really don’t want to lie about this, though…”

“Please,” Lora said. “I need… to live. This is the only… way.”

Gumshoe gritted his teeth, and then turned his radio on. “Mr. Edgeworth, sir, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear, Detective,” Edgeworth’s voice came through the other side. “What’s the situation?”

“It seems that Lora…” Gumshoe looked back down at Lora’s hopeful gaze, “Lora has… has… died.”

#Selfshiptober 2024

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anjuschiffer · 1 year ago

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Do We Dare to Dream? - Chapter 3

are these going to be daily...for now, yeah cuz, why not? :D

P. Tag: @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @elijahcrevan

Tag: @hammalammadamdam

MASTERLIST | PREV | AO3

Jason burst through the office with bloodied knuckles, Ra’s watching the child glare at him as if he had just murdered his best friend…which was not that far from it.

“Where’s Marinette?” He growled, quickly turning to knock down another guard.

“Marinette?” Ra’s asked back, testing the waters.

“Yes, Marinette. Wang Fu’s-”

“Ah yes, the guardian girl.”

“Where is she?” Jason growled, although he fully knew where she was.

But to know of her whereabouts while at the dining hall of all places? At breakfast, of all times? They were just together just a few hours ago!

They were talking about wanting to go to Paris together!

“I sent her on a…personal mission.” Ra’s easily provided, showing Jason a file on his table. Upon picking it up and scanning the case, Jason’s heart plummeted. “A simple retrieval miss-”

“More like a suicide mission!” Jason slammed his hands on the desk. “You know Savage can’t be followed! He kills anyone who even dares to!

“All she has to do is follow the man and take-”

“He is going to kill her.” He gritted, crumbling the file as he curled his fists.

“Only if she lets herself get caught by him.” Ra’s calmly said. “Unless…you don’t think she’ll make it out alive.” Jason let out a shuddering breath.

“This isn’t about whether or not she can. It’s the fact-”

“Jason.” Jason froze, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “I suggest you choose your next words wisely.” Jason felt as Ra’s circled from around his desk to his side, feeling him awfully close to his ear. “After all, this is all your fault.”

“What do-”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about your little encounters with her? That I wouldn’t know about every little thing that happens under my roof? Under my watch?”

Jason swore he felt his heart stop. “I told Marinette I was willing to turn a blind eye if she did this for me and as you can see, she took the deal. So if I were you,” Ra’s made Jason turn to him by grabbing hold of his hair. “I wouldn’t do anything rash until she came back.

After all, it would not take much to make this mission to be her cause of death.”

Jason almost hit the desk once Ra’s let go of him, listening to his retreating footsteps and the slam of a door.

Jason slid to the floor, mustering the courage he needed to keep his tears in, which ended up in vain as one found itself falling, followed by various more a few seconds later.

“Please, be safe…Mari.”

Days passed since Jason last saw Marinette, everyday wondering if she was safe or at the very least alive.

To think Ra’s would make her steal something from Vandal Savage…Savage of all people…

Jason ran his hands through his hair as he sat at the edge of Marinette’s bed.

This was all his fault.

He shouldn’t have-

He let out a scream as he curled into himself, not caring if someone found him.

It was going to be his fault if she never returns. It would be his fault if she-

Jason huffed as he finished screaming, hearing his heart beat loudly in his ears.

No.

He had to…

He had to have hope…

Hope that she will be successful…

Safe…

That she will return…

Because that was all he could do…

He lifted his head, scraping the motivation to get up while his body begged him to stay. That’s when he noticed the red ribbon left on her nightstand.

He walked towards it, ingraining the way the silk felt in his hands as he picked it up, noticing a small silver ladybug embroidered into it.

He gently squeezed it before tying it around his wrist.

That’s right.

This was Marinette he was talking about.

She wouldn’t let this stop her.

She just couldn’t.

She’ll be fine.

She’ll come back.

“So please, come back safe and sound.”

It was a few weeks later when she finally showed up.

“Finally back.” Jason heard Marinette mutter as she threw something on the ground, causing him to quickly get up from her bed.

She was there, wrapped in a soiled cloak but nonetheless here, back in the League.

Within arms reach.

Should he run to her? Apologize? Did she even know the reason why she was sent on that mission? “Could really use-”

“What took you so long?” Jason decided to speak up as he walked to the doorway, causing her to jump. He couldn’t help but smirk, even when his mind was running wild with worry and the thought of just going up to hug her. “Don’t tell me the assignment was too much for you to-”

“If I’m back, that means it wasn’t.” Marinette snapped, wondering why he was in her room, though she had an idea or two. But right now, she just wanted him out of there. She wanted to hurry up and sleep the ringing in her head off.

“Hey, are you-“

“Listen, Jason. I got the job done, I’m here and now, can you do me the favor of getting out of my room? I haven’t had a bath in weeks and I would really-”

“Nobody’s seen you in days.” Jason bluntly stated, grabbing Marinette by her shoulders, missing the way she harshly winced at his grab. “It’s been weeks since we’ve seen-“

“It took a while to get back. Had some problems getting back here without getting caught. After all, I did-”

“Caught?” He narrowed his eyes. “So he really did make you-” Jason huffed. “Why didn’t you-“

“Jason, please.” Marinette stopped herself from yelling, feeling her headache growing worse by the second. “I want to wash myself and go to sleep. So please, leave.” Marinette hissed, wanting to clutch her head. Forget that, her entire body was screaming at her to get some rest.

“What the hell Marinette? You’ve been gone for days and this is how-”

“Would you please stop shouting?” Why was it so hot all of a sudden?

“Shouting? All I’m doing is asking whether or not you’re okay.”

“Okay?” Marinette scoffed, pulling her hair up. “If I’m here, then it means I am. So would you stop with the yelling? And why the hell do you even want to know how I-”

“Because all you ever do is get yourself into trouble and I have to be the one who has clean up after-”

“No one asked you to clean up after me!” Marinette yelled, pushing Jason off of her. “I can handle my own prob-” Blood spurted out of her mouth, Marinette falling to the floor, coughing up the blood that tried to spill out once again.

Jason could only watch as she laid on the floor violently coughing up more blood, her hands clutching her shirt as if that would even help her in the slightest.

He could feel a lump forming in his throat, his throat getting raspier by the second.

He watched as Marinette began to fade from his vision and soon saw his hands lying in a pool of blood, some of it already drying on his fingertips.

He found himself reaching out towards a gate, something ticking somewhere in the distance as he started to notice the boxes around him loom over his body.

“H…elp.” A whisper said, Jason barely able to catch it over his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears. “Hel…p.” They said even more quietly than the first, only then Jason realizing it wasn’t his own voice.

“Marinette.” He found himself saying, or rather whispering back, somehow managing to snap from his daymare.

She came back to his view, Jason’s chest twisting as he saw her reaching out for him.

He dragged his heavy feet over to her, clasping his hand over her own, flinching at how cold they were. Her nails tried to dig into his hand, but failed.

“Ja…son.” She gasped. “Jay.” He didn’t need to be reminded again.

He was about to scoop her up, only to stop himself. Taking out a pocket knife, he quickly tore off the cloak she had on, his heart stopping upon seeing her suit slit open on her back as well on her arms and legs.

Her gashes were festered over what had used to be evenly done stitches.

Dried blood crusted the edges of the slashed clothes, bruises covering her tattered sleeves.

In a heartbeat, Jason scooped her up and ran out her chambers, cursing himself for being so hesitant and blind.

“Move it!” He yelled as he turned corners, almost dropping Marinette as he slipped over his own footing. He winced at the irregular angle of his foot while avoiding to completely fall, but that didn’t matter.

Getting back up, he bit his tongue to forget the jolting pain that coursed through his body as he stood on his injured ankle. He let out a warbling breath as he adjusted Marinette in his arms.

“Just hold a little more Mari. We’re almost there.” He assured her, even though he knew she probably couldn’t hear him.

He bit back a wince as he picked up his pace again, this time hurrying down the stairs that lead to the Pit and even though Jason swore to himself that he would avoid this place at all costs…here he was again.

But he knew that this was the work of the Gods, mocking his resolution.

He knew this was their way of reminding him about his fate…his bad luck…

Shaking those thoughts away, Jason looked at Mari who had gone limp in his arms, but if he listened closely, her breaths were still there, even if they were starting to get longer and softer with each passing one.

Gathering the courage he needed, Jason stepped into the Pit, his body quaking with each step he took deeper into the green waters. Once he was waist high into the pool of murk, Jason looked at Marinette, taking in a deep breath before he let her go.

He watched as her body floated off of his arms, her fingers grazing his own as he stopped himself from grabbing her as she submerged into the water.

He watched with bated breath as her body stayed underwater, Jason watching the surface with every second that passed, watching as the bubbles came to a stop.

Seconds turned into minutes…minutes that never seemed to end.

He felt the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes and when he noticed that, his breaths began to quicken and that lump in his throat that he felt so long ago came back.

He let out a scream as he started to thrash about in the water.

“Work damn it! Hurry up and work! Isn’t that the whole reason you exist? Aren’t you supposed to do miracles? Aren’t you supposed to heal everything and anything? Well? Why aren’t you doing that then?” Jason yelled, coming to a halt when he felt the lump in his throat grow stronger. “Just heal her…please…”

A wail escaped his throat, but he knew better than to try and suppress it. He screamed as he leaned forward, his head coming into close contact with the water, but never exactly touching it.

He didn’t know for how long he ended up screaming, but it was long enough to let him release everything.

When he did eventually lift his head, he noticed that Marinette was still submerged in the water.

He watched the water stand still, not a single bubble riding towards the surface…

So…

Not even the damn Lazarus Pit was able to save her…

Letting a shuddering breath leave him, Jason made his way to retrieve her body, only to back up when she emerged from the water, Marinette gasping for air and clawing at the air in search of something to grasp on.

Jason quickly took hold of her hands and brought her close to him, burying his head into the crook of her neck.

“Ja…son.”

“Don’t speak.”

“Hmm.” Marinette responded, feeling Jason hug her tighter. “Don’t leave…me...”

“I won’t. I’ll stay by your side, no matter what. I’ll make sure nothing ever happens to you again, I promise.”

“Merci…”

Just when things couldn’t get any worse, it happened.

“We’ve been breached!”

“Get to your stations!”

“Mari! Mari!” Jason yelled, getting jostled by the people who ran past him.

Everyone was going out into the court yard to fight off the intruders, but Jason could care less about them. Right now, he only had one person on his mind.

He sprinted past flying arrows, barely managing to dodge the last one.

He made it across the yard, now making his way past halls and more deployed men, until finally making it to Marinette’s room.

Slamming the door open, he felt his heart drop to his stomach as he found her unconscious on the floor.

“Marinette!” He cried, throwing himself into the floor and scooping her up.

She was cold.

He held her closer to his body, wondering if this was why-

“Jay-Jason. I’m alright.” Jason heard her say, quickly lifting his head, only to see the body in his arms still limp.

That’s when he felt a hand on his shoulder. There was Marinette smiling back at him, a faint blush tinting the tips of her ears. “If it managed to trick you, then I’m sure-“

Marinette didn’t expect Jason to pull her into an embrace, wondering what to do when he wouldn’t let go of her. “Hey, hey…I’m alright.”

“But I’m not.” Jason confessed. “I know what death feels like and just the thought of how you might have died in a similar way I did…”

Marinette didn’t pressure him to continue when he stopped, instead returning a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” she hugged him tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know. But then, why did you do it?” He asked as he pulled away.

“We can use this distraction to leave.” Marinette said with resoluteness, her eyes sparkling with fire. Glowing with determination. “We can get out of here and be free.”

He froze at those words. Was she insane? “Jason, we can finally be happy if we seize this opportunity! Isn’t that what we’ve always talked about?

About getting to leave this place and live happily elsewhere?”

Ra’s threat echoed in his mind from the day Mari was sent off to that lethal mission.

“Mari. You know you can’t just expect to leave the League without any consequences. Without them knowing you’re still alive. This,” he gestured to the corpse. “This could fool many, but not Ra’s Al Ghul.

If he ever learns that you’ve made a fool of him, he will hunt you down.”

“Jason. This is the only time we can-”

“Don’t you understand Marinette? He will track you down and personally kill you for playing him.”

“He won’t figure it out if we use this.” Marinette says with a grin on her face, Jason’s eyes widened upon seeing the box he had received so many months ago from Fu now in her hands.

He was pretty sure he had-

“How did you get that?”

“You’re pretty terrible at hiding things. Even a baby could’ve found this.” Her smile fell as she kept staring at the box in her hand. “Although, you forgot that I’ve been trained on everything related to the Miraculi. Especially on how to locate them.”

“Is that-”

“Yes, it’s a Miraculous. While I don’t know why you never told me about it and why it was in your possession, I’ll be using this to pull off my plan.” He watched as she opened the box, pulling out a pair of earrings, watching as they glowed a bright red before it faded out. ”Are you in?”

Jason didn’t know much about the Miraculi, but there was one thing he did know about Marinette. She always found a way to make things go her way.

“I’m in.”

How did Jason forget that hope was a thing that was long dead within the walls of the League?

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice, girl?” Ra’s sneered as he thrusted his sword through Marinette’s back, Jason frozen in place as he watched blood drip from Mari’s mouth.

She sputtered and gagged as the sword was then withdrawn from her body, her face meeting the floor within seconds. She watched as Ra’s dragged Jason away from her, her friend a terrible mess.

Tears ran down his face, baring his teeth against Ra’s as he clawed at him to let him go.

“Stay…safe…Jason…” she found herself saying as she tried to reach for him, only for the world to go black.

Jason watched as Marinette laid in the pool of her own blood, watching as her life drained before his eyes.

Watching her dying off in a similar way as he did…

“Marinette!” He yelled, pulling Ra’s off him, dashing for her only to meet with the ground. He let out a scream as something was dug into his back, feeling it cut into and through his body.

“She is long dead, foolish boy. As she should be for-“

“Get off of me!”

“She became your weakness. Your major flaw to becoming the ultimate-“

“How is a friend a weakness? Is being human so-” Jason yelled, holding in a scream as Ra’s ripped the blade out of him.

“Being human isn’t a weakness, but the emotions that come with being one are.” Ra’s lifted Jason up by his hair, making him face Marinette’s corpse. “This…this is what being emotional gets you. If you want to survive in this world, best learn to get rid of them.

After all,” He let go of Jason, Jason hitting the floor with a loud thud, “there are plans that await you, boy.”

#maribat #league of assassins au #jasonette

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