#important to mention that out of the said nine other people only one is an actual child | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnami · 1 year ago

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❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society.

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black.

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun.

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways.

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun.

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine �� you are not amused.

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.”

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt.

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?”

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?”

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?”

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.”

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.”

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—”

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society.

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly.

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.”

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?”

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it.

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!”

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity.

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give.

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress.

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry.

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight.

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat.

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period.

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then—

“That’s Sirius.”

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit.

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.”

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!”

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.”

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either.

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.)

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.”

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.”

You grimace. “Which cousin?”

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.”

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.”

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.”

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.”

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.”

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice.

You nod.

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.”

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe.

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.”

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you.

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.”

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?”

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.”

“Oh, Harry. . .”

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?”

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath.

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly.

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?”

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.”

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?”

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes.

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.”

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be.

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.”

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space.

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered.

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved.

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease.

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open.

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.”

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears.

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!”

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.”

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.”

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked.

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?”

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations.

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?”

Were you?

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend!

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize.

Then, you find it.

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face.

It’s a space on that wall just for you.

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.”

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much.

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.”

That’s all you say before you run out of the door.

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.)

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe.

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.”

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.”

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well.

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.”

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes.

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.”

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!”

You don’t look back.

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.”

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair.

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.”

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you.

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?”

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks.

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!”

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?”

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.”

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater.

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra.

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more.

“Certain,” You respond, yawning.

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones.

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!”

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out.

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came.

“I know,” You say defeatedly.

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.”

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.”

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?”

“I don’t know,” You say honestly.

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora.

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well.

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.”

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.”

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home.

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order.

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips.

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.”

“I’m always right.” You pout.

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.”

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back.

How lucky you are.

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen.

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly.

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.”

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!”

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.”

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.”

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway.

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.”

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.”

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will.

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!”

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.”

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?”

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.”

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.”

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.”

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.”

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?”

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror.

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.”

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll.

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.”

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them.

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.”

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?”

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.”

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.”

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness.

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters.

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement.

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue.

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead.

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.”

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?”

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast.

“Avada Kedavra!”

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor.

“No!”

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice.

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh.

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?”

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need.

“Expulso!”

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down.

“Accio wand!”

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense.

“Peter?” You call out.

“Crucio!”

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt.

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!”

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.”

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.”

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat.

“Defodio!”

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground.

That just leaves one more problem.

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M��Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.”

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.”

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.”

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.”

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die, s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.”

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow.

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work.

You just wanted to rest now.

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words.

“Avada Kedavra.”

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms.

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man.

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.”

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely.

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?”

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?”

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?”

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.”

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?”

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors.

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!”

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.”

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.)

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus.

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains.

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.)

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by.

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for.

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader #sunny's hp fics

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astarionancuntnin · 3 months ago

Text

Remember Me

summary: you cant make sense of where you are or even how you ended up in this cell, hells, you're not even sure of who you are at this point; any memories of your past are a blur. its all the more confusing when a group of adventurers come rescue you, and a particularly worried pale elf takes it upon himself to help you remember who you are.

rating: E

word count: 7k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, reader is tav)

cw: 18+. angst, act 3 spoilers related to astarion's side quest, mentions of kidnaping and torture, memory loss, blood feeding, vampire bites, smut, oral (f!receiving), p in v, The Leg Thing followed by mating press, sweet love making, love confession. full list on ao3

a/n: loosely based on this audio (18+) from OGY.

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

Pain.

It’s the first thing that hit you when your consciousness came back to you.

How much everything fucking hurt.

Your entire body felt as if it had gone through the nine Hells, all at once; you could barely find the strength in yourself to get to your feet, let alone push yourself off the ground.

Then it was the disarray when you couldn’t place what had happened for you to feel so awful.

It was as if you had woken up from a long sleep; distant voices in your head, blurry faces merging together when you closed your eyes, and an awful feeling of emptiness, as if you had forgotten something extremely important but you couldn’t put your finger on it, no matter how much you thought about it.

Nothing but endless darkness.

As much as you tried to remember your life, anything before this moment, you were met with a dark fog clouding your vision. Your family, your friends — if you even had any — had all vanished from your memory. You think you remember yourself, for the most part, but even that was a stretch; you couldn’t even remember your own bloody name.

You look around you, realising for the first time that you were in a prison cell. The course of events after waking up in this dark cell hadn’t helped; the sudden cold inhabiting you, followed by this man — this monster — barging in without as much as a warning before pushing you face first against the ground and ripping open your shirt, to then torture you as he carved your back with his knife, only to leave as suddenly as he had appeared. Barely a few words exchanged, aside from some mumbling about teaching “him” a lesson, whoever that was, and you were alone once again.

Alone, with nothing but this seething pain in your back from the butchery you had gone through, the hunger digging into your belly, and your blood leaking from your shivering form, pooling around you on the cold, hard floor.

You barely had the time to gather your thoughts when the same man came back barely minutes later to carry you out of your cell and into a larger room — keeping you restrained with some magic that visibly came from his staff — where more people waited.

By the looks of it, you had been right on one thing: this was indeed a dungeon, and you were located in the deepest part of them; this room contained only a round, rock platform, located above an endless, foggy pit.

In the state you were in, you couldn’t catch everything he said as he went on a monologue. Something about powers, freedom; whatever it was, they needed you to achieve it, that was the only thing that was clear from his speech. You couldn’t understand how any of them would follow a maniac like him, but in their eyes you noticed how they listened to his words with as much fear as awe.

Your form was shivering from the cold; you wanted to cover up your top which had been previously ripped off from your body, but it was all in vain: the restraints of his magic kept you in place, and right after his speech, you were sent flying over a designated spot floating above the ground, just like all the six other people that had surrounded you previously.

Your arms remained bound to your sides by whatever spell this monster had cast on you, leaving your chest exposed to the damp, cool air of this dungeon, and your fresh wound stinging evermore at your back.

You remember the panic tightening in your chest when you realised you couldn't escape. You remember the brief relief, hope even, at the sight of a group of adventurers approaching — one of the figures shouting at the man in the middle of the room — followed by explosions and screams. Then the fear settled in when you saw them execute one of the other unfortunate souls magically held floating around this room, one new truth forming in your mind.

They weren’t here to save you.

You would be next. They would kill you. You would die here.

The pressure in your chest grew tighter as you closed your eyes and mourned your life, one you didn’t even remember experiencing, one that — you hope — had been full of adventures, of acquaintances… of love.

This last one must’ve been true. You remember being loved — more so how it felt, even if the feeling seemed so far and long ago. You remember the butterflies in your belly, the fluster in your heart, the heat between your legs; you remember just enough to know that if you died today, at least, you would’ve died as someone who had been loved.

You didn’t expect your feet to touch the cold hard ground once more. You remember falling to your knees, your body exhausted by the abuse it had gone through in just the last few hours. You remember your dry throat when you noticed the butchered corpse in the middle of the room, barely recognizable anymore.

“Gods… what has he done to you?”

But you couldn’t seem to place the face of your saviour. The bloodied, silver curled elf who had rushed to kneel next to you after defeating your captor, who approached you and held your face so carefully.

How those crimson eyes of his had widened in horror when you flinched at his touch and backed away.

Him and his group had killed one of you who stood in this circle, who’s to say he wasn’t here to finish the job? Lure you in with a sweet touch only to snap your head off; you knew better than to let yourself fall for the first man to approach you.

“Darling, it’s over now.” He had said with his voice low, getting back on his feet to approach you as if you were an injured beast, “Just take my hand, we’re getting out of here.”

You didn’t know whether to feel insulted or reassured by his assertiveness, but you remained frozen in place, your eyes switching from the hand extended out to you and his severe look that you reciprocated with a frown to hide your terror.

“Look,” he sneered, “you can either take my hand, come with me out of this hellhole, or rot away in this godsforsaken—”

From behind him, someone from his group called out a name which stopped him mid-sentence just as his tone was rising.

“Astarion.”

A name that felt oddly familiar, despite the void in your memories. It danced beautifully as it echoed across the room and around your mind; there was something about it that just sounded right.

Astarion. A name worthy of being written in the stars, you find yourself thinking, the sound of it bringing you a familiar sense of peace, of security.

Astarion. Maybe if you repeated it enough in your head, something clearer would come up. Maybe, just maybe, then you would remember.

He took a deep breath and continued, which brought you back from your reverie, “I’m quite certain you went through the Hells and back, but for now, I’ll have to ask you to trust me, just as you’ve done in the past. Can you do that for me?”

He extended out his hand once more, this time a request rather than a command, his voice carrying out his concerns, “Can you trust me?”

“Why would I trust someone I’ve just met?” You wanted to ask, but something about the way he asked struck a chord, as if you did know him. As if you knew he spoke true when he said you used to trust him, and you finally accepted the hand he held out to you.

A hand that pulled you to your feet, and guided you out of this dreadful place.

You were given a cloak to cover your shivering form, and you walked along with them back to their camp. Back to this intriguing, yet charming man’s tent, where they all agreed you should rest for the night.

The first thing that hit you when you stepped in was the smell.

You didn’t know what it was exactly, you couldn’t recognize it, but it was intoxicating; it only made your stomach churn more. As the adrenaline of the previous hour settled down, you fell to your knees, grabbing onto your waist as the pain that had been muted came back screaming through your guts.

“Shit—” He rushed down to check on you, with one hand down your back, holding onto you, “Darling, talk to me, what’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?! I was tortured, starved off, almost sacrificed for all I know, and I can’t even remember who I fucking am!” Is what you wanted to say, but all you could manage out is a groan in the middle of your sobs.

When you lifted your head, your eyes fell onto the set of messily arranged bottles from where the strong smell came from, and a quick exchange of glances told him everything he needed to know.

“Of course, you’re hungry,” He sighed heavily, "Look, I’ll gladly offer you some from my own reserves — after I’ve taken a look at your wounds.”

You had almost forgotten about them.

You averted your eyes from his gaze, your mind now racing as you expected the worst. You had no way to see what had been done to your back, but the pain you had gone through was a good indicator of how bad it would look.

Met with your silence, he continued, “I need… to see what he’s done to you. Please.”

Your eyes went back and forth between him and the dark bottles briefly considering pouncing on them to get a taste as your mouth watered in anticipation, but you reluctantly turned your back to him as you sat with your legs pressed back into your stomach, barely helping mitigate the pain in your stomach.

As you let the cloak fall from your shoulders, you heard nothing but a shaky, deflated sigh behind you. Seconds of silence passed before you considered turning around, but a part of you was terrified of the look you would find on his face.

You finally found the strength to utter your first words.

“Is it… that bad?” Your voice was rough from neglect, as the last time you had used it had been to scream when you received this torture.

You heard him take a deep breath, shaking away the shock that had previously rendered him speechless, “You must’ve already known what he carved away in your back. Hells, I knew before even looking, but seeing it…” he pauses, his tone quieting, “seeing it is another story completely.”

“I… I don’t know,” you muster with a weak voice. It's true, you had no idea, he had carved your damn back, you had no way to see the extent of his torture.

He took a deep breath, shaking away the feelings that had sneaked their way into his voice, “It’s no matter, it’s over now; Cazador is dead. He won’t hurt—” he paused, as if processing the information himself, “Anyone, ever again.”

You turned around to face him this time, “Who’s Cazador?”

He huffed, “I’m glad it was that easy for you to forget about him, but when you’ve suffered under his hand for nearly two centuries, the memories tend to linger.”

You remained silent as you stared at him, just as shocked as you were confused by his words. When he noticed your stare, his face twisted in concern, “Oh shit, you’re serious.”

You nodded silently.

He continued, tentatively, “He was my master, he’s the one we killed back in the dungeons — the one who abducted you, who did this to you. Do you not remember any of this?”

You shook your head slightly, never leaving his gaze.

“Oh dear.” His voice dropped as his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened all at once, “Do you remember anything at all — the absolute, our adventure… Do you remember… me?”

His eyes went back and forth between yours, as if he was searching them for any sign of recognition, looking for you, whoever you were behind those confused, teary eyes. You gave him another shy shake of your head, followed by a single tear coming down your cheek, a tear you weren’t sure why it was shed; whether it was from the loss of yourself, or the mourning of something you didn’t even remember having.

“Gods…” He breathed out heavily as his sight left you, his mind visibly ruminating. “He can’t… He couldn’t have… He…”

His tone suddenly changed as he growled, “That monster.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head before looking back at you, “You were with us just yesterday. You were — are this group’s leader. If… If you have no memories of your mortal life then it means…” he looked away, frowning, “He rushed your transformation to replace me in the ritual.”

None of the words he had said made any sense to you, “Transformation?”

He turned back to you to be met with your visible confusion, and he explained further, “Normally, when you’re turned, you need to be drained of your blood and buried six feet underground, before you can crawl out of your tomb to be reborn. This process takes a day, usually, and when you awaken, you are still you, but immortal and bound to your master,” he spat out the last word like it left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

“Now you,” he continues, “you were turned within twelve hours, which would explain why your eyes are only half red, why your fangs haven’t come out yet, and…” his voice quieted down, “why you have no memories of your past. As if the rushed transformation had actually killed this part of you along with your humanity.”

You remained focused on the first thing he had said: your eyes had changed colour?

You hadn’t had the chance to look at yourself since your awakening and if not remembering your name wasn’t anxiety inducing enough, you realised you couldn’t even recall what you looked like.

All of a sudden, panic rushed its way into your heart; you needed to see yourself. You frantically looked around the tent to find anything that could send back your reflection and practically jumped on the pocket mirror when you spotted it nearby Astarion.

Only the mirror was broken. It must’ve been; it reflected nothing.

“If that wasn’t obvious by now, this should’ve clarified things a bit,” he said.

He lowered the mirror you still held in front of you, expecting your image to be reflected eventually, maybe at a different angle, maybe with more light. Maybe another one would, maybe you were just delirious from everything that had happened only today.

“You’re a vampire now. No matter the angle, you’ll never see your reflection come out of this mirror. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Vampire.

The word didn’t make sense; nothing made sense.

Yet, when you parted your lips to let your tongue run against your teeth; you found your canines the same size they were, that they should’ve been, but they were much sharper than what would be considered normal and you almost pierced your tongue from the gesture.

“Maybe…” he carried on, lost in thought, “there’s even a chance that the tadpole has been messing around with more of the changes your body is going through.”

“Tadpole?” You interjected, your head shaking of its own in disbelief. “What?”

He huffed in astonishment, “So you really do remember nothing.”

You sighed, “I— I don’t… As much as I try, I’m met with a void of memories. The only thing remotely familiar since I woke up has been… you.” His eyes had gone soft and bright with hope, but also melancholy. “I don’t know who you were to me, and I don’t know why, but some part of me knew I could trust you.”

He chuckled, a sad smile finding its way over his lips, “Even with your memories gone, it seems I can’t leave your mind, can I?”

You gave him a smile of your own, “Would you mind… reminding me of my life? Of us?”

“Gods, where to start, darling. Would you believe me if I told you our story began with me holding a knife to your throat?”

You found yourself smiling unconsciously, “With everything that's happened to me in the last few hours, I find that easy to believe.”

“And strangely enough it's probably the least odd part of our story.” He tilted his head, giving you a genuine smile before carrying on.

“It’s all tedious, really, but… There’s one memory I want to tell you about: The night of the tiefling party. Ugh, it was dreadful for the most part; the wine tasted like vinegar, the music was too loud, and there were too many of those bloody tieflings at our camp, to be quite sincere— “

“Not a people’s person I take it?”

“My dear, after years of being forced on and by people, the last thing you want is to be surrounded by more of them.” The sight of you parting your lips and raising your eyebrows told him you had also forgotten about this and he quickly caught onto it, changing the direction of the discussion back to the topic at hand. “But, there was one good thing that came out from this night: when we met in the woods. I had high hopes of you joining me there — although no doubts, of course — I was the most suitable option among our group after all.”

“Most suitable? Someone else wanted to spend the night with… me?”

“Darling, the whole world and their mother wanted a special moment with you. But only one of us got that honour. A chance to steal away with everyone’s new favourite leader.”

The faint sounds of the party fading: music echoing through the forest, people laughing, the cool air of a summer’s night breezing through, and good company throughout the night.

“I have been waiting for you. Waiting since the moment I first saw you. Waiting… to have you.”

You blinked, “You… were waiting for me in the woods, I’m— I’m remembering.”

“I did put a lot of effort into my entrance, I would be upset if you didn't remember it quite honestly.” You laughed softly. “Do you remember what happened afterwards?”

Your eyes roamed as you pushed the memory further, before you lifted your head to meet his gaze, “You… kissed me.”

“After you had the audacity to say I didn't have you yet while you had come to me of your own volition, yes, and then?”

You chuckled, but your smile quickly faded as your memory unlocked the next part of this puzzle. He looked at you with a knowing glint in his eyes; he was simply waiting for you to say it yourself.

“We made love.”

He sighed dramatically, “Love is such a big word for what happened back then, but…” his tongue clicked, accentuating the end of the word, “That was certainly the start of it. The start of a series of feelings that came and complicated everything. It’s what pushed me, soon after, to confess to you that it was all part of a silly plan I had to keep you in my favour. I was terrified, honestly, especially considering it was all because I initially manipulated you to fall for me…”

He paused, searching your expression before carrying on, and continued when he found nothing but soft eyes looking back. “But then — despite everything — there you were, holding me tight.”

He let go of a deep breath.

“For so long I had nothing — no one. And all of a sudden, there’s you, who held onto me, who cared so much more than anyone ever did. And I found myself not wanting to let go. I couldn't.”

He frowned, turning his gaze away, “And Cazador used that against me. As soon as he had word of my whereabouts in Baldur’s Gate and the crowd I was hanging out with, he jumped at the first chance to torture me once more. He probably thought I was unaffected by any physical pain he could impose on me by now, so he did the next worst thing: take it out on the one person I cared about in this wretched world.” He shook his head, “If we hadn’t gotten there in time—”

“But you did.” You interrupt. “You saved me and yourself in the process. This ritual wouldn’t have given you the freedom you think it carried.”

His eyes lit up, “You talk as if you knew what it entailed.”

You nodded, “It’s coming back to me, bit by bit. I remember what you told me about him. I remember the purpose of the ritual, and your plan to replace him and take his power instead.”

He sighed, “Gale thought brilliant to kill one of my brothers to stop Cazador from carrying on with the ritual. Bloody wizard didn’t realise it meant I couldn’t continue it myself then.

“Maybe he did.” His gaze flickered back to you in confusion before you continued, “You don’t need satanic powers to carry on, Astarion. You’re free now.”

He huffed, “And all it cost was my life in the sun.”

“Well,” you tilted your head, “It did cost me mine too. Once the tadpoles are gone, we’ll both be banished to the shadows once again. But we’ll be together, and that’s something at least.”

He rolled his eyes before landing them on you, “At least the transformation didn’t take away from your heartbleeding optimism, dear.”

You chuckled, “Thank the Gods for that— ugh!”

You clutched at your stomach, your body tilting forward in pain, and Astarion instantly knew the cause of your suffering; it’s something he recognized all too well.

“Hells, you must be starving. Gods know Cazador wouldn’t waste a single drop on a lowly spawn — no offence, dear.”

“None taken,” you forced a humourless laugh. “I shouldn’t have expected much considering I was to be cattle for a satanic ritual.”

He turned around and you kept a close eye on him as he handled the bottles beside him, pulling out a silver cup out of his bag of holding to pour you a portion.

“Here,” he sat back down, parting his legs open, extending one arm to you, “Come on love, sit back against me, would you?”

You stared unsure for a few seconds but obliged him. You scooted back until your back was fully resting against his chest, leaving no space lost between the two of you.

When he brought the cup forward you reached for it but he pulled back, clicking his tongue, “Oh no, my sweet, I will be the one to feed you tonight. This is your first time, we wouldn't want your primal instincts to take over now, would we?”

You turned around to stare at him for some time with incertitude and he simply tilted his head, with a sly smile, “Humour me, darling. You’ll be glad you did, hm?”

You pressed your lips together almost pouting, but acquiesced as you nestled yourself between his legs, your tense body laying against his chest once again.

He brought the cup to your mouth at long last, while his other hand held onto your chin. You gasped at his touch — while not unwelcome, it was a surprise — and you parted your lips to welcome your drink.

His hands were rough against your skin, yet there was a softness to it that made you melt under his touch. Made you want to push further into his hand to know how it would feel around your throat. It was almost enough to make you forget about the drink against your lips. Almost.

While the mere closeness of it had been invigorating, drinking it was ecstatic. It felt like your first meal in weeks, and it might as well have been with the pit that had replaced your stomach.

You took big gulps of the delectable nectar, barely pausing for air as you rushed to empty the cup’s content, eager to have your fill with this delicious substance.

“Slowly now darling,” he pulled the cup away from your lips and you gasped at the loss of your feeding source, “This is your first time feeding; I wouldn’t rush things.”

You frowned, but complied; even if you were starving, he had over two hundred years of experience with this form — you barely had a few hours. Your mind wasn’t all there yet either, and it's true that you couldn’t trust those new primal instincts to be civil enough to drink responsibly.

You held onto the one truth you knew, one that was clear ever since the start: you trust him.

You eased back into him, letting him hold you and guide you throughout your meal. The cup rested at a slightly down angle against your lips to allow you good mouthfuls of blood without overfeeding you all at once.

“There, good girl,” he purred. “You are doing so well for me, love. Small sips now, let your body recuperate from the shock.”

There was something about his voice that soothed you, brought you a peace of mind, a calm after this storm that had been your last few hours.

A shiver down your spine, that travelled all the way down between your legs.

You finished the content of the cup at a slower pace than you had started, soothed by his soft approach and the new blood filling your stomach, and he took this chance to explain more about your condition while pouring you another serving.

“Considering this is your first feeding, you’ll need a bit more to carry on until your next meal. Mind you, it’s normal if you don’t feel full; this is a curse, after all. The real challenge is to learn to live with your hunger.” He cleared his throat as he brought the cup back up to your lips, full again, “Alright now, open up, love.”

You hungrily parted your bloodied lips to welcome another serving.

“There, there, just like that.” A soft whimper left your throat between sips, and he caressed your cheek with his thumb, “Shhh, you're okay, you're doing just fine.” He leaned next to your head to whisper, “You’re perfect, my sweet.”

For a moment, you could swear you felt your heart beat anew.

You drank with his help until you finished one full bottle from his reserve, and with the pain in your stomach settling down, you allowed your body to relax against him. That’s when you felt something poking against your back, something you wanted to taste as much as the blood that had blessed your tongue just moments ago.

And he must’ve known, too.

“So, as you must’ve realised, your hunger was a side effect of the transformation. But what you’re feeling now, which I can very much smell on you, is a result of your feeding.”

If any of the blood you had ingested had made it in your veins by now, they must’ve all rushed to your cheeks at this very moment.

“Blood,” he continued, “Brings us back alive temporarily; it warms us, allows our hearts a few shy beating of their own, but it also reawakens other mortal pleasures. The first time it can be… a tad overwhelming.”

“It’s…” You hadn’t realised how quiet your heart had been until it started beating away once more in your chest; your cheeks felt warm, your breathing had accelerated, and your core was aching. You breathed out your reply, “It really is.”

As you turned your head aside, resting against his shoulder, and your eyes lingered over his lips, another primal urge awoke in you to devour him, in every way possible. You needed to taste him, his mouth, his blood, his come—

Until you were blessed with another sudden memory, and you turned away from his lips, gazing anywhere that wasn’t on him to stop yourself from acting irrationally.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry—”

He grabbed your chin and turned you back to him in one fluid movement. “You have nothing to be sorry for, darling, and I would be more than happy to entertain these carnal thoughts I saw in those eyes of yours. Unless you’d rather spend the night with someone else?” he teased.

You held your breath as he brought you closer to him, his hand lingering over your cheek. If you just closed the distance now, you could—

“No, Astarion, I won't force—”

“Stop that right now.” He cut you off without skipping a beat, stunning you once more. “You are not forcing yourself onto me or forcing me. This, right now, right here, is my decision.”

His other hand came up to cup your face, drawing you closer to him, your lips but a whisper apart.

“I want this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice lustful and heavy with need. “I want… you.”

Your eyes locked and the second after, his lips were pressed against yours and you let yourself get lost into this kiss. How his hands held on to your face, how his tongue tasted the blood on your lips, how he whimpered into your mouth at the contact of your own tongue; this memory of love you had remembered earlier, it had been a memory of this.

His kiss, his touch, his voice, him.

Your kiss was engulfing, springing your heart back to life in a sudden rush as you met every of his kisses with the same passion, and soon enough, you were laying back against his bedroll, with him over you and stealing your breath away; one — you didn’t realise yet — you didn't need anymore.

His hands rested next to your head and you allowed yourself to reach up to hold his face, trace the lines of his age over his cheeks and down his neck, and trailing along the opening of his shirt before he broke apart from your lips.

“I’ve been thinking about this for many nights now.”

“What would I be like as a vampire?” You asked semi-jokingly.

“No, silly — Although, the question did flit into my mind once or twice, but no. I was thinking of how I would have you, the next time I would bed you. I’ve touched myself at the thought of having you again, the sounds you would make, how your cunt would feel wrapped around my cock instead of my hand—”

He took your hand from where it was resting and guided it down between his legs, and a short gasp escaped you when you felt how hard he was.

“ —but tonight, after spending a lifetime looking for it, I finally know what I want.” His half-lidded eyes seemed darker than they had been, and you lost yourself in them, "And Gods help me if I can't have you—”

“I’m yours,” you answered back in a heartbeat, your voice but a whisper, “I’ve always been, and I’ll always be, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Your words broke the remaining chains of control Astarion had over himself, as he pulled your pants off from you and removed his own shirt while your hands fumbled with his trousers. A moment later, you both laid against one another, as bare as you were on your first days on this plane of existence, your lips back on each other.

“Mmh, I wonder…” Astarion let his kisses trail down from your mouth to your jaw, then your neck.

“Hm?”

“Now that you’re a vampire,” he left small kisses alongside your neck and down your shoulder, “your blood will taste different.”

“You’ll still drink from me?”

“Well of course, dear,” he lingered in the crook of your neck, before licking his way up to your ear where he whispered, “And I can’t wait to know how you taste after you’ve tasted me.”

You shivered against his breath, fully expecting him to bite you following those words, and when he didn’t you were almost disappointed. He, on the other hand, seemed extremely satisfied with himself.

“Eager already? And here I thought I was the most depraved between the two of us.” You sighed heavily as he came back up to face you, “Maybe I will be tasting you tonight, after all. Is this something that you want?”

You smiled softly, your hand finding his cheek again, “Yes.”

When your lips met this time, it was soft, pure, communicating words you hadn’t exchanged yet despite your longing for one another. It only made you want him more.

“Speaking of tasting you,” he said against your lips, “I wonder if something else has changed.”

You barely had time to process what he had said when he made his way down your chest, briefly sucking on one of your nipples.

“Mh,” he released it with a pop, “this one still tastes the same.”

He moved to your other breast to give it the same attention, teasing it with his teeth and earning him a moan from you before releasing it, “This one as well.”

He left a path of kisses as he trailed down your navel, until he was resting between your legs with a hungry look in his eyes, “Now, for the main course—”

You weren’t prepared for his fangs to dig in the inside of your thighs, making you scream in surprise as your hands grabbed onto the sheet of his bedroll. The pain quickly turned into pleasure as he nibbled and kissed the softness of your thigh, before making his way to your wet slit, which begged for attention.

The smell of you invaded his senses and you could feel his breath over your core as he breathed you in, his arms now wrapped under your thighs as he laid on his stomach and between your legs, “Darling, you smell divine.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips as his tongue pressed against your entrance and he slowly licked all the way up to your clit, “And you taste— Gods, you taste even better than before.” He smiled up to you, his mouth covered by a cocktail of your blood and juices. “I didn’t think it could be possible.”

You were past words by now, but even if you had come up with something, you don’t think you would’ve been able to utter anything with the way his tongue worked between your legs, devouring you of your essence.

“I would forsake blood for the rest of my days if it meant I could nourish myself only of your essence, my love,” he said between licks of you. “The Gods truly made you to ruin me; I could never move on from your taste, even if I wanted to.”

His hands surrounding your thighs and his nails digging in your flesh kept you in place as he continued to worship you, and no matter how much you wiggled, his hold on you held on, as if you were the first meal he was having in days and he wouldn’t let you go until he was sated.

Astarion recognized the signs of your unbecoming as your breathing started shaking and your legs tensed around his head, pushing him to tease you further.

“Are you gonna come for me now?” He smiled between your legs, “Come on, love. Come for me. Come on my tongue.”

The vibration of his humming as he continued to savour you only added to the feeling of his tongue, lapping at your entrance and sucking over your sensitive bud, and his nails digging deeper into your thighs added a delicious hint of pain. After weeks without any sex, you were sensitive to the slightest touch, and now there he was: tasting you, devouring you, wanting you; it was all too much.

“Ah… Astarion!”

Your head fell back against the rough floor of his tent as your back arched and stars clouded your vision. You knew how ironic it was to think so, but you had never felt more alive than you did at this very moment, with your devoted lover worshipping you like the goddess who had finally answered his prayers from all those years ago.

Your legs collapsed as he let go of them to move back up to face you, and he took this chance to hook your leg with his, pushing it upwards to create the perfect angle for him to place himself against your entrance.

Your half-lidded eyes met his, delirious with lust, and you wanted to express the feeling that had been weighing on you for too long now, but when his lips collided with yours and you tasted yourself, all those words got lost on his tongue exploring your mouth.

“I’ve waited so long to finally have you,” he said breathlessly against your lips. “I kept pushing back, thinking it was never the right time.”

He licked his lips, wiping off the string of saliva that connected your mouths. “When you disappeared… I thought I had lost my only chance. I’m done waiting around.”

He slowly pushed himself into you with a low groan as he felt your slickness wrap around him, and you threw your arms around his neck as you moaned into his ear.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. So tight and warm, all for me. I would stay here inside of you for a decade if I could. You feel exquisite, my love.”

He retracted himself slowly, and plunged back in with the same agonising pace, taking in the feeling of your inside. “I’ll enjoy taking my time with you; discovering what makes you tick, tease every one of your sensitive spots. But tonight — I just want this: feeling you wrapped around me and to know that I’m the reason for your unbecoming.”

His pace accelerated, each thrust of his hips brushing against your clit as your bodies almost fused as one, pushing you closer to another edge already.

A particularly well placed thrust had you dig your nails into his back and he hissed into your ear, “Darling,” he panted, “Remind me to trim your nails when we’re done.”

You quickly realised what he meant when a poignant smell, stronger than the bergamot, brandy, and rosemary you smelled on him previously, invaded your nostrils and your mouth watered in response. What you didn’t realise was how you ended up breathing down his neck, just against the popping vein conveniently displayed for you to bite down on. Just one bite away from ecstasy.

“Still hungry, little love?”

You were snapped out from your daze by his voice purring into your ear, pulling away from his neck and blinking as you gained back control of your thoughts.

“I’m— It’s just— Your blood smells really, really good.”

He chuckled, “I tend to have that effect on people. Would you like a taste?”

You forced yourself to look into his eyes, “I… Are you sure?”

He smiled, “There’s nothing I’d like more, my love.”

His gaze reflected sincerity and you gulped as you found your way back in the crook of his neck, your lips brushing against his sensitive skin. You licked the vein you had sensed earlier but didn’t push further. That’s when you felt the vibration of his chuckle, “Go on, darling. I can take it, I promise.”

With his permission, you pushed your small fangs right over the vein in his neck, relishing in the sudden flood of his crimson in your mouth.

Whatever you drank a few minutes ago was nothing compared to his blood. He was the source in a desert you had been roaming for days, one you couldn’t believe wasn't an illusion, and you drank, and drank, losing yourself in his neck, in his taste, the very essence that fueled him.

You couldn’t tell how much you had drank or how much time had passed when he growled and pinned your arms next to your head. His hips thrusting once, deeper into you and hitting your cervix is what makes you unlatch from his neck with a moan.

“I believe that’s enough, love. Now, let me taste you.”

His lips collided with yours hungrily as he increased his pace between your legs, and he groaned at the taste of himself on your lips, running his tongue across your small fangs.

“Fuck, I need you, I need to make you mine. I need—”

Something snapped within him, a side of him you couldn’t recall ever seeing — one that he could finally let go as he pushed your legs up, pinning them down across your chest and pounded deeper into you.

He growled into your ear as he desperately rutted into you, nearing the edge of his climax at the same time as yours, “I want you, I want you for the rest of our lives, please be mine, be mine, be mine!”

“I’m yours, I'm yours, I— I love you!”

You screamed as you came, his own orgasm following closely after yours, the wave of emotions clashing with the sparks of pleasure coursing throughout your body, and for a moment, you think you died and came back to life within the same minute. It was stronger than anything you remember feeling — even with your memories still scattered, you think you’d remember something as powerful.

It’s only when you came back to your senses and was met with Astarion’s soft, dumbfounded expression, that you realised what you had just said. Panic slowly made its way into your heart and you struggled to find the right words to correct yourself.

“I’m sorry— I—”

He didn’t allow you to finish that sentence, kissing you once more to steal away those thoughts of regret that faded instantly as he pulled back to speak.

“I love you too, darling.”

Your future was paved with incertitude; your memory wasn’t all there yet, but you remembered what was important for now, and if forgetting your past was the price to create new memories with him, it was a price you were willing to pay.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

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bratbarzal · 1 month ago

Text

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Ten

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 22k (one day I'll write like a normal person)

Chapter Warnings: I'll highlight the important stuff first - poppy's part has a pretty heavy scene with mentions of stillbirth/miscarriage/child loss/birthing complications and genetic disorders. poppy is safe, cheeto is safe and it's a backstory thing so if you are triggered by mentions of those topics, it's technically skippable (you can message me and I'll write up an overview without the mentions in there so you're not missing out) and at the end of the first scene of her section, the beginning of it will be marked in red, and the end will have the usual divider. other than that, there are sprinklings of angst in here - mentions of anxiety around flying, self doubt, Poppy and Nico have their little family bubble kind of burst, a bit of hurt/comfort, long distance longing and it's otherwise generally fluffy. some sexual references but not smut. some EXCESSIVE declarations of love. like we get it. you're into each other.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Nine)

A/N: I wrote and rewrote so much of this I've kind of driven myself crazy i’m not sure if this chapter will be everyone’s cup of tea tbh but it’s important to the characters as I close this story up. I'd like to dedicate this to my HATERS (aka the anons I literally asked to trash talk me for motivation it actually did work lmao I love you) I know that quite a few people have found this story since the last chapter so thank you for all your lovely messages, and all the stuff you guys send to me in my inbox, or tag in your reblogs it means the world 2 me!! I honestly have seen so many nice things said about this fic and my writing over the past few weeks it really really makes me so happy I love you guys so much!! I feel like putting out the bonus chapter hopefully eases some of the tension from this one, but like I said, and like you can read in the extra chapter where Cheeto is born, she's safe, don't let my warnings put you off unless those things do trigger you!!

Nico

There are quite a few routines that Nico has fallen into with Poppy over the last couple weeks where they have been much closer.

There’s mornings with Poppy, more often rushed than not after the two of them refuse to leave whichever bed they’re in, cuddling up under the covers and hitting snooze as many times as they possibly can before they really need to get up.

There’s the beautiful dance they have mastered in the bathroom, brushing his teeth while Poppy does her skincare routine, jutting out his chin for her to put some moisturiser over the centre of his face and letting her rub it in with soft fingers.

There are routines in the evenings, where Nico usually gets home a lot later than Poppy, her key now on his keyring so he can let himself in whenever he needs to, finds her on the couch waiting for him, and brings her back something to eat, even if she’s eaten already that night.

And lunchtimes might be his favourite, making the most out of the times he’s at the arena, and not on the road, stopping by her office, the two of them going for walks now that the weather’s nice again, and trying all the different spots close by.

Returning to her office and going giddy with affection, pressing wanting kisses to her lips where he’s never had the pleasure of doing it so casually, before.

It’s how they’ve ended up where they are now, Poppy sat on the edge of her desk, legs spread for Nico to stand between as his mouth works eagerly at the skin of her delicate neck, drinking up the soft sounds she makes for him, quiet enough that only he will hear.

“We can’t do this,” she gasps at the feeling of teeth nipping, her ass scooting forward until it’s right on the sharp edge of the wood. “Not here.”

“We’ve ticked off every other spot,” he hums just beneath her jaw, nipping at the skin there teasingly until her body arches into the attention. “Your car,” he moves further down her neck, “My car,” and further, “Every single surface in both our apartments,”

“The dryer was fun,” she reminisces, her fingertips reaching out to clutch at his shirt.

“May as well cross your office off the bucket list.” He shrugs, smirking right against her ear where he mutters the words.

“Someone could walk in.”

“Even better.”

“Nico,” she whines as he remains unrelenting in his pursuits.

“Lucky them, getting to see you all pretty for me like this,” his hands press into either side of her thighs and push at the hem of her skirt until it bunches all the way up, parting her legs even further so he can step in between them. “Wanna touch every inch of you,”

“Thought you were doing that this morning,”

This morning, he breaks out into a dopey grin at even the thought.

All these years, he has thought he was living his dream, making a successful career out of his talent, playing in one of the greatest leagues on the planet - all that before he ever experienced co-existing with Poppy.

Coming home to her after a strenuous trip away, falling asleep with her in his arms, being woken at least 10 times in the night to her repositioning herself in her sleep, eyes drifting open in the morning and looking down to see her cheek smushed into his chest, hair matted into the small space left on his pillow, taking up half of his side of the bed, drooling onto his skin as soft snores still puff out from between her parted lips.

That’s his dream, now - to wake up like that every day for the rest of his life.

And he had told her as much when she came to, shamefully wiping at the spit on his chest with the collar of his shirt that she was wearing, kissing and kissing at her despite her protests of morning breath and needing to pee. He had followed her into the bathroom, all privacy long thrown out of the window as he brushed his teeth while she relieved herself, and Poppy did the same, and it was at the bathroom counter where he had made his first efforts to stretch out their lazy morning together.

Hoisted up beside the sink, legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed minty kisses into her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin until she tugged at his hair and pulled him up to meet her lips.

He had told her he could do this everyday, and had meant it. But the two of them had been in such a rush to do something while they had the time, that he hadn’t really dived deeper into the topic of it being an actual possibility.

Of the two of them actually living together. Of him giving her the key to his apartment he had cut for her, and proposing that the two of them get a head start on a nursery before he has to potentially leave for the World Championships in a week.

They then moved from the bathroom to the kitchen, from the kitchen back to bed, and then from bed to a late morning start in work, entirely too distracted for him to pick back up where his thoughts left off.

“Lost count of where I got up to, gonna have to start again.” He smirks into her skin.

“You’re crazy.”

“Your fault.” He mutters with lips pressed to her jaw, “This could technically be our last shot here, Poppy,” he leans back a little to get a good look at her, head thrown back in distracted pleasure like she isn’t the one trying to get him to calm down. “You’ll be on leave by the time we get back, who knows when the next time we’ll both be in your office is,”

“I do.” She chuckles, “In 3 hours when you think you miss me too much to function, again.”

“Hey, I was checking up on you,” he presses a kiss closer to her lips, “Couldn’t have you in here all alone, know how worked up you get after a little while without me, huh?”

“I get worked up?” She scoffs, gesturing to the hands splayed out beside her hips on her desk, “You literally can’t keep your hands to yourself,”

“Can you blame me? Look at you,” he hums, kissing at the space between where her mouth curves up at the corner and her cheeks puff into a smile. “Go crazy thinking about you.”

She places soft hands on either side of his face, taking a grip of his jaw and moving him in front of her. “You can’t sweet talk me into fucking you in my office, baby,” she tells him, unable to stop the fully-fledged smile that forms when he grins back.

“Not even if I take my shirt off?”

The look she casts down his body makes him feel exposed, an electric tingle shooting down his spine - so much that he just wants to press into her to quell it, somewhat.

“Might be worth a shot,” she shrugs, hands shifting until fingertips dance at the sensitive skin on either side of his neck, tickling back into his hair as she grasps at it, just a little. “No promises, though.”

And it’s just as he leans back in to kiss her that a hard knock rattles the door to her office, the two of them shooting apart as if shocked by electric, Poppy shimmying off her desk until she’s standing, pulling her skirt back into place and smoothing down her hair.

Nico takes a few steps to the side, putting a good few feet between them so their closeness doesn’t rouse suspicion when Poppy invites the intruder into the room.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Josh says with a meek smile as he steps in and closes the door behind him, not at all perturbed by the presence of Nico and Poppy, and seemingly not sorry at all, “Something’s come up and I figured I should run it by you.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Nico says, doing his best not to sigh or grumble at the fact he has been so rudely disrupted from his new favourite part of the day.

“Actually,” Josh steps back to block the door, “It concerns you too.”

Nico frowns, glancing back towards Poppy, who’s swiping a thumb at her smudged lips and shrugging a little when she meets his eye.

“What’s up?” She asks.

“So, uhm,” he seems nervous, now, the bravado he had when stopping Nico from leaving disappearing as he swerves around him to put the little folder he is carrying on Poppy’s desk, “It seems like the fans have picked something up from an interview you did after practice today, Nico.”

Shit.

If PR are involved, it has to be something bad.

But he’d just talked about the mood in the locker room, if he remembers right? The morale amongst the team after their loss yesterday in Philly. He hadn’t cursed, hadn’t said anything offensive or troubling.

Maybe he’d pouted a little, been a little frustrated, but that’s to be expected of the position they’re all in, surely?

And why would Josh be running it by Poppy?

“Did I say something bad?”

“No, it’s not anything you said.”

Nico watches as Poppy takes the folder, slides it across her desk and opens it, and from what Nico can see from where he’s stood, it looks like a screenshot of a bunch of tweets.

Whatever they say, it seems like overkill to print them out. Couldn’t he have just pulled up twitter like a normal person?

“Oh.” Poppy frowns, and Nico finds his feet carrying him toward her just at the sight of the expression on her face as she reads down the page.

As he leans over her desk, he sees that they are tweets. The first being a video of the interview he had done after their morning skate today, and the second being a couple of screenshots - each picture zooming further and further into something in the background.

With the paper upside down, Nico can’t quite tell what that something is, but at least it isn’t something he said.

That’s good, he thinks, right?

The confusion must be evident on his face, because once she’s looked up at him for any sort of reaction, Poppy turns the sheet around on the table, and Nico is able to zero in on exactly what the tweets are getting at, sinking into the seat on his side with bated breath.

In a crystal clear quality he didn’t even know the cameras brought into the locker room could deliver, he sees his copy of Poppy’s latest scan, sat front and centre on the shelf of his locker.

Fuck.

His eyes skim over the rest of the tweets on the page, an influx of capital letters and exclamation points, the words barely registering in his brain until he gets to the bottom of the page.

Sentiments of ‘Nico is having a baby?’ line up against mentions of Talia, of the two of them still being together, of all the variations of shocked, mind-blown emojis.

His heart starts to hammer in his chest as he reaches for the next page, hoping there’s a tweet from someone with an ounce of sense on there.

But this page is worse. So much worse.

‘He’s with someone else. Served them at my work last week in NYC!’

And attached is a picture from when he and Poppy went to lunch with her parents.

If this whole situation didn’t flood his system with panic, he’d be able to admire just how cute the pictures are - Poppy sat beside him, looking up at him in adoration as he jokes with her father. It’s the kind of thing he doesn’t really get to see or notice when he’s not looking at her - just how infatuated she is with him. It makes his skin tingle and his chest feel warm in the best way.

Their seats are so close that they’re practically pressed together, his hand disappearing under the table where he remembers it sat on her lap the entire meal, her fingers either tangled with his or tracing little shapes into his palm.

‘She’s cute.’

‘Where do I know her from?

‘She works for the Devils! Seen her at a few events with the foundation!’

Nico takes a shaky breath as the rest of it unfolds in front of his eyes.

Poppy’s name, her job, the about us section from the foundation website, her private social media pages with requests to follow, pictures where she’s in the background or smushed into a group shot. She didn’t sign up for this, he thinks, people having such little regard for her privacy online.

His interview in the locker room had been an hour ago, maybe two, and all they had to go off was a single blurry screenshot of a scan picture. And now they have pictures of her, of the two of them together, of her parents. They know her name, her place of work, and on the very last page, when he reads, ‘She lives in my brother’s building’ he thinks his heart stops.

“You guys aren’t in trouble, or anything,” Josh reassures her, reaching out in Nico’s peripheral and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder that he really wants to shoo away. “I mean, everybody here knew, I wanted you to see everything so you can figure out how you want to handle it. Or if you want to handle it at all.”

“What do you mean?” Nico gulps, speaking mainly to divert Josh’s attention from her, to try gain back some semblance of control on the situation, himself.

“I mean, we don’t really get involved in personal stuff like this, but I could help you come up with something to say between yourselves?”

“Something to say?”

Maybe Nico has been ignorant, this whole time, to the possibility that this sort of thing could happen. It’s not like they’ve been hiding it, not really. They’re out in public a lot together - they go to the convenience store sometimes, they eat out, they grab breakfast at the same spot if neither of them have the energy to make it, themselves, waiting in the queue with Poppy perched beneath his arm and him pressing kisses to the crown of her head.

His relationship with her has never been something that he felt like he had to hide, or had to protect, not in that way, anyway.

Especially compared to when he was with Talia. When her social media presence became catered to hinting at the two of them. Cut off shots of his arms on tables, wearing clothes he had just been seen in, posing in front of his car, in the family suite at the arena - and that had all been before he found out she had been sharing their private pictures with gossip accounts, too.

Poppy doesn’t court attention like that. All her pictures with him or of him are hers, and hers alone. Printed out and put on her refrigerator or framed in her apartment. Or there’s maybe one or two that she rotates as her phone background, but he does the same with her so he can’t exactly complain about that.

It’s cute, he thinks, the small ways in which she tries to keep him close.

He’s just been assuming the two of them would be on the same page about the whole thing, wanting to keep things as they were, just between them, but also not going to extra efforts to hide their relationship, to erase all essence of normality and routine they’ve managed to build.

Especially considering the fact that for so long, even they didn’t know what they were or what they would be.

He still doesn’t know, if he’s being completely honest.

Poppy isn’t a grand gesture kind of girl, he knows that. She likes things simple, likes things easy, and as much as he might want to tell everyone that she’s his girlfriend, they haven’t really had that conversation yet. And he’s trying to let her take the lead on the whole milestone thing. He doesn’t want to push her into something she’s still building herself up to in her head.

So what is he supposed to say?

“If you don’t say anything, they might continue to dig.”

“I don’t think there’s much left for them to find,” Poppy scoffs, speaking for the first time as she flicks back through the pages on her desk. “Maybe my social security number, or my dental records or something.”

Ok, she’s cracking jokes, he thinks, casting a concerned glance her way as she finally meets his eye over her desk.

She doesn’t look angry that he’s catapulted them into this mess. Doesn’t look hurt or disappointed. She’s chewing on her bottom lip and her eyes are wide looking back at him as if she’s expecting him to say something.

“Do we have to decide now?” Nico asks, despite knowing the answer.

The last game of the season is tomorrow. Home against the islanders. Leaving things to chance and having all eyes on him will only fuel the fires of online speculation.

“I’ll leave you two to talk about it, if you want?”

Nico narrows his eyes at the hand that still rests on Poppy’s shoulder, patronisingly patting at the curve of it before she sends him a thankful, forced smile, and he has to bite his tongue when Josh does the same thing to him on his way out.

The silence that lingers following the click of the door to Poppy’s office is tense, elongated enough that Nico starts the feel the throbbing of his pulse in his ears.

His eyes are cast down, but he can feel Poppy’s cautious gaze on him, can sense as she rises out from behind her desk and circles around to his side, perching herself on the edge, sat beside the damning evidence that has caused this mess.

“What are you thinking?” She asks, softly.

“I’m thinking I messed everything up.” He sighs, leaning into the chair with tension in ever muscle, back stiff, jaw clenched. “I’m so stupid, I forgot it would even be visible, I just like having it there, so I can see her all the time, I didn’t mean for this to happen, Poppy, I swear,”

“Hey, I know,” she consoles him, pushing straight off of her desk and standing in front of him, crouching to his level. “Our bubble was bound to burst eventually, Nico, it’s okay,”

“Maybe we can fix this,” he thinks out loud, “I know a guy, a hacker, he’s really good, he could probably do something,”

“He must be really good if he can turn back time, babe,” Poppy scoffs, and he straightens in the seat, adjusting his positioning and gesturing for her to sit on his lap, as awkward as it might be. “How the hell do you know a hacker, anyway, Mission Impossible?”

“His name’s Myles, he lives over in The Heights,” he hums in response, large hand cupping at her thigh to hold her in place, “Maybe he could get the pictures scrubbed from the internet, or something?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I just want to keep things the way they are,” he sighs, “I want our bubble back. I liked our bubble.”

Poppy smiles, soft and affectionate, and cards her fingers through his hair to push it back, nails scratching soothingly at his scalp.

“I liked our bubble, too.”

The two of them sit like that for a minute, thoughts racing between the two of them, but the tension slowly easing, the silence becoming a little more comfortable as they both take a moment to think about what it is they want to do.

Poppy’s fingers stroke at the back of his neck and his stroke soothingly into her thigh.

“We don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want to,” She’s the first to speak, and Nico’s heart hammers at the sound of her voice, more than usual, at least. “We can just wait it out, it’s the last game of the season, these things just go away after a while, right?”

“I don’t want it to go away, Poppy.” He huffs. “I don’t want to hide you, or pretend you don’t exist, pretend we aren’t having a baby together, pretend we aren’t-,”

His fingers tighten in their grip on her flesh, and he lets out a heavy sigh, trying to refrain from laying his heart on the line in the possibility she might trample on it out of heightened emotion.

“I can ignore it,” she says, “The stuff online, I don’t really use social media, they can say what they want about me, about us, it doesn’t really matter, right? They don’t know anything.”

“They know where you live, apparently.” He scoffs, and despite the voice in him telling him to reel it in, the voice that, for so long now, has been telling him to hand the reins over and let her guide him down whatever path she wants to be on, the next thing comes out without much thought behind it. “Maybe you should move in with me, my building is a lot safer.”

He had been wanting to ask her, anyway, right?

He has the key in the glove compartment of his car, ready for her to claim. They spend enough time at his place, it’s the same distance as hers from the arena.

And the timing is almost perfect. He’ll have some time to move her in before he leaves for Europe. Have some time to get her settled before they’re separated, just for a bit. They can keep sharing these routines they’ve built so well, together.

She’ll have an all access pass to all the clothes she so often likes to lounge around in, and he’ll have an all access pass to her, to all the developments with Cheeto, to-

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

What?

In what world is it not a good idea?

“I don’t think we’re ready for that, yet.”

Not ready?

What about them isn’t ready?

“Poppy-,”

“I have a meeting in 5 minutes, I should really fix myself up.”

She pushes herself up from his lap, despite him pawing at her to stay, and rushes back to her own side of her desk, tucking her hair behind her ears as she tries to make herself look busy, avoiding the way in which he chases her gaze.

What the hell just happened?

“We need to talk about this, Mohn,”

“We will,” she reassures him, “Later, I promise. Dinner at Jesper and Nic's, yeah, with the team? I'll meet you at your place.”

His place.

No, he thinks, it should be our place.

His heart hammers in her chest as he watches her, tries to get a gauge on what on earth she’s thinking, why the hell she’s distancing herself after, I liked our bubble, too.

“Poppy,” he tries again, stepping and trying to convey something in his tone that might bring her on side, might make her reconsider.

“I can’t be late, Nico,” she sighs, “I’ll come straight over after I finish work, okay?”

“Okay,” he sighs, shuffling over to the door with the weight of the world now on his shoulders.

How the hell had he gone from the morning from heaven, to this?

Exiled from Poppy’s office and shot down like the thought of living with him turned her stomach.

“Love you,” he offers as a goodbye, a hand on the door handle with his neck craned back to see her one more time, to meet her eyes and try and ingrain the sentiment to her memory.

“Yeah,” she smiles, tight and half-hearted. “Love you, too.”

Nico can’t recall a time where he’s ever been this stressed in his life.

And that seems like an almighty feat considering the year he’s had, so far. All the stuff with the team, with losing their manager half way through the season, with injuries, and fights on the ice, with trying to organise his place in the national team. With Poppy, with her parents, with navigating their relationship, navigating the fact he’s going to become a father soon.

But no, 3 missed calls to his girlfriend-but-not-his-girlfriend-but-she’s-carrying-his-baby-and-he-wants-her-to-be-his-girlfriend’s phone and he’s literally having heart palpitations and breaking out into a cold sweat.

He’s pacing, for God’s sake, shoes tapping against the hard wood of his apartment as he waits for any sign of life.

They’re all going straight to voicemail, and beyond driving all the way back to the Rock and trying to retrace her steps, he doesn’t know what to do.

Despite where they had left things earlier, despite the way she stomped all over his hopes and dreams, she had told him she’d meet him here straight after work, and it’s been almost an hour since she was due to finish.

It’s 30 minutes from the arena, maximum.

He should have stuck around and given her a ride, he thinks. At least them he’d know where she was.

But then she’d feel smothered, a whiny voice rings through his head as he presses to dial her again, the same tone ringing straight through to her machine. She doesn’t want to live with you, she probably doesn’t want to be in a car with you, either.

“C’mon, Poppy, pick up,” he sighs, trying one more time, holding his breath as he presses his phone straight to his ear, wanting to throw it against the wall when the same thing happens, again.

He can’t calm himself down. He hasn’t been able to all afternoon since he left The Rock, driving home without any music playing, coming up to his apartment and not being able to sit still for the past few hours.

She doesn’t want to live with him. She doesn’t think they’re ready.

Despite the fact that they’ve shared a bed every night, almost - aside for when he’s been on the road - for the past two weeks. Despite the fact that all he’s done since February is try to prove himself to her.

Prove himself as a partner, first and foremost. There for every appointment, accommodating her every craving, her every need.

He’s even learning to cook, for Christ’s sake, beyond pasta and breakfast food, and knows her breakfast order by heart.

He’s tried replaying their entire conversation in his head, tried figuring out which part had soured her entirely to the idea, and all he has been coming up with is blanks.

And now, she’s blanking him. Now she’s saying love you with weak smiles that make his heart ache, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

He’s pacing so much, stomping so hard, that he almost doesn’t hear the knock at his door, stopping in his tracks just to catch the end of it and shooting over so quick he almost stumbles and crashes to the floor.

Seeing her isn’t enough for the tension to drop from his body, not entirely, not yet - not even when she gives him a guilty smile and immediately goes in for a soft, sweet kiss against his bitten lips.

“‘M’sorry,” she mutters into his mouth, “My phone died and I left my charger in your car.” She waves her blank phone screen in between them as if to prove her point, and Nico thinks back to getting in his car to come home, earlier, huffing and puffing about all the wires in the centre console and throwing them onto the passenger seat.

He kisses her back, almost in an unspoken apology for getting so worked up, not that she had any idea just how worked up he was getting, and hums, “It’s okay,” in response. “Are you okay?”

Are we okay? He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

She’s here, now. They have to be okay.

“Yeah,” she smiles, and he wants to take it at face value. She’s had a long day at work, she’s probably exhausted. Her smile isn’t half-assed or forced. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be. “The guy who’s covering my maternity is a board-certified yapper, Nico, God help you when you have to work with him. You’re gonna miss the hell outta me.”

“Won’t have to miss you, Mohn,” he chuckles, despite the fact that it isn’t entirely true. He wouldn’t have to miss her, if she lived with him, but the way she smiles back eases his worries, a little bit.

There’s the summer to figure things out, he realises.

There’s no rush, and he keeps getting into the habit of thinking there is.

Baby steps.

She takes them with such ease that it really makes him look like an idiot, he thinks.

“You ready to go? Do you need a drink or anything?”

“I think I’ll last the ten minutes it takes to get there,” she rolls her eyes fondly as she takes his hand in hers, and the two of them make their way down to the parking level.

Nico bites at his tongue the whole way to Jesper and Nicole’s place.

He’s trying his best to take whatever she’s willing to give him, and if ignoring the problem at hand is what she wants to do, then he’ll do it. He won’t ask her if she’s thought any more about things, despite her telling him earlier that they’d pick it back up. He won’t ask if she’s still willing to ignore all the outside noise.

Won’t ask her why she doesn’t think they’re ready to live together.

And he bites his tongue all night, really.

It becomes easy to do so as the two of them sink into the familiarity of the team dynamic. Loud and boisterous, fun and carefree, like they haven’t got a game left tomorrow. Like they all aren’t going to have to sit and watch the playoffs play out, thinking what if, and why not me?

Like they all aren’t getting separated for the summer, scattered across the globe with the ever so slight chance they won’t be reunited again.

Not in this format, at least.

But Poppy’s hand holds his in her lap. Poppy rests her head on his shoulder as she listens to Timo tell her all about Switzerland, hyping her up for all the cool things they’re all going to get to do together, and her looking up at Nico with a beaming smile and eyes like twinkling stars.

Poppy stays glued to his side for the group picture Nicole insists on taking, sandwiched between Nico and Timo with the biggest, cheesiest grin on her face, and he thinks he’s probably looking at her as the camera flashes - meets Nicole’s eyes when she’s looking back at the photo and knows he isn’t looking into the lens.

Poppy rests her free hand on her bump, strokes little shapes absentmindedly on it in a way that makes Nico’s heart soar with pride.

Poppy sinks into his side when he’s talking to Nicole’s brother, and who doesn’t flinch when Nico introduces her as, “Poppy, my girlfriend,” in a way that just rolls of the tongue with little to no thought behind it.

And Poppy doesn’t bring it up until they’re sat back down at the large, extended dining table, mostly deserted and the room a lot less rowdy now that a few of the guys have cleared out for an early night.

“I’m your girlfriend, now, huh?”

Shit.

“Sounded nicer than Baby Mama,” he chuckles, the laughter quickly dying down when he sees Poppy’s reaction to his words. It’s that same weak smile she had given in her office, earlier. Resigned and reluctant. “To be honest, I didn’t really know how to ask you about it.”

“Usually starts with will you and is followed by be my girlfriend?” She teases, turning into him a little more as he leans into her, opening herself up more to him than she has all night.

“Don’t you think we’re past that, though?” He smiles softly, thankful for the soft beaming light that returns to her eyes. “Girlfriend feels,”

He doesn’t want to say small.

He doesn’t want to say not enough.

He doesn’t want to say anything that might upset her enough to retreat again, but it’s what he means.

He can’t help it.

It just feels juvenile and insufficient.

She’s so much more than that.

And, because she’s Poppy, and because she can’t help but take the burden of having to say it away from him, she takes his hand in hers, thumb rubbing at the top. “I know what you mean.”

Thank God.

“I called Nia earlier, and she called you my boyfriend, and it sorta freaked me out a little.”

“Freaked you out?” He gulps, nerves settling in the pit of his stomach at the fact that taking the next step with him is freaking her out.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “Like boyfriend seems,”

And she looks like she’s found herself stuck in the same rut he had been in, moments prior. Knowing what she means, but unable to voice it.

“Limited,” he realises, after a moment of consideration for the way he feels just when he looks at her. “Casual, even.”

“Yes!” She agrees, lips twisting into an approving smile. “That’s exactly it! You’re so much more than my boyfriend, Nico.”

“So much more,” he hums, leaning in to press his lips straight to hers, trying to memorise how the shape of her smile feels against in the hopes that he can use it if he ever gets that stressed again. Can remember how easy she makes it to wriggle one of these out of her, to make her eyes gleam like they hold all the love in the world in her irises. “Like your husband,” he speaks the words into her mouth like speaking them into existence, drinking up the sound of her laughter when she pushes him away with fingers to his chest.

“Don’t push your luck, baby."

He comes to the conclusion that he was probably moving a little too quick, or a little too reckless earlier that day. He had told himself as much, before the fact, constantly trying to pull himself back and follow Poppy’s lead on things, because she does make life easy in a way he can never comprehend.

How he got from pacing the floors of his apartment in a panicked, sweaty, discombobulated mess mere hours ago to laid beside her in his bed, heart lulled back into a steady, comfortable rhythm, he doesn’t know.

Only the steady rhythm doesn’t make it through the night. Not when she’s clearly mulling something over beside him.

He had thought at first she was thinking so loud he could hear her blink, but when he had looked over, she was turned the other way, and her breaths were coming out in long, slow drawls - similar to those of when she is sleeping, so he had drifted back off.

And then the tossing and turning started. Huffs and puffs and mmphs that she couldn’t seem to control. Facing him, facing away, facing up.

And then she was up, trudging over to the bathroom with slumped shoulders, spending a minute in there before returning to the bed, and plonking herself down in it with little care for how he might be asleep.

Not that he was.

“It’s 3am, Poppy, why aren’t you asleep?”

“Not tired,” she huffs, arms crossing over her chest.

“You’re always tired,” he chuckles, easing his hand into the crook of her elbow and tugging to uncross them. He pulls until she’s sinking closer to him on the mattress, but her body is stiff with tension, and he just wants to ease the load. “Growing my baby is exhausting, remember?” He tries his hand at humour, but she just sighs, shuffling to get comfortable. “Poppy, talk to me.”

“I want to move in with you.” She blurts out, and he feels like he’s going to get whiplash from the flurry of emotions that passes through him.

Relief, gratitude, happiness, confusion.

“That’s what’s keeping you awake?” He asks, like the concept of her sat worrying about that when he’s the one who asked her in the first place is crazy. All this huffing and puffing and interrupted sleep, for what?

“Well, yeah,” she drags out like it’s obvious at all, “Because you asked me and I said no.”

“I remember, I was there,” he chuckles. “Did you change your mind?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

He really doesn’t.

“I didn’t say no because I didn’t want to, Nico,” she almost snaps, her voice tired and her tone direct.

“Poppy,” he levels, “It’s 3am.”

“What are you, talking clock? I know the time! I’ve been staring at it for the past like 4 hours.”

Nico lets out a heavy exhale, sitting up in bed and trying to meet her eyes in the dark. “Why did you say no?”

“I said no because I thought you only asked me because it was something convenient for us to do.” She pouts, “And I want you to want to live with me because you love me, not because your building is more secure.”

“I do love you,” he frowns, like his infatuation with her isn’t the most painstakingly tangible thing in the world. “And I want you to be safe, and to be happy,”

“Are you in love with me?”

“Is that not what I literally just said?”

“You said you love me,”

“And that’s not the same thing?”

“I don’t know, is it?”

Jesus Christ, he curses to himself, refraining from once again pointing out the time.

Is this a pregnancy thing, he wonders? Losing your mind like this in the middle of the night? Is this what all those dreams have accumulated to? Is this his fault?

“If you’re asking me if all those times I told you that I loved you, did I mean I was in love with you, then yes. I thought that was obvious.”

He’s been in love with her way longer than he feels like he can communicate at such an absurd hour, but he’ll do it if he has to. If tomorrow when they both leave for the arena, he can slip that key he has stashed away onto her keychain and can move on with his day without the stresses of earlier.

“Oh.”

“Was it not obvious?”

“I don’t know.”

“Poppy,”

“What?”

“Do I have to lay it out for you?”

“I mean, only if you want to.”

“It’s 3am.” He reminds her, one last time.

“It’s never too early for declarations of love, Nico.” Her lips twist, and his gut does in response, amusement evident even in the darkened room, eyes glistening with mirth as they meet his.

“I just told you, Mohn, I’ve declared my love over and over.”

“Maybe you should do it again.”

“I’m in love with you, Poppy,”

“With feeling,” she encourages him, shuffling closer until their legs tangle in his favourite way.

“Even when you’re annoying and you won’t let us sleep.”

“Declarations of love can’t include the word annoying, baby.”

Maybe she’s right. How can he be annoyed when she’s calling him pet names and looking at him like that? He’s so in love with her that he’d do anything.

“I’m in love with the way you press your freakishly cold feet between my legs and send my whole body into shock every morning.” He starts, shuffling himself until they’re in his favourite position, facing each other, limbs tangled, her bump pressing into his own stomach, and her hands splayed on his chest. “And when you try to make me breakfast but you for some reason can’t touch a bagel without burning it, and I leave the house every morning smelling like burnt toast.”

“I’m trying my best, there’s a really fine line between them being done and over-done.”

“Whatever you say. I love you when you’re grumpy and hormonal, and you get really specifically annoyed and nothing I do is right but you won’t tell me that so you just huff and puff like a child.”

“I had every right to huff and puff. You asked me to move in with you because your building is safer. That’s not romantic, Nico.” And despite his earlier stress and anxiety, all he can do looking back now is laugh. He’d been so caught up in the mantra of Poppy doesn’t like grand gestures that he hadn’t taken his own words into account. “Is there anything good you love about me?”

“I’ve loved you from the day I met you, Poppy, there’s plenty of good.” And when she raises a brow, urging him to continue, he chuckles, deep and hearty and in a way that wracks through him in delight. “I love how you’re kind, and you’re funny, sometimes I even think of you and laugh,”

She frowns, and Nico can see the argumentative cogs turning in her head. “Well, that’s not-,”

“How you have something to say about everything, even the way I’m baring my soul to you.” He grabs gently at either side of her face, only just smushing her cheeks teasingly before releasing the pressure and holding her in place. “I love how you’ve given a new purpose to my life. How it’s not just me and my job anymore, it’s us and our family, and I never feel like any of this is out of my control. I want you to move in because you’re like home to me, Poppy. I want to wake up every morning I can next to you, I want to finish a long day and end it with you. I want to lay awake half way across the world and think of you in our bed, in our apartment, and know that you’re safe, and nothing can get you here.

“I don’t know how I ever pushed these feelings down for so long, Mohn, because they consume me now. I’ll never get enough of you, of your pretty smile, or that really dorky, snorty laugh you do when you’re tired, or how you always put too much sugar in my coffee and now every time I taste something sweet I think of you.”

The smile she’s giving him might be his favourite, teary eyed and so wide he thinks it must ache in her cheeks. Her lips tremble slightly and her fingertips dig deliciously into his chest.

“The thought of you being the mother of my child, of her having that dorky laugh, and your pretty sparkly eyes, and me never getting a second of peace between the two of you talking back to me, I feel like the luckiest guy in the entire world. Is that enough feeling for you?”

“Just about.” She whispers, leaning up to press her lips straight to his, cautious not to get too lost in it before he utters his response straight into her mouth.

“Great. Your turn.”

“It’s 3am, Nico,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes, playfully. “I love you too, Jeez, are you ever gonna let me sleep?”

“Are you in love with me?”

“I’m so in love with you, that if I weren’t already pregnant right now,” her voice is deeper as she moves closer to him, lips edging toward his ear until they press at the skin just below on his neck, whispering her next words, teasingly. “I’d so let you put a baby in me.”

Nico’s so relieved he doesn’t have neighbours he could possibly wake up with the laugh that comes out of him. A loud exclamation of joy that shines straight back to him through Poppy, a wide grin and shaking shoulders as she giggles back at him.

“That’s an outrageous thing to say considering we’ve only been together officially for,” he checks his watch over her shoulder, “Like 8 hours.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, offering a wink he’s thankful to catch, “When you know, you know.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Ask me again.”

“Will you move in with me, Poppy?”

“Yes.”

Moving Poppy into his apartment - their apartment - had been easier than Nico could have ever hoped.

She had parted ways a little too easy with most of her furniture, under the sneaky compromise that keeping his stuff and moving into his building, meant that she was owed more closet space as some form of compensation.

And Nico had figured that it was only a small sacrifice compared to what she was doing - giving up the last remaining scraps of her independence and leaving behind the beautiful home she had built for herself. The home where their relationship had began to flourish. The apartment where the wheels had been set in motion all those months ago for their baby girl to be brought into existence.

He’s sort of thankful her lease situation isn’t entirely sorted yet, with her moving out but still paying the rent until they can figure out what to do with all the stuff she’s leaving behind. Even he isn’t quite ready to say a proper goodbye.

But that’s a problem for when they get back at the end of summer.

A problem for him, at least, because he knows he won’t want her stressing about any of the technicalities at that point.

It makes him less anxious to leave her, knowing she’s safe in their shared space, and has the benefits of Lionel being downstairs if she needs someone.

Knowing that his initial worries for her safety ended up, thankfully, being an overreaction, entirely, after Nicole had posted her picture of the group to her public instagram, and the gossipers online had taken that as all the confirmation they needed and swiftly moved on.

Knowing that Poppy’s fully moved in, and they’ve had the luxury of properly co-existing, back in their perfect little bubble for just over a week before he has to leave.

Just over a week of shared mornings, stretched out to the fullest capacity, sometimes even into the early afternoon, the two of them only leaving bed for food and bathroom breaks.

Late afternoons, when Poppy gets home from work, and curls up with Nico on the couch, him getting more comfortable cooking for her when she ends up falling asleep melted into the cushions, and wakes when her senses kick in and she can smell food being made without her.

Evenings sat cross-legged on the floor, mapping out an idea for the nursery that will be going into Nico’s mostly-unused home office. Making the travel plans for Poppy to fly out and meet him once all her work back in Jersey is wrapped up, and his work with the national team is over.

And nights spend curled up under the sheets, Nico promising to show her all the parts of his world that he’s been telling her about all these years.

It’s a life Nico gets a little too lost in, and before he knows it, before he can grasp just how much he loves what they’ve built here, already, it’s time to say goodbye to Poppy.

He tries to drag it out as much as he can.

He sets an earlier alarm, despite her grumbling protests, just so he can spend another 15 minutes with her in his arms.

He drives them both to the airport for her to drive back, spare hand holding hers over the centre console and squeezing in patterns of three every time they hit a red light.

And he had followed Poppy’s advice, begrudgingly, arriving at the airport with plenty of time to spare, which meant he could take that little longer saying his goodbyes before he really had to go.

Goodbyes that Poppy made harder than he ever thought they could be.

“And I left my shampoo for you to use,” he mumbles into lips that continue to chase his, back starting to ache a little from leaning over the middle of the car but he couldn’t really care less.

“And if I run your water bill up high enough, would you come home to me to investigate?”

“Well, when you make it sound so tempting,” he kisses her, this time, before muttering, “Poppy, you’ve got to let me go.”

“But I just got you,” she pouts, chasing another kiss, “I don’t think we’ve done enough to catch up for all that time we wasted, I think we need to try out your backseat again, one more time for good measure. I promise you can leave straight after, no funny comments from me about it.”

“As nice as that sounds,” he chuckles, “Airport security scares me, I’m not getting into trouble with those guys because my girl is insatiable.”

“You’re boring,” she frowns.

“It’s 4 weeks.”

“That’s so long,” she huffs, still holding onto the front of his shirt.

“I know,” he kisses her again. "But then we have all summer together,” and again, “and by the time we get back here, we’re gonna be getting ready for baby girl to come,” and one more time for good measure. “Just 4 weeks. Maybe not even that,”

“4 weeks. My man has a medal to win.”

His chest swells at the thought of it, and he smiles, in a way that feels like might never fade. “That reminds me,” he jolts, reaching into his pocket for what he had stashed in there when clearing out his locker back at the arena the other week. He zips down the inner compartment and pulls out something that makes her gasp.

“You kept it?” She reaches out, taking the bracelet into a gentle gasp and looking at it with eyes that shine brighter than the jewels bezelled into it.

“Of course I did,” he smirks as he takes it back to clasp it around her wrist, looking up into her eyes with a sly smirk spreading across his lips, “it was really fucking expensive.”

She swats hard at his chest, trying so hard to suppress an aching grin from taking over her pretty features. “Promise me you’ll look after yourself?”

“Of course, I have precious cargo,” she smiles, hand cradling the bottom of her growing belly, where his reaches out to join, settling his softened gaze on the roundness of it before looking back up at her.

“You’re precious too, Mohn.” He whispers, and he can’t help himself, kissing her one final, passionate time before pressing his forehead to hers, closing his eyes and breathing her in as much as he can before he leaves. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you, Nico,” she whispers, words meant just for him, just to settle the growing ache in his bones that won’t be relieved until they’re reunited.

“I love you too, Poppy.”

Poppy

Poppy has always loved having a space of her own. Ever since moving into her apartment, after having lived with Nia through college and a a little while after, she has relished having a place that is exclusively hers - where she doesn’t have to share responsibilities, doesn’t have to lay down boundaries, or protect what is hers, because everything is hers.

Her comfy Facebook Marketplace couch, that she had found for a steal and her and Nico - mostly Nico - had lugged all the way up to her apartment not long after she had moved in, and holds an abundance of memories, especially lately, that warm Poppy to her very core. Memories of being cuddled up with him, large hands rubbing soothing circles into her belly to try rouse any sort of premature movement in there, while he distracted her entirely from the Harry Potter movies he was supposed to be getting her invested in.

Her big cosy bed, with mountains of pillows Nico constantly grumbles at having to remove when he stays over, cloud-like heaps of blankets that she has to trap him in so that his legs stay under, and she can wrap hers around them before he manages to stick them out in the cold.

Shelves lined with keepsakes and trinkets - which now includes little framed scan photos, a small pregnancy memory journal sent over by Nico’s mom, where the two of them have been writing little daily messages to their baby girl for her to read one day when she’s older.

And she always thought that when it came to sharing her space, when it came to being in a relationship with someone, progressing to the point of living together, and having a home be theirs and not hers, she’d have wanted it to be somewhere that had been hers, first.

She never thought she would leave her apartment, never thought she’d haul her belongings a few blocks over, give up her couch, her bed, all the random pieces of furniture she had sourced over the years, pack up her trinkets and say goodbye to the last scrap of independence she would ever have with an all-too-ecstatic wave and immerse herself so wholeheartedly into someone else’s home.

But Nico had made it easy. He makes everything easy, Poppy has very quickly realised.

It’s all he has done since they found out she was pregnant.

Any fears of feeling like an intruder never even had the chance to materialise in her thoughts before he was calling his place theirs, referencing their home like it had always been that way, like she was always destined to be a part of his life, like there’s more to that word for him than walls and belongings.

He had told her as much all those weeks ago, wrapped up in his sheets in the early hours of the morning, when he had told her that she was like home to him. And she had thought the same - she still thinks the same, but being here without him, she still feels it, despite him being so far away for so long.

She doesn’t feel like a house-sitter, or something temporary.

She feels it in her new routine, in figuring out his appliances, in adjusting his thermostat and shower temperatures to her liking, in replacing some of the books on his shelves he most definitely has never read with her books, her trinkets, her pictures. Their pictures.

It has become a stark contrast to all those months ago, when she had walked into this space with heavy feet, the weight of the world on her shoulders and the fear of rejection weighing on her heart - when she had taken note of the lack of warmth, or the personality she knew all too well.

His kitchen shelves are now lined with books of recipes she can’t wait to cook for him when they are co-existing - when summer is over, and their baby is here, and their lives have officially begun.

She tells him as much when he calls every night, usually when she’s making dinner, and he utters the same sentiments, his features softening into that dopey smile she loves so much when he comments about missing her cooking. He’s usually propped up against the utensil pot, watching intently as she flits around their kitchen, the drawers now memorised so she no longer has to ask him where a tin opener might be, and every time she looks over, he has this far away look in his eyes like he’s watching back a dream.

His call had come a little earlier, today, after she had sent over a voice note she had taken for him at her routine scan. It had been just long enough for him to listen to it before the tell-tale FaceTime ringtone had rung out from her pocket, just as she had been hauling her groceries down the hall to finally make it home after a long day at work.

“Did you send that by accident or is it a distress signal?”

Poppy smiles down at her phone as she makes it through the front door, heading straight for the kitchen and putting the bag of groceries on the counter.

“That’s out daughter’s heartbeat,” she chuckles, admiring the way he leans down onto whatever table he has her propped up on, heart thudding as she realises he’s still out in public, despite it being late where he is, not even able to wait until he gets back to the privacy of his room like normal to call her. “Strongest one this side of the Hudson, so I’ve been told.”

“Oh really?” He rests on his forearms and uses them to support his chin, his smile tired and exhaustion seemingly creeping into his bones. It’s been almost 3 weeks now since they have seen each other, and every night Poppy sees a difference in him - focus increased and motivation teetering. There isn’t long left, though, until she leaves Jersey. Until she heads straight for him and they finally get some time together with no other responsibilities than to be with each other. “You get any pictures?”

“Whoa, kinky,” she smirks when she sees him roll his eyes, heat creeping onto his cheeks, and she huffs out a slight sigh of disappointment when he runs a hand through his hair, and she can see the ear buds carrying her voice to him. She’d only slightly been hoping to embarrass him in public. She deserves the little pleasures, she thinks.

“Of our baby, Poppy,” he huffs, his annoyance entirely forced and the way she charms him evident in the glint in his eyes, even through a phone screen.

“Duh,” she rolls her eyes as her fingers swipe through her phone, looking for the pictures she already had primed to send over to him.

“If you have any other pictures though, you can send them through. I'll be back in my room in 10 minutes.”

“Nice try,” she scoffs, waiting for the blue line to run the whole way across her screen as the pictures and videos start sending. “That second video, when she turns a little, you can see she has your nose, it’s so cute,” she sighs, dreamily, as she settles the phone back onto the counter, leaning down to watch his reactions as he receives them. She can feel warmth spread through her chest as she takes in the movement of his eyes, flickering across all there is to take in from the latest scan - the tiny developments since the last one, especially considering she had opted for the 3D scan despite how much she thought it might freak her out.

Seeing her baby girl all curled up, tiny hands supposedly waving, little features scrunched up in a mirror image of the man Poppy loves the most in the world - it had really set her emotions off that morning. She had to sit in her car for a good 20 minutes before work, sobbing into a snotty tissue and cursing the time difference for the fact that Nico was probably asleep, not wanting to disturb him just to call and worry him.

“I think she looks like you,” he mutters, entirely hypnotised by the videos, lips stretched into a soft smile, dimples pushing into his cheeks, emphasising the fresh gash below his eye that she has actively been trying not to look too much at. “She’s so beautiful. Did you get copies?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna put them straight into my carry on so I don’t forget to bring them over. Got a copy for your mom, too.”

“She’ll love the nose thing.”

“It’s a cute nose,” Poppy hums, “A strong one, too, swear she’s like a sniffer dog in there, I’ve been craving mac and cheese all day since she smelled someone else’s lunch yesterday. Had to go buy a grater just so I can make some from scratch.”

“I don’t have a cheese grater?”

“Not that I could find,” Poppy frowns, having searched high and low in every cupboard and drawer when she got home last night, “Although neither of us should be surprised, Nico, you don’t even have a full set of pans,”

“Why would I need a full set? I only ever use one at a time.”

“You’re giving yourself too much credit, baby, we both know you live off of meal prep delivery.” She jokes, and he shakes his head in silent denial. “But don’t worry,” she picks her phone up and switches the camera to show him the pan set she had brought home with her yesterday, “I’m here to improve your life one pot at a time.”

“Is that how you’re spending your evening?” He asks, “Stocking our kitchen with new stuff?”

“That’s the plan for tomorrow, actually,” she smiles, picturing all the shopping she can do as she starts unpacking all the ingredients for her dinner, “My dad said he found a bunch of old baby clothes in their garage, he had a meeting this way today and is gonna bring them over for me to look at tonight.”

“Your baby clothes?”

“Yeah, I’m hoping, you should see the way they dressed OlI when he was a baby, like half of his genetic structure was colour-block Gymboree.”

“I have no idea what that means,” he frowns, adorably, eyes gleaming still with the beginnings of a fond smile.

“Trust me, you don’t want to, he looks like a clown in all his baby photos. Hideous.” She shudders as she focuses her attention back on the phone, catching a glimpse of Nico stifling a yawn and checking the time. He isn't usually out of his room at this time, usually getting settled in for the night, lounging in his bed so he gets to say goodnight to her. She doesn’t really want to keep him if he’s tired. “He should be here soon, so I’ll let you go get your beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, I need all the help I can get,” he chuckles, a finger wagging toward the cut on his cheek with a tired smile. “Text me before you sleep, so I can wake up to it?” She nods. “Love you, Poppy,” The casual manner in which he utters the words does little to quell the excitement they arouse.

“Love you too, Nico.”

Poppy feels lighter than air as she pads around the apartment after their call has ended, unpacking her groceries into the refrigerator, keeping out what she needs so that she can start cooking up her dinner - her grandmother’s mac and cheese, the secrets of her recipe finally bestowed upon her now that she has someone to make it for - her phone hooked up to his speaker system, filling the space with her favourite music in a way that already makes it feel like she has been there forever.

She cuts up her cauliflower and puts it in a pan to steam before she gets to work making her sauce, grating an almost excessive amount of cheese and giving herself an almighty ache in her arm.

It isn’t too long before she gets a message from Lionel - him now texting her to alert her of any visitors coming up, the familiarity ironing out that last crease of imposter syndrome where she had feared she might have to run is by Nico, his concierge now treating her like a proper resident.

So when the knock at the door comes, she practically skips over, a giant smile pushing at her cheeks as she reaches to open it, only for it to drop at who’s on the other side.

“Don’t look too excited to see me, Honey,” Poppy’s mom rolls her eyes as she pushes past her, trailing two large holdalls behind her as she steps into Nico’s apartment, dropping them just past the door before she stretches her arms dramatically.

Poppy cranes her neck out of the open door to look for any sign of her dad, any sign of a buffer or safety net to fall into, because there’s no way in hell she’s going to have to suffer her mom’s presence on her own, right now.

“Is dad bringing more bags up here, or something?”

“No, he got held up with a working dinner, I said I’d bring this stuff over.”

She watches her mother as she slowly steps further into the apartment, casting a judgemental eye around in a way that immediately gets Poppy’s back up, feeling protective of the space already, hesitant to close the door in an attempt to give the negative energy a way out.

She can’t keep it open forever, though, not when her mom seemingly has no plans to leave.

“Is that grandma’s mac and cheese?” She asks as she enters the kitchen, lifting the lid on the pot of steaming cauliflower.

“Yeah, she finally gave me the recipe for the sauce, and I’ve been craving it all week.”

“You’ll need to take that off the heat, soon, or it will be like mush at the bottom.”

Poppy’s eyes roll by instinct as she lets out a huff, stomping toward where her mother is stood and flicking the switch for the burners. “I know what I’m doing, I literally have a step-by-step,”

“You don’t have to turn everything into an argument, Poppy, I was just saying.” She steps away from the stove, narrowing her eyes at her daughter. “God forbid I try to help you.”

“You’re not trying to help, Mom, you’re hovering,” she scoffs, “Like you literally came over just to judge.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she scoffs, “I’m hardly judging, I’ve said one thing.”

Poppy bites her tongue from retorting, one thing too many, but something starts bubbling inside her, too strong for her to swallow down, this time.

She thinks it might be Nico’s doing, this new instinct to defend herself - defend herself to her mother, at least, because God knows she has no troubles doing it with anyone else. She had always thought she had a handle on her, could control herself, could throw quick jabs back to lessen the blow of scrutiny and shame that’s usually sent her way by her mother, but hearing how Nico had stood up to her dad, she realises she’s just been masking a problem this entire time. She’s never really stood up to her, never really let her know all the ways in which she’s been hurt by her mom’s judgements over the years, too scared to stick around for what might be the final blow, too scared of the impact, or that neither of them may ever recover from it.

But it has to be better than this - than the constant holding of her breath in anticipation of it coming. It isn’t doing either of them any favours. There’s only so far her sarcasm will get her, now.

“I swear you hate that I don’t rely on you,” she says, softly - not through trepidation or doubt, but because she doesn’t want this space to be one where voices are raised, where tears are brought to her eyes and lumps to her throat. “I’ve lived on my own for years, cooked for myself every day almost, and it’s like you can’t even fathom for a second I might not need or want your help.”

“I’m not arguing with you over macaroni, Poppy.”

“This isn’t about macaroni, it’s about you having an incessant need to make me feel like crap. It’s like you can’t stand that I can do things on my own.”

“Maybe I can’t.”

Well, there it is.

Poppy hadn’t been expecting it to take her aback quite like this, breath held, shoulders tensed, mouth agape. There’s a shrill, nagging voice that harps, I told you so, in her head, but it does little to help. She hadn’t really wanted to be right.

If she’s entirely honest, she wanted her mom to shut her down, again. To tell her she’s being stupid, to tell her she’s proud of her independence, and is just being catty because that’s who she is. That’s who she’s always been.

“What?”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t stand the way you behave. Maybe I loathe it,”

Her hand falls almost by instinct to cradle the curve of her bump, like she’s trying to lessen the impact, to not let the hurt she feels seep all the way to where her baby girl lays in her belly, peaceful and darling and blissfully unaware of the pain that can be inflicted by a mother’s sharp tongue.

“Maybe I wish for once in your life you’d be serious, and think about things before you just dive headfirst into situations you have no business being in. And subjecting a baby to them, nonetheless. God, Poppy, I’ve always known you to be impulsive but this,” her mother’s hand flops almost dismissively her way, hard eyes set straight on her stomach before twirling on the spot and gesturing around them, “And all this, you think you’re being independent? You’re being careless and selfish.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Not raising her voice goes straight out the window, “First of all I’m irresponsible for not living with Nico, and now I’ve moved in with him, I’m careless? Nothing I do will ever be enough for you, will it?”

“It’s not about me,”

“Yeah, right,”

“This is about your baby,”

“Don’t act like you care about my baby,” Poppy scoffs, “She’s not just another thing you can try to control. You don’t always know what’s best, Mom, and I don’t want my daughter feeling the way I feel around you, it isn’t good for any of us, so I’m gonna ask you one more time to stop.”

“Stop what? Trying to help you-,"

“You’re not helping! I don’t know how many more times I can say it! I don’t understand how I can try my best to get everything right and you just pick out all the flaws!” Here come the tears in her eyes, and the lump in her throat, too.

Of course it would have been her mother to burst her happy bubble, yet again.

“Because somebody has to open your eyes to the fact that this isn’t the dream you think it is, Poppy! Pregnancy, being a mother, it isn’t all sunshine and rainbows and handsome boyfriends who move you into their fancy apartments and promise you the world-,”

“Oh, here we go again,” Poppy fires back, “What is it then? I gave you lopsided breasts and thin hair so now you get to ruin my life?”

“Not you-,”

“Right, like you’d ever give golden boy Oliver this kind of grief,”

“Your sister.”

Poppy can feel a rush of blood to the head.

Her what?

She knows deep in her heart her mother would never do crack, but maybe she picked up something else at one of her luncheons. Maybe she accidentally stumbled into one of those botox parties and they injected a little too deep into her forehead.

No, Poppy thinks, she can see frown lines, still.

“Her name was Primrose. Rosie. She was my first.”

There’s a steady, softer tone to her mom’s voice that Poppy hasn’t heard in years. An undertone of reminiscence and longing. Of love.

Her feet carry her by instinct, rounding past her mother and heading for the couch, patting the space beside her and meeting her mother’s eyes with a somewhat solemn gaze.

“She was from a relationship I had before your father and I got together. I was nineteen, and in college, and I had all these great things lined up for my future. I had this concrete plan, and there was nothing in the world that was gonna take me away from it. Build a career, build something for myself, and then start a family. But then I met a boy.”

It isn’t exactly how things had worked out for Poppy, but the outline seems the same. Career focused, strong minded, independent, and then, bam! Nico.

“His name was Charlie, he was an aspiring chef, working a bunch of jobs to get him through culinary school, he was a real grafter, that’s what your grandpa used to say. He was so charming, made me feel like the whole world revolved around me.” She smiles wistfully as she looks back on that time in her life, a softness to her that Poppy doesn’t quite recognise. One that’s already bringing those tears straight back to her eyes and that lump straight back to her throat.

Charming, made her feel like the world revolved around her. Yeah, that’s a familiar outline, alright.

“And you know how your grandparents are, they encouraged it, if anything. Grandma is always drawn in by the dreamers, she used to tell me all the time how good he was for me.”

The lump intensifies, her blood running cold at all the possibilities of where this could go.

“Everything was so perfect, until it wasn’t.”

He better not have hurt her, she thinks. She doesn’t care how old he may be now, or how pregnant is. She’ll find Chef Charlie and beat him black and blue.

“Rosie had Downs Syndrome, we found out around half way through the pregnancy.”

For as long as Poppy has been alive, her mother has worked with the Downs Syndrome Association, hosting galas and fundraising events every year - helping raise money through sponsorships to assist with education, and to support those affected as well as their families. It’s the one thing she’s always loved doing with her - seeing her so passionate and focused. And now she’s cursing herself for never wondering why - always taking that devotion to the cause and paying too much attention to her brother’s mouth in her ear, telling her not to look a gift horse in the mouth, not to question why her mom only ever lit up in that environment.

“That’s why you run the benefit.” It’s not really a question, at this point. A realisation, more than anything, the weight of it settling into her spine.

“It makes me feel closer to her.”

“What happened?”

“Charlie, he had all these plans for what our life was gonna be after he found out I was pregnant. He was going to work his way up in a restaurant, was gonna do everything he could to support us and build something for the three of us that was more than what he had growing up. My parents offered to support, but he was so set on being the provider. He made everything seem so perfect and so easy.”

Easy, like Nico, Poppy thinks. She had the same sentiment about him, earlier.

“Having a kid with special needs didn’t fit into this version of life he wanted to live, so he bowed out the first chance he got. I made it to 32 weeks on my own before she-,”

Of all the things she can say about her mom, Poppy doesn’t think she’s ever seen her choked up like this. It makes her blood run cold.

“After 28 weeks, a miscarriage is considered a stillbirth, you have to physically give birth, there isn’t another way, so they induce labour, and I didn’t want to take any time to think about it so I had them do it as soon as I found out. Your grandparents were on a cruise off the coast of Greece, and Charlie was nowhere to be found. I had to deliver a baby I knew was already gone, on my own, with nobody to hold my hand.”

Poppy takes a hold of it immediately, as if clasping her fingers around her mother’s now will make up for having no one around to do it back then, when she needed it the most.

“She was so beautiful, Poppy. She had this little button nose, she looked so delicate I didn’t want to touch her too much when they let me hold her, she was so tiny and fragile.”

Her scan earlier in the day had been 3D, a multidimensional view of her little girl’s features, little nose, pouty lips, tiny hands. To think about the size of her in context, around the size of a mango or a large tomato, she can’t fathom what it would be like to hold her in her hands. Despite only being 19 weeks along, the thought of it makes her heart thud rampant and uneasily in her chest.

“I had all these ideas of what she could do, and what she would be, and I never let go of those, even when she was diagnosed. I had prepared myself for what life with a special needs child could be, I’d read all the books, I’d gone to a support group at the local community centre, and I’d dreamed up this great life for her. And we just never got to live it. No amount of therapy of counselling can ever erase that version of your life from your head.”

Poppy thinks about all the dreams she has for her little girl, all the ideas she already has of what she might be, might look like, might act like. To never get to see that would break her entirely.

“Your dad helped me through it after. I knew him since we were younger, always knew he was an option, but he was safe, and I always pushed him to the side. But after Rosie, after Charlie, I didn’t really want to be a dreamer anymore, didn’t want to think up these idealistic scenarios that would never come to be. Going down my own path, with Charlie, with all of it, it took me somewhere too dark to ever fathom a way out. And then your father became my light.”

Her parents have never been the lovey-dovey kind of parents, the ones that would make their children yuck with PDA or sentimentality, but they’ve always been solid. Always on the same page, always showing up for each other.

She's always thought her mom was the backbone of the two. Her father is strong, that has never been in question, but her mother has always seemed unwavering in her resilience for life in a way her dad doesn't measure up.

“Getting through my pregnancy with Oli was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but he was so easy. I never really got sick, all his scans were clear, his heartbeat strong, he moved all the time. His delivery was so quick it was like I sneezed him out.” That same wistful smile returns to her lips, and Poppy can feel the but coming a mile off, can sense her defences building back up at the impending jab, at the certain comparison where Oli always comes out on top. “And then you came.”

The you sounds more defeated than pointed. The smile drops, but not entirely, and tears begin to well in her mom’s eyes again.

“You never wanted to be where the doctor wanted you to be, you kept your legs crossed for so long every time we thought we were going in to find out your gender, we’d leave disappointed, and your dad ended up deciding we should just leave it until you were born to find out. Not do the extra tests. Let the cards fall where they may. You didn’t move that often, and I was always anxious something was happening to you.”

Cheeto’s been moving more, lately. Within the last couple of weeks, Poppy has started to feel it. Routinely, in fact, so she can’t imagine what it would be like to go days without it, now. She’d be the same, worrying all the time, thinking something was wrong - and that’s without ever having experienced any problems before. Having a previous loss looming over her head must have driven her mother crazy.

“It wasn’t until you came out after 12 hours, where they had to manually reposition you at one point when you were breached, and just as they decided they might cut me open, you started crowning. After all that trauma, you came out and you were a girl, and your dad was so happy, but I-,” Poppy sort of knows this part. Her father had been praying for a girl, had celebrated as if the Giants had won the Super Bowl. And all she knows of her mom is what she’s told her in the plainest words. She had pretty bad postnatal depression after Poppy was born. She was pretty much nursed by nannies, and Poppy had always just assumed that’s where the rift stemmed from. “I just remember sobbing. Your dad bonded with you straight away, but every time I looked at you, I thought of her. Of Rosie. They tried putting me on medication but it never really took this feeling away that something was off, and, looking back, when I found out I was having another daughter, I think I projected a lot of what I wanted for Rosie onto you. I was always planning to be her caretaker for as long as it took, so I probably tried to control you a little more than I did Oliver. And I understand that’s unfair, but bringing a girl into this world is more difficult. You have this responsibility to prepare her for the weight of it.”

Prepare her, control her, be her caretaker. She supposes they all link. It makes sense, trying to stamp this life she had dreamed up on Poppy because she never got to do it with her sister. She never stood a chance to try forge her own path, not really. Small failures in her mother’s care after that initial loss set the foundations for the rest of Poppy’s life - an ignorance to the pain she was struggling with, and belittling of her grief, resulted in someone clinging so desperately to her own control that she flattened her daughter with it.

“No one ever prepared me, Poppy. I love your grandparents, but they didn’t set me up to handle what I went through. And despite everything that I tried to warn you of, despite everything I tried to mould you to be, all the ways I tried to protect you, all you ever wanted to do was defy me. All the time. All the way down to those scars on your knees from not wearing the pads on your bike.” Priscilla’s hand gestures to where Poppy’s legs rest between them, a reminiscent scoff falling from her lips. “I tried so hard to shield you from a life you just wanted to dive headfirst into, no helmet or anything. You never listened, you wouldn’t make a plan for your future, you attend a college doing a degree for something that isn’t a guaranteed career path. In fact, you deny having your hand held down a guaranteed path when your father offered you all those jobs. You move into a city on your own, into a high crime neighbourhood, into a job surrounded by boisterous men, and somehow you hold your own.”

There’s an underlying sense of pride that Poppy can feel now - for all the ways her mom wants to paint these things as faults or inconveniences, she also sees them as strengths.

Maybe a part of her has all a long. A version of herself from before life came at her full force, a version of her clinging to whatever surface she can find to hold on and prevail.

“And you fall in love with one of them, with a boy who isn’t safe. Who knocks on your door out of nowhere one day, and you tell me he’s there to whisk you away, and it takes me straight back to being nineteen again, to having a man who, despite making me feel like it revolved around me, turned my world upside down. So maybe I can’t stand to see you making the same mistakes, knowing what kind of pain it can cause.”

Poppy remembers the day her mom had met Nico for the first time. They had been getting ready for one of the fundraisers for the Downs Syndrome Association - her mom on edge all day, micromanaging everything Poppy did, and she had answered a knock at the door to see Nico on the other side. Her dislike of him had been brewing even before then. It isn’t even Nico she dislikes. It’s everything that he represents, crashing into her life at a time that things were resurfacing. It all makes sense, now. “That’s why you got so hell-bent on setting me up?”

“Nico seems like a good enough man, Poppy,” She doesn’t know the half of it, Poppy thinks. “And I see that he makes you happy, I’m not blind to what the two of you have, or have had for a while now. But his life, his career, it’s not a sure thing. He has a lot of pressure outside of your relationship, and he might not be the best bet for when things go wrong. I just wanted you to have something more stable.”

Poppy lets the words linger for a minute. To dwell on the situation as a whole - a lifetime of anguish between the two of them, and finally she knows the cause.

She really wishes she could have a drink right about now. It would probably ease the tension a whole lot more, sharing a bottle of wine with her mom to really break bread.

But the more she thinks, the more she’s sure of her response to all of it.

“I’d bet on him.”

There’s no use in telling her mom she’s sorry for what she went through. She hopes her presence is enough of an indication of that - that she’d never want to even think of her mother dealing with that kind of grief, alone. 25 years of control isn’t going to be resolved with one conversation, she knows that - knows her mom knows it, too. And it doesn’t entirely explain a lot of her other behaviours, either, so it probably isn’t going to be the only heart to heart they have. But all she can now do is explain herself. Tell her side of the story she’s trying to write for herself and hope her mom ends up too invested in the ending to close the book completely.

“I’d bet everything I have that he won’t let me down. And you might think that’s shortsighted, or naive, but I need it to be enough for you. What Nico and I have, it started off impulsive, and a little chaotic, and messy, but I promise you, it’s stable. We’ve both put a lot of work into what we have to make it safe, I really need you to trust me on that.”

And Poppy isn’t saying it for argument’s sake. She isn’t trying to defend something she isn’t sure on, herself. Nico would never leave her when things get hard, he’s proven as much to her already. He’s taken the baby steps, he’s integrated her entirely into his life, into his family, into his home - and even disregarding all that, it isn’t in his character. He’s loyal, and supportive, and honest. He won’t let her down.

“I may be a little hard-headed, and defiant, and stubborn when it comes to what you want for me, Mom, but I would never be reckless when it comes to what’s best for my baby.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Poppy, but I thought Charlie was the best-,”

“Nico isn’t Charlie.”

She feels a little harsh to say it, but it’s the truth. Her mom can’t hold her own misfortunes over Poppy for the rest of her life, it isn’t fair.

“And as much as you might think I’m not prepared enough to come to that conclusion, that I don’t know until something happens, I know him. And I know myself. I’ve spent years trying to push these feelings that I have down and it’s done nothing but hurt me. If you gave him a chance, you’d have seen it for yourself, he doesn’t give up, not for anything.”

There’s another prolonged silence as her mom mulls on her thoughts, and Poppy can practically see the transition of emotions pass through her. Hesitation, doubt, confusion, deliberation, and then finally, acceptance.

“Maybe when the two of you get back from your time in Europe, we can put that to the test.”

Poppy can feel her face drop, mouth agape, eyes widened, brows raised, but she can’t find it in her to care how dramatic she might look. Her mother, who would rather have her hands hammered or swallow nails than admit she may have been wrong, is willing to give her a real shot to prove herself to her.

“You’ll really give him a chance?”

“Let’s not be rash. Baby steps, darling,” her mom rolls her eyes playfully.

Poppy can’t quite believe the serendipity of the situation.

It had been in this exact spot, in this exact apartment, that those words had been uttered to her those few months ago. Hands held between her and Nico, and a promising glint in his eyes and certainty to his tone.

And she feels the same optimism that she had back then.

She feels her face break out into an almost aching grin, tears welling at her eyes as she leans in to hug her mom, feeling the gentle rub of maternal comfort ease into her spine.

She invites her mom to stay for dinner, the two of them working in tandem to make her grandmother’s mac and cheese, Poppy actually accepting her mother’s helping hand, and they eat together while Poppy catches her up on all the latest with her scans and tests, and all the ever developing symptoms of her pregnancy.

And as she burrows herself into her and Nico’s bed later in the night, body swallowed in sheets that smell of his detergent, surrounded by everything that reminds her of him, she just feels warm all over.

She thinks to herself that maybe this place is magic. Maybe he’s magic, healing a lifelong rift between her and her mother from over 4,000 miles away.

And there’s no maybe about the fact that she can see forever with him.

That, she’s sure of.

Poppy has never had any issues when it comes to flying.

Having being fortunate enough to have vacationed with her family every year up until she turned 16, and her parents stopped inviting her, she’s never been bothered by planes or airports or travel.

In fact, she quite likes the whole process. Packing everything meticulously into little cubes, organising those into co-ordinated cases pulled at either side of her body as she ambles through the terminal, mooching around the shops for little trinkets and stocking up on copious amounts of candy. Lounging around her gate until it’s time to board and settling it in, ears cushioned by thick headphones and a nice mellow playlist to calm the chaos of her day so far, or to set the mood for the flight ahead. She likes watching in-flight movies, even likes the gross in-flight meals, always food she’d never dream in a million years of eating outside of whatever tin can she’s residing in for the next few hours. She doesn’t even mind turbulence.

But she hasn’t travelled such a long distance in a few years.

And she has never done so whilst pregnant.

All the glamour of travelling overseas, along with all the small pleasures she has found over the years, is quickly outweighed by the fact she now has to wear compression socks. Now has to keep drinking water throughout the day, which means she has to keep peeing, keep walking around despite the muscles at the bottom of her back begging her to sit back down.

And she had thought in the days leading up to her flight that she had been keeping a brave face on her daily calls with Nico, not letting her stress about the whole thing impact his mood, or his focus leading up to semifinals of the world championship, but she’s never been so thankful for someone’s stubborn perception than when she had opened her door the night before her flight to see his sister stood on the other side of it.

“Nina?” She asks, dumbfounded, before slender arms are thrown around her, rubbing gently at her back as she sways a little into the cuddle.

“Hey, travel buddy!”

“What’s going on, what are you doing here?” Poppy asks as she welcomes her in, heart jumping erratically at the sight of her. Nina was supposed to meet her on the other side of her flight, being her ride from the airport to the hotel while Nico would be in training, and she kind of feels like her nerves have manifested her into the apartment like some sort of thirst-induced mirage.

“Nico was getting all antsy at the thought of you travelling alone, so I’m supposed to say we decided as a family for one of us to come out and travel with you, but the truth is I may or may not have been bribed.”

“What did he bribe you with?”

“Said you’d name your daughter after whoever came.” She smiles victoriously as she makes her way through the apartment with ease, throwing herself onto the couch, just beside where Poppy has two big open cases splayed out on the floor, almost fully packed. “I had to literally pull my mom out of a cab to beat her to the airport.”

“Sounds just like the kind of Hischier family dynamics I was promised, to be fair,” Poppy chuckles, joining her in the living room and perching herself on the floor beside her cases, carrying on with her previous task of organising that she had been preoccupied with before the mysterious knock at the door. “You’re just in time actually, I was about to order some food, I’ve cleared out the refrigerator so you can take your pic of what we get if you want!”

Nia had been around earlier in the afternoon, and had helped Poppy prep the apartment to be left empty for a few months, which included clearing out all the perishable food and hauling it down to the waste disposal room because the bag wouldn’t fit down the chute, and neither of them wanted to be held responsible for clogging it up for the whole building. She had helped her figure out what to pack, as well as bring over some travel essentials she had picked up from CVS, creating a little kit for Poppy to take on the plane with her.

Face mist, hand sanitiser, an eye mask, ear plugs and intensive lip balm - a lifesaver considering the amount Poppy has been nervously chewing on her bottom lip for the past few days straight.

And then she had left, in an emotional goodbye where Poppy had waited until Nia was in the elevator to burst into tears, distraught at the thought of not seeing her best friend for the next few months.

It isn’t the first time they’ve ever been apart this long, but Nia has been her rock throughout her pregnancy, and leaving her behind just as all the fun parts of the whole experience are starting to kick in feels sad. But with promises made to call as often as possible, and assurances that Nia will spend the next few months meticulously planning a welcome home-baby shower hybrid, the tears soon cleared up as Poppy distracted herself making sure she wasn’t forgetting anything.

“Aren’t you craving anything?” Nina asks as she slips down onto the floor beside her, the two of them kneeling next to each other.

“To be honest, I felt sick before you got here, so I hadn’t really thought about it.” Poppy shrugs. She had been planning to go to bed, try and sleep away her anxiety, but she doesn’t want to seem irresponsible, not to Nina. “There’s a really great Italian place not too far from here that delivers, though. And now that you mention cravings they do these little tubs of tiramisu and if I don’t get one before I leave it’s all I’ll think about for the next four months.”

“I’m sold, we could share if you’re not too hungry.”

“We’ll share pasta, I share dessert with no one.”

“That’s fair,” Nina chuckles as she helps Poppy push herself up, her bump becoming more of a hinderance to her usual habits with every day that passes.

She ambles over to the TV console where her phone had been discarded and works at ordering the two of them dinner through her PostMates app, agreeing to share some lasagne and get a tub of dessert each.

Nina helps her sort her cases until they’re ready to zip up, and agrees to do one final check of her bag she’ll be taking on the plane so she has a fresh set of eyes to suggest anything else she might need.

“You know your hotel room will have pillows, right?” Nina scoffs, pulling one of the pillows from Poppy’s bed out of the carry-on. “Why do you have one in your bag?”

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy.” Poppy sighs, collapsing onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

“You’re having a baby with my little brother, Poppy, that ship has already sailed.” She laughs, turning to look at Poppy with the same look Nico usually gives her, exasperated somewhat but entirely fond. It makes her miss him that much more. The same dark chocolate eyes, same dimpled smile. “Promise I won’t judge, girl talk is a safe space.”

Poppy smiles, fond in her own way.

She hasn’t spent much time alone with Nina. They’ve met a few times before, hung out with Nico, with his parents, with the team - at bars, restaurants, even the arena - and Poppy remembers a couple times where Nina and her had both uttered the same sentiment. It’s nice to have another girl around.

“I haven’t washed his pillowcase since he left,” she admits, feeling her cheeks flush already, "And I just carry it around the apartment and sniff it sometimes when I miss him.” It only barely smells like him still, but it had gotten her through those first two weeks more than she’d like to admit, shuffling over to his side of the bed to breathe him in every morning like he’d only gone out for training, and would be back before she knew it.

“Yeah, that’s weird.”

“You said no judging,” Poppy pouts.

“I lied.”

“I was gonna take it on the plane with me tomorrow.” Her flight is in the late afternoon, and she has no doubts around the fact that once her butt touches base into her designated seat, she’ll be out like a light. If it weren’t for her constant need to pee, and warnings to have intervals on her feet, she would hope to sleep the whole way through. What’s better than closing her eyes in one country and waking in another? The miles between her and Nico reduced to mere double-digits, she can’t wait for this heaviness on her chest to dissipate into nothing the second she’s breathing the same air as him. “Figured if I’m gonna be uncomfortable for 9 hours straight it might help.”

“So happy that you’re reuniting soon, because I think you’ve lost your mind,”

“Yeah,” Poppy sighs in agreement, because there’s really no use denying it, now. A month without him, longing to be with him, missing him in even the most mundane ways has well and truly sent her off the handle. Nia had told her as much, earlier, too. And Luke when she’d text him asking if he happens to see Nico in passing while he’s overseas to please send her pictures like a crazed stalker. “I thought I’d be better at this whole thing, but I miss him more than I ever have before.”

“That’s cute,” Nina smiles, sympathy glimmering in her dark irises as she tilts her head and watches the way Poppy’s own features shift.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“He has this thing whenever he talks about you, like his eyes get all animated and turn into hearts,” she smirks, “Yours do the same. It’s sweet.”

Poppy feels her mouth stretching, a deep smile tugging at each corner of her lips. “Cheeto kind of does the same thing, shuffles a little in my belly when she hears him.” She’s noticed it the last few days, slight movements whenever Nico calls, whenever his voice rings out from the confines of her phone and warms her entire body. And despite everything she reads online about how it isn’t possible for her baby to hear anything outside of her body yet, she doesn’t care. Maybe it’s a reaction to the way Poppy’s heart sings for him, instead.

“Baby Nina, you mean?” Poppy rolls her eyes fondly as Nina settles beside her on the couch. “Are you sure she isn’t trying to shield herself from how sickening the two of you are?”

“Possibly,” Poppy’s lips twist, “I can’t believe I’m sat here whining about how much I miss him when it’s been a few weeks, you don’t get to see him for most of the year.”

“It’s different,” Nina places a comforting hand on Poppy’s arm, “You two are building a life together, as much as he’s my brother and I love him, my world doesn’t revolve around him like your world does.” Poppy nods, mulling that fact over in her head. “That came out sounding worse than I meant, I think-,”

“No, not at all,” she reassures her, shifting her arm to take her hand, “You’re right, it’s so weird being at this phase of my pregnancy and trying to wrap my mind around how everything is gonna work and him not being here, it’s a little like a mental block.”

Having her world revolve around him isn’t a bad thing, she doesn’t think.

Telling the Poppy from a year ago that she’d be at peace with having her world revolve around any man would have had her throwing punches. Telling the girl who valued her independence like her hottest commodity - who barely liked to share her time, let alone her space, her day, her bed, with anybody else - that she would have moved in with her boyfriend, ready to start a family together and planning their final child-free summer over text threads would have been like telling her the moon was made out of cheese.

Ludicrous, but ever so slightly intriguing.

But it’s all so familiar now. All so right.

“One more day, Poppy,” Nina just so happens to echo the sentiment that Poppy has been telling herself all day. All week, all month, ever since that day outside the airport, counting down the days until this one, twisting the bracelet around her wrist nervously as if it’s a tether straight to him. “This time in 24 hours, we’ll be almost there.”

One more day, she repeats in her head, nodding with a smile to Nina and taking a deep breath.

She can do one more day.

Only one more day turns into almost two until Poppy is reunited with Nico.

She thinks she cursed herself, if she’s honest, whispering to her bump just before she had gone to sleep that night that they would be reunited with daddy before either of them knew it.

And then the travel day from hell occurred.

She thinks if she didn’t have Nina, she would have had an almighty breakdown - but every time she looked over and met those warm eyes, the tears in her own dissolved.

It had started with traffic on the way to the airport, a police incident on the skyway tripling the usual 20-minute travel time, and the only thing Poppy could find to be grateful for is that they had got an Uber instead of her driving, knowing her stress would have been tenfold if she was stopping and starting all the time.

Lucky for her, she always allows for delays in her planning, and they made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare, check-in going without a hitch, thankfully, and still giving them time to peruse for snacks to keep Poppy’s cravings at bay for the 9 hour flight ahead.

Time that, in the end, didn’t matter, because their flight kept getting delayed.

At first it was an hour, a problem with the initial departure of the inbound plane, and Poppy could deal with that. They were due to land in the early hours of the morning in Prague, anyway, so getting there an hour later didn’t really bother her. She had Nina for company, an abundance of snacks, and access to clean toilets in the airport lounge. She could have been trapped on the tin can, so all things considered an hour was too little of a delay for her to get worked up about.

That hour soon turned into two, which turned into three, and Poppy could feel her resolve dwindling as she watched the clock tick down. The first hour was more of an inconvenience than a problem. The second hour meant she probably wouldn’t make it to the hotel in time to spend some time in the room with Nico before he left, which was disheartening, but not entirely earth shattering. The third hour meant she wouldn’t get to see him at all before he left for the arena.

Nina was trying her best to keep on top of Poppy’s nerves, but even the power of those glimmering Hischier brown eyes couldn’t outweigh a delayed flight and an irksome lack of communication from the airline.

The only silver lining to the whole situation is the depth at which two people can bond when forced to just sit and wait together.

She learns more about Nina than Nico could ever tell her - about her career, her passions, her interests. Her love for volleyball, and various other sports, for travel, including her bucket list of countries to visit, and an already-planned itinerary of what she would want to do in each one. The two of them shared stories of their own travels over the years, gushing over secret spots they had both visited in the few spots they shared an interest in. Nina regaled Poppy with childhood stories of Nico, ones even her parents weren’t privy to - and it reinforces a lot of the things Poppy has learned herself about him over the years - of his love for learning, always wanting to educate himself, better himself. His love for trying new things, and how, despite being the youngest sibling, always encouraged his brother and sister to do the same.

They talk about music, about movies and TV shows, fashion, podcasts, food, their differing experiences in college, and by the time it is finally time to board their flight - after replenishing their stock of snacks - their conversation carries on seamlessly until half the journey has passed, almost.

Talking to Nina is easy. She’s friendly and charming, in a way Poppy is sure must run in their genes - hopes it does, and is passed down to her daughter like their brown eyes and dimpled smiles - and there isn’t a second of hesitance when it comes to her caring for Poppy like a little sister.

It’s the kind of sibling bond she has never really had before.

Her and Oli didn’t argue that much when they were kids, but their difference in age created an unmovable barrier between the two of them, and so they were never as close as the Hischier siblings appear to be.

It makes Poppy think of her mom, again. Think of Rosie, and the what-if of growing up with a big sister, herself. Would they have bonded over things like clothes and music? Would they have been each other’s shoulders to lean on? Knowing that it was ever a possibility makes her feel a lack that wasn’t there those couple of weeks ago, when she hadn’t ever known of her sister’s existence.

And she knows it’s strange to hope that building a relationship with Nina might fulfil that - edging herself into whatever gap the Hischier family might leave for her might make up for this gap in her own heart that now she feels will never be filled again - but spending the day with her makes her long for something she never spared a thought to before now.

She looks after Poppy in the way a big sister would, too. Makes sure she’s getting up and walking around intermittently, makes sure whenever the beverage cart comes around, she’s ordering refreshments to make sure Poppy stays hydrated. She keeps a watchful eye on the WC when Poppy starts shifting in her seat, lets her know when the vacant sign lights up above the door so Poppy can amble over and relieve the growing pressure on her bladder from trying to constantly drink.

And when Nina finally lets herself drift off, Poppy can’t help but stay awake, teary eyed, wondering how she ever got so lucky.

How she was lucky enough to have a partner like Nico, so in tune with her emotions that he sent his sister over to keep her company when she didn’t even know at that point it would be exactly what she needed. How she was lucky enough to have an extended family that cared enough about her to agree to it, to fight over the responsibility, as Nina had implied her and Katja had done. How she was lucky enough to get on so well with Nina, to talk to her almost non-stop for hours on end, to bond over their appreciation of so many things that stretches so far beyond their shared love of Nico.

She gets so caught up in her appreciation that she eventually drifts off with a dopey smile on her face, the dimmed lights of the cabin soothing her to sleep for the rest of their flight, and she lets the contentment she feels seep into her bones so much that when they’re delayed another hour on the tarmac when they land, she doesn’t let it get to her. When she's stuck behind a group of pensioners who don't know how to operate the scanners at passport control, she withholds her huffs and puffs. When her bags are the last to come out on the luggage carousel, she refrains from complaining.

She’ll see him, soon. She might not get her hour alone in their hotel room. She might not get her kiss goodbye in the hotel lobby. She might not even, at this rate, catch the beginning of the game, despite it being the only thing the two of them have talked about for weeks - the possibility of the team making it to the finals in the world championships, to her getting to see him live out his dreams live in action. Between taking her bags to the hotel and travelling to the arena with Nico’s family, not yet accounting for the inevitability of further traffic on her way, because that's just her luck, she’s probably going to get there part way through the first period, and the optimistic part that remains within her tells her, at least she's getting to see him at all.

But she’s in the same country, now. When she gets out of this god forsaken airport, she’ll be breathing the same air, kind of. And the months, that turned to weeks, that turned to days, have now turned to hours.

She can definitely do hours.

She can do anything for Nico.

In all the lead up to Poppy flying out to Europe to meet Nico, the two of them had never really accounted for it turning out like this.

If she really thinks back on it, she thinks she was giddy, too caught up in the romance of it all, of the whirlwind nature of everything that unfolded - of flying overseas to be with him, of preparing to spend the summer together, surrounded by his family, in his favourite place on earth, of getting to watch him play again like the weight of the world isn’t on his shoulders.

The ending to the Devil’s season had been tough - and he would never show it, not to Poppy, not when the two of them were spending so much time together, but it had taken a toll on him. She knows Nico doesn’t back down. She had told her mom as much. Nico doesn’t fold to pressure. He builds himself back up, builds those around him back up like the true captain he is, and he never lets the outcome of a game get to him.

For most of the season, there’s always the next game. Always room to improve, always a chance to claw things back in his favour. But those final few months, with playoff contention just slipping further and further out of his reach, his relationship with his own game had suffered a little.

She would watch him come home with a slump in his shoulders, eased away only by her gentle embrace. Would take notice of the way he would talk about work less, shifting the subject or speaking in phrases without much heart behind them.

And seeing the spring return to his step at the thought of playing in the world championships, of initially captaining his national team, had flooded her with pride, and with hope.

Every time the team progressed, their plans would change.

The first plan had been to meet him at home in Switzerland. She had work to wrap up, keeping her in Jersey, and he was going to get his apartment over there ready to fit the two of them for the inevitable future. And then the team kept progressing. Kept winning. And plans to fly out and stay with just him turned into plans to fly out and stay with the family, his opportunity to get things ready getting shorter and shorter the better they played.

And then rolled round the quarter finals. The semi finals only two days after, the day before she was set to fly out - and no matter what the result of that game was, she would be jetting off to Prague, instead.

And she hadn’t really said it to him, not wanting to jinx anything, but it was like she had known somewhere in her heart that he would make it all the way to the end.

It’s what Nico does. He fights tooth and nail to get to where he wants to be, and she knows, after the season the Devils had, that Nico wanted that gold medal more than anything.

And when she had been sat on that plane, waiting on the tarmac for the delayed opportunity to disembark, and had decided at that point that there was nothing she wouldn’t or couldn’t do for the man she loved, she hadn’t entirely prepared herself for the possibility that anything could mean consoling him after such a heartbreaking loss.

She would like to think she’s good at comforting him, would like to think she’s mastered it over the years of knowing him. In those first years of their budding friendship, where she might have seen him after a few games, he might have dropped by her desk, or later her office, in the days after a game, she’d do her best to pick him back up. Some dumb jokes, a hug or two, eyes meeting and sticking in what she now remembers as a heated gaze until he would melt, would give a bashful smile and crack a joke back.

And that had progressed to him coming over to her apartment. To collapsing onto her couch with a heavy sigh and trying to blend himself into her routine, to erase the part of himself that hurt and cover it up with the part of himself she made feel better.

He picked up the same sort of habits when the two of them had fully reconciled, seeking solace in just her company, even if they weren’t properly together at that point. Comforted by fleeting touches, the holding of each other’s gaze, and all the soft, affirming words spoken between the two of them. And by the end of the season when they were together, it was by intimacy, the moments shared underneath her sheets that weren’t explicit, the bump of noses, the fluttering of lashes against cheeks, the soft whispers of unspoken worries that were trapped by a duvet pulled over their heads, their doubts not allowed to seep out into the blissful world they’re trying to create together.

But this kind of pain is a crease she fears can’t be ironed out by the simplicity of touch. Of kisses in the dark, of hands on hearts and legs intertwined.

When she hears the soft beep of his key card to his hotel room, listens for the heavy footsteps that carry him down the hall, and looks up to see the man she loves, defeated and remorseful, in front of her, her resolve shatters into a million pieces.

For all the lows she has held his hand through, nothing compares to this moment.

That night in the bar at the end of the season last year, where she had rested her head on his chest and heard the clunky beat of his broken heart, doesn’t even come close.

It’s the rattle of a shaky breath he lets out that has her own heart breaking, shooting up from where she had been perched, picking at her fingers nervously on the edge of the hotel bed, and launching herself at him.

She pulls her body straight into his, wrapping her arms around him in the hopes that such a small gesture could ever possibly convey the love she has for him.

She had thought seeing his sorrow blasted across the jumbotron earlier in the arena had hurt. She had thought their initial, rushed reunion after the game, where he had put on a brave face and told her he would meet her back in the room, the pressure of his kiss the only giveaway to his internal anguish, was bad.

But this is so much worse.

Holding him as he chokes out a sob, the initial flimsy wrap of his arms around her turning into fingers clutching with a white knuckle grip at the shirt on her back, trying to conceal his pain through muscles that tense around her, restricting his shaking frame from giving his emotions away.

She holds him for as long as she feels like he needs to be held, until that tension eases a little, those shaky breaths even out, and his body starts to sway a little.

When their bodies part, she can’t bring herself to entirely leave his orbit, pressing kisses to wherever she can reach as he basks in her affections, eyes fluttering closed like he’s still trying to hide from her.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t get your dream, baby,” she hums into the corner of his mouth, leaning a little to press a gentle kiss to the scar forming deep into his cheek, his neck craning to make it easier for her to reach.

His eyes squeeze tighter, keeping the warmth of his irises from her softened gaze, and she’s too close to see the bob in his throat, but she does see the clench of his jaw, stress still present in every fibre of his being. She wants to be his relief, wants to be the one to make things okay, make things better, but even she knows sometimes that isn’t for the best.

He needs to let these emotions, as heavy as they are, pass through him. He shouldn’t have to cover them up just to make her more comfortable, make their time together more enjoyable. She has the rest of her life to enjoy him, if he’ll let her.

So she clutches at the shirt covering his chest and pulls him back toward the bed, sitting him down and perching herself beside him, a comforting hand on his lap and a shoulder ready for him to cry on, literally.

She doesn’t even have to prompt him, then, to open up - the nature of their relationship thus far prevailing in the way he sniffles, turns to her with knees knocking, and starts to fiddle with her fingers resting on his thigh.

“I feel like this was my last chance to prove something,” he starts, his voice hoarse and his posture folding, “This year has just been so rough, you know?”

Poppy nods, because she does know, even if he hasn’t explicitly said it before now. Nico wears his resilience like armour, but she sees him when he’s bare. When the clunky metal that protects him from everyone else is removed, and his vulnerabilities are exposed, only to her. She sees the heavy sighs, the slumped shoulders, the forced smiles. She sees discomfort, unease, exhaustion.

“We got hit by all those injuries, and we didn’t make the playoffs, and the boys were all so down, and I,” he lets out an elongated exhale, tongue swiping out to wet the corner of his mouth, “I feel like I’m not living up to what’s expected of me, or what I expect of myself.”

She rubs soothingly at his knuckles, biting her tongue to withhold from telling him that’s he’s everything and more, because it isn’t what he’s asking of her.

“I just needed a win.” He chokes out, and as a tear slips from his watery eyes, Poppy reaches to catch it with her thumb, swiping at his skin. “I just needed to feel like I could achieve something like this before it slips away from me.”

“Where is it slipping away to?” Poppy frowns, letting her touch linger on his cheek.

“We’re having a baby, Poppy,” he speaks through swollen lips, glassy eyes meeting her gaze in the dark of the room. “When she comes, my dreams are gonna be different. My priorities will be different, I owe it to the two of you to be better. You deserve better.”

“It’s not one thing or the other, Nico.”

“Isn’t it?” He asks, “I have to put you first-,”

“You already do.”

“It won’t be enough when she comes, it’s not fair to either of you,”

“Says who?”

“Says everybody. Says Talia, says your mom, says me chasing this stupid medal and leaving you to travel half way across the world on your own while you’re 5 months pregnant only for me to lose-,”

“Stop it,” she commands him, firm, despite the growing ache in the back of her throat, both hands clasped on either side of his jaw and levelling him with a stern look. “You don’t have to give me any more of yourself to be enough, Nico. I wasn’t on my own, I had Nina, because you have this little section of your beautiful brain,” she taps on the side of his head to point it out, “That, despite being worked to the bone for almost 9 months straight without a real break, and despite all the chaos of us figuring everything out, and you chasing after your dreams, which are not stupid, by the way, saw straight through me trying to pretend I wasn’t completely losing my mind these past few days and sent your sister out just to make sure I wasn’t alone-,”

“You wouldn’t have been alone if I were th-,”

Poppy places her hand over his mouth, the rest of his sentence mumbled into her palm as she narrows her eyes at him. “I said stop, didn’t I?”

He nods, his shoulders sagging and his eyebrows doing all they can to express the emotion that she’s covering him from speaking through his lips.

He’s far too good for her, she thinks.

So good that she has struggled to put it into words, basking selfishly in his affections, bathing in their love so long that the water has gone cold by the time it’s his turn to sit in it.

She has felt it for as long as she can remember, this crippling adoration for him, this warm devotion that cushions the blow of everything else life tries to throw her way - but she hasn’t said it. Not clear enough, anyway, for him to not doubt it’s there.

Not in the way he had, all those weeks ago back in his bed - their bed - at 3am. He had poured his heart out to her, and she had drank it all up with nothing left to spare.

“You do all these things for me, you send your sister half way across the world just to circle straight back, you call my dad and my brother out, you shame my family into loving me more so that they can live up to the ways that you do it, and you don’t even understand how much of yourself you already give to me. I could sit here all night and not run out of ways to tell you how you make things better. Every part of my world that you touch, you make it good, you make me good. And a lot of that comes from who you are outside of our relationship.

“So I’d never want you to think you have to give any of the other stuff up to be enough for me. I fell in love with the parts of you that you give to the foundation, to the community and all the causes we help. I love the parts of you that you save just for the ice. I love the parts of you that you leave at the Rock, in the locker room with the guys, or in the parking lot when you stop and sign stuff for the fans waiting in the cold. And whatever parts of you are left to come home to me, or that you dedicate to me when you’re not home, God, Nico, I don’t think I’ll ever even be able to measure how loved you make me feel. I can’t wait for our daughter to feel that.”

His eyes are watering, and tears drop until they run their course down his cheeks, stopped by her fingers still clasped over his mouth, fingers she removes to hold his head again, the scratch of his grown out beard tickling at her palms, to hammer her point home.

“I know that this hurts right now. I know how hard you worked for this, how bad you wanted it, and it’s okay to have wanted it so bad that it kills you that you didn’t get it, but don’t let it take away what you mean to me. This isn’t your last chance to prove yourself, Nico, not to me, not to our baby, I promise you.”

Poppy knows how it feels to want to have achieved certain things before their little girl arrives. She’s worked herself up enough about it since finding out she was pregnant, but being a parent isn’t about who she was before. She’d realised that when she had sat down with her mom, when her dad had started making more of an effort. When the two of them had made promises to try, and it had glued together small parts of her heart that she thought could never be fixed.

All they can do is be the best version of themselves in the moment. When their daughter comes, it’s about who they are then, not what medals they won, or what trophies they lifted, or milestones they hit. They can still do those things with her there, and those moments will be all the sweeter for experiencing them with their daughter.

“Can I speak yet?” He whispers, dark eyes more intense than she thinks she’s ever seen them, staring right into the depths of her soul.

“No,” she replies, in the same hushed tone, “One more thing.”

She shoots over to where she had discarded her carry on, earlier, digging through to the bottom where a small leather box sits - where it has sat since the day Nico left Jersey all those weeks ago, and she had felt an impulse too strong to ignore to get him something after he had given her bracelet back.

When she goes back to stand before him, he parts his legs, and pats his thigh until she perches herself on it, careful not to drop all of her weight until a hand curls around her waist and holds her in place.

“It’s a signet ring,” she smiles softly as she takes it out of the box, tugging his right hand closer and sliding it onto the finger beside his pinky. “They’re supposed to be a sign of family. Usually they’re engraved, but I thought we could figure that out later and go do it together.”

“You have one, too?” He asks, admiring the way it glints as he takes it in, the band thick and heavy below his knuckle, the perfect fit.

“I will when my hands aren’t like blown up surgical gloves.”

And through teary eyes, for the first time all night since they have been reunited, a laugh bubbles up from the pit of his stomach, hearty and deep, eyes crinkling in the corners and cheeks dimpling into that beautiful smile she loves more than anything else in the world.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one getting you a ring?”

God, she thinks, how could he ever possibly think he isn’t enough?

Melting her heart with such a question, accompanied with an ever-so-innocent glint in his eye.

She’s still holding onto his finger, twirling the ring around on it until it starts to tickle, starts to seemingly twitch with the need to hold her back.

“Only if you want to,” she shrugs, lips twisting as he raises his hand to cup her cheek, fingers swiping her hair behind her ear and the cool metal of the jewellery pressing to her warm skin.

“I do.” He promises before he kisses her, meaningful and deep, a whole month of longing wrapped up into the searing press of their lips.

Poppy wakes the next morning to soft, continuous buzzing and a wash of light spread almost heavenly over the room. The space beside her is empty, but warm, the sheets crumpled as if only just vacated, and it’s as she starts to gain consciousness and make sense of her surroundings that she realises what the noise is.

“No, no, no, no, no!” She exclaims as she kicks the tangles sheets from her bare legs, them balling up in a messy pile as she shoots up off the bed and stumbles toward the bathroom. “Do you hate me or something?!”

“What are you talking about?” Nico chuckles deeply, the morning rasp to his voice not quite enough to distract her from the device he’s holding in his hand - the hand she had only just last night brandished with a ring, for God’s sake.

“I literally professed my undying love for you not even 12 hours ago, Nico, and this is how you repay me?”

“Maybe I’m testing the limits of the undying part,” he shrugs, amusement flickering across his stupidly beautiful eyes - and the part of Poppy that’s over the moon to see him smiling, is quickly shot down by the part of her that’s been waiting to get her hands on that bearded jaw for weeks.

“You’re testing my patience, is what you’re doing,” she scoffs, reaching to snatch the clippers from his grip. “I didn’t even get to have a turn!”

“What am I, a carnival ride?” He laughs heartily as he pulls them just out of her reach, her body stepping into his so that he can land his free hand on her hip and keep her close. “It had to go, Poppy, I looked like a caveman. Coach said we all have to clean up a little for today.”

“Your coach is a traitor,” she pouts, allowing him to crowd her back until the base of her spine bumps against the counter. “You’re my caveman. My gorgeous, sexy, caveman baby daddy who I’ve only got to see through a screen for four whole weeks, you can’t do this to me with no warning.”

“You wanna finish it off?” He asks, head tilting as he smirks down at her.

“It’s only fair I do,” she sighs, placing her hands on the counter and hoisting herself up onto it with a huff, parting her legs so that he can step between them. “Maybe I can salvage something,” she mutters, running delicate fingers over what remains, an untouched moustache and some growth left on his chin. “Can I give you a goatee?”

“Do your worst, Mohn, I’m at your mercy to defile.”

“You’re gonna regret that.”

“I’ll never regret anything where you’re concerned.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk @dasiysthings (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

#nico hischier #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier fanfiction #nico hischier x oc #nhl fanfiction #*oys #*writing #again!!! sorry this took another month #I had to rewrite the second half of poppy's section #and really struggled for a while with how I wanted Nico's half to fold out #but it's here now and it is what it is lmao

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just-a-ghost00 · 2 months ago

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How did they feel the last time they saw you? [group 2]

This is the reading for group 2. If you picked group 1 or group 3, go to the respective posts to get your messages. You picked group 2 if you chose ATEEZ Hongjoong.

Group 2

Note from reader : right before I started shuffling for your reading, which I did on 11/11 if I may point that out, I had NewJeans ' Bubblegum playing on loop on the back of my mind. This song is very dreamy and sweet, reflective of a crush kind of energy. So this gave me the impression that the person you are thinking of feels very excited and mellow whenever they're around you. I had this warm feeling in my belly that kinda made me feel giddy. So that could be representative of this person's energy towards you at the moment.

9 of cups, page of cups, Death, 7 of cups, 9 of pentacles, knight of wands, back of the deck King of cups

The spread further confirms the energy I was picking up on before pulling the cards. When you last met, which may have been quite recently, this person was in a very good mood. They felt like they were on cloud nine because the context of the meeting felt ideal. Like both of you were in the best position and disposition to interact. It felt like a dream to this person and they may have had a hard time leaving you afterwards. The context of this meeting feels very intimate. It is possible that there were only the two of you. But if you were with other people, this person definitely felt like only you mattered. The were kinda like in a bubble and you were all they could see and think about. With the energy of the King of cups, this person may have felt very lovey dovey and in a romantic disposition towards you. They wanted to pour their heart out and surround you with their love and affection. You really opened this person's heart space and filled it with emotions. They were definitely turned on but that was more of an emotional attraction than a physical one. The conversations you may have had at that time could have revolved around romance, dating, the possibilities that both of you had when it comes to this connection. You and this person may have been single at the time but both were open to getting to know each other on a deeper level. It kinda feels like a date setting but it doesn't have to be. This person had a huge crush on you and they couldn't stop staring at you, basking in the moment, taking in your features and scent. They may have felt like an important page of their life was being written at this moment. Here I feel like the Death card speaks more of a deep transformation of this person's feelings for you the moment they saw you. Maybe in that moment they realized that they wanted more than just being friends. As I wrote that I felt a shiver running through my spine, so that to me is a confirmation that this is what was happening. Ever since that moment, this person can't stop thinking of you and day dreaming about you, hoping for more, wishing that you were in their arms. When they last saw you, I can definitely say that they felt the urge to kiss you and hold you in their arms but for some reason, they couldn't. They may have felt scared of destroying whatever chemistry you had. "If I do it, we may never go back" kind of feeling. They were hesitant to show you the extent of their true feelings but oh boy was the temptation there. You may have felt it in the air. You may have perceived that this person was acting a bit different than usual. There were things in what they said or what they did that may have been tell tale signs something was going on. Like this person drinking your favorite coffee when they explicitely mentioned several times that they were not fond of it. Or them wearing a different brand of cologne that you just so happened to talk about the other day, because you spent minutes sniffing it in the store before you bought it. That kind of subtle details. Or maybe they were talking a bit differently than usual, or just something about their energy felt off. Anyways, this person was trying very hard not to lose their composure. They did their very best to remain calm, reassuring, respectful. But all they could think about were "unholy" thoughts. I won't dive any further on that matter because this wasn't supposed to be an 18+ reading, but you get my drift. They may have felt compelled to by you a gift or do something they usually wouldn't do just for you, so that you could feel special. I particularly pick up on a very specific thing that is a bit personal, but maybe this could resonate with you.

When I was in highschool, I had a classmate that was very popular among our peers. We got along well and would talk from time to time because we were partners in science class and had to work on common projects. His friends didn't like me, so he sometimes felt a bit shy being seen with me but he didn't want me to think that he didn't appreciate me. So what he would do to make sure I knew he wasn't ignoring me or forgetting about me, is that when he walked in the corridors to greet his friends, he would walk past me and discreetly wink at me as a hello. That was something he only used with me. And it made me feel included and special. So maybe the person you were thinking of does similar things. When you are in group settings and they don't want you to feel left out, they may have a discreet interaction with you, a little sign that only you can notice and understand. This also tells me that the person on your mind may have felt cornered or too shy because of external factors such as being in public or just being surrounded by people that know you personally like family and friends. But also, they feel like they have a special bond with you that no one else has. This reminds me a bit of group 3's energy. If you felt drawn to group 3 as well, you may want to check that group's reading too. I don't know why but I feel like this connection may be something that both of you hide from your peers.

#just-a-ghost #pick a card #pac reading #tarot reading #love pac #Spotify

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richeeduvie · 3 months ago

Note

Begging for a one shot or Drabble about baby and Roman’s yearly trip to the restaurant where they tell the waiter they’re siblings and make out? 🙏🧎‍♀️

Too Little Birthday

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Roman Roy x Reader Drabble Roman clings onto this girl like a damn life-raft.

-- Roman's a bit too invested in how his yearly birthday present goes when it has to come a little early. --

Warnings: a motivated make-out session, obvious mentions of false-incest, whiny Roman Roy what's new. Jealously, slight angst. The f slur. This draft is from a long, long time ago.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.

"Happy birthday, Roman. You're gonna be eighty-nine and five years old!"

Roman straightens his back out against the booth chair with a jump in his seat. More like a shimmy.

"Yeah, tomorrow - let's just hurry up to the sissy brothy kissy kissy section of this."

You want to sigh. Roman's frustrated. His birthday present is one day early. It's due to a long, very important event Tom will have with you, him, and Greg tomorrow. With that and Roman's business intermingling with yours tomorrow when you're all traveling to Pennsylvania, there's not a lot of room to give him his birthday present on his birthday.

Roman knows that, but that's not going to stop him from whining about it. Not in direct words, just eyes and jabby-voiced demands.

"Let's have fun with it, it's your present. We've got time to turn people red-"

"It's my present and I'm asking you to tongue me like a twin would."

You smile. Sure, you'll indulge quicker than you planned. It is his birthday present after all.

"You're gonna have to move closer if you want that, Rome."

The first time Roman asked for this, it made you concerned - not in a confrontational manner, that'd put you in a situation where Roman would "never forgive you" for judging him on his birthday. Although you know the things Roman says are just things Roman say, that if Kendall or...anything said them, you'd be greatly disturbed, there was the question of if Roman wanted you to roleplay as his sister. Shiv. Your friend. That would've been too much.

But Roman put it in words that soothed you enough to be more than happy to go along with his favor.

"Ew. No. I mean, I can and will still spitball a good sexed-up joke with her...and hell, maybe with Ken too during pride month for the fags but this...you're pretending to be a different sister. Duh. You are my sister and we are going to make out. Though - he’d probably rip bits of me off if I ever tried it, that’s why Shiv is chill.”

“...Don’t say fags.”

“You just did.”

So, he kisses you, lathers your lips with his tongues and fitting to his descriptions, Roman tongues you. Your heads and mouths move against each other, bucking up before your hand takes up his cheek. Your heart beats in your head and it's only moments before the vein of his forehead begins to throb.

"...Sir, Ma'am, are you ready to...Sir?"

Roman takes five seconds more of the make out before he slowly pulls away. Knowingly slowly - like he's a fucking asshole. You smile slight. He straightens his spine with a thin, smug mouth. His head tilts off to the side.

"Sorry to make you wait, even though that's kind of your whole thing. Me and my sis just get too excited celebrating our birthday."

You cover your mouth with your intertwined hands, elbows on the table. This has happened every year for the past five years and it just...it never gets easier. It's why Roman does most of the talking, just until his eyes are whining for you to be into it. It only matters if you like it as much as him, if his present is yours too. The point of presents is that they're not for the gifters, but Roman's insecurities say otherwise.

But you'll never admit that it's a little too easy for you to play pretend, revel in the squirm of poor waiters who deserve more pay and days better than yours and Roman's pseudo-incest roleplay.

It's not easy at all, actually. When you think of it.

“...I-I…mm. Okay…”

The waiter blinks. There’s nothing but silence between the three of you. Roman’s a champ, really. His smugness, the snark of his face is only noticeable to you because you’ve loved and loved him since the beginning. This poor waiter couldn’t possibly know Roman’s just fucked in his yearly prank.

“I-I I can read you the special-”

“Aren’t you going to say happy birthday?”

“Rome-”

“Don’t. See? In the womb, she took all of the generosity, the morality. The bitch. But I love her, still,” Roman takes your hands from your mouth. “…if we mention it’s our day of popping out into the womb, your hourly wage pay should be telling you to say happy birthday.”

“Roman. Don’t.”

You’ll play twin, but going after someone’s job - need for money, not today. Not even on his not-birthday. Pre-birthday day.

“...Fine, sorry, sis.” Roman smacks his hand on the table, then points a finger gun towards the waiter. “You’ve been doing great in the two minutes I’ve known you. I guess that’s what I’m supposed to say.”

He looks to your hand in his other hand and of course, with low-lidded eyes, you know he’d take the skin - what he would say is bait even though he was the one to take your hands in the first place.

Roman sucks your fingers before he sniffs them.

You all forget what the three of you are here for. A bead of sweat drips down the waiter’s forehead.

“...Do you two want to skip to the desert? Our patrons highly-”

The waiter chokes.

“They like the piss.” The waiter’s hand deathgrip her notepad. “Pie! Fuck me.”

“Mm. No thanks, I’m taken. Your wage doesn’t even need to tell you that, social awareness does all the talking there.

“That sounds delicious, thank you.”

“She didn’t even name the flavor-”

“We’ll take the pie for now. And just water as well.”

You straighten out your back, smiling up at the poor waiter before pressing your nose against Roman’s knuckles.

“Did you get the birthday text from Dad yet?”

Ordering Roman around is as much of a birthday gift as the incest thing is. He doesn’t push on the pie for the first course. But, of course, the waiter leaves as fast as she can.

“Happy?”

Roman slouches against the booth, scrunching his face up as if to say so-so.

“She was acting as if she wasn’t about to squirt.”

“I think she was genuinely terrified, but not as much as the last waiter we had last year. I think that’s why her horror appeared clement.”

“I think incest is becoming more socially acceptable, that’s the tiktok era for you.”

You blink against his knuckle.

“...I think it’s the exact opposite. Like…actually, it’s the exact opposite.”

“Superior bloodlines took to fucking, we could do it.”

“I’m not your actual sibling.”

“Did we ever ball out which one of us is the oldest?”

“Me.”

Roman’s smiley, stupidly with his thick-lidded eyes and he’s handsome, despite the fact he’s your brother for the day. It’s an easy gift for him, at least this year considering it’s already ruined for him - it being a day early already being too much. So, unlike the birthdays before, your boy doesn’t have to take to pretending he’s your brother the entire lunch date. Only when the waiter is present to watch in terror.

“But your dad, Roman - tomorrow we need to find a way to coo-”

And you two were talking about other things, but Roman took to watching other things.

“Roman?”

When you turn to see where his furrowed brows point to, it’s when you realize it’s someone else he’s watching. You turn behind you, seeing the light of the sun hit a man across the restaurant. He looks to be your and Roman’s age. Wavy hair, a creepy-fucked sort of smile.

He wears his own smug look, but when it’s not Rome’s…it strikes you wrong. Confusingly. You turn back.

You watch Roman’s mouth and brows waver.

“Hey, just ignore him. Just a guy.”

“Why the fuck is he gawking? The fucker is about to lick his chops and shove his hand down his slacks and choke it.”

Roman’s eyes go wide and jolt his head forward. A physical ‘what the fuck?’ to the man across the room. When you turn again, you see how it does nothing for him. He’s got his arms crossed.

“Oh, what the fuck?”

It’s what you want to say when both of you see the man come up and make his way towards you.

“I’m gonna drop my pants to scare him.”

“Let’s say that as your father’s company is bombarded with sexual assault allegations. Let’s. Calm down-”

“Hey. Just want to say - if she was my sister, I wouldn’t be able to resist either.”

Roman blinks. You blink.

….Oh.

“Sorry, I just heard a bit of it when I was walking in. And even if you’re just fucking around…just gotta say.”

The man sniffs before he laughs. And you know your eyes only portray horror when he puts up a fist of solidarity.

“Sibling love.”

Then, he smiles wide at you with a clicked tongue. Roman can’t do anything and you don’t want him to, to cause a scene, it won’t be a result of his gift, just pure and sudden anger. Loud, punchy words. But for now, as the man walks away, it’s just brutal eyes - perfect daggers that’d be even more handsome if you were able to think about it, but you can’t in how fucking confused you are.

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” You turn to face Roman. “What the fuck was that? Should I…”

You put your hands together, mouth parted in a pause as you lean forward. “Should I call someone?”

The man across the table doesn’t look at you, but his brown eyes just focus on one spot on the table. The daggers pierce the wood there.

And you already know. So, you sigh. You try to come into frame.

“Roman, that was just a fucking freak.”

What you always call him. That was a mistake in your wording and you know it when Roman’s eyes flicker up in fire.

“Not a perfect freak. Not something I’d want in my bed or…ten feet away from me. What the fuck was that?”

“...You didn’t-”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“On my not-birthday…you just…he’s your type.” Roman scratches his head and inhales sharply before his eyes shut tightly. “Wow. I fucking hated that. I wanna go home. I think we just met an actual sib-molester and he was your type.”

Okay, what the fuck?

“What the fuck? What are you talking about?”

“It’s not your fault. But that was Stewy. And a freak. Your type. On my not-birthday. What the fuck is wrong with today? I wann-”

“How did Stewy come into this conversation? You’re my type. That was weird and I feel like I need to call the cops but it’s nothing to get jealous over-”

Roman looks down in his heavy and tense stare. He blinks fast with scratches to his face. He picks at his ear, it’s all the signs that he’s breaking a bit.

“M’ not jealous. Not jealous. I just-” Roman pulls a hair or two out of his brown. “I just forgot other people can see you’re hot sometimes. It’s jilting. M’ sorry.”

Another sign is a lack of finished words and eye contact.

“Normies do that, but someone who’s more of-I kinda thrive off of being the worst possible fuck…you like that and someone just took a shit on me like it was nothing. Another worst possible fuck with long legs saw you’re fuckable…lovable. Fine. Fine, it’s whatever. I wanna go home.”

It’s all too much for you to know what to say. Too much to say much, but it’s your instinct to soothe, even if your heart throbs and flips with a bloodrush at how Roman insecurely wears his jealousy and how you’re the only one that can bring him down from the roof.

“I just forgot…and my brain chemicals just losing regulation at the sight of him. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, hey. Look at me.”

And it takes a minute, but he listens to you. Roman looks up, eyes big and blinking.

You kiss his knuckles.

“You’re the only fucked person I know. I don’t think it’s possible to show much interest in…anything else. But seriously…what the fuck was that?”

“What the fuck was that?”

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

You don’t know if there’s anything you have to make up for, but you sure Roman will find the reason tomorrow. An excuse for another birthday gift where you’re at his feet - or he’s at yours.

He sniffles hard.

“You’d get scratchy too if you were me.”

…If you were him. That’s the truth, no one could ever get like this unless they were Roman. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#inbox #drabble #roman roy x reader #roman roy fic #roman roy imagine #succession fanfiction #succession fic #succession fanfic #roman roy #succession x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

Dirty Work 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: This week is killing me.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday sees your second day in your new position. As you send off your letter of resignation to the agency, you can't help the coil that winds tight in your stomach. There's no going back now.

You close out of the several templates you Googled in your efforts. It's the one thing you know how to do. Willa, the friendly librarian who checked out the PC for you, always said, if you can Google, you can figure it out. Still, you feel like there's so much you don't know that you're not sure a search engine can answer.

You close the laptop and take both your phones with you into the hallway. You have to go check out that gazebo and figure out if you need to make a call about it. Oh, and the fridge was beeping when you filled your bottle, you have to call the maintenance number that flashed up too.

That makes you even more anxious. You've never really been the sort for phone calls. You never had anyone to talk to and everything else was easier done in person. Well, you'll have to muddle through. Work isn't supposed to be fun or easy.

As you near the staircase, your flip chimes. You juggle to answer the right phone. The slim touchscreen is set only to buzz, an option not available on the clumsy burner. You answer the call as you stop on the top stair.

The woman on the other end asks for you by name. You confirm your identity as you hear familiar noises in the background. She's a nurse from the downtown hospital.

“I'm calling to confirm your father's discharge tomorrow at noon,” she says over the rustle of paper and clack of keys, “we'll need the bed so if there is any delay, another day would be added to the invoice.”

“I understand, I'll be there, erm… noon. Tomorrow,” you don't have your notebook so you key a reminder into the other phone. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, miss, we would recommend you arrive earlier. We have some resources and counseling available on what you can expect getting the patient settled at home,” she continues, “nine would be ideal. I'll be able to add a note for the doctor to check in as well.”

“Oh, yes, I can do that,” you squeak, “thank you.”

“Alright then, I have all that logged. You have a good day.”

“You too,” you utter before the line dies.

Phone calls weren't too bad. You think you did okay with that one. Then again, you didn't think! You're supposed to work tomorrow. Mr. Laufeyson said you could take Wednesday off, and tomorrow is only Monday.

You close the flip phone and stare at it. Oh boy. You really don't want to spoil this. Just the mention of the coming invoice underlines your desperation. You need the money. Your dad needs it.

“Are you finished?” Mr. Laufeyson's timbre drawls from down the hall. You glance over as he stands just in the doorway of his study. You gulp.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson. I didn't mean to disturb–”

“Yet you did,” he insists.

“I was only going to check–”

“Not my concern so long as it's done,” he waves you off, “an important call, I assume, to make such a racket.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, um,” you shove the phones away, one in each of your pockets. “I… could I have the day tomorrow? Instead of Wednesday. My father is getting out of the hospital and–”

“The day? What time?” He snips as he approaches with decisive steps.

“Well, I'm supposed to go at nine,” you explain, “I'll come in Wednesday still.”

“You will come in tomorrow, after all that,” he says. “You can work later then.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, but my father will need help getting settled–”

“Figure it out. You agreed to this schedule–”

“I did but–” you stop yourself as his eyes flare, “I will be here in the afternoon, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“You will be. In the appropriate attire, I expect,” he snarls and spins to strut back to his office, swinging the door shut sharply.

You waver at the hard slam. You didn't mean to anger him. You can't help that your father needs you. You thought Mr. Laufeyson would be more understanding, after all, he's the one who pointed out how much you needed the money.

🧹

Your father shoos you away as you try to help him sit. He lets go of the walker and flops back with a grunt, his oxygen tank clinking against the aid’s metal leg. He coughs and snatches around blindly on the cushion for the remote. You retrieve it from the folding table beside him and put it in his hand.

That agitates him further as he growls and jams down the button to turn on the television. You yawn and back away. You still have a full day left ahead of you, and what feels like one behind you. You spent the night doing some last minute tidying to make sure everything is read for your father.

“Smokes,” he snaps his fingers and hacks.

“Er,” you hesitate. You go to find the half-crushed pack you found with him on the floor. You knew better than to throw it out. You return to him, clutching the package nervously, “Dr. Shearer said–”

“Give it to me,” he demands.

You relent and obey. He’s been doubly miserable than before. You feel like an annoying gnat buzzing around his head as he tries to swat you away.

“I made you meals for the weak. They’re all labeled in the fridge–”

“I’m not a goddamn kid,” he scowls and takes the lighter from the folding table.

“I know, but–”

“But I’m home. You probably hate that,” he sneers, “you’d be happy if I died in that hospital.”

You’re taken aback by the accusation. You gasp and shake your head, “of course not, I’m happy you’re here. That you’re alive–”

“Painfully,” he snorts darkly, “the fuck you keep me here for?”

You take a breath and frown. Your eyes tinge and your cheeks pinch, “because you're my dad… and I love you,” you croak.

He doesn’t reply as he pulls out a cigarette and moves the tube from below his nose. You watch him, waiting. He lights the smoke and sucks on it eagerly. You drop your head and give a shrug.

“I gotta go to work,” you say, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Don’t be slamming around when you come in,” he dusts ash over the freshly vacuumed carpet, “doctor said I needa sleep.”

“I won’t,” you promise and back away.

As you leave the room, your chest plummets in dread. You think of coming home, of finding him like you did before, laying on the floor, lifeless. You sniff and swipe away the speckling of tears. More than you want him to love you, you want him to love himself. You don’t just want him to want you around, you want him to be around.

🧹

You hurry up to Mr. Laufeyson’s gate with your kit and water bottle jostling. You fumble around until you find the smartphone and bring up the digits to punch into the code box. You buzz through and shuffle inside. You set off on your usual path around the back.

You stop at the rear door and try to untangle the strap of the water bottle from your kit. Your hand lingers on the front of the ballooning shirt. You still haven’t gone to look for clothes so you did your best with what you had. One of your father’s forgotten button-ups and a pair of pants that could pass in an office. It’s ill-fitting and scratch but better than jeans.

You get inside and leave your kit in the closet. Today’s a cleaning day but you have a few things to check off the schedule first. With your water bottle bouncing on your hip, you go upstairs and scurry down to the library.

As you enter, you’re surprised to discover the space less than empty. You apologise aloud and choke on the word, ‘mister’. It isn’t the house’s single resident as you expect, no, this figure could not be more different than Mr. Laufeyson. You recognise them, from the dinner.

The blond man faces you as he stands by the window, the drapes open to add the peculiarity of the situation. Like the man, the space is golden with sunlight. You lean back on your heel as you clutch the door handle.

“Hello,” he grins as he greets you in a playful demeanour. You can’t answer. You don’t know if you should.

Is it rule one; don’t speak unless permitted; or the other rule, do not disturb my guests. You can’t figure out the riddle so you languish in perplexity.

“Aren’t you a sweet little lamb,” he muses as he steps away from the window, placing his hands on the back of the dimpled leather chair. His large hands. If you thought Mr. Laufeyson was tall, this man is even taller and twice as wide. “I remember you. The sweet maid.”

You blink. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? You can’t speak. You’re too terrified; not just of the strange man but of the one you know by name. Your employer would be unhappy to know you spoke out of turn.

“Have you seen my brother at all?” He prompts disregarding your stagnant silence. “Has he spoken of me? His brother? I'm Thor.”

You look down at your hand on the door handle.

“And what is your name?” He asks.

You don’t answer. You know it’s not right but you have no other choice. You pull the door shut and close the man in. You retreat in a half-sprint and barrel back down the stairs. You trip at the bottom and barely save yourself from stumbling to your knees.

You latch onto the banister post to keep your balance and catch your breath. You hear the door above. Oh no, would he follow you? Another door clicks and you look up to find a shadow on the other side of the frosted glass framed in the front entrance.

Mr. Laufeyson steps inside coolly, unbothered as swings the door shut and tugs on the lapel of his suit jacket. His eyes fall on you and he scuffs on his sole, tilting his head in curiosity. You didn’t realise he hadn’t even been there. You look at the ceiling with wide eyes; so how was the other man inside?

“Well, there you are,” he says matter-of-factly, “this place is sore in need of a dusting–”

Laufeyson is interrupted by a clamour of footsteps above. You let go of the banister and sidle away as his green eyes flick to the top to the staircase. You shy away and listen as the man descends in a series of thunder thumps. You turn to peek down the hall, wanting to hide in your chores.

“Stay,” Laufeyson commands. You turn back to him as he points at your feet. You stop in place and sway. He faces his visitor as he comes to the bottom stair, “brother, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Can I not come see my baby brother?” The other man; the stranger; his brother, called Thor, booms.

“You may, when you warn me of it,” Laufeyson rebuffs.

“Ah, don’t be so grim,” Thor claps his shoulders and is swiftly shrugged off, “this place is always so dark. I hope you don’t mind, I opened a few windows.”

“I do mind,” Laufeyson says, “you do always presume.”

“And you are always offer such a warm welcome,” he tries to tap Laufeyson’s cheek but is batted away. The dark of the brothers backs up with a scoff. “Ah, and there she is. I was only just coming to find the little maid. She rushed off so suddenly–”

“You don’t need to bother with her,” Laufeyson dismissed with a slice of his hand through the air, “maid,” he points at you again, “back to work.”

You lean back on your heel, ready to disappear.

“Ah, don’t be so rude, brother. She is sweet. You get more bees with honey–”

“Do not tell me how to run my house,” Laufeyson growls, an edge in his voice you’ve never heard before. Dangerous and dark.

“Is she not doing you a service? A please would be appropriate–”

“You are not mother. I don’t need you to mind my manners,” Laufeyson girds and nears his brother, unflinching even as he comes up a few inches short of chest to chest, “nor do you need to worry for my staff. She does not take orders from you.”

“And I suppose that’s all she gets from you,” Thor chuckles.

You furrow your brow, stunned by their spat. You’re not quite sure what that last bit meant. You work for Mr. Laufeyson so of course he would tell you what to do. And why are they so volatile? They’re brothers. You don’t have any siblings but you always wanted one. So that you had a friend. So you weren’t alone.

“Maid, go,” Laufeyson repeats, “now.”

Your eyes widen and you nod. You quickly turn and rush down the hall to the closet. You’re shaking as you try to sort out one phone from the other and find the old list of tasks. You can hardly steady your hands to get a pair of gloves on.

You take your time in the back of the house as you hear the men’s footfalls climb the staircase. You let your nerves settle just a little. You’re alone, for now, and your mission is simple. Clean and stay unseen.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #dirty work #maid au #au #series #avengers #thor #mcu #marvel

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sh4wty18 · 6 months ago

Note

heyyyyy i was wondering if you could make a johnnie angst fic where he forgets your bday🫶🏼

you forgot my birthday.

pairing: johnnie guilbert x reader

summary: same as request with some bestie!jake moments

cw: angst, hurt no comfort, language

word count: 1.2k + edited

---

12:00 am. A text from Jake immediately lights up your screen:

jakey: HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!!!! i hope you have the best day ever! im so glad ur dating my bsf so WE could become bsfs!! ilysm go slay queen 💅

You smile and type out a response:

y/n: THANK U SO MUCH JAKE I <3 U!!!!!

You put your phone on do not disturb for the night and roll over in bed, Johnnie hadn’t texted you for your birthday yet, but that was to be expected. He was a slow texter as it is, but he was usually busy streaming or playing music at this time anyway. There was still plenty of time for him to reach out.

10:36 am. You wake up and immediately check your texts. You’d received birthday messages from Carrington, Tara, your friends from home, been tagged in hundreds of posts on tiktok and instagram, even Matt texted you (and you’d only met him once!). But nothing from Johnnie. That’s okay. He was probably still asleep. Nothing to be worried about.

1:48 pm. Nothing. What the fuck? All you wanted for your birthday was to spend a quiet day with your boyfriend. Unlike the other friends you’d made since moving to LA, you were less likely to choose partying over spending quality time with your loved ones. Not that there was anything wrong with partying, you just happened to be more reserved. Johnnie was more quiet and anxious as well, it was something that drew you to him in the first place. You always had someone to ditch social events with. You’d figured by this point he would have texted or called and wished you a happy birthday, then you’d hang out, watch a couple movies, order food in, birthday sex– the whole nine. But no. He'd said not a single word. You tried not to bring up your birthday often in the weeks leading up to it, so as to not annoy anyone, but you know for sure you’d mentioned your birth date at least twice since you’d been dating. He had zero excuse not to know. All the other important people in your life seemed to remember, so where was he?

5:24 pm. Nothing.

7:58 pm. Nothing. You decide to call Jake and see if he has any insight into the situation. He picks up on the second ring.

“What’s up, birthday girl?” He asks sweetly.

“Johnnie still hasn’t told me happy birthday. I think he forgot,” you say. Speaking the words out loud suddenly makes the situation feel way more real, and you feel a familiar lump forming in your throat.

“There’s no way. He couldn’t have. He’s been out all day, I haven’t really seen him. I think he’s doing a shoot for his next music video or something. So maybe he’ll text you when he’s done? I’m sorry, y/n, I wish I could help. If you need to be with someone, you know I’m always here.”

“Thanks, Jake, you’re a great friend. Love you.”

“Love you too, I’ll text you when he gets back.”

“Thanks. And Jake… don’t remind him when he gets back. It won’t be real unless he does it himself.”

10:15 pm. Nothing.

12:00 am. You type out a text to Johnnie:

y/n: you forgot my birthday

johnnie <3: It’s literally next month isn’t it?

johnnie <3: Y/n…plz tell me its next month

y/n: i think i know my own birthday

johnnie <3: No no no no no

johnnie <3: Y/n im so sorry

johnnie <3: I know how u wanted to spend all day together on your birthday. I'm such an idiot. I promise it was an honest mistake. I really thought it was next month.

You don’t answer. At 12:43 am, you hear a knock at your door. He was the last person you wanted to see right now, but you knew he wouldn’t leave until you answered, so you reluctantly opened the door.

“Johnnie, I don’t want to see you–”

“Y/n, please. Please listen to me. I’m so so so sorry. I was busy with music video stuff and I spaced. I wasn’t on my phone all day so I swear, I didn’t see anyone’s birthday posts or anything until after you texted. You can ask Jake and Carrington, they were texting me all day and I never answered.”

“I believe you, Johnnie. And I get being busy, but… it’s just like… how do you forget your own girlfriend’s birthday? Do you know how embarrassing it is? To have all my friends, fans, and even acquaintances wish me a happy birthday, but the one person I really want to hear from doesn’t? It sucks. I felt like shit all day.”

“I know. And being busy isn’t an excuse. There isn’t an excuse. I don’t know what else to say other than I’m so fucking sorry. If I could take it all back I would. I love you so much, y/n. I- I’m so fucking sorry,” Johnnie pleads, and his eyes start to well.

You start to tear up as well, but you don’t want him to see you cry, don’t want to make him feel worse. You’re not angry with him, and you obviously still love him, you’re just sad. You can tell he means what he’s saying, it was definitely an honest mistake, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re hurt, and embarrassed, and had the worst birthday ever.

“I know you are. And I love you, too. I just… I think I need some space for tonight. I’m sorry, Johnnie,” you say.

“Don’t apologize, baby. I’ll call you in the morning. I love you.” He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and turns to leave.

You close the door behind him and sink to the floor. You pull your knees to your chest and bury your face in them, finally letting out your soft sobs after holding back tears all day. You pull your phone out of your back pocket and tap the call button under Jake’s name.

“What’s wrong?” He asks immediately, knowing you’d never call this late unless there was an emergency.

“I need you,” you say, choking on your words between tears.

“I’m coming over.” He hangs up.

—

Fifteen minutes later, he’s at your apartment. You’re sitting on the couch together, with you leaning your head against his shoulder and crying softly as he rubs your back.

“I saw Johnnie on my way out… he didn’t look so hot. I’m assuming this is about him?”

You sniffle, “He forgot. I can’t believe he really forgot. Sorry I'm crying, this is so stupid, I’m just… really fucking sad about it. I know he didn’t mean to, and he’s super sorry and stuff but–”

“Y/n, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. Your emotions are completely valid. He’s your boyfriend, of course you’re gonna be upset that he forgot your birthday! It doesn’t mean he’s a bad person, we still love Johnnie! But… he made a mistake and unfortunately it made you sad.”

“I knew you’d understand,” you give him a weak smile, and he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into a tight side hug, resting his head on top of yours.

“Of course. I’m here for you, y/n. Always.”

---

first hurt/no comfort fic in the books! (i'm sad)

#sh4wty18 #original fiction #original one shot #one shot #johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #angst #hurt no comfort #angst with a sad ending #angst with no comfort #original fanfiction #fanfiction writer #angst one shot #johnnie guilbert oneshot

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itonashi · 2 years ago

Text

YOU are YOU

SUMMARY : Known around the world — a genius scientist named [Name][Last Name]. Everyone sought to be her as she was deemed perfect. A young prodigy that managed to climb up the ranks alongside her friends. She met her demise at the age of 35. It shook the world. Tears fall because of her. Will there be another her?

PAIRING : aquamarine hoshino x fem!reader

WARNINGS : implied deaths, stalking, drugs, slow burn romance, more will be added.

A/N : finished chp 1! even though i was in misery because of hsr. it's okay hehe. haha. i want gepard so bad. chp 1 is kind short even though it's like 1.4k words lol. i hope you love it my staggie ! (my followers name is staggie)

"Goro, don't you miss me?"

"Why should I?" Goro glance at you with eyes that could be interpret as 'in love'. Despite his replies to you, he knew that he misses you deeply. You changed him. Your existence gave hope to him.

Before knowing the world of idols and drowning himself in work as a doctor, you were the reason he kept on living. It was like a miracle. Meeting you on his last year of middle school, someone that's 2 years older than him. He never thought he was the guy to like older women.

Your hair that flow along the wind breeze of the countryside fresh air. The usual spot of your meeting place, the hospital rooftop. "Look at you being snarky..." You make a shock face. "Don't you have work to do?" He questioned the free time you have been having these days. You have too much free time for a genius scientist that's known around the world. A prominent figure in the science world that will go through history.

One of the people who had change the world through technology. Despite being a figure in the science world, you too have made it in the entertainment industry. Just what were you doing? Trying to live nine lives? You had appear in model shoot, even become a brand's ambassador. "You really are carefree.." He added with a slight chuckle and fix his glasses. You tilt your head "Well... I'm still young after all! A young woman have to make the best of her life." You gave an eyes closed smile.

He crosses his arms together and sigh "Whatever makes you happy [Nickname]." You lightly laugh and look towards the night sky. He stare at your figure. Even when you're only standing, he could feel the aura you let out. The strong aura that just screams 'Hey! I'm an important person in this industry.' He could never compare to you.

You went close to the railing and face him — leaning onto the railing. "Gorou, do I shine like a star right now?" He widen his eyes at the sudden change of atmosphere. The words didn't come out of his mouth, instead he probably look like a gapping fish. How could he forget how your eyes look like?

It was your eyes that made him attracted to you. It shine like the stars. Your eyes twinkle and had actual stars in it. Everyone agreed that the unique things about you is your eyes. They said that your eyes were like the stars dancing around the ocean waves.

"You do shine. You shine more than other people." He responded to your question with a smile. He wish that this moment last forever but the world isn't fair.

If only he could go back to this moment and make you stay this time. Would you and him become a family? Would the smile you always hold be in his mind forever? Can he still see your smile even after death?

Even after two years of your passing, he still hasn't move on from you. Your smile was engraved in his mind. The lovely smile you had. It will always be in his heart — like you always said to him "Well, I have always been in your heart." With the little laugh you did. Your soothing voice will always be his favorite.

They will never be another you because YOU are YOU. The world will always remember you. His genius scientist.

It breaks his heart how you have mentioned about a teen girl named AI Hoshino. The girl he would help to deliver her babies. He never thought he would ever met his patient's favorite idol. He never thought he would ever met the random teen girl he has heard about from you.

Oh right, he haven't read the letter that was given to him the day of your funeral from one of your friends. He didn't read it yet because the condition was to read it after 3 years. Were you playing with him? It has been 2 years now... Only one year left.

Funny story, he didn't have the chances to read your letter because well he's dead! Duh!

'It has been two years that I have been in this body' You frown. I guess, you're finally accustomed with this body of yours. [Name] Yoshino, that was your name in this new body, new life. Such a coincidence that you will still be using the same name as your previous life.

Reincarnation? It was such a bizarre things to happened to you. You don't believe in it but she does. How are all off your friends doing? You can only see them on the TV but it was rare to do so. In your past life, you were a genius scientist that was in a world organization. Each of your friends are from another country. They were the people that managed to top the world alongside with you.

Only some of your friends appears in the TV as half of them prefer to work behind the scenes. Well, you hope they're doing fine even after your death. Did they read the letters yet? Did Goro read the letter yet?

How is the love of your life doing? Did he move on? Did he finally have a family? How sad. If only... You weren't killed two years ago.

What's this weird feeling in your stomach? Why do you feel like something bad is going to happen? You need to keep your guard up. You walked faster and stay clear from the crowd. It was night time.

'This is bad. Something is going to happen.' You furrowed your eyebrows in frustration. You felt sick but you can't drop your guard even in the slightest. Being a prominent figure means you're prone to assassination attempt. After all, you have always been unlucky in situations.

You have steered away from the crowd. A quiet place that's still within the city of Tokyo. A woman cannot be alone, you learned that the hard way but you felt like this time you need to be alone. Is it a feeling of death? Is someone watching you?

You saw a tiny flash and glanced towards it. "A sniper... He must've known I noticed him now..." You muttered under your breath. You took a deep breath. 'I can't avoid this anymore. I'm sorry, my little brother. I'm sorry, Goro. I'm sorry to everyone that I have lied too. I was always dirty but I will forever be thankful to him for saving me. Even in my death, I want to smile for everyone. After all, I just love these people the most. Will there be a person to avenge me?' You smiled towards the sniper and mouthed 'Do your best. I have done enough in this world, probably.'

Bang!

Blood splattered everywhere. A shot on the head is bound to be messy. The sniper gritted his teeth. 'I love you' was the last words you mouthed the moment you were shot on the head. The bloods on your clothes, hair, floor. Everything is messy. The messy life you have been living as a genius scientist. Do you actually want to live as a genius again? You can't keep lying to yourself.

You remembered your last moments very clearly. It can't never be erase from your memories. The date of your death. The time of your death. The place of your death. You can never forget about it.

Will you be lucky in this new life?

Will you be miserable again?

You shake of the negative thoughts. At least you have parents in this life but they're weird, in your opinion. Well, who knows what will happen in the future. You're not some kind of god. Just a genius. A 'lucky genius' that's what they call you in your past life but no one knew of your past except for your uncle. Your past life's uncle. The man who took care of you after the death of your parents. Where is he now?

"[Name]! There you are!" Oh, it's your mom. Akemi Yoshino, the woman who hold you for nine months. She's a beauty to say the least. She held you in her arms and kiss your cheek. You make a gibberish sounds to pretend. Your father, Kazuo Yoshino watch by the sidelines and only smiled. What a weirdo. Either way, you don't know if you will get close with your own father.

Your mother was a actress that quit due to being pregnant. Was she popular? Kinda. She have made an appearance in a commercial ad. Your father is a film director that's famous. Means, you came from a rich family now. Not that you weren't rich in your past life. To be born into a family on the entertainment industry is a stress though.

Expectations will come for you.

TAGLISTS : @glitch-karma @kult-o @miyakoa (if you ever change your use pls inform. i couldn't tag some of you.)

[NEXT] [PREV] [SERIES LIST]

#oshi no ko x reader #oshi no ko #aqua hoshino x reader #aquamarine hoshino #aquamarine hoshino x reader #aqua hoshino #ruby hoshino #kana arima #akane kurokawa #hoshino ai #ai hoshino #itomlist!!✧#itoworks!!✧

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strxnged · 28 days ago

Text

KAVEH: # close.

A flustering encounter in a moonlit university lab.

For the Teyvat University Fic Event by @kazuinvocation and @cosmic-expressions. Made with love and finals stress.

Word count. 2k. Genre. flirty/comedy/romance(?) (if you squint?)

Other tags. physical touch is somewhat forced, cussing and slang, gender neutral reader, slight suggestiveness, alhaitham mentioned once (1ce), me trying to be funny because I was having fun.

You looked over your shoulder, down the dark halls of the Architecture building. So far, there was no sign anyone could have spotted you. You were close, now, to the lab; you prayed the door would be unlocked.

The unrelenting life of a student might have not been so busy had you been a little more organized. Perhaps you relied too much upon all-nighters and overcaffeination—to the point where you either couldn’t keep your eyes open or couldn’t stay still in class. Then you’d forget things. Important things. Important things like your bridge modeling project you’d definitely forgotten to take with you at the end of class. It was now two in the morning, and your modifications were due at nine in the morning.

Your hand fell on the handle and you jiggled it. You shouldn’t have been surprised to find it impossible to budge.

You were obviously screwed, even more than you had been five minutes ago. To get in, you’d have to contact the late night security crew (who were not the sort of people who liked being contacted about this sort of thing, you’d learned) or look for a key in the offices (which would be a very unlikely quest, since the offices would probably be locked too).

Pressing your face to the glass of the hall window, you could see your model in the dim, moonlit room sitting glumly on one of the tables. Further back, you could see another model. Someone else forgot theirs! At least you weren’t the only doofus in the class.

Then, with a jolt, you realized the window had a latch from both sides. You grabbed it, mentally crossing your fingers, and tugged. To your relief, it opened agreeably and swung towards you. You climbed over the sill and latched it shut again. Filled with glee, you walked to your model and picked it up. You would need glue, a pocket knife, and some extra material to make your modifications—some of which you realized you were short on. To head back without them would be as good as leaving it here.

However, you were in the Creative Architecture lab. If any room in the entire school would have what you needed, it was this one! You headed towards the supplies closet, and it was only then that you heard the footsteps in the hall.

It would only take a glance through the windows for your short-lived victory to be utterly busted. You slipped into the rather narrow supply closet and shut the door as quietly as you could, listening. The footsteps drew closer to the lab… and stopped.

You could make out the door to the room handle jiggling. You were safe tucked away in the supply closet, as long as the person was not there to check the supply closet. Still, you held your breath.

The door handle went quiet. Then, you heard the window latch, and the sound of someone climbing into the room. The window latched loudly and you heard quick steps to the back of the class.

“Oh, thank god,” someone sighed. Someone with an unmistakable cadence of speech.

You flung open the supply closet door and said, “Kaveh?”

Kaveh, classmate, friend, and star of your department, had nearly fallen over from shock, having stumbled several steps back and raised his arms to protect himself from a presumed predator. You did not hold back your laughter.

“Jeez! What the hell? Y/N? Why were you— what? What?”

“Oh my— Kaveh, you forgot your model too?”

He looked down at the model he was unwittingly wielding as a shield. “Yeah—you forgot your model?”

You stepped closer and showed it to him. “I’m too overwhelmed to be expected to remember things when I leave the room.”

“Tell me about it. But it’s more that I completely missed the part where the prof said we had to take them home and modify them. Someone asked me if I’d done it yet, and I was like… what are you talking about?”

“I think that’s worse. Weren’t you paying attention in the lab?”

“I—” Kaveh cut himself off. In the moonlight, you could just see his eyes avert and cheeks flood with pink. “Of course I was!”

“Hey, no need to feel embarrassed,” you said. Then, with a burst of something you weren’t quite willing to identify, you added: “It happens to the best of us, clearly.”

At this, Kaveh’s signature smile, toothy and charming, bloomed on his face. Even in the dim classroom you swore it lit up the room by just a touch. “Well, when you put it like that…” he said. “No, you’re right. I was a bit… distracted… at the end of class. But, you see, it’s all going to work out, since I managed to get in. I just have to get the final modifications done, and…”

“Unlocked window saved the day, huh?”

“Yeah. I always check the windows if the door is unlocked.”

“... Huh?”

Kaveh covered his mouth with his free hand. “Oh. First time?”

Before you could respond, you heard—again—footsteps. This time, there were more of them. You grabbed Kaveh’s arm and tugged him into the storage closet without a second thought. It was only as you pulled the door shut that you recalled how compact the closet was even when it was just you, and now there were two bodies pressed against the shelves and the door.

“I didn’t realize—” you whispered, not quite sure how to continue.

“You’re good, I’d rather not have this on my record,” he said.

You didn’t reply, listening. You didn’t want this on your record either, and so you were happy to wait with your back pressed against Kaveh if it meant you didn’t get expelled. You told yourself that this was the only reason you were happy to wait in this position, not entirely believing it.

The muted sound of steps grew louder, and—to your horror—stopped somewhere that must have been just outside the room. You heard the hums of indistinguishable conversation.

“Sorry,” said Kaveh at a whisper that tickled your neck, “is it okay with you if I move my arm? I’m getting sore.”

You gulped. “Sure.”

He hesitated, still unmoving. ��That wasn’t very convincing.”

“Shut up and do what you gotta do, Blondie.”

You felt his arms snake past your waist and grab ahold of shelves on either side of you. You heard the gentle noise of a small wood model being set down and shuffled around a bit on the shelf. Your own arms were resting on higher shelves at a rather uncomfortable but inevitable position. It didn’t help that your mind was high on whatever cologne Kaveh was wearing a smidge of. Who wears cologne at 2 AM, anyways?

Outside, the conversation continued at the same rate.

“Titanic posing with Kaveh in a storage closet is not how I thought my night would go,” you whispered. There was no way those in the hall would be able to hear you two if you whispered. You just had to listen for the sound of the door opening.

Kaveh laughed silently. “If I put my hands on your waist, it’ll be more accurate.”

“We gotta commit to the bit,” you said, mentally praising all the gods above that he would not see the flustered expression on your face.

You felt him move, and his hands settled on your waist. Why were his hands so warm? It was sort of—nice. And since there seemed to be talking still in the hall—what could people possibly be doing to be chatting in the architecture hallway at two in the morning?—you wet your lips and asked, “Kaveh… is there someone who wouldn’t like that you were… in here with me?”

“No,” he whispered. “Nobody.”

His response was quick enough to elicit suspicion. “You’re not actually enjoying this, are you, pal?” He squirmed a little. “Oh, you are.” Damn, it was so fun to tease him. Maybe you were enjoying this too.

“I don’t think,” he whispered, moving his hands back to the shelves and leaning slightly more into you, “that you want to know the answer to that.”

His voice, soft and tantalizing in your ear, nearly melted your cognitive ability. Nearly. Ignoring your soaring heart that was clearly indicative of a health problem, you shot back, “Hey, if you’re hating every second of this, I wouldn’t hold it against you. It’s a matter of taste.”

“I’m an art student,” he replied with impressive vanity. “I have the best taste of anybody.”

“Yeah? Rubbing it in?”

You swore you could hear him thinking of what to say next with how close you were standing. You could feel his heartbeat on your back—at least, what you thought was a heartbeat. Maybe he was hosting a woodpecker in his chest.

“You know, I hate to be a pain, but I’m a terrible liar,” Kaveh whispered after a minute of listening to the ongoing murmuring in the hall.

“Yeah?” You weren’t sure what to expect. “You need to readjust again? Or do I smell like B.O.?”

“What kinda dichotomy is that? No, I… You know how I said I was distracted in class?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was sort of wondering how I could get you alone. Today. Or, yesterday. That’s why I wasn’t paying attention.” He laughed a bit. “Sorry, that sounds creepy. You know how it is when everybody’s friends but nobody’s close, right? I was thinking about that.”

You pursed your lips.

“And now I… have you alone,” said Kaveh, gently.

You tried to regulate your tone as you asked, “What does that entail?”

You heard the door of the lab open as Kaveh began to reply. You processed none of his words, because you were busy thrusting your elbow very sharply into his ribcage. “Shh!” you managed, and then held your breath.

“Ow!” he cried. Oh, you were so busted.

“Bastard. We’re screwed,” you whispered.

The door to the closet swung open, and a security officer with a blinding flashlight and heavy eyelids looked you up and down. “Gross.”

“We weren’t—” “I’m sorry—” The blurts from you and Kaveh blurred together, and you couldn’t tell who said what.

“Just get going, alright? I’m too tired to lecture you.”

You both slunk out into the hall and the security officer followed you, locking up. Another officer stood waiting with his arms crossed. “Y/N and Kaveh! A likely pair.”

The first officer checked the windows, and locked those as well. “Hurry up, tods.”

“And don’t think you’re not getting written up,” the second added.

Kaveh rolled his head back as you both sauntered down the dark hall. “I’m actually going to get expelled,” he said. “And it’s your fault.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a pussy.” You patted his shoulder. “You’ll be okay. You’re a great student, I’m sure they don’t want to get rid of you that quickly.”

Kaveh froze. “Wait. Our models.”

“Shit.”

You both looked over your shoulders. The security officers were following you at a distance. One waved a hand to shoo you onward.

“I don’t think we’re getting those back,” you said.

“I’m gonna have to restart,” Kaveh moaned. “This blows. The teacher is so unforgiving with this kind of thing, I bet she won’t even care that we pulled all nighters to redo the project.”

“‘We’?” you repeated.

“Aren’t you gonna redo it?”

“I can’t, I don’t have any material left.”

“I have lots. You can come over, and I’ll make hot cocoa, and we will conquer this project. I’m sure my roommate won’t mind.”

You recalled his roommate being a stoic history student with a certain obstinacy towards Kaveh. You ignored this. At least he was willing to brave his roommate’s frustration for whatever this was. You replied, “Smooth, Blondie, real smooth.”

“I’m not—no, I really do just want to work on the project.”

“Lighten up.”

He, in response, exploded into yet another bright smile. You wonder how many times you’d missed out on seeing that during those seven minutes in that supply closet.

Note. surprisingly, this is my first explicitly romantic kaveh fic. i love that fellow he is so guy of all time he is constantly rotating in my brain like he's being microwaved

➳ GENSHIN MASTERLIST

#kaveh x reader #genshin x gn!reader #kaveh x you #genshin uni!au #kaveh fluff #kaveh fic #genshin x reader #genshin au #kaveh fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader

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nyc3 · 2 months ago

Text

@bibibbon I was reading your post and thinking when you mentioned Mummy, and certainly is sad and disappointing that out of Nine's crew he was the one to get the short stick in terms of screentime and interactions with his own leader.

Such a cool looking villain with an awesome power shouldn't be treated like fooder.

But eh... I guess they really need give Bakugo an easy victory to show how badass he can be compared to the other loosers from the class.

Anyway, before getting absorbed by my hater side I can share my ideas about rewrite Mummy, because like his friends is fun write about him and fill the empty space left by the author.

Starting for his backstory:

This idea isn't entirely mine, but I love the concept of Mummy and Edgeshot being related.

Interesting to think because they share same birthdays, both their quirks have the aesthetic of red tape, they have grey hair and the names "Kamihara" and "Makihara" sound strangely similar.

I've seen people write them as twins, but I like more the idea of them having a big age gap in case of being brothers which fits more with Shinya being in his 30s in canon.

And so both Hoyo and Shinya being brothers born in a very traditional japanese family would make room for some family drama, as is more than probably that Shinya being the first born and with a quirk like foldabody would probably be seen as the pride of the family.

While Hoyo is seen as lesser and never able to live up to the level of his older brother, especially after Shinya got accepted at UA and started pay less attention to Hoyo.

While during his early childhood Hoyo only support was Shinya when he left the family state to focus on his studies Hoyo was alone with a family that never supported him and constantly remembered him how inferior he was.

Hoyo will reach a break point when his parents tried to get rid of him when he was entering on his teenage years, and he discovered they sold him to a mysterious organization that was looking for young low tier soldiers (which for some reason still happens in MHA world and nobody seem to care about it).

Note: This organizagion will be no other than the MLA but isn't really important for the story for now.

And so, without anything to lose since Shinya was long gone at that point, Hoyo escaped the family state and never came back. He also invented the false surname Makihara, as he didn't want anything to do with his family.

That would be the beginning of some rough years living in the streets for Hoyo.

Without proper studies (since he only got the basics at home instead of going to an actual school) and technically being a fugitive of his own family, Hoyo only could resort of stealing and other minor crimes for try to survive being homeless.

I imagine he also tried to gain some money doing dirty jobs for other criminals, which might be why we see him beating thugs in the street during the flashbacks.

That being said, this empty life style wasn't something Hoyo was happy about.

He still feel the necessity of prove himself and try to became something better, he was angry at the world and his family, and he also missed Shinya despite he didn't want to admit and prove his brother his worth.

Despite Hoyo's quirk still seemed to be quite useless as he couldn't do much with his puppets and give up at some point.

That was until he meet Nine...

My idea of how they meet is that Hoyo was hired to expulse Nine from the territory of a criminal gang that didn't like a homeless man like him was wandering in there.

Expecting just another quick job for a bit of cash Hoyo used his quirk with and old scarf to create a puppet out a vending machine, with he would use to intimidate the white haired man described by the gang.

Worse case scenario would be him having to beat the man in case he resists but isn't like he cared.

What Hoyo didn't expect is that when he meet the white haired man this one would have an aura of calm around him and rather than look intimidated by him or his puppet, he only got a glaze of interest coming from him.

"That... looks like a very powerful ability you got there" Nine commented very calmly looking at Hoyo like if he already knew everything from him.

Hoyo was a bit confused by the statement (and internally a bit intimidated by the way the white haired man seem look through him) but he only wanted to finish the job quickly as he was hungry and needed the money the gang offered.

So he tried to attack the white haired man with his puppet, but in the blink on an eye a small lightning bolt hit the puppet and make it explode.

Hoyo was pushed back by the explosion and the white haired man was still there with an unfazed expression.

"Not that powerful yet but..." Nine said looking at Hoyo "I can make it stronger" He said like it was a promise.

Nine then walk away and Hoyo tried to follow him without understand anything of what was happen, until they were almost in front of the gang hideout.

Hoyo observed how the white haired man rising one of his hands at the sky, and he didn't realize how suddlenly the dark clouds covered what until some moments was a very clear night.

A lightning bolt came from the sky and impacted the buildings Hoyo knew the gang used to hide, making the ground vibrate as they explode illuminating the night with the fire and the white haired man was stading there with the same bored expression as he that act of destruction was nothing for him.

Hoyo was totally speechless by that demonstration of power.

"I assume they won't represent a problem for you from now, I understand they wanted you to get me out of here so you don't have to worry for not get the job done" the white haired man said with the same calm Hoyo was used at that point.

For some reason it reminded him to someone else...

"Huh... and what do you want from me?" Hoyo replied rising his eyebrown tried to show more confidence that he actually felt "This kind of "favors" can't be for free"

"From you? Nothing..." Nine said plain and simple "Maybe offer you something, but first we should get out of here, he police and heroes can be annoying and they probably were alerted by my little spectacle" He said before walking out of the scene.

Hoyo didn't know why but he started walking behind the white haired man. There wasn't much to lose anyway...

"Are you hungry? Personally I am, so maybe we can get some food" Nine said after notice the young boy was following him.

Hoyo agreed on that, he really could get something to eat.

...

After all that happened Nine started to explain to Hoyo what his ideals and dream to change the world, a dream he really wanted to share with Hoyo for some reason.

Even if he didn't believe he meet the standards of power the white haired man claim to have, but Nine keep insisting on the potential of his quirk and how Hoyo was stronger than he realize and how wrong society was for overlook his true potential.

Not much time later Hoyo meet a friend of Nine, a really intimidating mutant who called himself Chimera and that name was fitting considering he was a mix of countless animals.

Hoyo found the guy to be quite charismatic and funny regardless of his loon however, and he was also very compromised to follow Nine's vision for the ideal world he evisioned.

And one day Nine also surprised Hoyo with a gift: a lot of red bandages that he notice were more resistant and powerful than anything he previously used to activate his quirk.

"Your power is greater than you think Hoyo, don't believe what the weakelings tried to make you think all your life. You can be better than them, you can fight for the world we deserve" Nine said in the most genuine way Hoyo ever heaf from someone.

And Hoyo really felt weak but also strong for equal reasons that moment, as never during his whole life he felt supported the way Nine made him to feel. Not his own blood family, not even Shinya, but this man who only wanted to give him and Chimera a better world to live.

Hoyo knew that moment that his life and heart belong to Nine and his cause forever, he give him a real family and home without even expect anything from Hoyo other than fight together like a team.

It motivated Hoyo to push himself and his quirk over the boundaries, training endlessly with the help of Nine and Chimera, so what once was the ability of control a single puppet quickly became the power of create armies of puppet soldiers thanks to the gift Nine give to him.

He even discovered an inhate talent with the sword, a gift courtesy of Chimera by the way.

Hoyo was poweful indeed, just like his friends believed.

But he also wanted a new identity as well, as his born name no longer felt something that represented who he was.

Then Hoyo became Mummy, and he used the bandages gifted by his leader to cover his body.

He felt safe and powerful like that.

Mummy finally meet himself that moment and knew who he really was.

...

P.S:

-Despite I make Shinya look like a careless and selfish brother in the backstory, I actually think later when he found what his parents did to Hoyo he resents them and felt totally guilty for not being there for his little brother. Edgeshot look for Hoyo during years hoping to find him someday and be a family again, he also keep his parents out of his life after what they did to Hoyo.

-I don't mention Slice here because I think she was the last one to join the team some time later than Mummy.

-While their age difference isn't actually that big, I like the idea of Mummy considering Nine a big brother figure and somehow filling the empty space left by Shinya.

#bnha rewrite #mha rewrite #mha nine #bnha nine #Mha mummy #Mha chimera #Hoyo Mikihaga #shinya kamihara #Edgeshot #Edgeshot and Mummy being bros is a fun concept #Also I need to push the big brother Nine agenda

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bunni-v1 · 6 months ago

Text

(Twenty) Nine Lives for Love

Chapter 1: Goodbyes

\\Next Chapter m.list

Tw: Reader literally is dead at the start lol; A lil angsty, in a good way!

Info: Kenma x Reader (eventually lol); Platonic Tanaka and Noya x Reader; Soulmate AU

Word count: 5k

🍓It's my spin on a soulmate AU! I apologize if the beginning is tedious, it's necessary to understand the AU though! Love you all! Eat up!

The first thing you notice when waking up is the sound of water. It’s a steady, gentle sound you could easily miss if you weren’t looking for it. The second thing is that you feel the soft tickling of just too long grass on your exposed skin, the light breeze caressing your face kindly. It was all so calming. So relaxing. It could put you right back to sleep… only, you knew in the back of your mind you did not fall asleep outside, and it was most definitely still winter where you lived.

The panic kicked in all at once, and you were shooting up from your spot without a second thought, groaning as the world around you spun painfully. You gripped your head, rubbing at your temples to ease the pain you’d caused in your panic. Taking a few deep breaths, you finally opened your eyes. The sun above was bright enough that it stung to look around. The breeze tossed your hair around, almost playful. Ahead of you, just as expected, was a river flowing steady and strong.

Relief kicked in as you recalled exactly where you were. Textbooks called this place “The In-between,” a simple way of saying the place between life and death. Your transfer from your last life to your next. You were quite familiar with the concept. How many lives have you been through now? Twenty-five? Or was it closer to Thirty? They begin to blend together after so long.

You spent your most recent gamble at life trying to study this damn place – you were achieved too! Plenty of awards for your research. Books, journals, experiments, interviews, and so on. Fifty long years of passion and drive, you would say it was a good life you’d lived. It meant nothing in the long run, though, your research was thrown out as more and more of the public decided this place was just a fairytale. Too romantic to be true.

A place between life and death meant to guide you to your soulmate – the person your eternity was destined to? No one had ever seen it and lived to tell the tale. Ironic isn’t it? Your research found that the average person only caught glimpses through “deja vu”, though there were a few rare cases where others could see their past lives. By and large, it was usually little glimpses, which obviously would cause doubt in the average person. Nothing was provable, truly, which is why people stopped taking you seriously as technology advanced.

Disappointing, but you couldn’t blame the public. It was ridiculous sounding, not to mention overly confusing, and most of all horrifying to think about. But here you were. In it. If you were alive (which was obviously not possible) you would be cackling at the idiots who threw your life's work out the window.

You looked around again, trying to take in as much detail as possible. It was important, after all. Any little thing could be a hint to who your eternity was. Standing, you brushed yourself off before making your way down to the ever-sturdy river that had been flowing since this place showed up. Since you showed up. You crouched over the side of it, reaching down to let it flow between your fingers.

“Hi,” you said, and it bubbled in response. You laughed, removing your hand and wiping it off on your leg draping it over your other knee, “Are you going to help me out, or should I just wander around until something hits me in the face.”

The river splashed up at your bare feet, scolding you for your sass. You chuckle at it, splashing it back with a swift smack.

“I know, I know,” you sigh, standing up again, “I’ll take a little walk, that usually works.”

You walk close to the riverbed, making idle chatter with the mysterious entity meant to reflect your inner self. Its responses only came in rushes and bubbles, but you understood it all the same. Along your walk you come across several animals of varying types, peculiar, as you’d never really had other living things here – other than the river, which you weren’t sure could be declared as a ‘living’ thing. Still, it was a welcome change, making the place feel less lonely. Each animal was particularly drawn to you, rubbing their little bodies excitedly against your legs. You made sure to give each of them as much attention as they’d allow, delighting in the attention they gave you.

There was one odd little creature, though.

It was a little calico cat, body lithe and eyes sharp as it watched you from a distance on the stump of a long-gone tree. It had a strange pattern of yellow and black on the top of its head that almost looked like hair. It hadn’t approached you, but it seemed to… watch. Not in the way an animal would, but the way a conscious being might. Like it was considering you as a fellow intelligent lifeform.

It shouldn’t have been possible, of course. Everyone had one ‘guide’, yours had always been the river. This cat was an outlier in the statistics, which made the scientist of your past life buzz in excitement. A new set of data to analyze, what does this mean? How could this affect your previous research?

You shook your head. Truly, deeply, within your very core, all you wanted to do was to pet its cute little head. The logic and statistics didn’t matter to you, because the you – the next you, or the person you were going to become; the person you are – just wanted to cuddle up to the little thing.

A splash of water at your feet caught your attention, and you turned a glare at your old friend. In return, it gave you a series of urging rushes.

“What?” It did the same thing, stubbornly, “Do you want me to go… talk to it?”

It slowed all at once, a sign of affirmation, and you sighed. You turned on your heels and made your way across the grassy field, heading for the cat straight on. It stared at you, blinking in a way that was far too human, before hopping off of its perch and trotting down a dirt path just a few feet next to its wooden seating. You groaned, not wanting to chase after this cat's affections, but it paused at the sound of your voice. It looked back expectantly, tail curling up happily in the air. You couldn’t say no to such a happy little kitty, could you?

No, of course not. So you followed it, grumbling as dirt caked your wet feet, but the cat did not seem to care. It only looked back occasionally to ensure you were still following it. At some point, the pretty open fields turned into walls of city buildings, and the gentle rush of your river friend became the sounds of city life. The sun began setting, its rays casting shadows of towering buildings across the sidewalks. Eerie, how such an empty place felt so full of life.

It was… odd. A complete and total shake of what you knew to be true. You never heard about such extreme physical changes in the In-between. Consistency, consistency, consistency. That was the way of the universe that you had studied. To change so dramatically so… suddenly… You didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as the little kitty turned into a rather well-off neighborhood, its pace picking up rapidly.

You couldn’t take anything in, too busy running after the suddenly very athletic cat. It passed several large buildings before hopping over the gate of a compact little home. You sighed, slowing your pace a bit as its beady little eyes peered at you through the bars of a gate.

“You are a pain, you know that little kitty,” you complain.

The cat just tilts its head, and walks toward the front of the house, looking back expectantly. You give a final sigh and push open the gate with little to no resistance. Then, the front door of the house. You feel like an intruder, despite knowing there is no one around here other than you and the little kitty. Who has not stopped its pursuit, expertly moving through the house until it hops into a room, which you quickly realize is someone’s bedroom as you step in.

The cat hops up on the bed and has the nerve to meow at you. You glare at it, approaching to give it a few harsh pets from its head to its tail. That’ll teach it! You're successful in your lesson, as it lazily flops onto its side and bats at your hands. You settle down next to it, laughing as it harmlessly bites at your fingers.

“You sure are pretty, though,” you coo absentmindedly, and it gives a meow in response.

You’re sure to give the kitty plenty of loving and attention, a reward for your efforts before you make the executive decision to take in the room around you. It must be important if this is where the cat wants you to be. It better be, the ache in your legs insists.

The room was compact, only made worse by the fact that there were so many things in it. A bed, of course, but this person had a full gaming PC set up on their desk. It wasn’t cheap either – at least… it didn’t look it. You didn’t know much about games and the like, but you could tell what a nice piece of technology looked like. On the other side of the room, in front of the bed, was a medium-sized TV with an assortment of gaming consoles. Most of which were either Sony or Nintendo and new-ish. The controllers were well-loved, joysticks worn smooth from years of use.

A bump from your side catches your attention, and you look to see the kitty rubbing its side against a shelf. You walk over, scooping the cat up in your arms, chuckling as it goes limp in your cradle. The shelf itself was full, absolutely full, of video games and collectible figures of what you could only assume were characters from these games. On the top shelf were several different textbooks: English, Science, Math, and one on Volleyball techniques.

You move to set the cat down to get a better look at some of the shelves, bumping a rather beat-up volleyball in the process you hadn’t noticed before. The cat nudges it toward you, tail flicking around in… delight, you think. So, you crouch and pick it up, turning it in your hands. It’s got several chunks taken out of it, and it’s covered in dirt, but you can just barely make out the initials written in black Sharpie. ‘K.K.’ it read. The cat presses itself into your leg, and you give it a good ruffle on the top of its head.

“Are these… hints?” you gamble, asking the cat.

It gives you a meow, purring out its affirmative response. You give it a little scratch on the bottom of his chin as thanks. In return, it bites at your fingers lovingly, licking after itself to soothe the spot. As the cat loves on you, you think long and hard about everything that happened to you in such a short amount of time. In the many lives you’ve lived, the many times you’ve been here, none of this has ever happened before… it’s an entirely undocumented phenomenon. The little thread of hope in your stomach strums an excited song. Maybe, just maybe, this is a sign that this life – this time, you’ll get it right.

The sun settles itself below the horizon, bathing the room in darkness. You let out a sigh, rubbing the cat’s head for good luck.

“Let's hope this is the one, right little guy?” The cat meows, golden eyes watching you in the dark.

You can only hope that the universe isn’t playing tricks on you.

.·:*˚¨¨ ≈★≈ ¨¨˚*:·.

You sit on the floor of your room – what used to be your room, at least – flipping through the pages of a textbook you’d snuck from the boxes of your mother's old stuff. Written in the early seventies by some Professor of the Sciences in the UK, it details the concepts of soulmates. While most of their work was regarded as illogical and ridiculous, your mother had kept all of their textbooks from when she was in college – ever the hopeless romantic she was. Since discovering them in the basement while moving, skimming through the books, and reading all the evidence compiled in favor of the existence of soulmates has become your favorite pastime.

It was silly for someone your age to be considering the idea of ‘soulmates’, most people abandon the thought in middle school, but not you. You had to believe in soulmates. If you didn’t, your mom leaving wouldn’t make any sense. Nothing in your life would make sense. (A bit dramatic, but at 17 years old, everything feels that big).

You sigh, thumbing the edge of a page that your mother had written in. A paragraph defining the ‘spark’ that two soulmates feel when seeing each other was underlined three times in blue pen. Your Mom noted it as important for some exam she’d taken. Her handwriting was pretty, a lot like yours. You missed her a lot. Sure you still got to visit once every few months, and of course, she sent you letters, but you couldn’t help the ache in your chest when you thought of her.

You blinked back the tears building up in your eyes. You hated crying over stupid stuff like this. You were happy for your mom, you were. She found her soulmate and was living in the lap of luxury with her new family… You just wished that you and Dad could’ve been part of that happy life she has now.

Something soft brushes against your leg, and a tentative ‘meow’ comes from below you. Glancing down, you see your cat you’ve had since you were eight, Maki. She was a calico you picked up off the street and domesticated with nothing but a cat’s for dummies book and a whole lot of patience. You’d owned numerous animals throughout your life – most of which were rodents bought at pet stores who couldn’t have lived longer no matter how much you tried – but Maki was your favorite. She just… understood you in a way that no other living creature could’ve, as crazy as that sounded.

You give her a careful scratch behind her ears, grinning as she purrs in delight. She has no idea she’s going in a crate in a few hours, poor thing. You close up the book, carefully hiding it away beneath several of your textbooks, and tape up the box aptly labeled ‘textbooks’. Satisfied, you pull Maki into your lap and give her cuddles, which she begrudgingly accepts.

Your room and all of your items were packed up – including the air mattress you’d been sleeping on for the past few days while your actual bed was transported all the way to Tokyo. All you had to do was put the last few boxes in the car, and you and your father would leave later that day after lunch. Which meant if you wanted to meet with your friends, you had to get your butt moving. You scooped Maki up in your arms and quickly headed downstairs, smiling a little to yourself as you saw your dad fighting to zip up his suitcase in the barren living room.

“You all good old man?” You called, trying hard not to laugh at him.

“I had more clothes than I thought,” he huffed, “help your old man out, come sit on it while I zip.”

You hop down the remaining stairs and settle yourself squarely in the middle of the giant thing, Maki taking the chance to hop out of your arms and wander off into the empty kitchen. Your father gives a big grunt, and finally manages to zip his suitcase closed.

He leans back, wiping his brow of the sweat he accumulated from moving boxes all day, “I thought your clothes were bad! I’m no better!”

You laugh, “That’s cause you refuse to get rid of anything, even the stuff you never wear.”

“I’m keeping them because they have–”

“‘Sentimental value.’ Yeah, Dad, I know the speech.” You drawl.

He smiles at you and ruffles the top of your head. Something like pride shines in his eyes, and you almost feel like a normal family for a second.

“You all packed up sweetheart?” he asks, and you give him a nod, “I know you’re going to see your friends, so I’ll put the last of your things in the car.”

You step up and give him a big, warm hug, which he returns happily. “Thanks, Dad. I love you.”

“I love you too pumpkin’,” he pulled away, straightening out your jacket, “be safe, and don’t let those two idiots get you in trouble on your last day here.”

You laugh, shaking your head at the idea. Sure, Noya and Tanaka were a bit rough around the edges, but they were good people. Speaking of, the two of them were already waiting outside of your gate when you stepped out of the house. Noya was holding a volleyball under his arm, and Tanaka was flushed and panting.

“Did you two play a whole set while you were waiting,” you laughed, stepping around and closing your gate.

“Nah, Tanaka just ran here 'cause he was late,” Noya explains simply.

Tanaka groans, and you pat his back awkwardly, hoping he won’t double over and die the last time you get to see him for a while. He gives a final gruff gasp for air before he straightens up and gives you a bright grin as if he hadn’t almost died at your feet. You shake your head at him, used to the behavior.

“You didn’t have to run all the way here, you moron.” You scold, giving him a firm smack on the head.

He grumbles, rubbing at the spot you hit, “We both wanted to be here at the same time… and Saeko was holdin’ me up.”

“Mhm, whatever you say. Still, no excuse to try and kill yourself before I even leave.”

The three of you begin your usual walk to the convenience store nearby, on the mission to get some delicious meat buns, then pass the volleyball around for a couple of hours while you talk about life and things like that. Simple stuff so you don’t have to think too hard about the fact that you won’t be seeing your best friends for at least a few months after today. As you walk, you reflect on the people you hold dear from here. Feeling more sentimental than you usually let yourself be.

You had known Nishinoya since you were in diapers, having lived close to him and his family your whole life. You were practically raised by his grandpa who taught you all the most important life lessons, like riding a bike or how to play rough with the boys at school. Your favorite thing about being Noya’s friend, though, was his grandpa's stories about soulmates. He would sit the two of you down at night and tell stories of how he met his precious soulmate, and how precious each life lived with her has been – though he doesn’t remember any of them. He was the main reason you didn’t resent your mother, stepping in where your father couldn’t soothe you when she left in middle school.

Not to mention, being Noya’s friend was just fun. When you were little he was always taking you on ‘adventures in the wild’, which was just the two of you terrorizing the rice farmers in the surrounding area. You would swim in the river with him during the hottest days of summer, having epic water gun battles for the ages until you inevitably hit an adult and got a stern scolding. During winters you’d curl up in front of your TV and play with the console your father bought for your tenth birthday – usually Mario Kart or party games that always ended in an argument between the two of you, and an inevitable week ban on the console. Where Noya was, you were sure to be close behind, and the same applied in reverse.

Being friends with Noya, inevitably, led to you befriending his closest friend from Karasuno: Tanaka. As well as every other member of the volleyball team – like Daichi and Sugawara, who were the most ‘senpai’ senpai you might’ve ever met. Asahi, who looked at least ten years older than he was, was just a sweetheart. Unfortunately, he and Noya weren’t on speaking terms, so neither were you. And, of course, the ever-lovely Kiyoko Shimizu, who was trying to get you to manage the volleyball team with her before she found out you were leaving this year. Tanaka was convinced they were soulmates, like real actual soulmates, but she hardly glanced his way. You kinda felt bad for him, but he couldn’t be convinced otherwise. (It didn’t help that Noya fed into his fantasies so much).

Long story short, you had a life here. A good one that you loved with friends that you wanted to keep… but life hasn’t been fair to you for a long time. Your dad got a good promotion, and that meant you had to move to Tokyo. So, instead of continuing high school here, you would be uprooted and moved to Tokyo Metropolis – specifically, you’d be going to Nekoma High School. A much larger high school than Karasuno with people you’ve never met in a city you’ve only visited a handful of times.

Buying the meat buns was quick, and the three of you ended up at a park doing exactly what you figured you would. Mostly, it was Noya and Tanaka messing around with the ball, which you would have to dodge occasionally to keep your head on your shoulders. There was a sense of peace at the moment, just watching them try and best each other as the sun rose high in the sky. You wished you could freeze this moment and live in it forever. You wished you didn’t have to leave. You wished you fought your Dad harder on moving. You wished and wished, but wishes don’t change the past, and they certainly won’t affect the future.

The ball whizzed right past your face – an intentional shot from your shorter friend. You barely managed to duck out of the way, sending a glare his way. Your balder friend laughs at you as he runs to grab the ball.

“What the hell was that for?” You shout, smoothing over your frazzled hair.

“You’re doing too much thinking and not enough playing.” He states simply, “Get out of your head and enjoy the moment you have now, or else you’ll miss out on it.”

Ever the poet Noya (accidentally) was, you acquiesced holding your hands up in surrender. You were here to spend time with your friends, not mourn the fact that you wouldn’t be able to do it anymore.

“Alright, toss me the ball,” you sigh, standing from your spot.

Tanaka bumps the ball to you, an easy toss since you rarely ever played volleyball outside of this ritual the three of you formed. Your mind is so busy trying to keep up with your much more talented friends, that you hardly have time to think about how sad you were. As you dive after the ball and scrape up your chin, you don’t even remember what had you so upset in the first place. It was just you and your friends like the world had intended.

By the time you had finished, the three of you were covered head to toe in scratches and dirt – like you were three little kids who played too rough. You were sweating and breathing hard by the end of it, though you could tell he and Tanaka still had plenty of energy to spare – unlike you. Perks of being athletes, you guessed. Downing what Noya had left of his water, you checked your phone and cursed. 12:30 and two missed calls from your dad. He’s gonna be so pissed.

“What’s wrong?” Tanaka pants out, leaning over your shoulder, “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, shit is right. I’m gonna get such a lecture when I get back.” You groan, dramatically slinging your arm over your eyes.

“Oh please, all your old man’s gonna worry about is your scraped-up knees.” Noya corrected snarkily.

“Whatever loser, I gotta get back regardless.” you sigh, brushing as much dirt off your clothes as you can manage.

You begin your pursuit toward your house, and the two boys follow behind without any arguing. Eventually, the three of you fall into step next to each other, sandwiched between them as you talk about various things. Video games, exams (that they passed by a hair), the next volleyball season (even though Noya is adamant he won’t participate without Asahi), and so on. No one wants to breach the topic at hand: you leaving. It’s depressing, but someone has to bring it up, or else it’ll stick to your skin like summer heat and leave you feeling hot with regret.

“I’m gonna miss you guys a lot.” You announce, looking up to the sky to avoid crying.

The two of them are quiet as they exchange a look across you. You can feel the mental battle between the two of them – a metaphorical game of rock, paper, scissors happens in their eyes. Tanaka loses, it seems, as he’s the first to speak.

“I mean, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again…” he pauses, “right? You’re going to visit for sure.”

You nod eagerly, “Of course I am, I just… I dunno how often I’ll be able to. It’s gonna be hard without you guys.”

Noya punches your shoulder, “Don’t be depressing about it, dummy! This is a new opportunity – you could even-” he pauses, looking around and lowering his voice, “you could meet your soulmate.”

“Ohhh, like Tanaka totally met his.” You snark.

“Kiyoko is my soulmate!” He retaliates, voice breaking in the middle.

“Come on!” Noya groans, hopping in your path and halting all movement, “This is a change you need! It’s like I always say, there's never a bad change 'cause everything’s part of the universe’s great plan for us.”

“Alright Noya, I get it. Can’t a girl just be a little melancholic sometimes?”

“No. Now let's get you home before your old man has a reason to yell at us too.” He shouts, suddenly breaking into a sprint.

“Hey, you little bastard, get back here!” You shout back, quickly taking after him.

“Come on guys!” Came Tanaka as he picked up his pace to keep up with you.

.·:*˚¨¨ ≈★≈ ¨¨˚*:·.

Noya was correct, your Dad’s only concern when he saw you was how messy you had become. You gave your two friends a big hug with the promise that you’d keep each other up to date on everything, and then they left for Noya’s to do god knows what. You had a hearty lunch that your Dad picked up from a Chinese place while you were gone, tried and failed to crate Maki who ended up in your lap in the front seat, and then you were off to Tokyo. A nearly five-hour drive that your father thought would be good bonding time.

If by bonding he meant two hours of shitty music you didn’t like and off-key singing, you two were practically chemically bonded at this point. You couldn’t bring yourself to be anything more than mildly annoyed, huffing out an amused laugh as your old man struggled through another verse of a song you didn’t know. He nudged you, laughing at your face.

“What? Not enjoying your old man’s musical talent?” He jokes.

You roll your eyes at him, and he laughs, leaning over to finally turn down the music. He holds his hand up in surrender as he pulls back, apologizing lightheartedly, and you can’t stop the smile from growing on your face. He reaches over and squeezes your knee gently.

“You doing okay kiddo?” He asks, softly, as if you might break if he spoke any louder.

You nod, “Just a little… sad… you know.”

He sighs, nodding back at you. He looked tired, and this was the first time you considered that… maybe the move was as hard on him as it was on you.

“I grew up in that house, and all my friends are in Miyagi… it just feels like such a shame to leave it all behind.”

“I know honey. But… I think this move is gonna be good for us. I’ll make more money to support us, and you’ll have more opportunities in the big city.” He says excitedly.

“Yeah… I know.” you sigh, and there’s a tense lull in the conversation.

Your Dad has a hard time comforting you, that was always your mom's job, and he never figured out how to do it by himself. You always ended up having to pick up the pieces for both of you.

“I, Uhm, I saw that there was a shelter near where we live that lets high schoolers volunteer on weekends – sometimes they even give long-time helpers permanent positions through college.” You offer up.

“Now that is exactly something that you would love doing, isn’t it?” He responds with a smile.

“Yeah, I already applied for it.” You laugh, “I was excited, but they haven’t gotten back to me yet.”

“Wow! Look at you, already so responsible! Where’s my little girl, I want her back,” he teases, pinching your cheek.

“Dad! It’s nothing serious, just an application!”

“But I’m still so proud of you. You’re already taking steps to adjust, that's real maturity, honey.”

You flush, nervously running your fingers through Maki’s fur. It didn’t feel like it was such a big deal, but you were happy that you were making your Dad proud of you.

“I’m gonna miss all my friends, but I’m excited to go to Nekoma. I mean, a bigger school means a much wider curriculum, so maybe I can take some classes focused on animals and stuff.” You say hopefully.

“You for sure could, I think I saw some of those classes when I was looking into the school.” He encourages.

“Yeah, and I can make some new friends who like the same stuff I do! Noya even said that I could find my soulmate!” You exclaim, before you can even realize what you’re saying, and when you catch yourself it's already too late.

“Hon… you know how I feel about that… soulmate stuff.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… exciting, and… I guess I’m hopeful.”

He sighs, frustration clear on his face, “You’re a little too old to be hopeful about something like that.”

“I-it’s just a nice thought, that there's someone out there who’s made for me. My other half…”

“Sweetheart…”

“I know you don’t like it because of what happened with Mom, but there's evidence–”

“Just stop!” He shouts, then bites his lip, “Please, honey, just don’t.”

You nod, “I’m sorry Dad.”

He doesn’t respond, instead turning up the music. You don’t talk to each other unless you have to. You focus your attention on Maki, giving her attention until she hops off your lap and you have to focus on your phone. It’s about eight o’clock when you get to the new house. It’s… nice, much bigger than your old one, and much nicer.

The two of you grab your suitcases and a few assorted boxes to bring in (Maki following after you like a trained dog), too tired to unpack the whole car. You trudge your way across the house to your room – already furnished with bed made, thanks to the moving service your dad booked. You set your things down and collapse into your familiar sheets. They still smell like home, and that brings you more comfort than you thought you needed.

Maki, ever the mind reader, hops up and nudges her way under your arm. You tug her close, pressing a thankful kiss to her forehead. The house was nice, and so was the neighborhood from what you saw outside of your window. You hoped the school was too, you wouldn’t see it until you went to register for classes later this week. You didn’t have much room to feel anything but depressed after you argued with your Dad. You shouldn’t have pushed it so much, but it frustrated you to no end that he was so in denial of what happened.

You were exhausted, and thinking was taking up way too much brain power. You snuggled up to your cat, sighing at the familiar smell of her healthy coat.

“Tomorrow’s another day,” you mumbled, “let's hope it’s easier than today.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kenma x reader #nishinoya yuu #tanaka ryuunosuke #tanaka x reader #noya x reader #x reader #soulmate au #bunni's treats 🧁

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