#I'm just gonna tag the people that people know

[adieutristana]

vanity; jinx x fem! reader

loosely inspired by this fic by @moshuka.

summary; jinx used her looks to flirt her way out of a situation. her girlfriend isn’t happy.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; nsfw, porn w (some) plot, sub!jinx, dom!reader, brat!jinx, mirror sex, rough sex, strap-on use, strap-on referred to as a dick/cock, hair pulling, crying, humiliation ig?, slight degradation, use of the word ‘whore’, size queen jinx, squirting

men and minors dni.

at first, you were worried.

jinx tends to get herself into dangerous situations more often than not, way too often for her own good. it's what she's known for, after all. jinx: the mad bomber. the loose cannon. zaun's princess.

but she has a way of getting herself out of those situations. her reflexes are impeccable, her strength nearly inhuman for someone of her stature. it is inhuman, considering the shimmer coursing through her veins. weapons that she's built herself regularly save her in battle, and most of all, she's got a smartass mouth.

one that usually comes in handy, but clearly not this time.

"jinx," you start. your arms are crossed over your chest, one hip popped. you're trembling in frustration- coming apart at the edges. "i heard you were flirting with some guy who cornered you. i'm gonna be graceful and hear you out."

she bristles, and the girl's breath catches.

"what i do depends on if i like what you have to say."

you'd heard from passersby on the streets gossiping about what jinx had done. nothing stays a secret for long in zaun; there's almost always a witness, someone who can't keep their mouth shut. people love to gossip, and with that, they love to twist the truth.

so you're hoping to janna above that what you'd heard was a simple rumor. jinx being cornered by one of smeech's goons. a new one, a guy seemingly too good for the likes of this line of work. apparently not. he'd threatened jinx, gotten close to her, nearly hurt her. but instead of her usual solution of whipping out her gun and pressing the cold barrel to someone's neck as a warning, she'd flirted.

told the guy that he's young, attractive, promising. he's too good for a business like this. if he'd just leave her alone, she'd let him go without any fuss, and there would be no mess to clean up. maybe they'd even cross paths again someday.

"i didn't mean any of it, toots," her hands are raised in a mock-surrender. "he was ugly, honest!"

"i didn't ask if he was ugly," you bite. you're inching closer to her, until your noses are nearly touching. the tone in your voice tells jinx you're not fucking around- yet that makes this all the more exciting for her. "i asked you to tell me what happened."

"i didn't do anything, just flirted a little. no harm done."

"you have a gun. why didn't you use that?" you push.

jinx huffs, rolling her eyes. it only serves to piss you off even more. "i just wanted to switch it up, yanno? try something new. and it worked, didn't it? didn't have to spill any blood or nothin'. no cleanup."

"so what i heard is true?"

"depends what you heard."

"oh, you-"

that's it. you take jinx's wrist, and just about drag her to her cot. she's giggling all the way, that signature shit-eating grin plastered on her face. you wish there was blood to clean up. although you know nothing happened- jinx wouldn't dream of being unfaithful to you, this feels calculated. like she'd done it on purpose, just to get under your skin. she was probably sitting in her hideout, just waiting for someone to start talking.

you want nothing more than to slap that grin off of her, make her grovel and apologize and make it up to you.

but you won't. with a quick motion, jinx is flung onto her cot. she gasps, but doesn’t move from her sitting position, doesn’t stop fucking grinning.

"come oooon! you're always telling me i'm soooo pretty. i’m like a work of art.” she comes to lazily toss around the end of one of her braids, playing with it the same way she’s playing with you. “maybe i just wanted to use that to my advantage.”

gods damn it.

you come to stand closer to jinx, looming over the girl. she’s still sitting on her cot, nice and pretty. she looks so innocent, so sweet, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she actually was. too bad you do know better. your forefinger and thumb grasp her chin, forcing her to look at you. your thumb lazily traces along her plump bottom lip.

“oh, you’re pretty, alright.” your thumb pushes past her lips, flattening against her tongue. “gorgeous, even. but that doesn’t mean you go around using those looks like a fucking whore.”

jinx would be smiling right now, but her mouth is… occupied, not sucking, not licking at your thumb, but letting you do what you must. you withdraw it as quickly as it was put in, wiping her spit on her bare shoulder.

“you’re all talk,” she gasps. “not gonna do a damn thing about it, are you?”

“do you want me to?”

“sure.”

“do you deserve it?”

“does it matter?”

it’s then that you flip her onto her stomach.

“take those clothes off. get back on the cot- face down, ass up. i’ll be back.”

no time is wasted walking to another platform in her hideout and swiping the shattered mirror from one of her tables, and a strap-on from one of her drawers.

you place the mirror directly in front of jinx’s cot, and to no surprise, jinx is completely bare now. her perfect heart of an ass in the air, pussy nearly glistening in the dim light with her arousal. she’s braced herself on her hands, and she isn’t moving, but you can tell by the way her arousal is already dripping down her inner thighs that she’s eager.

it’s a sight straight out of a porn film. the mad bomber, desperate and wanton. maybe you’ll buy a polaroid camera for next time, really capture the moment.

“ugh, toots, are you just gonna stand there, or are ya gonna fuck me?” she whines, only interrupted by the sound of the harness fastening around your hips.

“you’re not exactly in a place to make demands right now.”

you lean over her, your breasts pushing into the smooth skin of her back and your lips almost touching her ear.

“‘revolver’, if it gets too much.” you whisper.

and with that, the tip pushes past her folds. bright pink and dusted with glitter, about 8.5in and girthy. a large task for a small girl, but jinx insists she can take anything you give her.

“hngh- fuck!” she whines out, already beginning to buckle. you’ve got one hand rested on jinx’s hip, the other trailing down her side- her shoulder, the grooves of her ribs, her tiny waist, until it finds purchase on her other hip and you push into her.

another lewd cry falls from her lips. you’re barely even halfway in, and she’s already panting and moaning so pitifully. maybe another day you would’ve taken pity on jinx, but not after the shit she pulled.

“come on,” you coo. “can’t take it?”

“i didn’t- agh, say that-” she pants. the girl’s form is beginning to tremble, but you don’t waver. you ram the rest of the toy into her hole, which brings a borderline pathetic wail from her. the way her greedy hole is impaled by your cock is a sight you wish you could burn into your mind. if she were on her back, you bet you'd be able to see it from inside her stomach, but that can wait for another time.

“fuck- fuck! too big!”

“too big, huh? should’ve thought about that before you went and threw yourself at some guy.”

you ease the strap out of her, before slamming it back in. positively prying your girlfriend open. you then take one of jinx’s long twin braids in your hands, looping it once around your wrist and yanking. forcing her to look up.

she gasps with the motion, yet somehow, she still has the willpower to defy you. squeezing her eyes shut and grunting. you jerk her braid farther back, jinx hissing at the stinging pain.

“look at yourself.” you demand.

it’s then that you move. a slow pace at first, in, out, in, out. drawing wet squelches from her cunt with every thrust. she’s shaking and thrashing and whining, but you can’t deny the way jinx’s cunt sucks you in, clenches around you. greedy and sopping, as if it was made to take your dick.

“aah, hhhng- oh! oh!”

your pace is quickening, and you can hear the skin of your hips slapping into her ass. jiggling ever so slightly with each movement, but the best thing is the mirror.

there’s multiple images of the scene in the shattered glass. the sight is something right out of a dirty magazine; you pounding jinx’s poor, abused pussy from behind. jinx struggling to support her upper body despite her strength, you tugging at one of her braids and forcing her to look directly at her reflection. small tits bouncing with each thrust, plump lips open and the slightest bit of drool dribbling down her chin.

“do you see it?” you pant, the base of the toy nudging your clit with each thrust. “the- hah, way you look right now? while i’m fuckin’ you?”

“yes,” she breathes out, her voice a high shrill. her strength is starting to fail her, shaking on her arms and eventually dropping down to her elbows to support herself. a smirk tugs at your lips at the sight, seeing jinx being broken down so quickly. she brought this on herself, really.

"f-fuck, you look a mess," snapping your hips against jinx's, pathetic whimpers and whines falling from parted lips like a stream. "feels good, huh?"

"feels- hmmph, so good!" she groans. her body is being forced forward and back ever so slightly with each motion, and to see herself being fucked in real time is both thrilling and downright humiliating. jinx never knew this is what she looked like, so wrecked and sloppy, but she can't be bothered to care right now. all she can care about is you fucking into her relentlessly.

arousal dripping down her inner thighs, a stinging sensation in her scalp while you hold onto her hair. she knew you'd get jealous if she flirted- expected a thorough spanking, maybe, or for you to sit on her face and use her mouth until you were satisfied. never did jinx think you'd force her into a front-row seat to her own punishment.

“you’re not gonna do that again- mm,” you groan, base rubbing against you so right. “are you? hngg- tell me you won’t.”

“i won’t, i won’t! unghh, i’m sorry!”

she nearly screams out. the pleasure is mounting, it’s painful, she’s being stretched open and almost split down the middle. but it’s so fucking delicious, the feeling of you fucking her so thoroughly. so deeply. tears are beginning to well in her eyes, her mascara already running down her cheeks. it’s filthy. the tip of the plastic dick kisses her cervix with each thrust, coated in sleek juices.

"oh- oh, please," she breathes out. her bangs are sticking to the thin sheen on her forehead, her breaths coming out in ragged gasps. "pleasepleaseplease-"

there it is. jinx is close, that much is obvious from her flushed expression, her straining against your grip, trying to push her hips back onto your cock like some needy slut. your own climax is building, but you want- need to see jinx get there first.

you reach underneath her with your free hand and press against her neglected clit, which draws a high-pitched squeal from jinx. you revel in the sound. right now, it’s as if jinx is an instrument, fine-tuned for your playing. making these beautiful, obscene sounds.

you can see hot tears running down her face in the mirror, lips parted and the pale expanse of her neck bared. her lipstick is smeared from the dribble running down her chin, and thin black streaks run down her cheeks.

“i’m- i’m gonna-!”

the girl doesn’t have time to finish her sentence before she squirts over your hand and the cot beneath her- coating you in light pink. she’s boneless, panting beneath you, collapsing as soon as you pull out of her and release her braid. she can’t muster up any words, she’s spent- laid on her stomach, sniffling and simply trying to breathe.

maybe next time, she won’t be so fucking vain.

[prettyfilmz]

SWEET LIKE CANDY 4 • JEY USO

author's note: hello my loves! we have made it to part four🫨 I am not gonna lie to you...this ending is gonna hurt(i'm sorry!☹️) but I promise you it will be worth it for part five, happy reading and I hope you enjoy💗

synopsis: in which a celebration at the strip club leads to the beginning of a love affair between a wrestler and a dancer.

pairing: jey uso x black fem!oc (cherise aka candy)

tags: 18+(MDNI), slow burn, flirty banter, fluffy lovey dovey shit, mentions of death, mention of miscarriages, talks of past predatory behaviors and grooming, use of the n word, teasing, kissing, lots of touching, lotsssss of dirty talk, pussy eating, jey is a certified munch ™, daddy kink, morning sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys!), missionary, backshots, biting, fingering, spanking, multiple orgasms, daddy kink, pet names ( pretty girl, baby, mama, baby girl ), slow, sensual, and rough sex, squirting, creampie, aftercare, heavy angst at the end.

word count: 7k words (buckle up y'all🤫)

read part one here!

read part two here!

read part three here!

soundtrack playlist

Cherise stretched under the warm weight of her blanket, her body still heavy with sleep, her limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets that smelled faintly like vanilla and something masculine. Something like…

Jey.

She blinked against the morning sun filtering through her blinds,  wincing at the delicious soreness between her thighs. The memories of the night before rushed back all at once—his hands gripping her waist, his deep, filthy groans in her ear, the way he held her after, like he didn’t wanna let her go.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a pleasurable throb still lingering between them from the way he’d taken her apart.

Damn.

A small, satisfied smile started to creep onto her lips as she reached out across the bed…only to find his side empty.

Cold.

The smile faded instantly.

Of course.

Cherise exhaled, sinking back into the pillows as disappointment settled in her stomach. She should’ve known better, should’ve expected this. Jey had his life, his own world full of championship belts, WrestleMania main events, and people screaming his name in sold-out arenas. He wasn’t about to change that for some stripper he met in a club.

And yet…

She bit her lip, staring at the empty space beside her, willing herself to accept it for what it was.

A good night. A great night even. Nothing more.

She could handle that.

Probably.

With a soft sigh, she rolled onto her side, fingers mindlessly smoothing over the fabric of the sheets then suddenly, the faint sound of something clinking in the other room made her freeze.

Her brows furrowed.

“What the hell?” she muttered to herself. Before she could even sit up, the bedroom door swung open, and there he was.

Jey standing in her doorway holding a breakfast tray. Shirtless, grey sweatpants on, tattoos on full display, chains sparkling around his neck in the morning light like he belonged in a damn perfume ad.

He grinned when he saw her. That lazy, cocky grin that made her stomach flip in the most annoying way.

“Mornin’, mama,” he drawled, stepping inside like he hadn’t just nearly given her a damn heart attack. “You sleep good?”

Cherise blinked, her brain still trying to process what was happening.  “You’re… still here?” Jey smirked, setting the tray down on the nightstand before climbing back into bed, stretching out like he owned the place. “Damn, ma. That how you greet a man who made you breakfast?”

She shot him a look, but the warmth spreading through her chest was undeniable.  “…You made breakfast?”

“Hell yeah. I ain’t no scrub, baby.” He tapped the tray. “Eggs, turkey bacon, French toast, lil’ fruit on the side ‘cause I know you tryna be healthy and shit. I even found some syrup in your cabinet, so go ‘head and give me my props.”

Cherise huffed, shaking her head, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “That’s… really sweet, actually.”

Jey’s grin widened, eye crinkling.  “I know.”

She rolled her eyes, sitting up, the sheet slipping slightly off her shoulders as she reached for the tray. Jey’s gaze dipped for half a second on her shirt covered torso before he licked his lips and focused back on her face.

“Mmm, baby, you gon’ have me forgettin’ about this food real quick…”

Cherise laughed, playfully shoving at his shoulder before picking up a fork.  “Eat some damn breakfast, Joshua.”

Jey smirked but grabbed his own fork, stealing a piece of bacon off her plate like a menace.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jey occasionally stealing more of her food while she pretended not to care (but she cared, the audacity.).

Then, out of nowhere, he spoke.

“So, tell me somethin’ real, baby girl.”

Cherise glanced up mid-bite. “Like what?”

Jey tilted his head, watching her. “Like you. Who really is Cherise?”

She hesitated, stabbing at a piece of fruit with her fork. “You already know me.”

“Not really,” Jey murmured, chewing a piece of bacon. "You don’t talk much about you."

Cherise raised a brow. "I talk plenty."

"Nah," he shook his head. "You talk around shit. I be tellin’ you everything, but you always keepin’ me at arm’s length."

Cherise bit her lip.

She didn’t talk about herself much. Wasn’t used to people caring enough to ask. But something about how Jey gave his undivided attention to her, seeing her for who she is outside of the fantasy she created..he made it hard for her to hide.

Then, between bites, he asked “What made you wanna be a nurse, baby?”

Cherise hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him.  It was just…no one had asked in a while. No one had cared to ask.

She exhaled. “My mom.”

Jey tilted his head.

“She died giving birth to me,” Cherise said quietly, rolling her fork between her fingers. “Preeclampsia. The doctors didn’t catch it early enough.”

Jey stilled, setting his plate down.  “Damn, baby…I’m so sorry.”

Cherise managed a small smile. “She knew it was a risk, though. She had a few miscarriages before me, but I guess she thought she’d be okay. She wasn’t. That’s…part of why I became a nurse. I always wanted to help women, especially Black women get better care. Too many babies goin’ home without their mama y’know?”

Jey was silent, watching her carefully, his fingers tracing idle circles into her thigh. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush her. Just let her talk.

“She wrote letters to me. One for each birthday up to twenty-one.  Always felt like she was still with me somehow.”

He nodded solemnly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.  “That's beautiful. That’s why you got that soft heart under all that tough girl shit, huh?”

She snorted, nudging him. “Hush. Anyway, her favorite craving was cherries when she was pregnant. Ate ‘em like crazy. So she named me Cherise. It’s French for cherry.”

Jey smiled softly. “That’s cute. Fits you, too.”

“Yeah? How?”

He smirked playfully, fingertips drifting lower down her spine. “Sweet, but a lil tart when you wanna be.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Boy, bye.”

He chuckled, then turned serious again.  “So your pops…?”

“Died when I graduated high school,” she murmured softly.  “Just been me since. Had a boyfriend years ago but I had to end it. Been navigatin’ the world alone for a minute.”

Jey shook his head. "Not no more, baby girl."

She looked at him then, eyes locking with his, her heart stupidly skipping a beat.

"Jey-“

"Nah." His voice was firm. "I mean that shit. You ain’t alone no more, mama. I gotchu, you hear me?"

Cherise pressed her lips together, trying not to let that get to her. But damn it…it did.

Jey then leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head.  “Aight, my turn. What you wanna know?”

Cherise tapped her chin, smirking. “If you weren’t wrestling, what would you be doing?”

Jey didn’t even hesitate.  “Easy, football coach.”

Her brows lifted.  “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Played linebacker in college. I was good, too.  Almost went pro, but…fucked up my shoulder.” He shrugged.  “Still love the game, though. Wouldn’t mind coachin’ one day when I retire.”

Cherise hummed, watching him. “I can see that. You got that whole ‘Coach Carter’ vibe going on.”

Jey smirked. “Oh, you peeped that, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Boy, shut up.”

Jey chuckled, then his gaze dipped back to her lips. “Mmm…you got work or school today?”

Cherise blinked. “I’m off, why?”

Before she could finish, Jey laid her down on her back, his body pressing her into the mattress, his lips trailing hot kisses down her throat.

“‘Cause I need you again, baby,” he murmured against her skin.

Her breath hitched.  “Boy—”

His mouth was on hers before she could even get another smart remark out, swallowing whatever little control she thought she had.  He kissed her deep, slow, but possessive, like he was trying to brand her with every slide of his tongue, every bite of her lips.

Cherise whimpered into his mouth, fingers threading into the short curls at the nape of his neck, pulling just enough to make him groan against her lips.

"Mm, you like when I kiss you like that, huh?" Jey smirked against her mouth, his voice low, taunting, his hands sliding up to cup her jaw, tilting her face just the way he wanted.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Her body did all the talking.

She was already soft and pliant beneath him, her thighs spreading just a little more on their own, her back arching when he slid his hands down her waist, gripping the soft curve of her hips.

Jey chuckled darkly.  "Mmm, I love that shit," he murmured, his lips trailing down her jaw, slow, teasing, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her throat.  "You talk all that shit, but soon as I touch you, you foldin’ on me, huh?"

Cherise hated how much she liked the way he was playing with her.

"I ain’t foldin'," she muttered, but her voice was softer now, breathier, already betraying her.

Jey hummed, amused, his tongue flicking out against her pulse before biting down, hard enough to make her whimper.

"Nah?" His hand slipped between her thighs, fingers brushing over the damp heat of her panties, feeling the warmth that was already seeping through the fabric.  "So what’s this, then, huh? Why you already drippin’ on me, pretty girl?"

Cherise’s breath hitched.  "Jey-“

"Nah, tell me." His lips dragged down her collarbone, slow, teasing, his fingers just barely pressing against her through the thin lace. "You get wet for me that fast, baby?"

She bit her lip, refusing to give him that satisfaction.

Jey exhaled a quiet laugh, knowing she was fighting it, knowing she was stubborn.  But she was already squirming, her body betraying her, her hips subtly rolling into his teasing touch.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice smug. "Go ‘head, open up for me, baby."

Cherise sighed through her nose, hating herself for listening to him.

But she let her thighs part a little more.

Jey smirked against her skin. “Good girl."

Before she could say something smart, he was gone.

Sliding down, settling between her legs, dragging her panties down slow.

"Mmm, damn, mama…"

Cherise swore her whole body clenched at the way his voice dropped, dark and heavy with heat, his gaze locked between her thighs like she was the best thing he’d ever seen.

Jey licked his lips, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading them even wider. "Shit, baby girl… look at you," he murmured, running a thumb over her slick folds. "All this for me?"

Cherise whimpered, her hips jerking at the first press of his fingers.

Jey groaned.  "Ohhh, baby…" He dragged a finger through the mess between her thighs, slow, teasing, coating his fingertips before pressing them against her clit. "Look how fuckin’ wet you are, damn."

Cherise shuddered..“Stop playin’ Jey c’mon…”

"Shhh, mama. I got you," he hushed her. "Lemme take care of you, baby girl."

And then he lowered his mouth on her. A sharp, shattering gasp ripped from Cherise’s throat the second his tongue flattened against her clit, licking slow, deliberate, his grip on her thighs tightening.

"Ohhh, fuck..”

Jey hummed into her, sending vibrations straight through her. “Mmm, yeah, there we go, baby." He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world. “Can’t get over how sweet this lil’ pussy is.”

Cherise couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe even.

Her thighs trembled against his broad shoulders as his tongue moved with expert precision flicking, swirling, sucking, teasing the swollen bundle of nerves until her stomach tightened and her breath hitched.

Jey groaned against her, devouring her like a man starved, his tongue dipping lower, fucking into her tight hole slowly before dragging back up to her clit.

"J-Jey—"

"Mmm, that’s right, baby, say my name." He gripped her thighs, pulling her even closer to his mouth. "Let me hear you, pretty girl."

Cherise whimpered, her head tipping back against the pillows. "Oh my God…”

"Mmm, yeah, you like that, huh?" He chuckled darkly, his fingers replacing his tongue, sliding into her pussy, curling just right against that spot that made her back arch.

"Ohhh, fuck—fuck—Jey, I’m gonna—“

"Go ‘head, mama," he groaned, his lips wrapping around her clit again, sucking just hard enough to push her over the edge. "Lemme feel you cum for me, baby."

Cherise snapped.

Her whole body tensed, her thighs shaking, her mouth parting in a breathless cry as waves of pleasure crashed through her.

Jey groaned, feeling the way she squeezed around his fingers, the way she soaked his hand.  "Ohhh, that’s it, baby girl, look at you… So fuckin’ pretty when you cum."

Cherise twitched, her entire body buzzing, her fingers tangled tight in his curls.

Jey sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like the devil himself.

"Mmm, damn, mama…" He kissed her inner thigh, voice thick and lazy.  "You taste even better than I remember."

Cherise exhaled shakily, blinking up at the ceiling, barely processing what the fuck just happened.

Jey crawled back up her body, his hands pinned to her thighs, his hard, heavy length pressing against her, teasing, waiting.

"You ready for me, baby?"

Cherise nods eagerly.

Jey smirked, his lips brushing hers. ”Gimme words… you ready, mama?"

Cherise swallowed hard, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Mhm."

Jey exhaled a soft chuckle, sliding slowly inside her, stretching her open inch by inch. "Fuck, baby…" 

"Ohhh, fuck—" Cherise’s nails dug into Jey’s broad shoulders, her breath stuttering as he sank into her slow, inch by inch, stretching her out in a way that had her legs trembling around his waist.

Jey groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder, his fingers tightening around the plush curves of her hips. "Mmm, shit, mama… You feel that? You feel how deep I am?"

Cherise’s lips parted, but no sound came out, just a breathy whimper, her mind hazy from the pressure, the way he was spreading her open, filling her too good.

"Mmm, yeah…" Jey shuddered, his abs flexing as he rolled his hips forward, burying himself completely inside her. "Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby… all this dick, huh?"

And she sure did take him good. 

She felt every pulsing, throbbing inch of his cock stretching her walls, pressing into her so deep that she swore she could feel him in her damn stomach.

Cherise whimpered, her head tilting back against the pillows.  “J-Jey..”

"Shhh…" Jey pressed a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth, pulling back just slightly, only to thrust back in slow, deliberate. "I got you, baby girl. Just relax and lemme feel you.”

He rolled his hips slow, deep, grinding into her, making sure she felt every inch, making sure she took it.

Cherise’s breath hitched.  "Ohhh my God—"

Jey chuckled darkly, lifting his head to watch her.  "Mmm, you talkin’ to Him, but I’m the one blessin’ you right now, pretty girl."

Her cheeks burned, but she had no smart comeback—not when he was stroking into her like that.

"You know what’s crazy, mama?" he murmured, his voice smooth and taunting. "You act all tough, all independent… but soon as I get up in this lil’ pussy, you turn into my good lil’ girl, huh?"

Cherise whimpered, her breath coming out in soft, needy gasps.  “S-shut up..”

Jey smirked, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her throat. "Nah, baby, you love that shit, huh?You like when Daddy talk to you like this? Like when I tell you how good you takin’ me?” 

"J-Jey—"

"That’s right." He pressed a kiss to her jaw, his teeth grazing her skin.  "Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you say my name, baby girl."

Cherise couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do shit but take it as Jey moved above her, his body pressed so close, his weight anchoring her to the bed.

"Ohhh, fuck—" she gasped, gripping his biceps as he pulled back, leaving only the thick tip of him inside her, and snapped his hips hard, the sudden force making her moan loud and sharp.

"Mmm, yeah, there we go…" Jey grinned, his fingers gripping her waist, holding her still so she could feel every inch as he set a slow, deep rhythm. "You like that, baby? You like when I fuck you just like this?"

Cherise could barely form words just desperate, breathy whimpers, her body trembling with each slow, heavy thrust.

Jey groaned.  "Damn, baby girl, you fuckin’ squeezin’ me…" His jaw clenched, his pace faltering for half a second as he felt the way her walls clenched tight around him. "Shit, you tryna make me nut already?"

Cherise whimpered, her head spinning from the stretch, the pressure, the overwhelming pleasure building between her thighs.  "Jey, I—"

"Ohhh, baby…" He groaned, gripping her waist, his pace turning rougher, deeper, his hips snapping into hers, pushing her higher “and higher. You ‘bout to cum for me, huh?"

“Yesss Daddy, fuck—“

"Go ‘head, baby girl," he murmured, his thumb pressing right against her swollen clit, circling slow, knowing exactly what it would do to her.  "Lemme feel it.  Cum all on this dick, mama."

Cherise snapped.

Her whole body tensed, pleasure crashing through her like a wave, her back arching, her mouth parting in a wrecked, breathless cry.

"Ohhh, fuck—fuck—fuck!"

Jey groaned, feeling the way she clenched up around him, the way she soaked him, dripping down his thighs, leaving a messy, filthy wet spot beneath them.

"Mmm, that’s my girl," he murmured, gripping her chin, tilting her face up so she could see him.  "Look at me, baby."

Cherise barely had the strength to open her eyes, but when she did…The way he looked at her with such admiration, sweet brown eyes shining down on hers with lust , made her body shudder.

Jey smirked, his lips brushing hers, teasing, taunting.  "Yeah, that’s right, mama.  You feelin’ good now, huh?"

Cherise nodded, her body shaking beneath him.  "Mhm…"

"Mmm…" Jey smirked, loving the way she was already falling apart under him. "That’s cute, mama.  But we ain’t done yet."

Before she could even process what he meant, Jey sat back on his heels, grabbing her thighs and flipping her onto her stomach. Cherise gasped, her cheek pressing into the pillows as he hauled her hips up, angling her exactly how he wanted.

"Mmm, there we go…" Jey ran his hands over her ass, squeezing, gripping, spreading her open before lining himself back up. "You gon’ take this dick just like that, huh, baby?"

Cherise whimpered, pressing her face into the sheets.  “Yes Daddy..”

"Uh-uh." Jey smirked, gripping the back of her neck, forcing her to lift her head. "Keep that pretty lil’ face up for me, mama. Lemme see you."

He tapped the head of his cock against her sensitive folds gaining a few whines from her, then he pressed back inside her.

"Ohhh, fuck Daddy!”  Cherise’s entire body trembled as Jey filled her up again, the new angle making it deeper, making her feel every inch of him.

"Mmm, yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about, baby…" Jey groaned, gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he started to move—slow at first, long, deep strokes that made her thighs shake.

“P-please…“ She mewled softly, hips bucking from overstimulation at her previous orgasms.

"Uh-huh, I know, baby." His free hand smacked her ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt straight to her clit. "I know you sensitive now, huh?  This what you needed, baby girl?"

Cherise whimpered, her body arching back into him.  "Mmhmm…"

"Mmm, that’s right…" He grinned, rubbing over the spot he just slapped, his fingers trailing up her spine.  "Takin’ it so fuckin’ good, mama. This my pussy now, huh?"

Cherise’s breath hitched.

And then he slapped her ass again.

"Answer me, baby."

"Y-yeah fuck! Yes, Jey it’s yours!”

“Damn right."

Jey’s movements turned rougher, his hips snapping against hers, deep and unrelenting, his thick cock dragging against her most sensitive spots, making her whimper with every stroke.

"Mmm, I love this shit, baby girl…" His voice was low, dark, husky.  "Love watchin’ you take this dick. Love hearin’ you sing for me, mama."

"Ohhh fuck,” Cherise gasped, her fingers gripping the sheets as heat coiled tight in her stomach.  "J-Jey, I’m gonna—“

"Mmm, I know, baby girl." He snapped his hips harder, his grip tightening on her waist. "Gon’ give me another one, huh? Gon’ make another mess for me, honey?”

Cherise cried out, her entire body clenching up as the pleasure exploded inside her, her thighs shaking as she came hard, gushing around him.

Jey groaned, feeling the way she soaked his dick, the way she clamped around him.  "Ohhh, fuck, baby…"

His hips stuttered, his rhythm turning erratic as his own release slammed into him.  "Shit baby, you gon’ take this nut, baby, fuck—"

With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning loud as he filled her up, his arms wrapped around her waist, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.

"Mmm, fuck, baby girl…"

Cherise’s body trembled, her breath shaky, her limbs weak.

Jey chuckled softly, pressing lazy kisses to her shoulder.  "Yeah…it’s a good morning now huh, mama?”

Cherise exhaled, her lips curving into a tired smirk.  "Guess so."

♡

Jey should’ve been gone thirty minutes ago.

His phone had vibrated on the nightstand twice, his lock screen lighting up with a text from Jimmy talking about, “Uce, where the fuck you at? You got training.”

But Jey?

Jey was still cozied up in Cherise’s bed.

Still tangled in her sheets, one arm lazily draped around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck like he wasn’t supposed to be halfway across town by now.

Cherise sighed, running her fingers through his curls.  "Joshua…"

Jey hummed, lips pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder.  "Mmm?"

"Ain’t you late?" she teased, her voice still groggy from earlier events, still soft from everything they’d just done.

Jey smirked against her skin, nuzzling closer, pulling her body back against his chest.  "I’on care."

Cherise rolled her eyes.  “Hunter gon’ care when you walk in there late as hell, smellin’ like me."

Jey chuckled, his lips trailing up her neck, slow, teasing.  "And what if I like smellin’ like you, baby?"

Cherise’s stomach flipped.

She bit back a smile, shaking her head. “Boy, get up and shower.”

"Mm-mm." Jey tightened his grip. "I think I like it right here, mama."

Cherise sighed, but she didn’t move, didn’t try to push him off.

Because if she was being honest?

She liked it too.

Liked how warm he was. How comfortable this felt.

Jey sighed against her skin, pressing one last kiss to her shoulder before finally rolling onto his back, stretching with a deep groan.  "Damn, baby girl… you really tryna kick me out?"

"I ain’t kickin’ you out." Cherise smirked, propping herself up on one elbow.  "I’m just reminding you that you a whole WWE superstar and you got shit to do."

Jey grinned, reaching over to smack her ass, his fingers squeezing deep into the plush curve of her thigh. "Mmm, you right… but damn, you really got me tryna call out today."

Cherise laughed, pushing at his chest. "Go to work, Jey."

"Aight, aight…" He finally sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching again before standing.

Cherise immediately missed the warmth of him.

She watched as he padded toward the bathroom, completely naked, stretching his muscles with a lazy yawn.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. "Thick ass…"

Jey heard that.

He smirked over his shoulder, flexing just a little as he disappeared into the bathroom. "I know you watchin’, mama."

Cherise huffed, rolling her eyes.  "Boy, shut up."

♡

Jey stood at the front door, finally dressed, his duffle bag tucked under one arm. Cherise leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying not to look like she was already missing him.

Jey tilted his head, his eyes roaming over her, lazy, warm, teasing.  "Damn, baby, why you lookin’ at me like you mad?"

Cherise rolled her eyes.  "I’m not mad."

Jey smirked, stepping closer, his fingers tilting her chin up. "Mmm, you mad I gotta leave, huh?"

"Boy, please."

"Awww, look at you, baby girl…" He leaned down, nuzzling her cheek.  "You catchin’ feelings for me?"

Cherise pushed at his chest, laughing.  "Joshua, if you don’t get the fuck out my apartment…”

Jey chuckled, but his hands didn’t leave her hips. “Say you gon’ miss me, baby girl."

Cherise lifted a brow. "You that desperate for validation?"

Jey grinned, making her heart skip a beat. "Ain’t nothin’ desperate ‘bout it, mama.  I just like hearin’ you say it."

Cherise sighed dramatically, shaking her head.  "Fine." She grabbed his keys and tossed them for him to catch  "I’m gon’ miss you."

Jey caught the key with one hand, placing them in his pocket.  "Damn, that was real unenthusiastic, baby."

Cherise smirked. "Want me to write it in a love letter?"

"Nah, just say it nice for me, baby girl." Jey stepped closer, his lips brushing her jaw, his voice dropping to that slow, deep rasp.  "Say it real sweet, mama."

Cherise shivered, biting her lip.

Jey smirked, sensing her resolve melting.

"Mmm, yeah, there it go." He chuckled, low, smug. "You gon’ miss me, huh?"

Cherise sighed, knowing she lost this round. "Yeah, Jey. I’m gon’ miss you."

Jey grinned, pressing his lips to her forehead.  "That’s what I like to hear, baby girl."

She rolled her eyes, but her stomach flipped.

Jey stepped back, adjusting his duffle bag, glancing down at her one last time.  "You be good, aight?"

Cherise smirked.  "I ain’t makin’ no promises."

Jey exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head.  "That’s my girl."

And then he finally stepped out the door.

Cherise watched him go, arms still crossed, fighting the little smile pulling at her lips.

Then she glanced at the couch.

Where his hoodie wasn’t.

She blinked.

…Did she just—

Her stomach flipped.

She turned quickly, grabbing the hoodie from where she definitely hid it behind her back, clutching the thick, warm fabric to her chest.

Her lips twitched.

"Oh well."

Jey could worry about it later.

Cherise sighed as she finally shut the door, pressing her back against it.

Her body still buzzed from Jey’s touch, from the way he had looked at her before he left, from the way he kissed her forehead like she was his—like he would be back.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she pushed off the door, running a hand through her braids.

She needed to clean up.  Maybe take another shower. Definitely eat again after the way Jey had worked her out—

Her eyes landed on the coffee table.

And she stopped.

Her books.

Her notes.

Her pens.

All of it was… organized.

Neatly stacked, everything in place, her color-coded highlighters lined up in a perfect little row.

Her heart skipped.

Because she knew she hadn’t done that.

Cherise slowly stepped toward the table, fingertips grazing the newly arranged pages.

Jey had done this.

Somewhere between ruining her and making her breakfast, he had organized her damn study materials.

She swallowed, blinking down at the neatly stacked notebooks.

She didn’t know why that made her chest feel so… warm.

So full.

It was just a small thing.

But it wasn’t.

Because nobody ever took care of her like that.

Nobody ever stuck around long enough to.

Cherise exhaled, dropping onto the couch, her legs curled beneath her as she finally let herself smile.

And then she reached for her phone.

She had one person she needed to call.

She curled up on the couch, still wrapped in Jey’s hoodie, pulled the thick fabric over her bare thighs, and tapped Trinity’s contact.

The phone barely rang twice before Trin picked up.

“Uh-uh, girl don’t even start."

Cherise blinked, her lips parting.  "Huh?"

"I know that ‘I just got my shit rocked’ voice when I hear it." Trinity’s tone was smug as hell.  "And you sound real damn relaxed, sis. What, Jey put you to sleep?"

Cherise groaned, pressing the phone to her forehead.  "Why do you know my life?"

"‘Cause I know you," Trinity cackled. "Now spill, Cher. Did he put it down or did he put it down?"

Cherise sighed dramatically, a slow, lazy grin creeping across her face.  "Girl."

"Oh, it was like that?!" Trinity gasped, her voice full of amusement.

"Like that," Cherise confirmed, shaking her head.  "I can still feel him, Trin."

“Well then-“ Trinity cackled. "Not my girl walkin’ funny. Jey did not lay you out like that!"

"He did, though!" Cherise buried her face in Jey’s hoodie, muffling a groan. "And then this man had the audacity to cook me breakfast, like he wasn’t just rearranging my spine six hours ago."

"Not the full boyfriend experience!" Trinity squealed, the sound of something clattering in the background.  "Damn! I knew he was feelin’ you, but that’s some real husband behavior."

Cherise bit her lip, stomach flipping.  "You think so?"

"Girl, yes!" Trinity scoffed.  "You think Jey cookin’ breakfast for everybody he smashin’? Nah, sis. You different."

Cherise felt warmth bloom in her chest, but she quickly shook it off, rolling her eyes. "You say that, but this man still play too much."

"Oh, what he do now?"

"Girl, tell me why I was dead ass thinking he dipped before I woke up?" Cherise huffed.  "I reached over, and his side of the bed was empty, and I was like, ‘Welp, I knew what it was.’ But then he walked in with a whole ass breakfast tray like some kinda domesticated Samoan husband."

"Bitch, I know you was ready to be sick!" Trinity cackled.

"I was," Cherise admitted, groaning.  "Like, I was really tryna play it cool in my head, but deep down I was hurt, Trin. Thought he hit me with the ‘Aight, I’mma head out’ after all that."

"See, that’s how I know you like him!"

"I didn’t say all that—"

"Girl, shut up!  You don’t gotta say it!  It’s in your voice!  The way you was feelin’ when you thought he left?  The way you just admitted you was gonna accept it, but deep down you didn’t want to?"

Cherise was quiet.

"Yeah. That’s what I thought," Trinity said smugly.

Cherise groaned again, tugging the hoodie tighter around her.  "I hate when you’re right."

"Mmm-hmm. And I be right a lot."

"Don’t hype yourself up, damn."

Trinity laughed. "Nah, but for real, Cher… You think this could be somethin’?"

Cherise chewed her bottom lip, staring at the ceiling. "I don’t even know, Trin."

"Why not?"

"‘Cause what if I get caught up in it?" Cherise exhaled, her voice quieter now.  "What if I start really feelin’ him, and then he just… disappears?"

"Aht aht, see—" Trinity clicked her tongue. "You do that every time, Cherise.  You don’t even let yourself have shit ‘cause you always think it’s gon’ get taken away."

"And has it not?" Cherise challenged, her voice sharper than she intended.  "Trin, every time I start trusting somebody, every time I let myself think maybe… they prove me right.  People leave."

A beat of silence.

Then, Trinity sighed.  "I get it, Cher. I really do. But girl… what if he don’t?"

Cherise’s chest tightened.

She wanted to believe that.

She wanted to believe Jey was different.

But did she really want to risk being wrong?

"I dunno, Trin," she murmured.  "I don’t wanna overthink it."

"Then don’t," Trinity said simply.  "Just feel it. Enjoy it. And if it turns into somethin’ real, then it was meant to."

Cherise sighed, running a hand down her face.  "I hate that you make sense."

"I know," Trinity teased.  "Now, tell me somethin’—"

"Hmm?"

"You kept his hoodie, or nah?"

Cherise smirked, gripping the thick fabric in her lap. "Oh, this mine now.  He can worry about it later."

"Mmm-hmm," Trinity chuckled.  "That’s what I thought."

They both laughed, the tension slipping away, the easy comfort of best friends filling the silence.

But then—

Knock, knock, knock.

Cherise turned toward the door, her brows furrowing.

"Trin, lemme call you back I think my scrubs got delivered.”

“Okay girl, talk to you later.”

She went to open her door and was met with what could be described as a splash of ice cold water.

Cherise felt the blood drain from her face.

Her stomach twisted, something filled with disgust creeping up her spine as she stared at the man standing in her doorway.

Her ex.

Tremaine.

The same man who once whispered sweet nothings in her ear, who told her he had her back, that he’d take care of her—until she realized she was nothing more than a profit to him.

The same man who pushed her into a world she never wanted to be a part of.

The same man who stole everything from her.

And now he had the audacity to show up here, smirking like he belonged.

"Damn," Tremaine drawled, his dark eyes sweeping over her lazily.  "You ain't even gon' say hi?"

Cherise’s grip on the doorknob tightened.  "What the fuck are you doing here, Tremaine?”

His smirk widened, like he was amused by her hostility.  "Damn, that’s how you greet your man? What happened to all that sweetness, Candy?"

Cherise flinched.

That name.

She hated it. Hated how he said it, hated how he was the reason it existed in the first place.

She never wanted to be Candy.

Not at first.

Not when she was young, broke, struggling, with no parents doing whatever she had to do to make ends meet. It was his idea. Tremaine was the one who planted the seed in her head, who fed her lines about how stripping was empowerment, how she’d be making her own money, how she could do it her way.

But it was never really her way.

Not when he controlled her schedule.

Not when he took his cut of her money like she owed him.

Not when he ambushed her at his boy’s bachelor party, threw her on stage like she was some kinda party trick.

That night? That was the night something inside her snapped. The way they all watched her, laughing, cheering, grabbing. The way Tremaine sat back and let it happen, enjoyed it. The way she realized..he never cared about her at all. And him running off with all of the money she made, that covered all of her semesters of school, truly shown the extent of how predatory he was towards her. 

"Don’t call me that," she spat, her jaw clenching. "You lost that privilege a long time ago."

Tremaine chuckled, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. "Lost it?  Shit, girl, I gave you that name. And from what I heard, you still usin’ it."

Cherise swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palms.

Fuck him.

"You still ain’t answer me," she said coldly. "What the fuck are you doing at my door?"

Tremaine tilted his head, studying her. "Just checkin’ in on you, baby."

She laughed sharp, humorless.  "Checkin’ in? Like you give a fuck?"

Tremaine clicked his tongue.  "Damn. You really that bitter over old shit?"

That hit something in her, white-hot anger bubbling up in her chest.

"Old shit?" she repeated, her voice deadly quiet. "Oh, you mean when you—"

She caught herself, stopped before she could say it.

She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of dragging her into old wounds.

But Tremaine saw it—the flicker of rage behind her eyes. And he grinned like he won something.

"Relax, ma," he said smoothly. "Ain’t gotta act so cold.  I just wanted to see how you was holdin’ up. Heard you been busy… entertainin’."

Cherise’s stomach twisted.

There it was.

This wasn’t some friendly check-in.  He came here because he knew.

Somebody had been watching.

Somebody had told him about her and Jey.

And now he was here to fuck with her.

"What do you want, Tremaine?" she asked, her voice edged with exhaustion.

He smirked.  "Ain’t about what I want, shorty.  I just think you need to be careful. Dudes like that? Wrestlers?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "They ain’t built for you. He gon’ chew you up and spit you out just like all the other ones."

Cherise’s heart clenched, but she didn’t let it show. "You don’t know shit about him."

At all. 

The way he looked at her. The way he touched her. The way he cleaned her damn table like he was already invested in her success. The way he listened to her. The way he called her by her name, not the one some man had chosen for her.

He had made her a choice, not a convenience.

"Don’t I?" Tremaine raised a brow. "I know he got you wide open already. Letting him take you out the club. Textin’ you. Stayin’ the night."

Cherise’s breath caught.

"Yeah," Tremaine murmured, his smirk widening.  "I know."

Her jaw tensed. "You spying on me now?"

"Nah." He shrugged.  "But I know people who know people. And those people said you was out here actin’ all cozy with this nigga like you forgot how the game work."

Cherise hated how fast her heart was beating.

Hated how much the words got to her.

"And what game is that?" she snapped.

"Alright, bet." He stepped closer.  "Let me ask you somethin’ how many times he tell you he ain’t like the other dudes?”

Cherise stiffened.

"Mmm. Thought so." He clicked his tongue.  "Baby, I was there when you used to talk big shit about dudes like him. You hated clients who tried to act like they was better than the other ones. And now?" He gestured to her. "Look at you."

Her breath was slow.  Controlled.

"I was never your client," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah?" His brows lifted. "And how you know that? You think he see you different? Think he don’t got boys tellin’ him about you?  Think he ain’t hearin’ about how you move in that club?"

A sharp, cold weight settled in her stomach.

Her silence must’ve pleased him, because he stepped even closer, his voice dropping lower.

Cherise hated that the words slid right into the cracks of her deepest insecurities.

"He got you second-guessin’ me right now, huh?" His tone was mocking.  "But tell me this, Cher… when’s the last time you had a client leave you a lil’ tip, then double back three months later pretendin’ they missed you?"

Her throat felt tight.

"When’s the last time you let one of ‘em up in your bed?"

Her fingers trembled.

"You think he came back for you?" He let out a cruel laugh. "Baby, he came back ‘cause he remembered how you moved on his lap that night.  ‘Cause he knew what this pussy was sittin’ like."

Tremaine saw the apprehension in her face she tried to hard to hide. Knew exactly what he was doing.

The same thoughts she had tried to push away when she woke up thinking Jey had left. The same doubts that whispered to her every time she got too comfortable.

"I ain’t sayin’ this to be a dick," he continued, stepping just a little closer.  "I’m just keepin’ it real with you, ma. You think he gon’ take you serious?  You a stripper. You really think that man want you in the light? You think you gon’ be wifed up? Goin’ to wrestling events, standin’ next to his family? You think you fit in that world?In his world?"

Cherise’s nails dug into her palms so hard they could bleed.

And then—

She smiled.

Slow.

Cold.

Dangerous.

"You still mad you can’t eat off me no more, huh?"

Tremaine’s expression faltered, just a little. "What?"

"That’s what this is about, right?" Cherise took a slow step forward.  "You showed up at my door ‘cause you saw me wit’ somebody who actually sees me. ‘Cause you realized you fumbled a bitch who don’t need you."

Tremaine’s jaw ticked.  "Ain’t nobody—"

"Oh, but you did," she murmured, tilting her head. "Let’s not act brand new, Tremaine. You ain’t come here ‘cause you care.  You came here ‘cause you still see me as yours. As something you owned."

Her voice sharpened.

"You used me."

Tremaine’s jaw tightened.  "Ain’t nobody use you—"

"You took everything from me." Cherise’s voice was ice now.  "You put me in that club. You made me depend on it.  You took cuts from my money like you was my fuckin’ pimp. And then?"

Her voice trembled, but she didn’t let it break.

"Then you took everything I saved. Everything I worked for. You let your boys humiliate me, made me dance at that fuckin’ party, then ran out with all my money."

Tremaine didn’t say anything.

"You left me with nothing," she whispered, her fists clenched.  "And now you at my door, tryna tell me about a man who’s done more for me in one night than you ever did in our whole relationship?"

Tremaine scoffed, looking away, jaw tight. "Man, fuck outta here wit’ that sob story."

"Yeah?" Cherise smirked, crossing her arms. "Then why you so pressed, Tremaine?”

His eyes flickered.

She had him.

Finally, he exhaled, rolling his tongue over his teeth.  "Aight, Cher.  I see you. You feelin’ yourself now, huh?"

"I been feelin’ myself, motherfucker,” she shot back. "You just late to the party."

A long, tense silence stretched between them.

Then Tremaine took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Aight." He smirked. "When he leave? Don’t say I ain’t warn you."

And then he turned, walking down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

Cherise slammed the door shut.

Her hands shook.

Her breath came out in quick, uneven bursts.

And when she turned back toward the apartment, the quiet wrapped around her like a noose.

And the worst part?

Tremaine’s words were still there.

Still echoing.

taglist: @bebesobrielo @zillasvilla @harmshake @amandairene88 @pr0tost4r @skyesthebomb @cyberdejos2 @4milly @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @bloodlinesbabe93 @punksyeet @xbriexx @li-da-savage @partypoison00 @theusotwinzcom @fearlesschimera @luvrsluxe @kiki1704 @chasssssworld @a6mberr @empressdede @clubsoft @ctinadiva @acknowledge-reigns @queeny23 @ariiaellbtheedonn @luuvprincess @brianochka @jeyssidepiece @christinabae @uceyliyahh @sharmelasworld @thevenussapphic @key05marie @trentybenty @cinnycinnamon

if you'd like to be a part of my taglist, sign up here to be the first to see my newest drops! 🫧

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #7701:

I'm gonna be the one to say it.

I am so fucking tired of fandom blogs reblogging and posting about political real world shit.

And yes i am talking about the palestine and israel thing.

I get why and i get those people are fucking dying and its a tragedy, and boo hoo if it upsets me to have to hear about it

But personally i am not in any sort of place where i can be worrying and stressing myself out over a genocide on the other side of the world.

"then dont"

I'm literally just venting about the fact that nearly all 47 fandom blogs i follow have been nonstop posting about this shit. Yes i block tags yes i block words but its still everywhere and im tired of going through 20 "this post has tags you blocked" before seeing an actual post.

I dont need to be berated over any of this.

I just wish fandom blogs would stick to fandom.

Its all "fandom isnt activism!!" Until its something like this where people feel pressured to let their followers know they are on the "right side".

And the fucking unsolicited anon asks pressuring people to reveal how they feel about the situation.

Its a fucking bait ask. If they dont answer its seen as them not caring about mass murder and opens them up to hate and losing followers, so they have to answer and will still probably lose followers and get hate.

Its stupid. Leave this shit out of fandom and more importantly stop forcing fandom blogs to get involved.

I'm literally so sick of being forced to hear about the latest ways people are dying around the world when im just trying to look at fanart/fiction of my favorite characters.

[gallapiech]

weekly tag wednesday

Thank you for the questions @jrooc and for the tags @kiennilove @energievie

today we're gonna be talkin' ragrets. All those shoulda, woulda and coulda's!

First.. the basics:

Name: Pie

Popular music/band/artist while you were in highschool: I'm not sure... I was listening to vocaloid... One Direction?

Okay.. let's get into it...

What's one thing you wish you'd known when you were younger? How to invest in bitcoin

What is a course or certification you wish you'd done? Maybe I shoulda pursued art school?

What's a style you wish you'd never rocked? Majority of my clothing used to be hand me downs so, i dont know lool!

What's a style you totally killed? thongs

Do you still wear it? ;)

Favorite pair of shoes you've ever owned: omg im so not knowledgable on shoes. i like my current ones cuz they feel comfortable? LOL

Have you ever worn heels? Do you regret it? Do you wish you had tried to wear heels? Do you think heels are the devil? What are heels--I think we get it, Jess: Never worn heels but I think I could do it with the help of some secret talents I possess.

Name one bucket list item? See the aurora borealis

What's something you would do if you could step outside all your insecurities/fears today? So. Much!!!

Is there another language you wish you learnt? Papiamento or Japanese.

What's something you've done to your hair that you look back on and cringe? That's a secret I will not tell.... Lets just say some people called me slim shady...

Okay last one.. what's a real regret? ██████ █ ██████ ███ ████ ████ ███ ███████... Hmm classified I guess. *shrug*

@deedala @michellemisfit @spookygingerr @lingy910y

@ian-galagher @creepkinginc @transmurderbug @stocious @runawaybrainsc

@blue-disco-lights @roryonic @romidoes @fireballazalea @geonbaeeeesblog

@kowhaifairy @runninonemptyy @echotrees @nozenfordaddy @sam-loves-seb

@samantitheos @deathclassic @lazystargazy @gallavich-annise @femboymilkovich

@spacerockwriting @mmmichyyy @spoonfulstar @darlingian @burninface

@rereadanon @thepupperino @suzy-queued @palepinkgoat @look-i-love-u

@callivich @sgtmickeyslaughter @heymrspatel @whatthebodygraspsnot @kiennilove

@solitarycreaturesthey @doshiart @guinguin1984 @mybrainismelted @crossmydna

fully stole this tag list from jess because im feeling extra lazy today.

[baphometsss]

(i was gonna send this in an ask but it got too long lol sorry) @mythalism re: your tags i'm not esp into the idea of the madonna complex re: mythal bc i think, like a lot of freudian ideas, it's insufficient at best and downright harmful at worst

like YES he did put her on a pedestal and yes that's part of the madonna complex, but i think it kind of does solas a disservice when it comes to his intellect bc his thinking is not really black and white enough for that imo. i think he was deluded about her but that was mainly borne from extreme devotion, and that level of devotion can only come from someone who is deeply emotionally unfulfilled

i think it's a lot more likely that he grew to distrust so many people during the war that the only person he really felt he could trust was mythal. mythal used him and kept him on a string so she could use his intellect as a weapon. he was a tool that she believed to be obedient and unconditionally loyal to her. then she went and betrayed him too, which was too much for him to accept, because it meant that he really couldn't trust anyone at all, and that screwed him up majorly and 'broke' him.

unfortunately it's similar to a really common thing that men do w/their emotions irl. i'm not trying to make a 1:1 comparison here because the context is wildly different, but we know that the ancient elves were highly emotional beings so i think it tracks. men have this culture of being emotionally shut off from their friends because vulnerability is seen as a weakness, so they put all their emotional vulnerability into their romantic and family relationships w/women. they see women as the kind of epitome of emotional vulnerability, so they unload on them in this really unhealthy way that leads to more emotional turmoil bc it's just too much. they bottle things up and don't share it with any of their male friends, and so they overwhelm the women in their lives with their emotional needs. when that woman inevitably fails to be able to meet them, she falls off the pedestal and she turns into the awful she-devil for not being there for him. or god forbid she has needs of her own that take precedent or are put on him to fulfil bc that's not allowed for someone with no autonomy. it is partly madonna complex but there's a lot more to it on the guy's part too.

like i said it's not a 1:1 comparison bc we're talking about a war and a genocide and mythal was probably never as 'good' as solas wants to remember her being, but it really makes me think of that. rather than toxic masculinity however it's a matter of repeated betrayals and traumas that fosters his behaviour re: mythal. solas didn't have anyone he could trust with his most intimate thoughts and feelings like he once did with mythal and other spirits long passed, and he's desperately clinging to that relationship bc his ability to trust has been broken so completely and he can't handle the trauma and guilt of the war alone. and ofc unlike mythal and the evanuris, solas holds a LOT of guilt about the titans and the blight. so no matter how much she screwed him over, she always stayed on that pedestal bc the alternative (dealing with it alone) was so much worse. (there's also the fact that mythal understood him as wisdom unlike the others who brought out the worst in him, and that mirror is important for him to retain his nature as wisdom and not pride, the latter of which which his trauma pushes him towards more and more)

essentially he's put all his emotional eggs in one basket regarding mythal. by the time inquisition rolls around, he's also been betrayed by his general and close friend, and he really doesn't trust anyone at all, so he's regressing even further. it makes the romance/friendship all the more special because the inquisitor shows him that it's only by opening yourself up to trust other people (the key being multiple people) again that you can really start to heal and move on instead of wallowing alone forever in your pain and grief.

The whole 'refuge for Mythal' thing is really interesting bc it shows that Solas really saw Mythal as being on his side when it couldn't be more obvious that she enjoyed the power of being queen of the Evanuris. He calls it a 'struggle' in the regret memory, but I don't think she was struggling as much as he thinks. Even Felassan realises how delusional he is about her. It's one of many things Solas is in denial about.

That said, it does seem like he was much more aware of Elgar'nan's evil than she was; I truly believe that Mythal found a kindred spirit in Elgar'nan and thought that she was the right one for him. She tempered him and mitigated the harm he did as much as she could (which doesnt seem to be that much, in all honesty). Whether or not they had romantic feelings for each other is up for debate, but I think it's very possible. There was likely an element of tension at being evenly matched in the way they were that gave their relationship a pathological edge. It was only when Solas told her about the Evanuris using the power of the Blight that she finally decided to take him seriously and challenge her husband and the rest of the Evanuris head-on.

It's also really revealing that the Blight was her final straw. Mythal obviously had no issue with slavery as long as her slaves were treated well. It's very reminiscent of real world attitudes some had towards their slaves ie that as long as you don't abuse them it's okay. They don't understand the fundamentally unethical nature of owning another person. It's why I don't buy the benevolence retcon because slavery is inherently cruel--something that both Solas and an elven Inquisitor can argue with Dorian about.

Yeah, Solas really is an unreliable narrator with Mythal and I really wish we'd had more perspectives other than his. I long to see Mythal in all her cunty glory but alas it will never be

[hyenabeanz]

Rule yapping time for the Abby Roque hand goal!

An aside: I realize I really need to learn how to make gifs from live streams cuz these nerd dives would be better with the play in question visible for reference. The method I used before doesn't seem to work anymore, so if anyone can shoot me a tutorial of how TF to do so for Android, pls do. If someone gifs it I will reblog with that attached.

ANYWAY.

The relevant rule:

So, catching it out of the air and passing it down to yourself is totally legit. It becomes illegal if a player skates with puck in hand. I rewatched it a couple times and think Roque came RIGHT up on the edge of that when she leaned forward, but didn't really skate with it imo. Not more than when people catch it in the neutral zone and they drop the puck in the most advantagous spot. It was a hard call I think, very borderline, so not nearly as egregious as the crowd felt it was.

I'm not 100% sure if it was actual coaches challenge on the review. If it was, the guidelines are pretty clear that borderline evidence isn't strong enough to overturn an on ice call; it has to be very clear and conclusive. I believe that's generally the standard for all video review, though it's not spelled out as clearly anywhere I can find.

I know one of the other concerns was that they had missed a slashing call on Larocque, but goals can't be overturned for those types of penalty, as slashing would fall under penalties under the judgement or discretion of officials.

So, yeah. It was weird as hell and I mean of course home team is gonna boo it, but this nerd's opinion is right call was made. Didn't earn NY the W, but I imagine they'll at least take the point.

As a reminder: I do the rule dives because I think it's fun. I like reading policy and rules and seeing application. I like trying to understand the game better. This does not indicate I necessarily have strong feels about it, nor am I interested in angry debate about it. I'm just nerding out. Fellow good-natured nerding happily accepted tho. :) if you don't want to see it, or do want to see more, my tag is "rules yapping."

[literallyjusttoa]

"Sunny!" you cry, "Why did you draw the entire Trojan royal family from oldest to youngest in two days? That seems wildly unhealthy!"

"hurghhhhhhhh" I reply.

Anyways here's the full family portrait

(Only four of these people survive the Trojan war btw :D)

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

more v3 doodles (it's all just maki)

[babacontainsmultitudes]

RIP Will Campos the only person who was murdered this episode.

[dootznbootz]

Fascinating how Polites, the character who is the personification of Odysseus' optimism and is only in 5 songs, is more grieved and appreciated than Eurylochus, a character who is his own person and is in 11 songs.

[boredlime]

when you're Probably Not Cis but you present as it anyways because you're too lazy to do anything about it

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Prologue

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 13k

Chapter Warnings: angst, miscommunication, ghosting? maybe, some cursing, mentions of OC having nephews (gross), being broken up with over a text, allusions to anxiety, my oc being argumentative and avoidant (she's me), and nico also being avoidant and a poor communicator (he's a man) (he's also a capricorn) (sorry capricorns)

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

A/N: is a 13k prologue excessive? probably. is the mixture of tenses in this part going to grind your gears? most definitely. am I going to do anything about it? no.

I've never actually published any writing before so go easy on the girl. if I need to tag any warnings just let me know. if you like the fic let me know. if you don't like the fic I beg you I'm having a bad month spare meeeeee.

TW for british english spellings because shock horror I am unfortunately british, get used to u's and s's where you least expect them, I will change my spell check settings for no one!! nico's facebook aunt shenanigans have lit a fire within me today and I was writing a later chapter for this fic and thinking if I don't actually put this out into the world I never will so here we are hi my name is maggie I hope you enjoy

Poppy

New Years has always been Poppy Jensen’s favourite holiday. The dwindling aftermath of Christmas - lights and decorations still hung throughout the city, everyone decked in the hats, scarves and ugly sweaters gifted by distant relatives over the Christmas period, and the six days of limbo usually spent drinking and eating copious amounts of leftovers before the new year, new me resolutions kick in - and experiencing it all in her hometown surrounded by the people she loves the most, there is no other time like it.

This year, she feels like the festive period has been one, long, strung-out horror show. 

Self-inflicted, of course, like all the other tragedies of her life, she does know she only has herself to blame for how pathetic it has turned out.

She had prepared herself for Christmas to be a dud. The one time of the year that she and her family put aside their differences, and this year she had opted out - or, so her mother had dramatically concluded; she actually just had work commitments. But, this would be her first spent alone due to the fact her parents had decided to go and visit her older brother, Oliver, and his family in San Francisco.

They didn’t have to fly across the country - Oliver has more than enough money to book his clan on a flight back to his home state, but obviously as the golden child, the Jensen’s must bend to his every whim. Of course, Poppy had been invited. Her relationship with her brother wasn’t mutually acrimonious, but the aforementioned work commitments got her out of that bore-fest. 

She does love her brother. Sometimes. Christmas, especially - he’s a great and expensive gift-giver. And she loves his wife, Kimberley, and their two sons - her nephews, James and Lucas - but spending the holidays with them would have been a lot. Her family is hard work on the best of days, and the only reason Christmas is ever bearable is because her mother hires help, and it’s impossible for the stress train to leave the station if Priscilla Jensen is given enough wine early enough in the day to dull her usual wicked demeanour. 

Kimberley, God bless her soul, maintains a sober house, and Poppy, as much as she respects this, would not go anywhere near that train wreck if you paid her a million dollars.

There’s also the fact that the holidays were invented to unwind, and Poppy somehow always gets lumped on nephew duty. She had long grown out of her boys are gross phase, but lord, do those two try everything in their power to bring it back. She has lost count of the amount of their bodily fluids she has had wiped all over her best clothes over the years. If she had agreed to fly out, she no doubt would have ended up being the one to watch the kids while everyone else had their version of a good time, and so she’d successfully managed to avoid all that with a half-assed promise of visiting at Easter, instead.

Her brother hadn’t been too upset - one less place setting at the table for him to worry about - but her mother had been livid, and there was no chance Poppy would live it down without owing her.

God forbid she, as an adult, actually got to choose how to spend her time.

She hadn’t actually been completely alone on Christmas, not all day, at least. Her best friend Nia had invited her to eat with her and her dad, but they were hardly putting her in the festive spirit with their constant snipes at each other, and so she’d given herself stomach ache stuffing herself full of corn bread and roasted carrots and dipped out to make it home for the Giants game - because there’s no better tradition than watching your team lose on Christmas Day. At least she wasn’t there to watch her dad and brother yell at the TV and get all grumpy for hours after the fact. 

She’d watched Love Actually with mulled wine in hand and fallen asleep on the couch - waking up in the middle of the night to the muffled sound of her neighbours screaming at each other through the walls. 

Poppy had the 26th off, and spent the day preparing her apartment for New Years, knowing she wouldn’t have any other opportunity to get her big clean done. She’d cleared out half her wardrobe - done several loads of laundry so that she could donate clean clothes to the women’s shelter a few blocks over - rid her kitchen of all the outdated tinned foods in the backs of her cupboards, dusted every surface, vacuumed every floor, colour-coded her bookshelf to look more aesthetically pleasing and then within an hour put it back in alphabetical order - all in a day’s work. 

By the time the 27th rolled around, and she had to return to work, she had tired herself out completely. She had been drained, and the worst part of it all, she didn’t even actually need to be there.

Sure, December was a crazy time to work in the NHL, their schedule unrelenting when the season got into full-swing, and the holiday events that Poppy’s team had to organise seemed never ending, but she had technically been given limbo-week off. Not that her mother had to know.

The Youth Foundation team had all wrapped up work for the year on the 23rd, and if Poppy was a truly good daughter/sibling/aunt, she would have booked herself on a red-eye after the home win that evening, but the second the opportunity to accept an actual real excuse not to change her plans arose, she took it with open arms. Her guilt of lying to her family diminished, along with her will to live at the fact she had - self-inflicted, as always - put herself down to work her favourite time of the year.

Her career with the New Jersey Devils had started with an internship in her final year of college. She had worked with the digital content department for her first year, quickly being sniped by the Foundation in the middle of her second year and working her way past content creation to helping co-ordinate and run some of the community events.

When her friend Jessica had approached Poppy and begged for her to cover her spot in the department they had started out together in for limbo-week, spending it with the team at their games, she had jumped at the bit. She knew no one else would agree to work last minute after having their time off approved, and was pleased to relay to her mom that she had to prove herself as a team player if she wanted more responsibility at work. It was all in the name of bumping up her performance and getting her name out there, and definitely not avoiding her family and that whole shit-show.

Poppy loves her job, and is more than happy with her career, but she could sing about it until the cows come home and her parents could not care less. They rarely ever acknowledged her successes because her life didn’t fit the mould they had set out for her - another reason she hadn’t wanted to spend this Christmas hounded with questions of why don’t you come work for your dad? Or why didn’t you accept the interview Ollie so kindly got for you? She doesn’t want a non-sensical, nothing job made up to keep her under her family’s influence. She has forged her own path, one that many dream of in one of the biggest industries in the country, and no matter how much she disappointed her parents in comparison to her lackey brother, she is content with where she is.

She had completely forgotten, however, that the devils played away on the 29th and 30th, and if she was going to be tagging along with the bare-bones limbo week media crew, there was no way in hell she was getting out of joining the team’s New Years celebrations. 

She had done her fair share of dodging team events already this year, and despite the fact she could appease most of her friends within the organisation, there was one person who would not let her off so easy.

This year is Jack Hughes’ first year hosting the big Devils New Years party - he’d, in her opinion, stupidly volunteered pretty much last minute after the venue the team had booked flooded in November and cancelled their reservation - and he would not let Poppy get out of coming, even if that meant scuppering her own annual tradition of getting shit-faced with her girls in their perfectly planned New Jersey bar crawl.

She’d done her best work to convince him - had almost sold him on the dream - she and her best friend, Nia, always start at the bar below Nia’s apartment in Hoboken, and then dot to the bars closest to their other friends apartments until they end up by Poppy’s, which has the perfect little rooftop set up where they get to watch all the fireworks across the Hudson. It’s how she’s spent the holiday every year since she and all her girls turned 21, and it was her favourite day, her favourite way to ring in a new year with her best friends in her favourite place in the world. 

Jack’s argument was that he also had a great view across the Hudson from his Jersey City apartment, and that she was less likely to catch hypothermia this year because his view came through floor to ceiling windows and the luxury of central heating.

She’d tried to argue that she had all intentions of meeting her future husband on her adventures through New Jersey, and he gave the quick rebuttal that he had plenty of single friends she was yet to meet. 

There was no excuse she could give that he couldn’t counteract, and so she’d eventually given up with the resolution that when he is 3 drinks deep, Jack Hughes can barely remember his own name, let alone keep tabs on where Poppy is, or if she ever showed up in the first place. She can always just say she’s running late until he stops asking.

And then she’d somehow gotten roped into helping him set up. 

Jack had cornered her on their flight home from Boston, where they had just lost to the Bruins and, all of a sudden, no one was in any kind of mood to party.

“I swear,” he had said, throwing himself down into the vacant seat beside her as she attempted to clear her inbox on the short journey, swiping away messages and storing others to review when work started back up in the next week, “If I mess up this party, and my name goes down in Devils history tied to the biggest depression session this team have ever seen, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“How the hell would that be my fault?” She had scoffed, kicking at his feet when he had tried to man-spread next to her and they had quite abruptly knocked knees. The staff seats toward the front of the plane weren’t quite as spacious as the player seats further back.

“You brought some serious negative energy with you on this trip,” he shrugged, reaching for the bag of skittles she had stashed in the pocket on the seat in front of her and stealing a handful, “And I can’t blame you for us losing, so I’m gonna blame you for constantly trying to abandon my event and making me feel so insecure about it that it turned into a complete bore-fest because I didn’t have my literal professional event planner friend to help me set it all up.”

Jack Hughes had joined the New Jersey Devils at the same time Poppy had started her internship. There had been some corny ice breaker session for everyone new to the organisation that season, and they’d bonded over their shared love for country music. He’d become dependent on her as a local to the area for recommendations for everything - food, sports bars, coffee, grocery shopping, running routes - and they’d quickly developed a friendship that had lasted them thus far. No fallouts, no drama, no issues. Being friends with Jack is easy. 

Poppy is older by near enough 18 months, and considers him as close to a little brother as she will ever find - annoying, teasing, loud and somewhat of a know-it-all, but he cares deeply, and he’s loyal, honest and open with her, and she loves him for it.

“I’ve done my part even helping you plan the thing,” she had to snatch the bag back from him before he finished the skittles off, needing the sugar to keep her awake for the quick drive home when they landed. Jack had been on her back about this party since he had first put his name in the hat to host, and she had been gracious, helping him arrange food, drinks, decorations and DJ equipment in the hopes it would lessen the blow that she didn’t want to attend. “I didn’t bring negative energy.”

“Do I have to kidnap you when we deplane or are you gonna come around tomorrow morning and help me?”

“Kidnap me?” she couldn’t help but laugh, casting a quick measured glance over his figure. “Real cute, Jack, you’re nothing without your stick.”

“I could take you.” He attempted to throw a skittle up into the air and catch it in his mouth, not accounting for the fact they were on a moving, somewhat turbulent plane, and he barely had enough finesse to pull that off on the ground. The candy landed and bounced off his cheekbone, and he watched it fall to the floor with a child-like pout. 

“It’s fighting talk like that that would lose you another tooth, Hughesy,” she had threatened in jest. 

“I’m a middle child, I don’t start fights I can’t finish, Popcorn.” He also has a track record of giving Poppy the worst nicknames she has ever heard in her entire 24 years on this Earth. “Luke’s already said he’ll help me on the kidnapping front, we have a plan.”

“Your plan is nothing without incentive, Jack. You come at me with weak threats when you could just offer me something in return.”

“Like what?” His eyes narrowed toward her, shuffling in the seat until he was facing her fully. 

“I want to bring Nia.” If she was going to be subjected to this, she was bringing back up - and she had thought this would be a good trade, knowing how protective the boys were of their private events, especially those thrown in their own homes.

Poppy hadn’t liked the way his lips curved up immediately, like she had fallen straight into his trap. “Done.” She should have known better. He stood up, edging back into the aisle and sending her a wink. “I’ll text you details on when and where I need you. Your hot friend is more than welcome to offer a hand, too.”

And that is how Poppy has ended up spending the day of New Years Eve, her favourite day of the year, rushing to set up Jack Hughes’ apartment. 

Her first task had been to go round to Jack’s and accept the deliveries that came while he and Luke were out picking up the decks for the DJ. Drinks arrived by the crateful, the boxes of paper plates, cups and other table wears took her several trips up and down from Jack’s apartment to the building lobby until she broke out in a sweat, and she had done her best to hang all the decorations, her last call being to pick up the bigger decoration delivery from downstairs.  

Poppy, with the help of Lionel, the building’s concierge, loads the elevator full of decor, ranging from golden helium balloons that spell out ‘Happy New Year’ and ‘2024’, a large roll that should hopefully unravel to reveal a backdrop for a makeshift photo-booth, as well as a deconstructed balloon arch that gave her PTSD from the amount of events at the Rock she’d had to put them together.

Lionel offers to come up with her to help unload everything upstairs, but the thought of cramming another person in there with all the stuff makes her feel claustrophobic, so she politely declines - though, when the elevator doors open and she bumps face first into a firm chest, her nose smushing against a khaki t-shirt she wishes she had someone else with her to buffer the tension that stiffens her spine. 

A large, calloused hand wraps around her upper arm to steady her, and another reaches out to keep the doors of the elevator from closing in on where she stands. She looks up into eyes swirled with the colour of warm, melted chocolate, and her throat feels just the slightest bit drier than it had 5 seconds ago.

“Hey,” Nico Hischier’s voice is deep, scratchy like he’s just woken up - he probably has given how late the team got in last night - and trickles down in static currents from her ears to the base of Poppy’s back. 

She takes a short, startled step back, and gulps down the dryness in her throat before she gives a quick, “Hey,” in response. “Sorry, I’ll just take a second to unload all of this then the elevator is yours.”

“I’ll help,” Nico doesn’t phrase it as a question, as if knowing she would immediately decline. Not, let me help, or do you need help? He’ll just do it. “You get everything out and I’ll take it inside?”

She nods, despite the voice in the back of her head telling her that he’s only helping to get the job done quicker, and be able to get downstairs. She makes a conscious mental effort to drown it out while the two of them work in a silent tandem, her lifting the decorations into the hallway and him towing them down and into Jack’s apartment. 

She makes another conscious effort not to watch when he lifts things, the flex of his arms, the rippling muscles of his shoulders.

“Is that the last of it?” He asks, gesturing to the rolled up backdrop leaning on the side of the elevator and propping it open. 

“Yeah, but I got it,” Poppy gives a tight smile, lifting the roll but staying in place so the doors don’t close behind her and she doesn’t get stuck any longer in Nico’s presence on her own. “Thanks for helping.”

There used to be a time she couldn’t get enough of being around Nico, but those days are long gone.There is a permanent frigidity between them now - it’s been there since the summer just gone - and she’s overstimulated enough having spent her morning being Jack’s lackey while he no doubt slacks off with his brother grabbing brunch out. Her patience is beyond wearing thin, and so the last thing she needs is prolonged contact with the Devils captain where she will no doubt end up blowing up and making everything worse.

No one wants to ring in the new year with an almighty fallout.

She can’t help the frown that befalls her features when he makes no effort to occupy the elevator. He makes no effort to do anything, only looking at Poppy with a pensive pout. “Jack said I should come help you out.”

Of course he did, she thinks.

For the past four months, Jack Hughes has been acting like it’s his greater purpose in life to bring Nico and Poppy back together - like the demise of their friendship was the greatest personal inconvenience he has ever faced in his life. 

He has orchestrated one too many ‘accidental’ run-ins just like this one, and Poppy isn’t going to entertain his childish games any longer.

Nico doesn’t want to be her friend - she knows this for a fact - so Jack’s schemes are becoming a waste of everyone’s time.

“I’m alright, Nia’s on her way, you don’t have to hang around.”

Nia was due at Jack’s apartment two hours ago, but is no doubt still asleep after she was out last night for her pre-New Years celebrations. She’ll come over soon enough, though, and so Poppy doesn’t feel entirely deflated to turn down help she actually might currently need.

“I don’t mind waiting until she gets here.” Nico shrugs, again not giving her a natural opportunity to say no. He nods towards the apartment, gesturing for Poppy to start making her way over. “We both know she won’t take the stairs.”

Something about the way he so casually recalls information about her best friend plucks at her nerves, just a little, reflective of the part of their lives they had once shared with each other like it was nothing, but she shrugs it off, beginning to head towards the apartment with the roll tucked under her arm.

“I thought New Years was your favourite holiday?” He asks once they’re both inside, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him and somewhat trapping her in his presence echoing throughout the room. He doesn’t allow for any kind of prolonged silence between the two of them. If Nico Hischier is good at anything, it’s getting people to talk to him.

It’s not entirely that she doesn’t want to talk to him.

She does.

She’s wanted to talk to him every day for the past 4 months that they hadn’t talked - has been craving even mundane, casual conversation about the weather or traffic on the way into work, but now, as he yet again indifferently recollects such personal details about her as if they have remained close, she begins to feel uneasy.

“It is,” she gives a half-hearted, dismissive response. 

“Then why are you all grumpy?”

“I’m not.” She frowns, eyebrows furrowing and arms crossing as she turns to face him, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.  

She’s not trying to be difficult. Or maybe she is. She is in a particularly bad mood, but she had thought she’d done a good job at masking it. He’d been around her all of 2 minutes and saw right through her. 

“Jack said you’ve been off all morning.”

Like he cares, she thinks, her mood souring further at the fact he doesn’t see through her or even care at all, he’s here at the request of someone else. Following up on his duties as a captain and fulfilling a favour for one of his actual friends.

Embarrassment floods the pit of her stomach, and rears its ugly head in the form of her biting tone when she replies, “Jack’s been out all morning, how would he know?”

“He left you to do all this on your own?” Nico frowns, gesturing around to the half-way set up apartment. All that’s left to do aside from put up the decorations she’s just lugged up is set up the food and drinks, and Poppy figured she could leave that task to Jack so that it all remained fresher for longer. 

“I do this kind of thing for a living, remember?”

She cringes inwardly at the venom in her voice, turning away from him with a huff and missing the way his posture deflates. 

“You run events, Poppy, you’re not an assistant.” She can hear his heavy footsteps follow as she moves to set up the photo-booth area. “If I’d known he had you running after him all morning, I’d have-,”

“Called someone else to come help me so you could carry on avoiding me?”

She really is wound up now. Jack bailing on her to do God-knows what while she sets up his party had been one thing - there was a rational part of her brain that would tell her there would no doubt be hiccups in trying to source a bunch of DJ equipment in New Jersey on New Years Eve and he hadn’t actually bailed - and she could write off Nia’s disappearance due to the fact Poppy had sprung the plans on her last minute when she got home and called her last night, and she was bound to show up at some point. But Nico implying she is letting Jack walk all over her and needs anyone’s help to get through setting up a basic party is downright offensive. At least, in her stressed out state, it is - and so she can’t find it within herself to bite her tongue about their situation any longer.

If it drives him away and brings back her solitude to finish setting up without him occupying any precious mind space, so be it.

She almost forgets a key fact about the man before her. He doesn’t give up so easily.

“I’m not avoiding you.” He bites back, stepping into her space and helping her lift the backdrop roll to fit into the brackets she had set up earlier when the structure for the booth had arrived. “I would have come to help you, myself, Poppy.”

She wishes he would stop saying her name. 

4 months of radio silence and he’s thrown it at her like a dagger twice in the span of 30 seconds, the way his it rolls of his tongue in a low, smooth rasp scratching an itch she didn’t know she had, and now she can’t shake it. 

“I’m fine,” she huffs, reaching as far as she can and pressing until she hears the brackets click into place. At the brief noise, Nico catches on to what he needs to do at his side and manages to click it into place, barely lifting his arms. She moves into the middle of the structure, pulling at the velcro tab holding the roll together until it cascades to the floor and unveils the backdrop in its entirety. 

“What else needs doing?” He asks, his tone gentler this time.

“Nothing,” she mutters, winding the velcro in between her fingers to occupy them, before moving to pass him and make her way to the next task on her list. It’s only small things now. Arranging the balloons, setting up the arch, clearing table space for the equipment when Jack finally arrives home. “You can go, I’ve got it.”

“Mohn,” Nico sighs lowly, warm hand clasping around her forearm as she attempts to pass, holding her in place beside him. 

She really wishes he wouldn’t call her that.

If Jack is the prince of childish monikers that make her insides curl, Nico is the king of making her melt.

The nickname takes her straight back to the days before the waves of the summer break washed their friendship away. The times where he’d give her a ride home from the Prudential Center after work, whispering a, “Goodnight, Mohn,” in her ear as they hugged goodbye over the centre console in the front of his car. The times she’d meet up with the team to celebrate a win at their favourite bar, and he’d throw a never-casual, “Looking good, Mohn,” her way with an appreciative once-over. 

And it takes her even further back to when they had met, and she’d first offered her name.

“I’ll be interning with the content team, my name is Poppy,” she had offered a bright smile, reaching her hand out for him to shake, and making sure to keep a firm grip, just like her father had taught her, when he places his hand in hers. As she had done since she was a child, it was instinctual to follow up with, “Like the flower.”

“Mohnblume,” he had uttered, a smile so deep his cheeks dimpled into deep valleys.

“Huh?” She had been only a little bit caught out by the way his eyes shone, forgetting her manners as her head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Poppy flower, that’s what it is in my language.”

“Oh,” she had exclaimed, furrowed brows raising, a soft flush warming her cheeks, “Pretty!”

“Very.”

She had convinced herself for a long time that it was just his way of remembering - an aid in blurring the lines between the two languages that, especially back then, he often found himself mixed up in. And then, after a while, using it seemed to bring a protected familiarity between them - like an inside joke - and he’d use it less in front of others and more in the times it was just the two of them.

Years down the line from hearing it for the first time, and months down the line from hearing it for the last, her heart still thumps the same erratic beat at the sound.

Nico’s eyes still shine the same way when he looks down at her, and she fights every fibre of her being not to think too much about it. Or not to think about the touch of his hand on her arm, still holding her in place, the two of them closer than they have been in a long time, now.

It’s painfully easy to forget the months of distance after only seconds in his immediate company - to wipe from her memory the reason for her reticence and to push down the stubborn desire to push him away.

Her lips part to speak, and she doesn’t know if she’s about to turn him down or take him in, because another voice fills the apartment before any words get the chance to spill out.

“I come bearing gifts!” A sing-song lull breaks the silence as her best friend makes her presence known, entering the apartment with a drinks carrier in one hand, and a to-go back over the other wrist. 

Poppy steps away, shaking Nico’s grip from her arm, and turns to give Nia her full attention, hoping that she is either too hungover or too focused on herself to see or care about the obvious tension between her and the captain. She manages to bite her tongue from letting a Thank God slip out, and makes her way over to retrieve a much needed drink.

“They were out of chai so I got you an iced tea,” Nia holds out the drink to Poppy, and then the to go bag, “And half a cinnamon roll.”

“Half?”

“What? I was hungry too.” Nia scoffs, turning her attention to the brooding presence on the other side of the room. “Sorry, Nico, I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Would you have only eaten a third if you did?” He trials a joke, and when Poppy sneaks a peak back toward him, he looks apprehensive - scratching at the nape of his neck as if anticipating a bad reaction to his attempt at lighthearted humour.

“I’m sure Poppy doesn’t mind sharing if you’re starving,” Nia makes her way to the bar set up by the kitchen, placing her own cup down and shrugging off her purse beside it. 

“I wouldn’t dream of depriving her of half a cinnamon roll.” While his words are directed to her best friend, Nico looks at Poppy with a wistful smile, and she can practically see the memory of an old shared routine wash over his eyes. 

A weekly ritual of meeting by the PATH station close to both of their apartments on a free morning for a run, and then catching breakfast to go and grab a juice or a smoothie for the walk home - abandoned just like all the other little traditions they once had together.

Nico and Poppy had been close, before. Closer than she is to Jack, now - closer than she’s been to anyone else on the team, ever. So close that Nico knows her best friend enough to joke around with a familiar ease; so close that they’d even hung out as a three before, back when the girls shared an apartment in Poppy’s first year with the Devils, and he had been the only person that Nia had ever been happy to share her childhood friend with. 

And now, Poppy stands between them in a silence so uncomfortable she feels like the room is shaking.

She hasn’t talked to Nico in months, and hasn’t talked about him in just as long, but she knows Nia can read her like a book. 

The girls had grown up together - been through everything side by side, pinky fingers intertwined with an eternal promise of friendship and understanding. The demise of relationships, friendship group implosions, familial hardships, Nia’s goth phase, the time Poppy wrecked her hair dying it a vibrant cherry-red because her high school crush said Ariana Grande was hot - she still shudders thinking of how her hair glowed red in any direct light for years in the aftermath. Through middle school, high school, college, and all the way up until now, the pair know each other inside out.

So Poppy knows that Nia knows something happened.

Nia knows that Poppy hadn’t been able to go a day without bringing up the Swiss Captain before the summer, and then all of a sudden, she didn’t mention him at all. But she also knows her friend well enough and loves her too much not to have pressed on an open wound.

“It looks insane in here, Pop,” Nia gawks at the set up around her, every corner of the open plan layout of Jack’s large apartment decked out with decor and party amenities. “Do you guys go this hard every year?”

“Depends who’s hosting,” Nico shrugs, knowing when it had been his turn the year before, his event had been much more lowkey. Poppy had seen the pictures, had been sent an abundance of wish you were here snapchats around midnight from the Captain himself. Jack has a thing about his reputation that won’t let him even consider doing anything lowkey. “I forgot this would be your first year coming.”

“Oh, we’re not coming.” Poppy covers her mouth as she speaks around a bite of her food, unable to wait until she’d finished her mouthful due to the immediate urge to shut him down once again.

“You’re not?” He almost sounds disappointed. She doesn’t dare check for the furrow of his thick eyebrows or the pout of his lips. “Jack said he’d convinced you.”

A flash of anxiety shoots across her chest at the thought of him considering her attendance. Had he asked Jack? Had he mentioned her specifically - pushed him to convince her? Or had Jack just brought it up in an offhanded comment?

“I just agreed to get him off my back about it.” Her choice of words is only slightly intended to hurt. She and Nico were no longer friends - she hadn’t been the one to make that decision. Despite that fact, she tries to suppress the guilt clawing at the base of her throat at the wash of understanding that passes over his features. A solemn nod, gaze bouncing to the floor, lips pressed together. “We have plans with our friends.”

“Actually,” Nia’s voice captures both their attention swiftly - Poppy’s head whipping around in subtle alarm and Nico’s in anticipation. “Blake’s flight back from Arizona got cancelled, and Kelsey bailed on me last night because she got Covid of all things over Christmas.”

“What about Emma?” Poppy asks, hoping and praying their hermit friend has all of a sudden grown some stellar social skills and agreed to carry on their tradition for the sake of Poppy’s sanity.

“She double booked with her boyfriend, and he’s a huge drip I don’t really wanna hang out with those two all night.” God damn Emma and her tool of a boyfriend, Poppy thinks. “At least if we come here, we’re still close enough to your place we can make it back for fireworks on the roof.”

“We get a great view of them from this building,” Nico makes his presence known again, attempting to offer a solution. “If you didn’t want to walk back home so late.”

“See, Pop,” Nia claps her hands together with a grin, “We get to come to a cool party, don’t have to worry about creeps following us around all night, and still get to hold on to tradition. Win, win, win if you ask me!”

“Right,” Poppy sighs, knowing now that Nia has her heart set on the plan, there’s nothing she can do about it. Any persistence on her part would be too obvious. “Fine.”

“Awesome! What’s left to do?”

Poppy eyes Nico, knowing she’d told him only a few minutes ago that there was nothing left. “Just need to clear a table for the equipment Jack’s getting,”

“Which one?” Nia asks, making her way over with her iced tea in hand once Poppy points toward the table in the corner by the wall-to-wall window. “Are you helping or just standing around looking pretty?” 

Nico’s cheeks flush, a subtle warmth arising to his skin, and he gives a bashful chuckle.

Poppy feels a little nauseous, and it’s not from the sickly sweet half of a pastry she’s just forced down.

Nia’s eyes flicker between the two of them like she’s at a grand slam, and her lips twist to hide a smile.

“I actually need to head out,” he says, gaze darting quickly to Poppy before turning to her best friend, “I have some things I need to do before tonight. It was good to see you, though, Nia.”

Nia hums around the straw of her drink, giving a dismissive wave. “You too, see you later!”

Nico begins towards the door to the apartment, and just before he passes Poppy, he stops. He doesn’t reach for her this time, doesn’t step too close, but she can feel his presence regardless. And every hair on her body stands to attention like she’s been shocked by static when he says, lowly, “I’ll see you tonight, Mohn.”

She can only nod in response, not trusting her voice to speak, not trusting her eyes to look into his and be able to look away. 

After he departs, there are a few minutes of an ear-piercing silence. Poppy can hear every movement Nia makes, from the slurp of her drink, to the manner in which she throws things around with little care for where they end up. And louder than anything, she hears the violent thud of her heartbeat in her own ears.

“So,” Nia drags out when Poppy joins her at the almost empty table. “What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” Poppy and Nia have known each other fifteen years, she doesn’t know why she hopelessly thought that would work.

“Don’t play dumb,” Nia scoffs, “You and Captain Sexy,”

“There is no me and Nico,”

“But you know who I’m asking about,” she scoffs like she’s caught her best friend out, and then adds, with a suggestive wiggle of her brows, “So you do think he’s sexy?”

“What are you, twelve?” Poppy rolls her eyes, “He’s the only captain we’ve been in a room with, pretty obvious who you were referring to.”

“Admit it, Poppy, I saw the two of you when I came in, you totally wanna jump his bones, you have for as long as you’ve known him.”

“We’re not having this conversation, Ni.”

“The hell we aren’t!” Nia grabs her best friend by the shoulders, “I’ve bitten my tongue for months, Pop, watching you mope around and get all glum whenever work is brought up. I couldn’t get you to shut up about the guy before, what the hell happened between you two?”

“Nothing happened!”

“It totally did!” Nia can spy the aversion Poppy is attempting from miles off. “Don’t tell me you two finally hooked up and you didn’t fill me in,”

“He has a girlfriend, Nia.”

The way Poppy says it is like a period to a sentence. End of conversation. End of speculation. It doesn’t matter what they had been before, or what they are now. It doesn’t matter what she feels. There is no her and Nico because he is someone else’s. That’s the crux of it.

“Since when?” Nia frowns. 

“Since the summer just gone.”

And there it is. Understanding washes over the face of her best friend, and Poppy has to force herself to look away. 

He’d maybe been with her before that, too, but Poppy doesn’t actually know the entire timeline of it.

All she does know is that he’d come back from Switzerland with a drop dead gorgeous model hanging off of his arm, and he no longer had a use for Poppy in his life.

She knows other little bits, that she’d sourced from parts of conversations with others, or potential social media sleuthing that she will never admit to even with a gun to her head.

Talia, a model from somewhere close to home back in Europe, and Nico had hit it off at some festival when he’d gone back to Switzerland for his break. He’d very quickly and very clearly become smitten with her. Poppy had seen as much with her plastered all over his private stories and even posted on his private instagram feed.

By the time he came back to New Jersey for pre-season training camp, she was tagging along to team gatherings, he’d take her on his morning runs, grabbing breakfast together, he’d pick her up every day after work so he could no longer drive Poppy home, not that he’d ever attempted to explain any of that to her. She was at every home game, was his plus one to every event, and Poppy and Nico’s friendship had fizzled out so much that she sometimes feels like the whole thing had been a fantasy, or a figment of her imagination. Something she’d misunderstood, miscalculating every interaction they had ever shared and assuming they meant the same to him as they did to her.

They didn’t.

She doesn’t think any of it would have hurt her so much if he’d have let her down easy. A sorry for bailing on you the first time she’d text him if he wanted to meet up for their weekly run and he’d left her on read would have lessened the blow. He could have been straight up with an I just want to focus on my relationship right now. That would have been the decent thing to do, but he’d just dropped her, instead. Didn’t come around her office for lunch, didn’t text her after training when one of the guys said something stupid and he thought it might make her laugh. He’d cut her off from the intimate parts of his life - ghosted her, even - and all she could find it in herself to do anymore was miss him.

She’d made attempts to bring him around, at first. Tried speaking to him at work, tried texting, but after a few weeks of staring at the delivered sign at the bottom of their message thread, she had given up. It still taunts her every time she opens it up to delete the entire thing and move on like he clearly has - erasing all the inside jokes and times they had confided in one another like they meant ever meant anything in the first place.

She can count on her hand the amount of times they had spoken since the summer. Work related, entirely. A good game here and a have you seen whoever? there. Today is the first indication in months that they had ever been anything more than two people who worked in the same organisation. Friends of friends, co-workers, barely acquaintances.

Not people who know each other’s favourite holidays and are chummy with each other’s friends.

“I’m sorry, Poppy,” Nia frowns, “I didn’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs, attempting nonchalance despite the stinging in the back of her throat. “Let’s finish here so we can go get ready.”

Nico

Nico Hischier isn’t the biggest fan of New Years Eve. He isn’t really a fan of the festive period, at all. He isn’t a scrooge by any means. He can appreciate the coming together of people and the celebration of the year just gone, and the one starting fresh - but ever since he moved from Switzerland and started his career in the NHL, the holiday period has felt unnecessarily long.

His schedule is jam packed - games up until the 23rd, starting again after Christmas on the 27th, and again after New Years on the 3rd - and there aren’t enough consecutive days together to celebrate in the way others get to do this time of year. 

He knows he has to make do with the fact - a small price to pay for living his dream - and his teammates help, all sharing in their sacrifices and trying to make the best out of a bad deal. But he can’t help but feel a lack. A lack of tradition, a lack of family being around, a lack of normalcy.

He remembers the holidays as a child, spending time at home with his parents and his siblings, having two weeks at home for his winter break and getting to spend his days doing whatever he pleased. As someone who moved overseas at such a young age, he looks back on those times fondly. 

But now, living at least 8 hours away from the rest of his family, this time of year only serves to remind him of the isolation that creeps up on him like a bad cold.

It starts at the beginning of the month, the sniffly nose period of the bug, when chatter starts around who’s doing what for Christmas. Decorations go up, parties are planned, names are passed around in a hat for Secret Santa, and discussions begin around who is managing to go where. 

Next comes the tickle in his throat - the last game before Christmas, where the team all depart and separate with temporary goodbyes as those who have family nearby all get to go home - their parents arranging home cooked extravaganza meals, reuniting with their siblings, exchanging gifts - and Nico, for the 5th year running, feels like a bit part in someone else’s festivities as he and a few of the other European guys all bustle into the dining room of whoever is willing to accommodate them for the day. 

Then comes the rest, the sneezing, the coughing, the lethargy, in the period between Christmas and New Years, when everyone is reeling off the back of their celebrations and looking forward to ringing in the next year with a big party. 

Nico had thought this year might have been better. He had been in a relationship, there were parts of the holidays he could tweak and adopt into his circumstances - exchanging gifts with a loved one, bringing her along to Christmas dinner at Jesper and Nicole’s place, and not having to feel like a third wheel or like he had to shrink to fit at the kiddie’s table. 

He’d even tried to start his own holiday traditions with Talia, his girlfriend. He’d booked an overnight stay at a fancy hotel on the Upper East Side in the middle in the month on one of the rare occasions he’d had two consecutive days with no game or other commitments - despite how hectic his schedule had been. He’d taken her Christmas shopping down Fifth Avenue like she’d talked so much about how she’d wanted to do ever since she came out to New Jersey with him after the summer. He’d taken her ice skating, away from the Rock so that it didn’t feel like work, they had bought and decorated the tree in his apartment together, he’d brought her along to every team holiday event.

And on the day of their home game against Anaheim on the 17th, just a few days after their trip into Manhattan, in the middle of the third period, she had unceremoniously dumped him with an I’m just not feeling this anymore. Over text. As she was already at the airport preparing to fly back to Munich to spend the holidays with her family. He had slumped into his locker after their brutal 5-1 defeat and couldn’t believe what he was reading.

Nico wanted to be angry. As he read the text, he could picture any other person throwing and smashing things. Calling her up and demanding an explanation - because it was clear she hadn’t been feeling it for longer than she let on, considering she was about to board a no doubt fully booked flight across the Atlantic in the eleventh hour. 

But there was too large of a part of him that just felt relieved.

Talia was great.

He had met her properly in the summer when he had gone home to Switzerland, but they’d had mutual friends long before. He’d liked a couple of her instagram pictures here, she had responded to a few of his stories there, and then they had been formally introduced at a friend’s party.

Things with her were easy, at first. Nico wasn’t looking for anything serious, and she had ticked all of the right boxes. She was good company, always down to do whatever he was doing with whoever he wanted to do it with. She recognised that summer was the only time of the year he truly had to himself, and she let him take the reins on how he wanted to spend it.

She would go on hikes with him, would lounge around in the sun if wanted, go to parties, go to festivals, join him on little weekend trips to Ibiza or Mallorca. And she was a great release when his training had picked up. She would work around his schedule. He’d invite her round to his apartment and he had enjoyed spending time doing nothing with her after a long day at the gym or at the rink.

She had slotted so perfectly into that version of his life that he gave very little thought into inviting her into the rest of it. 

She was beautiful, sociable, charismatic - and then she became hard work.

When summer was over, and he invited her to spend some time back in New Jersey, she didn’t quite grasp how much things would need to change. She constantly wanted to have plans. Wanted to go to parties, wanted to go out, be around other people, take little trips - and he had tried to accommodate her the best he could, but he didn’t have the time for himself, let alone for another person, to be doing things all the time. He had tried to tell her as much, and she said she was okay with it, said as long as he was present with her, she could settle for not doing the things they had in the summer, but she expected too much from him. 

She wanted Nico’s attention at all hours of the day, weaving herself into every aspect of his routine. He wanted to run? She would go with him, could really use the fresh air. He wanted to do some solo training at the gym? She had been meaning to work on her lifting. He couldn’t go to the grocery store - could barely even go to work without her wanting to be there. His phone would blow up whenever they were apart, and if he didn’t text her back straight away, she’d become cold - making him feel guilty and grovel for her forgiveness.

Talia was fun, until she wasn’t. Until she was exhausting, and Nico couldn’t keep up with her any longer. 

She didn’t give him the grace to have an off day. He was tired, he was struggling, and when the season kicked into full swing, and the team’s schedule was packed, he became unable to juggle it all.

His work was suffering, his star was dimming, his body ached and his performance dipped - both in his professional and personal life. 

And so, after the detonation of their relationship, a break up text felt a little like a wake up call.

Talia had contributed so much to the deterioration of normalcy in his life, that Nico was still trying to piece back together his routine 2 weeks later. 

His holiday period this year had been spent in a haze - and it wasn’t for the reason everyone thought. He had caught the pitiful glances sent his way over the dinner table at Christmas, had seen the way the couples in the room tried to spare him of their PDA whenever he was around, and he could have told them it was okay. He was okay. But there was a large part of him that was trying to figure that out, still.

He had known he wasn’t heartbroken. He wasn’t shooting off texts to Talia and begging for her to come back. He’d already boxed up what little belongings she had left behind and was going to ship them internationally after the New Year had passed. He had deleted, not archived, all their photos on his private socials, and had even deleted most of them from his phone. He wasn’t in pieces over the fact she had ended things.

But he knew something still wasn’t right.

At first, he had thought it was work related. Their worst week of the season had happened just before Christmas - 3 losses at home in the span of 5 days - and he thought that could be the reason for his slump. Then, they won against Detroit and he still felt off.

Then, he thought he had been anxious about Christmas - about showing up on his own, having to explain his breakup to everyone not quite caught up on the news yet, and he would have to wallow in that same old feeling of watching everyone else enjoy the holidays. But Jesper and Nicole had thrown together a pretty nice day for the guys. The food was great, the company was great, and he’d gone back to his apartment that night with a feeling of relief - like he’d been dreading something for so long only for him to have genuinely enjoyed himself.

And finally, as if being thrust into a freezing cold ice bath, realisation had washed over him on the morning of the team’s final home game of the year against Columbus. 

He had been walking through the back offices of the Prudential Centre when he had stumbled upon a conversation, and had heard Poppy Jensen’s voice for the first time in what felt like forever.

“I’m just kinda beat, to be honest, J,” she had said in response to a question Nico hadn’t caught. He had thought no one would be around, most of the Foundation staff having the week off, and hadn’t expected to come across anyone on his venture to the best vending machine in the building. The Foundation offices were often frequented by kids, and had an assortment of candies throughout their machines instead of the protein bars or rice cakes elsewhere in the staff areas. At the sound of her voice, he had come to an immediate halt, peaking around the corner where he could see into her office. She was moving some things into a box on her desk and Jack Hughes was reclining in the chair in front of it that once had been claimed by Nico as his own. “I’m all social interaction-ed out, the holidays have kinda beat me to a pulp, I don’t think I could keep up with you guys, I’m sorry.”

Nico watches as she swats at his feet when he tries to kick them up onto her desk, and can’t quite see the crease between her brows as she frowns at their mutual friend, but can remember how it used to form all the same. “You’re such a bullshitter,” Jack had scoffed, clearly pre-empting the stapler Poppy would throw at him, managing to catch it with ease. 

“You can’t call me a bullshitter in my own office,” she gawked, “You don’t see me marching out onto the ice and calling you an attention whore.”

Jack had thrown the stapler straight back. She caught it all the same, and dropped it into the box.

“You haven’t hung out with us in forever!”

“We hung out at the Toy Drive like 2 weeks ago!” There had been two toy drive events organised by the Foundation in different parts of town, and, as he had long become accustomed to, Nico had been put on the one separate to the event Poppy was working. It had been fun, but when he’d checked the social posts the next day and seen the pictures posted of the other team - all smiles between them, a slightly blurry Poppy in the near background of all of Jack’s pictures to indicate how close they had been throughout the event - he had felt like he’d missed out on something.

“That was work, it doesn’t count, Popsicle.” Nico could hear the roll of Jack’s eyes.

“Yeah, well some of us don’t consider helping underprivileged children and spreading Christmas spirit ‘work’, Jack.” Poppy had used air quotes to emphasise her sarcasm, and a fond warmth had spread throughout Nico’s chest at hearing her hold her own against someone as brazenly wise as Jack Hughes. “I thought we were hanging out, having fun, improving our community together. You should really check your ego!”

“I sh-,” Jack had managed to cut himself off, no doubt realising how loud he had gotten. “You’re the one who’s been avoiding the whole team all year, ‘cause you’re hung up on-,”

The door to Poppy’s office had slammed closed before Nico had a chance to hear the end of his teammate’s sentence. Their voices had been muffled after that, and shame had started to creep up on Nico at the fact he’d been eavesdropping on a private conversation.

He’d foregone the snacks he originally snuck off in search of, and returned back to the locker room to get ready for his practice skate. 

For the first time in a long time, when Jack arrived and threw himself down on the bench beside him, Nico had wanted him to bring her up.

In the months prior, he would freeze up at the mention of Poppy Jensen, not wanting to face the reality of his dwindling connection to someone who had once been such a huge part of his life. He had other focuses - namely, Talia - and reflecting on what had once been between the two of them did not serve any kind of good purpose. It opened him up to uncomfortable conversations that he wasn’t willing to have, uncomfortable realisations he couldn’t quite come to terms with, and he had been too comfortable avoiding any kind of confrontation around it.

But in the short time between witnessing the conversation between Jack and Poppy, and getting ready for the team’s morning practice, too many questions had been swirling around his mind, and he needed answers.

Why was Poppy packing up her desk?

Why was she avoiding hanging out with the team?

What was she so hung up on? Had something happened?

He’d spent so long avoiding even thinking about her, that he all of a sudden felt like he’d missed everything.

Luckily for him, Jack Hughes needed little to no prompting for his blabbermouth nature to prevail.

“You know, for someone who’s literal job it is to lead us as a Captain, you’ve done terribly at warning me just how stressful this whole New Years thing is,” Jack had huffed as he began changing into his practice gear.

“I did nothing but warn you,” Nico responded, “You called me Mr Grumpy Pants and told me I was just afraid your party was gonna be better than mine.”

“Yeah, well, you should have insisted, it’s stressing me out.”

“You’ll be fine,” Nico scoffed, running a hand through the mess of his hair and leaning back into his locker. He watched Jack’s jittery movements as he shrugged on his pads, and felt the need to reassure his friend. “Everyone’s looking forward to it. As long as there’s plenty to drink and decent music, people will have a good time.”

“Not everyone,” Jack grumbled, “I can’t even get Poppy to come and she loves parties.”

So that���s what they had been talking about. 

Poppy did love parties, but Nico couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her at one. 

“Poppy has a New Years ritual, she didn’t come to mine, either, I wouldn’t beat yourself up about it.” Nico shrugged, despite the wave of a memory that washed over him of him doing exactly that when she hadn’t showed up last year. He’d had to restrain himself from leaving his own party - spent the night texting her updates on what everyone had been doing, snap-chatting her pictures in the hopes it would entice her the few blocks over from her apartment building. He’d only been consoled by the text he’d received just after the clock had struck midnight, settling for the pride in knowing he had been one of the first to get a Happy New Years message from her - knowing it wasn’t just a mass text she would have copy-and-pasted to everyone else, and had been personalised to him with a bunch of perfectly curated emojis and exclamation marks after his name.

Nico didn’t see Jack’s stiffened posture at the way he had so nonchalantly mentioned her for the first time in forever. Didn’t see the side eye, or the pensive twist of his mouth as he carefully considered his next words like he was about to step through a minefield.

“I’m gonna keep trying,” he had sat back down on the bench beside Nico to put on his skates, “I’m definitely her favourite, she’s been helping me organise the whole thing, I don’t think it will take much to convince her.”

Nico tried not to show any kind of reaction to Jack being Poppy’s favourite, or at the thought of how much time they must be spending together to organise such an event. A part of him knew he was only saying it to rattle him. “Cutting it a little fine, aren’t you? New Years is in a couple days, and the guys from the Foundation aren’t even around this week, are they?”

“She’s covering someone on content until January, I said I’d drive her home after the game and me and Lukey can double down on it. And if we can’t get it done tonight, she’s coming on the road with us at the end of the week. I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Oh,” Nico was thankful for how Jack had leaned over to tie his skates up, because he wasn’t entirely sure he’d been able to mask whatever had flooded over him at the revelation that his teammate would be driving Poppy home.

That was his thing. He was pretty sure his passenger seat was still positioned to her liking despite how long it had been since she’d sat in it. He was still working his way through the stash of smiley face air fresheners she had stashed in his glove compartment. He still felt like he was forgetting something every time he left the parking lot and she wasn’t sat beside him, chatting his ear off about some of the kids she had worked with in the day.

“Maybe you should ask her?”

Nico’s eyes shot over to meet Jack’s in alarm. “Me?”

“Yeah, the more people that ask, the more she might feel like she’s missing out. Flash her those cute dimples, how could she possibly say no?”

“I think I’m the last person that’s gonna convince Poppy to come, Jack.” Nico had tried to be nonchalant about it, but he had come across so painfully uncomfortable that he could feel the hair on his arms stand, not liking the ache that spread through his chest at the statement. 

There was once upon a time that cheering Poppy Jensen up had been a large part of his routine. Even small acts, like bringing her a coffee on a busy day, where he knew she wouldn’t take a break to go get one herself, and knew how much she disliked the stuff from the pot in her office. Sending her texts from across the room when there were big organisation meetings and he could see her chewing at her fingernails at the vast amounts of information being spewed about. Tagging her in cute animal videos he’d come across on TikTok when he was across the country on a roadie and on a different timezone - she’d wake up to them sometimes, and he’d wake up to her response.

“Right, I forgot you two aren’t friends anymore.”

“Is that what she said?” Nico had swallowed down the hurt at the thought of her coming to that conclusion - vocalising it to someone and finalising the decision before he had any chance to do anything about it.

He couldn’t really blame her, though - he’d had plenty of chances.

Nico could feel himself beginning to spiral, words swirling around his head like a tornado of realisation and guilt. 

Aren’t friends anymore.

Avoiding the whole team all year.

Jack is driving her home.

He’s her favourite.

Aren’t friends anymore.

Shit.

He didn’t even take in Jack’s response to his question. As much as he wanted to know the answer, he couldn’t bear to hear it. 

Nico couldn’t face up to what he had truly lost.

It wasn’t his girlfriend of five months, who had dumped him over text during the most wonderful time of the year. It wasn’t a few games, that, sure, it had sucked that they had been beat, but in retrospect, the team had had a pretty decent start to the season, and shouldn’t have had his back up that much. 

Nico had lost someone who had, at one point, been the most important person in his life. 

The person he would usually have gone to to help him through the other stuff - the breakups, the losses, the stress, the anxiety - the crushing weight that had been pressing down on his chest since he had left for Switzerland at the beginning of summer. 

Nico and Poppy used to work around each other like a beautifully choreographed, well-rehearsed dance. She always knew when he was overwhelmed or exhausted, he always knew when she was stressed or upset, and they both knew how to pick the other back up. 

They hadn’t even fallen out of sync when they’d stopped talking to each other, only this time, they were moving around each other. If Nico entered a room, Poppy would leave. If she knew he was going to be at a team party, she’d make up an excuse not to go. If someone mentioned Poppy in casual conversation, Nico would quickly change the subject. All of it had been subconscious, on his part, at least.

It had been so easy after such a prolonged distance between the two of them to move when she pushed, to watch when she ran, like he had grown into his part in their relationship akin to repelling magnets, always moving away from one another.

It had been so easy that he hadn’t even really realised what was happening - lost and handicapped by a thick fog clouding his thoughts and his judgement. He’d let their once blooming friendship wither and die, and for what?

As he had watched Jack waddle out of the locker room for their practice session, muttering a dismissive, “Whatever, I’ll figure it out,” to his Captain, it was like he had been awakened into full consciousness. 

Nico had thought that his turmoil had started with the holiday period. Had thought the ache of homesickness had swirled in with the grief that came with the loss of his relationship, and the shame his poor performances on the ice had thrown upon him. But it had started long before that. He hadn’t been himself since he’d returned from his summer break. Before that, even.

Without realising that he had lost her, Nico had spent the last few months subconsciously mourning his friendship with Poppy - the crushing weight of that grief consuming him to a point that he felt lost with no way out, and had expressed it in a bunch of misguided ways.

He reached into his bag to retrieve where he had stashed his cellphone, scrolling through his Messages app until he stumbled across Poppy’s name. The last text had been sent in September, by her, and he had never responded - had never even opened it, the blue dot to the left of their message thread taunting him with chirps of how awful he had been to ignore it.

Poppy: Hey, can we talk? I miss you.

How late is too late to reply to a text like that? He could only hope she still felt the same way.

Turns out, 4 months might be too late.

Nico has drafted an embarrassing amount of messages to Poppy over the days since that conversation in the locker room.

His notes app has a whole folder dedicated to her. Bullet pointed lists, random memories that made him think of her, structured essays that laid out a timeline of their friendship, and all the mistakes he would need to beg for her forgiveness for. 

He’d tried sending a message when he had got back to his apartment after the game against Columbus, feeling a rush of confidence from the adrenaline of their OT win, his high had soon dwindled when he was alone. He sat staring at all the different iterations of an apology he could offer, and had even chickened out of the final draft of a very simple but hopefully effective, ‘Hey.’

He knew he was overthinking it. A conversation starter would at the very least open the door for the apology, and all he needed to do was talk to her in some way - but that turned out to be easier said than done.

She wasn’t in her office when he’d gone to seek her out at work the next day, and when he realised she was probably in the content and media offices, he felt like he would be cornering her if he sought her out in front of anyone else. When the weight of how far removed they now were from each other’s lives dawned on him, a text felt too informal, and so the paragraphs sat untouched in his notes. The weather hadn’t been too great, so he couldn’t try and intercept her on the running route he knew all too well, and even attempting to orchestrate a seemingly random encounter outside of work seemed too creepy so stopping by the cafe around the corner from her apartment in the hopes she’d be there grabbing a latte was off the cards. 

He’d seen her on the plane to Ottawa, having to pass her seat to get to the team section at the back, but he had a few people boarding behind him, and she had her eyes cast toward her cell, headphones on and typing intently to somebody, he couldn’t even offer her a friendly smile to try and warm her up to the possibility of a conversation.

Between their win against the Senators, and their loss against the Bruins the next day, there wasn’t much time, or energy, really, to seek her out, and so he’d had to press the breaks, but as they flew back to New Jersey from Boston, a panic had started to swirl within his chest.

Nico knew he couldn’t enter a new year without clearing the air, and so time was well and truly running out. He again had seen her on the plane, and when he had plucked up the courage to get up and go sit with her, Jack had beaten him to it. When the plane had landed, and the team bus had driven them all back to the Rock, the Hughes brothers had both walked her to her car to see her off for the evening. 

For someone who had been not-so-subtly trying to initiate a reunion between Nico and Poppy for so long, Jack Hughes sure knew how to get in the way. But, he was easy to forgive - especially when Nico had woken up to his texts late this morning.

Jack: need ur help

Jack: urgently

Jack: wake up dude

Nico: I’m not driving anywhere for you

Jack: not asking u to

Jack: u will like this I promise 😌

Nico: what do you want?

Jack: need u to keep Poppy company

Jack: she’s in my apartment and she seemed off when she got here

Jack: been on her own for a few hours

Jack: so she’s grumpy 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻 👹👹

Nico: doubt I can change the grumpy part

Nico: especially if you’ve left her alone for hours

Jack: don’t need to

Jack: ur a grump too

Jack: will cancel each other out 👍🏻👍🏻😇😇

Jack: u going down or no?

Nico: fine

Jack: I’ll be back in 1 hr :)

Jack: love u cap 😚

Nico: 🙄

And that was how Nico had found himself trudging down to Jack’s apartment, hopeful at the dream of a bridged gap between him and Poppy, and quickly disappointed by the reality.

She had been cold, rightfully so, and had made it clear as day she didn’t want anything to do with him. She had shrunk into herself, backing away from him any time he got too close,  defecting to a state of avoidance - gaze dropping to the floor, declining his offers to help her, making assumptions she was in his way, as if the thought of him seeking her out had become an entirely alien concept.

He couldn’t blame her for how she was being with him. It had been his fault things had collapsed between them - he’d come to that conclusion with the vast amounts of evidence piled up in his phone storage the past couple of days, but it didn’t make it hurt any less to see her like this - or to feel an actual, tangible resistance when he had tried to insist on being around. She didn’t want him around, that much was obvious, and it was starting to feel like it was to late to fix what he had so royally screwed up between the two of them. 

The once well-oiled machine that was their friendship was now clunky, clattering, dying a slow death with parts that were now obsolete.

But that didn’t change how much he wanted it to work. His parents had once told him when he was growing up that nothing was beyond repair, and if he wanted something fixed enough, he would figure out a way.

They had been talking about a model train he, his father and his brother had made when he was very young. The company that made the sets had gone bust, and they no longer sold the individual parts anymore - so when his sister had stumbled over something in the garage back home, knocked a box, and the once pristine collectable train had tumbled out and ended up cracked and chipped, he had been heartbroken. He and Nina had filled in the chips with wood filler, and touched it up with her nail polish, and it wasn’t the same but in a way it was better - a new sentiment attached with a memory of bonding with his sibling. 

The same thing could apply to his friendship with Poppy. Maybe they couldn’t go back to what they were - maybe they could be better.

And, when Poppy had made one too many attempts to push him away - when he had taken a hold of her after she had tried to move past him, dismissing him and his desire to help her, once again - a fire reignited within him. A spark of hope flickered at the familiarity that had flashed across her face as he referred to her in an endearment he hadn’t let himself use in so long.

In that moment - hand wrapped around her arm, just above her elbow, the skin soft and warm, close enough to smell the all too familiar cloud of vanilla-coconut scent that followed her, and her eyes locked on his - he had seen a crack in her armour.

He had seen an element of want - wanting to reconcile, wanting to fix things, wanting him in her life in the way he had been those months ago - and in a mirror of his own emotions, he had seen trepidation.

They wanted the same things, had the same fears, had the same end goal.

And when the unforeseen interruption of her best friend arriving startled her back into her withdrawn persona, he had realised something else.

Nia’s contrasting attitude toward Nico - open, friendly, familiar - had opened his eyes to the fact that Poppy hadn’t told her best friend about the demise of her friendship with Nico. 

And that, as much as it needed unpacking entirely, was Nico’s backdoor entry into the high security vault of Poppy’s good graces. 

Thankfully for him, Nia’s obliviousness to their tension had worked entirely in his favour. He tried not to look too much into Poppy’s attempted avoidance of spending the evening in his presence, despite her other plans falling apart. Tried to shoulder the blows of her sly digs at them not being friends anymore. Tried to ignore the pang in his heart at Poppy’s best friend being the one to throw flirty jibes his way, and not her. 

A determination had begun to brew within him - swirling, bubbling, steaming - and it was going to push him to finally bridge the gap he had forced between them.

His first success was her agreeing to come to the party, and he could easily build on that momentum.

Nico and Poppy were going to be friends again by midnight, he would figure out a way.

> Chapter One

[softhe4rted]

on loneliness jenny slate / japanese breakfast, posing for cars / corinne von lebusa, big glow / dadushin / alejandra pizarnik, tr. me / fka twings, home with you / avocado_ibuprofen / fiona apple, left alone / anne carson, “the anthropology of water”, plainwater / kiki smith, free fall / alejandra pizarnik, diaries

[downbaddetective]

Are there people who are actually giving up on Payneland? I...? You can go looking through my blog, I am a hard-core Catwin shipper, but never once have I ever believed that it would win out over what has seemed like the obvious endgame to me? The Catwin is canon thing doesn't really change that. Unless I missed something else, my belief in Payneland as a ship is unwavering even if they aren't necessarily MY otp. I guess I'm gonna comb through the cameos again cause????

[mbirnsings-71]

Struggled with today's art but I have to draw Scar Daily or I implode basically- also Ren for @pup-pee because I have to practice drawing him and Martyn after all-

Also I think Non-dog hybrid Ren is cursed but like it's what we're working with here we're balling-

[ivorysodapop]

I've been playing a lotta FOM lately so here is the guy I dropped in there in an approximation of its style.. (bc pixel art is. An endeavor.) Hi Torrey yayyy yayyy