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dragon-kazansky · 4 months

Text

Heart of the Dreaming

Morpheus x Female Reader

Soulmate AU

You are the daughter of Rodrick Burgess. You find out about the "demon" in the basement and decide you want to see it. Things take an unexpected turn when your soulmate connection is made with the man you find down there. You are the one he has been waiting for, and you're being taken away from. Not for long. Dream will protect his soulmate.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Eight - Our purpose

☆☆☆

A knock on your door breaks you out of your thoughts. You sit up and look at your door. You're not sure how long ago Lucienne had left and expect that it's probably her returning to tell you he has come back.

You rise from the bed and walk over to the door, opening it carefully. It is not Lucienne standing there but Dream himself.

"You're back."

"Yes."

The silence between you is thick and awkward. You feel strange standing in front of him again. He seems different, somehow.

"Can I come in?" He asks.

"Oh right... Yes." You move and let him into your room. He closes the door behind him and turns to find you sitting on your bed again.

"Are you well?" He asks.

"Yes."

He stands there silently. It's rather intimidating. You feel anxious under his gaze and find it easier not to look at him. He might think you're being rude, but you're really not sure what else to do.

"Come with me," he says flatly.

You look at him. "Where to?"

"I am going to meet with my sister. I want you to come."

You feel his honesty in his words. He does want you to go with him. You feel like you should mention that you wanted to leave, but now it didn't seem like the right time.

"Alright."

☆☆☆

You find yourself sitting on a park bench beside Dream. In his hand is some bread, which he's slowly breaking apart to feed to the pigeons.

You sigh quietly as you look around you. The world was new to you. There was a lot to see and do. There are a lot of things you'd need to learn. You had been locked away in that house for so long.

He hasn't spoken much to you.

A ball comes flying from the game being played in front of you, and Morpheus catches it with one hand. You look at him in awe.

It impressed you. Morpheus impressed you.

The young man playing the game came over and apologised. He looks at you and then back at Morpheus. Neither of you say anything.

He takes the ball and returns to the game.

You look up and see a woman approaching. She smiles at you as she comes over. You have no idea who she is, or maybe you do. You keep your eyes on her as she walks closer and sits down next to Dream.

"What you doing?"

"I'm feeding the pigeons," he replies.

Death looks at her brother and then glances at you. She smiles and then turns back to her brother.

"You do that too much, you know what you get?"

Morpheus shakes his head gently.

"Fat pigeons." She smiles. "That's from Mary Poppins. Did you ever see it?"

"No."

A little girl runs past through the birds and startles them. Death smiles as she watches her go.

Morpheus is very silent. Death looks at her brother and asks, "what's the matter?"

"What do you mean?"

Dream glances at you and then turns back to the birds. "I don't know what's wrong, but... You're right. Something is the matter."

Death sits back and shows him she's listening.

"When they captured me, I just had one thought. Vengeance. It wasn't as satisfying as I'd expected. Meanwhile, my kingdom had fallen apart. My tools long since stolen and scattered. And so I embarked upon a journey to find them. Which I did. I'm now more powerful than I have been in eons. And yet..."

He goes silent. Death understands. She leans forward again. "Here you are, feeding the pigeons."

"You see, until then, I'd had a true quest. A purpose beyond my function, and then suddenly, it was over, and... I felt disappointed. Let down. Empty."

You look at him curiously. He was so strange. You didn't quite understand how he works and how his mind ticks. You didn't understand him. Then again, you hadn't had much time to learn about him.

"Does that make sense?" He asks, looking at his sister. "I was so sure that once I got everything back, I'd feel good. But in some ways, I feel worse than when I started. I feel like... Nothing. There. You asked."

"You could have called me, you know." Death tells him.

"I didn't want to worry you." He says back.

"Oh, I don't believe it. Let me tell you something, Dream." She takes the bread from his hand. "And I'm only going to say this once, so you better pay attention. You are utterly the stupidest, most self-centered, pathetic excuse for an anthropomorphic personification on this or any other plane. Feeling sorry for yourself because your little game is over and you haven't got the balls to go out and find a new one. You're as bad as Desire. No, worse."

Death throws the bread back at him, and he catches it.

"And, who are you, if i may ask?" Death looks at you.

"Oh, um..." You feel like you've been put on the spot. Does she know? Doesn't seem like it. Is it your place to tell her?

"My soulmate," Dream tells her.

Death looks at you in awe.

"Soulmate?" Death asks. She glances between you and her brother. "Wait, are you serious? When did this happen?"

"Um. Well, you see... Dream was captured by my father. He was under the house for years... and then I went to take a look one day, and I got this." You hold out your wrist. Death looks at the scar. Suddenly, she grabs her brother's arm and pulls up his sleeve. Her looks at her, unimpressed.

"Curious." She smiles. "That is rare indeed."

"How rare?" You ask, wanting to know more.

"Well, no other of the Endless have a soulmate. Just Dream." She smiles at you.

"What does that mean?"

You avoid looking at Dream. You're too embarrassed to meet his eyes right now. It felt strange finally talking about this thing that connects the pair of you.

"It means you're special."

"I didn't ask to be special." You say to her.

Dream looks down at the ground. He hadn't really had time to sit down and talk to you. He probably should have before coming to speak to his sister. You didn't know him. He didn't really know you. There was a lot of space between you both, and this bond, despite being so real, felt barely there.

"Dream?"

He looks up at his sister.

"You've found your soulmate. You need to connect with her. You have something we don't. Don't spoil it."

Dream turns to look at you. "I am sorry for how I have behaved."

You look at him confused. "You? I think I'm the sorry one. I was so freaked out by everything, and we went straight to looking for your tools... everything is a mess. Sure, you're intimidating, but that doesn't mean I should be rude to you."

It was his turn to look confused.

"Look, I don't know anything about all this soulmate business. All I know is that we are connected. Being soulmates doesn't mean we have to fall in love or anything. It just means we're connected, and that's okay with me." You offer him a smile.

Dream finds himself pleasantly surprised by your words. You've made him feel rather comforted and welcome. It has been a rocky start, but maybe it's time to start again.

"Then we can be friends?" He asks.

"If you'd like."

Death look at her brother with a smug expression and then say as to you, "he doesn't have many friends."

"Well, he has one now." You smile at him.

"Two. He has two friends now." Death grins.

You look at her as if to ask who the other is, but she doesn't respond. She looks around smugly. Dream doesn't say anything either, which leaves you rather curious.

A moment of silence falls between you all before Death speaks again. "Did it never occur to you that I would be worried about you?" She asks.

"I didn't think you-"

"Exactly. You didn't think."

The ball comes flying again, and this time, Death catches it. Morpheus lowers his gaze to pigeons in front of him. While Franklin, the young man playing ball, talks to Death, you look at Morpheus.

"You're as good as your... friend there."

"He's not my friend. He's my brother. And he's an idiot."

"I'm just feeding the birds." Morpheus says.

"Look, I can't stay here all day. I've got work to do. You can come with me if you want, or you can stay here and sulk." Death tells him.

"I'll come with you, I suppose." He replies.

"Well, don't do me any favours." She smiles at him. As Morpheus rises, she chuckles. "You're invited too," she says to you.

You stand up and look at Dream. He looks at you and gives you the subtlest of nods. You join him by his side and walk with him as he follows Death through the park.

"Where are we going?" You ask softly.

"To watch Death work."

Death takes you both on a walk. It's a sunny day, and there's lots of things going on here and there. She stops at a stall and looks at the apple.

"Three please."

"None for me, thank you," Morpheus says.

"You could have it later," Death suggests. He just looks at her. "Just two then."

The vendor chooses 2 apples for her and hands them over. She smiles and turns, holding one out for you. You take it and smile at her softly in thanks. She looks leased that you took it.

Dream watches you as you bite into the apple. Your eyes seem to light up pleasantly as you chew. He wondered when the last time you had an apple was. Judging by your reaction, it had been a while.

Death smiles and loops her arm with her brother as they continue walking. She bites into her apple. Dream glances at you as his sister drags him away slowly. You chuckle softly, following behind them.

"You are good with them," Morpheus says to his sister.

"Apples?"

"Humans." He clarifies.

Death holds up the apple to him. "Bite?"

"No, thank you."

"Have you seen any of the others since you've been back?" Death asks Dream. He confirms he hasn't. Death mentions the last dinner they had together.

The others? You look between the siblings and wonder. They are peculiar in every way, yet you're fascinated. Of all the things your father did and tried, these two were the most interesting of them all.

Death. The being your father tried to trap. You feel awful thinking about it.

You hear Death tell Dream he was missed, along with their missing brother who left some time ago. When he keeps quiet, she teases him by pretending he's asking her questions and then she answers them.

You smile. You never had this kind of relationship with your brothers. Perhaps life would have been different had it been.

Morpheus finds it amusing and looks at her, asking, "How are you, my sister? How have you been keeping?"

"I'm worried about my brother." She replies. "And I'm enjoying this apple." She turns around and looks at you, smiling softly.

"Don't hide back there. Come join us. He has two arms, you know." She chuckles. She's teasing you both. You sigh softly and join Dream on his other side. You don't touch him, but you do walk closely beside him.

Morpheus notices this.

As you walk a little further along, you hear violin music coming from an open window above you. The three of you stop to listen.

"I know this piece." Morpheus says softly. "I haven't heard it in 200 years."

"Come on." Death urges him softly to follow her. You look at Dream and follow him inside. The violin music plays as you enter the apartment. When you reach the room, it's being played from, it stops as the man coughs. Death approaches the man.

"Don't stop, please." She says gently.

You stand beside Dream and watch as his sister approaches the man. There comes a moment of surrealism. The man is dead. She has come to see him to the other side. You feel strange.

She lets the man say a prayer before he takes her hand. Morpheus looks at you as she goes into the other room with him. You can hear her wings.

"Are you alright?" He asks.

You look up at him. "Yes."

Death returns. She smiles softly. "Come." She leaves the apartment, and you both follow her out. Death walks beside you.

"Has my brother been looking after you?"

"Oh, um. Well, I suppose. He came back to rescue me, and then we went looking for his tools, and now I'm here."

"Is that all?" She asks softly.

"Well, yes."

She glances back at Dream, who stares at her quietly. You switch your gaze between them as you wait for someone to say something. Death looks almost disappointed in Dream.

"What do you think of my brother?"

"Well... He's unusual. I don't know..."

"Do you think he's handsome?" She asks outright.

You stutter softly. You can feel his eyes on you, and you avoid looking up at him just in case. Death smiles softly and realises you're not going to answer her verbally. She winks at you and then carries on walking away.

Eventually, you all come to a stop. She begins to remove her boots.

"My father... it was you he wanted to trap..." You say, watching her. She looks at you with a soft expression.

"I know."

"I'm so sorry..."

"Whatever for? It was your fault." She smiles.

"No, but... My family is the reason your brother was trapped for all those years. We were the reason people suffered..."

Death places a reassuring hand on your shoulder and gives you her kind smile. You feel comforted by her. "You are not at fault. Had they never captured my brother, he never would have found you."

Your face feels slightly warm. You can tell Dream is listening.

"I suppose."

Death doesn't say any more on the matter. She leads the way down to a grassy bank. You find yourself walking beside Dream again. Having him beside you was beginning to feel comforting. You stop to watch Death approach a man. He has drowned in the canal. You watch Death do her job. You watch the wife of the man run to her husband's body and cry. People gather around. You drop your gaze.

"I was going to ask if you'd let me leave, and we'd never have to see each other again now you're free," you say, not looking at him.

Dream turns his head to look at you.

"Now I think I'd rather like to stay." You turn to him now.

"I'm glad," he says.

You hear the sound of wings.

Death watches you both from where she stands. She smiles softly. This soulmate thing could be good for him. She's certain of it. Especially if he falls in love with you.

The two siblings eventually join sides again and walk. You follow on the other side of Dream. He asks her how she's does it. Death confides in him about how she feels about her role. "I have a job to do. And I do it. When the first living thing existed, I was there. When the last living thing dies, I'll put the chairs on the table, turn out the lights, and... lock the universe behind me when I leave."

You listen to her talk. She's putting the world into a new perspective for you.

"I'm not there for all of them. There are exceptions." She says. "Mad Hettie. And then there's your ongoing project."

You look up when she says that.

"How's he faring up after all this time?"

"Who? Hob Gadling?"

"Hob Gadling?" You question, looking between them, but Dream continues to talk to Death.

"I was forced to miss our last appointment." Dream tells her.

"Well, I'm sure he'd love to see you." Death looks at him. "Maybe take her with you. She could meet your other friend."

Dream knows Death is talking about you.

"They're never too keen to see me, though."

"Does it not bother you?" Dream asks.

"I actually used to think I had the hardest job in all our family."

"Oh, did you?" Dreams looks amused.

"They fear the Sunless Lands, yet they enter your realm every night without fear."

"And yet I am far more terrible than you." He says.

You smile at the two.

They talk some more. As they talk, you lose yourself in your thoughts. The world was vastly different than you remember it. Just like Dream, you had been a prisoner at that house. You had missed out on so much. You look at Dream and realise that he's your chance of a future. You don't fit into this world anymore, but you have him.

You hear Death confess that she had thought about giving up. Dream looks bewildered by her statement. You follow her into a house and find yourself freezing at the door. Morpheus sees the crib and then looks at you. Death gives you an apologetic look as she picks up the baby.

Morpheus comes to stand in front of you. You find yourself startled as he reaches for your hand. You look up at him. The sound of wings fills the back of your mind.

Life was unfair sometimes.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

You nod silently.

He lets go of your hand when you all leave the house, but he continues to walk right beside you. He keeps his eyes on you as you all walk.

Dream learns a lot from his sister. He learns a lot about humanity. He also learns quite a bit about you. He has seen the way reaches to everything today. You were lost in your own world, but you have chosen to stay by his side. He was thankful.

Eventually, you slowly start to make your way back to the park. You and Dream walk side by side. Death walks on the other side of her brother.

"I used to think I had to do this all by myself."

"But you do."

"No. At the end, I'm there with them. I'm holding their hand and they're holding mine. I'm not alone when I'm doing my job. And neither are you. Think about it. The only reason we even exist, you and I, and Desire and Despair, the whole family. We're here to serve them."

Dream listens to her.

"It isn't about quests or finding purpose outside our function. Our purpose is pur function. We're here for them. Since I figured that out, I realised I need them as much as they need me."

Morpheus seems pleased by her words.

"I've seen so many cool things and people and worlds. I've learned so much. Lots of people don't have a job they love doing, do they? So, I think I'm really very lucky."

You smile. She liked her job. Maybe you can help Dream with his.

"Listen, I've got to head back soon."

Morpheus takes her hand. "You've taught me something I have forgotten. I thank you, my sister."

Death smiles at Dream.

"Aw. That's what family's about, little brother."

Death turns her gaze to you, "Look after her, won't you, Dream?"

"I will," Dream says. He looks at you softly.

There's a screech of a car, and then Franklin comes over when he sees Death and starts talking to her. Dream smiles and starts guiding you away.

Death calls out to him. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

He nods and continues leading you away.

"Where are we going?" You ask softly.

"I'm late for an appointment."

You walk with him in a comfortable silence.

☆☆☆

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@mwaaaaaugh - @bluespecs14 - @intothesoul - @lady-violet - @navs-bhat - @krahk - @oldsoulmagic

@rubyrose2014 - @lorkai - @roxytheimmortal - @star-maker-rain-dancer - @intothesoul - @gemini-mama - @whotperlinda

@dreamingblueberries - @the-shadow-of-aurora - @novavida - @blackgirlmagicforever

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 - @hopshusushi - @sloppyzengarden - @thecraziestcrayon -

#heart of the dreaming #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #soulmate au #dragon writes

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hidden-poet · 5 months

Text

Commander Snow; 8

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The door was fixed with great haste. Before you knew it, you were back in the apartment playing housewife again. Coriolanus’s distrust of you grew to a new level. He no longer trusted you to remain home by yourself. Edmund was still not found, and Coriolanus was certain he would reappear and take you away.

You now worked with him, slept with him, and ate every meal with him. The fence line seemed like an impossible goal with him being so suffocating. You were pretty sure the broken chain was not found. He would have said something, would have taunted you with how close your freedom was. It meant you had something up your sleeve against him.

But you had no way of getting to it. You had tried to disappear during his work hours, when he was most distracted, but the only time you seemed to be out of his sight was when you showered. If there had been a window in the bathroom, you were sure that he would have been in there too.

You tried your best to soften him with affection. When you had the chance, you baked him the oatmeal cookies he loves. He ate whole plates in one sitting.

But as his work increased, your work decreased. Long days spent at his office were hard to fill. He sat behind his desk and never seemed to stop working. Sometimes there was mending you could do, or shoes to shine but most of the day you sat on the couch reading what was on hand.

You had taken to organizing the books in alphabetical order, then grouped them according to color. You worked quietly and slowly. Careful not to make any noise to disturb Coriolanus from his work. You had taken them down again just moments ago to reorganize them by subject when Coriolanus' assistant came in carrying a tea tray and a large parcel.

She drops the parcel down on the table in front of you, amongst the books. You look over it to see your name neatly scribbled on the recipient's information.

The receptionist doesn’t look at you as she puts the tea tray in front of Coriolanus.

He thanks her but her response is drowned out to your ears by the opening of the box.

“Is it from Tigris?”

You wait until the receptionist shuts the door behind her to respond.

You confirmed it was, as you pulled a soft silk nightdress from the box. It was light pink which was uncommon for the districts. Dark pink lace trimming boarded along the bottom and top of the dress. You run your finger across it. It was the most expensive material you had ever felt.

Another dress was folded in the box and you take it out.

It was light blue with yellow birds flying across it, made of a soft cotton material that would fall around your ankles.

“You like them?” he asks.

“They are beautiful,” you admit.

You look in the box for more to see a small pouch filled with sweets from the Capitol.

Tigris was too kind. If things had been different, you would have been a good friend to her. But as her cousin's captive, you were now sworn enemies. The box of treats didn’t change that.

You return the items to the box and see parchment paper protecting soft material at the bottom.

“There's a shirt for you.” It was a long white dress shirt with gold stitching running in horizontal lines down it.

He comes from his desk to collect it. Taking it gently from your hands, he brings it up to his nose and inhales the scent.

“You really miss home,” you comment, watching him breathe in the scent the shirt carried.

“I do. More than anything.” He returns to his desk with it still in his hands.

“You’ll be home soon.”

“We’ll be home soon”.

You smile thinly at him. “That’s what I said.”

“You should see the Capitol. Clothing, culture. Actual buildings, not these pieces of tin. You’ll be able to breathe much better in the Capitol.”

The scratching of his pen picked up where his sentence had been incomplete as he began his work again. The shirt lay across his lap.

“I have the day off tomorrow,” he said without stopping his work, “I was thinking we could visit the waterfall again. It will probably be the last time before Ravinstill dies.”

The thought made your stomach drop. If you don’t make it beyond the fence, it would in fact be the last time you ever saw your favorite place. The time was better spent within the compound waiting for an opportunity. He would never let you get too far in the district.

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Why?” he questions with a hard tone. He continued to write but the pen pressed firmly into the paper.

“I am behind on my chores, and I haven’t made anything in a while. The food in the fridge will go bad if I don’t get to it soon.”

“Let it. The Capitol is full of food.”

You realize now that Coriolanus had already made up his mind to do the activity. You wondered why he chose it. He hated the heat and the bugs.

You walk over to the tray of hot tea and pour out a cup, making it to his liking and placing it down in front of him.

“We’ll go if you want to.”

“Why don’t you want to go?”

“Why do you want to? The walk up there will take us nearly the whole morning in the hot sun.”

“I thought it might make you happy.”

He was trying to win your approval before he ripped everything you had ever known from your finger tips. It was something to use against him. Coriolanus responded best when he was in a position to be a hero. He would do anything so long as he felt he was the only one who could do it for you.

You lean down and wrap your arms around his shoulders, resting your face against his neck.

“You know what would make me happy? Some vanilla extract so I can send Tigris some shortbread cookies back”.

He responds positively by wrapping his hands around your forearms. He liked you looking out for Tigris.

“She’s been asking to meet you.” He says, his hand gently wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “I have a call with them next Friday afternoon. Maybe you’d like to come with.”

You retract your hold now that he was in a better mood.

There was only one answer you could give him when it came to his family.

“I’d love to”.

You had a deep hate for Capitol people but Tigris seems different. In any case, you were sure you could remain civil for an hour-long phone call.

Pouring yourself a cup of tea, you return to your spot with it and Coriolanus returns to his work.

———-

You stood out in the sun with Coriolanus as he discussed the new recruits' performance with another high-ranking officer. They were splitting them up into areas of work. The strong and fast became foot soldiers, the slow were put on kitchen duty, and the ones who showed a inclination to aggression were watchmen. He spared a couple to the infantry to learn basic medic care and help around the hospital. You couldn't work out what sent those recruits apart. It seemed random but you knew nothing Coriolanus did was without great care and strategy.

All the men seemed equally angry and you wondered if Coriolanus was the same when he was a Peacekeeper.

The sun felt nice upon your skin after so long. It was late afternoon and it had just begun to set, leaving behind a nice cool breeze.

You thought about your mother and Edmund. Were they enjoying the sun too?

The sound of a vehicle approaching ruined the moment of reflection. Coriolanus took your hand in his as soon as the tires upon the gravel could be heard as if you were to be run over if he didn’t.

It surprisingly stopped in front of where you stood. A transport car with no doors and a large trunk carried two men. A younger man wearing a District 12 peacekeeper uniform and an older man who wore a Commander uniform set apart by its light purplish color.

“Commander.” The older man greets as he swings out of the car.

“Vongurt.” Coriolanus uses his spare hand to offer a handshake which is strongly and fervently taken.

Another Commander had come to see Coriolanus. You doubted he was any better than the last.

“This is my wife, Y/N.” With his hand, he leads you in front of him to show you off to the Commander.

You were stiff with shock as the man's disapprovingly raked his eyes over you. He too felt jarred at the label of wife. District women weren’t wives. They were barely considered human.

But he smiles nonetheless, something you couldn’t return.

“Pleasure.” With a kiss placed upon your hand, the Commander's attention was turned back to Coriolanus.

“Your compound is impressive, Commander Snow. It has to be the largest I’ve seen.”

Coriolanus seemed unimpressed by the comment. He turns back to the Peacekeepers watching them as they leap, and fight.

“A palace of scrap metal.”

He waves over a tall man in a high-ranking uniform, who quickly makes his way over from across the field.

“Your apartment is only slightly better. Sergeant AJ will take you there.”

“I was hoping that we could talk. I’ve come all this way from District 2.”

“Later, Commander. The conference room at 7. You’ll have my undivided attention there.”

The man nods back and follows his guide back into the car.

Coriolanus makes a comment to his officer about a recruit and the man jotted down all of his thoughts.

You wanted to get away. Break free from his hold and bolt to the fence line. His delusions had reached a new height, with him now openly telling lies to men with power.

Your body moves to your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized you were twisting your hand away from him until he tightened his hold.

He turns to you, asking if you are ok.

“I need to go home” you respond. Home to my mother. Back home to normalcy.

“Take whoever we missed today and regroup them tomorrow morning” he directs the man next to him. A whistle is blown and the recruits stop their training, instead they congregate in front of you.

Coriolanus turns as his officer begins to dish out instructions, taking you back to the apartment.

“The heat can get to you,” he says.

You had lived in District 12 all your life if anyone was to know about the heat it was you. But you verbally agree and apologize for taking him away from his work.

He hushes you and it ends the conversation for the walk home.

He lets you go as you enter your prison, and you take off without him to the bedroom.

You hear his voice wafting down the hallway telling you to lie down. You shove your boots off and get into bed. Every day your window closes. It won’t be long before either the broken fence is found or you are carted off on the train.

But he had called you his wife. Not just to anyone but a Capitol Commander. Even if you got away, the idea that he would leave you here for the presidency is just a fantasy.

How long would you need to live in hiding before he forgot you? Could you bear the costs of it for as long as needed? What work could you do in the mountains to support yourself and your mother?

Wife. Why did he have to say wife? You weren’t that. You were his captive, a victim of his need to be cared for.

Coriolanus enters the room with a wet, cold rag and runs it over your forehead. A victim of his need to pretend he was capable of caring for something.

He sits on the bed beside you running the cloth over your forehead and into your hair.

“Do you feel alright?” he asks as you take the cloth off him.

“I am fine. Just a little lightheaded.” You throw the cloth on the bed stand and he takes it as a signal to get up.

“I’ll get you some water.”

He disappears and you're thankful for the space to think. Could you tell him you just need a walk around the compound by yourself to think? No, he would take it as an insult.

You had to get out. The fence was so close.

You don’t notice him as he sits back down beside you. Only the glass to your lips made you see him.

“I won’t go to the meeting with Vongurt if you are unwell.”

You sit up straighter at his words, pushing the glass away from you.

“No!” you say harshly, “No, you should go. I am fine.”

“You don’t look well.” You were sure you looked terrible after you had the shock of your life.

“But I feel fine. Just too much sun.”

He looked annoyed that you were arguing with him so you switched tactics.

“We need his support to get back to the Capitol. Maybe you could just leave the door open for some fresh air?”

You had pushed too hard, and he got up

“If I am not here, the door is shut.”

“Of course,” you breathe with a soft smile at him, “I’ll be fine by the time you have to leave.”

Coriolanus hovered around you for the next hour and a half before he had to start getting ready for his meeting. He took a shower to wash the sweat off him from the day and changed into his official outfit. It fit snugly, his broad shoulders carried the uniform well.

He attached the dressings of his uniform as you watched him from the bed.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go tonight. What if you feel unwell while I am away?” His fingers were still on the badge he was trying to put on.

“I am fine,” you assure him, “I feel fine.”

“We should invite him here. That way if you need me, I am here.”

You cringed at the thought of serving Commander Vongurt.

“I won’t need you. Besides the conference room is much nicer.” You get up to help him put on his badge and send him on his way.

“I haven’t felt unwell since dinner.” Coriolanus stood over you as you cooked, convinced that the heat in the kitchen would make you unwell again. With a knife in your hand, it was a dangerous time for Coriolanus to tell you what to do.

“You’re sure?” he pokes.

You were tired of saying it so you just nodded your head.

“Go to the bathroom then.”

It was an odd request.

“What?” you question.

“Go to the bathroom and take a shower. Get changed into your night dress.”

He checks his watch once before motioning you forward.

There was no other option for you then to follow his request. You thought maybe he just wanted to complete the bed time routine. He wanted to know you were washed and dressed for bed for his own comfort. You never knew what made him tick.

You complete the tasks quickly and return to find he had placed a glass of water and a packet of dried mixed fruit.

You quiz him on it but he doesn’t answer. He takes your wrist in his hand and tugs you to the bed.

Taking out his handcuffs, he clips your wrist into the cuff, pulling it up to the headboard where he attached the other cuff.

You tug against it in protest. “What are you doing?”

“Just in case, Edmund comes back.”

“He won’t! Please unlock me.” you beg.

“I left your book there if you are not ready to sleep yet.” He stands tall and readjusts his uniform.

“Coriolanus!” You say in a serious tone, “Get this off of me.”

You pull against it brutally and he captures your hand against the headboard.

“I left you one hand so you can read. I don’t have to.”

“Please, don’t leave me here like this!” He ignores you, bending down once more to flick on the lamp.

“You’ve had a big day. Try and rest. I’ll be home soon.”

“Coriolanus!” you call out watching him leave. He flicks off the main light as he goes.

“Coriolanus!” you yell.

You had never felt anger as you lay trapped in bed. He dictated when you worked, when you rested, when you ate. Nothing was yours anymore. Every breath you took was only because he allowed you to take it.

There was nothing to tell the time on. It felt like years waiting for him to come back and release you. You didn’t read, only plotted.

Could you feed him something to make him sick? Surely he would request you to come see him in the infirmary. You could break away when returning from your visit. What if he caught you trying to poison him though?

Friday provided the perfect opportunity. While he was distracted with his family you could sneak away. The communication building was on the other side of the compound but at least you would be outside of the apartment.

But how would you get away far enough to make a break for it? You thought about what was in the surrounding area of the communications building. Nothing would be a reasonable excuse to pardon yourself.

Could you excuse yourself to the bathroom? Surely one of the surrounding offices would have one. Would he let you go alone? Sacrifice time with his family to take you. Would he even let you go or just expect you to make do until the phone call was over?

You came up with twenty different scenarios of escape routes, each one ended with Coriolanus catching you.

You wished you didn’t shoo Edmund away now. He could have got the door opened in time. It was only your fearfulness that stood in the way of your escape. You could be with him now, with your mother. Up in the mountains, safe and sound.

God, you hoped they were safe and well-fed.

You wished for nothing more than to tend to your mother, to ensure that she was alright.

The care that was supposed to go to her was now unjustly turned towards Coriolanus, who was adamant to wring it from your hands.

Edmund had always taken whatever care you gave him with great appreciation.

Never demanded more, and then took it with force.

He was kind and patient. Two things Coriolanus is not.

And now you have dragged him into this mess where his life is at great risk. Still, he had never demanded any more from you.

When his lips first met yours, they were placed almost in questioning. It was up to you to accept and beg for more.

You wished you had seen his affection for you sooner. But he was your brother's best friend, and the main protector of you and your mother. If Coriolanus never entered the picture you doubt he ever would have acted on it.

But he had, and you had returned the affection. It was the start of something new and beautiful or the end of years of friendship and familiarity.

Once Coriolanus went back to the Capitol, your new life would begin.

You hoped it would be alongside Edmund. You would pay him back for his bravery.

You would be a good girlfriend to him, then wife, and then mother of his children. You would never ask him for anything, and take great care of his family life. You would ensure his happiness, as he ensures your life now.

You almost forget you were chained to the bed of the Commander as you daydream of brown-haired babies. But the sound of Coriolanus arriving home was a solemn reminder. His boots against the hardwood floor soften as they reach the bedroom door.

You still had a great challenge before you got to nurse Edmund’s children.

You had to get away from Coriolanus, and the only way you could do that is if he had no idea that you planned to.

The door creaks open and you sit up straight to watch him enter.

“I am sorry. Did I wake you?” He places his coat on the foot of the bed and crawls over to where you lay.

“No. I was waiting for you.”

He smiles down at you as he unlocks the cuff from your wrist with the keys in his pocket.

“You seem happy,” you comment. You could smell the whiskey on his clothes as he leaned over you.

“I am. I have you. I have Commander Vongurt’s support behind me, and Ravinstill is not expected to last the winter. We’ll be home before you know it.”

Throwing the keys on his bedside table, he leans down to kiss you before resting his head on your collarbone.

“That’s not long,” you comment.

“Three months at the most.”

You drowned in your anxiety quietly as he rested.

Three months and your life was over.

He takes your silence as a quiet contemplation.

“Are you thinking of your mother?” he runs a curled finger along your nose.

“Yeah. I’ll miss her”. You hope to never have to know the pain of missing her again. These past few weeks have been unbearable.

“You’ll write. I’ll organize a time she can come to the compound for video calls.”

You were sure he was going to let you write and call. For how long was another thing. You could see it already, your calls being cut short, your letters ‘lost’ in the mail.

“Yeah,” you respond again.

Your mind races with ideas of escape. You could fake a sickness and be sent to the medical camp. No, he wouldn’t send you there. He panicked today over a supposed case of heatstroke.

He lowers his head down closer to you where you can smell the evening on him.

“You want to know what I was thinking?” he asks playfully.

You could start a fire during dinner time. He was sure to open the door to let you out before dealing with the flames.

“Yeah?” you entertain. Fire could go wrong for a number of reasons. Besides you would have to fight your way to the oven. Especially now that Commander Vongurt was here. Coriolanus would be too busy to wait for you to cook something.

“I was thinking I hope we have a boy first. Then two girls, then another boy.”

Your eyes shoot open as his hand reaches out across your stomach. His hand finds its way under your shirt and he lays a warm palm over your belly.

Then again, a big enough fire might kill him. Was it worth a shot?

“You called me your wife today. That’s not true.”

“What else should I have called you? We sleep together, eat together, wake together. We look after each other. The only thing missing is an official title but as soon as we get back to the Capitol, we’ll fix that.”

You turn away from him to your side. Now that the talk of the Capitol was becoming a more serious threat, you felt sick.

“Did I scare you with talk of babies? It wouldn’t be for a few more years yet.”

His rants did scare you. That would be your life if you didn’t figure out a way to the fence. Nursing Commander Snow’s babies in the Capitol. Away from your mother. Away from Edmund.

Still, you had to perform. You couldn’t let any more distrust between him and you grow.

“You didn’t scare me. I am just tired. I’ve waited up all night for you.”

You feel a soft kiss press against your ear before the weight of the bed was shifted as he moved.

“Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He leans over you once more to flick off the light. You hear him walk out to the bathroom to take a shower.

Could you force him to give you the keys? The chain was still dangling from the headboard. If you could somehow get his wrist caught, you could threaten him with a kitchen knife. You shake the thought from your head. You couldn’t hurt him with a knife. You were sure even one-handedly, he could take it off you if you tried.

You just needed a distraction, just two seconds when his attention wasn’t on you to escape.

Wet, salty tears rolled down your cheeks as you lay in the dark, but you made no sound.

You were still awake when he returned from his shower, dressed in his pajamas. Thinking you are asleep he is slow and quiet as he rejoins you in bed.

He curls up against your back and rests his hand on your stomach as if there is something already inside. He wasn’t going to wait a few more years. He said it purely for your comfort.

He dreamt of being a young President with a baby on the way. And another one close after that, and another, and another. He would undo history. He would have as many baby Coriolanus’s and Tigris’ as it took to heal the past.

Watching you nurture, feed, and play with his children would overtake his memories of fighting for his life when he should have been nursed by his mother.

He felt as if he was in the area but soon to be crowned Victor. President Ravinstill just had to die before he could have it all.

His destiny that had been interrupted when his father died but was now back on track. From birth, Coriolanus Snow was supposed to be the man who had it all. Not some impoverished boy, hanging on to his father’s legacy.

When he died, he would be remembered as his own man. Not as the shadow of his father.

Coriolanus Snow; Beloved President of Panem, star pupil of the Academy, Plinth Prize winner, devoted husband and father, and Victor of the games. Coriolanus would be remembered as the man who had it all.

You lay awake under him. The smell of alcohol mixed with the scent of his soap. It burnt your nose as you inhaled.

President Ravinstill could die tonight. There was no guarantee that he would even make it to winter. You had to get out. If you made it to the Capitol, you would never get back home.

While he was intoxicated was your best chance. He seemed so still now, you could take the keys off the nightstand and go through everyone. You were sure he wouldn’t wake, not until it was too late. You remember when your father drank on special occasions, he would sleep for 14 hours at a time. Coriolanus was sure to sleep for at least half that.

You wait until you can’t feel him twitch before you rise from bed. Very slowly, very carefully, you peel yourself from him, shoving a pillow in your place. He doesn’t move from your actions so you continue over to his nightstand where his key ring is laid.

Rows and rows of keys looped together. They jingle as you pick them up. Panic runs like ice up your spin as you turn back to see Coriolanus; unmoved and unknowing.

You wrap your hand around as many keys as you can to stop further noise and make your way to the door. Checking every few steps to ensure he wouldn’t turn up behind you.

The floor creeks as you pass the hallways to the living room but no other sound follows as you cross the kitchen to the door.

You start at the very first key. It slots in but refuses to turn. Moving on to the next, and the next in methodological order, bypassing the ones that were too big or small to be entertained.

You try numerous times but the right key is buried among the many.

Feeling as if it had been hours since the first key, you felt confident that it was coming up.

You stuck a key in with no resistance. The hope that died in you reappeared as the lock turned with the key.

But all too soon it died again, as you felt a hand snake into your hair. It yanks your head harshly back and you find yourself pressed against Coriolanus.

“That key will get stuck in the door, and it’d be a great pain to get it out again.”

His hand in your hair pulls you back.

“I was just going to the kitchen to get some ingredients for a hangover cure. I was coming back.” His hand twists unforgivably in your hair as you make your plea.

“Don’t lie to me,” he seethes.

“I am not!” You protest, trying to break free from his grasp.

“You think I am some type of fool?”

Reaching over you, he takes the keys out of the door and leads you back to the bedroom.

“Coriolanus. Please just listen to me.”

“If I had listened to you, I would have left the door opened. You spoiled, deceiving, little bitch.”

He was still drunk. You could smell it from his breath.

You thought it would make him complacent but it instead made him more violent.

“I was getting you my father's hangover cure.”

You stumble as he pushes you over the doorway.

“You need to trust me, Coriolanus.”

He shoves you until you are back to your side of the bed.

“I don’t.”

He throws the keys hard across the room to free his hands.

“I trust you.” You don’t fight him as he recuffs your chain, instead you willingly go along with it.

For good measure, you place a kiss on his cheek which throws him off guard.

“I don’t trust you.” he reiterated softly.

“That’s ok,” you state, “One day you will. We’ll have a happy life together. You, me, and our children.”

He looks perplexed at your words but makes no further comment as he lays down by your side, resting his head on you.

“I’ve tried my best to take care of you. To make you happy.”

“You have.” you console. You were no longer worried about President Ravinstill lasting the night, but rather yourself.

“Then why-”

“I wasn’t running. I was trying to take care of you.”

His face turns into your skin. You bring your free hand up to his head and press it down.

“Everything is ok. Just go to sleep. You’re drunk. You don’t mean it.”

You run your fingertips up and down starting from behind his ear, down to the bottom of his neck, and up again. You do it until you feel his shallow breaths upon your skin, only then do you release the tears from your eyes.

When you wake the next morning, your wrist is free and Coriolanus is not in bed.

You rise to find him in the kitchen, frying bacon. Maybe he was too intoxicated last night to remember his anger towards you.

“Good morning,” you offer. He doesn’t return the greeting. Maybe he did remember last night, and you were in a lot of trouble.

“How are you feeling?” you try again.

“What’s your father's hangover cure?”

“Two eggs, hot sauce, milk, salt, pepper, and honey”. Your father did not have a hangover cure and it did not include hot sauce or honey, both of which were considered luxury items in the District.

He looks for the ingredients, slamming the cupboards he turns towards you. “All here.”

“Oh,” you comment, “That’s good. Did you want me to make you one?”

The bacon pops in the pan and you rush over to distract yourself with it.

“Sit down. I’ll take over cooking”. The bacon was overcooked to the point where it would be barely edible.

“So what did you need for the compound kitchen last night?”

“I didn’t know we had the items. It's been that long since I cooked, I just assumed we were out.”

“You assumed you wouldn’t get caught.”

You sigh. Coriolanus in a bad mood would only mean bad things for you.

“I wasn’t running. I was trying to help. Are you always going to doubt me?”

“Yes.” he answers, pulling the pan back off you.

He dumps the bacon onto a plate and takes it to the kitchen table. You begin to clean up after him as he sits and eats.

The plate is still full by the time he is telling you to go get ready for the day.

You put on the blue sun dress he likes which acts as a two-second buffer for his anger when he sees you.

He had paused in the middle of throwing his bacon into the trash. Such a waste of food. You thought.

But he was determined to stay in his mood. He slides the empty plate across the counter.

“I am late for work,” he says.

It was unusual for him not to hold your hand as you walked to his office. You would have to work hard today to please him.

His tea was already sat upon his desk when you arrived and you rushed to pour him one.

He doesn’t drink it. It goes cold as he does his work.

You try extra hard to be quiet. There was sewing left from yesterday which you begin to complete.

“We still haven’t found your mother,” he says out of the blue after a morning of not speaking or looking at you.

His words filled you with confidence. If you could get to the mountains, at least you knew you were safe.

He doesn’t look up as he speaks.

“Edmund hasn’t returned to his house but there was a rumor that he was swapping meat for medical supplies just yesterday.”

What would he need medical supplies for? You wondered. Was your mother okay? Was he okay?

You needed to see them to make sure.

“He’s probably hiding with your mother in what’s left of the forest. Don’t worry. We’ll find him and bring your mother home.”

It was a disguised threat. He was trying to get a rise out of you.

“Good,” you comment. Keep searching the forest while they remain safe in the mountains.

“Good.” he repeats back.

A comfortable silence returns as you both go back to work, but it’s interrupted by his secretary bursting through the doors.

“Sir! Sir!” she gasps. Coriolanus shot up from his chair.

“Commander Vongurt is angry!”

You follow him without a word out of the office.

“The courtyard!” the secretary directs.

You fall behind his fast pace and reach for him blindly to keep from falling too far behind.

A crowd had formed by the time you reached the courtyard. You could hear the familiar sound of flogging and painful cries.

The crowd parts as Coriolanus approaches. In the middle of the bystanders was Commander Vongurt and a young boy curled on the dirt floor.

Coriolanus looks upon the same boy who failed to hit the target on the hot day.

Grabbing the baton from the Commander, he throws it to the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Commander Snow,” Vongurt was out of breath from exerting himself in his beating, “This boy is a disgrace to your legacy. I caught him passing scraps to the prisoners through the bars.”

With the protection of Coriolanus, you felt safe enough to speak out, “He’s just a boy.”

“Take him to the jail. He can sleep there for a week if he likes their company so much.”

“Coriolanus!” you take his arm and tug it. He gives you a harsh look and you know you won’t be able to persuade him.

The boy cries out and begins to beg as he is carted away by two others.

“Coriolanus, please!” You tug his arm once more and he hits you harshly across the cheek.

You stumble upon the impact. The men shuffle away from you as you try and regain your footing.

Coriolanus takes your arm in a harsh grip, pulling you back in the right direction but he is turned to speak to Vonngurt.

“District 12 is my district. Next time you feel like taking discipline into your own hands, don’t.”

The older Commander nods his head, but you can see he is displeased to have been spoken to in such a manner.

“Let’s go.” He was now talking to you and shoving you forcefully in front of himself back to the office.

You tear yourself free as the door shuts behind you.

“You don’t dictate my decisions.”

Your nose is clogged from your tears. You couldn’t tell if you were crying out of pain or anger. Your brain was still trying to catch up.

“Calling my name,” he says astonished, “It doesn’t matter if you disagree with my decision. Your job is to support me.”

He catches you as you try to make your way from him and he tosses you to the couch, where he stands over you.

“You embarrassed me. Vongurt already thinks I can’t control my Peacekeepers, now he thinks I can’t control my women as well.”

You cup your bruised cheek. This wasn’t about Vongurt. He was still hurting about your attempt last night. All day he was looking for a reason to lash out, Vongurt only provided the opportunity.

You were put back on defense. With only at most a month before you were carted off to the Capitol, mistakes couldn’t be afforded.

“I am sorry.” you choke out.

He squinted his eyes, bringing his hand up to his head before throwing it back again, “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” you spit. There is no sincerity in your voice.

“Look at me when I am talking to you.” He takes your chin into his hand and pulls it up to his eye level. “Ravinstill is expected to die shortly. This behavior of yours cannot be brought back to the Capitol.”

“It won’t be. I am sorry.” Your fists clench by your side.

He turns your chin to expect your cheek.

“I did it too. That’s the only reason I spoke out. I would have been thrown in jail too.” you contend.

He lets go of your chin and stands up to full height, “You think a Peacekeeper would get the same punishment as a District? No. You would have been hanged. Yet another reason to be loyal to me. I’ve saved you.”

“I am loyal to you. Grateful for you.” You get up and follow him as he makes his way to his desk.

“Coriolanus, please don’t be mad at me. I was only ever trying to help.”

You sob ugly causing him to spin around. Your cheek hurt, and you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders trying to get away within such a short time frame. You were overwhelmed with the whole scenario and the thought of dealing with Coriolanus as he looked for opportunities to lash out was too much to bear.

He softens upon your unraveled composure, taking you into his arms.

“Stop crying. It’s okay”. You feel him rest his head on top of yours. “I am just a little wound up trying to get everything in order. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I am sorry.”

You smile slightly, he is back on defense.

—------

Friday came quickly. The call wasn’t until the afternoon so you spent the whole day as a ball of anxiety.

But at least you had a plan. On evening walks you took more notice of the building surrounding the communications tent, and saw a nurse carrying a load of blankets into a building of washing machines.

There were few things Coriolanus let you do alone, washing was one of them.

The washing machine in the apartment would need to be dealt with. But the long hours spent in his office meant that the dirty clothes were piling up. He would demand a fresh uniform for work. If you left it close to his phone call with his family, he was sure to let you go.

You push it out for as long as you can. He had wanted to leave ten minutes ago but you kept pressing him for one more minute.

You had taken small rocks from the ground during your afternoon walk, telling Coriolanus you would like to take a part of home back to the Capitol with you. He had allowed you to collect a small jar, you picked the biggest rocks you could find.

Big enough to jam the pipes of the washing machine.

“Darling, please. We have to leave.” He bangs on the door of the washing room.

You finish shoving the rocks as far as they would go down the pipe. It made an awful sound as the washing machine ate them up causing the water to rise.

“Coriolanus,” you call. As soon as you open the door, he grabs your arm, ready to yank you out.

“Coriolanus. The machine is broken. Look.”

He barely glaces at it, “ I’ll send someone to fix it. Let’s go.”

“I need to do the washing,” you pick up the basket as he pulls you from the room, “Can I use the compound washing machines?”

“That’s fine. Just move, we are late.”

You struggle to keep up with him as he rushes along the compound. He hated it if his phone call was cut short by even a second. Now he was two minutes late and he was almost running to make up time for it.

You reach the building in record time. He lets go of you to pick up speed, leaving you by the door as he hurries.

He rushes to the small screen, not bothering to sit down on the wooden chair as he twisted the knobs. “Tigris, Tigris? Can you hear me?”

He must have heard a voice on the other side as he broke out into a smile. It was a pretty, genuine smile that you had not seen before.

“Hey,’’ he laughs. You watch from where you stand by the door. He seemed almost unrecognizable. A young boy sent away to a summer camp instead of a ruthless and ambitious Commander. “I am sorry. The washing machine broke. How are you?”

His tone is light and happy as he talks to Tigris. You wonder if he had forgotten he even brought you. He didn’t glance at you as he spoke, giving her his full attention.

You wonder if it is best to make your exit now but his words stop you.

“She’s here.” he waves you over. You drop the basket in coming to him. You wondered what Tigris would look like. What she would sound like.

Coriolanus holds out the receiver for you. You peer at the screen to see a blonde girl in colorful clothing before you put the receiver to your ear.

“Hello,” you greet.

“Oh!” Tigris croons. She pulls the receiver away from her mouth to lessen her shout, “Grandma’am come see!”

She smiles as she turns her attention back to you, “Oh, Coryo has talked so much about you.”

“What is she saying?” Coriolanus places his hands on your hip and pulls down so you are sitting on his knee.

“She’s said you’ve talked about me,” you answer.

He smiles gently at you, turning the receiver in your hand out between you.

An older woman comes too close into the frame and Tigris pulls her back.

“Is that her?” the old woman asks Tigris who nods.

“Girl-Girl.” she talks into the speaker.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“You must be grateful he is sending you back to the Capitol. Don’t ruin it like the last one.”

Coriolanus snatches the receiver away from your ear to soften her words but you heard them any way.

“Grandma’am is unwell,” he tells you, “Pay her no mind.”

Tigris takes back the receiver and positions it in a similar fashion to Coriolanus.

“Did you get the dresses I sent?”

“I did. Thank you. I was hoping to send you back some shortbread but Coriolanus has been busy with work.”

“He was saying you cook. Grandma’am and I are so excited to meet you!”

“Me too,” you lie. “I hear the Capitol is wonderful. I look forward to exploring it with you.”

Tigris laughs. She was beautiful, you thought. Perhaps too popular to be showing you the capital. You felt foolish for even lying about it.

“We’ll have a ball. I’ll show you all around.”

“In time,” Coriolanus interjects. The chains around you would not loosen just because you were in the Capitol. “The Capitol is big. There’ll be time to see it all.”

You let Coriolanus take over the talking. Only offering agreements or soft smiles as the Snow women talk.

The family soon falls into a comfortable way of talking. You had said next to nothing for the last 10 minutes, and it had gone unnoticed. It was time to make your way.

You slowly rise from Coriolanus who latches out on your arm.

“I’ll just put the washing on. That way it will be done by the time we finish.”

He tugs you back down causing you to fall into him. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Tigris almost cringe.

“We’ll do it later,” he demands.

“We’ll be washing well into the night if we leave it any longer. I’ll just pop it on. I’ll be five minutes.”

His face twisted with his words but you kissed him to stop them from leaving his mouth. It was the first time you had ever kissed him on the lips. You could tell by the way his mouth stilled that he was surprised.

“Five minutes.” You kiss his bottom lip to quell any fight he has in him. Grabbing the phone in the meantime.

“Tigris. Grandma. I’ll just be 5 Minutes to put the washing on”.

Tigris smiles at you, letting you know that it is fine. You could just barely hear Grandma’am make a comment about how the people in the Capitol don't do their own washing but it is cut off by you shoving the phone back in Coriolanus's hand.

He cups your face to bring you down for another kiss.

“Five minutes,” he repeats.

You smile at him as you pull away. It was too easy, You had won.

It felt like victory as you picked up the basket and placed it on your hip. You turn back halfway out the door to see he has gone back to talking to his family.

You don’t make it to the tent. Five steps away from the door and you had dropped the basket and taken off at a fast pace.

You walk to try not to draw attention to yourself. It worked for the most part. Hardly anyone gave you a glance. You could see the bins coming into sight. Your freedom is just behind them.

“Hey!” you hear someone call out. You ignore them at first, not thinking they could mean you. But a harsh hold on your arm spun you towards a Peacekeeper.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? Nothing”. Your freedom lay not ten feet away but was hindered by a zealous guard.

“Where’s Commander Snow?” He held you too tight. It interfered with your clear thinking.

“The communications tent.”

“Is that where you should be?”

“No,” you try and tug your arm away from him but his nails dig in. “Let go of me. Let go!”

“Let’s go ask Commander Snow what you should be doing.” The man starts to drag you along as you dig your feet into the dirt.

“Let go!” you shout. He was sure to notice you gone soon if he hadn’t already. Time was running out.

In frustration, you slap the Peacekeeper across the face.

“How dare you touch me. I’ll tell Commander Snow about this. You’ve hurt me.

You feel his grip loosen on you but he doesn’t let go completely.

“No, I haven’t!” he says somewhat fearfully,

“Commander Snow has asked me to get something for him, and not only have you stopped me from doing that but you hurt me in the process. How do you think he will react to that?”

You manage to tear free from him and give yourself some distance.

“I am going to do as he asked me, and you are going to do your duties like you should be doing. Otherwise, I’ll report you to the Commander."

The Peacekeeper mulls over his course of action before raising his hands.

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. Excuse me.”

You turn your back on him and quicken your steps to your destination. Making sure the coast is clear, you crawl behind the large bins. You couldn’t see any broken fence behind it.

Did they find it? Have you just made a fatal mistake?

You continue to crawl, placing your hand on the metal for any movement.

The chain bends showing cut wire as they bend. Relief washing through you.

It digs harshly into you as you pull yourself through.

You could have kissed the dirt on the other side. Freedom. Edmund.

The guard in the tower above you looks out across the field. You keep under his eyesight as you slide across the fence as quietly as you can.

It runs out, leaving ten feet of open field before the safety of the forest. Ten feet and then you were free. There was no cover, meaning that the guard could easily spot you if he was looking.

You say a silent prayer that the guard will keep his focus straight before you take the chance of discovery.

You leap across the field, throwing yourself upon the first tree you touch. The bark smashed your bruised cheek as you waited for the sirens to sound.

He mustn’t have seen you. You had got away.

You take a second to laugh as quietly as you can. Run, a voice in your head told you. You regain your breath and do. You run as fast as you can, taking the backroads back to your home.

Your lungs burn, willing you to stop but you keep going until your house is in view. You only slow down to stop drawing attention to yourself.

People had started to return home from work. You could see them as you walked along the back of their houses. You're careful not to be seen.

The back steps of your place come under your feet, and your caution disappears as you fling yourself into your home.

Edmund was sitting at the kitchen table dressing a rabbit he caught.

He stood up. Turning his knife towards you thinking you were an intruder.

You knew he would never hurt you so you throw your arms around his shoulders despite the threat.

The knife drops and he takes you into his arms.

“I was so worried.” he breathed.

“We have to go. We need to leave,” you state but make no attempt to pull away.

He does pull away, throwing the rabbit into his hunting sack and picking up his knife. You take his bloody hand and he leads you back out the back door and into the forest.

The walk to the mountains takes well into the night. You both do it silently. What was there to say? There was still a long road to safety.

You stay as close as you could to him. Always holding his hand or latched onto his arm.

The mountain trail is tough and you wonder how he made it up with your mother on his back. He knew the way well, having worked in the mines nearly all his life. He warned you of which boulders were loose, and when you tripped over he caught you as if he almost expected it.

You were worn out by the time you reached the campsite. Rows and rows of small wooden houses for the miners. All were empty this time of year as it got too dark too early and not light enough too late for the hours they worked.

You saw a freshly put-out fire and knew that your mother was close.

“Your mothers in that one,” he pointed to the right cabin, “My family’s in the next one.”

For the first time in the hour's walk, you tore free from him and ran into your mother's cabin.

It was a relief to see her sleeping figure. You throw yourself on top of her and begin crying.

She wakes in fright but knows the figure of her daughter well. She throws her arms around you and joins you in crying.

You were home. You were safe.

—---------

As soon as the door closed, Coriolanus felt as if he had made a mistake. He trusted you.

You were better now. Doing well. He could trust you.

But Tigris’s words made no sense to him. You were coming back.

He tried to focus on his family but he eyes the door expectantly.

Dread fills him. How long did it take to put on washing?

“Coriolanus?” he hears Tigris call.

He dashes out of his chair. He had made a very big mistake.

“Coriolanus?” the receiver resounds.

Upon opening the door he is met with his washing by his feet. He takes off running to his apartment. You were sick the other day, maybe you had fallen ill again and taken to bed.

He pushed past Peacekeepers as he ran to his steps. Taking them two at a time he reaches the top and pushes open the unlocked door. It was only ever locked to keep someone in, never someone out. He calls out for you but is met with silence.

He opened every door along the way to the bedroom, hoping you were just hiding.

He calls your name again and again until falling silent upon the empty bed. You weren’t here. Coriolanus had made a big mistake.

Clicking the radio built into the collar of his shirt, he demands that the compound is shut down.

“Has anyone been through the gates?” Both leading officers of the two entryways confirm that no one has. The Peacekeepers are diverted into searching the compound for you.

Coriolanus joins too. He didn’t trust the ability of his Peacekeepers. He searched every nook and cranny of every office and building he could find. His temper flared the longer the search went on.

You had to be in the compound. How could you have got out?

He returns to his apartment. Maybe you had returned upon hearing the sirens.

A cat catches his attention as it sits meowing and eating bits of food from the ground that the birds had managed to pick out.

He had never seen a cat in the compound before. Could it have got in the same way you got out?

He walks over to search it for any clues it might have but it runs off as he comes closer.

He chases it behind the bin where he watches it slip through the bent wire in the fence.

You had got away. Now at large in the districts.

He sighs deeply before taking his rage out on the back of the bins, bashing and kicking at it until he is forced to lean against it to catch his breath.

A search party would be sent out, interrogations would be issued. Someone had to have seen you along the way. He would find you and he would bring you home to him.

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#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow #commander snow #dead dove do not eat #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth #hunger games

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romanshomeonwattpad · 4 months

Text

Girl in New York | 5

pairings - art donaldson/reader | challengers au! |

“_ _" = Y/N

masterslist | next chapter | last chapter

sypnosis - you have lunch with Art’s girlfriend and your parents….

warnings - messy blowjobs, dirty talk, slut shaming, cheating, voyuerism

word count - 2k

You and Art….came to an understanding.

It was odd. Although it was winter—the sun was shining today. White shorts hugged your hips, showing off the curve of your ass. A black tank top let your breasts spill out just enough without flashing the entire tennis club. Birds chirped at the sudden heat, spreading their wings and able to fly away from their problems.

Sweat had gathered at the top of Art’s lip as he drank from his hydro. You two had agreed to meet on Fridays instead. He hadn’t mentioned what occurred Sunday night, diving right into your usual routine. The both of you had just finished an hour long practice—but Art didn’t seem it was long enough. “Let’s go again.”

You groaned, throwing your head back before plopping down onto one of the chairs. There were a ton of tables since there was a food court nearby and people liked to judge the players while stuffing themselves. “My legs are killing me. Can’t we just wait until tomorrow?” You kicked your legs onto another chair, looking up at him. “Matter of fact, let’s get ice cream. I’m craving it.”

“You should lay off the carbs,” Art placed his hands onto his hips, raising a brow at you. Something glinted in his eyes. “It could mess with your cardio.”

You sleep with a guy once and he thinks he could tell you what to eat.

“Whatever. I’ll get it myself.”

Art lit a cigarette, “Least you’ll be getting off your ass.”

You pushed yourself off the chair and hit his shoulder whilst passing him. As if you hadn’t just spent the last hour aggressively dodges Art’s stroke’s. You were pretty sure there were three bruises on your knee from falling to strike back. And on top of that, the concealer you applied on your neck to cover his hickeys was melting off. It was fucking December—why was it ninety degrees?

Bees buzzed around lavender colored flowers. You spotted around the corner the food truck. A familiar pair of pretty brown eyes and a charming smile popped into view. Humming to yourself, excitement flourished within you, approaching him. “Oh hey—it’s you again,” his brown orbs not so swiftly racked up and down your figure. “I was gonna text you but my phone broke. It like won’t turn on…it’s a piece of shit.”

You raised your brows, “Can’t even trust your own phones these days to not cockblock you.”

He laughed, “Literally. What can I get you? On the house.”

“A chocolate ice cream on a cone, please.”

A wink was thrown your way—shooting right down into your core. But his eyes didn’t swirl with the same hungerness as Art. This was more like desire…curiosity. It didn’t feel as exhilarating as tossing flirty banger with the gorgeous blonde. This guy was younger, and seemed like he tried too hard to impress you. Whereas Art didn’t give a fuck what you thought, he still said it regardless.

It didn’t irritate you that he wasn’t acknowledging the situation. All you knew was that it surely wasn’t a one time thing. Whether he expects it or not, he’ll eventually give in. And if he didn’t—you wished to savor his taste on your tongue for as long as possible.

“Here ya go, gorgeous.”

You snapped out your daze. There was a cutie in front of you—and were off thinking about Art. Get it together _ _.

He handed you the vanilla cone. There were sprinkles on top of the perfectly scooped ice cream. But before you could thank him, Art grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the guy. You knitted your brows, “Art what the f—thanks uh, Chase! Or Chad!”

“It’s Chris. How do you flirt with guys you don’t even know,” Art eyed you from the corner of his eye, not fully turning his head. Once you two got far enough, you tugged from his grip.

Your eyes narrowed into daggers. “Says the guy who cheated on his girlfriend.”

That shut him up. Ignoring the non-staggering death stare he was burning into the you—you licked at your ice cream. His eyes focused on the way the tip of your tongue twirled around the cream. “Perhaps I should’ve went with vanilla,” you tasted, locking eyes with his. They were hooded and cloudy, drinking in every movement you made with your mouth. No longer thinned into knives penetrating your skull.

And then it flew out your hand. You’re ice cream.

“What the fuck, Art—“

“Get behind that wall,” he sneered, shoving you anyways. You almost tripped before his hands pushed your shoulders downwards—guiding you to your knees. When you got the message, your eyes rounded up at him. “Art—we’re at the club. Your girlfriend—“

His fingers gripped your chin in a bruising hold. Taking out his cock with the other hand by pulling his sports shorts down, he then tapped the pink top onto your bottom lip. “Don’t mention her before I’m about to throat fuck you,” he smirked, before watching his head vanish between your lips. A salty undertone filled your taste buds, his thick head pulsing on your slippery tongue. Your eyes don’t leave his as you hummed, savoring the taste of his pre-cum. Sucking and swirling with your mouth, and jerking the rest with your hand, you put yourself to work.

His hips harshly snapped into your mouth. Art’s eyes were barely open, bliss taking over his features.

You couldn’t get enough of him. You wanted to see him break above you. Moaning around his dick, you felt it twitch in the warm walls of your mouth— before more of his salty liquid dribbled out. Signaling he was getting close already, your wrists began to twist the base of his cock. A patch of blonde hairs resided above it. He held his shirt up with one hand, holding the back of your head with another.

“Fuck, that’s it. Take it all like a good fucking girl.”

Sticking out your tongue, you continued to jerk off his huge cock. “I’m gonna—fuck—“

His cock twitched, blue eyes boring into your wicked ones—taking everything he had to offer. The liquid shot out all over your tongue, and on the ground.

“We would like to meet your instructor.”

You almost dropped your spoon, choked on your mashed potatoes, and screamed at the top of your lungs. Perhaps your mother had gone crazy. She took a sip of wine, shrugging her shoulders at your father. “She seems passionate about Tennis. It seems as if he inspired this newfound hobby.”

Oh…you have no idea.

“We’ll come watch you play next week. It’s set,” your father nodded, taking a bite of steak. A know it all look crossed his features. “You know—I used to dabble in the sport back in high school…”

You tuned out your father out.

Your parents were going to meet Art?

This could not fucking happen.

“How ya doing? I’m Bradford Smith, and this is my wife—Fiona Smith. _ _’s mother.”

Art’s eyes flew over to you. The sun shined without mercy, the tight long-sleeve that covered your tits due to your parent’s presence making you itchy. And to make matters worse, a high pitched hello sounded from behind. A pair of blonde pigtails came into view, and as soon as she spotted you, her arms clung to Art. “_ _! What a surprise! Speaking of those—I was planning on surprising Art. I didn’t know you were bringing your family as well.”

You laughed in disbelief that this was all happening. “Well isn’t that just strawberries and confetti throw up fun.”

Art sent you a behave look, earning an eye roll from yourself. Your mother chuckled, probably just as confused as everyone else, “_ _ wants to show us what the two of you have been working so hard doing.”

“I love watching you play, baby. Let’s do it!” La-la loopsie cheers, clapping her hands excitedly. You refrain from rolling your eyes again, grabbing your racket from the table and heading to the court. You overhead your mom tell your dad that Art’s girlfriend was cute—leading you to make a disgusted sound and warm up.

Art bounces his ball of the ground before hitting it with the racket. Just how you liked it. He started out aggressive, but you expected that, hitting it with yours quickly. The both of you dove into your skills, hearing your current audience clap every once in a while.

After about thirty minutes, you began to grow winded, and called for a break. Your father ended up talking to Art about his old tennis team. Surprisingly, the two got along—sharing a few chuckles here and there. Tiffany kept kissing your mother’s ass, asking her about the mug’s she liked to design. Just from listening to the conversation, you began to grow nauseous.

“I’m getting slushie,” you muttered, walking away from the scene. But before you could get too far, Art overheard you—his head whipping away from your still speaking father.

“I’m actually thinking about getting something too. I’ll go instead,” he offers, Tiffany noticing his sudden interest. You knit your brows together.

“I got it.”

“No seriously. I’m good friends with the dude anyway.”

“Chad?” You raise your brows, causing him to send you a glare before walking away. Tiffany followed him—wearing a painted smile. You thought the encounter was weird, but before you could think too deep into it, your mother pulled you aside.

“You should wear longer skirts, _ _.”

“Mom—I’m an adult. Please.”

Your father kissed the side of your head, “Why don’t the five of us have some lunch. There’s a cafe right there. Go let your friends know and we’ll grab a table.”

Before you could reply, they walked away to find a spot. Tiffany and Art returned back, him handing you a cherry slushie. “It was all they had.”

“That cashier guy asked about you. Is he like, your boyfriend?” Tiffany asks, sipping your Diet Coke. You didn’t see the point in diet anything if there was no sugar. It made everything taste a million times better.

Art pressed his lips together. You shrugged, sipping your slushie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” your tone was uninterested. Being in the same vicinity made your blood boil. She had the ability to kiss him in broad daylight—and didn’t even take advantage of it. No wonder Art came to you for his sexual needs. It seemed like she was plain and simple. If a boy likes you, date him. If he doesn’t, run away.

She doesn’t know how to take care of someone like Art. Someone like you.

“Anyways,” you look at your nails, tension in the air. “My parents what us to have lunch together. I can tell them you guys are busy.”

“No that sounds fun!” Tiffany chimes in, holding onto Art’s arm again. His eyes slightly widen, face paling into a white sheet. He ground his jaw.

“I’m actually really tire—“

Tiffany tugged on his arm, whining in a tone that made you want to pierce your ears. “Please babe…”

“Yeah,” you smirk, thinking of a fun idea. Art’s eyes instantly met yours, a worried look crossing his features. While his girlfriend was looking at him, your tongue poked out and swirled around the straw—his teeth gritting at the sight. You noticed his fists ball at his sides. Tiffany looks at you, beaming excitedly. You send her a fake smile,

“You should taste this slushie I had last week. It was super creamy.”

“Alright let’s go.” Art grabs Tiffany, dragging her over to find your parents. You giggle to yourself, enjoying seeing him flustered.

“My mother is a Stanford graduate. That’s actually where Art and I met.”

Tiffany wouldn’t stop rambling about the history of her and Art. It was driving you literally insane. Your father helped himself to his club sandwich, barely listening to what she was even saying. Your mother on the other hand was absolutely ecstatic for the couple, sharing her own experiences about meeting your father.

You picked at your salad, glancing at the fair haired boy. He had been sipping his coffee—clearly uncomfortable with this entire situation. You decided to tease him a bit, taking advantage of the fact that you were seated beside him. Brushing your heel against his calf, he suddenly jerked, catching the attention of everyone at the table.

He cleared his throat, “Uh—a bee. It flew away.”

“Right. You remember that time we went to Cuba for that tournament, sweetie.”

He hummed, pulling out a cigarette from his back pocket. Tiffany made a face, “If you’re going smoke, at least go to the parking lot. Everyone’s eating.”

Jesus. What a bitch.

“I don’t mind,” your mother placed her hand on Tiffany’s. She smiled warmly at Art afterwards. “Bradford used to chain smoke those things until I eased him off then. Looks like we’ll have to do the same thing to you.”

Art returned her smile, ignoring Tiffany’s eye roll, sparking the cigarette. “_ _. Tell them about how you used to dance in the bathroom with my old tennis racket. It was the cutest thing. She’d be naked—“

“Actually, I’m gonna spark one up too. I’ll go to the parking lot though so no one complains.”

“I’ll come with you,” Art shot up, offering a nervous smile to everyone. “I just—feel so guilty.”

“Okay kids. We’ll be here.”

“What the fuck, _ _?”

You never thought it would be so hilarious to see someone smoking a cigarette whilst looking immensely frazzled. As soon as the two of you reached the back parking lot, out of sight of people, Art let you know how he truly felt. Fortunately, you weren’t in much of a talkative mood, so you listened patiently whilst finishing your cigarette.

“Not only are your parents here—but your mom loves my girlfriend. This fucked situation just got entirely more fucked.” He ran a hand through his light strands, pacing back and forth.

“I hate when she does shit like this.”

“Who?” You mumbled, leaning your back against the wall.

“Tiff!” His hands flew in the air, shaking his head. “She always pops up unannounced. I hate that kind of shit. She has no respect for my time nor schedule. I mean—what makes her think she can crash my lesson? “

“Why are you even with her?”

Art looked at you with a sudden calmness. It was as if your words urged him to think.

“I….don’t know.”

That made you pause. The cigarette burnt as the both of you stared at one another. For the first time, he was expressing his feelings. It was different than usual. “She doesn’t let you breathe. You’re a free soul, and she wants to keep it caged. You won’t stay with her for long. It’s only a matter of time.”

“I guess I like her company. She’s always there for me when I need it,” he shrugged, standing beside you. He looked away from you, “But if it came to actually being in love with her—I couldn’t tell you. She doesn’t accept me for me.”

“Then she’s a fucking idiot,” you smirk, “—because you’re like…kinda cool I guess.”

His eyes twinkled, your gaze meeting once again. You smirk was met by a sheepish smile from him.

“You’re pretty aggressive, you know that?”

“You love it.”

His eyes fell to your lips. “We should stop sneaking around, _ _. This is going too far.”

You laughed, throwing the cigarettes off the ground before crushing it with your heel. “C’mon, lover boy.”

#mike faist fic #mike faist fanfic #mike faist smut #mike faist #patrick zweig challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers smut #mike faist imagine #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #art donaldson imagines #art Donaldson blurbs

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wtftarot · 6 months

Text

PAC: The World

We've come full circle and it's about fuckin time, right? Time for the end. The World is harmony and the end of a cycle. She is that moment when you remember that you are the universe, you are One with everything and you feel it in your bones. It is recognizing your place as a human on this planet. The World is an ending, the inevitable conclusion but he is also the herald of a new beginning. What do they want to tell you? Let's fuck around and find out

As always this reading is for entertainment purposes ONLY and is not a substitute for professional advice in any capacity. Remember, use common sense and don't be a dumbass.

Four groups today, you can pick The Bird (eagle?), The Lion, The Person, or The Bull and head on to your reading.

The Bird/Eagle

The Nine of Cups and The Nine of Wands on the bottom of the deck.

This is fuckin gorgeous for y'all. The cycle that's ending for y'all is one where y'all had to fight tooth and nail for everything you wanted. I'm seeing the end of the Lord of the Rings, where the eagles fly Frodo and Sam out of Mordor after they destroy the Ring. I don't remember if Frodo actually says it, but I'm hearing him say "It's done". Y'all have been dealing with a rough ass cycle, huh? For it to show up as the One Ring? There may be one last battle of sorts? Like a boss battle. This is my nerd group (affectionate), I'm getting a lot of fantasy imagery. Think of it as one last challenge so you can truly close this cycle once and for all. For some of y'all, this cycle has been a long and very internal one. Something that's been weighing you down, that you're finally letting fall from your shoulders. What I'm seeing is that this 'boss battle" is a choice of sorts. You've been growing and figuring your way out of this cycle and all at once you're faced with a choice. This cycle has been more internal and you may have not seen much externally about it. It's like this choice embodies the cycle externally and you have a physical/material choice to make. Continue this cycle? Or Step forward with growth? And it will be that clear to you. Again with the imagery, I'm seeing a game screen with a choice. This path is unknown, keep going? Press X: Keep going. Press Y: Turn Around. Listen, I'm not much of a gamer like at all, so I don't know if that's a thing that happens in games? The last game I played was like three years ago?? So, the fact I keep getting gaming imagery means I'm really tapped into some of y'all's guides. Ok, the guide that's doing a lot of this is practically screaming in my ear to yell at y'all TO PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR DREAMS. FOR FUCKS SAKE. If you're into gaming and have been playing a game that's set in the woods, that message goes double. Don't ask me, I just work here. Now the cycle y'all are stepping into? Fucking beautiful, ok? Y'all are gonna be getting a lot of shit you have been wishing and crossing your fingers for. I'm hearing/seeing "yes, those too" and imagery of a belt and other accessories? This group is loud and I love it. Yea, even the "little things" you've wanted that aren't high on the priority list will be coming your way soon. And y'all are going to be rightfully smug about it. I think some of the blessings coming your way were things that people around you have tried to dismiss or downplay or talk you out of, so yeah you can be a lil bit smug about it. You've earned it. The past lil bit for y'all has probably felt very stale and stagnant but now that it's closing, things are going to be moving and improving. It may jolt y'all a bit at first. Cause this energy is so fucking different from where you've been, that even just dipping your toes in it will be a shock. It will be a welcome shock though, refreshing. The way this will manifest will be different for all y'all, but one thing's for sure, y'all are gonna fuckin run with it. After that initial choice, falling into this new chapter will be the easiest thing in the world.

random ass vibes: video games, d&d, 999, leaning into a new clothing style, fish, moon cycles, someone have a moon tattoo? birthday cake, HAPPY BIRTHDAY?

The Lion

The Moon and The Tower on the bottom of the deck.

Ok, you need to take a break. Full stop. Even if it's just ten minutes of sitting in nothing and silence. Your brain needs a rest from everything. I feel like y'all need to be told that yes, this thing does need to end. The cycle you're in may have become your comfort zone and you feel safe repeating it cause you know what to expect. It does have to end though. Y'all may have some idea that this ending is coming but you don't know just how much things will change when it does. This may be about a belief about the world or yourself that's really holding you back. Once clarity comes, you won't fit in the same places, with the same groups you used to. I don't blame you for resisting this, it can be terrifying to start questioning belief systems or old worldviews. Some of y'all may be questioning the religion or politics you were brought up in. It could be an understanding of who you are vs who others want you to be. Y'all are feeling a bit overwhelmed and confused as to what all this means. Sweetie, that's okay. This IS confusing and overwhelming. It is hard and scary and can leave you feeling very vulnerable. Babe, you need to stop pushing yourselves to have all the answers already. This one takes time and it's okay to let it. That's probably why the message I got for y'all before I even pulled the cards was for y'all to take a break. Not only that, but you don't have to tell anyone about this. Yes, if you can find some safe support through these periods of life do it, but you don't owe anyone what you're going through. Y'all are putting soo much pressure on yourselves to know everything already, to have all the answers. To know every aspect of who you are and what you believe. Wanna know something terrifyingly liberating? You never will. You will never know every single aspect of yourself cause you're always growing and changing. Same with your beliefs, you're always learning new things about how the world works, so your beliefs will always be shifting, even slightly. This is all coming from The World card cause y'all, more than anything need to let yourselves just BE. Be in the moment, stop interrogating them as if all the answers will be found there. The answers you're seeking will come in time and letting yourself live. I know the world we live in pretty much demands you have everything figured out at all times but that's bullshit. It's okay to change your mind.

random ass vibes: small-town vibes, doves or white birds, 919, the goth kid at the family reunion, lightning, trees, dragons, red clothes. nature vs nurture.

The Person

The Sun and The Hermit Rx on the bottom of the deck

Y'all it's time to come out of hiding. You've been hiding your truth for a WHILE. lol I'm hearing that lil Sunday school song: "Don't hide your light under a bushel, NO!" ( I grew up in the bible-belt, don't judge). That's a song for little kids if y'all don't know it, you don't have to look it up. It's telling me though that y'all have been hiding your light, so to speak, since you were a little, little kid. Like four-ish years old. Now, I don't know y'all's situation, it may not be safe for y'all to be fully yourself, and cause it seems like y'all have been hiding your whole damn life that's probably the case. So, BE FUCKING SAFE, okay? Because you're at this reading though, there are probably some ways you're hiding yourself that you don't have to. It's like y'all have just been letting people decide who you are when you're around them? Y'all are wearing other's projections of you like masks. I'm hearing "too much". Ooh boy, y'all listen, this group feels like I'm talking to my younger self. I cannot tell y'all the number of times I was told I was "too much", too loud, too quiet, too stubborn, too whatever. Unless y'all are being too cruel, too bigoted or whatever, y'all have a place here okay? Y'all seem to have taken being told you're too X, or not Y enough to heart and have whittled yourself down piece by piece cause that's what the people around you want. Y'all are like the fucking sun and everyone is demanding you be a candle. I think it's people you care about telling you this too. And because you care about them, you want them to be happy and comfortable. So, of course, you can be a little smaller, whatever they need, right? Now though, you've been doing this so long, you've lost yourself a bit, haven't you? The World is telling you it's time to call those parts of yourself back. Dig up those parts of yourself that you've buried. You can start as small as you feel you need to. It may be hard and confusing at first but soon it will be as natural as breathing. If you're not even sure where to start or have forgotten those parts, ask your guides and the universe for help. Ask for signs and to be put in situations that bring out those buried parts of you. You may have outgrown some of them and that's okay. Just prepare yourself, it won't be easy. Ya know that tingling feeling when your leg has been asleep and it's waking up? I feel that even though my leg has been fine this whole time. So it will probably be uncomfortable too. You should probably expect some hard reactions from the people around you too, especially if they've only known you as the you you've pretended to be for them. But that home you've been looking for? Felt calling? That can only be built by you being your authentic self. Otherwise, it'll just be another place where you have to wear a mask to be welcome. I wish I could end this one on a lighter note for y'all. This isn't an easy one. Take some alone time and please, take care of yourself through this. Whether you realize it or not, you are working through something really difficult and need to go easy on yourself through this.

random ass vibes: Halloween, candy, ghosts, 11:11, turtles, alligators, Frankenstein's monster, Venus, halos or angels?

The Bull

The Page of Pentacles and the Eight of Swords with the Empress on the back of the deck.

Y'all have so much fuckin potential, okay? Y'all are doubting yourselves so fuckin hard and The Universe and your Guides are sick of it. We all know someone who's amazingly talented but is so fuckin hard on themselves about it, to the point where you just want to grab em by the shoulders and shake them screaming YOU ARE WONDERFUL AND TALENTED. That's how your guides are feeling about you, all the damn time. I'm serious. I was only taking One card and the bottom of the deck for each group but the Eight of Swords came out too for y'all. Y'all are stuck in your head, questioning your every goddamn move and wondering why you're exhausted and never seem to move forward. This reading's tone is much more direct, like fed up snap the fuck out of its energy. Not that your guides are fed up with you, just fed up with your self-doubting bullshit. I'm hearing "..but they'll think I'm x" So, you may feel like if you truly lean into your potential and fail, people will have shit to say. Sweetie, they will and they will if you succeed and they will if you never do jack-shit. One of the few guarantees in life is that people will talk shit no matter what you do. The only control you have is why they're talking shit. Would you rather them talk shit about you cause you went after what you want, win or lose? Or because you never went after what you wanted, which is exactly what they wanted. The cycle that needs to end for you is one you have to end. End the cycle of shitting on yourself just cause you may not be where you want to be. End the doubt of your own capabilities. You really have NO CLUE how fucking amazing your life will get the second you start questioning those shitty thoughts. Like just questioning them, not even fully disbelieving them yet. Just questioning them will do fuckin wonders for you. If you're a beginner let yourself BE a beginner. If you want to try something new but are afraid of being a beginner then say fuck it and fuck you to those thoughts and start anyway. Hell, you don't have to tell anyone you're starting at first. You have the potential to be a whole-ass fuckin meadow and are doubting and even criticizing yourself for having to start as a handful of seeds. This is you're pep talk, in case you haven't figured that out yet. One other thing, some of y'all may be fearing the work that'll come with believing yourself, that it'll be tiring and all that. It's gonna be the opposite, sweetie. I mean, yeah it'll be work. But it's gonna be energizing. Do you know how much energy you've been hemorrhaging by shoving down allllllll that potential constantly? All of that will be freed up in a second and spent on fun shit. I believe in ya, babe.

Random ass vibes: thrifting, rainbows, makeup, cinnamon, puppets, purple, birds, card games, heart tattoos.

#tarot reading #tarot #divination #tarot community #tarot cards #pick a card #pac reading #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pick a picture #wtftarot #pick a photo #tarot readings #pac

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 17 days

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𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Nine

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: Death, Angst.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.4k

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Fiddler's Green spreads before you, an expanse of rolling hills and blooming flowers. It's a place of peace and beauty, yet all you feel is an overwhelming emptiness. The colors seem muted, the scents dulled. You find yourself perched on a low branch of an ancient oak tree, staring blankly at the horizon.

"Why did it have to end like this?" you mutter, the sound barely escaping your beak.

Fiddler's Green appears beside you, his form solidifying from the landscape itself. His presence is a comfort, though it does little to lift the heavy fog of depression that clings to you.

"Sometimes," he begins softly, "the paths we tread are not the ones we would have chosen for ourselves."

You look at him, your eyes reflecting your turmoil. "I had so much left to do. So many things I wanted to say." Your voice breaks, the words catching in your throat. To him.

He nods, understanding etched into his features. "It's never easy to accept what has happened. But you must remember that your essence remains here in the Dreaming. You still have a purpose."

"Purpose?" You scoff, flapping your wings in frustration. "What purpose could I possibly have now?"

Fiddler's Green kneels down, bringing himself to eye level with you. His gaze is steady and filled with compassion. "You were always a part of this realm, even before you became one of us. Your presence here has always been significant."

"But it's not the same," you argue, the weight of your new reality pressing down on you.

"No," he agrees softly. "It's not the same. But that doesn't mean it can't be meaningful."

You fall silent, contemplating his words. The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the vibrant fields. The tranquility of Fiddler's Green contrasts starkly with the storm raging inside you.

"I just... I don't know how to move forward from this," you admit finally. "I was looking forward to so many things with Morpheus and now— now I'm a bird."

Fiddler's Green's gaze remains unwavering. "Moving forward doesn't mean forgetting what you've lost. It means finding a new way to exist within it."

You close your eyes, breathing in the scents of the Dreaming, trying to draw some strength from the world that once brought you so much solace. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start by allowing yourself to grieve," Fiddler's Green advises gently. "Grief is not a sign of weakness but a testament to the depth of your love and your loss."

The mention of love makes your heart ache. Morpheus' face flashes in your mind—those intense eyes, the way his presence filled every corner of the room, the rare moments of vulnerability he shared with you. You wonder how he's coping with your absence, whether he misses you as much as you miss him.

"Lucienne said I should go to him," you whisper, unsure if you even have the courage to face him now.

"She's right," Fiddler's Green responds, his voice firm but kind. "Morpheus needs to know you're still here, even if not in the form he remembers. You owe it to yourself—and to him—to find out what comes next."

You shake your head, feathers rustling with the motion. "I can't face him like this," you say, voice tinged with a mix of fear and defiance. "I refuse to show him what I've become."

Fiddler's Green sighs, a sound like wind through leaves. "It's not about what you've become, but who you still are."

You hop from the branch, taking to the air with a swift flap of wings. The sky stretches wide and blue above you, but it feels like a cage. You fly aimlessly, avoiding the paths that lead to Morpheus' palace. Each flap of your wings seems to take you further from the courage you once had.

Lucienne finds you perched on a gargoyle overlooking a vast garden. She looks up at you, eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and understanding. "He's worried about you," she says, her voice carrying the weight of her words.

"I know," you respond, barely more than a whisper. "But I can't—"

"He's not as unfeeling as he seems," Lucienne interrupts gently. "You meant more to him than perhaps even he realizes."

Your heart clenches at her words, but the fear remains. "I can't stand the thought of seeing disappointment in his eyes."

"Disappointment?" Lucienne's expression softens further. "He's more likely to feel relief that you're still here in any form."

You want to believe her, but doubt gnaws at you. "What if he sees me as a failure?"

Lucienne shakes her head slowly. "You're not a failure, and he won't see you that way."

You turn your gaze away from her, staring at the distant horizon. "I just need more time."

"Time won't change what needs to be faced," she says softly but firmly. "But I understand your need for it."

You nod, grateful for her patience even if you're not ready to accept it fully.

"Take your time," Lucienne continues. "But don't let fear keep you from what might bring both of you peace."

She leaves you then, walking back toward the library with a grace that belies the heaviness of her heart.

You remain on the gargoyle, watching her retreating figure until she disappears from sight. The silence of the Dreaming surrounds you, a stark contrast to the turmoil within.

Perched high above the garden, you let out a sigh that seems to echo in the vastness around you.

"I'm sorry," you whisper into the wind, unsure if you're speaking to Morpheus or yourself.

For now, facing him feels impossible—but deep down, part of you knows that this isn't something that can be avoided forever.

But today is not that day.

You find yourself lost in thought, perched on a branch in Fiddler's Green. The beauty around you is almost painful, a stark reminder of everything you've lost. You wonder if Morpheus feels the same, if he even misses you. The weight of your new existence presses down on you like a leaden shroud.

Meanwhile, in his palace, Morpheus stands by a window, staring out into the Dreaming with vacant eyes. His normally composed face is etched with lines of sorrow and confusion.

Lucienne watches him from a distance, her heart breaking for him. She finally steps forward, unable to bear his silent suffering any longer.

"My lord," she begins softly.

He doesn't turn to face her but acknowledges her presence with a slight nod. "What is it, Lucienne?"

"Y/N is in Fiddler's Green," she says gently but firmly. You’ve been moping and punishing yourself long enough.

Morpheus' eyes narrow slightly as he processes her words. "I cannot feel their presence," he says, a touch of confusion lacing his usually steady voice. "Not in Fiddler's Green or anywhere in the Dreaming."

Lucienne steps closer, her gaze unwavering. "They are there," she insists. "If you would go and see for yourself, I am sure that your melancholy would lessen."

He shakes his head slowly. "If they are there I do not wish for them to see me like this," he admits, his voice strained.

Lucienne places a hand on his arm, a rare gesture of comfort. "You owe it to yourself—and to them—to see for yourself," she says softly. "They need you now more than ever, just as you need them."

Morpheus closes his eyes briefly, as if summoning strength from deep within. Finally, he nods. "Very well," he murmurs. "I will go."

Lucienne watches as he steps through a portal that leads directly to Fiddler's Green, her heart heavy with hope and worry. You remain on your perch, staring into the distance when you sense a shift in the air. A presence approaches—a familiar one that sends your heart racing and feathers trembling.

Morpheus materializes in Fiddler's Green, his dark silhouette stark against the vibrant backdrop. He looks around, his gaze sweeping over the landscape until it lands on you. His eyes widen slightly as they meet yours—an unreadable expression flickering across his face. You feel a rush of emotions—fear, hope, love—all tangled together in a confusing knot. For a moment, neither of you move.

Finally, Morpheus speaks, his voice soft yet commanding. "Who are you?"

The question hits you like a physical blow. For all your fears about this moment, you'd never imagined he wouldn't recognize you.

Oh gods you make an ugly raven, don't you!

Morpheus' question hangs in the air, a knife poised to strike. You feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and probing, cutting through the layers of your new form. The courage you'd tried to summon evaporates, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

“Hi Morpheus,” you manage to croak out, your voice a mere whisper carried on the wind. For a moment, disbelief flickers in his eyes, quickly replaced by an intense sorrow. He takes a step closer, and you see the pain etched into every line of his face. He’s never looked so pathetic.

"Y/N?" His voice trembles slightly, an emotion you've rarely heard from him.

"Yeah,” you confirm, your heart aching at the sight of his anguish. "I'm sorry."

He reaches out a hand as if to touch you but stops midway, uncertain. His fingers hover in the air, trembling with restraint.

"How—" he begins but chokes on the word, unable to finish the question.

You flap your wings awkwardly, feeling more exposed than ever. "I had an episode. I fell into a coma and... I guess I died while I was asleep.” Your words come out stilted, each one a fresh wound reopening. “It’s a little muddled.”

Morpheus' eyes close briefly as if trying to absorb the magnitude of your revelation. When he opens them again, they're filled with an unbearable sorrow. "I failed you," he whispers.

"No," you interject quickly. "It wasn't your fault."

He shakes his head, his expression darkening. "I should have protected you."

You want to reach out and comfort him, but your new form makes it impossible. Instead, you let out a mournful caw, hoping it conveys some semblance of your feelings.

"Being here isn't so bad," you say softly, trying to lift some of the weight from his shoulders. "I still get to be in the Dreaming."

You see the determination harden in Morpheus' eyes. It's a look you've seen before—a resolve that bends worlds to his will. A chill runs through your little bird body as he steps closer, his fingers reaching out again. What is he going to do…

"Y/N," he says softly, voice imbued with a power that sends ripples through the Dreaming. "I will change your form. I will restore you to a semblance of what you once were."

Panic surges within you. "No, Morpheus, you can't just do that on a whim!" you protest, your voice cracking with urgency. "This isn't something you can fix with a snap of your fingers."

He halts, his gaze piercing into yours. "Why not? You deserve more than this... prison of feathers and beak."

"It's not about what I deserve," you argue, wings flapping in agitation. "It's about accepting what's happened and finding a way to move forward."

Morpheus' jaw tightens. "I cannot accept this. I cannot lose you in this way." His words are laced with desperation, an emotion so raw it cuts through the air like a knife.

"But changing my form won't change the reality," you insist, trying to make him understand. "I'll still be dead in the Waking World. I'll still be... different. You can’t changing reality just because you don’t like it!”

His eyes soften, but the resolve remains. "You have always been different," he speak. "That is why I cannot bear to lose you."

Before you can protest further, his hand reaches out and touches your feathers. A warmth spreads from where he touches you, enveloping your entire being. You feel a strange sensation, like you're being pulled apart and stitched back together all at once.

"No!" You try to pull away, but his grip is firm. The world blurs around you, colors blending and shifting until you're no longer sure where you end and the Dreaming begins. The sensation intensifies, and for a moment, everything goes dark.

When the world comes back into focus, you're no longer perched on the branch but standing on solid ground. You look down at yourself and see hands—human hands—where feathers used to be. You stagger back, disoriented by the sudden change. Your heart races as you take in your new form—a reflection of your old self but tinged with a dreamlike glow.

"Morpheus," you breathe out, both breathless and horrified.

He stands before you, eyes filled with a mixture of triumph and trepidation. "You see?" he whispers softly. "You are still here, with me.”

Tears well up in your eyes as conflicting emotions flood through you—relief at feeling somewhat human again but also an overwhelming sense of loss for what was taken from you without consent. Being a bird wasn’t all bad.

"I really want to slap you," You grouse at him. He doesn't blink at your words, reveling in the sight you once again in his realm.

"If that is what you wish, you may do so without fear of repercussion," the Endless has the balls to inform you, presenting his cheek. You want to grind your teeth together in exasperation, but you can't seem to stay mad at him. A sigh escapes your lips.

“That was a very stupid thing to do,” you mutter weakly, but the conviction in your voice wavers as he reaches out and gently cups your face.

“Perhaps not,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “But I could not bear to see you suffer and I do not wish to exist without you by my side..”

The warmth of his touch makes you quiver and tremble in place, and for a moment, all the anger and confusion melts away. You’re left with a raw, aching need—a need to feel connected to him again.

"I'm still angry at you," You inform him, lifting your chin. Your face betrays your words and he can see it. A moment goes by with you staring into his eyes, wondering what would happen now, then his hand pulls your lips to his and he kisses you. Right on the mouth. In front of Fiddler's Green. You forget to care and kiss back.

Responding instinctively, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, growing more urgent as the world around you fades away. In this moment, there is only Morpheus—his warmth, his intensity, his love.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing heavily. His forehead rests against yours as he gazes into your eyes. The stars in his eyes are blazing with vibrant elation.

“I missed you,” he admits softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Tears well up in your eyes at his words and your shoulders slump in final resignation. “I missed you too,” you confess, the raw honesty of the moment breaking down any remaining walls you have tried to hold up.

Date Published: 9/4/24

Last Edit: 9/4/24

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#dream the endless #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #dream of the endless #dream the endless x reader #the sandman

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pressplay-if · 22 days

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F*ck yes i loved that new update, loved basically everything about it, especially how the characters throw in how the mc is percieved....i love it.

I have to things i wanna say tho, nothing bad promise :) I get some things that are set with the mc, but there are some things that just kinda bother me(subjectively speaking here of course)

1: But why does mc not have a drivers license for instance, i get that poor mc would maybe not have had the funds for it, but a rich one had, and i imagine that the parents would have insisted they do one so that they can drive to important meetings to get a real job etc. yk what i mean?

2: So mc can only do vocals and sucks at everything else...feels kinda like mc is suuuper useless, like a magicarp that couldn't even perform splash, or a bird without wings etc. like i get that mc is more focused on singing and vocals but i would say that it would only make sense that mc can at least play one instrument(like many real artists/musicians do) so that when they are stuck in a loop maybe they can distract themself or smth yk to get back on the grind etc.?

Also wouldn't this mean, that if mc got sick and maybe lost their voice for a time or completely they would be even more useless....like a stone that wants to fly. And i don't mean to be rude here or something cause i genuinely like this game and the characters, but mc feels soo limited yk, and i know we still have only seen a little about mc but i would say that we should at least have one more hobby or smth.

Of course this is only my subjective opinion and please don't feel pressured to change anything, cause this is your story and you can do whatever you want with it, i just thought that i could give my two cents to it. Anyways have a good day and stay hydrated.

Heyooo ok so you really picked apart the MC lol but I totally laughed at how you described that 😂 a stone trying to fly

MC can actually drive, they just don't own a vehicle. That's because I wanna make a whole big thing about them getting their first own car/motorbike once the cash comes in you know 💖 also, it creates some nice little scenes like the cuddling Angel-option. But don't worry, MC can drive and will drive

MC doesn't like "suck" at everything else. They can play a little rhythm guitar and also they write most of the band's songs, so they're far from useless, even though they may not play another instrument (at the moment; I think I'm gonna add that option). So they're integral to the band, because even when it's Stevie writing the songs, she only ever writes for the MC. MC is very distinctive. It's interesting that you bring up MC losing their voice though bc that may or may not be a plot point later on. MC not really having another hobby is also kind of intentional. They will shift and change, but at this stage, you're playing as a very obsessed little creature. Their only real hobby besides singing rn is collecting vinyls. So I totally get what you're saying and I understand MC feels limited, but rn, that's kind of just how they are. Things may change. Others may not. Chapter 2 will give a lot more insight on MC, and a bunch more choices for y'all to make about them.

#pressplay if

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bratbarzal · 29 days

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On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Three

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

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

WC: 13k

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

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

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Previous Part (Chapter Two)

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

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

Poppy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Teleportation sounds perfect.

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

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

Until Poppy properly considered time travel, that is.

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

But that was before she screwed everything up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except maybe she can.

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t go on that date, Mohn.”

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

What the hell is going on?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to go, Poppy,”

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

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

“More?”

“More than friends.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

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

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

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

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

Wrong answer, again.

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

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

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

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

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

“You said you forgave me for that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could feel her temper flaring again.

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

“Poppy-,”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

But her and Nico were just friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

“Finnegan’s.”

“The bar?”

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

She remembered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t mind.”

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

“You wanted to kiss me then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

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

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

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

“Could you maybe say it?”

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

“You do?”

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

“I forgive you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surely she would have a scar or a bruise.

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

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

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

“In my defence-,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She isn’t entirely wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure." His sarcasm was not entirely appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico

Nico has never been so physically uncomfortable in his life.

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

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

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

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

Itchy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4 days.

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

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

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

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

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

Every single thing had reminded him of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She won’t even kiss him back.

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

No one else can get that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A new record?”

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

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

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

He could use this to his advantage.

“Is she a good kisser?”

Or not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One question.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

Poppy looks unbelievable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no date. There is no uncouth slob.

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

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

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

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

Rookie mistake, offering something up so quick.

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

“What do you want?”

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

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

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

“Bring them into our section.”

“And maybe some tickets, too.”

“Fine.”

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

“Aren’t you gonna text her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She isn’t running. She isn’t pushing.

She’s waiting.

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

“I’ve missed you, too.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry about your date.”

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

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

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

“I was stupid to ask that.”

“Maybe we’re both stupid.”

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

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

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

“How are your family?”

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

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

“Did they get to watch you win?”

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

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

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

That would be embarrassing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is getting his own back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a party.

Poppy’s here.

He can do this.

He can wait.

Next Chapter

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

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

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wittlesissyb4by · 4 months

Text

Chapter 2

(Chapter 1 HERE)

“A little to the left…there you go…press that spot. There! I bet I'm leaking aren’t I?”

Marianne watched as little drips of precum dripped out of Jack’s penis. She wasn’t even touching it. She had two fingers shoved up his rectum, looking for the soft little walnut she had recently learned was his prostate. She knew she was doing it right when his breathing changed. He let out pitiful little high-pitched whimpers as she gently pressed, prodded and worked her fingers over it.

“Does it really feel that good?”

“Ohhhhohhh yeaa!” He moaned, eyes in the back of his head. He was splayed out on the floor on top of an open, oversized diaper, drenched in piss.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” she asked, dumbfounded. How, in 52 years did she never learn of prostate stimulation?

“I didn’t know how to tell you!” He groaned, still moaning on the floor as she worked her fingers in and out of him. “Don’t stop! Right there! Ohhhh yea! You feel so good! Right there! I’m gonna cum! Yea! Yeaa! Yess!! Ahh—wuh?!”

Marianne quickly withdrew her fingers, smirking as she pulled off the gloves and set them to the side.

“What are you doing??” Jack asked a little too vehemently. “I was just about to cum!”

“Exactly.” Marianne smiled triumphantly.

“But…wasn’t that the point…? For you to make me cum from anal only?”

“Yup.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Marianne grinned as she slipped a finger over the little lines of cum oozing down his balls. “Are you sure I didn’t?”

Jack blushed sheepishly, but continued his point. “Well…not all the way…”

“Would you have? If I kept going?” Marianne asked.

“Well…yea…probably.”

“Then I would say ‘Mission Accomplished.’”

She laughed at his frustration. After just two weeks of classes in the ABCD program, she was already feeling much more confident in the dominant role. Not to say she didn’t still have some kinks to work out…

Remembering the task at hand, she brought the pack of wipes closer to her, digging into the top and pulling out exactly 3. From the corner of her eye she could see his dick dancing to the sound of the crinkling package. She liked seeing him so turned on. It was, afterall, what all of these extra classes were for. That, and it gave her some time to interact with people that weren’t all her age. Spending time on a college campus once more had given her that youthful feeling of nostalgia she didn’t know she was missing.

Jack gave a sharp gasp when she brought the cold wipe to his thigh, tracing it upwards, skipping his penis, and going down the other side. Her eyes were on him the whole time, watching how his breathing and countenance changed with her every movement. Finally, she brought the wipe to his balls, giggling as they shriveled almost instantly beneath the graying hair. She wiped the clear, sticky liquid that had leaked from his balls.

“Am I doing okay?” She asked, needing that reassurance. Even though she was getting trained, she still felt so new at this. Like a bird still learning to fly.

“You’re doing great!” Jack smiled.

“No, really.” Marianne beckoned, “I need to know what I’m doing wrong so I can pass my practical exam next Thursday.”

Jack considered, trying to shove his regressed brain away so he could logically consider.

“I guess you could…dirty talk?”

Marianne suspected that was coming, it was a statutory point Professor Peterson had heavily emphasized.

“Ughh you’re right…” Marianne groaned, clapping a hand to her forehead. “I just feel so…awkward.”

“Don’t.” Jack shrugged, as if that would fix it. “There’s no way you can go wrong. You could say you’re going to butter my corn and I would still find it incredible. It’s more about your tone than anything.”

“What do you mean? What kind of tone?”

“I dunno…like…a ‘Mommy’ tone? But a patronizing one. Like, you don’t even see me as a man, just a loser that has to wear pampers.”

“But you’re not a loser…”

“Well,” Jack shrugged again, “I appreciate that, but remember it’s all about humiliation. You’re making me feel embarrassed for having to wear the diaper, for having to use the diaper.”

Marianne nodded, trying to take it all in. She looked down at her husband splayed out before her, vulnerable as could be, and yet she felt like the ridiculous one. She desperately searched for words to say. “Where do I even begin?”

“Just start by talking about my diaper.” Jack offered, “the state it’s in, how wet it is...that sort of thing.”

Marianne looked down at the sodden diaper laid out on the floor between his legs. It really was soaked, and apparently after just one wetting. How would it look if she made him use it more than 3-5 times like Professor Peterson suggested?

“Uh..umm..okay Jack…your diaper is very wet! Look at how wet your uh…your d-diaper is…” she felt absolutely ludicrous talking to her husband like this. Her voice was shaky, and she sounded way too nervous to be condescending. She peeked up at Jack, his dick still bobbing straight up in the air. “How was that?”

“Good.” Jack said appreciatively in the tone he used when he told her the meatloaf she’d burnt also tasted ‘good’. “Maybe make your voice a little bit higher, use lots of exaggerated gasps, and don’t be afraid to babytalk!”

She swirled that in her mind for a bit, contemplating how best to do it. Marianne was so used to everything being by the book, set, organized, neatly filed and tucked away for easy access. It was hard for her to do anything off the cuff. She’d enjoyed theater back in school, but that was only with specific scripts and lines. Improv was never really her thing.

Still, she took a deep breath, found the right pitch, and gave it a go.

“Oh my!” she gasped, “Wook at what we have here! Did someone go pee pee in their diapurr??”

Jack’s jaw dropped.

“What?” Marianne asked, concerned, “What’s wrong? Did I not do it right??”

“No…” Jack gaped, almost like he was horrified, “You did…amazing!!”

Marianne narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “Really?”

“Really.” Jack said in a way that made her know he meant it. “That was…awesome. Perfect! Keep going…just like that.”

Marianne nodded, appreciating the reassurance, feeling a bit more confident in herself now. She tried to remember the way the other girls spoke to the diaper betas in class, channeling it to her husband. “You’re quite the pampurr pisser aren’t you?? You really soaked this thing!”

She used as many adjectives and degrading terms as she could muster, trying them all on for size. Then she remembered a tip Mrs. Peterson had suggested to help emphasize their feelings of submission, and implicate them in their actions.

“Tell me what you did you…loser!” Marianne intoned, “Tell me what you did in your diaper!”

“I went pee pee’s Mommy!!” Jack said in the most high-pitched of a voice she’d ever heard him use in their 8 years of marriage. His face turned crimson. He was ashamed of himself, and this was his fetish!

She almost felt bad, but she tried to stay in character, giving another exaggerated gasp. “Aww!! You sure did! Silly little…baybee!”

Jack wriggled on top of his diaper in a cutesy sort of way, making it crinkle. It was like his mind had reverted back 50+ years. He tugged the neck of his T-shirt up to his chin. “Make fun of my tiny dick” he muttered in his normal voice.

“But you don’t have a tiny dick.” Marianne said, dropping her own motherly tone, “you’re perfectly average.”

“I know,” he said, still covering his mouth with his shirt like it was a mask for his own persona. “Just…pretend. Remember, you’re humiliating me.”

Marianne nodded. She felt bad criticizing him for something she knew he was already very self-conscious about, but she had to tell herself that this is what he wanted. “D’awww! And wook at your wittle pee pee!” she cooed, gently poking the throbbing head that was pointed skyward, making it lean and sway to and fro, “who knew so much wee wee could come out of such a tiny pee pee!!”

“That’s why I need the diapers” Jack whispered helpfully.

“That must be why you need such a big diapurr huh??” Marianne mused, following his lead, “A nice big pampurr for your widdle baybee dick to–” she stopped, tone shifting, “is it ‘wittle’ or ‘widdle? With ‘T’s or ‘D’s?”

“Heavily debated topic within the community.” Jack said.

“Is it really?”

“No.”

He laughed, “but I think it’s just a matter of preference. I don’t really hear a difference. I think it only matters if you’re typing it. When I write it, I use ‘t’s.”

“When you write it?” Marianne questioned.

Jack suddenly side-eyed, reaching for a change of subject. “Uh…aren’t you supposed to put my pacifier in?”

“Oh shit!” Marianne exclaimed, cursing herself for forgetting step one of a diaper change. She quickly picked up the pacifier case that her and Jack went to pick out and plopped it in his mouth, making him instantly regress again. It also made her think of the other thing she was supposed to do during changes–if the ‘Mommy’ designated it on the preference sheet–and since she was the Mommy in this scenario, she decided it was proper.

Reaching down, she grasped Jack’s purple penis, feeling it throb in her hands. She could practically take his blood pressure from here. “I’m supposed to edge you now…”

Apparently she didn’t have to explain what that was, Jack seemed to understand immediately, and he didn’t seem particularly thrilled about it either.

“How’s that feel?” she asked, running her hand up and down it, using her other hand to squirt a glob of lotion over the top for lubricant. Jack gave that noticeable exhale that let her know when he was in heaven.

“That’s great Mommy!!”

His voice was regressing again, which made her kick back into Mommy mode. “Awww! Wittle Jack Jack likes it when Mommy gives him a whack whack??”

He nodded fretfully, biting his bottom lip. She increased her pace, increased the amount of lube on her hand, making it thwick thwick thwick as she stroked faster.

She watched his legs squirm, his toes clench, his hips heave. She’d seen enough of his orgasms to know when one was coming. She waited until he was right at the cusp before pulling her hand away, making him groan in frustration.

“Raise up.” She said, ignoring his whimpers. She lifted him by the penis at the same time so that his hips raised off the floor, allowing her to slide the wet diaper out from beneath.

She smirked at his bulging dick, flopping around helplessly as she rolled up the drenched diaper and taped it into a ball. Pulling out a fresh diaper, she started fluffing it the way she’d learned in school: popping it outward like a trash bag to unfurl it, folding it down the middle like a hot dog, pressing a crease to free up the padding, then grabbing the edges and shaking it back and forth until said padding was evenly distributed. There was no doubt that it turned the diaper from a flattened white undergarment to a full-fledged plump pamper.

Jack seemed impressed, hardly noticing her stroke his dick a few more times before having him raise his hips again.

“Have you been a good boy today?” she asked, trying to keep the momentum going.

Jack nodded, pacifier bobbing as he suckled.

“Did you stop by the post office like I asked?”

He hesitated, but nodded again.

“Did you??”

“Mhmm!!” He mumbled around his paci, “I droffpped off the packaggge and the card to yerr Mom!”

Marianne smiled, putting her hand around his dick again, but this time only using two fingers. “Hmm…you are a good boy!”

She stroked him up and down, things did feel more natural now that they were both in the mood. Jack was practically a puddle on the floor, wriggling and writhing under her touch, making pathetic little mewling noises.

The cooing quickly turned to ‘crying’ when she pulled her hand away, bringing him back up to the edge and stopping again. Then again. Then one more time.

“Pweez can I cumm, Mommy??” he begged helplessly. She could tell he wanted to literally take matters into his own hands and finish himself off, but he resisted, if only to keep it going longer.

“I don’t know…” Marianne grinned sadistically, enjoying her newfound power. She made an ‘O’ with her thumb and index finger like Claire did in class the other day, putting it just above the head of Jack’s dripping purple penis. “...can you??”

Jack desperately thrust his hips upward, making the diaper crinkle every time he went back down, and had to go even higher to catch Marianne’s rising hand. Eventually, she’d raised it up too high to where Jack was unable to reach it, no matter how desperately he flexed his abs and hips. She hadn’t seen him work his core that hard in a long time…

Finally, he collapsed back down, defeated, knowing that was his last chance.

“Awww! Don’t cry wittle baby!” Marianne cooed, unable to keep herself from smiling. “You get to go back in a diaper like you wanted!!”

Jack whimpered meekly into his pacifier, crossing his arms dramatically. He’d regressed to a full-blown brat. Marianne was genuinely worried that the dusting of powder over his penis would send him over the edge, but she managed to coat it without anything other than globs of precum leaking out.

“Are you going to do all of this with…someone else?” Jack asked, losing his whiney voice.

“What? Like, at school?”

He nodded.

Marianne shrugged, “I…I suppose. I mean…yea. I guess I kinda have to, right? We train on the betas, the ‘mannekins’ as we call them, even though they’re not made out of fake plastic…and I’m pretty sure I’ll have to ‘perform’ on them for practicals and exams.”

Jack looked a little displeased.

“Hey,” she said, lifting his chin with her finger so he was forced to look at her, “you wanted this. You encouraged me to take classes. So if you want me to get better at all of this, you have to be comfortable with me practicing on others.”

He seemed to find logic in that, nodding.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss!” she teased, tickling him a bit until he giggled, “you get to reap all the benefits!”

She tucked his winky down onto his belly as she pulled the diaper upward. Her mind going a little elsewhere as she taped up the sides. Marianne and her first husband were never able to conceive (probably for the best, as he was a dreadful drunk), and by the time she’d met Jack she was long past her prime child-rearing years. Still, she’d always wished she had someone to coddle and mother, perhaps this was her way of getting that. Maybe they were both benefiting from all of this.

Once the tabs were properly secured, Marianne tucked the hems of the diaper inward at the thighs and waistband like she’d learned. She pulled him up until he was standing, checking her work.

“How’s it feel?” she asked, gripping the crotch and rubbing it back and forth. He was still hard inside.

“Great!” He said, smiling behind his pacifier appreciatively.

“Excellent.” Marianne said as she gathered back up the changing supplies. “Oh,” she snapped, pointing a finger up at him and giving him a menacing, motherly look. “No touching.” she said sternly, obviously referring to his diaper, “No cumming. No rubbing it against anything! I’m going to check your diaper in a few hours. I better not find anything in there other than piss. No poop either. I’m not ready for that yet. But if you can go without cumming, I’ll let you cum in me tonight.”

He perked up at that. Jack and Marianne were getting older, so it didn’t happen quite as often as it used to.

“I’m serious.” She said, feeling more confident in her dominant persona. “If I find cum, I won’t punish you with a spanking, I just won’t diaper you. Understood?”

He nodded, sensing her sincerity.

“Good.”

He bent to pick his pants up.

“You won’t be needing those.”

The pacifier practically fell from his mouth, she knew she just made his dick move inside his pampers.

“No pants. Just pampers.” she said, as he scurried off with a little pep in his step.

Sometimes Jack had to take a little blue pill to help get him ready for sex at his age. Marianne highly doubted they would be needing that tonight.

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

“I don’t get why we should ever let them cum.” Brooke was saying, leaning over the bed that had been rolled into the classroom, pressing a Hitachi vibrator to the diapered crotch of the squirming beta.

“We’re not letting him cum,” Savannah reminded her, pinching the whimpering ‘mannekin’ on the cheek, “just edging him.”

“I know, but I mean…in general.” Brooke sighed, lifting the vibrator every time the practice dummy showed signs of climaxing. The poor sophomore must have thought he’d be getting orgasm after orgasm when he signed up as a volunteer to be a learning tool. Did he even know he’d have to wear diapers indefinitely? Miranda distinctly remembered this one being checked by one of her ABCD classmates in the middle of an unrelated Civics lecture. “It’s just…if any man wants to run around in diapers all day, they shouldn’t get to cum. That’s for real men.”

Some of the girls that were circled around the bed nodded in agreement. Miranda couldn’t help but think of Jack. She always thought of him as a man’s man, he certainly didn’t look like one when he was dancing around in diapers, but she’d already spent enough time with him in a “normal” setting to be able to tease the two sides of him apart. She doubted most of these college girls had had much of a committed relationship.

“I know what you mean,” Trinity said, bringing a bottle of formula to the mannequin’s lips, “Benny, the ‘man’ I betasit is constantly masturbating while I’m around. Wife doesn’t want him in a cage.”

“Is he a rubber or a humper?” Valencia asked.

“Girl, all of the above!” Trinity scoffed, “I'm thinking about caging him myself just so I don’t have to listen to him moaning and crinkling all the time! You should see how much goo goo he makes!”

“Oh please, it can’t be that much…” Savannah giggled.

“Okay you’re right,” Trinity shrugged, smiling, “but it’s sooo awkward to see him humping the arm of the couch from the corner of my eye while i’m scrolling through Tik Tok!”

“At least it goes in the diaper…” said Savannah, “I shit you not, one of them shot me right in the face during a diaper change. I didn’t even touch it! It just started spewing everywhere. Got me right in the eye! And his wife had the nerve to tell me he has ED issues, well not in front of me he didn’t!”

The girls collectively laughed. “Okay you win,” Trinity said, “I’ll try not to complain. Still would like him in a cage though…” she smacked the mannekin’s cheeks, reminding him there was a bottle in his mouth, “drink!” she barked.

The beta was too busy holding his mouth open in ecstasy to remember to suck on the little rubber teet. He wrapped his lips around it at Trinity’s behest, but that didn’t stop him from whimpering as he suckled. Brooke pulled the vibrator off for a bit just to hear him groan, and didn’t put it back on until he was guzzling the milk to her standards.

“What’s a cage?” Miranda asked, speaking up for the first time.

All the girls turned to her at once, looking at her as if she just asked something as obvious as who Taylor Swift was. They quickly fixed their faces, however, not wanting to be mean.

“Something to go around their dick,” Claire explained without judgment, she’d seemed to take Miranda under wing. Ironic, considering Miranda had watched her friend give birth to Claire over 20 years ago. “Keeps them from masturbating. Even comes with a little key to unlock it!”

Miranda nodded, imagining the possibilities if she were to use it on Jack. She didn’t mind him masturbating, but she always wished he’d ask if she wanted to join instead of just taking care of his business himself. Having that type of control did sound endearing.

“I’ve got 3 keys!” Valencia said, flashing the necklace between her perfectly plump breasts. “One for my boyfriend and one for the beta I sit for.”

“Who’s the third?”

Val shrugged, “Some fuckboi I met on campus. Haven’t seen him in a while, but he sends me DM’s on the daily asking for the key. He even sends me pictures of his swollen balls!!”

The girls thought that was hilarious. Even Miranda was unable to keep herself from smiling. Where she thought she was progressing with Jack and their relationship, she obviously still had much to learn.

“That’s what I’m saying though…” Brooke continued, fixing the vibrator to a lower position and pressing further into the pissy pamper, “The world would be a lot better if all men were in chastity. They only think with their dicks anyway, and they’re willing to do damn-near anything if it means they’ll have the slightest chance of—“

“Brooke!” Savannah exclaimed, indicating the squirming mannekin on the bed. His eyes were rolling in the back of head and he had started to convulse.

Brooke’s eyes went wide and she immediately yanked the vibrator away. “Shit!” She shrieked, clapping a hand to her mouth. Their assignment was to edge the mannekins, not let them cum. They would lose marks if a load was spilled, even a ruined one.

Brooke tentatively tucked a finger into the waistband of the boy’s diaper, peering inside with bated breath. The rest of the girls were on edge, worried for their own grade. Her eyes darted left and right, finger poking and prodding. “No cum”, she said, breathing a hefty sigh of relief, the rest of the girls following suit.

“Close one!”

“Very.”

“Can’t believe he held it! Good job little guy!”

Val took a peek in for herself. “Ooh those balls sure are blue though!!”

“Someone take this before I cost us our grade!” Brooke said, handing the vibrator off. Claire stepped up and took it eagerly.

The girls continued to chat and edge the poor beta constantly for the next half hour until Professor Peterson finally came over with a clipboard.

“How’s it going over here, girls?” She asked over the sounds of giggles, buzzing, and whimpers.

“Good!”

Peterson decided to test that claim by using her pencil to lift the waistband herself.

“Hmmm…prominent leakage of pre-ejaculate with substantial swelling of the testes. Great job, ladies!”

They all grinned and nodded at each other proudly.

“I’ll remind you that your exams are next week. I expect you to know your stuff. You will also have a practical in which you will need to demonstrate proper prostate and edging techniques. I should warn you: don’t take it lightly. The mannekins next week will be extremely deprived and therefore very easily stimulated and prone to orgasm. I expect you to all bring your A-games. It will be a collective effort. Good luck!”

She snapped her fingers, and the beds around the classroom were wheeled out, the betas squealing and squirming the whole time in disappointed frustration.

Savannah turned to the rest of her group. “We have to get together and study!”

“For real,” Trinity nodded “I can’t afford to even get a C in this class or I'll lose my financial aid!”

“Should we meet in the library?”

“Which one?”

“By the quad.”

“That’s fine, but i’m not that worried about the written exam to be honest,” Savannah made an unapologetic gesture, “I’m just still not comfortable with the prostate and practical side.”

“Well I’m sure we can find someone to practice on.”

“Who? Not everyone’s a loser that would volunteer to get their ass fingered.”

“That’s only because they refuse to admit how good it feels.”

“Sure, but still…”

“Val? Do you think maybe your boyfriend would be okay with it? I mean, you do it to him all the time don’t you?”

“Oh he definitely would be fine with it,” Valencia laughed, “I just don’t know if I’m fine with it.”

Claire put a considerate hand to her shoulder, “That’s valid, we understand that.”

“But where are we going to find—“

“We could use my husband.” Miranda blurted out. Her face turned crimson when all the girls turned to her in shock. “I-I mean…if he’s okay with it. I’ll have to check with him first…”

******

“So let me get this straight…” Jack said incredulously, “you’re asking me if you can have a bunch of college girls come over to the house, put me in a diaper, and practice playing with me and my…parts?”

Miranda felt stupid even asking. Jack was looking at her like she was practically the dumbest person on the planet.

Then he burst into raucous laughter. “Uh…yea.” He chuckled, “yea, i’m pretty sure i’m very much okay with that!!”

To be Continued...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I just posted the brand new Chapter 3 of this story over on SubStar!! If you'd like to read it, I'd really appreciate your support! As always, thank you so much for your time and attention to read my writings. It really means a lot to me. Thank you so much, and have the best of days!

#abc degree #abcdegree #WSB Story #WSB Stories

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neiptune · 2 years

Text

aot boys x guilty pleasures

a/n: this is me being self indulgent and having a lil fun so forgive the shitposting but also feedback is always appreciated mwah

eren loves the shit out of nature documentaries you'll leave him alone one saturday night and you'll come back to find him sprawled on the couch watching life of mammals or some shit on netflix lmao you'd be on a date and he'd get suddenly excited enough to hit you with random facts like “btw did you know that the average blood pressure of a giraffe is around 300/190?” he'd literally barge in rooms with a “babe omg hummingbirds are like the only birds that can fly backwards” and you'd just be sitting on the toilet with a very unimpressed look but he's cute 12/10 would make a good park ranger or whatever

armin is lowkey obsessed with youtubers like he legitimaly sits down and watches hours on end of unboxing/reaction videos or travel vlogs jfc and it's always the dumb stuff ya know like person x unboxing the same phone in 10 different colors or person y reacting to drake's new single and THAT controversial lyric. it's exhausting really he'd be in bed at 3am still going through chrissy's 27 min travel vlog about some bali vacation gone wrong and don't even get me started on drama and internal feuds or breakups oh my god he has a whole playlist of breaking my silence videos on youtube to keep track of who's said what so he can pick the best side

you've introduced jean to the world of fandoms and fanfiction and at first he was all like nah that's too weird but now he has his own ao3 account and eats the weirdest most hilarious shit up, will also use acquired terms in the wrongest way like you'd be watching bridgerton together and he'd suddenly nod to himself with a OOOO TRIGGER WARNING THEY BOUT TO FUCK lmao he's obsessed tbh his twitter is filled with commentary on random chapters he's screenshot and that I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP titanic gif posted over and over again like no honey you will not we've moved past that 10 years ago

oh god connie is such a chronic playlist creator he'd have one for EVERYTHING and he genuinely spends hours selecting the perfect most appropriate songs and titles for each one, you best believe before you first started dating he's made one for you called “i like you idgaf about your boyfriend” which came with a weird ass mix of sweet stuff like just the way you are by bruno mars and cash shit by megan thee stallion lmaooo he's so random he thinks he's good at it too and you don't have the heart to tell him that “get down dirty bedroom sexy lapdance music” ain't a good title. it's kinda attractive that he's not a music snob tho like he'd be blasting country music classics while cooking, rap mixtapes when he's taking a shower or full on broadway showtunes when driving, he also has a cute voice that cracks on higher notes but it secretly turns you on how deep in the moment he is while screaming to defying gravity in the car

levi gets a weird kick out of serial killer documentaries or real footage of their interviews/trials, also listens to A LOT of true crime podcasts and TAKES NOTES about the most interesting cases to check if he'd be able to solve the unsolved ones and he'd always test you as well? you'd be reading a book in bed and he'd plop next to you with a dead serious look on his face asking shit like “would you help some random guy with a cast on his arm carry his bags?” 🤨 out of the blue like ?????? baby that's kinda weird can you not but it's really just him trying to flex his big big brain thank fuck he's not an actual cop he'd be insufferable (and way less hot)

to absolutely no one's surprise reiner's guilty pleasure has to do with you, the man's all about you (and hockey), you've asked him to take a bath with you once and now not a single motherfucking week goes by without him looking at you big big puppy eyes asking “bath???” most evenings after work. it doesn't even have to lead to anything he's just content basking in warm water and bubbles with you in his lap, he gets to massage shampoo into your scalp if you want to wash your hair and is now a pro at creating the perfect atmosphere with oils and dimmed lights and omg don't even get me started on candles, he's memorized your favorite scents and now also has his own preferences, catch him walking around a yankee candle store at least twice a month, girls working there ask this big scary grumpy guy if he needs help and he'd reply with the softest most polite & specific hi hello yes actually i need to stock up on sparkling cinnamon and snow globe wonderland tyvm

porco 100% checks his naked self out in the mirror lmaooo i know this shouldn't count as something people wouldn't believe he'd do but it's kinda a guilty pleasure i guess??? he finds putting clothes on a lil depressing and knows he's hot. sometimes you'd catch him doing that after showering and the man would be so fucking thirsty for compliments cause what is he supposed to do with muscles and abs and prominent biceps if you won't drool over them a little? he's annoying & also gets soooo whiny if you don't indulge him like :( do you not think your dashing boyfriend is cute :( while flexing, also always tries to convince you to take your clothes off as well for “inspection purposes” to which you simply flick his forehead lol whether you end up pressed against that very mirror 10 minutes later it's between you and him xoxo

#aot #eren yeager headcanons #eren x reader #armin arlert headcanons #armin x reader #jean kirschtein headcanons #jean x reader #connie springer headcanons #connie x reader #reiner braun headcanons #reiner x reader #levi ackerman headcanons #levi x reader #porco galliard headcanons #porco x reader

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seiya-starsniper · 4 months

Text

Seiya's Dreamling Week Fanfiction Masterpost

Hello my darlings in Dreamling Fandom! Dreamling Week 2024 is upon us, and as part of the event, I'm making a masterpost of all my Dreamling fics! Some of you who have been here a while probably have seen me make different masterposts for various events so this shouldn't be anything new, just a more convenient list for all my Dreamling works.

Also, in tandem with @arialerendeair, I'll be collecting and reblogging other writers and artists masterposts! Here's how to send me your masterposts:

Send me an ask on Tumblr with the link to your masterpost

Send me a direct message with the link to your masterpost

Tag me in the replies to your masterpost

Once I've received your link, I'll send you a confirmation, add it to my queue and then reblog it during Dreamling Week. If you send me your masterpost during Dreamling Week, I will do my best to reblog it asap!

I am also going to be madly reblogging various posts, so if you don't have time to make a masterpost, no worries! I'm going through my own blog for content, and also the dreamling tag, so chances are high I'll catch your post.

Now that that's out of the way, let's get to the fic list:

Non-Explicit Fics

Six Degrees of Separation (Dead Boy Detectives crossover, Incomplete, 2/5 chapters, 3.5k words)

A Symphony of Hearts (Age Gap, Human AU, Incomplete, 1/2 chapters, 1k words)

do you remember all the city lights on the water? (Human AU, Complete, 1.9k words)

For The Birds (Human AU, Complete, 1.3k words)

Well Met, My Good Sir (Renaissance Faire Human AU, Complete, 1.6k)

first time, forever (Omegaverse, Complete, 1k words)

Begin Again (Retired Dream, Complete, 1.2k words)

dreaming of you tonight (Knight AU, Complete, 1.2k words)

a little of that human touch (Post Calliope Episode fic, Complete, 1.3k words)

Untitled Portrait of a Man (I Want to Obliterate Me) (Human AU, University AU, Complete, 5.5k words)

surely heaven waits for you (Simon Snow crossover, Human AU, University AU, Complete, 2.6k words)

Fly Me to the Moon (Human AU, Complete, 783 words)

Flowers for a Sick Man (Sickfic, Dream cares for Hob in the dreaming, Complete, 821 words)

Remember Me, For Centuries (Canon Divergence, Memory Loss, Complete, 971 words)

Hold me tonight (say it's all right) (Human AU, Complete, 1.4k words)

right where you left me (Canon Divergence, Hob doesn't meet Dream at The New Inn, Complete, 664 words)

Pictures of You (Episode 6 continuation, Complete, 807 words)

Everytime we touch (Fluff, Complete, 899 words)

Waking up together (Fluff, Complete, 584 words)

Duck Socks (Fluff, Complete, 503 words)

Unclip My Wings (Human Hob & Monster Dream, Complete, 1.4k words)

Don't Let the Light Go Out (Sci-Fi/Space Opera AU, Complete, 611 words)

Endless Love (Marriage fic, Complete, 1.3k words)

Set the Night on Fire (Human Hob & Dragon Dream, Incomplete, 2/4 Chapters, 10.4k words)

Coffee & Flowers (Miscommunication, Courting Rituals, Complete, 2.1k words)

The Lament of Morpheus (Rescue from Hell Fic, Angst, Complete, 2k words)

Dreams for a Dozen Cats (Meowpheus, Complete, 2k words)

A sweet dream (Main Character Death, Angst, Complete, 1.4k words)

they say our love's just like Magic (Magic the Gather Competitive AU, Human AU, Complete, 3.9k words)

Wake Up & Smell The Flowers (Human AU, Florist Hob, Complete, 5.3k words)

Mature/Explicit Fics

Soixante-Neuf - (Human AU, Complete, 1.1k words)

Turn the Page (A New Beginning, Another End) (Canon-adjacent AU, Fantasy AU, Complete, 42.9k words)

Summer Loving - (Human AU, Complete, 1.2k words)

All Wound Up (Human Hob & Centaur Dream, Complete, 3.1k words)

Midnight Pleasures (Vampire AU, Multiship, Complete, 16.7k words)

Waiting for Tonight (Supernatural AU, Complete 1.4 words)

sweet like poison ivy (Dreaming Sex, Complete, 884 words)

wrap me up nice and tight (love me all through the night) (Human Hob and Naga Dream, Complete, 3.5k words)

By the End of the Night (Centaur AU, Complete, 5.2k words)

In the Middle of the Night (In My Dreams) (Hobrintheus, Canon Divergence, Sequel Fic, Complete, 3.3k words)

Cherry Slick (Omegaverse, Age Gap, Selling Virginity, Complete, 3.5k words)

Spoils of War (Warprize Dream AU, Complete, 3k words)

secret moments (shut in the heat of the afternoon) (Omegaverse, Sequel Fic, Regency AU, Complete, 2k words)

Break Me, Shake Me (Omegaverse, Complete, 4.4k words)

Let's conspire to ignite (Fuck or Die, Complete, 11.5k words)

A Dream for a Viscount (Omegaverse, Regency AU, Complete 11.5k words)

A Maiden's Dream (Human Hob and God Dream, Blessed Maiden AU, Complete, 3k words)

A View to a Dream (James Bond crossover, 00 Agent Hob, Human Dream, Complete, 12.1k words

and if I get burned, at least we were electrified (Hobrintheus, Canon Divergence, Complete, 41k words)

#dreamling #dreamling week 2024 #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling #christ this took me so long to compile #this will be updated as I add fics for dreamling week as well!

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dragon-kazansky · 4 months

Text

Heart of the Dreaming

Morpheus x Female Reader

Soulmate AU

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Eleven - Cracks in the glass

☆☆☆

You were sat in your garden. Sitting on the stone wall over a flowerbed nearby. The bricks were your favourite colour. Dream's doing, of course. You had been out here for about an hour now practising making things.

You had been in the Dreaming for about a week now, if you had to guess. The power Dream had given you was almost begging to be used, so you decided to put it to use. After all, he did gift you the garden.

You sit with your hand covering over the soil slightly. It was strange. Somehow, you knew what you needed to do. Rubbing your pointer finger and thumb together, dust fell down to the soil. No, not just dust, stardust.

It fell delicately from your fingers and embedded itself into the soil. Slowly, a little green stem poked out from the soil. You smile and move your hand over a little and repeated the action. You kept going until the flowerbed was full of sprouting flowers.

You smile at your work.

"Your garden is beginning to grow."

You turn and see Dream behind you. You smile at him softly. "Yes. I felt it was a good time to put the garden to use."

Dream walks over and offers you his hand. You look at it for a moment and then accept it, rising from the wall. He brings your hand to his arm as he guides you round the garden.

"How are you enjoying your time here in the Dreaming?"

"I've settled now. I am used to your realm," you tell him.

"I am glad. This is your home now."

The two of you walk slowly through the garden. You watch as fairies and birds fly overhead. A doe prances through the trees to the left. A horse grazes in a field on the other side. There was so much beauty surrounding you.

"I was hoping to have a word with you," he starts after a long bout of silence.

"What about?"

"The night I was captured."

You stop. Dream feels you tense beside him and looks at you.

"The night I was captured, I was in the waking world. I was searching for someone. I only intended to find him and bring him back here, but evidently failed when your father summoned me."

"I'm so sorry," you say softly.

"Don't be. You are not at fault for what your father did. That was his own doing. As was Alex's when he decided to keep you in your room all those years."

Dream could see you were still upset about what happened and reached up to cup your cheek. His hand is warm against your skin. "Don't cry," he spoke softly.

"I'm sorry."

He hushes you quietly. "What I wanted to discuss with you was the man I was searching for that night."

You nod to show you were still listening, unable to find your voice right now.

"He is one of my nightmares. The Corianthian. He has escaped my realm and is still out there now. I came to tell you this because I must go in search of him again."

"I understand. I'll wait for your return."

"You do not wish to come with me?" He asks, sounding surprised.

"Wouldn't it be best I didn't? I don't want to get in the way or be the reason anything goes wrong."

Dream seems confused by your words. "I want you to come."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. Why would I not?"

"For the reasons I just said before." You look at him in wonder. "Is he dangerous?"

"Quite. More so now, I assume."

"And you want me to come?" You ask again.

"Yes."

You chuckle softly and shake your head lightly. Dream smiles at your amusement. Every day, he discovers something new about you that he likes.

"What can I do to help?" You ask.

"For now, keep practising with your new power. I need to find his location first."

"Alright."

Dream smiles and then takes hold of your hand. He lifts it to his lips and kisses it gently. You exhake softly through parted lips as you keep your eyes on his. He does not look away once.

When he lets go of your hand, it feels cold. You miss his touch. You watch him retreat back into the palace.

☆☆☆

Over the next few days, you work on your garden. Every flowerbed is full. You work hard to help them grow. You want your garden to be full of colours of all kinds. You want Dream to know his power did not go to waste.

Matthew flew above the palace and swooped down into your garden. He landed on the fountain and saw you sprinkling stardust onto the flowers again.

"How's it going?" He caws.

You look up and smile. "I'm making progress."

"Yeah, looking good. So, uh, his higness is asking for you."

"Oh? Alright. Lead the way."

Matthew takes flight, and you follow him inside the palace. He takes you down several halls and down toward the throne room. When you arrive, you see Morpheus and Lucienne talking. When they hear you approach, they stop and turn to look at you.

"I have found him," Dream says before you can ask.

"Alright. So, we go now?"

"Do you feel ready?" He asks.

"I don't know, but you want me to help, so I'll try. Though I'm still not sure what I can do."

"It may seem strange, but I'll explain when we get there." He can sense your anxiety.

Lucienne looks between you both.

Dream offers you his hand. You take it, stepping closer to him. This pleases him. He other hand reaches for his sand, and he begins to tip the pouch. The sand falls around you in a haze.

Lucienne looks concerned.

Before you know it, you're standing outside a diner. You look around to find yourself in a place you've never seen before.

"Where are we?"

"America. He's here." Dream keeps his eyes trained on the diner and walks on in. You follow him closely.

The last diner you went to was covered in blood. John. Poor John. Things could have been so different for him if Rodrick wasn't involved in his literal creation.

Inside was quiet. Few people are present. The chef could be seen through the window to the kitchen, and there were two girls on the counter. One pouring coffee for a gentleman at the bar and the other restocking condiments.

A few stools down from the man with the coffee was a plate of untouched food. No one was sitting there.

You both stand by the door and look around. Clearly, there is no sign of this Corinthian.

"Are you sure he's here?" You ask.

"Yes."

In that next moment, a man steps out from the men's toilets. He wipes something you can't see clearly with a cloth and then tucks both items into his pocket. On his face sit a pair of small round frames covering his eyes. He stops and looks up, a huge grin appearing on his face.

"Well, well, well."

Something about his voice sets you on edge, and you find yourself grabbing at Dream's sleeve. He feels your little tug on his coat, but doesn't turn to look at you, keeping his eyes solely focused on the other man.

"Corianthian."

"Dream."

You look up at Dream, but his gaze is locked on to the other man. You feel like the Corianthian is looking at you, though. His lipsnarw curled up into a very pleased grin.

"So, you got free."

"I did. I am here to finish what I came to do all those years ago." Dream speaks firmly.

"Is that so?" Corianthian speaks slowly.

The Corianthian chuckles and walks past you both, heading outside. You look at Dream, who just follows him with his eyes and then follows him out. You stay right behind him.

The Corianthian goes round the back of the diner and stands there. You watch him, staying close to Dream. You do not feel good about being here.

"Well, I'm not going without a fight."

The Corianthian reaches into his pocket and pulls out the thing you saw him put away earlier. When he removes the cloth, you see the knife.

Dream doesn't seem threatened by it.

"I should explain why I bought you with me," Dream says, turning his head slightly to show he's addressing you, but his eyes stay forward. "I gave you a portion of my power, which means I am only complete when I am with you."

You look at him. "Why did you give it to me then?"

"It was a gift."

"Dream..."

You feel his fingers brush against yours as he takes your hand. You glance down and look at them entwined together.

"Look at me."

You lift your eyes to his.

"Trust me."

You nod softly.

Dream turns back to the Corianthian, and his expression becomes firm again. "Your games are over."

The Corianthian laughs. The knife shimmers in the sun. It looks so very sharp. Dream keeps his hand in yours as he lifts the other one up. He's trying to force the Corianthian back into the Dreaming.

However, the Corianthian isn't having it. His aim is true as he throws the knife towards Dream. You push him by instinct and raise your hand to shield your face. The knife embeds itself through your hand, and you resist screaming.

Dream's focus is instantly on you as he places both his hands on your upper arms, looking at the knife in your hand.

The Corianthian runs.

"Go!" You tell Dream.

"No."

Morpheus pulls you into his chest and uses his sand to return you both to the Dreaming. The moment you're both back in the palace, he calls for Lucienne. She rushes in and sees you, asking what happened. Dream doesn't explain. He just asks her for help.

That was something he rarely did.

You're in tears, and your breathing is erratic. Dream is worried about you. You're hurt, and it's his fault. Lucienne has to pry his hands off you so she can help you, requesting things from Matthew and Mervyn.

Lucienne sits you down, and Dream can only watch. He's panicking on the inside. He won't let them know, won't let you know, just what he's feeling right now.

You're hurt.

The scream that you let out when Lucienne pulls out the knife makes his heart break. He watches blood drip down, too late for Lucienne to prevent it from happening. She tends to your hand all while speaking to you in a calming voice.

That should be him, but he couldn't. He couldn't help you. He can't be gentle with you like that. He can't comfort you the way he wants to.

Dream leaves. He can't watch any more.

☆☆☆

You had long since gone to bed. You had come to bid him goodnight, despite the fact he didn't sleep. He told you goodnight and watched you go quietly. He then sank down on his throne and sulked for about an hour.

His sad hours were cut short by a deep rumble under his feet. He snaps back into reality, or well, his realm, to what could only be described as an earthquake. He rises from his throne but holds onto it for support as he looks around the room.

The window behind him cracks, and he stares at them in confusion.

Then it stops, and all is calm.

Matthew comes flying in moments later. "Uh, boss?"

"I know, Matthew. I felt it."

"You, uh, might want to see Lucienne." Matthew caws.

Dream nods and makes his way to the library. The Dreaming doesn't have earthquakes, so whatever that was, it was new.

☆☆☆

@deniixlovezelda - @missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @meganlpie - @thoughtsfromlayla - @ladyjbrekker

@mwaaaaaugh - @bluespecs14 - @intothesoul - @lady-violet - @navs-bhat - @krahk - @oldsoulmagic

@rubyrose2014 - @lorkai - @roxytheimmortal - @star-maker-rain-dancer - @intothesoul - @gemini-mama - @whotperlinda

@dreamingblueberries - @the-shadow-of-aurora - @novavida - @blackgirlmagicforever

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 - @hopshusushi - @sloppyzengarden - @thecraziestcrayon -

#heart of the Dreaming #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #soulmate au #dragon writes

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emeraldbloodcrown · 3 months

Text

Once More

Chapter: Four - Coffee Pairing: Poly; Tattoo Artists!141 x Baker!Female Reader Summary: John and you finally hang out while your grandmother seemingly doesn't wanna talk to you Content/Warning: Still none Word Count: 3k

The street lamps gave Johnny a soft glow and a boyish smile on his lips as he looked at you with those deep blue eyes of his. You scoffed and patted his shoulder, careful not to touch him for longer than appropriate, and went to leave his side.

"Thanks, Johnny. I see you around."

He went for your wrist and managed to brush your knuckles, a simple caress but it alarmed something in your brain. It made your eyes wide and turn your entire body to him, back to the walls and limbs close to yourself.

Johnny opened his mouth, seemingly noticing that something had gone wrong before he retracted his hand and instead went for something in his pocket. He moved slowly, eyes on you so he could watch you reaction as he pulled out his phone, swipping a couple times and turning the screen to you. The display showed a new contact profile.

"Gon' be easier if I got yer number, aye?"

You looked at his phone for a moment, long enough for the device to darken and for Johnny to try to ease the tension.

"Unless ye prefer notification per pidgeon carrier," he joked with a wagging of his eyebrows.

"You said you work at Death or Glory, right? Could just swing by for new ink instead."

"Oh? Yer gon' lemme give ye a new piece?"

"Oh no, I'm gonna tell you I got work for you and let Kyle do the honors."

Johnny placed a hand over his heart and staggered back as if shot on stage, but when he looked at you again, the twinkle in his eyes was back.

"Ye wound me. Come on, throw me a bone here, bonnie."

You waited for another moment before you sighed and took his phone, typing your number in. The smile on his face had turned into a full grown grin and as he reached to take his phone back, you held it out of his reach.

"You use this for anything but helping us, you're gonna get blocked so fast, you understand me?"

Johnny pocketed his phone again. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Have a good night, Johnny."

Joining Anna, it didn't take both of you long to enter your dreamland and be dead to the world until your alarm rang, waking the two of you up for another day of work at the bakery.

"Nooooo," Anna groaned above you, having been the lucky one with the bed this time.

Glaring at your phone, you turned the alarm off and sat up, fighting the unwillingness to get up but ultimately moving to stand up. Anna had decided to snuggle into her Pegasus, trying to shield any light from her eyes to fall back asleep.

"Come on," you said, shaking her by the leg but only getting disgruntled groans from her and her hand attempting to swat you away like an annoying fly.

"We got work to do."

"We got sleep to do. Work can wait."

"If you're not sitting by the time I'm done, I'm gonna get a bucket of water."

After you were done with your morning routine, deciding to take some extra care after yesterday, you didn't immediately go back to Anna but instead took a detour upstairs. The room of your grandmother's was still locked, something she had done for as long as you could remember while she slept, so you knocked and listened for any sounds.

"Grandma? Can we talk?"

You took a glance at the clock in the hallway. Sure, it was early but if your job had taught you anything, it was that people, as soon as they became elderly, all turned into the earliest of birds. Couple that with the early-rising nature of her own work, there was no way, she'd still be sleeping.

So you tried again but making a point to knock against the door louder.

"I know you're up. I'm sorry about yesterday, it just doesn't make sense to me."

You sighed when you received no answer again and decided to try for one last time.

"At least come down for breakfast."

"Not hungry. Just leave."

You waited for another moment, feeling frozen in place as you still hoped for her to open the door, only to find yourself remembering that she was known for her stubbornness and you'd sooner find Easter and Christmas on the same day than have her give in first.

Feeling frustrated, you went back to Anna, taking a peak into the room and finding her dead asleep again, so you quickly grabbed a bucket out of the hallway closet.

After breakfast, the two of you tackled painting the front room of the bakery. The floor had already been done by local workers, leaving the walls to be the only thing left to do before you could start assembling the furniture the both of you had picked weeks prior, and would be delivered by the weekend.

Having just finished the second base coat, you took a step back, somewhat cursing your brain for the idead it had just come up with.

Noticing your tension, Anna put her paint roller back into the tray, crossing her arms ands leaning her shoulder onto yours.

"I can hear the high-pitched whine of those wheels upstairs all the way from here; what's wrong?"

You hummed, lowering your shoulder to make it wasier for Anna's smaller frame.

"Not exactly wrong but…"

"But what?"

Making a window with your hands, opposite thumb and pointer finger touching, you held it low enough for Anna to look through and see the exact part of the wall you had in mind.

"Thinking of painting something. Our shade is light enough that it should work. I think."

"Hmm. You got the skills," Anna said, pinching your arm after she noticed the look you were giving her, "You do. But what motive?"

"Some nature scene. A tree in the breeze or something like that."

"Sounds good. And you better trust your own process or else!"

"What you say, my dear," you answered, sarcasm dripping in your voice.

"But," Anna exclaimed, "before that, the base coat gotta dry, which means you and I got some time to kill."

Raising an eyebrow, you watched as she quickly walked outside and unlocked the boot of your car, taking a very familiar bag out of it. Its shape was long, the top gray and the sides red with the name printed on it in white letters: Rummikub.

"Remember Mrs C?" Anna asked but it was mostly rhetorical.

Mrs C, or Silvya as she preferred to be called - even down to the point that she'd make it impossible to take care of her until she got her will - was one of those residents where leaving them made your heart bleed.

She was a beast if she wanted to but for a few chosen ones, Anna and you included, she was sweeter, still asking a lot but often ringing her emergency bell when she noticed one of you was running on fumes.

She'd have a cup of tea ready for you and would demand you take a break for how many minutes you could get away with, and in this minutes, she'd pop out a bag, just like Anna had in her hands, and play a quick round of Rummikub, a version of Rommé that used playing pieces instead of cards.

"Course I do"

Anna turned the bag where Mrs C had written something.

>> For when you need a break. Good luck. <<

"We weren't allowed to accept gifts, you know that."

Anna scoffed, "Yeah, as if she would have cared."

Chuckling to yourself, you followed Anna to the little makeshift table where she sat up the game, holding the bag out for you to get your 14 pieces to start the game.

Assembling them in your preferred order, you waited for Anna to place hers down on the stand. After she was done, she clasper her hands together, leaning her chin down on them and smirking at you.

"You wanna bet?"

You rolled your eyes. It would've come as a bigger surprise if she hadn't wanted to play for some stakes.

"Sure, what do you want?"

"If I win, you give me Johnny's number-"

"Jesus fucking Christ," you groaned, putting your face in your hands in exasperation.

"What?!"

"You know what! You haven't even known him for a full day!"

"Hence his number!" Anna pouted.

In actuality, there was no discussion for you. Johnny hadn't mentioned if he was okay with you giving Anna his number so it was a no-brainer for you to not hand it out even if she won. But, and that let you stop arguing with her, that was a big if, so you just waved her off.

"At least wait a month with the damn wedding invitations."

"No promises," Anna said, immediately putting down a row of 60 points instead of the 30 that were required. "Show off"

True to your assumption, Anna hadn't been able to win a single round. She had gotten close a few times but at the end you had always managed to draw the right piece.

"One more!" Anna's fists hit the table, making the pieces on it clatter but before you could find an excuse, your phone notified you of a text message.

"Ah! Saved by the bell."

Anna's verbal displeasure fell on deaf ears as you read it.

'Are you free at three today?'

The smile, present from Anna's antics, slipped a bit as your eyes went to the name you had saved the number under.

John.

"What?"

"It's John, he wants to meet."

She raised an eyebrow, "That's good, right? You wanted to see him again."

"I did…"

And you still do. It was just after his last text, you hadn't expected to hear from him again, so seeing him reach out took you by surprise.

You took a glance at the time on your phone, calculating in your head how long you'd need to finish and clean yourself up before you sent him an affirmative, receiving an answer within seconds.

'The Factory at three?'

"So?" Anna tried to take a peak at your screen but you quickly pocketed it after sending John a reply.

You took the bag and placed everything back inside much to Anna's dismay.

"No, no, no! My number!"

She went to make a grab for the bag but you held it out of her reach.

"You want it? Go ask him and get it."

Crossing her arms and pounting, she mumbled: "Give me the gossip then."

You rolled your eyes but relented. "I'm going on a coffee date with John at three."

Anna's mouth fell open and her eyes widened enough that her eyes seemed to pop out of her head at any moment.

"So it is a date," she screeched.

"Coffee date. No big deal," you said, emphasising every word.

"Nuh uh! With you it's a huge deal."

You couldn't really disagree with her but weren't in the mood to talk about it anymore, so you took the bag to the side and out of the way of any wayward drops.

"Which means I got about an hour before we gotta be done, so move it."

Anna grumbled and continued to glare at you but still followed your lead. Since the base coats were finally dry, you went to open the bucket of color and grabbed the paint roller to finish your task for the day. With both of you focusing on your work, the only noises came from the speakers playing Anna‘s playlist and you were able to get done quicker than you had originally thought.

“Need help with the clean up,“ you asked but Anna simply waved you off with a small smile.

“Just get ready for your date“ A pause before Anna continued, an exaggerated pout on her lips. “And bring me some pie!“

Saluting to her, you left the bakery, going home to take a much needed shower and getting all the specks of paint off you.

The Factory was located a little further away, looking like nothing much from the outside but once you stepped inside, you noticed a folksy charm about it. The layout of the shop was just like every other bakery or coffee shop but what made it unique, and gave it its name, was the assembly belt that worked as a display and counter.

Taking a look around, you noticed John sitting in a corner booth, dressed in jeans, sweater and jacket, all in varying shades of dark, and a beanie on his head, which he had drawn deep into his face. He was sitting a little hunched over and if it hadn‘t been for him looking up at that moment, you would‘ve missed him. Keeping you in his sight as you walked closer, you noticed his eyes darting around; checking to see who was around you.

“Hello, love,“ John pointed across from him.

Usually, you would have no qualms about following his lead, not being one for bold actions, but something about how he tried to disappear into himself, you found yourself motioning and waiting for him to slip out of the booth.

There was a moment in which John hesitated, not unlike the situation at the hardware store, pondering what would be in his best interest before he did as you were asking. As soon as he stood, you pulled him into a hug, squeezing gently but still keeping it short enough to not make him too uncomfortable.

“Good to see you again,“ you said, letting go of him and slipping into the booth. John followed you after he got over his initial shock.

There was silence between you as you both studied what to order from the small menu but even after a waiter had taken your orders, it didn‘t dissipate. It wasn‘t uncomfortable for you but you still decided to fill it a little by commenting on things you noticed in the shop, receiving either short mumbles or nodding from John.

You didn‘t pay it much mind, this wasn‘t born out of mutual interest in each other but for you to pay back a favor, so you were perfectly fine with carrying the conversation. Apparently, John was not.

He sighed and took a sip from his black coffee, surprised when he noticed your attention on him.

“Sorry, love. I‘m..I‘m not used to this anymore“

You cocked your head, smiling at him playfully. “What? Talking to someone?“

“Is that all we��re doing?“

“All it has to be.“

A smile finally graced his lips, his shoulders seemed to draw back a little, relaxing for the first time since you‘ve seen him.

“Why would you wanna waste your time with an old man like me?“

You scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “You‘re not old, just older, and by what? Ten years, fifteen? Had plenty of residents with a bigger age gap and they were perfectly happy.“ Noticing the implications of your words, you added: “Not that it has to mean anything.“

John seemed to be amused by your innocent blunder, but the moment a customer in the booth to the right started laughing loudly, he withdrew into himself again, realizing where he was.

You looked down at your mostly empty mug of Chai. “You wanna get out of here?“

He mustered you, taken aback by your suggestion and for a moment you thought he would just cut this short but he nodded, pulling out his wallet but you beat him to the punch, leaving enough bills to cover both of your drinks.

“Told you it was my treat.“

As soon as he was able to get outside of the shop and breathe some fresh air, John seemed to relax again, still with his walls all the way up, but less likely to be waiting for something to jump out at him.

“Lead the way“

John turned the corner, guiding you along some small side streets, giving you small anecdotes as you passed them, still not talking a lot but offering something up by himself. However little it was.

The town grew less familiar, knowing that if John didn‘t bring you back later on, you‘d have a hard time finding your way back home, but after numerous turns, the labyrinths of little paths opened up to a wide, open public garden.

The flowerbed at the front showed already a colorful mix of different flowers, giving off a divine scent and you decided then and there, that this was your new favorite place in town.

“This is breath-taking...“

You couldn‘t help but be in awe, following John through the flower archway. You could hear other visitors from all around you but due to the hedges lining the path, it still offered some privacy; something John seemed to be very keen on.

“My,“ he started, pausing to decide how to continue, “My ex-wife designed this. I think she‘s outdone herself with it.“

Just by his tone, you could tell that it was a loaded sentence, but the shift in his expression - a dark shadow taking over his face - made it obvious how painful just the mention of her must be to him, so you decided to distract him without dismissing him.

“It‘s beautiful regardless. Why did you wanna come here?“

“Never got to see it done, and I thought you might like it,“ he said, shrugging.

“I do. Definitely need to show Anna this.“

As if eased by your answer, his smile reappeared.

“Thanks for meeting me, by the way."

"Was high time, love. I know you wanted something else but I'm glad you agreed to this."

"No worries," you said, smiling at him and knocking your elbow against his, "Still would like to take you out for dinner for your help."

"I'll think about but no promises"

You cheered a little, making him chuckle at your antics when your phone went off with another text, deciding to quickly check as you walked with John through the garden, only to find your heart drop to your stomach as what you were reading.

#crown mumbles #cod x reader #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #john price #john price x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #simon riley #simon riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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