#i also just get satisfaction from doing more physical jobs

[viennakarma]

Satisfaction [Part 1]

Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: Four times you tried to befriend Lewis, and one time you didn't.

Word count: 2.1k

Tags: female!reader, asshole!Lewis (he will get better), physiotherapist!reader, no romance yet, Lewis is being rude, reader is trying, cursing, a bit angsty, not beta read

Note: Lewis is being kind of an asshole, but I promise he will grovel a lot. This is a two part story. Gentle reminder that english is not my first language (so please bear any mistake), I'm also taking requests for F1 drabbles and oneshots (at this moment I'm writing for Lewis, Fernando, Max and Toto Wolff).

Find me on Twitter!

I.

You drank the rest of your iced tea in one gulp, pushing the nervousness away. It wasn't exactly anxiety, but more first-day jitters at a new job. Adjusting your ponytail, you stood up as one of the team approached.

“Y/N? It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Ellie from the HR team, we spoke on the phone. Lewis is around, so we thought we’d introduce you two now, okay?”

“Of course, of course, it’s nice to meet you, Ellie.”

Ellie showed you around, giving you a tour of the entire motorhome. You were aware that it was difficult to join a team after the season had already started, especially to take the place of a person who was very loved by everyone and who had been there for several years, but you were willing to do your best to get along with everyone.

Finally, Ellie took you to a training room, where Lewis was inside. He was sitting in an armchair, drinking water from a bottle when Ellie introduced the two of you. You smiled and offered your hand for a shake, but he just ignored his hand with a blank stare.

“Lewis, this is Y/N Y/L/N, your new physical therapist, you'll be seeing each other every other day” Ellie introduced them, not seeming to notice the cold way Lewis greeted you.

“Nice to meet you,” you murmured, trying to ignore the awkwardness between the two of you. Lewis just nodded his head briefly and turned to pay attention to his own cell phone.

Ellie then went over your entire routine for the next few weeks, as well as giving you a short guide to Lewis's physiotherapy sessions over the past two years, and required exercises from fitness to pre-race and post-race.

Your official working day began the following Tuesday at seven in the morning at one of the Mercedes workstations in Brackley, where the entire team was gathered. You needed to be there to look after Lewis' fitness as he had team meetings, and you needed to follow him wherever he went to be able to do your job. Honestly, it wasn't a big problem since you used to work with the Real Madrid football team, so you were used to the traveling routine.

As soon as you entered the building's small gym, Lewis was already inside, tying the laces on his shoes.

"Good morning!" You walked in with a smile, setting your bag aside and holding the two glasses of iced tea you had purchased on the way, “the weather is kind of warm today, huh? I bought iced tea for both of us.”

“No thanks,” Lewis said, standing up, “can we get started?”

The sharp tone left you speechless for a moment, but you soon recovered, tying your hair into a ponytail. You had hoped that the mood on the day you met Lewis was just because he was stressed or had some problem on that specific day. But it seems that today he also wasn’t very interested in being polite to you.

You took a deep breath pulling your iPad out of the bag where you had prepared the day's entire session. Okay, you were patient, you could win him over with time and maybe you could even become friends, or at the very least, on friendly terms.

“Alright, let’s start today’s session with some intense stretching to prepare your body for the intensity of the next few days’ sessions,” you murmured, pointing to the mat on the floor.

“Angela didn't use an iPad during our sessions,” he commented casually.

“Because Angela had been with you for years and had already memorized her exercises. Can we start?"

II.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late,” you said, entering the gym, plopping your bag on a nearby table.

“You could have a little more respect for other people’s time,” Lewis said, suddenly. You froze in place, your eyes fleeting to the watch high on the wall, that showed you were barely ten minutes late for the session.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” you repeated, pulling your iPad open.

You were a few weeks into your new job, and acquaintanceship with Lewis had not gone better in the slightest. If anything, it had gone even worse. Lewis was adamant in not opening up to you, not even in the professional sense of your work relationship. Every time you tried small talk, or even professional talk, he had shut you out barely politely. He was constantly annoyed by your presence, and didn’t engage in anything other than the exercises you were helping him with. You noticed his performance was going bad in the season, and you attributed his bad mood solely to that. That’s why you usually brushed off his rude remarks and his questioning of the quality of your work.

“We’ll do core strength today, Lewis.”

You spent the next two hours walking him through every exercise you had for the day. Sometime during your session, you tried to help him fix his posture by pressing a hand on his shoulder, but he brushed you off, only saying he was able to do it himself.

By the end of your session, he was visibly tired, and you reached in your purse to your small stock of protein bars. You grabbed two and tossed one to Lewis. He caught it in the air, staring at it with a frown.

“It’s a protein bar. It is healthy, vegan, and doesn’t taste like cardboard, for once,” you giggled, trying to strike up conversation, “honestly, I found this small brand from Hungary out of sheer luck and my life hasn’t been the same ever since, now I just order like this crazy-”

“Are we done?” He cut you off, you stopped smiling.

“What?” you said, staring at him going to his bag.

“Is our session done?” he insisted.

“Yes,” you said, deflated. Lewis walked away, and on his way to the door, he dropped the little protein bar you gave him in the trash.

You felt a lump in your throat, defeated. You had never had a client so difficult to deal with. Most of them were usually standoffish in the beginning, but they became friends with time, some of them you had a great relationship even now, years later.

Lewis just- he just hated you for apparently no reason, and it was making your professional life pure hell. It was hard not bonding with someone you work so physically close with. And honestly, you had tried everything in the book to help him acclimate to you, but he was just- immune. He didn’t like you, you had no idea if he even liked your job because he refused to give you any feedback whatsoever.

You refused to go to HR because it would make you look like a kid throwing a tantrum because the other kid doesn’t like you. What would HR do? Force Lewis to tolerate you? He would probably hate you more if that happened.

You just sighed, swallowing the tears as you left.

III.

“I was considering adding pilates sessions once a week, we can do reformer and clinical pilates alternating” you told Lewis as he did the final stretching of the session.

“I don’t like sudden changes in my exercise routine,” he said, getting up.

“Well, I believe it would do you good. And we can start slowly for you to adapt better. Does every other week work for you?” You taped your schedule on the iPad.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he muttered, visibly annoyed now.

“I can forward you a few articles I have been reading to show you, why I think it-”

“No, I don’t want that,” he shut you off completely, “can I go now?”

You sighed, enough was enough. You were pissed at him, being difficult, being annoying, fucking up your routine by being rude and being a fucking asshole.

“No, you can’t,” you said, voice firm, which kind of surprised him, since it was the first time you ever used that tone with him, “what is your fucking problem?”

“What are you talking about?” He folded his arms.

“What is your problem with me? Is it something I did? Or maybe something I said?” You pressed, walking towards him, the closest you have ever been to him.

“I have no problem with you,” he said and you scoffed, “we are not friends, you’re just my physiotherapist, nothing more, nothing less.”

You felt grateful he left as soon as he said that, otherwise he would have seen the tears filling your eyes.

IV.

“I went back to therapy, because I’m feeling like a failure,” you told Angela over the phone.

“Is he being so difficult?” She asked, sounding worried.

“You have no idea…” you whispered, pressing your temples.

“You want me to talk to him?” Angela said, concerned. You stared at your own reflection in the mirror inside the gym, seeing the dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep. The last encounter with Lewis was enough to take a toll on your mental health and trigger a bit of insomnia.

“No, I think it would make it worse, but I appreciate the offer,” you sighed, exhausted, “I’ll work around these difficulties, and if it gets any worse, I’ll call you so you can talk to him. Deal?”

“Deal. Just- Don’t burn yourself out, ok? I know how he can be hard to deal with. Let me know if you need anything.” Angela offered, and you wanted to cry with the kindness in her voice.

“Yes, of course. Thank you very much for letting me vent, yeah? Talk to you later” You said, and noticed how Lewis entered the gym, seemingly surprised that you even were there.

That would make two of you.

This time you went through your training session in complete silence, only talking about his physicality and the exercises. You didn’t joke with him, nor did you make commentaries on the session. You just did your job silently, staring at him with a blank face.

As you finished, you packed your bag and left without a word, going straight to HR to put in your resignation letter you had written during your day off.

V.

Lewis noticed your absence as soon as he entered the gym for your session. You hadn’t been late ever since that time he called you out the first and only time you were late. Since then, you were always there when he arrived. But you weren’t there and he felt something was off. Maybe you had a cold or something and HR forgot to tell him.

He walked up to Ellie’s office, knocking lightly before entering.

“Hey there, Lewis! Can I help you?” She asked, putting away a few papers.

“Hey. Where is Y/N?” He asked, sitting down.

“Oh, I thought she had told you… She resigned two days ago.” With Ellie’s words, Lewis felt his stomach drop, but Ellie just continued talking, “she said she didn’t adapt very well to the routine, which is sad considering she is such a big fan of Mercedes and Formula 1. And, you know, since she was a recommendation from Angela Cullen, I really thought she would fit perfectly with the team.”

Lewis felt his mouth go dry. He didn’t know any of this. He didn’t know you were a fan of the team, as he didn’t know Angela had put you in her own position after leaving. He felt so, so bad, he was suddenly nauseous.

“Did she say exactly why she was leaving?” Lewis asked, heart beating in his ears.

“She said she wasn’t adapting to the traveling routine and it took a toll on her. She also apologized profusely, but I told her it was alright, it happens more often than she thinks.”

Lewis knew exactly the reason you left. He had made you go through living hell by being a stubborn asshole. You tried to befriend him, to be nice, to start small talk, to be kind and his only response to your attempts were flat out rudeness.

“Well, these things happen, right?” Ellie shrugged, sympathizing with you more than Lewis ever did. “So, while we find someone to fill her position, you’ll do your pre-race and post-race with George and his physiotherapist.”

Lewis didn’t hear any of the other stuff Ellie said, guilt eating up at him with such force he was out of breath. He didn’t even think before treating you that way, his brain just turned to that everytime he remembered he was alone now, that he had lost his best friend and confidante. Stress of the season had also caught up to him making him more irritable than ever.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered as he left Ellie’s office, he needed to do something.

He called your phone, but you had blocked him already.

“Fuck, I need to fix this.”

[Part 2]

[sttoru]

i think toji would definitely tease reader about her oral fixation… like he would take his c*ck out but won’t let reader suck it and shit lollllll

DO NOT TOUCH

sypnosis. toji decides to not let you have your way this time: no touching or sucking him off until he allows you to.

note. anon.. you’re sooo right, this started off as a drabble but it quickly turned into more than that mannnne toji fr got me in a chokehold istg, hope u enjoy though cus i added some more stuff + this is not proof read so excuse any bad grammar mwah

tags. dom!toji x female reader. age gap (reader early 20s, toji 30s), pwp, implied blow jobs, teasing, male masturbation, cum play, dirty talk, reader gets called ‘princess, little girl, doll,’ toji’s a real meanie :>

all you wanted was to give toji what he deserved after a long day at work: a good and stress-relieving blow job. you’ve always enjoyed pleasuring your lover since it gave you the satisfaction you longed for; to have his cock deep inside your mouth, sucking and slobbering all over it while his low groans and grunts filled the room.

and yet, there you were now, sitting on your knees in front of toji whose green eyes were glued to the television instead. there was a subtle, lopsided grin on his face as he acted like he didn’t seem to care about what you were needing to do.

that man knows how much you like to suck him off. you’d do it whenever toji gave you the chance—which was almost every other day. he can never say ‘no’ to your desperate begging and especially not if those pleas involve your nasty desires to satisfy him. it made you look kind of pathetic, but the good kind. the kind of pathetic that made toji’s cock swell in his pants.

on most days, he would let you get to work immediately and shove his cock all the way into your wet mouth, though today was different. toji stopped you mid-way before you could have any physical contact with his dick that was now on display—pre-cum just begging to get licked off.

toji told you to have some patience and let him finish the show he was watching. it wasn’t even a show he was interested in; he just used that excuse to tease you as you sat there, wiggling and squirming impatiently between his legs.

“toji, please?” you pout as you nudge his thick thigh, feeling the muscles tense up ever so slightly, “can i? please?”

“no is no, princess.” toji mutters absentmindedly, one of his hands starting to stroke his hard cock in deliberate movements, “let me watch my show and i’ll consider y’r offer afterwards, yeah?”

toji’s thumb slid over the tip, rubbing the slit a bit, spreading the leaking pre over the flesh while he continued to act like he was watching the boring show. truth be told, that man had been looking at you through his peripheral vision this entire time.

toji loved torturing you in such ways. it brings him the greatest of satisfaction since he’s able to witness how desperate you could get if he didn’t allow you to suck him off.

his elbow was propped against the back of the couch, head leaning on one hand while the other continued to touch his cock in painfully slow motions as if toji wanted to let you see every single detail— from how his cock twitched in his hand to the way his calloused fingers were gliding over the length.

“such a good little girl,” toji whispers in a low tone, eyes flickering down to look at you. you were so focused on his cock, mouth watering and eyes seemingly in a trance which you couldn’t break free from, “y’re patient, ain’t ya? i wonder if you can keep that up ‘til i finish.”

you shake your head twice and look up at toji with a pout, “wanna taste it, please? wanna have you cum down my throat.”

your dirty talk never fails to rile toji up, however the need to tease you overwhelmed his desires of letting you have your way. as much as toji wants to see you swallow all of his hot cum while your mouth was still stuffed full of his length, he also wants to see your yearning and powerless self.

“what if i don’t let ya?” toji mocks, using his free hand to lift your chin up, thumb rubbing over the skin so you could stare him, “what if i wanna cum on that pretty face of yours instead?”

his green orbs darkened a bit as the image of your cum-covered facial features flashed before his eyes. toji speeds up the pace and starts to jerk himself off even faster, wanting to make that imagination of his a reality. toji doesn’t care in the slightest that you were trying to sugarcoat him into letting you fulfill your own needs;

“mhm, but i wanna taste you.” you mumble as your gaze falls back down on toji’s fat cock, the tip swollen and the skin of it moving back and forth simultaneously with his hand motions.

toji simply grins at you. you were so insistent and demanding, yet also looked extremely submissive and powerless on your knees for him. it was cute to see you try and act like you were the one who orders him around.

“is that an indirect order that i hear, little girl?” toji hums in amusement as the fingers of his free hand brush over your lips, “i hope it isn’t, because i’ll do what i want.”

a small pause intensifies the tension between you two— the clash of desires visible in both of your lust-filled eyes. the older man licks his lips whilst scanning your appearance, his focus lingering on your small hands that were resting on his thighs, nails slightly digging into the skin to prevent them from reaching out to grab his dick and put it in your mouth.

toji would’ve never guessed that you’d be this needy for him when he met you a couple months ago. in his mind you were this younger, shy and innocent-looking girl that seemed like she didn’t have much experience in the sexual department. little did he know that the shyest people had the wildest thoughts.

“and what i want right now,” toji finally continues as he felt the pleasure building up to its peak, “is to cum on your face.”

protests were about to spill from your lips, however there was no time to do so as toji roughly held your face in place— grunting and groaning your name as his entire body tensed up to reach that release, “fuckkk— ‘m gonna cum whether ya like it or not.”

the moment you shut your eyes tightly, is also the moment it happens; you felt spurts of hot cum spill and coat your face entirely. the sticky fluid dribbled down your forehead, nose, cheeks and chin.

toji breathed heavily, chest heaving and dick still twitching as the long ropes of cum turn into small drops that trail down his length. and as expected: finishing all over your face was definitely worth it.

“lick it off, doll.” toji commands through a mean grin and you instantly do as told. you stick your tongue out, gather any cum that got on your lips and the corners of your mouth before using your finger to collect all that’s left over.

“that’s enough of a reward for ya.” the older man adds as he quickly grabs a tissue from the nearby coffee table to clean the mess between his legs—not even giving you one since the scene in front of him was too pretty to erase.

toji lifts his boxers back up, sighs in relief and focuses back on the television screen with a bored expression. you frown as you licked the last bits off your fingers and helplessly tug at toji’s boxers; a futile attempt to get his attention back. toji wasn’t going to give you any of it until he decides to.

and right now, all he cares about is catching small glimpses of your pretty, cum-covered face every now and then. your lover had zero intentions of allowing you to suck him off. in fact, he might even start masturbating to the sight of you once more, just to tease and drive you insane;

“how ‘bout i cum on your tits this time?”

maybe he’ll stuff your mouth full afterwards. just maybe.

[bugsbia]

ʚ NSFW Alphabet with Scaramouche

ʚ BEFORE READING: Fem reader, Scara is pretty rough in this one since it's focused on Fatui era Scaramouche. Will probably also do a Wanderer and Kabukimono era versions. Also, to anyone who has sent a request, I will be getting to those <3

ʚ WARNINGS: Scara is distant and mean!! Just don't read this if you can't handle rough kinks<3

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Scaramouche does not like his aftercare, he thinks it's another pointless human ritual that he see's no point in, human emotions are truly pointless to him, as is their comfort. He'd much rather just fuck your brains out then go back to do his own thing without a word being exchanged afterwards, truly you're just a toy for him to use when he can't hold back anymore, or at least that's what he tries to convince himself.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of your body)

He doesn't have a specific favourite, he just prefers whatever is most sensitive since he can use that to torture you. Whatever it is, your nipples, your thighs, even if it's your throat, he'll use it against you. He'll bite you, slap you, do whatever he can to watch you squirm beneath him.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

He avoids cumming inside of you, he's not sure if he can get you pregnant since he's a puppet but he doesn't want to risk it. he doesn't need some sort of pregnancy scandal because that would not only tie him to someone but it would also cause problems within his job. But he'll gladly cum on your face, he can't deny the satisfaction he feels when he see's your fucked out face covered in his cum.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

His dirty little secret is that he actually thinks your moans are like music to his ears, just so perfect that it drives him crazy, ESPEICALLY when you moan his name. It sends him reeling, he always ends up losing control and just pounding into you whenever you moan his name.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Experience is not something he has, he spent most of his life wandering around Teyvat as The Kabukimono which didn't exactly bring about a lot of chances for him to gain any experience. Truthfully you were his first, but he pretends you weren't, he doesn't want you to know something so vulnerable about him. So he'll continue on pretending you're just one of many girls just drooling over him, when in reality you're the only one he's willing to sleep with.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)

Nothing beats missionary to him, it's simple and not physically demanding but also gives him perfect access to you. He can easily reach down and choke you, tease your nipples or drive you crazy by tormenting your clit. Also means he gets to see all your reactions, every tear that may spill from your eyes, if you drool, he'll get to see it all.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Serious, he is dead serious. He won't catch him being goofy or silly, he's above such things.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Scaramouche is a puppet, he doesn't exactly grow body hair, nor does the hair on his head grow. It's all artificial, but if you expressed an interest in body hair then maybe he'd ask dottore about hair implants...

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Intimacy is not something he is willing to give, for now at least, sex is just sex. A way to release his frustrations and feel good after stressful days of working for the Fatui.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't really masturbate, why would he when he can always just drag you over? You're his well behaved slut, and he plans on taking advantage of that.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

One thing about Scaramouche is that he always wants to be above, above everyone, he wants to be a god afterall, and that doesn't change during sex. He will lose it whenever you worship him in any way, when you kneel before him and suck his cock like your life depends on it. He's your god, and you better act like it or else he'll find a way to punish you for sinning against him.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His office, he likes railing you in his office. He doesn't really like the Fatui and see's it as some big "fuck you" to them, to be fucking your brains out during his work hours, on the desk or the chair they paid for. It's too fun for him.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

When you try act all defiant against him, act like you're not interested in having sex with him anymore. It just drives him to break you down, and he always does. He'll pin you down against the bed and pound you till you're a sobbing mess, begging for his forgiveness and confessing how much you enjoy having sex with him how good it feels when he fills you up.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Do not ever mutter an "I love you" to him during sex, unless you want him to stop mid session that is. He can't handle that level of intimacy yet, he's not sure he even fully understands love.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Giving and receiving, he doesn't care, either way works. When you suck him off he gets to watch you choke and drool all over his cock, gets to see you all messy and desperate. On the other hand he gets to drives you over the edge when he eats you out, he gets to lick and suck at your cunt till you're a sobbing mess. He loves the way you whine and cry when you're getting overstimulated.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough all the time, he has no time for sensuality and slowness, he doesn't care for it if it's in an intimate way. He will go slow though if it means torturing you and making you beg, that's an opportunity he cannot skip.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He likes his quickies, but also enjoys spending hours driving you wild, it just depends on his schedule. If he has a busy day then he'll pull you into an alleyway and have his way, or maybe he'll make you suck his cock from under his desk while he's working. If he isn't busy then he'll take his time with it, he likes watching you get desperate when he's taking a long time,

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Scaramouche does not fuck with risky business very much, he refuses to put his reputation at risk after he worked so hard for it. The riskiest he'll get is fucking you in his office, knowing someone might hear as they walk past, but he'll always lock the door. Hearing is all they'll get.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

As a puppet he has an absolute ton of stamina and you really shouldn't test that, he'll easily push you past your limits if you push his buttons too much. He wouldn't mind fucking you till you pass out, and he easily could.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He didn't own toys originally, but he ended up buying a few after coming upon you. A few vibrators he'll use on you while he fucks you, maybe a dildo he'll use to fuck your ass. He'll never let you use anything on him though, even if he knows it'll make him feel good. He won't let you have any control over him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If you look in the dictionary his name would written underneath unfair because he will tease you all he can, he loves how you react when he teases you. When he calls you a slut and you whine, or when he slows down and watches you get frustrated.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He's not very loud, but he's not silent. He'll groan and moan quietly, but he'll do his best to keep it quiet since he doesn't want to embarrass himself.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Scaramouche would, without a doubt, using his electro abilities during sex. Pushing his fingers your clit and sending small zaps of electro against it just to see you gasp and whine at the sensation, maybe he'll zap your nipples too just to see you jump slightly.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Blessed by the gods (aka given by dottore) about 7 inches long and good girth. He's hairless by default as mentioned earlier, but will talk to The Doctor about it if you like hair.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is a high, it's a rare time in his life where he gets to feel pleasure so he finds himself constantly wanting to go back and have his way with you whenever he can. It's too good to not do.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't sleep afterwards, he won't be caught asleep by anyone since it's such a vulnerable position. He'll leave you to sleep in his bed and go do whatever he has to do.

[anna-hawk]

L'étranger

Frank Castle x f!Reader

Summary: You decide to hit a bar after one hell of a day at work and meet a man who's willing to listen to you rant away. As the chemistry seems to build between you, you choose to be bold and ask him to come home with you. He doesn't give you what you want, but ends up giving you what you need.

Rating: Explicit 🔞 // WC: 5,9k

CW: PWP, sex as stress relief, bj, finger fucking, soft and emotional sex, first meetings

A/N: this is based on my current work life. I just wish I could meet Frank that way too 😅. Also, the title means "The Stranger" in French.

Read it on AO3

Stumbling through the doors of the first decent bar you found after leaving your job, you made a beeline for the counter, desperately needing a glass of wine or beer. Or whatever. You weren’t picky tonight. You threw yourself onto a free bar stool, slapped your purse onto the counter with a resounding smack, and uttered a large and miserable half sigh, half groan. 

“Sounds like someone had a day, huh?”

You tiredly glanced to the side and caught the sight of the man the voice belonged to. Absently, you thought to yourself that you’d at least managed to sit down next to a good-looking guy. The sharp jaw, broad nose and wide shoulders definitely did it for you. Unfortunately, you were too exhausted, mentally and physically, to really take more note of him right now. Instead, you stared at him with half open eyes and a flat expression. At his lopsided smile and expression of genuine concern, however, you huffed out a bitter laugh that transformed into another one of your long sighs. 

“More like month.”

The man cringed in commiseration and lifted his hand for the bartender to get his attention.  

“Hey, man, serve the lady whatever she wants and put it on my tab, yeah?” 

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words.

“That's really kind of you, but you don't have to,” you said softly, waving a hand around. 

“I know,” he replied simply, but shrugged in a way that clearly stated that he was still doing it. 

You stared at him for a second while he took a gulp of his beer, observing his profile. And what a profile it was. You weren’t in the mood for dealing with a man trying to hit on you, but this guy wasn’t showing you more than genuine kindness. 

“Thanks,” you finally said, giving your order to the waiting bartender. 

“Don’ mention it,” the man smiled, inclining his bottle of beer towards you. 

Silence fell, but you could see him watching you out of the corner of your eyes, contemplating you as you pulled out your phone and put it on do not disturb. You refused to be bothered by anything from work or anything else for that matter. You muttered darkly under your breath as you saw the text in the most recent notification for your job’s group chat, but chose to ignore it. They could deal without you for the next two days. 

“Wanna talk about it?” The man asked tentatively right when your drink arrived. 

You gave him an amused side eye and took a long sip of your drink, groaning in satisfaction at the taste.

“I don't wanna bore you with my shit, but thanks for asking.”

You weren’t blowing him off, but really didn’t think that he’d be interested in listening to everything that was bothering you. 

Apparently he figured that he wasn’t the issue, since he shrugged. “I don't mind. Not a lot I can do, I guess, but if you just wanna rant at someone, go ahead.” 

You laughed at the suggestion and sighed deeply, turning towards him with your head tilted to the side. 

“Oh, you're not ready for this.”

He smirked and faced you as well. “Try me anyway?”

You stared at him for a while, considering him, but he only looked back calmly. Before you knew what was happening, you were talking.

“It’s my job… My manager is retiring in the next few weeks, and the guy replacing her is the worst choice the higher ups could have ever made. He comes from a different field, knows jack about what we do, and trust me, it’s not the past month he spent with my manager while she trained him, well, tried to at least, that will teach him everything he needs to know. It’s just impossible. She always has so much to take care of, and I don’t think that he realizes it yet. And if at least he was putting in the effort and showing us that he wants to do well, that would already be great, but he doesn’t. He keeps putting the blame on other people or the system or whatever whenever something isn’t working, or he messes up. He’s all fake smiles and laughs, but he complains about everything. It’s a nightmare. The thing is, he isn’t the only one at fault. The general manager handpicked him because she knows that she can control him, something she couldn’t do with my old manager. Our office is kinda far away from the headquarters, and we always did great work without anyone’s help. I’ve been working for that company for fifteen years, and my coworkers and I felt that everything was flowing pretty well, even if we knew that the company has more flaws than good sides. Although the salary isn’t what I’d love it to be, I love my coworkers, and the job itself is fine too. But now, with the manager gone, we all suddenly realize just how much shit is going on behind the scenes and what might happen to us. They tried to bribe us by giving out bonuses, but only to certain people. It was all supposed to be hush-hush, y’know. The people getting the bonus weren’t supposed to talk about it, but that’s not how we work. So instead of making us happy, it made us more angry. Not at each other but at the higher ups. Why would some of us get a bonus and others wouldn’t, when we’re doing the exact same job? That, and don’t get me started on how they’re basically kicking my old manager to the curb. She gave thirty years of her life to that company, worked her ass off, spent hours upon hours working so the job wouldn't transform into a giant shitshow. Her work ethic is incredible, and the higher-ups don’t seem to realize just how much she brought to the company. My guess is that they’ll have a rude awakening once she’s officially gone and everything is going to come crumbling down around us.” 

You paused, sighed explosively, and drank down the rest of your drink. 

“Well, shit,” the man said with raised eyebrows. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. These people really don’t sound like they deserve to have you or your coworkers puttin’ all that effort into the company.”

You scoffed as you stared into your empty glass. 

“You bet your ass they don’t,” you muttered sourly. 

The man chuckled at your vindictive tone, which had your lips pulling up on one side. 

“Hey, man, can we get a refill?”

You lifted your eyes to find your stranger addressing the barkeep and waving a hand over his beer bottle and your glass. While the barkeeper nodded and started on the drinks, you smiled ruefully as your seat neighbor turned his attention back on you, your heart squeezing at the soft smile he sent your way. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, ducking your head. 

“No problem,” he replied in a low tone. 

After a few seconds of silence, you realized that he was still watching you expectantly when you looked at him again. He chuckled at your expression. 

“Somethin’ tells me there’s more.” 

You laughed, loudly and with a wave of relief washing over you. Talking to him was lifting a giant weight off of you, as if getting the words off your chest had been more necessary than you could have ever imagined. His grin was wide as he watched you laugh, which had your stomach warming at the attention. 

“I wanna quit,” you started before pausing briefly and watching the barkeeper bring your drinks. You thanked him and took a fortifying sip. The drink you chose wasn’t too strong, since you just wanted to take the edge off, so you weren’t even really tipsy now. You definitely felt more loose, though. “I’ve thought about changing careers for ages. I don’t mind my current job as it is, it has good and bad points, like any job, I guess. So I’ve put my actual dream career to the side for years, focusing on staying financially stable instead. But now, I realize that I don’t wanna stay in that fucking company. I just can’t, you know? I can’t work ridiculous hours for a barely decent salary anymore. The thing is, I can’t just up and quit like that. I’d lose all the benefits I got over the years, and getting the degree that I need to be able to do what I really want costs money. So right now, I’m still checking out my options, but if the CEO doesn’t agree to let me go with my benefits, I don’t know what I’ll do.” You shook your head miserably and swirled your drink around in the glass. “Going into work and being stressed has been part of the job since day one. But mostly, it was never in a bad way. Especially lately, because I know my job, and I’m good at it. Now, though… When I’m going in, I feel pure disgust and contempt for the people employing me. I’m just so… done.”

You finished with a long breath, your anger simmering down after getting it all out, leaving you with mostly frustration. Your face suddenly grew hot as you realized that you’d basically word-vomited in front of a complete stranger, showing him all the ugly feelings and resentment you’d been carrying around for the past couple of months. 

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, closing your eyes and rubbing over them with your thumb and index. “I know you said you were okay with this, but I still feel like I basically just dumped everything on you like a whiny kid.” 

You heard him chuckling, the sound low and warm. 

“Yeah, I told you to go for it, but you didn’t sound whiny to me at all. Just like someone who really needed to get it all off their chest.” 

Leaning your head over your folded arms that were already lying on the counter, you turned your face towards him with a small smile. 

“Guess I did.”

“Do you feel any better?” He watched you intently, his eyes moving over your whole face. 

You looked to the side, taking stock of your emotions, before you met his gaze again with a smile. 

“Yeah… I do.”

“See. Worth listening, then.”

After the past weeks of absolute nightmare, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have happened upon someone as kind as this man. 

“You’re something else, you know that?” you said with a tone of wonder, taking more of him in. You'd noticed his prominent nose earlier, but his mouth was just as worth looking at, as were his brown eyes. 

He scoffed, the sound self-deprecating, but he didn’t say anything, and instead, took a swig from his beer, which brought his large hands into your line of sight. 

“Thank you,” you continued, keeping your eyes on him from your slouched position over your arms. 

“No problem.” This time, he was the one to look away, as if suddenly shy, which only intrigued you more. 

Straightening again, you propped your elbow on the counter and put your head on your fist, leaning slightly in his direction as you observed him with interest. He automatically looked at you again, beer bottle halfway to his mouth. Your heart started to beat faster as his eyes dropped to your mouth. You bit at the side of your bottom lip, as if in reply to his staring, and felt a zap of want when he met your eyes again with a different kind of intensity. Emboldened by your drink and his reaction to you, you leaned in enough for him to be the only one able to hear you. 

“Come home with me?”

The man blinked at you once before simply staring at you quietly, which was the only sign that he was at least slightly surprised by you being this straightforward. You held his gaze, no matter how much you wanted to look away, as embarrassment started to run through you despite your boldness. As his eyes drifted to your mouth again, your anxiousness began to evaporate. 

“Hey, Will,” he said, while keeping his attention solely on you as he addressed the bartender who was walking past you. “I’ll close my tab next time, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Will answered easily, grabbing the beer bottle and glass from in front of you to put them away. 

Biting your lower lip on a giddy grin at the realization that this was actually happening, you got up and grabbed your purse. The man rose as well, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth at your reaction. As you walked out of the bar and onto the sidewalk, you hailed a taxi that was just turning the corner of the street. The both of you got into the car, and once you’d given the driver your address, you spent the ten minutes it took to get to your building in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but your heart was beating like crazy as you tried not to overthink your decision. You refrained from looking at him directly as well, opting to keep your gaze on the street. However, you were aware that he was watching you through the semi darkness of the cab. After arriving in front of your building and stepping out of the taxi after paying for it, you made your way towards your apartment, with the man following one step behind you. He stayed beside you as you fished for your keys, staying just as quiet as before. 

“Right, um, I’ll quickly hit the shower, okay? Been in these work clothes for much longer than I like,” you laughed awkwardly, as you stepped through your apartment door. 

You internally rolled your eyes at yourself at your babbling, but the man just sent you a small smile and hummed in understanding. You nodded and began walking off, but after only one step, you quickly turned back to him. 

“Make yourself at home, yeah? Um… I don’t have anything interesting to drink but if-”

A warm palm cupped one of your cheeks and tilted your face into the man’s direction as he stepped close to you, effectively shutting you up. 

“I’m fine, ‘kay? You go take that shower, and I’ll just wait here, alright?” he said soothingly, his voice low and gentle. 

Staring into his soft brown eyes, you blinked at him before you nodded with a small smile. He let go of you, and you immediately headed into your bathroom, shutting the door and taking a deep breath. You rushed through removing your clothes and finally stepped into the shower. The hot water helped relax your nerves, and by the time you were done, you were still nervous but in an excited way this time. Once you were done drying off and brushing your teeth, you put on a thin bathrobe. As you looked at your underwear selection, you bit your lower lip as you chose to forgo putting on panties. If things went as planned, you wouldn’t be wearing them long anyway. As you stepped out again, you found him standing in front of your bookshelf, his head inclined to the side as he read the titles. He lifted his head towards you, his eyes drifting over your whole body as he watched you approach. 

“Hey,” you said quietly, giving him a small smile. 

“You got a nice book selection,” he commented casually, while standing close to you. 

You threw your bookshelf a small glance and smiled. “You can borrow whatever you like.” 

He hummed, the sound contemplative, but he leaned in until his nose was almost touching yours. 

“Maybe not tonight.” 

You nodded, going nearly cross-eyed as you stared into his warm eyes. A second later, you were closing them anyway, as he tilted his head and pressed his mouth against yours. It was only a gentle press of his lips at first, which he repeated as he leaned his head to the other side this time. His hands came up to cup the sides of your neck, using his thumbs under your jaw to direct your face how he wanted it. Your hands lifted to his biceps, squeezing them as you tentatively sucked at his bottom lip. He seemed to enjoy it, since he grunted and moved in further, causing you to take a step back and against the bookshelf. You moaned softly and opened your mouth as his tongue gently slid over your top lip. As the kiss deepened, you slid your arms around his waist, grabbing at the shirt, while he cupped the back of your neck and placed his other hand on your lower back, bringing you fully against him. You tried pushing for more, but the man simply stroked his tongue lazily against yours while keeping you flush against him. Despite the slowness of the kiss, your knees were beginning to shake anyway with how thoroughly he was delving between your lips. 

“Be — bedroom,” you gasped in between two presses of his lips against yours. 

Your stranger leaned his head away to quietly stare into your eyes, his expression intense, before he took a step away from you, indicating for you to lead the way. Biting your bottom lip, you briefly hesitated before you took hold of his hand to pull him towards the bedroom. As you reached the foot end of the bed, you turned back to him, meeting his gaze. He stepped back into your space without waiting for you to pull him towards you, his hands drifting over your hips and to your back as he sought out your mouth again. You sighed into the new kiss and ran your fingers through his lush hair. A thrill rippled through you as his hands moved down to your ass, squeezing it sporadically while the kiss turned hungrier. Wanting to get to your skin, his hands slowly parted the sides of the bathrobe until his fingers could touch your bare thighs. He ran them up slowly, making you shiver as he progressively reached your hips. They stilled for a brief moment as he realized that you weren’t wearing anything underneath the robe. His answer to that fact was to exhale harshly through his nose and make you take a step back towards the bed as he gently bit down on your bottom lip. You gasped at the sharpness of his teeth, and moaned into his mouth. His hands kept exploring your back, ass, and thighs, until you couldn’t stand it anymore and swiftly moved away from him to untie the robe and remove it at last. You were about to return between his arms, but the way he watched you attentively had you stopping and, instead, moving back, taking the last step needed to get on your bed. You did so slowly, moving backwards as you knelt down at the end of the bed. His eyes roved over your body, observing you with such obvious desire that it almost left you breathless. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed this kind of undivided and honest attention. The man licked his lips quickly, before he walked up to you and bent down to cup your face and bring his mouth back to yours. Your eyes fell shut as you let him explore your mouth again, tipping your head to the side when he drifted his lips to your jaw before he tilted your head up to kiss down your neck and throat. Needing more of him, you reached for the buckle of his belt and tugged at it meaningfully. He leaned back a fraction to stare at you with a small smile, which you returned before you attacked the belt with needy fingers. Your heart beats were stumbling over each other at the sight of the sizable bulge in his jeans, making you almost clumsy in your haste to get to see all of him. Your stranger let you work in silence, but you knew that he was watching you. His shirt got in the way of your fingers a couple of times, making you huff and tug it up. 

“Off. Now,” you ordered almost snappishly, which only had the man chuckling in amusement. 

As you finally popped open the top button on the jeans, the man complied with your request and began to undo his shirt. With most of the buttons undone, he lifted his hands to the collar of his shirt to pull it over his head. While he did so, you fully opened his fly and tugged the jeans and underwear down enough to free his length. You took in a shaky breath as saliva pooled in your mouth at the gorgeous cock standing proudly in front of you. Right as your stranger was having his face covered by the shirt while he pulled it off, you dropped to your front on the bed and leaned in without a second thought, sliding your lips around the tip. His hips jerked as he uttered a short curse of surprise, finally ridding himself off the shirt, which he threw to the side. 

“Shit,” he rasped, as you slowly licked around the head, lapping at the nerves surrounding the crown and using your hands to guide him this or that way. 

Using your elbows for support, you took more of him into your mouth, raising your eyes to his as you did so. His fingers landed in your hair, stroking over it in a gentle caress as he watched you with hooded eyes. You bobbed your head, filling your mouth with as much of him as you could. He felt incredible, big and hot, coating your tongue with his taste and making you moan. Tilting his head to one side, he slowly pulled all the way out, keeping himself a few centimeters away from your mouth. You lowered your eyes to his cock, before you met his hungry gaze again, and opened your mouth. Licking his lips again, his nostrils flared as he slid back between your lips, groaning as you sucked him in eagerly. You let him fuck in and out for a few slow thrusts, delighting in the way he was watching you and how he filled your mouth. Which only made your core ache with the need to have him inside you. 

Pulling off with one last lick, you rose to your knees and grasped the back of his head with both hands. There was no need for words as you met in the middle for a heated kiss. He quickly stepped out of his boots and the rest of his clothes before following you onto the bed, the both of you moving back on your knees until you got to the center. With one arm around your back, he lowered you to the mattress and slipped between your thighs. He draped his body over yours but held himself up with one elbow, using his other hand to stroke the fingers over your jaw. The way he stared at you had a warm shiver going through you, which only got stronger as his hand traveled down your body. His eyes didn’t waver from yours as his hand arrived at your mound before it went further. Your lips parted in a small breath as his fingers drew around your slick folds in a gentle caress, only for your mouth to open wider when he gently began pushing two fingers inside you. You moaned softly and bit your lip as he removed them before he slid them back inside. He watched you intently, drinking in each of your expressions of pleasure as you gripped his shoulders while he slowly fucked you with his fingers. 

“Please,” you begged, clawing at his skin when he didn’t move faster. 

Instead of picking up the pace, you felt a third finger pressing in alongside the two others, forcing a sharp gasp out of you. Throwing your head back against the pillow, you squeezed around his fingers, which earned you a low groan from him. He didn’t go faster, though, content to watch you squirm and moan as your hips undulated on their own to get more friction. Finally, he stopped moving, however kept the fingers inside you, and used his thumb to lightly rub it against your clit. Your hips jerked and thrust up into the contact, while you cried out at the sudden shift in erogenous zone. On any other day, and had you been in a different mood, you would have actually loved having his fingers inside you like this, teasing you, but tonight, you needed him to fuck you. Extending an arm towards the bedside table, you blindly grabbed for the drawer. 

“Please,” you repeated, meeting his attentive gaze with your half lidded eyes. “Fuck me.” 

His eyes followed the length of your arm towards the bedside table. He glanced back at you briefly, before he withdrew his fingers from you, which had you sighing in loss but also excitement at what was to come. Quickly rolling to your side, you opened the drawer to get a condom out of it before laying back under him. He held himself up with his hands level with your shoulders now, watching you as you tore the wrapper open and pulled the condom out. He leaned down and placed a long kiss on your lips before moving up again. 

“Go on,” he rasped, the tone telling you that he was at least as affected by the situation as you. 

With your heart slamming in your throat, you peered between your bodies and rolled the condom down his length, licking your lips as it twitched between your fingers when you made sure it was secure at the base. Usually, doing this was something perfunctory, just a step to get to the good part, but with this man’s low grunt as he watched you, you felt yourself burning up even more. Slowly, you shifted your gaze back to his, meeting molten eyes as he lowered himself to one forearm again. He curled his hand under your neck to slip his fingers into the hair at the base of your head, while his other hand vanished between your bodies like earlier, only to line himself up with your entrance this time. You threw your legs over his hips as he did so, and let your fingers run through his hair before closing them in the soft strands on top. His gaze found yours as he pushed inside you slowly, so incredibly slowly. Your mouth fell open on a silent cry as you felt every inch of him inexorably burying inside you. He grunted and hissed when your fingers tightened in his hair, but his eyes remained focused on your face. When he was finally completely inside you, you brought his head down to kiss him deeply and squeezed around his cock to get a better feel of it. He groaned into your mouth and pushed his hips further into you, only resulting in making your head press into the headboard since he was already so deep inside you. While keeping his lips locked with yours, he began to pull out, using the same pace as while moving inside. You moaned and tightly wrapped your legs around his hips, while your walls tried to keep him inside you. He stayed there, with only the tip still inside you. Sucking on his lower lip harshly, you pressed your heels into his ass to get him to move, which he finally did, albeit as unhurriedly as before. He did it again and again, going slow but deep every time, tilting his hips in just the right way and driving you absolutely mad with need. 

“More,” you moaned brokenly, tugging at his hair and shoulders. 

His hand slid down your hair until it was curving over your neck, with the thumb lying at the hollow of your throat. He did move faster then, but it was still too slow for your liking. Drawing your nails down his arms, you keened, halfway between intense pleasure and intense frustration. 

“Fuck me,” you begged, as your fingers squeezed and gripped at his arms and shoulders. “Please, just-”

But the man kissed you quiet. Your eyes closed at the thorough kiss, except that it didn’t last long, since he knelt up and thrust in deep. You cried out, but as good as it felt, he still wasn’t fucking you harder. As you were about to grab his arms again, he caught your wrists and crossed them over each other. You gasped in surprise when he used one of his large palms to press your crossed hands between your breasts, keeping them there with strong fingers. Staring at him with wide and desperate eyes, you whined feebly as his hips gently rocked into yours, making a sharp bout of pleasure run through you. 

“Please,” you repeated for the nth time. “Just… please,” you whispered the last word, feeling your throat constrict. 

His expression was tender as he watched you while he leaned over you. 

“I got you,” he promised in a low tone, kissing you once. “I got you, Sweetheart.” 

The endearment and affection in his words had your heart missing a beat. 

Straightening again, he began moving once more, one hand at your throat, the other still holding your hands secure against your chest. His hips moved firmly; not quick and hard, but firm and intense, letting you feel all of him, while your legs, the only point of you able to do anything, kept pressing the heels into the back of his thighs. You whimpered at the pleasure he was giving you, so utterly different from what you had expected. As your stranger slowly but unrelentingly had your body climbing to its climax, you realized that he wasn’t giving into your pleas because he didn’t want to, but because he knew what you really needed. He’d listened to your story, observed you keenly, let you take the lead. He’d silently taken all of you in to reach this moment and give you what you needed and didn't realize you wanted: letting him take care of you and making you let go of all the negative things that were part of your life. It was with that knowledge that you were suddenly coming, the intensity of your orgasm so strong and so abrupt that your head flew back, your eyes closing tightly, as a cut-off sob spilled over your lips from the overload of feelings. 

“Sh, sh.” 

You felt his body leaning over yours again as his voice drifted closer to your face. His lips moved between your mouth and jaw, placing gentle kisses here and there as he let go of your hands. You instantly wrapped them around his shoulders, holding him tightly as he slid his nose against your neck while his hips picked up speed. Your thighs were trembling against his sides, but you didn’t let go of him, clinging to him as he rode towards his own release. His fingers combed through your hair as another sob ripped through you, which he followed by lifting his face to kiss you fiercely. You welcomed his mouth with gratitude, letting your tongues stroke against each other sensually until he came with a deep groan, his cock pushing as far inside you as possible. 

As you both panted softly, you met his gaze when he slightly leaned up, his eyes moving between yours searchingly. The hand that had been at your throat rose to your face, his thumb stroking away the wetness under your eye. 

“You good?” he asked in a quiet voice. 

You stared at him silently, letting your eyes slide over his face with its warm gaze and worried pull of his mouth. Uncurling your arms from around his neck, you cupped his face and let your thumbs brush over his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” you answered softly, and smiled as his lips pulled up before meeting him for an unhurried kiss. 

After a minute, he pressed a final kiss to your cheek and gently pulled out before rolling to the side and off the bed. You watched him pick up his clothes and leave the room in silence. Biting your lip as you gathered your thoughts while climbing out of bed as well, you grabbed the loose T-shirt you wore to bed from the hook behind the door and slipped it on. With a small glance at the empty doorway, you returned to the bed and pulled down the covers to settle into a sitting position against the pillows, feeling unsure of what to do now. The man came back with only his jeans on, which had you taking a couple of seconds to admire his gorgeous form before you met his eyes. He remained in the doorway, looking as unsure as you. His fingers fiddled with the shirt absently as his eyes dropped to the floor and then to the side. When you had asked him to come home with you, it had been a spur of the moment decision, only done to get all the frustration out of your system. A one-time thing, purposely choosing to keep the encounter anonymous. But you didn’t want him to leave. Not yet, anyway. If he wanted to leave, that was okay, but-

“You could stay if you want,” you found yourself saying, as he still hadn’t moved away from the doorway. 

His eyes snapped to yours, then to the spot next to you, considering it for a second before he nodded a few times. He moved towards the bed and joined you under the covers after taking off his clothes again. Lying down next to him, you faced each other. His eyes traveled over your face again, stopping at your mouth a few times, which had you smiling lightly. At that, his gaze found yours, but you both stayed quiet as you observed each other. 

“Thanks for tonight,” you finally said softly, with a faint smile. 

The man frowned and shook his head as he looked down. “You don’t gotta thank me for nothin’.”

You smiled fondly at his display of shyness. “Maybe, but I haven’t felt this… peaceful in weeks, and this means a lot to me.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and lifted his eyes to yours with a tiny, one-sided smile. You bit your bottom lip as you observed him.

“You really are something else,” you murmured, before chuckling at his unconvinced huff. “No, you really are…” you trailed off meaningfully. 

“Frank,” came the answer after a beat of silence.

Your smile widened at finding out his name.

“Nice to meet you, Frank,” you grinned before sharing your name as well. 

Frank snorted at your antics. “Yeah,” he said in a low and pleasant tone. “Likewise.” 

A second later, a giant yawn split your face, which had Frank chuckling in amusement, while you tried to muffle the yawn with a hand and push at his chest with the other. 

“Maybe we should get some rest, huh?” he suggested with a small laugh. 

You only hummed in agreement and turned briefly to your other side to reach the light switch, sinking the room into darkness with only the city lights coming through the blinds. 

“Good night, Frank,” you said softly, the name sounding private in the small space between your bodies. 

“Night, sweetheart,” he repeated in an almost whisper, shifting closer to press a tender kiss to your forehead while he pulled you into his side. 

[theprenderelliepalace]

Tag, you owe me

☆• Five x reader •☆

Season 4 AU -The Umbrella Academy

A/n I'm pretending season 4 happened a lot less season 4ish- so imagine this:

Summary: After The Umbrella Academy stopped The Cleanse and saved the world, life was just as crazy as it had been before. It's Grace's 8th birthday and a lot has happened in two years for Five and the other Hargreeves, you being one of those things. Tensions are high at what should be a simple birthday party, so Five asks you to help him out. But when have you ever listened to Five?

Warnings: Fake dating, cannon typical Hargreaves chaos, fluff, s4 spoilers(!), no Five x Lila nonsense (but maybe a bit of drama...), no use of y/n, readers not a marigold baby (but could be), gramatical errors I'm sure, swearing etc.

•☆•

You met Five Hargreeves 2 years ago when you were a paper pusher for the CIA's cold case unit. He was rude, obnoxious in every sense of the word and irritatingly good at his job. Naturally you couldn't resist getting a coffee with him.

You only got strung along from there. Your first case that he dragged you into almost cost you your job and your life, but it also got you bumped up to your own undercover unit, where you spent your days bickering with the worst partner you could've dreamt of.

Two years later and you couldn't have hated him less, but you're trying to be civil.

"Hey Fiver, where'd you put those case files I asked you to sign off? - Mmph!!" Your words are muffled by a calloused hand covering your mouth. You squirm for freedom, your training kicking in. You look up briefly at your captor and physically deflate at the sight of him. You are tempted to scream and get him in trouble, but the look on his face makes you think twice.

"Not a word, or I swear-" You elbow him in the gut, not hard enough to hurt him, just hard enough to get a word in edgewise. His hand falls away in surprise.

You gasp for breath. "The hell are you doing you crazy mother-" His hand clamps over your mouth again. With his free hand, he points out into the lobby. You clock a Hispanic man with scraggly hair at reception. He seems to be talking to Sally at the front desk.

Based on your 2 years of experience with Five. You assume this is either a terrorist, or a family member. Judging by his overreaction, you guess family.

The man sighed at whatever Sally said to him and turns, walking down the hall towards the exit. Five frees you from his iron grip. You stumble away from him, turning on your heel with outrage written all over your face. "You need help."

He smirks, although he appears distracted. "Tell me something I don't know honey." You give him the finger.

"Fuck you. The hell was that about?" You snarl at him.

"Family business. Birthday party. Ugly, ugly stuff. Wouldn't want you to get involved. You might just mess up your nails." He mocks. Shuddering at the thought of his family.

"First of all, my nails are always fantastic. Secondly, don't bullshit me." Five quirks a brow at you. "You've been doing this song and dance with your mysterious 'family' since I first met you. You're just a coward in my book Fiver." You watch his jaw clench, taking satisfaction in striking a nerve.

"Oh. Okay, I see how it is partner. You want my crybaby, backstory? Well come 'n get it sister." He glares at you, waiting for you to accept the challenge. You scoff. This is ridiculous, you're well into your 20s, this whole thing is just juvenile.

"Can't we be more mature than this?" You plead, though sarcasm drips off your tongue with a lazy ease.

"One of us can't." He retorts. You roll your eyes. You've learned that when he gets like this, it's best to bow out for a few hours and wait for everything to return to normal.

"Okay. Okay. I'll get lost. But I warn you Fiver, this whole thing will only bite you in the ass one day." You shrug, making for the break room. He grabs your wrist.

"I hate that stupid nickname."

"I know you do. Honey." You taunt him. It's dangerous, but oh how it thrills you. He pulls you closer, your lips are dangerously close, but achingly far.

"You owe me, you know..." You watch the gears turn in his head as that look you know so well falls over his face. "An eye for an eye. What'dya say?" The smug smirk on his face is enough to make you want to smack him.

"How'd you figure that you fuckin' cowboy?" Your stomach swirls with hot, unadulterated hatred, and something else...

"Remember the Fortheim case?" He gambles, knowing he's already won.

"Okay! Okay... Enough said..." He leans back, satisfied.

"Atta girl." You slap him.

•☆•

And that little backstory, was how you ended up drinking apple juice at an 8 year-olds birthday party at a Lazer Tag joint downtown.

"Happy?" You ask Five, who's had you glued to his arm for the last 2 hours.

"Not a day in my life." He sighs. You shake your head, itching to snap back when you hear someone call his name.

"Five! Long time no see man." A gangly looking hipster saunters towards the two of you. You smile at him, you're not sure what it is, but you like him already. "Oooh, who's your little lady friend?"

"Girlfriend." You say.

"Date." He states. You and Five exchange glances.

Five clears his throat. "This is my brother, Klaus." Your partner straightens his tie, as though trying to blend into the wall and out of this conversation. Klaus hums in amusement, his eyes crinkling with silent mirth. The hippie extends a graceless arm towards Five, enveloping him in an iron side-hug.

"You'll forgive my brother. He's never been the social butterfly of our family." Klaus smiles, it's a stupid smile, but it makes your heart warm to the brotherly love evident in his gesture.

"I noticed." You smile at Five, who shrinks even further into the wall, if possible.

"So, Miss Five's Secret Girlfriend. Where did he find you?" Klaus inquires, almost as though he's speaking about the weather.

You laugh. "Oh some back alley somewhere. Nothing fancy."

"Klaus let me go." Five warns. Straining against his brothers grip. For a guy so skinny, he has incredible grip strength to hold onto his whirlwind of a brother.

Klaus ignores this demand. "Oh yes. Makes sense. Not that you look the alley-type sweetheart, I just know my brother." He winks at you.

You smirk in return. Thoroughly enjoying Fives suffering. "I guess you do."

Abruptly, Klaus releases Five, sending him hurtling backwards. You can barely stifle your giggles now. "Well, it's been a pleasure missy. You're too good for him by the way." Klaus struts off towards the food table, eyeing the chocolate éclairs hungrily.

"I agree." You say to Five, who's look of pure rage could topple buildings.

"I hate him." He scowls.

"Oh hush. He's great." You grab your fake boyfriend by the arm, tugging him towards a cluster of people talking behind a drink cooler, suddenly feeling all the more chatty.

"Five? I didn't think you'd come." Says a strikingly tall man with spiked blond hair. He glances at you and then at your hand clenched around Fives. The look of confusion on his face is priceless. "I- who? What -" Internally cackling at your newfound revelation, you make to reply.

"Hi, I'm Five's partner." Not entirely dishonest. You stick your hand towards him, he shakes it dumbly, lost for words.

"Five? A girlfriend? What, are we on a Prankshow?" Says the woman at his side. She eyes you suspiciously. "Sloane." She affirms. You nod with practiced ease.

Five looks about ready to kill. You decide to ease off some. "My other brother, Luther." Your partner growls. Luther smiles now, almost like he's somehow in on a very bad joke. He begins to say something, but you cut him off.

"It was nice to meet you both. Excuse me for a moment." You smile sweetly, heading for the bathrooms. You catch Fives deathstare. "Fiver." You wink. You cackle as you listen to the onslaught of questions and abuses from his family. Serves him right, dragging you all the way out here, explaining nothing and still managing to be the most cantankerous jerk you've ever met.

You duck behind a corner, taking a corridor that leads into one of the Lazer Tag rooms. You decide to wait until they cut the cake before you make your showstopping final appearance. You're feeling on top of the world until you feel a familiar hand clasp your wrist.

"When I said come to my nieces birthday party as a distraction, that was not what I meant."

You turn to face Five. "What, did you want us to make-out or something? Would that have been distracting enough?" You scoff, pulling your hand out of his. "You're such a prick Hargreaves, you know that? Dragging me out here as bait! What the hell am I even doing here? You've got a good enough relationship with your brothers. Why bother?"

He looks at down at his polished brogues, the lilac light from the strobing LEDs above making him look older, haggard even. "It's complicated."

"By all means, uncomplicate it."

"I- I had this thing with my brother's wife..."

"Jesus Five!"

He glares at you reproachfully. "Not like that dammit! He just thought... it was a godawful time in my life okay?" He sighs, like the weight of the confession was boring into his chest.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry like that, but we're partners Five. We don't trick each other for petty stuff." You smile. "If you wanted to ask me out that bad, you shouldda just asked." You tease.

He smiles wryly. "That obvious huh?"

What? "What?" You gulp, dumbfounded.

He laughs at you, this achingly amazing laugh that catches you, making your laugh echo his in a sweet bubble of silliness.

"I've got to have a word with my brother, but," He smiles nervously at you. That's a first. "Do you wanna get outta here?"

"Depends on what I have an itch for." You smile coyly.

"Coffee?"

"Coffee."

He winks at you. "You got it partner." Suddenly your face becomes hot, you look away, enjoying the new meaning in the word. You glance up again, ready for a comeback only to find Five absent. It was strange, you could've swarn he couldn't have gone anywhere without you hearing him go. It was such a tight space, with hartily creaking floors.

In your stupor, you made your way back to the main party area. Finding Five, engrossed in conversation with the Hispanic man from earlier. You make your way over to them.

"Don't sweat it man. We're cool, Lila's cool."

"Says who?" You hear a woman's English accent from behind a brightly coloured piñata. The Hispanic man rolls his eyes.

"Don't listen to her. We're all good now Five. I get it, it was seven years."

Five tenses. "Nothing happened Diego." Diego laughs.

"I forget what a prude you are sometimes man. Chill. But I get it, you're trynna impress your new chica, right?" Diego glances at you slyly. You squirm slightly. Five turns, spots you and huffs.

"Okay. Goodbye. I've had enough of this family for one afternoon. Come on you." He waves at you over his shoulder.

"What? What girl- oh!" Lila, apparently, peers around the piñata and laughs, the complete hysterical kind. "Never in my life..." She pats Five on the shoulder, uttering something you can't hear.

By now, there are 7 people surrounding you, all smirking like idiots. You find it endearing.

You decide to take matters into your own hands. You take Fives hand, drag him away from his family and towards the door, but not before planting your palms tenderly on either side of his face and pressing your lips to his. He gasps into your kiss but his hands find your waist eventually, pulling you into him.

His siblings jeer and catcall, but you get the sense he doesn't care anymore. You giggle into the kiss as you watch him give them the finger. He pulls away from you, stranding out to the parking lot.

You gaze fondly at the people in the lobby and give them the bow they deserve. "Thank you and goodnight!" You smile at the laughter that echoes after you as the doors close behind you.

You race to catch up to Five, who's already waiting to open the passenger door for you. "I like your family Fiver."

He smiles, "They like you honey."

•☆•

Here's my masterlist if you like my stuffs...

[wadewnstonwilson]

not helpin' your case.

summary: wade refuses to let logan sink into despair, constantly teasing him to lighten the mood. logan pretends to be annoyed, he secretly appreciates wade's presence, which keeps him grounded.

warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), none just fluffy goodness

word count: 1.4k

a/n: okay so i absolutely adore writing for wade because my adhd gets to go off the rails. tons of fluff, tons of dumb idiots being dumb idiots. i'll probably keep my poolverine fics to one shots because i just like little things of them here and there but enjoy!

Logan’s healing factor made him damn near indestructible. No matter how many bullets tore through him, how deep claws or blades sank into his flesh, his body always knitted itself back together as if nothing had happened. But the pain? He felt every second of it. The tearing, the ripping, the burning. The scars may not last long, but the memory of the agony lingered.

The physical pain, though, was the easy part. Logan could take a punch, a bullet, or an explosion and keep going. What he couldn't shake were the emotional scars. Decades—no, centuries—of loss, betrayal, and endless fighting. It was a constant burden, a weight that settled deep in his bones, refusing to let go. The faces of the people he'd lost, the betrayals he'd suffered—they all haunted him in the quiet moments, in the dark of night when the world stopped and there was nothing left but his thoughts.

And then, there was Wade.

The walking contradiction, the human cartoon, the man who turned every nightmare into a punchline. Wade had his own trauma—probably more than Logan, though it was hard to tell with him—but Wade’s way of dealing with it? He laughed. He made jokes, crude, sharp, and relentless. Where Logan brooded, Wade cracked jokes. Where Logan tried to bottle it all up, Wade exploded with it in a constant barrage of sarcasm and humor.

And while it drove Logan insane, it also saved him. Wade didn’t let him sink into the darkness. Wade wouldn’t let him dwell on the pain for too long. No, Wade kept him tethered to reality, whether Logan liked it or not.

“Yo, Claws!” Wade’s voice cut through Logan’s thoughts like a knife. “What’s with that resting murder face? You’ve been staring out that window for, like, an hour. What, are you brooding about your tragic past again? Or are you just trying to figure out where your hairline went wrong?”

Logan, arms crossed, leaning against the window frame, didn’t even flinch. He’d gotten used to Wade’s voice crashing into his internal monologues like a freight train. He grunted in response, refusing to turn around.

Wade was sprawled out on the couch, his legs kicked up on the armrest, a katana in his hands that he was polishing far too enthusiastically. “Come on, man, you can’t be doing the brooding thing again. You’ve got more angst than a whole squad of moody teenagers at a My Chemical Romance concert. What’s going on in that big, furry head of yours? Still thinking about your tragic backstory? We get it—everyone you’ve ever loved has died, you’ve got an animal inside you, blah blah blah. Yawn.”

Logan’s lips twitched, though he didn’t give Wade the satisfaction of turning around. “I’m not brooding,” he muttered, voice low and gruff.

Wade sat up dramatically, hand on his chest like Logan had just insulted his honor. “Oh, really? And I’m not wearing pants!” He stood up, glancing down at his fully clothed legs with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh fuck, wait, I am wearing pants! Looks like we’re both liars, Lo.”

Logan finally turned, slowly, his arms still crossed over his chest. “You ever stop talking?”

Wade grinned, sauntering over with the swagger of a man who absolutely loved hearing himself speak. He tilted his head at Logan, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Nah. Someone’s gotta keep you from turning into a walking tragedy, and I guess that’s my job now. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Logan let out a long, slow sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t brood.”

Wade poked him in the chest, right between his crossed arms. “Sure you don’t, Moody McStabberson. You just stand by windows staring off into the distance, thinking about all the people who betrayed you, probably playing sad music in your head. Real original, man. What’s next? You gonna write some dark poetry and start a Tumblr?”

Logan couldn’t help it this time. His lips quirked, just a bit. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Wade threw himself back onto the couch, dramatically flinging his legs back up as if the weight of the world was too much for him. “Ridiculously awesome, you mean,” he shot back, grabbing the TV remote and flipping through channels. “So what’s it gonna be tonight, claws? You wanna watch some depressing documentary about the fall of the Roman Empire or maybe something more your speed, like... I don’t know... a show about emotionally constipated loners who don’t know how to ask for help?”

Logan moved from the window, finally sitting down beside Wade, though he didn’t say a word. Wade’s constant barrage of sarcasm and jokes was like background noise now, a familiar hum that kept him grounded, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Wade’s face lit up as he found some late-night talk show with overly enthusiastic hosts and an absurd number of bright lights. “Oh, shit, this looks good,” he said, grinning. “Nothing like watching rich assholes pretend to care about regular people. Warms my heart.”

Logan leaned back, rubbing his temples as the bright lights of the show flashed across the room. “You’re gonna give me a headache.”

Wade shot him a grin, clearly delighted. “Aw, come on, Logie Bear. I know you’re having fun. You can’t lie to me. I’ve seen that twitch of a smile, you can’t hide it. Admit it, I make your life better.”

Logan let out a soft, begrudging chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re a pain in my ass, Wade.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who took a bullet to the ass last week and then said it was ‘just a scratch’,” Wade said, flipping the channel again. “Seriously, I had to fucking dig a bullet out of your hairy Canadian ass, but sure, just a scratch. How’s the ass feeling now, by the way?”

Logan snorted—a rare sound from him—and Wade’s grin widened like he’d just won the lottery. He leaned over, jabbing Logan in the side with his elbow. “Admit it, you love when I get all Florence Nightingale on you. It’s like a sexy version of a nurse, except with more swearing, fewer clothes, and zero actual medical knowledge.”

Logan rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re not helping your case.”

Wade nudged him again, his voice full of teasing. “Oh, come on. You know I’m the only person who can make you crack that grumpy exterior. It’s like my superpower—breaking through the Wolverine angst. And trust me, pumpkin, I love using it.”

Logan finally gave in, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Yeah, you’re real special, Wade.”

“You bet your sweet ass I am,” Wade said, stretching out on the couch, draping his legs across Logan’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He flipped through the channels with his usual reckless abandon, not really looking for anything specific—just something to keep the noise going.

For a moment, the two of them sat there in companionable silence, the TV flickering in the background. Wade’s energy, usually a hurricane, seemed to settle, just for a moment. His legs were still draped lazily over Logan’s lap, his head resting back against the couch cushion, and Logan found himself relaxing, the tension in his shoulders finally easing.

“You ever stop to think,” Logan began, his voice low and thoughtful, “that maybe you’re the reason I’m not as messed up as I could be?”

Wade paused, remote still in his hand, his gaze flicking up to meet Logan’s. For a second, the sarcasm faded, the usual wall of jokes and bravado dropping. Wade tilted his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I kinda figured that was the deal.” He winked, the sass returning full force. “But don’t go getting all mushy on me, alright? I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I mean, I’m an asshole, not a Hallmark card.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, wouldn’t want that."

Wade leaned back, kicking his legs up higher as he flipped to another channel. “You need me, Peanut. Admit it.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but as he glanced over at Wade—at the way his presence filled the room with life, with noise, with something that kept Logan’s mind from spiraling into the dark places it so often wandered—he knew Wade was right. The man was a walking disaster, but he was Logan’s disaster.

“I guess I do,” Logan said softly, and for once, Wade didn’t make a joke.

Instead, he smiled, turning his attention back to the TV, his legs still draped lazily across Logan’s lap.

And for a little while, everything felt just a little bit easier.

[techramonic]

What is Pain? : How Austin Eubanks Dealt with Addiction and the Aftermath of Columbine.

Austin and Corey

Stephen Austin Eubanks was a junior and a star student in Columbine High School. Corey Tyler DePooter, his best friend, was also a particularly gifted student who prioritized his studies over anything else. Despite having a wide range of interests, the two kids particularly bonded over their shared passion for fishing.

At the age of 17, Corey had gotten a job doing maintenance at a golf club in order to earn money for a fishing boat that he planned to buy with a friend — likely Austin. The two often used to go fishing together and would talk about the struggles they had as teenagers.

Day of the Tragedy

On April 20th of 1999, the two were inside the library getting ready to get lunch with their friends, Jennifer Doyle and Peter Ball. That was until they had heard shots fired from the outside, not recognizing the sounds and believing that it was only the sounds of construction. Then they heard a bomb go off, a teacher rushing in to scream for the students to hide underneath the table because two students were armed with guns.

In a state of shock and fear, the four duck under the same table near the windows. With 10 minutes passing, the shooters had already entered the library and methodically fired under each table as recalled by him. His best friend, Corey, was one of those who were shot after being aimed with a semi-automatic rifle and shot at the neck, chest, and left arm by Dylan Klebold.

The bullet that hit Austin's hand first passed through his best friend, killing him instantly. With his best friend lying lifelessly beside him and being wounded on his hand and knee, Austin had no other choice than to try to play dead while laying in a pool of blood. When the shooting had stopped, Austin ran through the smoke and out of the backdoor of the library. He was only 17 when the shooting occured.

In Austin's TedTalk “What Columbine Shooting taught me about pain and addiction”, he recalls:

"I remember how I felt: I was confused, I was afraid, I felt sick and I was vulnerable. And just minutes later, I was playing dead underneath a table next to a pool of blood. I had just been shot and I witnessed my best friend murdered right in front of me as we were huddled together waiting for help to come."

Pain, Grief, and Narcotics

During the time he fled from the crime scene, Austin marked that as one of the most impacting and damaging experiences he has ever experienced in regards to the feeling of pain. His definition of pain was nothing similar to what he describes in his present days.

Pain, in a medical sense, is the variably unpleasant sensation of physiological systems mediated by specific nerve fibers of the brain that are conscious of receiving signals of awareness. According to Austin's TedTalk, the American Pain Society introduced the term "pain is the fifth vital sign" in 1996. This means that when you enter the room, your status is assessed using five different data points: blood pressure, pulse rate, temperature, respiration rate, and pain.

Due to a movement that was certain that we were undertreating pain, patient satisfaction surveys were implemented in order to monitor the campaign's success. To him, in order to uphold this new momentum and cause the patient's pain levels to cease completely, the ethical dilemma instantly arose:

“Do I issue this person with narcotics to make them happy or deny them and potentially hurt my compensation, the revenue of the hospital? Or at worse, open myself up for a grievance for undertreating pain that could potentially result in the loss of my job?”

Austin says that the healthcare system predominantly treats physiological systems and would rather not assess emotional pain into the equation. He akins the emotional pain of dealing with trauma being identical or if not more than when dealing with physical pain. With that, within months after the incident, Austin was prescribed opiate medication for his injuries.

In an exclusive interview with The Fix, he said that his injuries were not to the point of needing an opiate pain medication but was immediately given a 30-day supply and became addicted within three months. From then on, he said, “I used substances every day, day in and day out.”

After the shooting, his parents took him to a therapist who said Austin was too shut down to process his horrific trauma. But the reason no one could reach him was because he was overmedicated. He was addicted to painkillers, and used medication because of his unwillingness to engage in the stages of grief that he dreaded to face. He was haunted by the past. Struggling with survivor's guilt and the death of his best friend, he would rather ignore the intense burdening feelings he bore. According to him,

“Acute Physical Pain ends relatively quickly, complex emotional pain does not.”

The morphine Eubanks received at the hospital that day proved to be the opening dose of a costly addiction to prescription painkillers - one that revolved around commonly prescribed drug Oxycontin, he said.

“I learned to manipulate doctors … I could literally get whatever I wanted. Telling them I’d been shot at Columbine and lost my best friend was like [getting] an open prescription book from any doctor.”

He could not process the grief, moreso, he didn't want to. He didn't want to be haunted by the memories that scarred him. In his own words, he would describe the physical ailments he felt to be a 4 or 5, but the emotional turmoil was a 10.

Austin never set foot back to Columbine. His parents hired a tutor and he then went on to graduate in 2000. He attended the Columbine ceremonies but never went back inside the school. He then went into advertising and married in his early 20s. Around this time his substance abuse escalated, and his first attempt to get sober was in 2006. He went into a 30-day inpatient program but failed within hours of leaving, for  relapsing using pain pills and Adderall. 

Addiction and Sobriety 

He failed both outpatient and rehab twice and it wasn't until 10 years later, in 2009 that he was able to overcome this addiction. Right before Columbine, young Austin had been misdiagnosed with ADD. 

“I didn’t have ADD,” said Eubanks. “I just liked being outdoors and playing golf better than being in school. At that time, if anybody was truant at school they said, ‘Oh, they must be ADD. Let’s put them on a stimulant.’ That was why I got Adderall. I liked it because I could abuse opiate pain medication to the level that most people would be nodding out. With Adderall, I could function. Basically, I was doing oral speedballs. It was like using methamphetamine and heroin.”

His second try at being sober was in 2008. Gaining the motivation to change after recently separating from his wife, he went to treatment, stayed 90 days, and achieved eight months of sobriety. Then, he akinned addiction to a causal sequence, a domino effect. According to him, he achieved abstinence for a period of time, built up enough false confidence to where he thought he could drink, because alcohol was never a problem. From alcohol, he went to weed, then Xanax, then Oxycontin, and then back into the same routine.

In 2011, approaching the age of 30 and estranged from his wife and kids, he hit rock bottom: "My sobriety date is April 2, 2011. I woke up in a jail cell and had no clue how I got there." His downward spiral began with Oxycontin and alcohol abuse, leading to arrests for various offenses like car theft and fraud. Realizing that he needed a drastic change, he recounted that his lowest moment was waking up in withdrawal, hungover, and facing the ruins of his marriage and being estranged from his children. He knew he had to stop or he would die. After unsuccessful attempts at sobriety, he finally sought help, surrendered to treatment, and was now willing to follow any guidance to rebuild his life.

His journey to lasting sobriety didn't hinge on traditional 12-step programs, but rather on understanding behavioral triggers and brain function through a therapeutic community approach. He was five years sober and started working at The Foundry in Colorado, becoming the COO and handling approaches that combined neuroscience with 12-step principles, recognizing that each person's path to recovery is unique. Using comprehensive approaches aiming to rebuild the lives of those in recovery.

During this time, he would also indulge in old activities in remembrance of his bestfriend.

“It’s something I do to connect with Corey. It's always nice whenever I catch a fish that's above the normal or something special about it. I always tend to look up and give a nod to him. And I know he’s still looking out for me."

Sadly, despite his long battle against drug addiction, in 2019, Austin had passed away in his home in Colorado after an accidental heroin overdose. Just a month after the 20th anniversary of Columbine, Austin was 37 at the time.

What is Pain?

Pain, to Austin, encompassed many things: the confusion and vulnerability of not knowing what to do in such a time of terror, the physical wounds that the doctors tried to medicate to bring the pain meter to zero, and most importantly, the emotional hurt of knowing your best friend was gone, taken right in front of you. Knowing that very moment can never be undone.

His advice for survivors dealing with the same guilt is to feel it. Don't run away from it. Survivors often find other things that allow them to detach from the pain, but to him, that's the wrong choice.

“You can heal physical pain while you’re medicating it. You cannot heal emotional pain while you are medicating it, In order to heal emotional pain, you have to feel it ... You want to feel better immediately, [but] you have to have the courage to sit in and feel it, and if you can do that long enough, you will come out on the other side.”

Along with post-traumatic stress, there is also the potential for post-traumatic growth.

“That doesn’t imply you will ever be the same person again. After a trauma, you will be changed forever.”

[greeniegirl23]

Isn't It Lovely..? (Chapter 2#)

(Trigger Warning ⚠️: Shitty Dad/ Abuse/ Physical Harm/ Cursing/ Etc.)

To say this week has been shit, was a complete understatement.

Apparently, your Dad had been caught doing something uncivilized at his job. Resulting in him being demoted from his higher status at the office and guess who's been suffering for it?

Three days out of the week, you had been harmed by him once again. In addition to your second degree burn, you now had a skinned need, bruises on your neck from where he choked you three breaths to death's door, and a cut on your hamstring from where he threw a beer bottle at you.

Your usual upbeat attitude was getting harder and harder to maintain by the day. Now that he was making less money, he was demanding more from your stipend checks, but he was also spending more time at the bar so you guessed there was a silver lining to your rain cloud.

Tonight however, you were in your room crying once again. He had already left the house which gave you the privacy that you needed to heal the scratch marks he left on your face. He actually tried to take a swing at you this time, but you dodged and were nicked by his fingernails pretty good.

Of course, he took your avoidance as an insult and forced you to pay for it by uppercutting you in the stomach instead. It took everything in you not to puke as he cursed you out and left the house with a loud 'SLAM' of the front door.

It took about 20 minutes for you to be able to get up and make your way to your room. Where you finally plopped down at your desk to scream and cry. Finding a deep satisfaction in the ability to express your problems as dramatically as you wanted too.

“I want him to die!” You growled. “I want him dead so fucking badly but I'm not strong enough to do it..”

While you were lost in your dark thoughts, you didn't realize the quiet static growing in your room nor the fact that your radio was on until it started playing out of nowhere. Sitting up slowly, you wiped your face and walked over to your restoration vanity to turn it off. You loved it, but you weren't in the mood for music at the moment.

Just as you walked off to take a look at the damage on your face and stomach, the Radio buzzed back to life. Playing a rather jolly tune as you snapped your head to look at it in confusion. You pulled the plug out from the wall, totally sure that there was no possible way it'd turn on now.

After taking about five steps away from it, a very loud, very sharp microphone screech was omitted from the device. Slapping your hands over your ears, you quickly grabbed some of your stuffed animals to muffle the sound. Making a nest of sorts around the radio as the stuffing from the toys made it a bit more tolerable, you even put your Alastor one right on top of it.

You sat there confused and a bit scared. You had no idea on how to repair a radio, much less one that was still making noise while unplugged..

The noise stopped just as suddenly as it started. The shrill sounds were replaced with garbling static. Almost like someone was trying to talk, but the interference was too much.

Part of you wanted to skedaddle. A radio making random noises with no power supply and seems to be trying to talk sounded like some straight demonic activity...

Wait? Demonic? Radio..

You gasped at the thought, putting the possible dots together as a light bulb went off in your head. There was no way! It's literally impossible!

Right..?

Slowly, you removed the stuffed animals from the radio. Keeping the Alastor one nearby as you tried your best to tune the voice. Turning the knobs too and fro only to get nothing but more garbling.

You huffed. If it was what you were thinking, how the hell were you supposed to make it happen?!

Looking at your Alastor plush, you noticed how it was facing the radio at a distance. Out of pure curiosity, you turned it around and the garbling from before turned into pure static.

“Now that's odd..” You mumbled. Squinting at the two objects in thought. Hesitantly, you scooted the Alastor plush closer to the radio. With every small inch, the voice seemed to become clearer and clearer.

In a small leap of faith, you placed the plush right next to the radio and what happened next almost brought a tear to your eye.

A few clicking sounds reverberated in your room as the dials on the radio turned themselves. A few moments of heavy silence laid thick in the air and when the dials finally stopped, a sense of hope that you haven't felt in a long time filled your heart to the brim.

A tapping of a microphone could be heard as an all too familiar and all too comforting voice finally spoke. “Hello? Hello?! Is this thing on?”

“Holy shit..” You whispered. “It worked… It actually worked!”

Alastor, the real Alastor chuckled. “Ah good! So you can hear me. Haha! For a second there I thought I was going to have to make another unsavory noise.”

You smiled. “No, no. I can hear you perfectly! Crystal clear in fact.”

“Wonderful my dear!” He exclaimed. “You'll have to forgive my rudeness from earlier. I haven't done anything like this since Jeffrey Dahmer needed cooking advice in 1989!” A laugh track played in the background.

“You talked to Jeffrey Dahmer through the radio?!”

You could practically hear the smile on his face. “Guilty as charged darling. He summoned me after hearing about my past dabblings in cannibalism. Of course, I was going to kill him at first for disturbing me but he turned out to be a rather wonderful pupil!”

To say you were shocked was an understatement. Your jaw was practically on the floor as you listened to Alastor's story and came to the realization that he was an actual person at some point!

He broke your thoughts with a quick ‘ahem’. “As much as I simply adore talking about myself, I’m quite sure you didn't summon me for that. If I recall you'd like to do something about that rotten excuse of existence you call ‘Daddy’.”

“Wait a minute,” You said. “How do you know that? I never said anything about my Dad until now.”

“Well, you didn't have to, darling!” He replied. “ Don't be alarmed, but I've been watching you ever since you restored my little friend there.”

You looked at the plushie in slight horror. “The stuffed animal?!”

You heard a snap. “Precisely! And before you panic, no I have not seen you in any state of nudity or indecency whatsoever. What I have seen is you stumbling into your bedroom every other night with a fresh injury or in plain old tears.” He seemed to growl out that last part. “You see, the toy you so expertly repaired was nothing more than some extra eyes in the human world for myself. In case someone wanted to make a deal or anything of that sort. You didn't exactly want a deal per say, but you did make a wish. A wish for freedom and companionship, a wish to be rid of that horrid man, and for me to be there with you through these terrible times.”

Embarrassment took over your face. You couldn't believe he saw you in a state so pathetic. He must have noticed your change in attitude because you heard him sigh somewhat apologetically. “Believe me when I say I mean no harm to you, sweet child. Despite my reputation as a ruthless overlord, I do have a heart and a moral code of sorts..”

A deep sigh left your lips as you snapped out of your short pity party and sat cross legged to get back to what had to be the most amazing thing that's ever happened in your life. “So, what does that mean exactly? I make a wish and you grant it like a fairy or something?”

“Aha, no!” He cackled. “Until recently, I couldn't do a thing to help you. Dimensional differences, you know how it is. First, I had to watch and make sure that you weren't just summoning me willy-nilly. Then once I noticed your issues were truly something to grant my attention towards, I did my best to communicate to you through this radio. Obviously that didn't work too well until you put the plushie next to it and ta-da! Yours truly can talk to you about what the next steps are.”

“Next steps?” You mumbled. “Um, not to be insulting or anything but, are you going to take my soul?”

A beat of silence went by as Alastor let out a ‘hmm’. “That's why we need to talk about these next steps, dear. Contrary to popular belief, I cannot just take your soul if that is something you do not wish. Even if I killed you, your soul wouldn't exactly be up for grabs.”

You nodded your head for him to continue. “You made a wish, which is different from a deal. A wish would be something I grant to you out of the goodness of my heart, if that wish was something you truly craved. A deal would involve your soul in exchange for my services, which is something that cannot be worked around mind you.”

“So what do I do?” You asked.

“That's the thing darling, the choice is entirely yours!” He cheered. “I heard you going on about how you don't have the mental strength to kill your Dad on your own, so that leaves the ball in your court. If you truly want him dead, you would be making a deal with me so that your pretty hands stay clean. If not and you simply want or require advice on how to get rid of him on your own. Then I would be happy to grant your desires as a wish. The entertainment from that alone would be enough for me to happily accept being your teacher.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Chewing lightly on the flesh as you tried to think about this logically. Alastor was willing to help you out in both ways. Both possibly resulting in the death of your Dad. Both could also result in your hands being tainted with blood no matter how you swing it.

“Sorry Alastor,” You muttered. “I don't exactly have an answer right now.”

He made a sound of understanding. “It is a lot to take in all at once and it's fine not to have an answer at this very moment. I will give you time, but I won't give you forever. This link to your world will only last at most about a month before being broken. Until then, I can check on you regularly if you'd like-"

“How?!” You nearly shrieked. A chance to talk to Alastor everyday for a month?! You'd be an idiot if you passed that up!

A string of ‘Ha-Ha’s’ along with a laugh track played back at you. An easily excited one you were, he would be lying if he said you didn't remind him of a certain princess with that enthusiastic look in your eyes.

“Just turn the left knob clockwise three times and the right one counter clockwise two times. It will tap you into my personal radio station and only works because of the link between our worlds.”

You giggled happily and kicked your feet back and forth like a schoolgirl. “That's so cool!”

“It is rather impressive I will admit." You mentally rolled your eyes on how smug he sounded. "But as of now, I'm afraid I'm going to have to attend to some business elsewhere. I do hate to leave, but unfortunately this is something that I must settle.”

“Wait!” You shouted. “I'm sorry, I know you have to go but I can't help but ask.”

A warble of static politely asked what it was that you wanted. “I know this may sound silly but, what do I do if I need you? Like, for an emergency or something?”

A dark chuckle left his lips. The sound sent a chill up your spine as the lights in your room flickered and static tickled your skin.

“Don't worry my dear,” He said, still dark but with a hint of comfort and warmth that you weren't expecting. “All you need to do is call me by my name and I will be there.”

You blinked. “Is it that easy?”

“Usually no. But if it means freeing you from that lonesome piece of scum..” He growled, before switching back to his usual cheery voice. “I'll make it as easy for you as apple pie!”

With that, the radio turned off and you were left sitting on the floor of your room. Still stunned by what happened, but you had something new this time.

You had hope as you picked up the toy and hugged it close. Thinking that maybe Alastor could feel your embrace and the thankfulness you felt towards him for being willing to protect you.

You now had hope and a friend on the other side…

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

(Thank you for swinging by for Chapter 2 of Lovely! The next chapter should be the last, but I plan to make it a beautiful last chapter.

Leave your comments below and don't be afraid to send in some asks as well. Thank you once again for reading my story, Buh-Bye for now :D)

[dogsosoy]

i am thinking about stalking aki. no devils au also (gn)reader is an obsessive freakkk and loser ; things get a little physically violent ^__^

as per usual, you were following the local grocery store clerk home after his shift.

he was a pretty unassuming guy, despite his height, but something about him was different from all the other NPCs you had to encounter in your shitty city.

a few weeks ago, for the first time in your life, someone wasn’t outright disgusted with your presence. on top of that, that person was downright gorgeous too. exactly your type. a lot like the guys you went for in your dating sims: tall, long hair, and an unbothered attitude. aki had an air about him that screamed “i don’t really care,” which made you weak in the knees. you were shaking when you approached his checkout line.

you expected him to be like everyone else. throw you a hardly-concealed glare and make your interaction as swift as possible. you’ve never been that great with social interaction. or social cues. but somehow, in your delusional mind, you believed that you were quite charming the day you met aki.

he had initially caught you off guard. aki recognized the game on your shirt, and commented on it as he was checking out (and trying hard not to judge) your groceries (seriously, when was the last time you ate a meal that wasn’t full of MSG?). immediately getting even more flustered and nervous than you already were, you told him a fun fact about the game—that only you found fun—and flashed him an awkward, stressed out smile. more fearful looking than anything. more animalistic than human.

but he smiled back, so clearly that meant you did a good job, right? you surely impressed him with your knowledge and the submissive air about you! he must’ve thought you were charming in a “kicked dog” sort of way.

aki totally wasn’t thinking ‘will this quivering little freak get out of my line already?’ eyeing your shaky hands and figure. you were most definitely overstaying your welcome in the check-out area to stutter at this poor clerk. at least he’s good at staying composed. most of the time.

overall, he was disgusted by you. you looked like you got hit by a bus two weeks ago and hadn’t showered since. your clothes were dirty and way too big, like a child trying on something from their parent’s closet. you had a minecraft wallet that would’ve been a cute little trait if you weren’t so fucking off-putting. your hair was in your eyes. probably to hide your face, he thought. you don’t seem to like being perceived.

aki had a lot of thoughts about you in that moment—some of them more intrusive than others. he thought about scowling at you, yelling at you to move along, maybe shoving your shitty groceries into your hands so you’d get the idea that he really didn’t like your vibe. or face. or anything about you. then, aki thought about strangling you. you just had a face for it. you looked easy to beat up and aki kind of liked that. it crossed his mind that maybe he could kick the shit out of you after his shift. get some anger out. hell, he could’ve taken five and done it right then.

you know, normal minimum wage job thoughts.

but of course, he didn’t do any of that. didn’t even really entertain the thought (although he really would’ve liked to). at his core, aki isn’t a bad person. he’s not the best, don’t get him wrong, but he wouldn’t harm a random person he doesn’t know. even if that person was giving him a million reasons to, just by existing. even if they look like they would make such a good punching bag. or stress ball. or chew toy?

aki doesn’t necessarily enjoy hurting people. he’ll admit, he does find some sort of sick satisfaction in it, but it’s not something he actively seeks out. or even something that regularly crosses his mind. aki is reliable and intelligent. that’s what anyone you ask would say about him. sure, maybe he’s a hardass most of the time, but he really does seem to have a thing for helping others.

he looked at you, really looked at you, his eyes filled with pity as you were turning to walk out of the store. he imagined what it would be like to have everyone you come across have these sorts of thoughts about you. how could you live your life normally when everything about you invokes violent and anger in the people around you?

it was pathetic. he thought you were pathetic.

maybe he could help you.

your eyes caught his only for a moment as you cautiously glanced back at him, trying to sneak in one more glimpse at this angel before you went home, not to return for weeks. then you saw it. you saw that look. something in his eyes, but it wasn’t anger or annoyance or disgust. your face heated up, and your eyes widened with how flustered you felt. your palms suddenly felt sweaty, and it was too hot. for once, someone looked at you and felt something more for you, and it felt like a fire was lit inside your chest.

this man… (squints to read name tag) aki… he was different.

and aki knew from that split second that you were definitely a total hopeless case and complete freak.

your obsession with him snowballed from there.

you followed behind him after every shift, making sure to stay hidden from the light and as far away as possible. you just wanted to make sure the love of your life got home safe! plus, it wasn’t hard to keep an eye on him. maybe keeping up with him was a little difficult due to the height difference, but good thing you’re amazing at masking your presence! thank you, fear of being perceived.

even from this distance, your heart was in your throat. you could barely make out the way his shoulders moved as he walked, or how he lazily puffed on a cigarette (mevius brand, your brain supplied). it was still enough to get you panting like a freaky little creep. your whole body was on fire. the physical reaction you had to aki was apparent, and it had only gotten worse by the day. during your first interaction, you were a complete mess. now? you’d be lucky to get a single word out if he was any closer than twenty feet, and your legs would surely give out from the anxiety. it would be like meeting god.

aki had decided earlier, during his shift, that he had had enough of this game of cat and mouse.

of course he could feel the eyes on his back during his walk to his apartment. although you think you’re quite slick and sneaky, aki has known since the first day you followed him home. you may be quiet, but your hiding skills are a bit rusty. on top of that, aki trained in the police force. he knows when someone is tailing him. he had to hand it to you though, it took him longer than normal to notice you.

every day you got a bit closer—he had picked up on that by the fifth night. he picked up on you breaking into his apartment by the second week, which irked him. not because he necessarily cared about you stealing his stuff—he didn’t have much of value anyway—he just didn’t want your dirty hands touching everything. he started cleaning more after that.

then slowly he started… leaving things out for you. like someone leaving milk out for a stray cat. a half eaten bar of chocolate on his kitchen counter, an old shirt on his bed. things he thought you’d think he wouldn’t miss. he left some healthier food out too, with a few bites taken out of it, so you’d think he was done eating and take it for yourself.

he wondered if it felt like sharing a meal to you, too.

he had caught a glimpse of you in a shop window as he turned the corner onto his street. you were wearing his shirt. he never saw you without one of his shirts on, not since you started stealing them.

instead of continuing all the way to his apartment, aki stopped short and took a quick right to duck into a nearby alleyway.

your heart sped up. what was he doing? was he meeting with someone else? going to someone else’s place? maybe just taking a leak? despite your worryingly amazing stalking skills, you lacked a lot of… basic intellect. street smarts.

common sense.

you approached the alley cautiously, peering in. no sign of aki. your heart sunk, had you lost him? your foot steps rang out in quiet thuds on the concrete. your thoughts were running a mile a minute.

aki thinks you should be more aware of your surroundings. it becomes another bullet on his mental list of things you need to work on. this list is uncomfortably long.

you pass by an unassuming dumpster, not looking at or even near it. it didn’t cross your mind that the object of your deepest desire could be crouched beside it. why would he be? why would he be staring at you? why would he be getting ready to pounce on you, like a predator on prey?

the moment you had just barely cleared the threshold into his vision, aki pounced.

your back hit the concrete wall before you could even grasp what could be happening. the smell of cigarette smoke flooded your sinuses. someone’s forearm was pressed to your neck—their hand carefully balancing a mevius cigarette between two fingers—affectively holding your weaker body in place and somewhat choking you. your voice cried out in a pathetic yelp, which caused another large hand to be placed rather roughly over your mouth. he didn’t want you to make any unnecessary noise. or, god forbid, any dumb comments.

his figure was even more imposing at this distance—or lack there of. fuck, is he going to kill you? beat the shit out of you? why is that thought kinda hot? your heart was beating so fast you felt like you were going to have a heart attack. aki, ever composed, casually leaned over your trembling body, looking deep into your scared eyes with his intense gaze. he was so calm, but he was also scary. imposing. like a parent looking down at a child who has misbehaved. your knees felt weak.

you have misbehaved.

his face was inches from yours as he spoke softly, condescendingly, “i would say you’re dumber than you look but,” his eyes raked over your figure slowly, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. he removed his forearm from your neck and took a drag and blew the smoke into your face as he continued, “you’re not.”

quick note: having a hand over your mouth, somewhat covering your nose, smoke blown into your face, and having previously been choked by a forearm to the neck does NOT pair amazingly with what was likely an incoming panic attack. or maybe it was a meltdown. aki didn’t think you could tremble this much. widen your eyes this much. make him feel so in control this much. he would’ve rather thrown out his brand new pack of meviuses than admit that you have such a way of making him feel. he continued rolling his cigarette between his fingers, staring at your face, thinking. then he backed off a little. looked down his nose at you.

his gaze was filled with disgust… and an impossible amount of want. want for you. to own you. control you. maybe he just wanted to have some sort of control over anything in his life. unfortunately, you didn’t have a whole lot of time to react to this sudden realization about aki, as you cried out, muffled by his palm. the bastard had put his cigarette out on your neck.

“don’t worry,” he spoke softly, in an ever condescending tone, “you’ll probably still be able to walk when i’m done.”

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Three

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

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

WC: 13k

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

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

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Two)

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

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

Poppy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Teleportation sounds perfect.

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

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

Until Poppy properly considered time travel, that is.

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

But that was before she screwed everything up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except maybe she can.

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

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

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

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

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

-

“Don’t go on that date, Mohn.”

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

What the hell is going on?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to go, Poppy,”

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

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

“More?”

“More than friends.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

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

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

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

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

Wrong answer, again.

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

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

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

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

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

“You said you forgave me for that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could feel her temper flaring again. 

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

“Poppy-,”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

But her and Nico were just friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

“Finnegan’s.” 

“The bar?”

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

She remembered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t mind.”

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

“You wanted to kiss me then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

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

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

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

“Could you maybe say it?”

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

“You do?”

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

“I forgive you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surely she would have a scar or a bruise.

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

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

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

“In my defence-,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She isn’t entirely wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure." His sarcasm was not entirely appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico

Nico has never been so physically uncomfortable in his life.

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

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

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

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

Itchy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4 days.

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

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

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

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

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

Every single thing had reminded him of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She won’t even kiss him back.

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

No one else can get that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A new record?”

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

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

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

He could use this to his advantage.

“Is she a good kisser?”

Or not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One question. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

Poppy looks unbelievable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no date. There is no uncouth slob.

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

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

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

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

Rookie mistake, offering something up so quick.

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

“What do you want?”

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

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

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

“Bring them into our section.”

“And maybe some tickets, too.”

“Fine.”

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

“Aren’t you gonna text her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She isn’t running. She isn’t pushing.

She’s waiting.

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

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry about your date.”

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

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

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

“I was stupid to ask that.”

“Maybe we’re both stupid.”

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

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

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

“How are your family?”

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

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

“Did they get to watch you win?”

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

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

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

That would be embarrassing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is getting his own back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a party. 

Poppy’s here.

He can do this.

He can wait.

Next Chapter

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

[13keithxpidge13]

Omega Pav wants to scent mark his pack every five seconds. He /needs/ them covered in his scent so they know he loves them and that he knows that they love him back. It's just a way for him to comfort himself while also to show his overflowing affection for all of his friends the only way he knows how; by being as physical as he possibly can with them.

Alpha Hobie takes to it with ease. He settles comfortably whenever Pav pulls him close and rubs their hands together, whether it's their wrists or necks, Hobie lets him do what he wants and reciprocates the affection with eagerness. Out of all the spiders, Pav is the closest with Hobie in terms of being able to show affection, Hobie has always been willing to receive it.

Beta Gwen takes a few tries to get her to really be more open to it. She nearly punches Pav square in the face completely on instinct when he gets too close without permission the first time. But, after a few attempts, she finally allows it and, ever since, she'll let him slip his hand into hers or hug her tightly and rub their glands together, scents mixing.

Omega Miles is the most difficult to get to come around. Despite how he may come across, he doesn't really take to physical affection like the rest of them do. After the events of The Spot, his inner Omega practically curls in on itself and hides itself away to protect itself from further harm; physically and emotionally. Miles and Gwen are awkward around each other for the longest time. He and Pav aren't much better because, well, they don't really know each other. But, Pav would like to know him more, if Miles would let him. Hobie seems to be the only one Miles allows himself to get closer. Well, perhaps it's because Hobie forces himself past Miles barriers and drapes himself over his back or hugs him from the side. But, Pav doesn't want to overstep his boundaries so he plays it safe.

He'll gently graze their fingers together or he'll bump shoulders with Miles after a job well done. When they have movie nights, Pav will stay close to Miles and lean his head on his arm and nuzzle against him. Miles slowly starts accepting more and more from Pav until finally, he lets Pav rub the glands on their necks together, intertwining their scents and making their inner omegas coo and rumble with satisfaction.

When Hobie gets wind, he immediately rushes over to Miles as soon as they are each other again and drags Miles into his arms so he can rumble and nose at the scent glands on his neck. Miles squeals and Hobie chuckles and playfully scents him as the Omega swats him away and rubs at his marked throat.

"You guys are fucking /insatiable/," Miles curses and Pav giggles, draping himself over his back but Miles allows it so it's safe to say he isn't actually upset.

"We just loooove you," Pav coos. "Let us love you!"

"Ain't that bloody right," Hobie says and comes up right in front of Miles so both he and Pav are hugging him from either side. "Let us love ya', yeah? Our lil' Brooklyn-baby."

Miles grumbles but doesn't protest and lets them do what they please. He comes home smelling obnoxiously like his two packmates and it takes /days/ for their scents to wash out...not that he was complaining.

The next time Gwen comes over, he walks over hesitantly and bumps their shoulders together. She turns to look at him, confused but hope burns brightly in her eyes and Miles turns away but opens his arms up to her and Gwen perks up.

She /slams/ into him and Miles immediately begins to purr with affection.

"I'm sorry," She sniffles, tears dribbling down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Miles. Please believe me."

"I do," Miles tells her honestly. "I forgive you, Gwen."

And, for now, that's enough.

[sch-com]

Specific manifestations of schizoid PD in my life

see similar post for anakastic PD / OCPD

When I first heard of my personality disorders, it was hard for me to notice their role in my life. Part of it was that I was younger, and with less experiences, but part of it was that by nature PDs are so ingrained it's hard to see the full scope of their influence. Particularly I struggled to see the "dysfunction" part - I was thinking that sure, I do experience that, but is it really that bad? And you can't have a PD without the dysfunction, so do I even count? I think that now, after some time and more reflections, I can say I do see the dysfunction, so I thought to share my observations.

Using the DSM V criteria for schizoid PD:

1/ Neither wants nor likes close relationships, counting being part of a family / Has no close friends other than immediate relatives

When I was first moving out for university, I didn't really have any close enough friends I would feel truly comfortable moving with. It limited my choices, and influenced the one I ultimately made (a mistake).

Also, when I was moved out and experienced my first full-blown mental health crisis, I didn't have anyone around me to rely on.

Studying in uni is much harder when I am not talking with people in my class. Normally students support each other, share notes etc I imagine. I have to do everything alone.

Talking to people = opportunities. And support. Real, material support of being physically near. Going to places together, someone having a job opprotunity, hell even having anyone around in case of an emergency.

I suspect at least part of my emotional problems can be attributed to my self-imposed isolation. Occassionaly when I do talk to someone, it's like... an altered mental state, in a good way. When I laugh, I feel physically good. And it's easier to laugh with other people around. It's the little things I think, that are crucial and I am largely missing out on.

2/ Almost constantly picks introverted activities

Sharing what you do can help you progress faster. Sharing your art and getting critique, joining language classes. Sure I can do all of this on my own as well, but it may be sub-optimal. I think it's a matter of balance - and if I consistently choose to opt out of group activities, it could be seen as dysfunctional.

Also again, doing stuff with other people = meeting other people = getting the social connection, vital for even physical health, and gaining access to opportunities and support.

Other people can also motivate you, or keep you accountable for doing something. When I do (almost) everything on my own, I have to well, rely on my motivation / determination, which is often hard (more on that in 4/).

3/ Has little if any, thought in engaging in any sexual experiences

Frankly I am asexual, so I wouldn't say it's causing me any distress. I suppose that lack of sexual life can be viewed as lack of a major life activity, if you want to interpret it that way.

However, somewhat connected to 4/, it's hard for me to say 100% that sex life is something I truly don't want, or if it's just another thing I am opting out of out of the lack of reward. More on that below.

4/ Seldom derives pleasure from any activities

The emotional implications are written into the criterium itself. Lack of pleasure is I think dysfunctional already.

But, adding on the above - lack of pleasure/satisfaction definitely made me lose a lot of motivation for doing anything. I have disengaged from hobbies because of it. I have disengaged from studies, from social activities, from even simple things watching movies, reading, or cooking a good meal because of this. I have to force myself to do pretty much anything. There is not a single thing that I do simply because I truly enjoy it - I need another reason on top, like an obligation.

What I mean by the above, is that... I think I have opted out of things because they don't bring me much emotional reward, not the other way around (so it's NOT that I don't get a lot of joy because I don't do things). I remember when I was younger and more active in life, doing something like travelling, or acomplishing something, and emotionally not getting anything out of it. So I wished I was just in bed and not doing the thing, because at least it's less effort, for the same emotional reward (= lack thereof). And as I became an adult with more control over my day-to-day, I stopped many major life activities because I can. And it's all the same.

5/ Appears apathetic to the admiration or disapproval of others

For me it's largely related to 4/, because I don't get much internal reward from external stimuli, it also manifests in how this criterium describes it.

I've had people believe in me in the past. Try to encourage me, praise me, tell me they see a potential. But I... couldn't believe them. I don't feel this, it's all the same if I am awarded something or not. External rewards don't cause internal reaction, so like why bother? Why bother going after this hard thing, winning a competition, if after I acomplished it it's all the same void? I put the effort into something, only for this to not matter. So I stopped putting so much effort.

I think it may also discourage others from trying to help me, because historically I haven't shown much reaction, or improvement, or gratefulness for their honest efforts. To give up on me, because I seem like this empty shell of a person. But I don't really know, I think it would have to be someone else to confirm this.

6/ Shows emotional coldness, detachment, or flattened affectivity

People told me that I appear flat and so it's hard for them to read me. It's hard to know what I think, and some became afraid that I was judging them, when I... I don't? Overall, this one makes it really hard to connect to others and to be understood. So it makes me feel even more like an alien.

I have also hurt people because of this. Because I detach, I isolate, I forget about people. I am the friend you have to message to get a conversation, or schedule a meetup, because I don't initiate. I know it's a hard position to be in, and I don't want to hurt anyone, so I only disengaged more to not even have any friends that would care about me enough to be hurt by my isolation.

Because I seem all the same (flat and withdrawn) all the time, it's harder to notice when I am struggling. I can be in the throws of depression and actively suicidal, but outward appear pretty much the same. So people don't believe me, not even professionals, and I have been neglected because of this.

[aclowntiny]

Smell You Later- Gryffindor Quidditch Captain!S.Coups x Slytherin Quidditch Captain!Reader (Gender Neutral)

What are the odds one Potions class could shake things up between two house Quidditch captains?

Word Count: 4996 | Rivals to Lovers, Hogwarts AU (sortings/headcanons for each member here) | Warnings: You go through some physical strife a bit at one point, but it’s not violent, you’re just really winded & stuff. Wandless magic is canonically very difficult stuff 🤕 also some swears 😅

Tagging @belladaises on request- feel free to join the taglist for Hogwarts AUs too or anything 🥰

Practice was over.

Rough day chasing, too, because half your Beater duo was so eager to send it flying you were having to spend the game with your portion of Slytherin reminding them you wouldn’t actually be playing against maniacs.

“Until you’re up against Gryffindor-have you seen Soonyoung?”

A fair point from Hogwarts’s Quidditch commentator, a Hufflepuff named Seungkwan who was friends with a couple of your teammates, who’d decided to watch you guys play.

“He’s even worse than Jeonghan.”

“Hey,” your exuberant Beater exclaimed, “I’m just doing my job! And besides, they’re indebted to me for convincing the referee we were tied even though they clearly shot three points!”

“Yeah, well, you aren’t Slytherin for no reason,” Seungkwan shot back.

“Oi, enough out of you,” you swooped in closer to the Hufflepuff as you landed, shaking some sweat from your hair, “you said you were rooting for us!”

“Well yeah, only because a ton of my friends are in Slytherin and I don’t want to give Soonyoung the satisfaction.”

“Well, then you should be happy that we’re going to crush him.”

“Once you get that one play down.”

“Once we get this one play down,” you repeated with a small grimace.

The sun was beating down, school having just returned to session from summer, so you went to the pitch’s well to scoop yourself up a drink. As you gulped down the refreshing coolness, flicking away the remains that trickled down your chin and dripping a bit down the front of your heavy green Quidditch robes, you heard Jeonghan’s slightly raised voice.

“Quit doing that, you’re lions, not tigers!”

Such a quip could only mean one thing: Gryffindor had entered the pitch. Sure enough, as you turned around your eyes were met with an array of heavy robes just like yours, but red and gold replaced your-more elegant, in your opinion- green and silver. They all had their brooms in hand, of course, and were led by Choi Seungcheol.

Gryffindor’s Keeper and captain, leader of the team rivaling the one you spearheaded. He smiled, eyes sparkling mischievously, when his gaze met yours.

“What’s this I hear about a difficult play? That’s probably the one we mastered last week, huh guys?”

You smiled and shook your head in disbelief. No ill will toward Gryffindor- in fact, two of your friends played on the team and half your mates were buddies with Soonyoung and Seungcheol- but they still got under your skin, especially the captain. Just one look at his smug face and you were ready to crush him. Competition was competition, after all, and pride ran high in both your houses.

“No, we already learned how to hit a ball in First Year,” you shot back with a nod at the Beaters, “but it’s nice to see Soonyoung almost has it down.”

“Has Jeonghan stopped hitting his own teammates?” The tiger lover in question asked you, shading his grin with a gloved hand.

“He’s never actually hit us before,” Joshua, your Keeper, countered, “so that’s one thing you two have in common.”

For that one, you reached up and gave Joshua a high-five so coordinated you never even turned to look at each other. Suddenly, the sun didn’t seem so stifling, your energy less depleted and practice less feckless. You had a battle to fight.

“Is that the play you practiced, (y/n)?” Seungcheol asked, inclining his head in the general direction of where the high-five occurred.

“No, we’re just that in sync,” you replied, “aren’t we, Joshua?” Your teammate hummed in response, bringing a smile to your face. “Jealous?”

“You wish,” Seungcheol replied with another smirk and shake of his head, “you guys done with the pitch for the day?”

“Yeah,” you replied, banter over for the afternoon, “go for it. Get ready: first match is us.”

“Don’t I know it,” he said, and with that he waved the rest of Gryffindor forward, striding past you as you left- well, all of you but Seungkwan, who watched pretty much every practice due to his diverse friend group, “it’ll be legendary as always, especially when we win.”

“Smell you later,” Chan, your Seeker, called out as your teams pass each other.

Your hand hit your forehead. “Chan, that was immature.”

The Gryffindors snickered and, knowing Chan, Seungcheol full-on laughed. Guy had a nice laugh, but there was no appreciating the sound made at your expense.

“I didn’t know you were letting First Years join the team, (y/n),” he commented.

After they passed, you shook your head and hissed to Chan, “You know what, I’m with him on that one. You need to work on your smack talk.”

“They do smell, though,” Chan protested, wrinkling his nose and crossing his arms as best as he could with a broomstick in hand, “haven’t you noticed Seungcheol almost always smells like glove leather even off the pitch? That’s why he tries to cover it up with that dumb cologne.”

“No,” you answer, “I can’t say I’ve ever thought that hard about what Seungcheol smells like, but hey, you do you, man. Whatever floats your boat.”

Chan spluttered defenses that had you and the rest of Slytherin laughing as you hung your broomsticks and threw your outer sporting robes in your lockers.

~

Whizzing narrowly past a Bludger, you waved a finger and charmed a spark to catch Jeonghan’s attention, taking a few deep breaths and putting all your energy into steadying yourself afterward. It was the one bit of wandless you could do, and boy did it knock the wind out of you, but having a silent signaling system worked wonders for your team. And as dedicated to beating Gryffindor as you were, that possibility and the guarantee of their shocked looks was worth feeling like you’d been punched in the gut for a minute. The wind whipping in your ear suddenly seemed twice as loud.

Huffing, you banked hard, eyes on the Quaffle, this time dodging the Bludger that Jeonghan sent back towards your opponents and straight into Soonyoung’s flight pattern, sending the energetic boy swerving as you landed a score past him.

“Nice one!”

“Lucky shot!” Soonyoung complained, flying past you with his tongue sticking out. Who was acting like a First Year again?

“Oh-ho! I don’t know what that light-up thing was all about, but it looks like Soonyoung didn’t either!” Seungkwan caught his friend’s glare, smiled and waved at him, then continued at the big round mic. “And despite that weird bank of (y/n)’s, Slytherin scores again!”

“Hey, whose side are you on?” You called to your friend, who flapped his black and yellow scarf at you.

“Hufflepuff,” he replied into the mic, earning a chastising “Focus” from the nearest professor, who was obviously not a Hufflepuff.

As you flew on, though, the feeling of doubled-over exhaustion wasn’t leaving your body. Maybe practicing the signal play every day was pushing you too far. Heaving another deep breath, you fought on, almost getting hit twice but never letting the lions get the best of you. In the end, you won the game, but your voice was barely strong enough to cheer, even as you masked it with the wide smile nothing would fight.

As soon as your team got off the pitch you let yourself go, stumbling and clutching your chest, barely making it to the bench in the locker room. The rest of your team milled around you, Chan shaking you and asking if you were ok and Joshua taking your hand, telling you to never try that move again if it hurt you.

“I’m fine,” you croaked, “just drained is all. I may lay down for a bit.”

“Get water! Get water!” You heard Jeonghan and Amir, another Chaser, calling out as Chan left the room for some before your eyelids fluttered shut, your body falling to lay on your side.

“Hey, what’s all the commotion?”

“(y/n) isn’t feeling good, so we’re getting water,” Joshua answers, hand still clutching yours.

Your eyelids had fluttered open at the new voices in the room, vision revealing lights too bright for your headache as well as Seungcheol and Soonyoung, who surely heard their friends’ concern.

“You fool,” Seuncheol tuts, not unkindly despite the insult, “wandless magic isn’t something even most adult witches and wizards attempt. All that for a game?”

“I…beat you, didn’t I?” You croaked, lips curving a bit into a faint smile.

“Yeah, I guess you did. Here.” Reaching into the satchel he always took up after a game, he extended a hand to you, fingers curled around a dark green bottle.

“Are you…trying to poison me?”

“Enough jokes,” he said firmly, smile fading as his gloved hand took the bottle’s metal-topped stopper out, “Drink this. Please.”

Joshua helped you into a seated position, taking the potion for you and holding it to your mouth. The draught tasted kind of minty, kind of tree-barky, and kind of like too-long-brewed coffee, but your headache was gone seconds later, strength flowing back into your limbs.

“Wiggenweld,” Seungcheol told you with a nod to the tiny, now-empty glass bottle Joshua handed him, “you feel better, right?”

You’d never seen him look at you with legitimate concern like that before, no smirk, just a softening of his features as his brown eyes bore into yours, brows creasing slightly as your silence lengthened. You opened your mouth, closed it again as his hand hit your shoulder, heavy and hot in its well-played-in leather glove, yet a welcome pressure.

“Come on. What’s going on?”

You shook your head, sitting up and shaking his hand off your shoulder. “Yeah, I do feel better. Thanks. Surprised you wasted a potion like that on a Slytherin.”

“A player in need is a player in need,” Seungcheol replied simply, shrugging and shaking his hair back into place as he stood back up from leaning over you.

Palming the hard bench seat, you rose to your feet, too, potion’s effects dulling your exhaustion so much you almost wondered why you were laying down in the first place.

“I’d hope you’d do the same for me,” Seungcheol continued, “though it looks like your team hasn’t figured out to keep medical supplies present.”

“That’s what Madame Pomfrey’s for,” you countered even though he had a point and, to his credit, really did care for his team, “but yeah, I’d sure think about it.”

He smiled at you, shaking his head in exasperation. “Best I can expect from a snake, huh? Well, good game, (y/n). Nice fakeout bank you did out there.” He extended a gloved hand.

Your newly bared palm stuck to the leather unpleasantly, but you still shook his hand. One thing you could say about Seungcheol, he was a hell of a Quidditch player. “Thank you. I practiced that one forever.”

“You were almost passing out and we both know it.”

“Alright, moment successfully ruined, thanks. Now get out, I gotta change,” you shooed your fellow team captain out of the locker room with a look of amusement.

“You’re welcome,” he chuckled as you disappeared into a stall, bootsteps echoing in the stone room.

“I already said thank you!” You called back as you started removing your outer coat. “Are you adding greed to all the bravery and chivalry crap you guys tout?”

“Yeah,” he snorted, “they’re adding it at the same time as they put ‘foolhardy’ on the Slytherin crest.”

“Fools for the game!”

You heard him give that laugh of his. No more banter this time, though. “You’re funny.” And with that, he was back out into the pitch sun, heading for his own locker room, no doubt.

You were funny? Funny like stupid or funny like ha ha? How were you supposed to take that? Maybe it was supposed to be vague. Well, whatever. It’s not like you’d dwell on it.

~

“Wow, I heard you saved the Slytherin captain’s life, huh?”

You snorted. She didn’t even know your name, just that Seungcheol tossed you a potion after the game. Apparently your little stunt was giving Gryffindor some publicity too, at least in Rhea’s eyes.

“Whoa, is she putting the moves on Seungcheol?” Chan gaped at the girl who corned Gryffindor’s captain, gaze drifting up and down as he gave a short reply about how he just gave you what you needed, no crazy rumors necessary. You appreciated that, especially when you had seen his pride at work. That was a game face just like yours. “That’s crazy, she just dumped Matthew Kim, like, two days ago- does she only date within the Gryffindor team?”

Rolling your eyes at the way she put her hand on his shoulder and snorting as he politely brushed it off, you shrugged and replied, “Well, good luck to her. Bro code, not to mention she’s not his type.”

Chan’s eyes bugged as he glanced between you and her. “What do you mean? She’s gorgeous! I wouldn’t mind if she tried Slytheri-”

You held up a hand for him to stop, grimacing. “Yeah, I’ll just stop you right there. I just mean Seungcheol likes someone who looks out for others and cares for them- that’s his type, not some self-serving rebounding-”

“Whoa, whoa, ok, point taken, red flags,” Chan shot back, hands raised in defense, “how do you know Seungcheol’s type though?”

“I’ve heard him say it,” you shrugged again, book bag jostling at your side, “I could tell you Seungkwan’s type too.”

“Yeah,” Chan agreed, hands sliding into his pockets, “who doesn’t know Seungkwan’s type? He’s even more of a hopeless romantic than Soonyoung.”

You spluttered out a laugh at that as you made your way to your house dungeon’s stairs, glancing one more time at Rhea, who was walking away from Seungcheol with the pout and crossed arms of a girl unsuccessful, with a smirk of amusement. That’s what she got for just calling you ‘the Slytherin captain’- you’d fought hard putting Gryffindor through hell to make sure Seungcheol remembered your name and never forgot it.

Rhea could never.

She didn’t care about him. She wasn’t, what was it, funny?

~

Oh, shit. Shit. You were late for Potions with Gryffindor of all classes; Snape was going to kill you. Ok, maybe not kill you since you were in his house, but he’d make some snide remark and may have you stay after to clean up, which would send a wave of lateness through your day that may not look great to blame on a professor. But taking the fall would annoy you on principle because you may not have had to deal with that if Snape had just let you go with some points off, which you could only pray he did.

All that because of a stained house scarf and a forgotten spell. Jeez, you felt like an idiot.

Luckily for your pride, Snape wasn’t in the main Potions room when you got in, but you had to take the last empty space on a Gryffindor-Slytherin split, next to Jeonghan luckily but equally unfortunately across from Seungcheol and Soonyoung.

The room was dim as always, lit only by torches and cauldron fire like the creepy dungeon it was, and it smelled odd, too. Something else snaked over the room’s usual musty smell, something less dank and far more overpowering. At first, there was a waft of your favorite baked good amidst the smells of Quidditch pitch grass, must, and flame, then… cologne.

Oh, Merlin’s beard, that was strong. It had to be someone at your table, right? And there was no way it was Jeonghan, despite him being right next to you. He never wore musky stuff like that- he was a floral guy and you knew it. Seungcheol or Soonyoung then.

Wait, didn’t Chan just say something about the captain’s cologne last week? Something about it covering up the leather stink. Speaking of leather stink, oh man…

“Wow, Chan was right, Seungcheol,” you teased your rival captain, “you do smell like sweaty leather.”

“(y/n),” Jeonghan’s voice came at your side.

You just shrugged, giving him a breezy smile. All the Gryffindors and Slytherins knew you were joking more than anything. Heck, your Seeker and their Beater ran the dance club together! They’d said worse things than that before- Soonyoung once called Joshua a Frog Face despite that not being true at all. Speaking of Soonyoung, he gave his captain a funny look, brows furrowing, then raising as he gave him side eyes. Seungcheol barely spared him a glance, eyes focused straight on you. Ha.

“And you think you have enough cologne on over it? I think maybe Chan was right.”

“(y/n)?” Jeonghan again, this time with a questioning tone, his leg reaching out to kick yours gently under the table.

You ignored him, eyes squarely on Seungcheol, who still hadn’t come up with a rebuttal. Instead, he just…leaned back in his chair with a little smile, eyes falling from you. Soonyoung looked pretty happy, too, but he was looking you in the eye.

“What?” You asked him.

“Snape had to get some supplies, but he had us write this down in our notes about his potion. That one over there.” Nodding towards the cauldron on the flame, its open surface coated with a gorgeous iridescent sheen with shifting colors you wanted to stare at, Soonyoung flapped a piece of parchment in your face, breaking the shining effect.

The parchment read: Amortentia. Strongest known love potion. Distinct mother-of-pearl sheen and infatuating effects. It smells unique to its beholder, reminding them of their favorite things as well as the object of their affection.

“Seungcheol isn’t wearing any cologne today. I saw him getting ready right next to me,” the Gryffindor added smugly.

Was he really trying to say you liked Seungcheol? Sure, you respected his leadership even if you gave him a hard time for it, and sure, you’d always enjoyed keeping up the banter and had the most fun playing his team, and sure, you never saw him the same since that day he gave you that healing essence, looking at you with such care and laughing that laugh of his as he left, calling you funny, which stuck in your head because what did that mean-

Shit. Ok, be cool, be cool. Lie. “Well,” you crossed your arms, leaning back in your stool and inhaling that cursed intoxicating air, “that obviously doesn’t apply to me, so someone else must have the same one.”

Best you could do. Glancing back to Seungcheol, though, you saw the last thing you would have expected. His expression fell from a smile to something softer, sadder? Something swam in those dark eyes you’d never seen before.

“W-would that really be so bad?” He asked quietly, wringing his hands atop the heavy wooden table, “I…kind of thought we had something.”

“Oooooh!”

“Soonyoung, not now,” Jeonghan waved a hand across the table in front of his face.

“All the back and forth was really fun, I guess I thought we were flirting?” He looked truly surprised, clueless, almost sweetly innocent, like a kid on the playground falling off the swings for the first time. Maybe you two had been acting like kids.

For what felt like the first time in your life, you could not come up with a comeback for the life of you. As your lips parted, working faster than your brain, which seemed to have slowed considerably the moment Seungcheol looked back up, staring into your eyes once more…

“Here are the last ingredients. Class will begin.”

…in walked, or more like floated with those robes of his, Professor Snape, who waved your heads immediately up at him and back down into your lesson on how to brew the potion that had sent your metaphorical foot careening so violently into your mouth.

Or so you couldn’t help but think as you worked, Jeonghan trying his best to help you and even calling over your friend and housemate Mingyu while you spent half the time stealing glances at Seungcheol. Soonyoung whispered something to him. He glanced at you, met your eyes, smiled a bit awkwardly, then wider when you ventured a wave. Seriously, what was wrong with you- what were you guys, eight?

Where was that bravado that was so easy to hide behind? God, you wished you were back on the pitch. Everything made sense fifty feet in the air with a broomstick in hand. Then, your body was in the clouds, not your mind.

“N- Need help crushing the pearls?” Seungcheol’s voice cut into your reverie as he leaned across the table toward you. “I know that’s one of the hardest parts,” he says to you.

“What, because you’re so buff?” Teasing was just easier, though it may not have been the best choice, as he leaned a bit back again, looking rejected. “No,” you hastily amended, “that was a compliment! Like, being buff is a good thing? Unless that wasn’t what you were going for, then stop working out I guess?” Laughing nervously, you mentally kicked yourself. Apparently you really did only know how to speak to Seungcheol in banter.

“Oh,” he responded dumbly, running a hand through his hair as he reached gently for the pearls at your station, “you think I’m… thanks.” This time it was his turn to laugh nervously. “I didn’t know you were looking.”

Neither did I, you wanted to say.

~

Scurrying out of Potions was an action surprisingly motivated more by Snape than by your fellow Quidditch captain, who shot out of the dark room just as fast as your punishment avoidance. Neither of you moved half as fast to head to your next class, though.

Seungcheol met you right around the corner from the steps back up into the castle, wetting his lips nervously as he stood to face you. “Hey, I- I’m really sorry if Soonyoung put you on the spot, but I really do need to know if you’re comfortable saying. Mine… My, er, my Amortentia, if you will, it smelled like you. It was broomstick straw, my favorite ice cream from Fortescue’s, and the scent you wear. I catch it every time you pass me on the pitch, but I never told you how nice I thought it was because I thought we weren’t doing that in front of the guys.”

You were his Amortentia?

At this point, at the way he looked at you- and how could you never have realized what all those smirks did to you, how the feeling of Seungcheol’s eyes on you was all you were looking for, how possessive you felt when anyone else showed interest in him and yet more satisfied still when they got rejected- it was a fight to keep a borderline hysterical burst of laughter from bubbling up. As was your wont, your mouth worked faster than your brain, articulating the first thoughts that rose to your swimming head. “Dude, if you really thought all that was going on, why didn’t you ever just kiss me?”

Seungcheol took a step closer to you, eyes drifting slightly down and back up, expression still uncertain even as you were practically backed against the castle’s stone wall. “Do you want me to?” He asked.

“Why would I say that if I didn’t want you to?”

“You are very hard to read!” He shot back, hands raising in defense, though the remainder of his posture stayed the same, not a single step taken from its proximity to you.

“Well, if I’m so hard to read, fine.” And with that, you stepped forward away from the wall completely, ignoring the weight of your book bag swinging into your side as you took his face in your hands, barely pausing to appreciate the warmth meeting your palms before you pulled his lips into yours.

He responded immediately, one hand wrapping around your waist as his lips worked. It surprised you how sweet of a kisser he was, every motion gentle, reverent, loving? Whatever it was, you couldn’t get enough. His lips were soft with just the faintest bit of wind chap you were sure you had too from all your time on a broomstick. And for all your talk of banter and tension, all you could feel as Seungcheol held you there like thatwas right. For the first time, you forgot to compete, just reveling in the feeling of his warmth around you. And then as you pulled away, he gripped you tighter still, a wide but tentative smile on your face. You just nodded.

“Yeah, I felt it too.”

“I didn’t say anything yet.”

“Well,” your eyelashes fluttered as you leaned in towards him again, “I may be hard to read, but I guess I have you figured out.”

“Oh, yeah?” He leaned forward a bit too, just to bump his forehead against yours. “Well, you need some chapstick.”

“So do you,” you shot back, giving him a playful shove.

Banter just worked for you guys. “Well, guess if we’re going to keep on like this, someone has to buy some.”

“Rock paper scissors. Loser buys the chapstick?”

He chuckled, then that competitive smirk you’d come to love returned. “You’re on.”

He threw scissors, you threw rock. Pumping your fist, you exclaimed “Yes! Ha, take that! I knew a Gryffindor would throw a weapon!”

“But did you know he’d do this?”

And there you were, back locked in another kiss. This time though, he pulled apart first, eyes wide. “Oh, wait, shit, we’re going to be late for class.”

You arched a brow. “You stopped kissing me for that?”

“It’s Herbology, I have to go all the way to the greenhouse.”

You stuck your tongue out. “Sucks to be you, I have Divination with Hufflepuff, so all I have to do is climb up.”

“Yeah, yeah, you win,” Seungcheol waved a hand, finally walking away, though his eyes stayed on you, winking, “smell you later.”

“Yeah,” you just agreed, shaking your head just as incredulously as it was fondly, “I guess so. You’re lucky I don’t mind the leather.”

~

“I can’t believe Amir is stepping down from the team!” Joshua lamented.

“I know,” you replied, arms crossed, “but I understand. He messed up his shoulder pretty bad, so I wouldn’t ask him to keep on. At least we get some young blood on the team, right?”

“Right. I think our new player shows promise, too” Joshua replies, gaze leaving you to travel across the pitch, where the new girl, a Fourth Year Slytherin named Jess, chatted with Chan.

You roll your eyes at your Seeker’s emphatic, expressive motions. Even for a dancer you could tell he was being dramatic, especially with the proud kid look on his face. “I better go see what they’re talking about, though,” you tell him, shouldering your broomstick and crossing the pitch grass.

“What’s he telling you?” You called to Jess, sauntering over. “Don’t let him scare you off.”

She shook her head, blonde hair falling into her eyes and back out. “No, he was actually telling me about all the times we’ve beat Gryffindor’s arses,” she answered in her thick brogue, “and how you ‘n’ the Gryffindor captain are always goin’ head to head!”

Biting back a more like mouth to mouth joke, you simply replied, “Maybe sometimes, but it’s all in good fun. Seungcheol’s a great leader; I respect him.”

Her blue eyes widened in awe before blinking back the day’s warm sun. “I thought you two hated each other?”

“No,” Chan interjected, singsonging, “I told you! They looooove each other!”

Hand on her hip, Jess just side-eyed him. “Very funny, of course they don-”

“Still not done with the pitch, babe?”

Your body swiveled immediately at the familiar voice, eyes laying on Seungcheol, who strode up to you as he shrugged his crimson jacket on. As if instinct, you jogged right over, boots crunching on the grass as you bounced into his side, crashing into him for a messy side hug that he pulled you further into. That day, he had worn his cologne, a scent now beyond familiar to you especially when he bugged you, then you jokingly blamed it for having to deal with him.

“Leave us alone, we have a new recruit,” you whined into his shoulder, motioning to Jess with the arm that wasn’t wrapped around him.

“Don’t blame her when your maneuvers go wrong.”

“Don’t come crying to me when you wish you had her.”

“We can’t steal another house’s players. Otherwise we would’ve stolen you already,” Seungcheol remarked, glancing down at you with a satisfied grin.

“Hey,” Chan butt in, looking up from re-lacing his boots, “not me?”

“Sorry, (y/n) is the only one up to our beauty standards.”

“How’d you get in, then?” Chan muttered.

“Hey!” Both you and Seungcheol exclaimed.

Jess, for her part, had deer-in-the-headlights eyes as her had bounced between you three like it was a table tennis match.

“Too mean,” you admonished your Seeker, “unsportsmanlike conduct.”

“You said I needed to work on my trash talk,” he pouted.

“Yeah, tell him he can’t get his Beaters in control, don’t insult his appearance when you’re clearly jealous.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol said, pausing for a heartbeat, “and thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, babe. Also, don’t think we won’t still wipe the floor with you on Friday,” you reminded him with a sarcastic bat of your eyelashes.

“You’ll be nothing but a pebble beneath our feet,” he replied with a bright smile.

“All right, all right, go throw your stuff in your locker, we’re almost done,” you swatted him away as if you hadn’t been the one to grab him.

“Ok. This isn’t over.”

“I know it’s not.”

His face softened again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“See, you may think I’m bad at smack talk, but my insult did that,” Chan pointed out as Jess gaped.

For that, he got a high-five from Seungcheol and a friendly arm punch from you.

[halfetirosie]

🔥🔥🔥Vigilant Observer Edmond's R2 is UNDER-RATED!!!!!🔥🔥🔥 (a self-indulgent long-ass Edssay defending a room I really REALLY liked)

So, I have seen a weirdly large amount of comments online saying that the new SSR Edmond's Intimacy Room 2 sucks. I've seen it called boring and a waste of intimacy gifts.

Peace and Love, I know everyone has different tastes---and I am hella biased towards Edmond---

BUT!!!

I believe any perceive shortcomings are completely out-weighed by the elements this room actually focuses on.

At the very least, this intimacy room DESERVES to be appreciated more, rather than ruthlessly slandered.

1) What Happens VS What Doesn't

Here's a very general outline of what happens in R2:

Eiden initiates a "Guard searching/punishing a Prisoner" scene (Roleplay)

Eiden provokes (/ is a Brat to) Edmond (Dom/Sub)

Edmond use essence to conduct electricity into the baton, and uses the electricity to stimulate his exposed skin and dick (Electroplay + Masochism)

Eiden's provocations eventually turn into teasing (Dirty Talk, + light Humiliation)

Eiden uses the top of his foot to rub Edmond's bulge through his pants

Edmond cums first; Eiden teases/provokes him for it

Eiden cums shortly after from the Electroplay

Perfectly normal, standard intimacy room, yes?

But, from what I've gathered, people are labelling it as boring or under-whelming because:

There isn't any Bondage

There isn't significant nudity/direct skin-to-skin touching

The areas that are touched are relatively small (basically just each character's groin)

Edmond isn't the one that gets off from Masochism (or at least, not from physical Masochism)

These points go against what people's EXPECTATIONS were; since the setting of this event was in inside a prison--a harsh environment full of rough individuals and literal bondage--they expected this R2 to be more physical and rough than it actually was.

Hell, even I wasn't expecting for the room to be as "tame" as it was.

But just because my expectations were subverted doesn't mean I got pissy about it.

BECAUSE THIS ROOM IS STILL FUCKING GOOD!!!

I think a lot of people are ignoring the fact that not all BDSM plays NEED Bondage, skin-to-skin, physical pain (in this case, just on Ed's part), etc. to be satisfying--just because they expected that but didn't get it.

2) Missing the Point - THIS ROOM IS STILL HELLA KINKY (A Closer Look at Ed's Satisfaction)

If you're seeing this post, there's a fair chance you've also seen my GIANT Edmond Post for Struggling Fanfic Writers; which is basically a long-ass character analysis of Edmond.

As I mentioned in that post, Edmond H-scenes have certain themes/kinks that re-occur; and as it turns out, the Intimacy Room we'll be looking at today features a lot of them.

However, for the purposes of this post, I'm going to narrow it down to just 2--the 2 that, in my opinion, were the main contributors towards Edmond's orgasm. (After all, the quality of intimacy rooms with each unique character relies on the quality of that character's experience.)

The quality with which these themes/kinks are executed is extremely impressive, which is why it was satisfying to the characters; and thus, satisfying for us players to watch.

(I have censored this image in the hopes that Tumblr won't snipe me)

When R2 starts, Eiden immediately sets the scene by provoking Edmond; saying that Edmond should do is job as a guard and properly search the prisoner.

Via Eiden's provocations, although Edmond is in a vulnerable position--kneeling on the ground--he is, for the moment, playing the Dominant role.

This is another subversion of expectations, which I find very welcoming. This is possibly the closest we've ever gotten to characters switching roles--only, Edmond doesn't actually "top." (Though, now that I think of it, Silver Confessor Olivine R5 also has a similar dynamic....*shrug*)

While Edmond is acting as a Dom, Eiden is a Bratty Submissive; saying things like "it feels like a tickle!" when Edmond starts electrifying the baton.

Edmond is surprised when Eiden gets excited by being treated in such a degrading way (I spy, with my little eye, PROJECTION); but he's shortly thereafter put into a degrading position himself---

This is when Eiden starts rubbing Edmond through his pants with the top of his foot--which honestly isn't far off from the whole stepping-on-others position that is common in BDSM.

If you ask me, this is a HUGE POINT contributing towards the quality of this room: This submissive position, symbolizing Edmond's gradual loss of power/control.

Eiden also teases Edmond in the hopes that he'll suck him off; but, staying in-character, Edmond refuses him.

In other words, not giving Eiden head--another expectation people had that wasn't fulfilled--was literally a part of the play. It's Sexual Denial.

But, as R2 goes on, Eiden's teasing and dirty talk get more and more intense, and it basically ends up switching their roles in this play.

You know how in a typical Edmond H-scene, Eiden's kissing, caressing, etc. gradually make Edmond lose his mind with how horny he gets?

Well, so far, literally the only thing Eiden has done is indirectly rub his bulge. Rather than physical touch, Eiden's dirty talk is what makes Edmond the most aroused.

DEADASS---EIDEN DOESN'T EVEN HAVE TO DO THAT MUCH. HE DOES SUCH A GOOD JOB RILING EDMOND UP JUST WITH HIS WORDS, THAT THIS HAPPENS:

BITCH, EDMOND'S NIPPLES GET ERECT ON THEIR OWN!!!! JUST FROM HOW TURNED ON HE IS!!!! WITHOUT THEM EVER BEING TOUCHED!!!! THAT HAS LITERALLY NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE!!!!!!!!!

All Eiden has to do to fully switch Edmond from the Dom position back into the Sub--making Edmond lose control over himself--is TALK.

THAT IS SO FUCKING SEXY, WHAT THE HELL???? ♡♡♡

This is why I DO NOT UNDERSTAND people that don't like this room.

I've said before--in the GIANT Ed-Post--that Edmond is sensitive. And his H-scenes do a great job of showing that off---via PHYSICAL TOUCH.

But what this intimacy rooms excels at is expressing how Edmond is sensitive to more than just physical touch.

AND THAT IS THE WHOLE DAMN POINT!!!

Let's look again at the evidence:

Listen. I know this intimacy room didn't have the play people were expecting.

BUT IT WAS STILL GOOD.

Speaking from personal experience--and from the obvious arousal and satisfaction Edmond shows in this room--not every BDSM play needs to be super physical. Submission/masochism is not exclusively about physical stimulation/pain.

What we see in this intimacy room is Edmond being dominated in a psychological way, and that's what makes is so damn kinky and rewarding; both for viewers and for Edmond.

3) The GOD-TIER Technical Aspects

...So...did the people that are heavily criticizing this R2 just, like, have their sound off the whole time??? Or did they only read the subtitles without looking at the actual visuals of this intimacy room??????

Even if, for whatever reason, the find the scenario under-whelming, I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME picture a situation where the voice-acting and animation couldn't make up for that.

Quickly referencing back to the last section of this Edssay; Eiden is teasing Edmond like the entire time, and that "slightly husky" and "seductive" voice is INCREDIBLE. An absolute TREAT for my ears. And Edmond's panting, gasps, and moans???? HOT DAMN.

These two could be doing the most mundane, "boring" sexual act ever, but if we can hear that the both of them are clearly very into it, then why wouldn't it be a satisfying intimacy room???

And then there's the art---

It's all just SO GOOD, DAMMIT!!!!

4) ╭∩╮(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)╭∩╮♡

I know that this Edssay was unnecessary. I know I spent too much time on it. I know that there's a high likelyhood no one will read it.

And, of course, I know that everyone is entitled to their own opinions.

BUT WHEN THOSE OPINIONS ARE BASED ON SILLY-ASS REASONS, AND END UP SLANDERING MY BOI EDMOND????

AND WHEN THOSE OPINIONS ARE JUST OBJECTIVELY WRONG??? (Peace and love)

I CANNOT, AND WILL NOT, STAY SILENT!!

I WILL PUT A STUPID AMOUNT OF TIME AND EFFORT INTO SCREAMING ABOUT WHY THAT OPINION IS HELLA MISGUIDED, AND I WILL SCREAM INTO THE VOID ABOUT IT!!!!

,; (ง 🔥 ﾛ 🔥 )ง ;,

...

.....

..........

This intimacy room was good, dammit....

Stop being so mean to it......

(⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄-o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝)

[weebsinstash]

So we agree, the Spot is just as fuckable as Miguel. These two are both incredible, just both at INSANELY opposite ends of the spectrum. Like I want Miguel to breed me, where as I feel like I want the same with Spot just where I’m more the dom? Idk tho, Spot at the end of the movie def would go back to his s/o’s apartment while waiting for Miles, def would be hate fuckin you con or noncon style, but would also def be so apologetic after he had cum a couple times

Spot who hates Miles Morales so fucking much because he not only caused him to mutate in the collider incident but the accident killed his s/o/crush (you) and now it's like "oh, hey, this is funny but, would you believe me if I said we used to date? Ha ha anyways i was thinkin we could pick up where we left off :)" And maybe he's either telling the truth or he's full on delusional, thinking you two were in love and "sending all kinds of passionate signals" when in reality you were just like, being a respectful coworker and being polite to him and shit you'd be pretty uh in danger if his original you survived and became some sort of multiverse jumping being as well because then he's, you know, CHASING YOU, he thought you had been gone forever, he thought he had lost everything in his life important to him, literally everything, his own physical body becoming unrecognizable, unable to have love, respect, even just a normal life, truly becoming a broken man, but here you are, still left behind, maybe even just as he remembers you visually

I saw a post saying he has Sans energy and it's like. Yeah actually. Funny Little Man Energy. Except The Spot is kind of a poor little wet cat out in the rain who's a lil pathetic tbh and Sans is like a sarcastic troll in a non serious well intentioned way but, the Energy is similar kwim.

Jonathan just being like half apologetic half self indulgent freak the whole time

God. Fucking. Just picture this. The whole thing happens to him, you know, the movie stuff, he's out for revenge, constantly disrespected by Miles, other villains, he lost his entire way of living a normal life, literally, he doesn't even have the peace of having a normal body anymore, AND he lost his beloved "fiance" in the accident and he's just absolutely going insane and he finds you again, YOU you, HIS you, somehow survived, and he goes to you to speak to you AND YOURE JUST LIKE "WAIT WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU" he was just projecting the whole time and you're confused and it just shatters his fantasy but you know what he decides he should get whatever he wants now, take whatever he wants, his powers open all kinds of doors, and he'll make this universe the one where he has you

Also if Spot doesn't have genitals or maybe you're using like, the Wookie rule I think is rhe term for it, he could literally get you any kind of toy or anything from anywhere. He could do ANYTHING to you, watch anything happen to you, use Any kind of gadget on you that he wanted in place of whatever he may be missing. Since he only has so many physical capabilities, he might as well get his pleasure in the satisfaction and pride of bringing you to, like, orgasmic insanity

Miguel just. God I have a draft for him, right, based off of the concept of Reader slowly kind of being pushed to a mental breaking point by Miguel pushing them to do a specific job in the Spider Society only THEY can do, and he's pushing you and telling you its for the greater good because it does legitimately hold the multiverse together, it keeps people from breaking canon, it's a memory wiping thing, but it's emotionally and mentally taxing on you and the nature of the job makes you a social pariah and, it's a struggle of wanting to hate and refuse him for pressuring you into all this when you actually WANT to trust him as your friend and leader and even want to love him vs also he's lowkey taking advantage of the stress the job causes on you so he can be the only one there to support you when you're in crisis mode cause, yeah its for the greater good, and gosh he hates seeing you cry such big fat tears, but it IS so nice to get to be the one to hold you when you're so desperate for some kind of anchor and support that you hug him. God I bet hugs from him are something else....

[starlitvega]

Ravik Headcannons!

So sorry it took so long to get this out! But it’s finally done. It might come off as a bit out character, so sorry if that’s the case. It also includes a little bit of an explanation at the start as to why the two are attracted to each other. Anyways enjoy!

Havik’s attraction to Rain began after he watched him topple the capital of Seido. The amount of destruction wrought and the satisfaction knowing that his people were free made him almost mad with glee. But it also made him shift his attention towards the man who had done the job.

Water to Chaosrealmers is a staple in their beliefs. They believe that its formlessness and ability to destroy even the mightiest of empires perfectly encapsulates chaos. And although Chaosrealm does not exist in the new era, I feel as if Havik and other followers of chaos and anarchy still believe in this.

So when he watches Rain summon such a vast wave, completely toppling his mortal enemies in one fell swoop, the sorcerer’s status changes from peculiar mage to future follower of chaos.

At that moment, he thinks of all the destruction, all the anarchy, he and Rain could cause together. How they could bring the realms to their knees, and cause untold amounts of bloodshed. Needless to say, it doesn’t take much more thinking from then on for Havik to become obsessed with the former High Mage.

The fact that there is someone obsessed with him, who wants to be around him always fills him with a sick sense of pride, as much as he hates it. Like, he really wouldn’t mind it if anyone else BUT Havik was obsessed with him.

He feels as if his powers and ambitions are finally being recognized by someone who wasn’t attempting to manipulate him for their own gain. Who not only admires his abilities, but wants to help him become even more powerful. But the person in question, and the reason why he wishes Rain could attain more power makes him sick to his stomach.

So while he certainly doesn’t mind the admiration, he can’t say he’s particularly fond of who the admiration is coming from, curbing the pride he would’ve felt.

Havik’s love language is physical touch. He loves having some sort of contact with Rain if it’s possible. Likes resting his head on his shoulder, or putting a hand around his waist and tugging him towards him. He loves watching the mage get flustered or annoyed at their sudden closeness. Makes him all giddy.

Rain’s love language is acts of service and gift-giving. As knowledgeable as he is in the art of sorcery, he’s equally as proficient when it comes to art. He’s made a little piece of metal work for Havik that the other has had pinned to the leather of his attire since.

Havik finds Rain’s reluctance to engage in chaotic or messy habits irritable. He wants his partner to join him in chaos, to revel in the absolute anarchy that he brings with him. He wants Rain to feel free, and hates how his morals stop him from fully actualizing his own potential. Tries constantly to sway him towards chaos and although he yet to succeed, he won’t stop until Rain keels.

Havik likes to bite. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter when, he will bite Rain. He likes to watch the look on the mage’s face as he does so, and gets giddy seeing Rain’s face twitch as he steals himself. He doesn’t do it as a way to claim ownership over Rain. He does it to prove his obsession, showing the mage that he’s obsessed with everything about him, and not just his destructive capabilities. Rain is free to bite him back of course, but he hardly indulges him (much to Havik’s dismay). (WILL MAKE FIC OF THIS)

Havik isn’t used to soft, reassuring touches, and so whenever Rain does something gentle with him, he’s both a bit shocked since Rain hardly initiates contact, and over the moon! Teases Rain endlessly about how he must be “warming up to him” and the mage is sick and tired of it. Really values these kinds of moments with Rain and considers it proof that the mage is growing closer to him.

Likes to freak Rain out by ripping off a limb or contorting his body in a way that a regular person would not survive. It’s not really the blood or gore that freaks Rain out, he’s had to study anatomy beforehand and has worked with cadevours, it’s just the fact that Havik can do it so… casually, and be not only completely fine afterward but laughing and joking about it too.

Both of them are cat people… I don’t make the rules

Havik always ends up bloody and dirty after his fights, which he gets into pretty frequently. Rain refuses to let him into his quarters if he doesn’t wash it off, and ends up just blasting him with a stream of water to wash off what he can.

Rain’s skin is soft and well-cared for, with hardly any markings or scratches on it. He’s gotten a few though through some failed spells, but he always takes some extra time in the morning to cover them up.

Havik’s body is marred and littered in scratch marks, and his skin is rough from the back-breaking labor he endoured whilst still enslaved under Seido’s government. Rain, if he’s feeling nice, might try to do what he can to smoothen his skin, rubbing him down with nice soaps and fermented oils in an attempt to rid him of the thick scent of iron that seems to constantly permeate off of him.

Havik isn’t really a fan of the treatment, but endures it since it’s some of the only time Rain willingly touches him, and so gently too. He relishes in the feeling of the other man’s hands running soothingly along his back. It’s the best he’s been treated his whole life, and he’s not about to turn it down, especially since it’s coming from the mage he’s grown so fondly of.