#she is constantly just. existing. in high up spaces

[chronal-anomaly]

Consider:

Parkour artist lena

[whatsfourteenupto]

All jokes aside I don’t understand a lick why we now have to wrap our brains around “Sutekh has been in the TARDIS the whole time!!!” when “Sutekh clawed his way back out of the void dripping ichor and rage the moment that salt created any hint of a door and has been hiding in the TARDIS since then” would’ve been just as effective

[evieelyzabethh]

"homecoming"

⭒"and i told her in my heart is where she always be"⭒ college AU Arcane headcanons {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw ☞ slightly pervy jayce, and a bunch of fluff. ALSO, one of my dearest pookies requested a college au so everyone say thank you sidda 💋

♞Vi♞

♞Vi would totally be a student athlete and a very good one. I don't see her as a basketball or football girl but baseball actually. Swinging a bat around is a controlled way to get aggression out. She played soccer and football in high school, though. She did football first, her and Jayce signing up together and both managing to get a spot on the team, but she got annoyed with all the padding really quick and only stuck it out for a year because of Jayce. She moved to soccer but got kicked off the team for fighting after a girl kept bumping into her and never got fouled for it. The fight was pretty bad, and in combination with her pre existing record of violent behavior, the school put her in counseling for her aggression issues.

♞She deeply enjoys baseball and takes it very seriously. Regular trips to the batting cages with Vander helped her regulate her emotions. It requires patience and control and a bat. She really loves her bat. When she made it onto the team, Jinx bought her a wooden one that she spray-painted, and she keeps it in her dorm room. She also likes the atmosphere. Her hand is always in a bag of sunflower seeds, she appreciates a good bubblegum, she likes how she looks in the uniform.

♞This being said, college Vi cleans up her act a bit. She doesn't get into fights anymore, she raised her F's into B's, and she got into a really nice school on a sports scholarship that she refuses to lose. She takes this as an opportunity to get good at something. She knows major league women's baseball isn't really a thing and she doubts she's good enough to ever make it to the Olympics, so she dedicates her time to finding something to make of her life

♞You two meet in a language class. It's a requirement at your college and she's only there because it's the easiest option that they stick all the student athletes in, and you were quite frankly just being lazy and wanted a class you could get an easy A in. She shows up slightly late, but the professor lets it slide as it's only the first day. The only open seat is the one next to you, quietly sitting in the back of the room with your laptop up staring intently as you go through the course's syllabus. She smiles. She thinks you're cute.

♞You can hear the dad rock blasting in her earphones, her hands in the pocket of a school branded hoodie with her head down as she slips in quietly next to you. She takes up a lot of space, her water bottle is one of the huge gallon sized ones, her laptop is large and kinda clunky, her notebook is also splayed out and you silently judge her sloppy handwriting. Just as preoccupied as you are, she's going through her schedule to see what time practice starts and gets out, what time she has to be at her volunteering commitment, the time slot she blocked out to call her sister.

♞Part of her scholarship is working in surrounding communities at recreation centers to encourage kids to get active. She thinks it's stupid at first, but eventually she finds out that she enjoys working with kids. They are constantly in awe of her, constantly asking her to give them piggyback rides or toss them around a bit, but they also deeply admire her. It's not a foreign feeling for her to be looked up to, but it's one she hasn't felt in a long time. She always wants to be better, and they make her feel like she's moving in the right direction.

♞She wouldn't start talking to you right away. Contrary to popular belief, Vi isn't super popular with the ladies. She is much quieter, she likes to keep to herself. She only sparks a conversation with you to ask what you got on the last test because she didn't do all that great and wanted a study partner. She likes being your seatmate a lot. You're just so nice. You're the first to offer a pencil if you need it, you keep sweet-scented hand sanitizer in your bag and soft tissues which she almost feels bad about how many she steals when her allergies hit in the spring.

♞Finals season is going back and forth from the library and her fancy athlete dorm after it closes to study for finals, both of you running on an ungodly amount of energy drinks and two hours of sleep, some nights you fall asleep on her shoulder when even the pale light of your laptop screens can no longer keep you awake. She freezes every time, not wanting to move you but also wanting you to be comfortable, slowing her typing to a gentle pace before giving up entirely and falling asleep herself. You wake up to Vi's earsplitting snores, low music still playing from her speaker, the tv shifting hours ago from bright cartoons to some live action sitcom from decades ago. You debate on leaving, but the buses are no longer running, and she drives you herself, stranding you at her dorm in her large comfy bed where you willingly lay yourself back into her arms.

♞Her teammates definitely know about her crush on you. Anytime you come to their practices or walk her to them, she has a pep in her step and a smirk on her face the whole time. She swears she's not that obvious, but she talks about you constantly and the mere mention of your name has her scrambling. She is a show-off during practices, maybe playing a bit too hard as she slides onto bases in her already ratty sweatpants.

♞She would ask you out at one of their games. She's not big on super big and showy public confessions, so she wouldn't have you guys on the jumbotron or announced by the commentators, but after the game she would catch you in the crowd and ask her to be your girlfriend. Your first date would be to dinner after the game because she is absolutely starving, but she does pay for both of your meals.

★Ekko★

★Ekko, like Vi, would be at university on a scholarship, though one for engineering or something STEM related. He's there to pursue some sort of STEM degree but he abuses the fuck out of gen-ed classes. He absolutely loves being able to take a variety of different classes and different disciplines. He's done some culinary work, some studio art classes, some music theory. He has so many interests and he is determined to get the best out of the experience.

★While his nose isn't always stuck in a book, he's always working on something. His dorm is a mess of papers, his clothes are strewn around the floor, and he probably isn't even there because he's in a lab or in workshop or in the grocery store because he finally got tired of ramen noodles. It's a good thing the university offered co-ed dorms because no one else would be able to put up with him but Jinx, though the second she rolls her ankle after stepping on one of his shoes she has half the mind to burn all his stuff.

★Their dorm room is quite nice. They're the type that have led lights and posters all over the walls, those fake vine things hanging over his bed. The lights are always low in there, they forget about the ceiling light because they use their desk lamps so much. They don't have the nicest things, him and Jinx splitting one fridge and one microwave and maybe a snack cart, but they would have a comfy bean bag chair in there.

★He would get noticed around campus because he skateboards to class and wears cool outfits. The university social media has a page dedicated to OOTDs that he run's and it gets pretty popular. He isn't in a bunch of clubs, I think he would stick to one or maybe two. Of any of them, he would be involved in whatever social justice club they have, and while only a freshman, his passion gets him on the administrative team for communication and outreach. He is a master at Canva and is seen all across campus putting up fliers

★He is a D1 procrastinator which is ironic because he is always stressed. The only motivation he needs is the weight of all the work he has to do on his chest eventually being released and actually feeling like he can breathe.

★Ekko...with a belly button piercing...yes. He would have a few other piercings besides his bellybutton, including a daith, tragus, cartilage, and the first and second on his lobe. He prefers gold jewelry to silver and wears a lot of crop tops to show off the piercing. He takes terrible care of them because he refuses to buy the saline solution and raw dogs it with some soap and water and he hasn't had any reject yet.

★He would be a TA for Heimerdinger in grad school and would hang around his office a lot. A very chaotic lecturer in his recitation sections. He gets to the room a solid hour or two early to work on his dissertation and when class starts, he hops from topic to topic. He loves that chalkboard, he's all over it. He also likes coming to class in nice suits like the one he was in the alternate universe.

★You and him would meet after he bumped into you on his skateboard. He had been replying to an email on his way to class and you had been trying to catch up on the reading you were supposed to have done a week ago and you walked right into him, knocking the phones out of both of your hands and sending the skateboard rolling until it hit a bench. You both scramble to apologize, and as he offers you a ringed hand to help you off the ground, you go back and forth claiming it was completely your fault and not the others. He remembers you after that, partially because you hit the ground pretty hard and he's scared he gave you a concussion, and partially because he thought you were gorgeous.

★He would keep noticing you around campus and Jinx would bully him into saying something to you after the umpteenth time of telling you how cute you looked in that outfit today and how locked in you were at the library and how he wants help finding your insta so he can stalk you. All you see one day at the dining hall is a very confused Ekko with a very annoyed Jinx behind him pushing him your way and leaving quickly. You had been eating alone, laptop sat beside your half empty plate, your blue light glasses laying down on your nose in hopes of protecting you from going blind at thirty from how much time you spend staring at your laptop. Conversation is extremely slow at first, but when you two find your rhythm, he builds the courage to ask for your number.

★Lots of movie nights in his or your dorm or one of the lounges in your building while you do his retwists. Be warned, he is very tender headed and can't sit still to save his life, so you keep having to tap him with the comb and tell him to stop jerking before the parts come out wonky. Also, dye and detox days!!! He complains about his neck hurting while he's bent over the sink, but the feel of your hands in his scalp makes it bearable. You're confined inside as the dye penetrates beneath some plastic bag from under the sink and end up playing a game on the console he brought from home.

❂Jayce❂

❂Though he started high school playing football, and was quite good at it, he does quit the team when Vi does. He was never a really big sports guy, though the gym teacher never stopped pestering him to join the team again. He was always far more interested in science. He went through all the phases as a kid, being obsessed with dinosaurs since he was three, then space up until he hit like 8th grade when he was first introduced to the concept of chemistry and liked the idea of blowing shit up. He had the coolest science fair projects and won like every one of them. Rather than being the kid who told his mom about it the night before, he had the date marked on his calendar and preplans what he wants to do for the year

❂All this being said, he gets offered a scholarship to go to a nice university despite not being in the same state of financial despair that Vi and Ekko were in. While some of the extra money goes towards his dorm, he does put a lot of it towards the club he's in, something like STEM Students for Change. He offers to fund the outreach meetings, the occasional events they put on, and renting tabling spaces.

❂He keeps to himself pretty often. He's not the biggest fan of having to do the big speaking stuff in his club, he's far more interested in being able to do the work behind the scenes. He's always been the type to be upset by non-academic attention, never one put much effort into getting a romantic partner. He's also not a big party guy, only going out at the request of a friend, and spends a lot of his time either in his dorm, one of the libraries, or one of the labs.

❂Very scatterbrained. He doesn't get anything done without his notebook which he takes with him everywhere and is full of scribbles of notes and things he needs to get done for the day. He is also the type to neglect doing basic human things, like eating, especially if it's not in his schedule. It's a cycle of "ok, if I finish a page of this paper then I'll go get a snack" which devolves into "I finished this page sooner than expected, I might as well keep going until 2:30" and then "I'm still not at a good stopping point, I'm gonna finish off this page" until he finishes the entire thing. Sometimes by that point his hunger is forgotten about, and he moves onto something else.

❂He abuses the fuck out of office hours. He is not afraid to send an email or just drop by anyone's office. He builds a great repertoire with his professor which is convenient later when he's getting tons of internship offers through recommendations and getting accepted into his major. He is also a registration warrior. Before his time, he's already been set up at his laptop for at least an hour perfecting his schedule making sure he gets all the classes he needs. He once had a nervous breakdown fall semester of his sophomore year because all the classes he needed were full by the time it was his turn to register. It was the worst semester of his life.

❂He constantly has a huge water bottle on him. Not nearly as big as Vi's, but still large and metal enough to knock someone out if he tried hard enough. He's also the first guy to set off the fire alarm in the residence hall while making popcorn. He swears up and down it wasn't his fault, which isn't entirely false because the alarm was sensitive and too close to the appliances, but he did burn the shit out of it and had to throw it out on his walk of shame.

❂You two would first interact at a party he dragged his friend to after his friend abandoned him and he got lost in the sea of people. He made the mistake of going out on Halloweekend, thinking that 11 would be early enough to party before the unruliness began but he was sadly mistaken. You had been with your friends having a grand time, slightly backed into the wall where he was, trying your hardest to dance without pressing against him too much. He only remembered your face because of the sheer number of times you looked back to apologize, feeling extra bad because of the blush on his face and how hard he was trying to keep his composure. You were clearly having fun in your very low cut and short costume and your eyes were sparkly and you ass was pressed so thoroughly onto his dick he almost passed out from how overwhelmed he was anytime you moved to whatever song was playing.

❂The next day in class, he notices you towards the back of the room, giggling at whatever on your phone and before he knows it, he's putting one foot in front of the other and sitting next to you. Like him, you were someone who liked to be early to guarantee your seat, so he had plenty of time to talk to you, embarrassed that your first impression of him had been the "awkward guy at the party".

❂Many of your dates would be study dates. He is quick with booking study rooms, making sure to throw a bunch of dry erase markers and abuse the hell out of those white boards while you pack a few snacks in your tote bag, so he makes sure to eat. You usually finish your work before he does, playing games on your laptop while snapping a few pictures of him as he slowly goes insane. Markings are all over the walls in every color of the rainbow by the time you two take a break, sliding over to sit in his lap as you two scroll on your phone with your head on his shoulder.

❂He does not have a lofted bed, which is great because you two fuck in his room constantly. He's very lucky to live in an apartment style dorm because Viktor would be pissed constantly being kicked out of his own room. It's his motivation for getting through his days. It used to be a sweet treat from the dining hall, but he hit it once and decided that pussy was just way better (I will be dropping a smut fic with this concept as my treat for getting through my exams)

☽Viktor☾

☽He was very picky with what college he went to. He did a lot of research beforehand. He was very confident that schools would be throwing money at him and planned on being very selective on whose money he took. He was looking at facilities, faculty, Rate My Professor, any measurement of a school's worth was being analyzed before he even thought of applying.

☽As mentioned above, he rooms with Jayce and likes to hit him with his cane when he tries to pick shit up for him or open the door. It becomes second nature at a certain point, he doesn't see it coming and only feels the impact. He loves to embarrass him. Their majors align pretty exactly and they take a lot of the same classes and any time he so much as lets the door close on Viktor its "Wow, I can't believe such a flagrant display of ableism! You really couldn't hold the door open for me?" and Jayce gets red, desperately trying to explain he gets thwacked with a cane every other time he opens the door for him.

☽He brings nothing to class but a pen and a notebook. Not even like a spiral 5 subject one, but one of those 50 cents marbled composition books. He does have a laptop, a very nice one at that, but it hardly ever leaves the dorm. He staunchly prefers physical notetaking to digital and slightly judges those who take notes on things like IPads. He just thinks it's unnecessary and often becomes a distraction. Jayce tries to convert him Viktor's gets firmer in his position after noticing everyone desert notetaking to play games or look at clothes after like the third week

☽While also an office hour abuser, he does prefer a zoom meeting if he can snag it. He's not one to drop by just to say hello, he wants a good relationship with them but he's not trying to get invited to Christmas. He also never forgets to do those course evals and give them a rating on Rate My Professor. There is nothing he hates more than a professor who doesn't give rubrics. That is his biggest pet peeve. That and someone who can't lecture, instead going on random tangents that barely relate back to the course material.

☽His go-to study music classical music. He’s particularly fond of Tchaikovsky, his go-to ballet to listen to being Sleeping Beauty. During the fall months he usually goes for Dracula and during the winter either Nutcracker or Coppelia. He's a fan of instrumental music in general as on the flip side of this are playlists full of the Minecraft or Undertale soundtracks.

☽A lanyard warrior. He is not someone who can just slide his keys in his bag, especially since he doesn't usually carry one around. He can't just carry them around because he will set them down somewhere and forget them and those replacement fees are like a couple hundred dollars. When he does carry a bag though, it's one of those nice leather messenger bags that he thrifted. Speaking of which, his brightness would be so low. He's not even hiding anything and it's a miracle he can even read anything on the screen. He also is someone who uses blue-light glasses when on his phone or laptop, which is part of the reason both are so dim. You are on his lockscreen and home screen on all of his devices, though.

☽He would be so good at proofreading anything you needed him to. While definitely a STEM major, he would also be a grammar stickler and is part of the dying breed of people who actually know how to write a paper without Chat GPT or AI. He would HATE all kinds of stuff like that. Slightly off topic, but he loves sharing all stupid discussions posts he has to do for class. He loves laughing at some of the idiots who say the wildest things, so wild that no one else in the class even wants to respond. He'd also be the type to develop favorite classmates through how they respond and only respond to those.

☽He has some sort of earbuds in his ears everywhere he goes. It's always either headphones or wired earbuds. He would hate the wireless ones after the one time he tried them, and they kept falling out of his ear and it was too much of a hassle having to repeatedly bend down to get them. He likes the noise cancelling ones too, he is impossible to bother when he's using them.

☽For his gen-eds, I can see him getting into film or maybe history. History because he's always had a minute interest in it. He's never been a big war buff, his niche was probably more aligned with the classics. I think he would be fascinated with ancient Greece and Rome. As for film, I can see that being something he decided to take for the fuck of it but then realized he was very interested. Maybe not a rom-com or film bro kinda guy, he would be interested in super niche, campy films. He would like wackier, more experimental stuff

☽He would meet you at some film screening he's going to for extra credit in one of his classes. You showed up because the showing just so happened to be one of your favorite movies. The extra credit was just for showing up, it was also for attending the trivia session after the screening with the points depending on how many questions you could get right and since you both had gone alone and had ended up sitting next to each other and he had already decided you were gorgeous, he decided to ask you to be his partner. He felt a little bad being carried through the competition by you, but you were so excited to just share all the fun facts you knew that he decided he could live with it.

☽You actually ask him for his number after the fact, suggesting you two do a few more movie nights together, trading off week after week showing each other your favorite movies. Though he is very busy, with all his internships, class work, and studying he usually has to do, he happily finds a way to slide you into his schedule. He treats it as his reward for getting through the week. You'd also go on a lot of coffee shop dates. He knows all the nice quiet spots around campus.

☼Mel☼

☼She is another one who has been planning for college since forever. She has had vision boards for which school she wants to go to, what job she wants to have, understanding the admissions process, what classes she'll need to take at her university of choice to graduate most efficiently, has all been written in a journal since she was in high school

☼She is very organized. I totally see as someone who has all of her class notebooks color coded, definitely uses Midliners, has those nice Pilot G2 pens, the whole nine yards. She was also particular about how her dorm was put together. Her and her roommate coordinated on a color theme, and they have like the dream dorm. They have a big TV, an air fryer, a microwave, a fridge with a freezer, an oil diffuser. Any nice thing you can fit in a dorm is in there

☼She is in like every club ever. Involved in the black student organizations, probably in a sorority (I think she'd be an AKA but that's only because I love them), clubs relating to her political science major, and other fun ones like art clubs, maybe debate club too. She'd also be one of those girls that everyone knows on campus because she's so everywhere. She's the people's princess, that one girl you see everywhere surrounded by friends who looks really nice but you're kinda scared to talk to her.

☼She types really fast. It's something she got really good at back in middle school when she got bored after finishing all her work super early and played a bunch of those typing games until she got really good at typing. Because of this, she is someone who can knock out a paper in like one sitting. I do think she'd need an outline or draft, a notebook by her side containing her notes on her sources and a reminder of the thesis she's arguing, but she could knock it out in less than 2 hours

☼I wouldn't call her a party animal, but I do think she likes to go out. Maybe not to the club but a frat party, one thrown by one of the D9 to be more specific. She brought her car to campus and is usually the designated drivers. She only really drinks fancier alcohol, she's not a beer or cheap vodka fan at all, and that's usually all you can get at parties. She doesn't go to get drunk or hookup with anybody, usually just because she got tired of being an academic weapon all day.

☼She gets a call from her mom usually once a week, usually at the same time, likely because Ambessa has that time schedule out to call her. It's super matter of fact, how are the grades looking, what is she doing in her clubs, has she gotten any internships yet. If she's feeling sappy, she does tell her that she's proud of her. Mel didn't love living with her mom, who put a lot of effort into distancing herself from Mel. She knew that she could handle herself and what she wanted, but she didn't know how she felt about Mel wanting something different out of life than her. Mel thoroughly loves her time away from her mother, but she does look forward to these phone calls.

☼I also think she'd be someone who has a secret pet, but it's just a stray cat that lingers around her building that she fed until it got attached. She does one day scoop it up to the nearest vet to make sure it doesn't have rabies and hides it in the dorm during the winter months to give it shelter from the cold. She doesn't name it because she doesn't want to get attached, especially since there's a likelihood that one day it may never come back to her, but when it starts perking up to the little pet names she's given it, she's already too far gone.

☼She is also someone who is quick to book a study room at the library. She doesn't do that well in her dorm. It's too comfy and her bed is right there, and she sets closer goal posts so that she can justify taking a nap. She's exhausted with all she's doing. Because of this, towards the end of the semester she is on main campus a lot trying to get all these essays done.

☼She is a very active participant in class! I think gen-eds would be pretty women and gender studies and African American studies heavy, with a few econ classes sprinkled in as well. Though she's not going into a math related field, she was always incredibly good at it. She could've majored in either the humanities or STEM and would've always done well. She is unfortunately the annoying person getting 100s on the exams and getting rid of the curve

☼Like Jayce, I think she would also meet you at a party. Being far more introverted than she was, you would hang around in a corner, checking your phone for emails. It was early and the party had yet to pick up, meaning everybody had coagulated in certain spaces on the floor, talking and too scared to dance to the music because there was too much room to be perceived. You obviously knew who she was and looked at her a few times, putting in a lot of effort to avoid her gaze when she notices yours. She would eventually walk over to you, red solo cup filled with water she grabbed from the fridge. She obviously knew who was throwing, knew them well enough to dig through their kitchen for a non-alcoholic beverage.

☼She would make small talk with you, asking if you had ever been to one of these parties before, especially since she hadn't really seen you here before. You two end up talking for hours against the wall, her head resting against the wall, not realizing her pupils dilate as you explain to her the chain of events that got you here, the long day of studying you just had, and damn finals are right around the corner and you just needed a break. Earlier than she would typically leave, she gets tired of the noise obscuring your voice and offers to drive you around for a bit. You two end up sitting in a McDonalds parking lot talking over an abandoned pack of medium fries. You two exchange numbers and talk like all the time before she asks you on a for real date.

☼Though you feel a tad bad about it, she loves being your chauffer. You wanna go on a 3 a.m run to some chicken place; she is already on the way as soon as you send the text. She's very quick to do a quick drive by to pick you up so she can show you off at a party. Also, though she can throw it, she prefers to catch it.

☼She is the perfect study buddy. She prefers studying with flashcards and pops a little Ferrero Rocher for every 20 terms she gets correct. With you there, it's even better. She gets a kiss for every right answer which is like infinitely better.  

[ch0llies]

REVIVAL | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend's Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo-your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there's no escaping Chris- or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: this story includes very toxic and abusive behavior. none of the actions or words in this series are justified and are written exclusively for entertainment purposes only. under no circumstances are they personally associated with chris other than just using him as the main character. read at your own discretion. now that that is cleared up, there will be filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 4k

CHAPTER SIX:

Two Months Later

The cycle never ended. If anything it got worse. Chris pulled you in, made you believe you were something to him, only to push you away the second you got too close. And the worst part? You let him. Over and over and over again.

Some days, he was all over you- his hands on your waist, his lips ghosting over your skin, whispering things that made you forget everything except him. And then, the next day, he’d act like you barely existed. He’d brush past you without a word, act cold, distant, and cruel, as if the night before never happened. And every time you told yourself you wouldn’t fall for it again, that you’d shut him out, he’d find a way back in.

It was exhausting. It was toxic. And yet, you couldn’t stop.

To make matters worse, the triplets’ channel had blown up. In just two months, they’d gained over 20,000 subscribers, and their videos were pulling in thousands of views daily. With their rapid growth, filming had become their priority- meaning your apartment had basically turned into their second home.

Matt had even moved in with you and Ava, claiming he “practically lived here anyway.” He wasn’t wrong. He and Ava were inseparable, and while you loved having him around, it also meant dealing with the other side of their relationship- the constant sex, the loud giggles coming from her bedroom at ungodly hours, and the way they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Chris, of course, was around even more now because of it. Between filming, editing, and brainstorming video ideas, he was constantly in your space, constantly finding new ways to get under your skin.

Right now, the living room was a mess of cameras, lighting stands, and random props as the boys set up for another video.

“You’re sure this is okay?” Nick asked, adjusting the camera on its tripod. “We don’t wanna be in your way, Y/N.”

You scoffed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Nick, you guys have basically been living here for weeks. I think we passed the ‘in my way’ phase a long time ago.”

He grinned. “Fair enough.”

Matt jogged into the room, wrapping an arm around Ava’s waist and spinning her in a quick circle before setting her down with a loud kiss. She giggled, slapping his chest playfully, and you rolled your eyes.

“You two make me sick,” you muttered.

“You’re just jealous,” Ava shot back, smirking.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, you felt it- Chris’s presence behind you. Close. Too close.

“You should be jealous,” he murmured in your ear, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. “They have their whole life planned out and you? You’re just my bitch.”

Your stomach twisted as his words sank in, a familiar frustration bubbling to the surface. You turned to face him, but he was already walking away, joining Matt and Nick by the camera, acting as if he hadn’t just whispered something that would sit in your head all night.

This was how it always was. He got under your skin, made sure you knew he was in control, and then left you stewing in it.

You clenched your jaw, exhaling sharply as you grabbed a pepsi from the fridge. If this was your life now- Chris everywhere, pushing and pulling, never letting you breathe- you were going to have to figure out how to survive it.

Even if it meant pretending he didn’t affect you. Even if it meant lying to yourself every single day.

The video wrapped up after another chaotic hour of filming, and soon enough, everyone collapsed onto the couch, exhausted but still buzzing with leftover energy. You sat wedged between Ava and Nick, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly as the boys talked about their next upload.

Chris was sprawled on the other end of the couch, legs stretched out, his fingers lazily tapping against his thigh. The air between you was already tense- it always was- but tonight, there was something different, something thicker and heavier lingering between you.

Then, out of nowhere, Chris scoffed loudly, his eyes dragging over you with an expression you couldn’t quite place-but you knew it wasn’t good.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asked suddenly, his tone dripping with amusement and something sharper, something meant to cut.

Your head snapped up, your stomach twisting immediately. “What?”

He gestured vaguely at your oversized hoodie and bike shorts, his smirk deepening. “Did you gain weight or something?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and the room went still. Ava and Matt were still laughing about something, not fully tuned into the conversation yet, but Nick caught it. His head snapped toward Chris, his expression shifting into something wary.

You clenched your jaw, heat rising to your face. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Chris leaned back against the armrest, completely unfazed. “I mean, you just look… bigger. Maybe it’s the outfit.”

Something inside you snapped.

Before you could think, you were lunging over Ava, your hands flying toward him as pure rage overtook every rational thought. Ava yelped as you climbed over her, and before Chris could react, your palm connected with his cheek in a sharp slap that echoed through the apartment.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!” Matt barked, grabbing you before you could strike again.

Nick shot up from the couch, eyes wide. “What the hell is going on?”

Chris barely flinched from the slap, his jaw tightening as he wiped at his cheek. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel the anger radiating off of him. Matt still had his arms wrapped around you, keeping you from lunging again, but you shoved him off roughly, stepping back and breathing heavily.

“Oh, I’ll tell you what’s going on,” you spat, glaring down at Chris. “Your brother just called me fucking fat, that’s what’s fucking going on.”

Ava’s mouth dropped open, and Nick immediately turned to Chris, his face a mix of shock and disgust. “Dude, what?”

Chris just smirked, rubbing his jaw where you had slapped him. “You’re overreacting.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Overreacting? That’s real fucking funny, considering you were telling me how much you loved my body when you were inside it the other night.”

The entire room went silent.

Ava’s head whipped toward you so fast you thought she might get whiplash. Matt and Nick both froze, their faces morphing from confusion to complete shock.

Chris’s smirk immediately disappeared, his entire body tensing. His blue eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he pushed himself off the couch.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped, his voice low, dangerous.

He took a step toward you, and you squared your shoulders, refusing to back down.

Matt and Nick immediately jumped up, stepping between the two of you as Ava stared in horror, trying to process what she had just heard.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Matt said, holding a hand out toward Chris. “What the fuck is happening right now?”

Nick’s eyes darted between the two of you, his face pinched in disbelief. “You guys have been sleeping together again?”

Chris didn’t answer. He just kept his eyes locked on you, his fists clenched at his sides. The anger rolling off him was palpable, but you weren’t scared. Not even a little. You were pissed.

You took a step closer, tilting your head up to meet his glare. “Nah,” you said, shaking your head. “Let him go. What’s he gonna do, huh?”

Chris took another step forward, getting right in your face, his chest barely brushing against yours.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t blink. You just smirked up at him, pushing every ounce of anger and adrenaline into your words.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice dripping with venom. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

Chris’s hand shot out before you could react, gripping your jaw roughly and tilting your face up toward him. His fingers pressed into your skin, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you of the control he he had. His blue eyes burned into yours, his expression a mixture of fury and amusement.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered, his voice low and threatening.

Ava gasped loudly from behind you. “Chris, what the fuck?”

Nick and Matt immediately moved forward, their faces twisting in anger.

“Whoa, dude,” Matt barked, pushing forward. “Fucking watch it.”

Before you could even react, Matt shoved him back roughly, breaking his hold on you. Chris stumbled, falling back onto the couch with a heavy thud. His smirk returned, but this time it was darker, more twisted.

“Nah,” Chris said, shaking his head as he adjusted his jaw, his eyes flicking back to you. “If we’re gonna go there…” He let his words hang in the air for a second before locking onto you with a look that sent your blood boiling. “Why don’t you tell them how much you like being manhandled by me?”

Your whole body tensed, your vision going red. Your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear Ava’s shocked gasp or Nick’s stunned, “What the fuck?”

Chris just smiled evilly, watching as the words settled over the room, as the weight of them crushed you under embarrassment and anger.

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms.

You lunged for him again.

Chris didn’t even flinch, just smirked wider, waiting for you to completely snap.

But before you could reach him, Ava stepped in front of you, pressing her hands against your shoulders. “Okay, that’s enough- let’s just go upstairs.”

You shoved her hands off roughly. “Nah,” you spat, shaking your head, eyes locked on Chris. “He’s fucking getting it. I’m sick of his shit.”

Chris just sat there, leaning back lazily on the couch like he hadn’t just lit a match and dropped it on a pile of gasoline. His smirk never faltered. If anything, he looked thrilled by your reaction, like this was exactly what he wanted.

Matt and Nick both moved in again, their faces set in frustration, trying to de-escalate, but you didn’t care.

Your blood was boiling, your hands shaking with rage.

You were done playing his game. And if Chris wanted a war, he was fucking getting one.

Chris stood back up, towering over you, his smirk now fully twisted into something cruel and enjoying this. His blue eyes glinted with satisfaction, like he wanted you to react, wanted to break you down in front of everyone.

“Yeah,” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. “Go ahead, Y/N. Tell them.” He took a step closer, tilting his head as his voice dropped into something even darker, something condescending. “Tell them how much you like me grabbing you like that. How you beg for me to be rougher. How you whine for me to touch you. How fucking pathetic you are for me.”

Your whole body went rigid, your breathing sharp and uneven as the words sank in, hot and humiliating.

Ava gasped again, but she didn’t step in this time.

Nick muttered, “Dude- what the actual fuck?”

Matt looked at you with a mixture of confusion and concern, but all you could hear was Chris. His words burned into your skin like fire, filling you with a rage so consuming you didn’t even think-

You lunged.

This time, no one was there to stop you.

Your hands collided with his chest as you shoved him back with everything you had. But Chris barely moved. He let out a low chuckle, his smirk deepening, enjoying your reaction.

Before you could strike again, his hands snatched your wrists, his grip strong and unyielding. In one swift movement, he twisted your arms together, locking them in place as you struggled.

“You never learn, do you?” he muttered, shaking his head as if he pitied you.

You thrashed against his grip, but he didn’t budge. His fingers tightened around your wrists, his hold completely inescapable. Your breathing was ragged, your chest rising and falling too fast, your anger consuming every rational thought.

Then, without another word, he started dragging you away.

“Chris, let go of me!” you yelled, twisting in his hold, but he didn’t stop.

“Woah- wait, wait, wait!” Matt’s voice rang out, his footsteps moving toward you both.

“Nah, what the fuck?” Nick snapped, his voice sharper now. “You can’t just take her like that!”

“Chris-” Ava started, stepping forward, her tone full of warning. “Bring my girl back- NOW!”

Chris ignored all of them. His grip on you stayed firm, his body radiating nothing but control as he dragged you toward the hallway, toward somewhere away from them. Somewhere just you and him.

Ava’s panicked voice cut through the tension. “Matt, do something!”

Matt didn’t hesitate. He surged forward and shoved Chris back- hard. Chris stumbled a step, his grip loosening on you just enough for you to break free.

Matt got right up in his face, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing. “Yo, you wanna put your hands on someone? Let’s go, kid.”

Chris let out a low, humorless laugh, rolling his shoulders like he was itching for a fight. “Are we really doing this right now?”

Matt didn’t back down. “Yeah, bud. Let’s do it.”

And then Matt swung.

His fist connected with Chris’s jaw in a clean, sharp hit that sent a crack through the room. Chris staggered back, his tongue swiping over the inside of his cheek where Matt had landed the punch.

But before he could retaliate, you moved.

“Matt, STOP!”

The words flew from your lips before you could even think. Without hesitation, you stepped between them, your hands pressing against Chris’s chest, keeping him from lunging forward.

Matt froze, his breathing ragged as he glared at you. “What the fuck, Y/N?”

Ava’s voice rang out next, full of disbelief. “Are you deadass? Y/N, what the fuck are you doing?!”

You weren’t listening. Your hands instinctively moved to Chris’s face, checking where Matt had hit him, your fingers lightly grazing his jaw. “Are you okay?” you asked breathlessly, your voice softer, concerned.

Chris’s smirk returned- but this one was different. He tilted his head slightly, soaking in the way you were touching him, the way you had stepped in for him instead of letting Matt beat his ass.

And then, before anyone could react, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch almost gentle in contrast to the chaos around you. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, his fingers curling into your hair as he pulled you closer.

Then he leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

The action sent shockwaves through the room.

Matt’s fists clenched at his sides. Ava’s jaw dropped in pure disbelief. Nick looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

Chris’s arms wrapped around your waist, securing you against him as he turned his head just enough to glance at Matt, smug satisfaction dripping from every inch of him.

“See?” Chris murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear. “She’s fine.”

Then, his grip on you tightened slightly, his lips brushing against your temple as he muttered the final nail in the coffin-

“We’re leaving.”

And he started guiding you toward the door, leaving nothing but silence, shock, and the unmistakable feeling that you had just chosen the wrong side. But you knew it would be the side you’d choose again and again and again.

Chris didn’t give anyone time to process what had just happened. He moved swiftly, his grip still firm on your wrist as he led you toward the front door. His eyes flicked toward the table near the entrance, and without hesitation, he grabbed your car keys.

“Chris, what the fuck-” you started, yanking at your arm, but he wasn’t letting go.

Ignoring your protests, he snatched a jacket from the coat rack- the first one he saw- before throwing it over your shoulders. It wasn’t yours. It was his- one of his dark, oversized hoodies, drowning your frame, completely swallowing up the little shorts and shirt you were wearing prior.

And you knew he did it on purpose.

Chris didn’t like other people seeing you like this. Even though he had no right to that opinion. Even though you weren’t his.

But he still covered you up like you were.

He pulled you outside without another word, walking straight toward your car. With one hand, he wrenched the passenger door open, and before you could fight back, he shoved you inside.

“Chris-”

SLAM.

He shut the door before you could finish, storming around the front of the car and sliding into the driver’s seat like it was his car. The second he turned the ignition, the engine roared to life, and his grip tightened around the steering wheel.

Then, without so much as a warning, he peeled out of the driveway, speeding down the street recklessly.

The anger in the air was suffocating.

The silence was short-lived.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” you screamed, whipping around to face him.

Chris’s jaw was locked, his knuckles white around the steering wheel as he refused to look at you. “Shut up.”

“NO!” you snapped, slamming your hands against the dashboard. “PULL THE FUCK OVER!”

Chris laughed. A cold, humorless laugh. “Not a fucking chance.”

Your nails dug into your palms, your rage blinding. “You do NOT get to do this to me, Chris! You do NOT get to fucking drag me out of there like I’m-”

“Like you’re what?” he interrupted sharply, finally cutting his eyes toward you. “Like you’re MINE?”

The car swerved slightly as he took a turn too fast, and your breath caught in your throat.

You weren’t scared.

You were fucking furious.

“I AM NOT YOURS!” you screamed. “I HAVEN’T BEEN YOURS SINCE HIGH SCHOOL, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!”

Chris slammed his fist against the steering wheel so hard that the entire car shook. His breathing was ragged, his knuckles white, his face twisted in pure, unfiltered rage.

“YOU WERE NEVER MINE IN HIGH SCHOOL!” he shouted, his voice so raw and furious it sent a jolt through your body. “THAT WAS THE FUCKING PROBLEM, YOU CUNT! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO FUCKING LEFT ME!”

Your chest heaved as his words slammed into you like a bullet, but you didn’t back down.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING CALL ME THAT! I LEFT BECAUSE YOU WERE NEVER GONNA BE WHAT I NEEDED, CHRIS!” you screamed, your own voice just as raw. “You never fucking cared about me- not really! You cared about owning me! Controlling me!”

Chris’s jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle twitch. His grip on the wheel tightened, his breath coming out fast and uneven. “Oh, that’s rich,” he sneered. “You think I didn’t fucking care about you? You think I wasn’t fucking obsessed with you? I would’ve burned the entire fucking world down for you, Y/N, and you fucking left.”

His words felt like a slap.

For a second- just a second you saw it.

The real anger. The real pain. The Chris who had been left behind, the Chris you had ghosted, the Chris who had spent years turning that heartbreak into something uglier, something crueler. You did this to him.

But you weren’t about to let him rewrite history to make himself the victim.

“You pushed me away first,” you hissed, your voice shaking with rage. “You never told me what we were, you never let me in, and the second I started moving on, you decided I wasn’t allowed to!”

Chris let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, is that what you tell yourself? That I pushed you away? No, baby.” His voice lowered, his tone sharp as a blade. “You left because someone else gave you a little bit of attention. Because the second you saw an easier option, you fucking took it. You ran the moment things got complicated, because that’s what you do, isn’t it?”

Your hands shook in your lap.

“Fuck you,” you whispered.

Chris smirked, but it wasn’t amused- it was mean. Cruel.

“Oh, I already do,” he murmured. “Over and over again.”

Your body burned with rage, with shame, with the unbearable truth in his words.

He leaned in again, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “And that’s why we’re here. Because you’re mine now, Y/N. Maybe you weren’t back then. But you are now.”

“I AM NOT FUCKING YOURS YOU EVIL, MANIPULATIVE, PIECE OF SHIT! GET OUT OF MY FUCKING LIFE!” You screech, your entire body fighting between the urge to slap him again and the urge to fucking sob.

Chris slammed his fist against the steering wheel again, his knuckle busting open as the car swerved. “Oh, REALLY?” he shouted. “Then why the fuck did you just CHOOSE ME OVER THEM?”

Your mouth opened- but nothing came out.

Chris scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s what I fucking thought.”

Your blood was boiling. Your hands were shaking. “You are so fucking sick and twisted, Chris-”

“AND YOU FUCKING LOVE IT!” he yelled, voice raw with frustration.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your vision blurring with rage.

“You don’t know shit about what I love,” you spat.

Chris finally slammed the brakes, pulling the car onto the side of the road so fast that your body jerked forward against the seatbelt. His breathing was heavy, his hands still gripping the wheel like he was trying not to completely lose his mind, his knuckle bleeding down his hand but it was like he didn’t even notice.

Then, slowly, too slowly, he turned his head to look at you.

His eyes were burning.

“You’re right,” he murmured, his voice dangerous. “I don’t know shit about what you love.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your face as he tilted his head.

“But I do know you love me. That every time I touch you, you melt for me.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“And I know that you can sit here and scream and curse at me all you want, but at the end of the day?” He licked his lips, eyes scanning your face. “You let me do this to you.”

Your breathing was ragged, your throat burning from all the screaming.

Chris smirked, leaning back against his seat. “So, tell me again, Y/N- who’s really the fucking psycho here?”

Your entire body burned with anger, with frustration, with pure, unfiltered rage. You clenched your fists so tight your nails dug into your palms, your breath coming out in ragged gasps.

“YOU’RE THE FUCKING PSYCHO!” you screamed, the words tearing out of you like a final, desperate attempt to shake him, to make him feel something real.

Chris just grinned.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, shaking his head like he pitied you. “You wanna see psycho?”

And then he closed his eyes.

He shifted into drive and peeled onto the main road without looking.

The tires screeched, the engine roared, and your stomach dropped as the car lurched forward, blindly, into traffic.

“CHRIS!” you shrieked, your hands flying toward him, shaking his arm. “OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!”

But he didn’t.

He laughed.

And kept driving.

The headlights of another car came blaring toward you, horn blaring, tires screeching-

You screamed.

With shaking hands and tears streaming down your face, you yanked the emergency brake, the car swerving violently off the road, your body jerking forward against the seatbelt. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as the car skidded onto the shoulder, your heartbeat pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

And only then- when the world stopped spinning, when the car settled in the dark stillness of the roadside, when your whole body was shaking with terror- did Chris finally open his fucking eyes.

And the fucker was smiling.

A slow, lazy, utterly thrilled smile, like he had won.

You were still gasping for breath, tears spilling down your face as you tried to process what the fuck just happened, when he reached over and cupped your face in his hands.

“Shh,” he cooed, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his grip firm, inescapable. He leaned in, tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him through your tears as blood dripped down his fist onto the hoodie you were wearing. “You’re okay, baby. See? I told you you’d be fine.”

And then he kissed you.

You were still crying, still shaking, your whole body running on pure adrenaline, and he fucking kissed you.

His lips moved against yours slowly, deliberately, his grip on your face owning you, holding you in place like you belonged to him. His tongue swiped against your lower lip, his breath hot and steady, like he wasn’t the one who just almost killed you both.

You didn’t kiss him back.

You didn’t fight him off, either.

Because you couldn’t breathe, because you were still trying to process, because you were so fucking scared- and he knew it.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, his smirk small, knowing.

“We’re gonna go back to my house,” he murmured, his hands still holding you like you were his. “I’m gonna tell my mom we’re together.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Chris-”

“And you’re gonna be my good girl, just like you always are.” His thumbs brushed your wet cheeks, smearing your tears away. “And you’re gonna play along, okay?”

Your stomach twisted, your throat closing up with a choked sob.

You tried to move, but his hands tightened around your face.

“Okay, baby?” he repeated, softer now, like he was gently coaxing you into insanity.

Your whole body trembled.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, your voice raw, broken.

Chris only grinned.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, pressing another slow, possessive kiss against your lips, barely letting you breathe. “That’s not very good manners.”

His smirk deepened.

“Mary Lou wouldn’t like that.”

Your stomach dropped, fear curling up your spine like a vice.

Chris let go of your face, his fingers trailing over your jaw as he finally pulled back, shifting his focus back to the road.

Then, without another word, he reached down, undid the emergency brake, and pulled back onto the road towards his family house.

And you just sat there.

—

A/N: long overdue part!! thank you for being patient!! i actually loved writing this and can’t wait to get back into this series now that earned it is over!!

MASTERLIST

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[mullermilkshake]

The man behind the camera.

Cruises are full of people you don't notice.

Photographer!Satoru Gojo x Fem! reader Stalking,Masturbation,Betting,Fleshlight

<<< For more Satoru content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

Taking pictures of faces. Poses. In front of stupid movie characters and signs, smiles and memories. Photographs tell stories and make statements, though they never show anything about the person who took it. 

Satoru was currently in his fifth season on this large and rather boring cruise ship. It was the start of the season and pretty desolate, more so than usual for the month of June.

More often than not, Satoru would take pictures of the guests during peak times and then shuffle back to his cabin or try his luck with one of his colleagues after a few drinks for a grope or a quickie before doing the same bullshit the next day. 

Mind numbing was what he referred to it as. Mind numbing enough to lower his IQ because he knew he was more qualified than this. He was better than this. He was better than everyone on this damn ship.

 He should have been taking photos of models and living the high life enough to never want to stop working. Fucking someone high-class, new and sparkly every night, tall with big tits and legs up to her chin, yet here he was, taking pictures of sun burnt tourists and shirtless men with too much alcohol in their systems to know Satoru was even there. 

It was a shitty existence.

Until he took your picture.

You came on board with a group of friends Satoru didn’t care to recognise and he didn’t bother to get the names of. He remembered your name when you introduced yourself and even shook his hand with a smile. Hands soft enough like silk, small enough to fit swamped in his own hand and dainty like fine china. Yet your hand shake was so firm, strong enough to get his existence fired up. 

He hadn’t been deprived of sex, or had no luck with the ladies. In fact he was constantly inundated with numbers and subtle gazes from guests and colleagues on the ship that he could get his leg over most nights, and he did. But your touch sent his mind flying up into a rut and down right low in the dirt before you even had a chance to speak of your interests when Satoru enquired what activities you’d booked so he could take pictures for the group. 

Most of it was the spa which by anyone’s standards was a complete no go inside with his camera. Though he wished he could and kicked himself that you chose to go into the forbidden space. 

There was something different about you to which he was inclined to investigate. Maybe the glint in your eyes upon seeing the vast size of the ship when you climbed aboard, or it could have been that gorgeous smile that plastered grins on your friends faces whenever they saw it. 

It could also have been the fact that there seemed to be no interest in Satoru your end. It drove him crazy when your other friends clearly had an interest. A small obvious flirtatious gaze, lingering touch that went on for far longer than socially acceptable and kind words about his hair or eyes and even his cotton shirt that were clearly just to falter him didn’t work.

He could have had any of them in bed without much hassle and that was what bugged him. It would have taken so much more trouble had you even agreed to go out. Satoru saw how many guys asked you out or offered a drink to impress you and you turned them down every time he saw. 

It became a game, a test to see if he could get you himself. 

“She’s cute, who is she?” Suguru, Satoru’s friend and colleague sat down at his desk by the computer. 

Satoru was busy editing pictures, well most of them were of you in some shape or form. “Some girl, with her friends. The girls are hot but the guys they came with are a little up their own asses.” 

He played it off in a way Suguru wouldn’t ask questions. Of course your friends were hot, but you were hotter, but he didn’t want to put you in Suguru’s sights. Usually friendly competition never hurt anybody. But not this time. 

“I like that one.” He pointed to a friend of yours that appeared the closest with you. 

“Oh yeah?” Suguru almost took the bait to leave you alone, he fiddled with his pen and rolled it along the desk to either hand in thought. “She is cute, isn’t she?” 

“Yeah she seemed into me but it’s too early to tell.” 

“Well you know what we’re like Satoru… best man?” 

Best man wins. He took the bait like a dog to a bone the idiot. Sometimes Suguru Geto wasn’t anything like a friend, but rather just an asshole. 

“Pfft!” Satoru sat up in his chair that he’d slumped down and clicked the edited image away in a folder. “You wish man, I bet she’d be all over me in an instant if I took her out.” 

“Of course she would, because every girl is in love with the great and irresistible Satoru Gojo huh?” 

“I bet you fifty I can get a kiss real quick.” He said, grinning at his friend like it was real. 

He didn’t want to kiss her, he wanted to kiss you, right on the lips infront of those asshole guys who clearly wanted to fuck you themselves. 

Suguru chuckled and hit Satoru on the back. “I bet you fifty I can get a fuck in no time.” 

“You got it, best man wins.” Satoru couldn’t care less who Suguru fucked and he cared even less to hear him brag about his inevitable win after taking Satoru’s sloppy seconds. 

After that, Satoru tried his best to save face and tried his best to swoon you, a complimentary word and a drink, but you wouldn’t even take a sip of anything he or anyone else would buy you.  

A tough but to crack and that pissed him off. You were so kind about it too. 

“Honestly.” Satoru stomped through to his cabin in the depths of the ship. 

You had turned him down point blank after he finally got serious and asked you to dinner. Suguru was hot on your friends tail and too busy to notice but so blatantly obvious and you saw through everything so clearly, so transparent and it ruined everything. 

What a fucking fail. 

The door slammed shut and the darkness mocked him. “Fuck!” He kicked the chair innocently sitting there at the pathetic desk and didn't bother to flip the lights on.

“Suguru you fucked it up. You fucker.” Gritted teeth. A scowl. Suguru noticed his frown even behind his sunglasses at the bar. “Can’t take a hint to fuck off.”

The more time Satoru spent with you, the more he wanted to fuck you. God you were photogenic, the sun agreed with your eye colour, the tone of your hair and a sparkle he never needed to edit out. And you fucking said no.

“Doesn’t matter.” Satoru knelt down and felt around under his cot bed in the minuscule cabin. A laptop. “Got everything I need right here.”

With Satoru’s job, came great trust and everybody trusted the unknown yet dashing half obscured face behind a camera. Always watching, collecting and storing images in a secure place to give back to the guest’s at a price. 

Well… mostly secure. Every now and then some images may not even get uploaded or edited to make the final cut and inevitably get erased. 

Opening the computer, the screen livened up and lit up the darkened room and Satoru’s face, stinging his eyes wider in search for the folder. 

One folder named ‘PRIVATE’

He double clicked and scoured through the individual file names, a total of over one thousand photographs. 

001 (Gate)

002 (Cocktail)

003 (Bikini)

The photos on Satoru’s laptop computer were those said photographs that should have been disposed of and discarded to never have permission to see the light of day respectfully due to lack of focus, screen glare and an array of other professional reasons. Many photographs that just should have never existed. Ever.

And all of the photos in this folder were of you. 

“That’s more like it.” One photograph in particular was Satoru’s favourite and he scrolled and scrolled until the number appeared on the bottom of the screen. 

0967 (Pool table)

A candid picture of you, leant over the pool table in a bikini, smile on your face surrounded by your friends who watched in as you hit a pool ball in hopes to pocket it. 

It was seductive, like you knew Satoru was there snapping that moment in time, bent over the table with your tits pressed against the felt surface, threatening to slip out of your bikini top. 

You even bit your lip for him. 

“So hot.” He imagined what your skin would feel like, softer than your hand when you placed it in his to shake?

Skin supple enough to hold but pliable to shake and jiggle in a way he fucking adored to see. Dips from his finger tips and maybe even bruises when he grabbed you from behind and watched your tits bounce around as gravity worked its magic. 

Bent over, yeah he’d enjoy taking you from behind, bent over that lucky pool table, perhaps even in front of everybody, your friends and those guys you hand out with. That would have been extremely hot and just the shallow thought got Satoru worked up enough that he could already see his cock twitching away in his pants under the eye squinting brightness of the computer screen. 

“Christ… What the hell am I doing?”

The retreat from his pants and guilt only lasted for a second and his hand was inside his pants with a firm grip around his length, but resisted the urge to stroke himself. Guilt would set in after he blew his load, but you looked way too delicious to ignore. He only wished your nipple slipped out of your bikini top as you bent over. 

Shit, what would that taste like? 

His hand squeezed and moved a little inside the material, restricting but also stop him from tugging and pulling eagerly and coming all over the laptop keys. No fucking control when it came to you. Only you. 

Your other friends would throw themselves at him; Satoru loved a blonde every now and then, blonde and tall with legs up to the boobs. Boobs. Satoru loved tits; any tits all tits no matter the shape and size shoved in his face. Beautiful and supple in his mouth anytime. He loved them, his favourite part. 

Now Satoru was beautiful, perfect even and he could get said boobs whenever he felt like it. So why the fuck did you tell him no? No one else ever did in his life and it threw him through a deranged loop.

He moved his hand rhythmically, up and down, up and down and the forbidden movements were stronger than usual, firmer and drawn out wishing it never ended. This sensation, imagining your mouth wrapped around his cock and pulling to get that pop sound after it left your lips. 

The slurping sounds from it were unique in the fact it could never be replicated and be as good as the real thing. Unfortunately tonight, for some reason, Satoru’s hand wasn’t living up to expectations either, a cruel ‘fuck you’ in the night of silence.

“C’mon…” He pumped his hand, lifted his shirt and concentrated enough to burst a blood vessel but there was not even a subtle hint of a tingle in his balls yet. 

He thought of you, fucking you anywhere. Over the pool table, on the floor while after you had climbed out of the pool so you were dripping, your sweet moans cooing in his ear while you clenched around him. 

Still wasn’t enough.

“Fuck this.” Letting go of his cock, Satoru put the laptop down on the bed and leant over the bed to reach for a box underneath. 

His special box that no one knew about. He’d be an utter laughing stock to Suguru if he ever found out that Satoru Gojo had a flesh light and lube in his possession.

It was ample in making him come whenever he used it, rubbed adequately to milk him for everything and he used it sparingly. The cool silicone could never replicate the real thing, but it sure did come to use in the early hours of the morning when Satoru’s cock decided it was horny.

He hissed at the icy lubricant from the bottle when it dripped down the tip of his cock, never bothering to take the minute to warm the sticky substance. Lube on, his entire length inside the flesh light that was like for like of a mouth, or as close to it. Fuck it was good, the divots and bumps inside tickling and pleasuring the entire surface area. 

“You like that baby?” He imagined it was your mouth. 

How could he not? Satoru had seen that cherry red lipstick you used enough throughout the week you had been there to know how it would leave lip marks around his cock. Back and forth, twist left to right and there it was, the tingling in his cock to let him know he was getting close to filling the mouth up full. 

Going to be a big one this time too. Right in your mouth. Oh how you’d beg him for it, pray on both knees to be special enough to receieve him all over your face and down your throat. 

“Fuck…” Faster now, the slopping of wet and lube slapping together and met at the base as he bottomed out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

You would take all of him gladly wouldn’t you? Was that why you wore all those skimpy outfits to dinner and the pool? Was it because you knew that teasing and denying him, someone who always got who he wanted was fun to watch? You seemed sweet enough, but he could tell there was a temptress inside of you he wanted to drag out kicking and screaming. 

What Satoru would give to have you knock on his door and have your wicked way with him and he’d make sure Suguru would watch. You bent over and contorted in a way to make you scream in pleasure and rub that in his face to show he lost. 

Well, that was enough to send him over the edge wasn’t it? The thought of his friend losing. 

Satoru came inside that flesh light, cock twitching inside it like it would have done your mouth and let it dribble down those pretty lips and chin. So breathtakingly beautiful.You’d suck cock so well. 

An then the clarity set in and Satoru was just another pervert with a hard on late at night thinking of a person he couldn’t get with. It was still shocking that you had the resolve to turn his charm down. 

Satoru just couldn’t get you. 

He’d continue trying but if all else failed, he still had his job. And that came along with some awesome perks. Satoru had access to cabin numbers for the distribution of the photographs to the cruise lines guests. 

If you resisted his advances again, maybe he could just come to your room and ask in private.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[gojozballs]

Gojo Satoru x Freaky Fiancée Reader

Warnings: [Mature themes, explicit content, sexual innuendo, public displays of affection, jealousy, and suggestive humor.]

Materialist

Gojo meets a woman who’s even more of a chaotic mess than he is, and somehow they end up in a whirlwind of teasing, jealousy, and bad decisions, all while trying to out-crazy each other.

First date? More like first attack.

Satoru thought he’d be the one to take the lead, but you proved him wrong when you yanked his collar and pulled him in for a deep, heated kiss before he could even flex his charm. The man was stunned eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks slightly dusted pink but of course, he recovered quickly, smirking against your lips. "Damn, sweetheart. So much for a first date should I just propose now?"

Can’t keep your hands to yourself?

Neither can he. The moment your relationship became official, you turned into an absolute menace. Satoru loved physical touch, but he didn’t expect you to constantly grope, squeeze, and tease him at every given moment. Whether it was sneaky ass grabs while walking or sitting in his lap with zero personal space, he was in heaven. "Baby, you're gonna kill me at this rate."

Public menace? Absolutely.

Your favorite past-time? Randomly grinding against him in public—just to see him malfunction. Whether it was in crowded subway stations, fancy restaurants, or even at Jujutsu High, Satoru’s poor self-control was constantly tested. "B-baby—?! W-we are in public—!!" He stammered, gripping your waist to stop your subtle movements. But did he actually stop you? No. Because next thing you knew, risky quickies became a thing.

Flash attack, incoming.

Satoru was in the middle of an important call when you casually walked up to him, pulled your shirt down, and—BAM. Boobs. Right in his face. "Satoru, look." His reaction? "W-what—?! Uhuh, yeah—uhm, I gotta call you back—" Click. He’d give you a scolding (which was completely useless) and five minutes later, he’d be dragging you to the bedroom.

Jealous Y/N is a nightmare.

The one time Satoru had to save a random girl from a curse, you hit him with the most petty, soul-crushing punishment. "No touching for a week. Actually, two weeks." Satoru looked like you just told him candy was outlawed. "B-baby—please! I didn’t even look at her!" "Why don’t you ask that girl for kisses, then?" you huffed, dodging his hands. "Baby, her whole existence is nothing to me! I was just doing my job!" "Well, saving her means you wanna marry her. So off you go." The only way you’d fold? If he fucked you in every position and in every corner of the penthouse. And believe me Satoru put in the work.

Satoru? Stressed? For the first time in his life?

He thought he was the freakiest person on earth until he met you. You were a literal walking thirst trap with zero shame, and for once, he was the one getting overwhelmed. "Baby, I can’t anymore—" he groaned, head thrown back against the couch. Did that stop you? No. You had one goal: ruin him. And you did. Every. Single. Time. "What happened, Toru? Thought you could handle me?"

Nanami’s Daily Suffering

Y/N sauntered over and plopped onto Gojo’s lap like she owned it. Arms around his neck. Zero shame. Gojo smirked, hands immediately settling on your waist. “Well, hello there, baby.” Nanami, sitting across from you, exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Must you do this here?” Gojo leaned into Y/n, voice dripping with mischief. “What, Nanami? Jealous?” Nanami stood up with a look of pure exhaustion. “I’m off.” Gojo chuckled. “C’mon, Kento, don’t run from love!” Nanami didn’t even look back. He was done.

Wake Up Call

The moonlight spills softly into the room, illuminating the tangled sheets. Satoru stirs in his sleep, feeling movement from his fingers. His eyelids flutter open to find his hand tucked inside Y/N's undies, seeing how she moves his fingers inside her. "Aww, baby... why didn’t you wake me up?" His voice is husky, a mix of teasing and concern, his thumb brushing over her clit as he speaks. Y/N gasps when his fingers move, inching deeper, his touch igniting something inside her. The moment feels charged, electric. "I... I didn't want to disturb you," she whispers, her breath catching in her throat. But Satoru’s smile only widens, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Let me help you," he murmurs, his voice low and velvety as he leans in closer, his fingers pressing deeper with a slow, deliberate pace, making sure every movement is felt. The teasing warmth of his touch makes Y/N’s heart race, and she can’t help but let out a soft moan. Satoru's eyes gleam with mischief, his fingertips curling just right. “Aren’t you adorable, baby? We’re not sleeping until I’ve made sure you’re completely taken care of… every single inch of you.”

Finally

Satoru and Y/N were a match made in absolute chaos. The first-years had long started placing bets on who was more of a menace Gojo or Y/N and at this point, even the students were giving up trying to figure it out. Shoko, ever the skeptic, was just glad her best friend had finally found someone who could match her madness, or at least try to.

At their wedding reception? Let’s just say they’d officially traumatized everyone in the room.

Satoru stood up, grabbed the mic, and flashed that signature grin. "I never thought I'd meet a woman who could keep me on my toes every day and night,” he said, voice oozing with mock sincerity. “But here we are."

The room collectively braced itself, already knowing where this was going.

“You bet we’re gonna have five babies or more!” Satoru shouted, throwing a wink at Y/N, who immediately gave him a deadpan stare.

Y/N rolled her eyes, giving him an exaggerated look of mock horror. "Five, Satoru? What, are we trying to break the world record?" she shot back, making sure everyone heard her.

Satoru shrugged, unbothered, leaning into the mic. "Hey, I’m not saying we need more, but the more the merrier, right?" He flashed a grin so devilish it could’ve set the whole room on fire.

Shoko, sipping her drink in the corner, muttered, "I need a second drink after that one..."

Y/N leaned in, her voice dropping low, barely a whisper. “If you really want five, we’ll need a bigger bed. You ready for that, love?”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his voice teasing. “Oh, I’m ready for whatever you throw my way, baby.” His eyes sparkled with a dangerous promise.

From the back of the room, someone whispered, "God help us all."

And just like that, the chaos continued. The couple carried on with their day, leaving the guests equally horrified and entertained somehow, somehow... happy for them.

[bet-on-me-13]

Stranded Danny AU

Danny gets pulled into a faraway Dimension by a Villain one day, just after the events of Phantom Planet. He is barely 15.

He has no way to get back, but he does manage to unlock the power to make Portals. Unfortunately, none of the dimensions he ends up in are his own, and none have enough Ectoplasm to open portals for very long. It takes up to a week to scrounge up enough Ecto to open a single Portal into the next dimension over.

And none of these worlds have Technology strong enough to take him home either. The few times he did find some tech that could potentially get him home, it never worked or it was destroyed before he could finish it.

He spends well over 30 years of his own Personal Timeline trying to get back to his home dimension, constantly gathering scraps of Ectoplasm and Tech until the day he eventually collected enough to build a safe way home.

But time does not pass the same across dimensions.

What to him was a 30 year long Journey, was actually just 10 for his home Dimension.

And they had to move on without him.

Sam became a Business Woman who used her money to fund Nature Preservation Organizations. She hired Pamela Isley and helped her through her powers when she became Poison Ivy (still a Villain, but secretly working for Sam)

Tucker got a high ranking job at Star Labs, and helped Cyborg come to terms with his new life when he became a cyborg. He even helped upgrade his tech a few times.

Jazz became a successful Psychiatrist, and now works under Daina Lance as one of the Justice League's top Therapists, specifically their Child Psychologist for young Heroes

Ellie took his place as a Hero and became the new protector of Amity after he dissappear. After the Justice League was formed, she joined them and became one of their best members, always working and nor really taking many breaks.

They always wondered what happened to Danny, and spent many years trying to figure out what happened to him, but never succeeded. They finally began to assume that he was fully dead after a few years of searching. They had enough time to come to terms with it.

...

So one night, while a 22 yr old Ellie is resting on one of her rare days off, she gets called in by the League about a possible Dimensional Breach near her Home Town. JLD was deployed to investigate, and she was asked to tag along since she was the Resident Hero of the area.

But she refuses, thinking it's just some random ghost trying to enter the Living Realm illegally after she began regulating the Portal. JLD would be able to handle it on their own, let her sleep on her day off!

Meanwhile, JLD has located the spot where the Dimensional Breach is about to appear. They surround the Area, and prepare to interrogate whoever is about to appear, or deal with them if need be.

Space begins to tear apart as the fabric of Reality breaks apart at the seams. And from that wound in existence, an Adult Danny steps out. He is 44 years old, and looks like a less buff version of Dan without the mustache (basically imagine Danny as Ford Pines from Gravity Falls)

The JLD can sense that he is strong, but not too much so. It feels like he is powerful, but like that power has been starved for a while.

"Who are you?" Asks Wonderwoman, ready to jump into battle if needed. "What are your intentions in this World?"

Danny ignores them. He is staring into the Night Sky, eyes wide. The Constellations he hadn't seen in 30 years were there. The stars were in the right locations. He takes a deep breath, tasting the amount of Ectoplasm in thr Air. This is it. He's home. He's finally home.

"Finally" He says breathlessly. A slightly manic Grin on his face.

"What the hell does that mean?" Demands Constantine. The grin had unsettled him, and he began preparing a few spells just to be sure.

Danny ignored him again, this time deciding to close his eyes and finally eat his fill of Ectoplasm for the first time in 30 years. He was ravenous, this was the first decent Meal of Ectoplasm he had been able to have in 30 years. He was giddy, he was so happy to finally be home.

However the Heroes didn't know what was happening. All they knew was that some guy had ripped a hole in reality, said "finally" with a crazy grin on his face, and started emitting a dangerous amount of Death Energy for no apparent reason.

Constantine reacts on impulse, trying to cast a Banishing Spell on this guy.

Danny, feeling the spell begin to pull him away from his home after he had just found it again after Thirty. Fucking. Years. Does something that he would consider reasonable.

He quickly dashes over to Constantine and slams him through a tree.

This sparks a fight between Danny and the JLD. And at first he is having some serious trouble, but as he continues to feed on Ectoplasm and recover his strength, he becomes progressively more Powerful. It comes to the point where the JLD can't keep up anymore, and call in Backup.

Ellie was enjoying her night off, but the desperate Call from JLD about a powerful Entity at the edge of Amity finally got her going.

She rushes over and slams into Danny just as he is about to attack Constantine again. Neither of them recognize eachother, since they have changed since they were kids (Danny moreso) and continue to Duke it out.

Ellie is trying to banter with him, but Danny is really angry at this point. So he resorts to his final attack, his Ghostly Wail.

He levels a good chuck of the Forest, and in the end he is standing over Ellie as his anger fades. He says "Sorry" and he starts taking a look around him to see if there is anybody else.

Ellie is on the ground, shaken because she recognized that power.

She gets up, and asks "Danny?"

Danny finally gets a good look at her and says, and says "Ellie?"

Meanwhile JLD still has ringing in their ears and thinks that Ellie just called Danny "Daddy"

(Which makes sense because of the new age difference)

[karmasloverrr]

fresh out the slammer - rafe cameron

in which y/n realizes the only man she wants isn’t the one standing across from her at the alter

warnings- swearing, angst, kissing, mention of abuse

w/c: idk but a lot

guys this is my first fic so be kind please but like..also leave feedback lmao

———————————————————————————

Soaking in a bubble filled tub, wallowing in your sorrows and mind even hazier from your third glass of red wine, the fight you just had with your fiancé- soon to be husband- left you with an insurmountable amount of racing thoughts.

Getting home late was a recurring pattern for Tommy, drunk and tattered with his tie undone as well as an occasional obnoxiously red lipstick stain underneath his jaw, mocking you when he turns his head away from your “incessant nagging and bitching”.

You asking where he had been turned into hands pulling hair from stress, voice cracks of screeching anger, broken shards of glass from being flown into walls and streams of tears when he put his hands around your neck, again.

“Cover that up for tomorrow.” Catching your breath you glared at him with nothing but hate and irritation.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want the town knowing I’m marrying an abuser or anything.”

Tommy whips around with a finger in your face. “Watch your fucking mouth, Y/N. You’d be nothing without me, your last name changing is a blessing to you, appreciate it. Knowing you’ll be associated with my family and reputation isn’t something to take lightly, got it?”

You stood there just taking it. Staring dazedly at the wall in your kitchen, anything to avoid looking at the man you once respected and maybe even loved.

Your father would be so ashamed of you, he never raised you to take shit from anyone, especially a man who didn’t deserve an ounce of your time. He tragically died when you were 15, leaving you with a narcissistic, alcoholic mother. The reason you were even in this situation with Tommy.

Tommy belonged to one of the most prominent and wealthy families in the OBX. The Randolphs have always had a good relationship with your family, with your dad being a loyal accountant associated with their law firm. After your dad passed they treated you and your mother like some charity cases, always baking food and lending money, to which your mother gladly took.

Your mother suggested the idea of marriage to Tommys parents after she caught you blushing too hard and smiling a little to often about “that Cameron boy”. Rafe Cameron had a reputation around Kildare and it wasn’t a good one. Drug addicted, college dropout, psychopath and constantly picking fights were all tied to his name but to you, he was the only reason the sun came up each morning.

Like you, he lost a parent at a young age, his mother. Trauma bonding and sharing hatred with the Randolph family became a stepping stone for you both. You met through Topper at a party in high school and never really looked back, you became inseparable.

Years spent indulging in each other’s company was platonic until a few years ago when he started looking at you a little more intensely, leaving longing glances and stolen stares across crowded rooms. You both knew your feelings but never spoke it into existence, seeing as you were then just freshly engaged.

Now here you stand, with no love in your heart for the man you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with starting tomorrow, glaring at him stomping up the spiral stairs of your far too perfect and ridiculously gigantic sized “home”.

The drip of the tub faucet echoes throughout the bathroom, your foot thoughtlessly turning the water dial on and off every few seconds. Absently staring off into space, your face is blank but your mind is racing. You are at a true gut wrenching loss at what to do.

The only thing pulling you out of your daze is a text notification buzzing the ceramic tile counter. You snap your head to the phone, looking almost offended that someone could even concur to bother you right now.

Reluctantly, you step out of the bath grabbing a nearby towel to wrap around yourself. You pick up the phone to view the notification, Rafe.

Meet at beach in 10? I know it’s late.

Your lips tip up in a smile, it’s almost as if he knew your mind was off someplace else, the beach brings you both back to your rightful state of inner peace.

You type a few answers out, sounding too excited or desperate, you just delete them and start again. You can see it in your head, he’s probably biting his thumb nail in anticipation seeing the text bubble come and go, it makes you smile and bite your lip.

Yes, want me to pick you up?

He responds before you can even re-read what you said.

I’m already here…

You laugh out loud, covering you mouth knowing Tommy is already asleep in your shared bedroom right outside.

You type out a quick “of course you are, be there soon” before fully starting to dry yourself off. Rafe loves your message, signaling that he saw it.

Quietly entering your bedroom you pick out the easiest things to put on, settling on a crew neck, loose shorts and your birkenstocks.

Somehow you managed to leave your house unscathed but this isn’t the first time you’ve snuck out to meet Rafe and it won’t be the last.

The hidden path that you and Rafe found years ago comes into view, it leads right out to a hidden cove, making it feel like a secret that only you and him know, shutting out the rest of the island.

You take off your sandals and feel the sand enveloping your feet, you can smell his cigarettes and see him scratching the top of his buzzed head.

“Hi sweetheart.” He didn’t need to turn around to know you were there, he could just feel the air getting light around him, or at least he saw it that way.

You walk over and sit down matching his position with knees up to your chest, bumping elbows in the process. “Hi Rafe, what’s going on?” you ask in a hushed tone as if there’s multiple people around.

He looks at you now, taking in your natural hair flowing down to your back and a far out look in your eyes. His chest squeezes at how beautiful you look without even trying. “Shouldn’t I be asking you, Ms. Y/L/N, or should I say soon to be Mrs. Randolph?”

You chuckle with your tongue touching the inside of your cheek, “I don’t want to talk about it or him. Especially here, this is my safe space, our space so just let’s not, please”. You look at him with pleading eyes, he nods with understanding eyes as he blows smoke from the side of his mouth.

You sit in a comfortable silence for 10 minutes, enjoying each other’s company and listening to the sounds of the waves crashing up the sand, with every pull of the current washing away your stress.

Rafe breaks it by flicking his cigarette, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, “You don’t have to, you know that right? It’s obvious you don’t fucking want to so just don-“ You shake your head and let out an unstable sigh.

“It’s tomorrow, Rafe. I can’t just call it all off, it’s too late, I have relatives from all over the country flying in, his family spent so much money I can’t just-“

“Fuck his family and fuck your relatives, respectfully. Do you think your grandparents o-or your aunts and uncles would support this knowing what’s going on in your head and heart? Cause I certainly don’t.”

“It’s not that simple. It doesn’t matter and our families, my mother would be disappointed and his dad would probably have me sent to a fucking asylum saying I went crazy or something” Your cheeks get increasingly hot with anger, so frustrated with your situation.

“Who fucking cares, Y/N/N? This isn’t something small like missing a dinner party or calling in sick to work, this is your future a-and the rest of your life if you don’t make a decision, seriously sweetheart it’s ridiculous.”

The nickname makes your stomach drop in ways Tommy never could. Rafe’s passion and way of words always leaves you feeling giddy.

You bite down on your lip, hard, to stop the fleeting tears building in your eyes and looking away from him to avoid them falling even quicker. He takes his calloused palm and places it on your cheek to turn your face towards his. “You aren’t happy, you know you’re not, I know you’re not and it’s killing me” He punctuates his words, shaking your face a little bit as if to really drill his feelings into your brain.

You look up at him with wet and tired eyes, knowing no matter how much he’s right, there’s just no way to fix this. You bring your hand up to meet his own on your cheek, intertwining your fingers.

“I appreciate your passion Rafe, I really do and I wish I could go back and say no but it’s just- there’s no use. It’s done and I fucked up and that’s on me.” You stare into his eyes, competing with the ocean in front of you.

His eyebrows furrow as if he’s in pain, he licks his lips and scoffs, hand and eyes leaving your face, making you feel cold.

It’s silent again, the air growing thick with tension until he breaks it, again.

“Let’s run away, yeah let’s do it.” He shakes his head in approval like he’s just solved the mystery, “I can buy us ferry tickets and we’ll never come back here again.”

It’s your turn to scoff and shake your head, “Now that’s ridiculous, seriously, Rafe? This isn’t some fairytale, we can’t just fly away to Neverland.”

“Why not, Y/N? You’ve always talked about wanting to live in Massachusetts. I’ll buy us a house on Martha’s Vineyard, we can have our own beach and 2 dogs an-“

You stand up in a fit of rage, sand flying everywhere from the abrupt reaction. “Wake up, Rafe! I’m getting married tomorrow. It’s happening and there’s nothing you or I can do to fix that.” You cross your arms before rolling your eyes and stomping away.

Rafe is quick to match your pace and grabs your forearm, flipping you around so your chests are touching and faces inches apart. “You’re the only one that can fix this. It seems like I want this wedding called off more than you do.” You’re both panting, from proximity and the situation but you’re convinced it’s just because of the heated back and forth.

“Rafe please, you need to let this go, for me please.”

“I can’t just let this go Y/N/N. You’re marrying a piece of shit who doesn’t make you happy and I know you don’t love him, tell me you don’t” His desperate eyes leaving aches in your heart.

He places both of his hands lightly on your neck but due to Tommy and his previous anger, you wince in pain from the bruises. Rafe notices, of course he does and you see it register in his eyes, pupils dilated turning from passion to pure exasperation.

He swallows heavily, his adams apple bobbing up and down. “Y/N. I’m gonna ask you something and you better tell me the fucking truth. Did he do that? Who did this to you?”

You grab onto his forearms and bore your eyes into his. “Please” you beg, knowing exactly how this is gonna go. He shakes his head, breathing in and out of his nose, bending down slightly to inspect the marks, moving your neck around slowly to examine.

“Baby. I can see where he placed his hands and pressed, so hard that you bruised?” His voice begins to crack, so devastated that anyone could ever imagine putting their hands on your beautiful face.

Tears have started shedding down your face, reaching yours and his conjoined hands. “Rafe. I-“ He lets go of your neck and starts trudging through the sand back towards the path. Your eyes widen and you run after him.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him, wring his neck out so he knows how it feels.” You shake your head and catch up to him, stepping infront of his chest and placing your hands there.

“I’m begging you, Rafe. I’m okay, see I’m perfectly fine. Please don’t do this.” You’re patting his chest now, doing anything to relax him.

He looks down at you, eyes going from rage to sadness when your face comes into view. He lets out a whine and pulls your head into his chest. “You’re somethin’ else. Your soon-to-be husband puts his hands on you and you’re still gonna go through with it? So stubborn, always have been”

You laugh through your tears at how messed up it is. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean into his touch, rubbing your hand through his buzzed hair at the base of his neck.

“Rafe?” you remove your head from his chest and look up at him which causes him to look down at you as well, he hums in response, eager to hear what you have to say.

“I understand if you say no but, um you being there tomorrow would really help ease my nerves.” You wince, knowing how absurd the question is but it’s true, you need him there to be able to function.

“I cave on a lot of things for you but seeing the girl I’m in love with get married to someone who doesn’t deserve even a glance from you, is where I draw the line”

You widen your eyes and gawk at his confession, neither of you have ever mentioned the feelings that linger between the both of you, a love confession for the ages is the last thing you expected.

“Rafe, W-“ you shake your head, at a loss for words and mind blank.

He kisses his teeth and smiles out of vain. “I just can’t bring myself to witness everything I’ve ever wanted happen to another man”.

A heartbroken sigh leaves your lips, “Rafe, please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

He shrugs smugly, weight lifted off his shoulders at the overdue confession.

“Sorry, sweetheart but it’s true. I just can’t bear it”

You take a deep breath, wiping the stray tears that have fallen off your face. But then something happens, it takes over you, the urge. Fuck it, you place your hands on his cheeks and dive into his lips, standing on your tip toes for leverage.

You both don’t move for a second, not sure what to do, just the feeling of each other’s lips together being overwhelming enough.

Rafe mentally curses himself for not acting faster but as soon as he comes back down to Earth, one hand flys to your face and the other to your back. You use his arm behind you for support as you lean into it causing him to lean down as the kiss intensifies.

Minutes spent like this, expressing every emotion your both feeling into the kiss, breaking away only to catch each other’s breath before diving right back in.

It lasts a few minutes longer before you pull away, leaning your forehead on his, nose’s bumping. Swallowing, you begin “Rafe, I lov-“. He shakes his head and gives you a fleeting peck, “Please don’t.”

“But Rafe I-“ He nods.

“I know, sweetheart. I know, but if you say it I’m really taking you to Massachusetts and you won’t have a choice.”

He’s trying to be funny but you don’t laugh, devastated that he’s in so much agony and you caused all of it.

“What are we gonna do?” you plead.

“You made up your mind and I can’t change that, but if you ever do, just know I’m waiting and I’ll wait as long as it takes.” He steps away then, removing his hands and tucking a strand of hair that fell behind your ear.

“I’m sorry, Rafe. I’m so sorry.” You begin to sob now, guilty and just so angry that this is what has happened.

“I know, me too but please don’t cry, Y/N it breaks my heart.” You hug him again, tightly wrapping your arms around his torso.

“It’s getting late and you have a big day tomorrow. Let’s get you home, baby.”

“You’re just tormenting me now.” He laughs, his bright smile on display. “Maybe”, you slap his chest, “You’re an asshole”, which causes you both to laugh now.

He holds you steady by the waist while you put your shoes back on, when you’re done you place your arm around his waist, copying him.

Placing a kiss on your head he leads the way back through the path in the direction of his truck. Silent and reflecting you both have a certain sadness surrounding each other, not knowing how your relationship will change and if you’ll ever see him again but yet there’s a hint of relief and comfort knowing all the built up tension, smitten and blushed cheeks over the years have finally been brought to light.

Looking at your reflection, you don’t recognize yourself. A melancholy, pathetic version of you stares back. With a full face of makeup to cover up hand marks and eye bags from lack of sleep last night, an up-do topped with a vail and a fake smile, you have never seen yourself so miserable, so unrecognizable.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this, Y/N. We tried but you just wouldn’t hear it.” Kie paced the bridal room back and forth, just as frustrated as you, knowing her best friend is about to marry the islands biggest piece of shit.

“Kiara, she doesn’t need to hear this right now, ok?” Sarah is behind you, placing bobby pins in places that are needed.

“I’m aware I’ve fucked up, royally. I heard it from Rafe last night and I don’t need to-“. Both girls gasp, “Rafe?”.

You shut your mouth, cursing yourself for exposing the information, sighing you begin to reluctantly tell the girls what had happened.

Sarah and Kie look at you with remorse as you recall the interaction. Sarah takes your hand and Kie begins to tear up. “This is so bad you guys, I don’t know what to do.”

Kie looks around as she says, “Well nothing, now seeing as you have to be on the altar in 10 minutes.” Sarah shoots her a glare as you begin to sob. The girls come over for a group hug, sushing you and rubbing your back.

A knock at the door interrupts your sobs, causing you all to look up at the door as you nod, signaling that Sarah can let them in.

She announces for the person to enter, it’s JJ and he’s holding flowers. “Hi, uh, Tommy asked me to give these to you”. You take one look at the flowers and begin to sob again, “I don’t even like roses and h-he knows that”. With your head in your hands you just want to bury yourself in the hole you dug.

JJ is standing there white as a ghost, looking to Kiara for some support to which she brushes him off. “What did I do?” He confesses.

You look up slowly, sighing and fanning your face. “It’s not your fault JJ. I just hate my soon to be husband, he doesn’t understand me, never has.”

“Wait, what. You’re literally about to marry him in..” JJ stops to look at his watch, “7 minutes”.

You look around to the girls, feeling a panic attack coming on. “Fuck.”

Kie updates JJ on the “Y/N and Tommy lore” as Sarah rubs your back and makes you count and breathe. In the back you can hear JJ gasping and audibly reacting to Kie catching him all up.

When she’s done, JJ comes over to you and gives you a hug from behind. “As much as I don’t like Rafe, sorry Sarah, I really, really don’t like Tommy.” You look at JJ through the mirror and solemnly nod your head to agree.

“He just told me that when Tommy was handing him the flowers, he tipped him a $20 and thought he was a bartender.”

JJ scoffs, “I told him I was sitting in the row literally right behind your families and he just laughed, so yeah I fucking hate him too.” You realize that not only has Tommy tormented your life but all of your friends who you love so much.

“I’m so sorry guys, I’m so sorry you have to be here and I’m so sorry that I didn’t stand up for myself way back when our families arranged this but I just have to deal with it, just have to deal.”

They all nodded and the girls fixed your makeup, getting you ready to meet your wicked mother at the double doors, which led to the guest filled lawn of people who are unknowingly supporting your nightmare.

JJ gave you one last hug and words of encouragement before going to take his seat on the golf green. Sarah and Kie all gave you tight hugs and kisses on the cheek before leading you out of the room. Your mother waited at the end of the country club, beaming with pride and showering you with compliments as your manicured nails dug into your palms.

“Honey, your eye bags look terrible, I’m gonna go ask the makeup lady if she can add some more concealer or something-“ You huffed and slapped her hand away.

“I’m fine, Mom. Please, I just want to get out there.”

She changes her shocked expression of you swatting her hand away to instant radiation of happiness. “Oh, you’re so excited to just be married already, aren’t you?”.

You try your best to make your fake smile believable as she places both hands on your cheeks and nods in approval.

You take the biggest breath as the violins begin to play the bridal entrance, the guests all stand turning their attention towards you and the doors open. This is it, your mother grips your arm and begins to walk you down the flower petal covered isle.

All eyes on you, can they tell how close to breaking down you are? Some people are wiping their eyes with tissues, some stare at you like you’re the prophecy and all you can do is look around, where’s Rafe?

Hands shaking as you see Tommy at the alter, so smug falsely wiping his nose and eyes to put on a show for the Figure Eight mothers, who mourn for their daughters that never got the chance to have his last name.

Before stepping up to meet him, you make quick pleading eye contact with Sarah, she knows exactly what you’re thinking and she shakes her head solemnly and mouths a quiet “no”. He’s not here and you knew he wouldn’t be, in the back of your sick mind you had hope that he’d maybe show up just to be your support but he’s nowhere to be seen, not even lurking a few feet behind the whole ceremony.

Your mother turns to face you, before giving you off to Tommy she places a quick kiss on your cheek then slides her mouth up to your ear, “Don’t embarrass me” she snaps in a sharp whisper.

You pull back with wide eyes but she doesn’t give you time to react before she’s giving you a small shove to meet Tommy’s outstretched hand to guide you up.

In your mind, you hoped you’d be here one day, surrounded by your loved ones on a beautiful North Carolina day to celebrate the marriage of you and your husband. Except the man in front of you would be about 4 inches taller, brown eyes traded for blue and a dimple engraved in his cheek as his bright smile makes your head spin.

Rafe. Rafe. Rafe. Even before you ever realized it, swirled into all of your poems he’s always been the man in your dreams, all your manifestations come to life, everything and all you’ve ever wanted.

Tommy begins declaring that he will love and cherish you through sickness and in health. Looking at you so cynically, you can see everything in his eyes. He’s got you trapped now and there’s nothing you can do.

Now, it’s your turn. With a deep breath and slight pause you begin. “I, Y/N, promise Tommy” Rafe “to love him” Rafe “through sickness and in health” Rafe. It all comes out in a whimper but only you seem to notice.

Tommy turns to the officiant, eager to hear him give the speech that seals this whole thing. “Do you, Tommy Randolph, take Y/N Y/L/N, to be your wife?”

“I do.”

Your heart is racing, feeling as though your whole world is about to come crashing down on you. Rafe, you can see him in your head, handsome face and charming smile, you think back to your encounter last night, promises of fleeing the island and a white picket, blue shuddered house far away from here is all you can focus on, it’s all waiting for you and so is he.

“He’s waiting for me.” the sentence leaves your mouth before you can even help it. Tommy looks up from the ring he’s about to place on your finger. “What?”.

You slightly step back from his body, moving your arm away from the gold 20 carat diamond about to bind you to 40+ years of hell. The officiant doesn’t seem to notice as he asks you the same question he just repeated to the man standing across from you, now looking flustered.

“Do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Tommy Randolph to be your husband?”

You look back and forth between Tommy and the officiant, beginning to shake your head. “I- I don’t.”

The ceremony comes to a hushed stop, the wind blowing from the coast can be the only thing heard. “I don’t, and I can’t and I won’t.” The guests look around in awe, not sure of what to do or say.

Your mother and Tommy’s father stand up quickly, both seething with anger, overlapping each other with protests of this “erroneous behavior”. You look at Tommy and begin to smile at his expression, face red with embarrassment and loathe.

“I just can’t.” You begin to look around at all the guests before turning to your right, looking at the faces of your 9 bridesmaids, 2 whom aren’t even trying to hide their shit eating grins. Kiara nods frantically, giving you the ok and Sarah begins to giggle.

With all the approval you need, you take your gown in your hands and begin to flee down the steps. Tommy grips your arm before you can get far and whips you around to face him, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Y/N. Do you have any idea what this is gonna cause?” He seethes in your face, teeth clenched together and progressively pressing harder into your skin.

You use all your force and rip yourself away from his grip while walking backwards down the steps. “I’m getting the fuck out of here and far away from you.” Guests are gasping as your mother and Tommy are screaming at you to “get back here” all while Sarah and Kie are giving each other a subtle fist pump.

All you can hear as your running is the sound of your heartbeat and what sounds like JJ, John B and Pope whistling and clapping in approval. “Go get your man, Y/N!”

It all turns into forgotten noise when you finally exit the Island Club and soon all your thoughts are consumed by him. Summers taking cover, splintered back in winters and silent, bitter dinners are all over now. You’re at the starting line, fresh out of the slammer and you did your time.

Breaking out into a sprint, your bridal heels are digging into your feet and your train is tattered, none of it matters when you start the familiar path to Tannyhill. The promise of Rafe at home is the one thing keeping you from collapsing in the Carolina heat with all your extra layers on.

You weren’t much of a runner but 10 minutes doesn’t seem too far when it leads to forever. You can’t help but break into a fit of laughter at the pure chaos of it all, some people passing by in cars honking at you but you just throw your hand up in a fleeting wave.

Rafe is on the second story deck when he sees you stop at the entrance gates, put the passcode in and push through when they open. He squints his eyes in disbelief, knowing this has to be some figment of his imagination, not until he hears you yell his name.

He rushes through his bedroom, down the hallway, stairs and to the front door. Swinging it open not bothering to shut it, he runs out to greet you. You’re both laughing hysterically in disbelief at the sights in front of you.

When you finally reach his grasp, you jump up and he catches you, gripping his hands against your back and thigh. “What did you do?” He exclaims, both out of breath from the adrenaline and running.

You pull back from the embrace and confess it all. “I love you, not him, never him. I- I just couldn’t fathom doing it, not when all I kept thinking about was you standing there at the alter and our house on the Vineyard and dogs and just everything, with you. I want to do everything with you for the rest of my life.”

Rafe eyes become misty and he just nods. “It’s me and you, Y/N. It always has been, I just- wow- you’ve got some nerve running away from your own wedding.” He places a harsh kiss on your forehead and settles you down on the ground but never letting go of your back.

“Are you complaining?” He shakes his head viscerally.“Fuck, no.”

He grabs your face and puts his lips against yours, smiling through the intense kiss you both can’t help but giggle into each other. Pulling away, you both just stare into each other’s eyes, nothing but immense adoration and love.

“How did everyone take it?” He asked still beaming.

You start laughing, throwing your head back “Oh my god, you should’ve seen their faces.” You begin to recount the reactions of Tommy, your mother and his father which makes Rafe smugly hum in approval.

“As much as I wish I could’ve seen that, this is..” You look at him in anticipation.

“This is everything I was hoping would happen.” You laugh at his wishful thinking of this whole wedding becoming a disaster.

“I just couldn’t do it, Rafe. This is my place, right here with you and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.” Rafe nods and places another kiss to your head.

“You’re here now, with me, and that’s all that matters. I’m not letting you go anytime soon.” You smile and lean in to give him another kiss.

Rafe hums and pulls away. “Now, as much as I enjoy seeing you in a wedding dress, let’s get you into something more comfortable, my bed, maybe?” You laugh and take his hand, guiding him up the front steps of Tannyhill.

“How about you pour us two glasses of celebratory wine and I’ll pull up my “dream home” Pinterest board, just so we can start to brainstorm or something” you shrug coyly, fearing your enthusiasm and excitement got the best of you.

Rafe brings your intertwined hands up to his mouth and places a kiss on your knuckles. “You and your beautiful mind. That sounds perfect to me, sweetheart.”

You enter the doors together, shutting the rest of the world out, just you and him. No way either of you are gonna screw up knowing what’s at stake. Years of labor, locks and ceilings all mean nothing when you look at him, the man of your dreams now escorting you into his room with nothing but you on his mind, even back then, even now and forever.

——————————————

“Now, pretty baby, I’m running back home to you. Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to”

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Two

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

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

WC: 15k

Chapter Warnings: there is maybe miscommunication?? in the sense that nico thinks poppy wants one thing and is giving her a chronic case of the over-thinkys, cursing, angst kinda?, fluff, harry potter slander (sorry), rangers slander (not sorry), being set up, mentions of controlling parents again, nico being ravaged by a green-eyed monster, nico being clingy, and mopey, and grumpy, luke being somewhat confrontational, there is also maybe something that rhymes with a miss! don't want to miss that!!

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

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter One)

A/N: sorry this took a while I honestly hated everything I wrote every day for a solid week lmao buttt things are kicking into gear now the next chapter is one I've drafted while this one I had to wing so hopefully will be out a little quicker. I know these two are mega annoying with their over thinking but it serves a purpose (I know no other way of existing than to overthink)

please please send me any thoughts any opinions I'd love to hear it whatever it may be thank you!!! again I'll try get another chapter out soon!

Poppy

If anyone were to ask Poppy what kind of impact her older brother, Oliver, has had on her life over the years, she would probably tell them very little. Being 4 years and some change apart has meant that any time Poppy has entered a new space in her life, Oliver has just left it. 

When she started her freshman year in high school, he was starting college. When she was starting college, he was in the beginnings of kickstarting his career. And when she started laying the foundations of her own career, he was too far gone for her to ever catch up.

Their childhood was spent in constant competition - Poppy envying Oliver for being their mother’s favourite child and Oliver envying Poppy for being their father’s - the two of them grew up battling it out to make the other look bad.

Oliver never quite grew out of it.

But, to say she hasn’t learned anything from watching him her whole life would be a lie. A lot of who Poppy is as a person, as a daughter, a colleague, a friend, is more often than not based on who Oliver is not - though the lessons he has taught her have been somewhat inadvertent. 

Poppy likes to think she is independent. She’s seen over the years how much her brother has relied on their parents and the rest of their extended family and suffered terribly for it, always facing their judgements for the decisions he makes - securing himself a lifelong residency under their father’s thumb. He has modelled his own life after the man who raised them, constantly seeking his approval, never quite grasping how much scrutiny this would open himself up to. Poppy very quickly learned that if she wants any semblance of peace in life, she has to source it herself - otherwise, it comes with a million strings attached, all of which are constantly being masterfully pulled by the many hands in her family.

That’s how she navigated her education, getting herself into a great communications and media management programme at Fordham - despite coming from a long line of Wharton alumni and donors - and graduating with honours. It’s how she maintains her friendships, surrounding herself with loving, warm-hearted people who genuinely care for others - a complete contrast to the social circles she had grown up in and around. And it’s how she thrives in her career, working her way up in an organisation and foundation in which their sole intent is to do good and give back. If she achieves such things on her own merit, they can’t be used to control her.

He has taught her how to stick up for herself, which comes off the back of her independence. For years she’s watched her parents pick apart Oliver’s life. His grades, his relationships, his career, his house, the way he’s raising his kids, it’s all up for inquiry in the eyes of Priscilla and Philip Jensen. She’s watched as he’s sat there while they dissect and demolish every little thing about his existence - as he’s invited them into his own home, and let them verbally burn it to the ground. Poppy has too much pride to do the same. 

She remembers when she rented her first solo apartment - a major step in her life, something she was so inherently proud of she couldn’t even put it into words - and her parents had come around to, in her mother’s words, assess the investment. 

It’s a little small, Poppy, was met with, I’m only one person living here, Mom and I don’t much care for the location was contended with, It’s a good thing you’re not living here. They’d turned their noses up at her renting in the first place, but buying a property was out of the picture when she still had student loans to pay, and would mean borrowing money from them, and she wasn’t going to throw herself down that well with no way out.

She’s protective over the things she has worked hard for, and she won’t let anyone bring her down.

Oliver has also taught her a lot about forgiveness, and empathy. This comes from all of the above - from witnessing the path he has taken in life, or the one that was chosen for him, and seeing the kind of person that comes out of the other side. Seeing how the nettles that line such a path sting at the bare skin of his legs, causing him to take much more deliberate, and some may say calculated, steps, even if this means casting others to the edge to protect himself. Seeing how the bricks that line it appear to have been perfectly laid out for him, but are deceptive when stepped upon - uneven and jagged, with the sole intention to trip him up. Seeing how the path winds and loops, and no matter how far down it he goes, the end is never in sight.

And so when he and Poppy argue whenever they’re both home, when he makes digs at her life, or tries to put her down in front of everyone else, she sees him for what he is. She understands the deflection of blame and hurt, and she takes it in her stride. She applies this logic to others, as well.

Poppy believes more than anything in forgiveness. In giving others the chance to be better the second time around - Lord knows she wants the same - but with this comes the expectation that someone has to have understood their missteps in order not to follow the same route again.

But therein comes another lesson Oliver has taught her, or tried to teach her, at least. She’s always thought they’re ridiculous sayings, lessons she has rejected for so long but both things she thinks about a lot, especially lately.

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Or beggars can’t be choosers.

It’s usually said following a bribe from their parents to get their own way - Oliver would rather take than question what anyone else stands to gain, and Poppy is far too sceptical to usually bend to any other person’s whim.

The thought of questioning the validity of a promise of gold does bite away at her - makes her fiddle with her fingers and chew at the inside of her cheek in contemplation whenever it comes to mind - but who is she to polish at the exterior? Why would she file and buff until all she has is a rock when she could leave something to be sparkling and beautiful?

Especially if that sparkling something is held by Nico, and comes in the form of picking back up their friendship where it had been so abruptly left off - as if it had never been thawed, never been marred by their time apart. As if she hasn’t spent the last 4 months blaming herself, wondering what she did wrong. 

But the part of her that worries about the why of it all is at war with a side that is enjoying the reconciliation too much to care.

She just needs to reject her own nature to question and over analyse a good thing - needs to let herself bask in what she has wanted back for so long. She needs to be patient. She’ll figure him out sooner or later, if he doesn’t explain himself, first.

It has barely taken a day for their dynamic to shift straight back into its rightful place - for them to be in each other’s constant orbit - either in person or texting non stop in the rare hours they spend apart.

Nico had seen Poppy and Nia off in a cab in the early hours of New Years Day, had made sure she texted him when she got home and was safe in bed, and then had showed up later that morning with juices and pastries for the 3 of them to eat together after texting if she was awake. And when Nia had gone back to her own apartment, he’d spent the entire day with Poppy, lounging around on her couch and watching Criminal Minds until they both fell asleep in the late afternoon. They had cooked and eaten dinner together before he left back to his place so he could get up early for practice.

It’s hard not to immediately slip back into a routine with him - when everything feels so familiar. She had never really reached the acceptance stage of her grief, after all. She’d been stuck floating around bargaining and depression, she thinks. She had never truly let him go, and so it felt more appropriate to press play on things, resuming rather than starting over from the beginning. Accepting rather than dwelling on the millions of unanswered questions that float around the forefront of her mind.

And with that, comes Nico making himself at home in her office while she listens in on a virtual meeting on her first day back working her normal job after New Years Day. 

He’d come in without knocking while she was on a call after his morning practice had finished, had attempted to busy himself looking over the pictures that lined her walls in an attempt not to distract her - like he could ever be around and not be distracting - and had thrown himself down on the chair on the other side of her desk. It’s the constant shuffling around that captures her attention, like he can’t get comfortable, and the little huffs and puffs he lets out as it starts to frustrate him. 

She tries not to visibly react - tries not to let her gaze follow him or roll her eyes - and give away to the other participants of her Zoom meeting that anyone is with her, but he’s making it incredibly difficult for her to focus. She’s grateful her contribution to the meeting has already happened, not having much more to offer, or much need to pay too close attention to what’s going on, or she’d be throwing something at him and gesturing off-camera for him to cut it out.

She watches as he sits legs spread, legs crossed, legs pressed together, sits sideways with his legs slung over the arm, and then tries the other way. She barely manages to make out her boss, Elaine, concluding the call before it ends, making sure to mutter out an adequate sign off to the team. 

Poppy makes sure to leave the call after the chorus of goodbyes and thank yous, before slamming her laptop shut, the second monitor going black as the computer goes into sleep mode.

“What on Earth are you doing?” She questions as Nico seems to be wiggling into the seat opposite hers.

“This chair doesn’t feel right,” he grumbles, picking himself up and throwing himself back down into it with another huff, testing another angle or position only to clearly come up short.

“Whatever you say, Goldilocks,” Poppy rolls her eyes, standing from her own chair with the sudden need to stretch her legs. “It’s the same chair I’ve always had in here.”

“It’s like I can feel Jack’s butt imprint in the leather.” 

“Oh so that’s what this is,” she gestures with a hand towards the chair, where there definitely isn’t an imprint of anyone’s butt. “You’re jealous of Jack’s butt.”

“I just think you should stop letting him hang out in here so much, he’s ruining the furniture.” Nico frowns, and Poppy can’t quite tell if he’s serious or not. “I can practically smell him, too.”

“I’ve tried, unfortunately if you feed a stray one time, they just keep coming back for more.” Poppy starts to gather her things while Nico does whatever it is he’s doing. “And my office does not smell like Jack Hughes, I have a diffuser right here, the scent is literally called Happiness.”

“Tell him he can’t sit in my chair next time he’s here,” he suggests, ignoring her other comment, standing alongside Poppy and offering her a hand. She tries not to get too flustered at how quickly he has reclaimed anything in her office as his.

“You tell him,” she argues, handing Nico her empty I Heart NJ mug and small plate she had used when eating her breakfast at her desk this morning - a toasted cinnamon-raisin bagel and some apple slices. “I can leave you in here on your own for a few hours if you want, let you work on imprinting your butt back into the seat?” She checks her bag to make sure she has the necessities, phone, keys, wallet, lip balm, spearmint gum and a mini perfume. “Or, better yet, why not just pee over the threshold of my door, mark your territory.”

“Do you think that would keep him away?” Nico questions, instinctively following Poppy as she starts to head out of her office.

“For some reason I don’t think Jack would abide by the typical rules of the animal kingdom, so no.” She fishes her keys out so she can lock up behind the two of them. 

“It would probably mess with the whole Happiness smell, too, huh?”

“Exactly.” A couple of her colleagues are working from home this week, and anyone else with an office near hers is in a meeting that she had managed to get out of with the whole auctioneer thing, and so she and Nico stand alone outside the room as she realises she doesn’t even know why he’s here. “Did you actually need something or were you just here to insult my furniture?”

She had text him when she woke up this morning, responding to a message he had sent from practice - a video of Jack stumbling coming off the ice that he’d made one of the social media guys send over to him, his laugh echoing in the background. They’d carried on the text conversation throughout the morning, and the part of Poppy’s daily routine dedicated to missing him has very quickly been scribbled over by the need to keep up with his constant attempts to be close to her.

It’s only been a day since New Years, and Nico has been putting in every effort to make up for lost time. They had spent most of yesterday together, and it’s seeming like, even in the midst of a working day, he wants to carry that on.

She can’t think of a solid 5 minutes since their time on the rooftop where they haven’t been in some form of communication, other than the hours she had been asleep. They’d returned to Jack’s apartment to an almost thunderous applause, and for the rest of the party had remained side by side.

Poppy had only slightly worried about her best friend’s reaction, having left her in a room full of mostly unfamiliar people on such a big holiday. But Nia had been fine with it - had actually encouraged her to take her time when Poppy had originally told her the plan to get some air with Nico - and so any guilt had dissipated with the shit-eating grin that took over Nia’s face at the sight of her being ushered back inside with a large hand on the small of her back. 

A hand that had stayed there pretty much all night.

Jack had been just as happy, congratulating the two of them on getting over themselves and offering them shots to ring in the New Year properly. Poppy was just thankful he’d snapped out of his weird are you enjoying yourself time loop and actually started enjoying the party, himself. 

She’d been fielding questions from both of them about it for the past 36 hours, and she was actually relieved that it was Nico who had poked his head into her office and interrupted her meeting rather than Jack.

She doesn’t entirely know how to explain what is going on with her and Nico, and the longer she can avoid answering questions about it in person - where she is unable to hide the flush of her cheeks or the stuttering of her words - the better.

The questions also tend to arouse that morbid curiosity she has been suppressing, the one that makes her skin itch and tongue tingle with the need to ask why?

“Timo’s throwing me a surprise party for my birthday.”

“He’s doing a real good job at the surprise aspect of it, I see.” Poppy had heard about the party before, back in early December, when there were whispers around the team of something being arranged. She’d dwelled a little too long on what excuse she could come up with to get out of going, only for an invitation never to get extended in the first place. 

It hadn’t surprised her, any ties she had to Timo, with him being one of Nico’s closest friends, had pretty much severed with the ones she had to Nico. He had no reason to invite her to the party when he knew as well as she did, Nico wouldn’t want her there.

Nico must know that she wasn’t invited, she thinks, and dread starts to bubble up within her at the conversation they’re about to have. 

She no longer has to make up an excuse or fake plans to get out of going - she has something else secured, something she won’t be able to get out of now, no matter how much she may want to.

“Jesper told me, he knows I hate surprises. It’s gonna be on Sunday.” He says with an expectant smile tugging at his lips. “Will you be there?”

“I wasn’t invited.”

“I’m inviting you now.”

“You can’t invite people to a party you’re not supposed to know about.” Poppy quickly decides the best way to go about this is to be casual, and standing outside her office waiting for tensions to rise is anything but. She starts to make her way through to the back of the offices to discard her things in the staff kitchen, Nico falling into step just behind her.

“It’s my birthday, I can do what I want.” He practically whines, his tone carrying an eyre of desperation. “C’mon, are you coming or not?”

“Not,” Poppy cringes as casual somehow sounds curt, pushing the door to the kitchen open with her shoulder, and immediately following up with, “I already have other plans that I can’t cancel.”

“You made plans on my birthday?” He sounds like he’s been kicked in the gut, and guilt starts to creep up Poppy’s spine. 

“Well, for starters, your birthday is Thursday, I’m free then.” She says in the hopes it will lessen the blow. He probably has other plans with other people, but she doesn’t mind doing something with him on the day. “And, again, I wasn’t invited, I didn’t know my plans would clash.”

She knows she isn’t being convincing. Something like this never stays a secret within the confines of the organisation they both work in, especially where their mutual friends are concerned, but she hadn’t intentionally made plans for that day specifically - she hadn’t made the plans, at all.

When she turns to face him with an outstretched hand for the cup and plate he’s holding, he has that pouty, sad puppy look etched into his features, and she wishes she’d stayed facing the other way.

“Who makes plans on a Sunday?”

“Clearly a lot of people.” She loads her things into the dishwasher, closing the door until it’s only just ajar so that it can be fully loaded before it is turned on.

“Is it with Nia? You could bring her along, I’m sure if you let Timo know-,”

“My plans aren’t with Nia, and I can’t invite a plus one to a party that I, for the third time, was not invited to.” 

She really doesn’t mean to keep harping on about it, the memory of dodging conversations about a party she hadn’t been considered for hurting her enough, but it’s the only thing she can think to say to put an end to the conversation. To her, it’s obvious - clear-cut and end-of-story level stuff - but Nico is clearly taking what she’s saying the wrong way. She isn’t trying to hint at an invitation, isn’t trying to make him feel guilty for the fact his best friend had thought he would rather not have her there - she just doesn’t want him to keep probing. She knows it’s naive to think he’ll leave it alone, though.

“I’ll talk to Timo,” Nico decides, his posture straightening.

“Nico-,”

“I doubt he’d mind any of your friends coming.”

“I have a date.”

Poppy sees no use in dancing around it any longer, not with how oblivious and determined he’s being - so insistent on her coming to a party he shouldn’t even know about. She mentally curses Jesper for even telling him about it in the first place. 

She honestly doesn’t know why she hadn’t just said it straight up to begin with, but she has a funny feeling around turning him down.

“You have a date?”

“You don’t have to say it like I’m some sort of gremlin.” Her offence is only partly a joke. She knows he didn’t mean it like that.

“This Sunday?”

“As we have already established.”

“I didn’t know you were dating.”

“You clearly need to check your emails more often, I actually sent out a state-wide memo just last week.” She sarcastically jibes.

“The last time we talked-,” he immediately cuts himself off, clearly thinking better of getting into that discussion right now after having avoided it for the past 2 days. “Who is it?”

“He’s a family friend,” she shrugs, dismissively, not really wanting to have this discussion with him either. She just wants the conversation to end, if she’s being honest. She has a lot to do with her day and the longer they stay in this small kitchenette talking about this, the less time she has to get her actual work done. Her nonchalant tone is an attempt to singe the ends the conversation, leaving no room for it to grow, but obviously this sparks a whole new topic for Nico, who just won’t let her be.

“You let your mom set you up?”

Poppy feels like a part of her has forgotten how much of her life she had shared with Nico, before. All the little nuggets of information sitting out in the ether, caught up in the cracks of their friendship. But, God, does he know her well.

The date had been an unfortunate consequence of her missing out on family Christmas - the only way her mom would forgive her was for her to finally agree to let her set her up. It’s something Poppy has been swerving for years, something she had confided in Nico about in the past - how her mom would always call her at night just to make comments about her relationships, or lack thereof, and always try to elbow her way into setting Poppy up with a well-to-do son of a socialite friend who she’d just ran into at some pointless gala.

She’d shared it all with Nico because she felt safe to do so - felt seen, felt understood.

And then, she had no one to confide in.

Maybe that had contributed to her lowering her guard to her mother’s insistence - not having anyone to vent to about it, no one to talk her down or hype her up, and so her resolve in standing up to her family has slowly but surely whittled way into fine scraps.

“Can’t avoid the inevitable forever.” She shrugs, not quite liking how disappointed in her he sounds, not daring to look over at him to see it plastered across his stupidly-handsome face. “And I’m on my final warning with her after bailing on the holidays, so I can’t get out of it this time.”

“You could bring him to the party,” Nico suggests, “I could rope the guys into helping scare him off, buy you some time until your mom springs another insufferable Wolf of Wall Street type at you in 6 months.”

“Please don’t make me tell you the same thing a fourth time. I can’t do Sunday.” She says with an inarguable finality. Although, she does find it amusing how he automatically assumes she would want him to be scared off. She’s actually resigned herself to the potential of enjoying her date - not that she’d tell Nico that. “But I’ll do whatever you want on Thursday if you have any time spare?” 

“My family are coming over, I don’t know if I’ll be free at any point.” Despite how excited for that reunion she knows he will be, he sounds discouraged. Poppy’s shoulders droop a little too. “What about now? I’m done for the day, we could grab lunch? Get some time in together before I go to DC tomorrow?”

“You say that like you’re going on a 5 week excursion to Antarctica,” she snickers, “Or like we’ve spent 10 minutes apart in the last 24 hours.”

“It may be only 90 minutes on a plane, Poppy, but an away game is an all day thing, you know this. Plus, I have a lot of time to make up for.”

Her stomach twists uncomfortably at the mention of their time apart - like it’s a sordid secret that is supposed to stay unspoken. Bringing it up just reminds her of all the times she’s sat in her office waiting for him to knock, and she doesn’t quite like how casually he manages to invoke the memory.

She knows she told him she was okay with what little explanation he had to offer, but she also knows she let him off easy. She didn’t lie, though - the amount she had missed him had far outweighed the need for answers, especially at a time where she was so unsure about the possibility of settling the tension between them in the first place.

But now, with every time he initiates contact, her mind goes straight to thinking about what had made him cut it before.

She worries about overexposure. Worries about him having time to himself, time to process and time to breathe where he isn’t stressing about keeping up appearances for her.

She wants things to return to normal, wants to spend time with him, but, if this is what had been the problem in the first place, then maybe it’s best to give him that space to cool things off a little.

“So, lunch?”

“I can’t, I have to check out potential auctioneers for this fundraiser” She doesn’t like rejecting him, especially twice within one conversation - doesn’t like the doubt and anxiety that creeps up with a small antithetical voice that warns her, don’t push him away, Poppy, he might not ask again, but she really does have to work.

The fundraiser is in March, and their in-house auctioneer, Keith had decided to enter early retirement in December, having fallen ill and developed some kind of chronic vocal nodule issue. He has already moved out of state, and was no help in offering any sort of replacement. Apparently, Poppy had been told when she called a local agency that specialised in this thing, the auction industry is cut throat - no pun intended to Keith and his nodules - and the guys would rather see their long term, loyal customers suffer than provide any kind of assistance where they had upcoming events in dire need of an auctioneer.

Elaine had thrown the task straight onto the big stack of work Poppy already has to get through for the event, knowing how much she wants to impress her boss and secure further responsibilities and opportunities for the bigger foundation events in the future.

If Poppy had known that taking this on meant trawling around Hudson County sitting in on private auctions, only able to watch, pretty much scoring a bunch of old men on how quickly and how loudly they could yell, she would have delegated it to someone else. Only, she’s run out of good graces and task-trades in the past few months with her many attempts of avoiding working with Nico, so she has to put up and shut up. It’s her own personal version of hell.

“I could come with you?”

“You want to come watch auctions with me?” She asks, in almost-disbelief.

Surely he wouldn’t be so adamant about being around her if he didn’t truly want to - but does he know what he wants?

For as much time as they had spent together before - all the times she’d watched his practices and games, all the times he’d come over to eat lunch in her office, all the events they had done together for the foundation, all the time outside of the Rock they had spent together - he had never done this. Followed her around while she worked excruciatingly mundane tasks, just because.

“Yeah, why not?” He asks, like it’s normal for him to be tagging along. 

“‘Cause you’ll get super bored?” Bored in general or bored of her, she doesn’t quite know.

“Auctions are cool, my grandma used to take me and my brother and sister to them when we were kids.” Poppy barks out an unintentional laugh, eyes narrowing as she pushes herself off where she’s resting against the dishwasher and starts back towards the door. “Why is that funny?”

“I’m just picturing you holding up one of those little paddles and getting into arguments over someone’s coin collection.”

“I was more into trains.” He shrugs, following her as she makes her way toward the stairwell in the back corner of the offices.

“Of course you were.” She chuckles. The two of them walk for a moment in silence, starting down the stairs so she can drop by the PR department - her colleague Josh in possession of a binder of external talent and the locations in which they will be auctioning today. “You don’t have anything better to be doing?” She is genuinely worried that he doesn’t quite understand what he’s signing himself up for - that he thinks this is going to be fun, and is going to end up seriously disappointed and be put off hanging out with her again. 

“Than spending time with you? Never,” That makes her stomach twist in an entirely different way. 

“Charmer,” she rolls her eyes, willing her thoughts to be quieter and her heart to beat back into a steady pace. “Fine, I’m down. You’re driving, though.”

“Of course,” he smiles victoriously, like he seriously has absolutely nothing he would rather do than drive her around for the rest of his day - even when it’s supposed to be her time making up for technically missing his birthday.

“I just have to pick something up from Josh, do you wanna meet downstairs?”

“I’ll wait for you.”

The two of them enter the offices together, and Poppy tries not to acknowledge the conveyer belt of stares as they walk through to find Josh’s desk.

Josh had done the bulk of the work on the agency end of this project, making sure the foundation weren’t aligning themselves with anyone or anything that could blow back on them, and before the holidays, the pair had worked pretty closely to try and stitch up the gaping hole in their in-house talent pool. He’d somehow turned what Poppy considered the stupidest job she had ever been given into something maybe-possibly-fun. They’d worked a couple late nights back in Poppy’s office, Josh pulling up YouTube videos of different auctions and the two of them compiling a scorecard to assess their candidates on. He was one of the few people in the department Poppy didn’t mind spending time with for a project like this.

“Poppy!” Josh’s smile is wide as he stands up from behind his desk in the corner. He rounds the edge and pulls her into his embrace as soon as she is close enough, and the smile doesn’t leave his face for as long as she’s in front of him.

“Hey, Josh,” she smiles back as she pulls away, taking a measured step back so they aren’t standing too close. “I’m just here to steal your talent binder, if that’s alright?”

“Of course!” He rushes back around his desk to his filing cabinet, using a small key on his lanyard to open it and reaching in to retrieve the folder. “The auctioneers are the blue section,” he opens the folder and points to one of the sectioning tabs, “I put them in date order, they have different time slots so you should be able to get through a couple in a day.”

“Oh, that’s so helpful, thank you!” She takes the folder from his grasp and has a quick look through. She’s so used to having to figure out her own systems of working that it’s nice to have someone else put in the effort - especially someone as organised as Josh.

She looks down at his desk, everything neat and optimally placed. She’s always thought herself as a tidy person, but her own desk is cluttered in comparison. Where her pens are haphazardly thrown in the pot, some upside down, ends chewed to oblivion, his are all the right way up, capped with a lid and looking fresh out of the packet. He has no personal items, no picture frames, no Jack Hughes bobblehead that’s starting to get a bald patch from where it’s continuously set off throughout the day. There’s nothing pinned to the walls of his little cubby, but she supposes in his line of work, he doesn’t have kids that draw him stick-figure versions of himself and send them in as a thank you, or pictures from team events. 

“If you don’t find anyone by Friday, I have some time free in the morning, I could come help you?”

“I’ll try keep you posted,” she offers as a hopefully gentle rejection. She likes Josh, doesn’t mind his company, but he’ll most definitely steam-roll her into a decision, and if she’s going to spend her whole week doing this, she wants the end result to be of her own choosing. “But I think I’ll be alright.”

She has completely forgotten who she’d brought into the office with her until she hears a snorting laugh from behind her - a quick puff of air blown from his nose in amusement - and sees Josh’s eyes divert from her figure for the first time since he’d seen her come through.

“Oh! Hello, Nico, I didn’t see you there!”

“Joshua,” is the only thing he says in response, and when Poppy turns her head back to look at him, he wears an uncomfortable, clearly forced smile. His eyes don’t crinkle, cheeks don’t dimple, and his nose is scrunched in something akin to distain. 

She quickly remembers something Luke had once said to her about how much he hated dealing with the PR team, how they make him feel like a puppet and dismiss his autonomy - definitely not the word he had used at the time but she figured that’s what he was trying to get at - and realises Nico must feel the same. In an effort to quickly ease the tension, she takes a step back toward her friend. “We have to go, thanks again, Josh!”

She hears him call a response after her, throwing a wave behind her as she gently nudges Nico back toward the exit. The two of them make it to the parking lot in an almost comfortable silence, Poppy not wanting to call him out on his rude behaviour when she’d been the one to inadvertently force him into an environment that usually only brought him stress. 

If she brings it up, she brings attention to it, and he potentially realises she pushes him out of his comfort zone where it brings him no benefit and he stops wanting to be around her.

The way in which her thoughts so quickly spiral out of control when it comes to him is something that needs to be studied, she thinks.

He opens every door in the building for her, and even when they get to his car, he does the same.

When she’s jumping into the passenger seat, and she realises she doesn’t have to adjust it - already set into the optimal position for her to stretch out her legs - and notices the smiley face air freshener hung from his rear-view, from a multi-coloured multipack she had bought for him forever ago, she takes a deep breath.

She can’t let herself keep doing this - keep thinking and thinking to the point of exhaustion that everything she’s doing is wrong. 

She’s spending too much time with him, and he’s going to get bored of her. She’s not spending enough time with him, and he’s going to stop asking if she rejects him one too many times. The time she is spending with him is doing boring, mundane things and he’d rather be anywhere else.

She has to push her doubts and anxiety to the back of her mind and tell herself those oh-so-annoying words her brother loves so much.

Beggars can’t be choosers, Poppy.

If she wants Nico back in her life, has already promised him her forgiveness and initiated their reconciliation, she can’t be picky about how he goes about acting on it, can she? She just has to embrace the attention in the hopes it doesn’t go away, again. 

Their drive to the first venue hadn't taken long, a stroke of luck with minimal traffic at this time of day. They find a perfect parking space just around the corner from the auction house, and after a short, brisk walk, they step into the welcoming warmth of the building. Nico holds the door open for Poppy, his gesture gentle yet firm, ushering her inside before closing it securely behind her.

“What’s the game plan?” He asks, lowly, his broad shouldered stature towering over hers as he steps up behind her. They hadn’t talked too much on the way over, Nico lining up a playlist that drifted through the speakers of the car and filled the air around them so there was little need for words.

She can’t figure out if she’s thankful for the reprieve in conversation or nervous over what he could possibly be thinking so hard about.

“Didn’t I warn you how dull this would be? There is no game plan.” Poppy peels the gloves from her hands and puts them in a bundle in her pocket, looking around the entrance to assess their situation. She was told by a woman at the agency that her name would be given to the guy who sits in the front of the auction house, but it’s completely empty.

“Surely there’s a way to make it fun,” Nico wonders.

“I’ll leave that to you to figure out,” she chuckles, eyes cast towards the entrance to the auction hall where someone has just come through the doors.

The guy is young, short, gelled blonde hair, thick framed glasses sitting atop a sharp nose, and dressed in a 3-piece navy suit. He fits the exact description she had been given of the guy who would be in the front-of-house. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Hi, are you Mason?” She asks, stepping forward as he approaches.

He startles only slightly, not as if he hadn’t been expecting anyone, but as if Poppy and Nico didn’t quite fit the image of who he had been anticipating. “Polly?” He asks, stepping to the side of the two of them to his desk, he shuffles through some notes scattered across the surface.

“Poppy,” she corrects with an awkward laugh, shuffling the binder she’s carrying between her hands so she has one spare to extend out to him.

“Like the flower,” Nico pipes up from behind her, his tone short and direct, earning him a quick glance back from Poppy.

“What he said,” she chuckles as Mason takes her hand in his, giving it a firm, friendly shake as amusement shines in his eyes. “I was told by Ruth Kennedy I could come sit in on an auction to watch Mr-,” she quickly flicks through her binder for the name, “Byrne?”

“Of course, Ruth said you’d be stopping by, it’s nice to meet you, Poppy.” The smile he offers is charming, maintaining eye contact with her until her cheeks warmed with the depth in which she was being perceived. 

“You too,” she offers a smile, again tucking her binder into the crook of her elbow before gesturing behind her. “This is Nico, we’re here representing the New Jersey Devils, he captains the team.”

Poppy can’t help the instinct to gush about Nico, and it’s only when she sees something flicker across Mason’s face that she realises she’s doing it - a force of habit.

“I know, we’re big hockey fans around here.” Mason stretches his arm toward Nico, and the way their hands clap together as they shake is loud enough to echo in the otherwise empty entryway. 

Nico says nothing as he retracts his arm, crossing them both over his chest and narrowing his eyes at the man in front of them. How he had gone from non-stop yapping back in Poppy’s office to whatever this is, she doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to think about, through fear she’ll find a way to blame herself - but he’s being standoffish and cold. 

“That’s great,” Poppy glances curiously back at Nico before turning back to Mason, “Is Mr Byrne back there?” She gestures to the doors he had just come through, raising a questioning brow.

“They’re taking a quick recess while some pieces are being brought through, you’re welcome to take a look around before they start back up. There’s a few guests in the gallery at the moment, it’s just through the doors to the right once you get through the entrance.”

“Oh, perfect, thank you!” Poppy offers her quick gratitude before looking back to Nico, checking in that he’s going to follow, and setting off with him through the doors at the back end of the room. 

Nico remains quiet as they make their way through to the back of the building, a complete 180 to his mood from earlier, and Poppy keeps glancing over at him, worrying about what’s caused the shift in his persona until she flat out asks, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs, letting his hands sink into the pockets of his jacket as he takes in the art that lines the walls around them. 

“C’mon, Nico, out with it,” she nudges him with her hip.

“I don’t know, I just have bad vibes from this place.”

She knows that’s not what’s gotten him down - he was quiet back at the Rock - but the alternative is that he’s being grumpy because she’s missing his birthday, and she doesn’t want to enter into that conversation again and repeat herself for the umpteenth time. “They’re selling a bunch of dead people’s stuff, of course you have bad vibes.”

“It’s not the stuff,” he mumbles, looking back towards the doors they had just come through as Poppy ventures deeper into the room. The first display case she comes across houses some sort of fine china tea set - a complete collection, it looks like, with the pot, cups and plates all matching. It looks like something her mother would like - would display in her own cabinet, to collect dust and never to be touched - and for a brief moment, she considers what the price might be of winning her affections this way and bailing out on Sunday.

The next display case has a sculpture of some sort, as do most of the others she sees as she walks through the gallery, Nico following her silently, not seeming to take anything in until he hears Poppy let out a soft gasp.

“Nico, look!” She beckons him into her space with an outstretched arm, placing it on his back when he’s close enough and leaning into him slightly. “It’s a model train!”

She watches as his eyes flit over the figure in the case, head tilting as he reads something on the side. “It’s the Hogwarts Express,” he mutters with a reminiscent smile.

“Sounds fancy, is that a good one?”

“Are you kidding me?” Their eyes meet, and he looks down at her in confusion, “Harry Potter, Poppy.”

“Oh, duh!” She takes another look, still not really recognising it. “I never saw the movies.”

“You never-,” Nico takes a short step back, turning to face her fully as her hand falls back to her side. “You’ve never seen Harry Potter?”

“Well, I’ve seen one of them,” she corrects herself, “But they killed the owl and the little hobbit thing, I didn’t wanna watch the rest and get attached.”

“Dobby was a house elf,” he gasps in offence, “How do you only watch the second to last movie?”

“A group of friends went to watch it, I didn’t wanna be left out.” She tells him before realising she has an opportunity to poke fun at him. “Nico Hischier, are you a Harry Potter dork?”

“It’s Potterhead, Poppy.”

“Oh, so you’re a big time Harry Potter dork.” He shoves at her half-heartedly, breaking out into a smile when she giggles at her own taunts. “They even have a name for your level of nerd."

“Don’t act like I’m the weirdo, you’re the one who hasn’t seen one of the single biggest movie franchises ever made. What next, you haven’t heard Thriller?”

“Shut up,” she scoffs, shoving him back. “How can you say it’s bad vibes in here when they have your favourite auction item from your favourite movies? It’s fate!”

“They’re not my favourite movies,” he rolls his eyes, stepping back into her side as he notices other people in the gallery start to make their way through to the auction room. “It is a cool train, though."

She watches his face intently as he admires the train again, angling his head to take a thorough look at it. Her eyes flicker over the warmth of his own eyes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the sharpness of his jaw, and before she knows what she’s saying, before she can overthink it, she says, “We could watch them together, some time?”

It’s the first time she’s suggested any kind of plans with him, Nico initiating everything they’ve done together so far in the past couple of days, but there’s a remnant of guilt in the forefront of her mind, and she feels the need to make plans that he would enjoy to make up for how she’d disappointed him, earlier. Sharing something he had grown up with, and hoping she might enjoy it, too.

“I’d like that, Mohn,” he gives an easy smile, this time enough for dimples to well in his cheeks. He swings an arm over her shoulders, pulling her in the direction he had seen the others go, and the two of them make their way into the auction room, taking a seat in the back row.

The chairs are close together, close enough that when they sit, their thighs press together, and to avoid his arm getting squished between them, he slings it over the back of her seat.

Poppy opens up the binder she has on her lap, flicking to the blue section and finding the page dedicated to Mr Byrne. 

Works between New York and New Jersey, been in the industry for over 20 years, specialises in the auction of art, artefacts and memorabilia. 

“He looks perfect on paper,” she whispers, Nico craning his head down to hear her better. “Definitely not bad vibes.”

“We’ll see.”

They sit through a round of the auction like school children, whispering and giggling at the back of the classroom. Nico hands Poppy a paddle from the seat beside him, and any time someone throws them a dirty look, she raises it to drive up whatever they bid on. 

It’s a lot more fun than she had anticipated, and she finds herself forgetting why she had been worried about spending time with him in the first place.

The auctioneer is good, too. He’s professional, but has some personality - enough for her not to feel the passing of time like she is counting every tick of a clock, and before she knows it, he’s wrapping up for another recess.

“I think I like him,” she comments, head raising from where it had drooped onto Nico’s shoulder. “Plus, this place is quite nice, he has to be good for them to use him.”

“Hm,” Nico offers back, clearly in disagreement about something. 

“Please don’t tell me he’s bad vibes, I might have to hit you.”

“Not him, the guy at the front,” Nico says, “He’s a Rangers fan, I saw the mug on his desk.”

Poppy snorts out a laugh, shoving lightly at his chest. “Well, as much of a red flag as that may be, we can’t veto the perfect candidate just because someone who happens to work in the same building might have poor taste. Could have been anyone’s mug, could have been an auction item they couldn’t shift.”

“Regardless of where it came from, the man drinks his coffee from filth,” Nico frowns, and Poppy tries her best not to snicker at his theatrics. “What if they’re all Rangers fans, and we invite them into our home for them to fleece us of all our money.”

She reaches to yank his cap off his head and inspects the inner lining, his hair fluffing out onto his forehead as he pouts and tries to get it back. 

“Hey, what the hell?”

“Just checking for tin foil,”

“What does that mean?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she mutters, affectionately, putting the hat back into place atop his head and making sure it’s straight. “We have another auction we could check today, do you think you can behave?”

“I’ll be good.” He promises.

“No more bone crushing handshakes or pouting or judging people’s choice of crockery?”

“Crockery?”

“The mug, Nico,” her lips twist, fondly.

“Ah, we’ll see.” He sighs. “I can’t make any promises when it comes to the Rangers, you know this, Mohn.”

Poppy checks quickly in on Mr Byrne at the other side of the room, he’s talking to Mason from the front-of-house, and she meets his gaze when he gestures over to her. “I need to check something with Mason before we leave, could you wait by the door for me?”

“As long as you wash your hands before you come back.”

She shoves at his arm before setting off away from him to exchange contact information, thankful, despite Nico’s hesitance around the matter, that she has seemingly found the right fit. 

She might just have to have a quick word about his NHL team preferences before confirming anything.

Nico

Nico likes to think of himself as a level-headed person. He takes the time to mentally deliberate over things before he reacts to them, he doesn’t get consumed by annoyance or anger, doesn’t let emotions overwhelm him to the point of lashing out.

And, if he does react, he does so rationally - rarely crosses a line or goes too far over the top that he skews the balance of whatever power within him has caused things to escalate.

It shows in the way he plays - in the way he leads his team in a cool, calm, collected manner - and rarely does he ever make the first hit when it comes to a fight.

It had been something his older brother, Luca, had taught him when he was a kid, fighting in the rink is all well and good, sometimes needs must, just don’t be the dumbass to start something he can’t finish. Not only will it get someone a bad rep throughout the league, and a penalty from the refs, it could get them into serious trouble when it comes to recovery.

Take his injury back in October, for example. He’d taken a pretty gnarly hit to the head in the first period of a game against the Sabres, and, not that he had been able to react much at the time, he hadn’t let his frustrations get the better of him. The refs gave out the appropriate penalty, and as much as it sucked that he was out for almost a month dealing with the repercussions of the illegal check and a further hit in the second period, he had to deal with it and move on. But if he’d have retaliated on the ice, Lord knows how much worse his injury could have been, or how much longer he would have needed to recover.

So, all that to say, when situations arise and his temper flares, he can usually keep his cool.

But this week, or the latter end of the week, at least, something dark has started to swirl within him, and he’s reacting in ways he never usually would. 

Some childish, petulant part of him that is buried under many layers of bravado and strength, is doing its best to push through and rear its ugly head. 

 If he’s honest with himself, he knows where it had started. 

New Years Day he had woken up and his first thought had been of Poppy. He wanted to see her again, wanted to hang out for as long as she’d have him, carry on their conversations that had carried on until the early hours of the morning - and so he had text her pretty much straight away, asked if he could come over with the promise of bringing breakfast.

When he’d gotten into her apartment building, he had taken the stairs, his legs lead by muscle memory to the achingly familiar door, and he had rapped his knuckles in a melodic knock, one he’d hoped she would remember and recognise as his signature.

Only, when the door sprung open, Poppy wasn’t the one behind it. And, thanking all that is holy, Nico was relieved to see it wasn’t her mother, either.

A guy stood before him, dark, short hair, black-rimmed glasses, just a touch taller than Nico, himself, broad shouldered and, Nico could admit, dashingly handsome. He was dressed in gym gear, Lululemon fitted t-shirt stretched across his chest, and pace breaker shorts clinging to muscular thighs.

He wasn’t usually one to check out another guy like this, but the expectation of seeing Poppy and being on the receiving end of this Adonis had him in a state of shock.

She had said she had Nia over, she hadn’t said anyone else would be here.

“Can I help you?” The guy had asked, leaning on the door jamb and looking Nico up and down with an inquisitive stare. 

He had a sickening sense of deja-vu, the last time he had heard those words in this doorway, Poppy had soon come to his rescue, but as he tried to get a look past into the apartment, it didn’t seem like that would happen.

“Is Poppy home?” He couldn’t help but phrase it like a question, never sounding so unsure of himself in his life. If he had thought Poppy’s mother was intimidating, this was like that situation on speed. The thought of another man, a man as fucking gorgeous as this one, being in Poppy’s life - in her apartment, no less - made his throat go a little dry.

“You’re here for Poppy?” The guy asked, looking Nico up and down, eyes lingering on the drinks holder and paper bag in hand. Nico doesn’t entirely know why him saying her name made him feel so much worse. He could only nod in response. “She must not have changed her details on the app,” he shook his head, but it was less in annoyance and more in fond acknowledgement, “She’s upstairs now, 6B, not 5.”

There was a quick flood of relief, ignoring the fact this man thought Nico was a PostMates delivery, he let out a nervous laugh.

“Right, sorry for bothering you.” He went to move back towards the stairs, but was very quickly stopped in his tracks.

“I can take it up for you? I have a dish of hers I need to take up there, anyway.”

The dry feeling returned immediately. 

Who is this guy and why does he have one of Poppy’s dishes? 

Nico had found himself broadening his own shoulders, perfecting his posture as to come across more sure of himself than the other times he had spoke. “You’re good, man, we have breakfast plans.” He lifted the bag as if to give him a hint, “I can take the dish if you want.”

He would rather be loaded up like a pack horse than have Clark Kent stop by later and interrupt his time with Poppy.

“Oh, yeah, man, you’re a lifesaver!” The guy retreated into Poppy’s old apartment and came back out with a clean casserole dish. “I thought you were a delivery guy, I didn’t know she was seeing someone, my bad.”

Nico hadn’t corrected him.

“No worries,” He’d taken the dish from his hands, balancing it in the crook of his elbow. “Have a nice day.”

He’d trudged up to Poppy’s new apartment, knocking on the door with his elbow when he made it - unable to do his usual knock with the amount he was holding.

Nia has been the one to answer the door this time, and Nico’s mood hadn’t lifted until he was ushered into the apartment and saw Poppy in the flesh.

She was still in her pyjamas, always keeping her place warm enough that she could lounge around in loose fitted shorts, and was sat at her kitchen counter typing away on her phone. When she looked up at Nico, any soreness, any tightness or unease had dissipated from his body at the wide smile that broke out across her face.

“Hi!” She had practically leapt up from the stool she was sat on and thrown her arms around him - the warmest greeting he had received from her in recent memory. 

“Hey.” He juggled what was in his hands, stepping around her slightly, still in her embrace, to quickly put the things on the counter so he could hug her back. His large hands took up immediate residence on the small of her back, rubbing comfortingly until she pulled away.

“Missed you,” he muttered as she craned her head up to look at him, and he found himself beaming down at her, cheeks feeling warm when he took in how her own smile lingered.

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, lightly shoving him away before turning to see what he had put behind her. She didn’t believe him, but he had planned to keep saying it until she did. 

“Please tell me there’s something bad for me in that bag,” Nia had spoken up from behind him, voice groggy, movements sluggish as she rounded into the kitchen to assess what Nico had brought over with him. 

“Sure, as long as you still like those breakfast wraps from the bagel shop round the corner.” 

“The Spanish one?” Nia had gasped, reaching into the bag and pulling out something foil-wrapped. 

“You might wanna heat it up a little,” he suggested, and before he could finish his sentence, she was crossing over to the stove on the other side of the kitchen. As she clattered around trying to find a pan to fry it off and melt the cheese, Nico turned to Poppy, who was also eyeing the bag.

For as long as he’d known Poppy, she was a light breakfast, hearty lunch kind of girl - and, considering she hadn’t mentioned being hungover, herself, when they had messaged that morning, he didn’t think she would want anything big.

“I got you an apple-cinnamon twist.”

She had given him one of those smiles that made his chest feel tight, an acknowledgement of his efforts in recalling her preferences, and he had gulped down any further words in an attempt to relieve himself of the need to choke.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

He didn’t think he’d ever heard her use that phrase before, and he’d tried to let the weight of her smile and gratitude push down on that creeping feeling of envy and bitterness that was building within him.

The guy downstairs had said the same thing. The guy in Poppy’s old apartment.

“You didn’t tell me you’d moved.”

“Oh, shit, is that why you have my lasagne dish?” She had huffed out a guilty laugh, “Sorry, it was in November, I thought Jack and Luke would have told you, they helped me lug all my stuff up here and still hold it against me.” He watched as she picked out one of the juices and took a sip, “Jesse and I switched, he needed a smaller space ‘cause him and his girlfriend split, and I’d been wanting to upgrade for a while. I should have told you when you text before.”

Jesse. Newly-single, built like a Greek statue, and close enough that Poppy was loaning him cookware, Jesse. The name rings with a sinister tone throughout his inner thoughts.

And Jack and Luke, the traitors, had dedicated probably a whole day of their scarcely-free time to help Poppy move and never so much as mentioned it in front of him. 

If he wasn’t so much of an idiot, he could have helped, too - but it would be pointless to dwell too much on that. He couldn’t turn back time, could only dedicate more of it to showing Poppy he wasn’t going anywhere, again, and she could rely on him from then on.

That had been the first layer of bricks laid in Nico’s ever-building foul mood throughout the week.

The second had been in Poppy’s office the following day. He’d let himself in, just like he used to, and tried to busy himself while Poppy’s attention was on a work call. 

He had perused the walls, eyeing over drawings sent in to the foundation from the kids they helped and worked with - drawings of the Prudential Center, of the Devils logo, little stick figures labelled as Poppy and whichever kid had drawn them, some other drawings - a couple in particular catching his eye of her with other players; one of her with Luke, one of her with Jack, one of her with Dawson and Holtzy, seemingly from development sessions she had hosted or attended with them over the past few months. And then, some actual pictures scattered in the mix. Poppy with Curtis and Dougie, Poppy with Jack at the Christmas Toy Drive, Poppy with Luke, John and Holtzy in full gear, that looked like it was taken at one of the games. 

When he had sat in front of her desk, and the little bobblehead version of Jack was staring smugly back at him, he had started to feel like his bones didn’t fit right in his skin. 

He’d remembered seeing Jack lounging across the exact chair he had thrown himself into, back when he’d stumbled across him and Poppy talking in her office the week before, and he couldn’t shake the thought of his lingering presence in Poppy’s space - Poppy’s space that didn’t have a single trace of Nico’s existence.

Whatever bitterness was starting to brew was only exacerbated by the revelation that Poppy was going to miss his birthday party because she had a date.

Poppy Jensen.

Dating.

On his birthday, no less.

For as long as he had known her, Poppy had never had any serious relationships. There had been dates here, flings there, but she was committed more to herself and her career than anything else, and would especially never take her own mother up on her advances to set her up.

His stomach had started to turn at the thought of it. She’d always been so resolute in her refusal when it came to her mom - had always been strong-willed and defiant, knowing that, even with what she argued were the best intentions, Priscilla Jensen didn’t have the first clue about what kind of person Poppy wanted to, or would suit to, be with.

But what if, after all this time, Poppy’s mom actually did have a clue?

What if she and whatever Page 6, heir-to-a-small-fortune, business-school-graduate son of a socialite-friend of her mother’s hit it off?

She’d have no time for Nico if she started dating someone, surely.

Can’t avoid the inevitable, she had said - and he hadn’t liked it. He’d wished she would have looked at him so she could tell how much he didn’t like it.

Poppy had never believed in the inevitable, before. She forged her own path. It was one of the many things he loved and admired about her.

And, apparently, she’d forged her own path straight down into the PR offices one too many times, because the way Josh had reacted to seeing her when they ventured down - springing out of his seat like an excitable puppy that had caught sight of a tennis ball - made his stomach crawl.

He knew he hated dealing with the PR team for a reason. Josh was giving off major creeper energy, inviting himself along to watch auctions with Poppy as if she wasn’t capable of doing it on her own. And, he had barely even acknowledged Nico was there the whole time, which was rude in and of itself. 

And then, as if the universe hadn’t been cruel enough to him in the past 2 days, he had to watch some leech at the auction house look over Poppy like she was a piece of meat - eyes wandering from head to toe, taking his time to take every part of her in, while Nico stood behind her willing the steam not to blow from his ears.

Bad vibes.

And that judgement was made before he saw the hideous mug on the guy’s desk.

He had felt off for the rest of that day - when he and Poppy had gone to view another auction, only for them to find out Josh had gotten one of the dates wrong, and they’d driven all the way up to North Bergen for nothing. 

He had felt off when he took Poppy out for dinner - the two of them sat facing one another in the cosy corner of an Italian bistro they had found on their way back to Jersey City, sharing breadsticks and conversing over pasta and gelato for dessert - and he tried not to overthink the way the waiter purposely brushed her hand whenever he took the menu back. Had tried to live in the moment of being able to watch the flicker of the candle between them in her irises, and how she so intently listened to whatever he had to say like it was the most important thing in the world.

He had felt off when he dropped Poppy back at the Rock to get her car, splitting with a hug over the centre console just like old times, a quick peck to his forehead and a kiss to her crown, her promising to text him when she got home - and as he watched to make sure she got in her car okay, he had noticed her looking down at her phone and smiling at a message he hadn’t been the one to send.

How he had managed to pull himself together to play the Capitals, to score two goals and for the team to bag a great away win, he doesn’t know.

But the off-feeling returns on the quick flight back to New Jersey.

As he sits on his own, headphones on, distancing himself from the rowdy celebrations of his teammates, he types and un-types too many messages to Poppy.

Will you still be awake in an hour?

Can I come over?

Do you want to come over?

Just saw Harry Potter is on Netflix now.

Can I see you?

Facetime when I’m home?

For some unknown reason, it feels like a matter of urgency that he has to see her, or at least speak to her, tonight, before his entire day tomorrow is taken up by plans with his family.

He has waited for them to make the trip out from Switzerland since seeing them in the summer, but now, when it’s potentially the only time he can celebrate his birthday with Poppy, it’s starting to feel like an inconvenience.

She was the one that had offered to do something, so she should no doubt be down to see him, but it will be late by the time he gets back, and the last thing he wants to do is inconvenience her.

It’s when he has just sent a simple, Hey, and is watching intently for the read receipt and the 3 little bubbles to pop up that Jesper drops into the seat next to him.

“Timo needs you to reply to his texts,” he sighs, running a hand through his light hair. “Something to do with Sunday, says he’s on a time crunch and needs to know something from you.”

“Can’t, I’m ignoring him.” 

“And why would you be ignoring Timo?” Jesper snorts, turning in the chair, intrigued as to why his captain has all of a sudden started behaving like a child.

“He didn’t invite Poppy to my party.” Nico shrugs, eyes remaining on his screen and still waiting. It isn’t that late yet, and Poppy always has her phone on her.

“Right,” he drags out, eyes shifting quickly to glance down at Nico’s screen until it’s tilted away from him. “You weren’t exactly speaking to Poppy when he put the list together, Nico, you can’t blame him for that.” 

Nico knows he can’t blame Timo, but he doesn’t want to blame himself, so he is left with no other choice than to let the resentment bubble toward someone else. 

“And we can just add her now, it’s no big deal, I’ll text him so it’s not obvious you’re asking.”

“She has plans, now.” Nico scowls. It doesn’t matter how much he knows he’s being an idiot about it, he wants Poppy there on Sunday, wants to celebrate his birthday with his best friend, and now he can’t.

“Okay, so what’s the big deal?”

“She wouldn’t have made plans if she were invited in the first place.”

“You’re losing me.”

“She has a date.” He huffs out, bitterly, the word souring on his tongue. A date she might never have agreed to if Timo had asked her to come in the first place. “And she won’t cancel it.” Can’t, won’t, doesn’t want to, it’s all semantics.

“Oh.” Jesper frowns, then follows with another exclamation. “Oh!” Loud enough, this time, to capture the attention of Jack and Luke on the next row over.

“Yeah, oh.” Nico scoffs, “It’s Timo’s fault.”

“Since when does PJ date?” Jack asks, inserting himself into the conversation, him and Luke both leaning over to truly immerse themselves in the discussion. 

Probably since she developed friendships with guys in the PR department who colour code documents to please her, and get wide eyed and bushy tailed at the mere sight of her. Or since she attracted the attention of fancy auction house hosts dressed to the nines with charming smiles and prolonged handshakes. Or maybe since she played house-swap with her gym-buff movie-star looking single-and-clearly-looking-for-love neighbour. Nico thinks, at one point when they were outside walking back to his car after the second auction house had been closed, he’d even seen a flirtatious pigeon make advances towards her.

How is she not supposed to date people when every person she bumps into is putting moves on her?

“I don’t know.” He mutters, checking his phone again only to see a big fat bunch of nothing.

“And you want to date her?” Luke asks, perpetual confusion etched into his features.

“What? No!” He denies before he can even think about it.

“Right,” Jesper drags out again in a way that is starting to get on Nico’s nerves. “So, what’s the problem again?”

“If she starts dating someone, she’s gonna spend all her time with them and not have any time left for me.”

“Oh, so like how you were with Talia?” Nico thought Jack was the unfiltered one in the Hughes family, but with every time he talks to Luke, he is quickly proven wrong. Jack speaks to purposely stir the pot, Luke doesn’t even realise he’s doing it - just calls Nico out like it’s nothing - and he doesn’t know which is worse.

Nico can’t help but grimace, the mention of his behaviour over the past few months serving only to humiliate him and make him feel worse. He doesn’t need to feel worse. “It’s not the same.”

“Because you like her.” 

“Dude,” Jack scoffs at his little brother’s brazenness. Jesper smirks knowingly beside Nico.

“I don’t-,” Nico can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, feeling unknowingly uncomfortable at the thought of flat out shutting that down. “It’s just weird, I’ve known her a lot longer than you have, okay, Poppy doesn’t date.”

“Poppy’s hot,” Luke says it as if he’s saying the sky is blue. Jesper snorts out the sip of his water he had just taken and Jack throws his head into his hands. “Of course she dates.”

“Excuse me?” Nico almost chokes, himself.

“You all have eyes,” Luke scoffs. 

“I don’t use them to look at Poppy, she’s like my sister, which means she’s like your sister.”

“She’s hot, and she’s funny, and she’s cool, and why she wastes her time hanging around any of us, or even caring about any of us in the first place, I don’t know. Whatever guy she’s dating is a lucky fucker, it’s normal to be jealous.”

“Sounds like you like her,” Nico challenges with a hardened jaw, trying to hide the clench of his fists by pressing his hands down either side of his legs. It’s a date, she isn’t dating. The latter end of Luke’s statement doesn’t even register in his subconscious thoughts. 

“Yeah, what exactly are you getting at?” Jack questions his brother, an amused glint in his eye.

“I don’t want to be the person to call his captain an idiot,” Luke sighs, throwing himself back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You think I’m an idiot?” Nico scoffs, unable to gauge the level of offence he wants to take at the younger Hughes’ outburst.

“I think you’re being an idiot, there’s a slight difference.”

“Just so you know, Schao, I take no responsibility for my brother’s stupidity. His opinions are his own.” Jack interrupts, holding his hands up as if surrendering.

“You literally said earlier you think he’s being a dumbass,” Luke argues, more than ready to throw his brother under the bus. If he’s going down, Jack’s coming with him.

“Whoa,” Jack shoots a wide eyed, panicked look over to his captain, “He’s misquoting me, that’s fake news.”

“You think I’m a dumbass?”

“Being a dumbass,” Jack corrects, “Luke’s right, there’s a difference. Using the right words is important, here.”

“You two have a death wish.” Jesper chuckles, reclining in his seat to observe the circus in front of him, happy he isn’t the one to have to call Nico out, for once.

“Please enlighten me, how am I being a dumbass?”

“We’ve just won an away game with 6 goals, two of which you scored. This whole plane has been celebrating the result, and you’ve been sat here with your bottom lip out, pouting over a girl you won’t even admit to yourself that you like.” Jack is the first to speak up, but Luke soon takes over - the two of them laying into Nico like they’ve been rehearsing. 

“All because she has a date.” Luke mimics Nico’s previous whining. “All because the two of you have wasted all those years that you’ve known her longer than I have pretending you aren’t like crazy into each other.”

As the two of them bounce between each other, Nico takes a second to think about what they’re saying - or, specifically, what Luke is saying.

It’s his rookie year. Sure, he’d played a couple games at the end of last season, but he hadn’t really been around to witness Nico and Poppy in the depths of their friendship before the summer. How did he know how long the two of them had wasted pretending not to be into each other?

“She’s into me?” 

“For Christ’s sake,” Luke mutters, rolling his eyes, “I changed my mind, I do think you’re an idiot.”

“Has she said that?”

“Not in those words,”

“Then how do you know?” Nico questions, leaning forward in his seat.

It’s Jesper who counters this time. “C’mon, Nico,” he scoffs, “You can’t be serious, right now.”

“Yeah, Cap, there’s oblivious and then there’s downright brainless.” Jack chimes in. “She was so cut up about you and Talia she turned into a full-blown recluse. Party Poppy didn’t come to any team hang-out for months.”

“And if she did, she’d just sulk in a corner and slip out early. She didn’t even do anything for her birthday, last year. Poppy loves her birthday. Timo was looking forward to weaselling in on her plans.” 

Nico remembers going out for Timo’s birthday - some haphazard, last minute gathering at a bar in Hoboken, just after the season had kicked off. He remembers Talia grumbling to him, wanting to leave to go meet up with some of her friends in New York, and so he had given in and they had dipped out. Timo had said he didn’t mind. Nico had assumed Poppy would have joined the team, later - her and Timo sharing a birthday week - but had never actually checked in the end to see if she had. Had she spent her birthday alone, too? All to avoid having to see him with Talia?

“And even if we’re ignoring the whole Talia thing, back when you two were close, she’d do things with you she’d never do with the rest of us. The first time I ever saw her apartment was when I was helping her move out of it, you were there all the time.”

“I’ve never even seen it,” Jesper adds.

“And she has pictures of you in her apartment, doesn’t have any of me and I’m her favourite teammate.”

Nico doesn’t remember seeing any photos in her apartment - can only remember the ones at work, the ones of everybody but him. 

He thought she’d erased all evidence of his existence in her life - but had she just moved it some place more sacred, more intimate?

“None of us have met her family, either. You’ve met them several times.”

“You don’t really want to meet them, trust me,” he mutters, suppressing a shudder when thinking about all his encounters with the Jensen clan. “Why have you gone quiet all of a sudden?” Nico wants to hear what Luke has to say about it, having a sneaking suspicion that he holds the most damning evidence of all.

Poppy has said something to him. 

He wouldn’t be being as hard on Nico if she hadn’t.

But, if he thinks hard enough about it, he can’t recall seeing them hang out that much. He’s seen her more with Jack, and sure, there were the pictures with Luke in her office, but why would she confide in him of all people? Why not his brother - or, better yet, why would she not just tell Nia and leave anyone from the team out of it?

“I think you need to be speaking to Poppy about this.”

And as if manifesting it on his captain’s behalf, Luke’s words bring forward a brief buzz to the phone now in Nico’s lap.

He looks down at the screen, heartbeat slowly but surely regulating itself as he reads the messages.

Poppy: Hey congrats on the win!!💖

Poppy: I know you’re busy tomorrow but can I see you tonight??

Poppy: Might have a gift for you 👀

Nico: I’ll come to you 😊❤️ 

Maybe Luke is right - he needs to talk to Poppy about it.

Nico takes the steps up to Poppy’s apartment two at a time, tired muscles from playing and travelling be damned, and when he makes it to her floor, he finds her leaning against her already open doorway, waiting for him.

The flight home had dragged despite being so short, the coach back to the Rock seemed to move at the pace of a push bike in low gear, and he had hit every red light on his own drive from the arena - but all that dwindles away into a distant memory when he sees her.

“Did you stalk me on find my friends?” He asks, closing the gap from the stairs to her front door, wondering how she had known when he got here.

“You know me so well,” she jests, opening her arms and stepping into him, wrapping them around his shoulders and squeezing when he embraces her back. 

His arms circle around her waist, and he fights the urge to lift her and spin her around in a demonstration of his own elation.

“I’ve missed you,” he speaks lowly into the top of her head. He thinks he could say it a million times and it won’t be enough. 

“You saw me yesterday,” she mumbles into his chest, stepping back without loosening her grip around him so they waddle through into her apartment together.

“Too long.”

“You’ve been texting me all day.”

“Not enough.”

He manages to softly kick the door closed behind them, hearing the soft click of the automatic lock.

“Are you hungry?” She asks, finally stepping out of his hold and stepping through her apartment towards her kitchen.

He does usually have a snack before settling in for the night after he gets home from an away game, but he doesn’t want to put Poppy out this late, especially knowing she has work in the morning and he has most of the day off.

“I’m good,” he follows her into the kitchen, where she seems to be ignoring him, swinging open the refrigerator and reaching inside for something. She hides whatever she’s taken, closing the door behind him and moving it to the counter, shielding it from his view with her body.

He’s too distracted by the feeling of his chest swelling to try to peak. He notices pictures stuck with magnets to the door - pictures of the two of them, alone and in groups, scattered between different notes like appointment cards and an invitation to a baby shower.

It’s only a slight burst of heat in front of his face that diverts his attention, eyes straining to focus on the small flickering flame of a birthday candle stuck into a blueberry muffin. 

“Happy birthday!” Poppy squeals, holding the small plate in front of him. 

“Is this my gift?” He chuckles, blowing out the candle and taking the plate from her hands.

“Nope, wait here,” she rushes out of the kitchen and he pinches the candle from the muffin, placing it to the side of the plate so he can break off a piece and throw it into his mouth.

He recognises it from the bakery down the street from Poppy’s apartment, a place they’d once frequented together when craving something sweet, and the taste takes him straight back to their little table by the window, so small their knees would knock as they sat beside each other, chatting over mini muffins and coffees.

He rounds the corner of the kitchen island to check out the photo frames on Poppy’s bookshelf that takes up most of the wall connecting to the back rooms of her apartment. 

It’s a new piece of furniture, way too big to have been in her old apartment, and she’s decorated the shelves not filled with books with trinkets, frames, candles and a few small plants.

One shelf has a picture of Poppy with her girlfriends - he only knows Nia, but he recognises the photo as one she’s had a while - another has a picture of Poppy with her family. There’s a photo of the family dogs, Springer Spaniels Mabel and Gus, who Nico had become infatuated with when Poppy had looked after them for a week while her parents were on vacation. 

On the shelf closest to his eye level, Nico spots a photo of him and Poppy taken on Halloween a few years back. Nico dressed as a prisoner, Poppy dressed as Mia from Pulp Fiction, he remembers someone had made a comment how even in polar opposite costumes, they had still turned up colour co-ordinated, and the picture does that justice - giant, smiles, and flushed cheeks coming out bright against their black and white outfits.

Poppy returns with a small box and a card, and a smile just as big as the one in the picture.

Nico takes the box, instinctively rattling it. “Doesn’t sound like the Hogwarts Express model train I wanted,” he speculates, lips pouting into a mocking frown. 

“Don’t get me started on that train,” she swats Nico with the card, “That Rangers loving asshole said it was against house code to reserve an auction item for me.”

“I told you he was bad vibes,” he postulates, heart warming at the thought of her trying to get him such a sentimental gift.

“That thing ended up going for over $6000!”

“Jesus,”

“I love you, but if I’m spending $6000 on anything, it isn’t a dorky Harry Potter train.”

I love you. 

Nico doesn’t even register the rest of her sentence.

He tears carefully into the Devils branded wrapping paper until a plain black box is revealed, and when he lifts the lid, the gold chain inside immediately reflects the soft light coming from the corner of the room. 

“It’s so we can match,” Poppy says, shaking the wrist that adorns the welded chain bracelet - the bracelet that she wears as a symbol of an unbreakable bond with the people she loves the most in this world. “I know you already have a chain, so you don’t have to wear it all the time, I couldn’t really think of anything else so last minute.”

She sounds unsure - insecure, almost, which is abnormal for her.

“Put it on for me?” He asks, holding the box out for her to take the chain out. 

She handles it with care, and when it’s in her hands, he can see that it is the perfect match to the chain on her wrist. Oh, he will be wearing it. All the time.

She unclasps the necklace, and he cranes his head lower so she can bring it around his neck, closing it together at the front and manoeuvring it until the clasp is at the back.

When he lifts his gaze, his eyes catch hers, admiring the glint of gold against his skin until she looks up at him with a soft smile.

It’s that same smile she seems to reserve just for him - where her eyes sparkle like a something out of a cartoon and swirl with so much warmth he feels it spread throughout his body.

He feels so much in the moment, a million words flooding through his brain at the rate of a thousand miles a minute. He has so much he wants to say to her - so much they need to talk about - but as he stands in an apartment only he is allowed to spend time in, with scatterings of his pictures throughout every room he’s been in so far, the link between his brain and his mouth becomes severed.

Fuck talking.

Nico moves quicker than he can comprehend, his brain not processing the actions of dropping the box his chain had been held in, placing his hands on either sides of her face and pulling her in until his lips collide with hers, and she doesn’t pull away. He can barely make out the sound of his birthday card falling from her grasp and sliding across the floor until all sound that isn’t coming from Poppy drowns out.

Her mouth moves with an equal bruising pressure to his, fingers raising to clutch at the shirt stretched across his torso, and he can barely feel the scratch of her nails through the fabric. He uses his grip on her face to angle it until their noses slot beside each other like pieces of a puzzle, and he doesn’t feel the ache in the bridge of his own as it is squished against hers.

After a few measured seconds, he tries his luck with the quick swipe of his tongue against the slight parting of her lips, and she lets him in, sending vibrations through the muscle as her lips close around it and she hums against his mouth. 

Nico can’t think of a time he’s ever kissed someone like this before - with all-consuming passion. 

He’s had half-hearted, means-to-an-end make-out sessions, quick, loveless pecks, sloppy, drunken kisses with fumbling hands and heavy petting.

But this is other-worldly. It’s mind-boggling, soul shattering, earth-moving.

Even when they part, noses smushed together, panting breaths tumbling heavily out into each other’s parted, swollen lips, he feels like his whole body is continuously thrumming. 

He gives into the slight push of her hands against his chest, only when he feels her eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, wanting to see what revelations lay within her eyes.

She blinks slowly, as if in a daze, and a self-satisfied smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Clarity washes over him almost immediately.

He hasn’t been off this week.

Hasn’t been grumpy, mopey, moody, pouty.

Luke was right, earlier.

Nico has been jealous.

He wants to spend all his time with her, wants to tag along to whatever boring work task she has when he’s free, wants to tell any other guy interested that she’s off limits, wants to fill his apartment with pictures of the two of them and wants her to fill her office with the same.

Nico Hischier likes Poppy Jensen.

And, if that kiss and her reaction to it is anything to go off, Poppy likes him back.

The thought fills him with conviction, makes his chest puff out and his back straighten in unabashed confidence, and gives him the courage to make a request that the Nico of barely a day ago wouldn’t have dreamed of asking.

Something else he wants.

“Don’t go on that date, Mohn."

> Next Chapter

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

[baby-tini]

Hii can you write headcanons for all the Mikey’s on a reader who has a lot of energy and who’s really a goofball like she jokes around all the time she also bounces off the damn walls😭 can you also throw some nsfw in there if you can can can u also include what are the punishments for her when she gets to out of control

tysmmm if you can’t it’s fine but I love your work sooo much keep up the good work I love you and happy birthday I hope I’m not too late🥰🥰🥰🥰

Thank you sm baby, I really appreciate it!!!

TW- Drugging in Kanto!Mikeys

Toman\OG timeline- This version of Mikey would quite like your personality, quite a bit actually. He thinks that you constantly joking around brings a nice change to his constant gorey environment, so it's a nice changes of pace for him. Although he does expect you too be serious sometimes and when you're constantly bouncing around will lead to punishments, because of you obviously not listening to him. He's not too harsh in these punishments simply because he thinks it's cute when you're all excited and having fun being hyper. But when he does punish you, they're more... playful? He'll just keep you in his learn, make you cock-warm him occasionally. Letting you know that if you move, you won't get too cum at that night, so just sit here and relax as he takes care of paperwork.

Yakuza- Now, this version of Mikey is a bit caught off guard, he doesn't hate your hyperactivity- he quite enjoys it sometimes but he does still expect you to behave when he asks you to. Doesn't really mind when you're bouncing off walls but you're not allowed to have coffee and you're only allowed to have a small amount of sugar and it's spaced out, given your natural hyperactivity. Does really appreciate your eagerness when it comes to the bedroom, he has so much fun with you when you're pinned down under him. Now, if you're a pleasure thrasher, he'll hold you down, his strength is enough to do so. Unless, he wants to take his time with you, tying you up in silk- your wrists got a little to bruised for his liking when you thrashed in the handcuffs so he sticks to silk and satin cloths so that you're still comfortable.

Manila- He finds you quite the amusement. He'll even play along with you, but you can be quite over-whelming sometimes and more often then not, he'd like too just relax with you and he can't do that when you're constantly all over the place, jumping around and spewing non-sense. If the high-energy is from you being constantly cooped up in the house because he doesn't let you leave, he'll take you out, but only for a little bit and either when it's really dark out or it's very early in the morning and he'll let you run around and do whatever it is that you need too do in order too calm down and not be so hyper-active. If taking you out isn't enough, he'll exhaust you with sex, he won't really punish you because he finds your sporadic behavior pretty cute and albeit a bit of stress relief, but if he needs too lay you over his lap, he will.

Kanto- The worst when it comes too having a partner like this, Kanto!Mikey is the most likely too dish-out punishments simply because his patience is near non-existent at this point. He lacks the patience and his dark impulses are running rampant at this point and he sees your obnoxious behavior as an inconvenience of sorts and he especially won't be too happy when he tells you too settle down only for you too be all over the place minutes later. He doesn't care for exhausting you through sex, no, at this point, his punishments will be more focused on the physical aspect because of your personality. He'd be very much into physically exhausting you play-fighting of sorts, more like holding you down and making you tire yourself out and if that doesn't work, he has other methods, such as drugging you a bit, nothing too serious, just some sleeping pills

Bonten-He gets pretty annoyed with your constant high energy, it's pretty exhausting for him, especially when he just wants too lay down and relax with you. This is another version of Mikey that takes your constant bouncing off the walls when he tells you too calm down, as disobedience. You're someone that he finds pretty mentally and physically exhausting. So, he does what he needs too, he'll let you run wild for a bit, but when he's tired, he's done. So, that means a punishment and he's not ever nice when he delivers punishments. If he doesn't have the energy too exhaust you himself, he'll bring in quite a bit of help and by help, he means toys. He'll lay you out on the bed and find the most long-lasting vibrators that he can buy, he'll just sit there and watch you and when you are finally exhausted and you're relaxed, he'll let you up and let you calm down, give you a nice bath if he's feeling up to it.

Street Racer- He'd love you like this, he has pretty high energy himself so he finds it too be quite fun, too be around you. He appreciates how spontaneous you can be. You guys are both impulsive so it always leads to you doing something fun together. He's always up for the constant wild and spontaneous ideas that you, Mikey even encourages you and you impulsivity. But, he does understand that sometimes you're too crazy.. and it's his job too calm you down. While this version of Mikey doesn't punish you, because he really doesn't see a reason on why he should, his method of damage control is just fucking you too sleep. You have so much energy, and he has better things you can do with your hyper-activity, and that's letting him overstimulate you to exhaustion. You won't be hyper when you can barley walk, now will you?

[qveyr]

High Maintenance: Realigned

notes: fem! reader x gallagher, fluff, grammatical errors might be seen, and the picture used is from Pinterest. enjoy reading ;)

—

“Pamper me with your attention, darling.” You requested, wrapping your arms around his neck in an instant, blarneying him into your needy display. What a bloody, clingy barnacle. You couldn’t even bear to leave him some space on the bed, your body occupying the area of the mattress.

You really can’t get enough of him, can you? Oh, you love your men older.

He is expensive. Matured. Attractive. You love him more than you think. You have such deep fondness for him. Deep attraction to him.

You couldn’t care less if people hate you for your preference. Affirmative. You love older men. Proven.

You love him.

“Pretty please?” You bat your eyelashes, giving him the cutest look you could ever give. The things this woman does to him are driving him crazy, clouding his head with you and making his head like a glitchy chaos. “Alright, yeah... I’ll give you that.”

He obliges to your request, lowering his head as he plants a smooch on your forehead. “You already have my attention, doll,” he murmurs. “Don’t know what I’d do without you and your clingy, needy nature.”

That deep voice. The huskiness. Languid. Those were enough to make you shiver, to make your spine unfurl like those pages of a book, deprived by his touch. And now, Gallagher has you wrapped around his finger. “You’re quite needy for tonight.” Just like how he likes you. Needy. Materialistic. Lavish. A woman who only has one mode of existence. High maintenance.

But it should be obvious. You’re charming tonight, dressed in a new lingerie, already carving a clear thought in his brain that you wanted something. “I love how quick you are to pick things. But I don’t need you to pamper me with luxurious things. Your attention will do it for tonight, baby.”

Who is he to refuse such an offer? Especially coming from you? “Yes, ma’am.” Respectfully, of course.

Any other bloke wouldn’t be so patient with her constantly hanging off with them. And she doesn’t like giving him room to breathe.

Gallagher couldn’t deny it. Women were naturally expensive, and you were the reason why his pockets were fucking empty. What a menace to his wallet. And goodness. You’re going to be the death of him.

“I bought this new lingerie.” With his money, of course. It’s the new set. Of course, she wouldn’t miss it. She always liked pretty little clothes, so he had no choice but to have empty pockets.

His eyes flick down to your new little negligee set you’re sporting. Lingerie? He can understand. Gallagher’s eyes roamed down your body, tracing the curves in the see-through fabric. Fuck. You knew what you were doing, and it was working. “Look at you. Dressed like that for yourself.” So pretty for your own good.

“Thank you.”

“Though I bought this with your money.” She sticks her tongue out, making fun of his void wallet. “Thank you and sorry at the same time.” You’re definitely not sorry for buying those luxuries.

A scoff leaves his lips. “You’re only sorry that you’re depleting my bank account. Again.” Gallagher can’t decline—you’re beautiful, no matter what you wear, no matter what the cost. You’d even be sexy in a potato sack. You’d look good in anything.

“But I have been a very good girl, Gallagher. It’s no surprise I always deserve fancy clothes.”

“Besides, I can’t handle myself being dressed in rags.” What an extravagant tone. You’re so spoiled, and you’re going to leave him bankrupt. How did he end up with a needy and materialistic woman? “Mmm,” she purrs. “My man is so sweet to me and I love him so much.” Very much.

“As if you’d look bad in anything.”

[vivmaek]

Hi! I hope you’re doing good! Do all aspects and placements in someone’s chart make up their appearance? I’ve heard that it does, and I’ve heard that it doesn’t. Just curious to know :)

THE NATAL CHARTS RELATION TO PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hi, I love this question! I can see arguments for both sides, but in my opinion I think all placements within someones chart make up appearance. I say this because our emotions and inner psychology directly affect physical appearance. And the same can be said for our physical environments. Here are some examples:

Gemini Saturn in the 12th House - Prone to getting bags under the eyes due to poor sleep. Struggles with anxiety and poor appetite.

Venus in the 2nd House - Having the resources to maintain ones appearance. Having access to high quality food, clothing, makeup, and skincare.

Neptune in the 8th House - Prone to drug usage, and is especially susceptible to the negative side effects. These types look spaced out and detached even if they have never used substances. They've probably been asked, "Are you high?" even if dead sober.

12th house stellium - Looks mysterious, even when you get to know them. No one ever truly knows a 12th house stellium. My life long friend constantly reveals details about her life that change the way I view her. And I never really know what she is up to, even when we were in each others daily lives. She travels more than any young person I know, yet remains humble and wise. 12th house stelliums are the ultimate mystiques, and this is an incredibly attractive quality.

1st House stellium - Their distinct personality overpowers whatever their physical appearance may be. Usually people attach traits onto others based on their physical appearance, but the reverse happens for 1st house stelliums. It is almost like they're cartoon characters, its like their personality and sense of character was developed before their physical form even came into existence. Their physical appearance suits who they are so well, I don't know how else to describe it.

Pluto in the 6th house - There are periods in which people with this placement will be overworked.

Scorpio Uranus in the 12th House - The wild card. Their subconscious state shifts drastically and changes unexpectedly, and this most definitely affects the ways in which they present themselves to the world.

Scorpio Mars in the 5th House - People with this placement are baddies. Cool af and might partake in some dangerous hobbies.

Chart ruler in the 4th House - Nostalgia frames the ways in which these people present themselves. Might have a timeless look about them.

Virgo Mercury in the 8th House - Could partake in hygienic practices that are diligent and maybe strange.

Cancer Saturn in the 5th House - Handyman vibes. Down to earth in their self expression.

Sun in the 3rd House - Seemingly youthful, the eternal student.

Strong 11th House placements - Their appearance is somehow associated with whatever group they belong to. This could be church, clubs, sports teams, humanitarian efforts. (For instance, Tom Cruise has his Jupiter in the 11th house and you can't look at him without thinking about Scientology.)

Strong 7th House placements - Tend to take on traits adapted from their relationships. They mirror people.

Uranus in the 9th House - Might end up living amongst a culture that differs from the one they grew up in. This will affect the ways in which people perceive their appearance.

Saturn Square Pluto - 😐 <- this face

Mercury Trine Pluto - 🤨 <- this face

Mars aspecting Uranus - Prone to accidents, bodily injury, scars.

[daylesspax]

So, I’m sure other people have said this BUT!

TFOne spoilers ahead:

Transformers One’s uses of ‘transformation’ is impeccable. I think I truly got to appreciate it when the race contestants did their transformations and each was uniquely done! Yes, almost all transformations across franchises are unique, but it made me so giddy in the theater to watch it…

And then I saw how the roads changed and, well, transformed

The trains in particular, they survive the surface because, like the surface, the railway/railroads change and adapt to the ever-changing and transforming planet— because of course their railroads can transform!

I know I’m jumping around— but I also took note of it during the mining montage, about how caves regularly open, close, and shift around. They need special tools to keep rifts open long enough to mine, and as we’ve seen, mining is incredibly dangerous and it shows what miners have to put up with— their lives are constantly in danger because unlike human mines, where we have some certainty in the stability of the terrain, their mines are at risk of spontaneously closing or coming across an unstable energon vein. And also knowing that the material they mine is so volatile is just an extra layer! (And the fact the planet transforms so often leaves room to question why transformers themselves aren’t nomadic— how can cities like Iacon or the High Guard’s hideout exist? Does the Primis simply sense where his people are most concentrated and transforms to accommodate their homes? Do they use similar technology to the stabilizing sticks but stronger to keep the space open?)

Moving away from that tangent…

I would also like to pull attention to the incredible fight scenes! I have only seen the movie once in theatre so I can’t give a deep analyses into things I’ve missed, however, I’d like to share the things I picked up

I adore how incorporated transformation is to a transformer’s movement and what they can do with their bodies— they shouldn’t move like humans because they aren’t humans and I love it when transformers media does stuff with their bodies that makes sense. For example, Elita one spinning her entire torso/waist in a 360 to do a spin-kick rather than doing it with her full body because she doesn’t need to do that! There are no muscles, skin, or bones that could break if she did that!

Sentinel is able to transform his weapon and transform his arm to capture D-16’s rather than simply catching it with his normal fist

They’re able to move their kibble to suit their needs in either mode— my favorite example is when Optimus tears off Megatron’s tank cannon (the one mounted on top of his vehicle, not the black one in his arm) but Megatron fucking flips over and TRANSFORMS IT BACK INTO HIS BODY TO CONSEQUENTLY USE IT AS A WEAPON TO SHOOT OPTIMUS HOLY SHIT THAT’S COOL AS FUCK!

Optimus/Orion is also able to move his little rocket booster thingies on the sides of his arms both in and out of vehicle mode, making it really feel like it’s still the same mech and that the vehicle form is still attached to the mech and not just plain kibble that doesn’t move outside of transformation!

Another example of really incorporating the vehicle mode with the mech, uh— AIRACHNID??? She can just transform her head open (a little)?!! Her entire body is a thin, but deadly frame, and it’s obvious where each of her limbs are in vehicle mode, which I think is super cool!

And just… gods, this movie is good

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 10 | stanley pines x f!reader 

Summary: pictures paint a thousand words, and it’s time you take some of your own

warnings (TW): swearing, discussions of death, grief, familial-loss 

tags: mutual-pining, character background, familial bonds

notes: HELLO ALL! I am doing much better and settled into my new apartment :) ive had a rather hectic couple of weeks and it may take me a couple more to really transition into my new space and job so there may be some breaths between updates for now!! Does this chapter reflect some of my own experiences? Of course, it does. Was I always gonna write this chapter? YES- this chapter is a reflective/background for our beautiful reader/doc’! The formulative next chapter is BIG BIG BIG (unless i think something is missing in which it will be thrown into said plot between this ch and the next “formed” one) but okay! I missed u all! Apologies for the lack of actual… well STAN in this ch lol

word count: 4.5k 

| masterlist | 

Her childhood home’s walls’ were scattered with differing picture frames. If you were to ask her what she remembers most distinctly about her abandoned corn-field house she would recount the countless pictures her grandmother collected and stretched across every inch of the hallways between closed doorways. She’d recount most distinct the presence of her mother, only ever in picture form, and the bearing weight of her grandmother's ire. 

Not to say the older woman hated her. No, she constantly breathed everlasting love at her. But when she tilted her head in certain lights her grandmother would remember that she was not actually her daughter. She had existed in the shadow of a dead woman for a long time, in that home. Her grandmother didn't have a waning memory though, only a waning heart. Forget herself in between her blame and love for the young child she was to take care of. 

As she grew with age she began to sympathize with her grandmother more and more. To lose a daughter so young, to have to raise the thing that tore her apart. It made her grandmother sick at times, and she didn’t have the heart to fault the woman for open palms and harsh words.

Her grandfather was quite a pillar in her memories though, a lasting good memory of the house and her childhood. He’d come home with dirty hands from fields and fold her into his arms every day, anyway. Some of her favorite memories are shucking corn on the porch with him, the sun cresting over the skyline, and crickets chirping between. She’d talk, and he’d listen. He was a quiet man, a content one, but he also carried a certain grief in his eyes when he’d look at her at times. Something she blamed herself for entirely. 

Reasonably she could compartmentalize that the death of her mother was not her fault, even without a therapist. Her mother was young when she fell pregnant with her, still in high school, had just gotten her driver's license. She knew, could reason, that she held no fault in this. In the entire situation. Besides her looks, she blamed herself plenty for that, she blamed herself for not doing more to distance herself from those picture frames. 

It’s why her grandmother forgot at times, why her grandfather looked most grieved when the sun set just right over the dinner table. She looked remarkably like her mother, a perfect picture replica in just the right shadows, just the right cadences. 

It’s why her grandmother didn’t take down the pictures, truly. Pictures of her mother in her prom dress, of her first and last Christmas under the tree. Of her mother in the backseat of her grandfather's old Buick, of her mother in the golden-crested corn fields just outside their back door. Because there was no point in forgetting because she haunted them every day. Her face was proof enough of that. 

She didn’t have any pictures of her own, any hung up anyways. She had the official ones done, of course, the yearbook photos and the prom pictures her friends’ mother took for them. But that’s where it stopped and ended. It was her own secret grief, but wasn’t comparable to the glint in her grandparents' eyes. So it stayed that, a secret. 

She dreamed of a simpler life at times. That she was her mother. That the pictures were her own, that her (grand)mother kissed her goodnight, and that her (grand)father didn’t hesitate when he hugged her. Dreamt of a life with her very own lover, dreamt of a life filled with children and apple pie and Christmases at her (grand)parents' house. She dreamed about that fantastical American dream, of wrap-around porches and pastures full of fireflies. But this too stayed a secret, until her junior year of high school. 

School came easy to her, and it usually served as a much-needed reprieve from her mirrored hallways. Come five years old she most looked forward to early mornings and car rides with her grandfather. Her caregivers were always drowsy in the morning and forgot themselves in the darkness of early September. Her grandmother would kiss her goodbye, and fold a packed sack lunch into her small hands. Her grandfather would lean in closer, and read blurry newspaper headlines off to her, like she cared to be known and be seen. Soon though, these mornings disappeared, with age. 

From the ages of fourteen to almost eighteen years old she did everything and anything to impress them, to distress them, and to upset them. She wanted them to capture her achievements in scrapbooks, and laugh over misadventures she would get into, much like they did with her mother's memory. She figured that’s how one lived, in shadows and stories. 

She joined every school club, then quickly quit them. She excelled in writing and sciences alike, and then quickly failed them. She earned enough money to buy her first beat-up car, then quickly veered it into the nearest ditch. She snuck off, broke locks on doors and off windows, ran through fields, and came home late with mayhem in her wake. Prayed that the back porch light would be on, that her grandfather would be back there, on the porch, smoking his cigars. That he’d have that awful look on his brow, that he’d look at her different, speak to her like she wasn’t a shadow, carry a cadence in remembering her name in his anger. She hated when he didn’t remember her the most, even if the memory wasn’t a good one. 

For the longest time, her grandfather was her favorite person, even if he stumbled over his words, and misspoke her name at times. It almost didn’t matter as much to her, because he had a predisposition to always apologize, unlike her grandmother. 

She could always count on him being on the back porch, during the fall and summer and spring months. He had a favorite wooden chair, no cushion in site. Most would have called him a rather stiff man. Stiff in his gait, stiff in his politics, and he usually had a stiff drink on him. But he was a warmth that she didn’t wish to forget, she was his only granddaughter, the last line of his family. 

Her grandfather, while quiet, was an amazing listener, and had a plethora of solid advice to usually dish out most nights. But he was only open for certain hours and seasons, only ever when he was outside and only ever when the sun hung low in the sky. 

Most of her actual problems she never had the guts to voice to the stoic man, she mostly spoke of school, of subjects and passing friends and any gossip she could get her hands on. Her grandfather was a nosey man, funnily enough, and enjoyed listening to whatever she could sparse from the school halls that day.                                                                                 

Their topic that night, though, had her grandfather sitting in a longer silence than she was comfortable with, a stiff drink balanced in his left hand. Her grandmother had scolded her during dinner, for not having looked into colleges to attend as of yet. She was in her eleventh year and hadn’t even considered truly attending. She knew a handful of other female students who didn’t even plan to go, she figured she fell into that category also. Figured she’d wind up much like her grandmother was now, doing the dishes while her husband lounged. Something her grandmother claimed she didn’t mind but something she was still having a hard time wrapping her head around. 

Truly she did not know what she wanted to do after graduation. It still felt like she had so much time, but in all honestly that illusion was fading. She knew something for sure though, that she didn’t have a desire to go to college. She wouldn’t even know what for, and she wanted to be close to home. Closer to the shadow she lived in and in suffocating hallways. She didn’t know anything else. 

Perhaps that’s what her grandmother meant, that she didn’t mind, because she had no mind in it at all. She didn’t know anything else, anything other than this house and her husband and the child that had torn her own apart. It wasn’t a comfort it just was. 

She liked routine, despised change, and preferred her adventures in corn and soybean fields. Preferred late nights with friends with windows rolled all the way down in convertible cars, and preferred stiff drinks with her grandfather on the shaded porch. So she would stay. She said as such at the dinner table too, something her grandmother didn’t take too kindly to. Having her (grand)daughter speak back to her. 

She didn’t break the quiet tension between them that night on the porch. She’d love to forget what happened over the dinner table entirely. The heat in her grandmother's eyes, the ire behind her twisted words. That she would leave, would seek better for herself out there in the world. Educate herself and move on from this home, from suffocating walls, and from them. That's what she figured her grandmother really meant, that in some twisted way, she wished to be rid of her. Hated living with a mirror of her daughter around every corner. The old woman could take down sun-stained pictures and be rid of the image of her forever, rest peacefully knowing she’s finally pushed her so far away. Fold what was left of her mother into boxes and ship it all away for once. 

It made her bitter, at the time. She resented the older woman on and off for years. When she was younger she didn’t understand it all, couldn’t quantify her grandmother's grief, tucked herself into corners, and disappeared into nooks of fields and sheds to distance herself from heated looks. At seventeen it had transformed into an equal distaste. Nothing she did seemed to shape up to the image her caregiver had of her, and she grew tired of attempting to evoke even the slightest of positive emotions from the woman now. The only time she was ever at ease is when she forgets who she even truly is. How was she to pretend to be someone she didn’t even know? She couldn’t even compartmentalize the depth of her own self. She was still a little girl in her mind, still six and begging her grandmother to hang their family portrait that she had drawn on the fridge. She didn’t have it in her to beg anymore and didn’t have it in her to even define who she was. 

Looking back at it all, she realized she was never supposed to know. People change all the time, she had changed. It all just depended on who you surrounded yourself with. In that home, in those fields, and on those gravel roads she had no one. No one but a fading grandmother and a tired grandfather, and perhaps it wasn’t even fair to continuously implore that she stay. She wouldn’t be who she is now, wouldn’t recognize herself even now if she hadn’t left. And if her grandfather hadn’t convinced her of such. 

Her grandfather broke that tension between them that night. She remembers distinctly his words that he spoke between them that night. 

“You can live here sure, but could you die here?” He spoke abruptly, nursing his cup along the wooden edge of his chair. 

She scoffed, shaking her head, fixing her eyes to the fields beyond. “Now that’s just dramatic as hell.” 

“I’m being serious.” He sips his drink, humming along the rim of his cup. “You can see yourself living here because you do now, but can you see yourself dying here? Would you be happy to die here?” 

“What are you even talking about? Happy? To die?” She shifts her eyes back to him, his own eyes glassy. 

“Your mother never made it out of here. Never so much as had a life beyond this plot of land. I dreamed of her being free of it one day.” He sighs like it choked his throat and was too heavy on his chest to admit. They didn’t speak of her often, at least not when he was as sober as he was now. “ Happy, out there somewhere.” 

“Was mama not happy, grandpa?” She implores, figuring he may be being the most honest he’s ever been in this moment

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Your mother was the brightest thing in the room. But people grow up, get older, and sometimes those bright things die. I wanted her to get out, explore new bright things, things to push off the dying parts of you.” 

“So you think I should go?” 

“I think one day, when they put people to rest, that the dirt matters. I think you should find new dirt, kiddo.” 

She shakes her head, burying it in her palms. She can feel the pent-up tears, feel the shake of her shoulders before it makes its way from her stomach to her lungs. “I’m scared though, pa’.” 

“Good.” He hums, a comfort to his deep voice. “Humans are scared of things they don’t yet know. Soon, new dirt won’t be so scary.” 

She leaves that discussion on the back porch, and her grandfather does not discuss it again in her presence. He really only needed one conversation to sway her, make her consider. She kept it to herself though, felt too private to consider out loud across dinner tables and porches. She was afraid to admit that it… scared her. The thought of leaving the only thing she’d ever known, leave behind the firefly fields and the four corners of her bedroom. Perhaps she’d even miss the four corners of the picture frames, and the call of her name from the room over. 

Her grandfather's health waned that last year of high school. He soon forgot where simple things were. Forgot where the utensils drawer was in the kitchen, and wondered where the lamp in the corner of the living room was when he turned his back. She learned that memories fade in waves and that there are acts and paragraphs and distances between forgetfulness. That when he’d turn and forget to take his shoes off when he got home from the fields it would evolve into him forgetting where their gravel driveway was. That’d he’d forget numbers and words to describe things. That he’d forget soon, how to spell his name, and how to properly hold a pen. That soon he’d forget how to climb the stairs, and then forget how to put one foot in front of the other. 

Forgetting who people were always seemed to come last because categorically it was the most painful to forget. She suffered through being called by her mother’s name for months, she never had the strength to correct her wilting grandfather. But watching the man forget his own daughter was different, and she grieved differently for her and her own mother that last month of his life. 

After he forgot for good and faded from this plane into the next, it upset her, even more, to watch her grandmother do much of nothing about it. She waited in anticipation, for the rage and denial that came with death. She recounted the stages of them in her head for weeks, but never witnessed her grandmother falter in all that time. It angered her beyond anything she knew up until then. It exploded in her face one day when she came home to her grandmother folding away picture frames into boxes in the living room. 

It took her only a moment to find it was exclusively her grandfather’s pictures she’d plucked bare from the walls. Holes were left empty along the living room, nails protruding from the blank white walls behind the many portraits. How could she fold him away into boxes, remove him from walls and from corners of the house, like he wasn’t still here, in every room they passed through? 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Her grandmother turned, her usual quirk in her brow and downturned look in her eyes. “Language, girl.” 

“No.” She stomped forward, ripping the frame from her caregiver's grasp. “Why the fuck are you putting him away.” 

“Enough.” She scoffed. “I’m not putting him away.” She waves her hands around the living room, to his recliner chair and the lamp he would turn on each night to read his newspaper. Points to his books of sudoku on the coffee table and his empty T.V. dinner tray he’d set his late-night hot coco on. “He’s still here. He’s right here.” 

“No.” She pushed back and away from her grandmother. “Why would you put his portraits away? Why would you take them down?” 

Her grandmother shakes her head, hands on her hips, a weird look of defeat on her face for once. “I won’t be interrogated about my interior design skills.” She moves around her, back through the open doorway into the kitchen light. 

She runs after her, picture gripped in her left hand, her right continuously running over her chest, self-soothing. “No!” 

“Yes!” Came her grandmother's reply from her position bent over the kitchen sink, going back to washing sudsy dishes that she left to soak. 

“Why?” She begged, stepping closer to her grandmother's back. “Why the pictures? Why the fucking pictures, ma’?” 

Her grandmother doesn’t wilt, twisting her head to look back at the girl she had raised, the girl she had raised twice now. “What?” 

“You know what I’m talking about ma’ don’t play dumb!” She never would have ever called her matriarch that in her right mind, but the disrespect felt inconsequential in the visage of her anger. “Why the pictures?” She held up the portrait in her left hand, facing it towards her grandmother. 

Only then did she melt in front of her, suddenly looking younger than she’d ever remembered her grandmother. Eyes teary and hands soaked from the kitchen sink she reached for the frame, holding it in weathered hands, tracing the portrait with slight fingers. 

It struck her, that she could not drum up a memory of her grandmother ever crying in front of her. Her caregiver had always been headstrong, stubborn at her worst, and mellow yet firm at her best. But never a wavered figure. She remembers now, the woman’s age. 

It has her moving forward, has her reaching for her grandmother's shoulders for the first time in forever, shuffling the smaller woman to the dinner table. Pulling the chair out and allowing her grandmother to compose herself while sitting at the unset table. 

It’s her grandmother that breaks that hanging tension, breathing out around her tears and stuffed nose. Chuckling at the image now held in her hands. 

“It rained right after this picture.” She couldn’t stop laughing now, bent over, and holding the image between them. “He took me out for a picnic, set up the stand for the photograph and everything. Then boom, ten minutes later we were caught in a thunderstorm! We were a good mile away from his car.” 

It was unlike her meticulous grandfather to not have checked the weather. Something she questioned out loud to her grandmother. 

She sighed, a tilt of her head that still spoke of her love for the man that haunted them both now. “He was so nervous that day, he forgot to check. He was going to propose that day, he told me later. Had it all planned out, but then forgot to check the weather.” The first thing he’d ever truly forgotten.

They both laughed, staring back at the framed photo of her grandfather and grandmother sprawled out on a checkered picnic blanket. 

She looked back at her grandmother, finding the older woman was already staring back at her. Her frail hand reached out, tucking frazzled hair behind her ear. Moving her hand back over her cheek to her chin, tilted her head up to face the older woman's head on. 

“I’m sorry.” A break in her grandmother's voice. “I kept them up because I thought it best. I thought you would want to know her.” To know her mother. “But it was selfish of me. To keep her up on all these walls.” Her thumb was firm on her chin now, tears leaking down her own face now, too. “I didn’t make any room, for you here.” 

“I’m not her, ma’.” 

She sighs a smile on her face suddenly. “You aren’t my daughter.” Moved her hand back, to cup her cheek again, palm warm against her. “But you are not nothing to me.” 

“I know, ma’.” Her grandmother moved, wiping tears from her cheeks. 

“But you need your own space now.” 

She nods, understanding what her grandmother finally meant. She needed her own walls and space and dirt. She needed to leave, and find her own four corners and hang her own pictures, and she knew her grandmother would help her get there too. 

“Do you want it?” 

“Huh?” She startles, turning her gaze to Stanley beside her. The camera in front of her was brand new, and a stupid turquoise blue. Turquoise like her mother's bike, in that one picture, hung along the wall right before her grandparents' room. Turquoise still, that bike was, rusty around the chains, when she found it stuffed in the back of one of the many sheds on her grandparents' farm one summer when she was but thirteen. Turquoise, which she loved to hate but secretly adored. Perhaps it was her favorite color, her mother's, that is. 

He’s waiting beside her, his arms full of odds and ends he found in the thrift store. Things he would tear apart and resew into new things- weird attractions to entice customers into their homes to pay the bills. 

She laughs, struck by his ridiculous tactic of not grabbing a shopping basket in favor of stuffing his broad arms full of odds and ends. Easier to steal, he claimed, when you don’t have a shopping basket. 

“Nah.” She lies. “Color just reminded me of something.” 

He shrugs, goofily dropping something from his arms. He bends over to pick it up, narrating out loud to get a smile back on her face. Anything but that deep contemplative look on her face and that scrunch in her brow. 

“I’m bending over now. Definitely didn’t just spot something on the bottom shelf that I want… definitely didn’t just get that also.” He stands again, shuffling things around in his arms. “That thing may or may not still be on the bottom shelf.” 

She laughs, taking some things from his arms and heading up. “Come on, you don’t need much else here. Let's get some dinner already.” Already thinking of the order she’d get at Greasy’s. 

They check out without a hitch, mainly because the teen at the register barely looks up from their magazine to take their money. Stan jokes about the potential to have just left the shop with their arms full without having paid a dime.

“They didn’t even look up! We could have just booked it, hun!” 

“No, we couldn’t have!” She laughs. “Plus I don’t wanna get some poor kid fired, Stan.” 

He huffs, pulling her door open, then putting their bags in the back seat of the car. He doesn’t make another comment until he gets to his own side, sighing slightly in the front seat while pulling something out of his inner coat pocket. 

“Now-” 

“Stan don’t tell me you took that dumb salt shaker from the bottom shelf for real.” 

“No, hun.” He laughs, handing over a flash of turquoise. “Just this.” 

She smiles unconsciously, holding the ugly camera in both her hands. Bringing it up to her eye to see out the camera, checking the back of it for the film. She can’t help but tear up, about something as stupid as the potential to finally take her own pictures. Something she forgot about even wanting between everything else. Next, she’d have to get out of the car and roll around this new dirt she found herself on. 

His doc’ was a terrible liar. He knew she wanted that camera as soon as she stopped in front of it. She kept passing it in the store, kept wandering back in front of it, but never reached out for it. Just… stared. He didn’t wanna figure on the significance of her fascination (unless she supplied it readily), only wanted to figure how she’d brighten up the room if she had it. So he took it. 

It was the best thing he’d ever stolen her. Between her snatched spoons and stolen diner crayons, this felt more significant. More purposeful, more solid between them. He knew she wanted it, so he got it for her. It felt significant, and it made her heart ache for the young girl surrounded by all those pictures that acted as twisted mirrors. He didn’t even know, what it meant to her. 

“Thank you, Stanley.” She smiles at him, all bright like he predicted. The edge of a tear along her eye, so he reaches and folds her into his broad shoulder. He grazes his lips along her hairline, humming close to her ear like he knows she enjoyed. Perhaps it was like that thing she did, soothing her hand over her heart and chest. Maybe the warmth of him and the vibration reminded her of four corners and hallways and home. At least he hoped, stupidly. 

He brings her back out, reaching over her and buckling her in as she smiles stupidly at him and then back at the camera back in her lap. 

“To dinner!” He exclaims, turning the cars’ keys to begin their journey to Greasy’s for their yearly anniversary dinner. 

She’d have to get some picture frames, for them.

[missmarveledsblog]

A knight in Shining ...denim ( Mechanic!Eddie Munson x Reader )

summary : one day a woman shows up to the shop only for eddie to find out she the new receptionist changing his work space , life and feelings .

warning: mutual pinning , idiots in love , no upside down here ( soz ) jason carver is alive ( again soz ) sort of age gap ( eddies like early thirties where reader is mid twenties ) , 18+ no smut but allusions to it

It’s not that working wasn’t the bain of existence because he actually loved the shop , working on the cars  listening to music of his own choosing even being able to squash some of the stupid assumptions people had about him although it was also the downside of working  there was some people still thought he was the devil incarnate. Some of his old highschool associates could he even call them that would come in with minor or even non existent problems just to make some off handed or down right insult him . the snobby asshole who once we jocks now owning their own small town businesses thinking they were donald trump or some sort of multi billionaire , or they constantly  bring up their successful marriages and  families when eddie dates consisted on woman that preferred to keep him as a secret . life was still like high school to these fucks .   then like a shift in the wind working during one of the hottest days of the year when he heard a clearing of a throat and sound of a knock. Pulling himself out from under the car only to have the wind knocked out of his lungs . 

“ are you eddie ?” soft velvet voice hitting his ear drums like a piece of heaven on earth . 

“ what can i do you for sweetheart ?” . 

“ oh didn’t frank tell you i’m the new receptionist …  i thought he told me you would show me around… i’m y/n by the way  “ her brows furrowed in such an adorable way he almost melted to the spot . 

“  you don’t mind if i just double check make sure you not some new hot thief that steals from the auto repair shops  or i would be in so much shit “  only for a laugh to fall from her lips  standing little taller making a pretty lady laugh was always an ego boost .  the two stood patiently as frank suddenly remembered but eddie never blamed the guy he was getting older at first working there well it was a favour for his uncle wayne  giving the two were buddies  .  

“ So check out although i don’t think you’ve been fully briefed in what the job entails” he winced slowly walking over to the office he swore one of these days he was going to tidy up .  opening the door waiting to hear a gasp or for her to storm out and say not my problem . 

“ holy shit “ was probably selling it lightly at the chaos of files everywhere . “ ok take what you need for today and i will do the rest “  she nodded walking more trying not to knock over the stacked boxes and create more of mess although it wasn’t like it would really make a difference.   Eddie doing just that in truth he was still that whole the day even the first week waiting for her to run out of there. Only thing was he was not allowed step foot in the office until then  . everytime she would open the door a little  handing him out paperwork  he needed or receipts til  maybe the middle of the second week she finally opened the shutters on the small office which he honestly never even noticed they were shutters to begin with .  then one day while he was eating lunch he watched her with a trolley carrying boxes into the garage only to see cleaning supplies while throwing out the near ancient ones . by the end of the month well it was like a whole other place  , old furniture replaced  in the waiting area , the break room was cleaned out and refreshed , even returning customers wondered if they were in the right place  and word travelled fast the new changes to the shop , the new beautiful receptionist .  which second part he was kinda sad she was thought of in such a way it was like his own greedy little secret . 

Working day in and day out together for that time too became fast friends he almost smacked his head when he heard her blasting metallica in as she cleaned or how hard his mouth fell open when he found out she was franks granddaughter . which explained how she was able to get approval for everything so easily or why she didn’t run for the hill when she first saw the place. It was also a surprise to see steve harrington driving in giving that eddie already repaired the bmw the weekend just gone. 

“ harrington “ he arched his brow . 

“ the windshield wiper fell off that like safety thing right?” he asked looking around everywhere but at eddie. 

“ fell off … did you pull this off “he gasp seeing the mangled state of piece in his hand. 

“ no why would he do that now” robin voice called as she too was looking around the space. 

“ you helped it wouldn’t have to do with the news of a certain lady that start working here would it ?” he mused looking at his close friends who in his opinion couldn’t lie for shit. 

“ oh hey welcome  would you guys like a cup of coffee “ the voice of angel rang out as the two stood goofy smiles on their faces. 

“ sweetheart no need for the niceness these are my friends actually more like pest robin and steve this is y/n , y/n robin and steve” he chuckled. 

“ oh nice to meet you both … did a bear attack your wipers “ her head tilted looking down at the scrap metal in Eddie's hands. 

“ yeah i had to fight it off save my car “ steve nodded trying to appear strong and buff only for his friends faces to scrunch in disgust.  

“ yeah right  yogi bear , soo y/n how old are you … single ?” Robin smiled sweetly. 

“ erm i’m 25 and yeah i’m single .. I spend so much time here to even find a boyfriend  “ she laughed . 

“ ignore those two .. you heading out ?” 

“ oh thought i get us lunch was just coming  out to see what you wanted .. or you guys wanted if your friends want to join” 

“ yes “ ..”they were just leaving “ the three spoke in unison . 

“ hey why don’t  i come with you i know what they like and plus  make a new friend “ robin linked arms already leading her out the door . 

“ I taught her too well “ steve sighed . 

“ yeah cause your swimming in the ladies lately” Eddie teased walking to the car trying to  see where to even begin . 

“ i’ll have you know i’ve a date for tonight munson “ .

“ so why are you flirting with my hot coworker harrington ?” 

“ cause she hot plus i’m not the only one  you do realise more repairs  lately have be guys wrecking their cars on purpose to try and talk to her ?” steve snorted. 

“ so you admit that you broke the windshield wiper … wait that why we’ve been so busy lately?” eddie turned his head to the side  as steve nodded his head yes . 

“ come on man she new and well she easy on the eyes  and yeah she gonna be a hot ticket in town “ . 

“ she not just a pretty face man , she funny and goofy and great music taste that dio album playing she brought that in from home and she friendly and kind makes the old gals feel like vip honestly she the best” eddie beaming smile only made steve eyes widened. 

“ oh my god you love her” 

 “ dude i know her a month and couple of week i do not love her” scoffing pretending like it wasn’t close to it . which in his defense was a cruel joke on universe part to put her so close knowing a woman like that would never go for a guy like him, girls like that make guys like him the best friend or close friends it was a cruel thing but it was a fact he could already see unfolding . barely listening to steve drowning on, not even realising he was moved on to a new topic of conversation til the time past and the girls were back robin was more friendly then flirt must of picking up that y/n was straight well he thinks she was .  steve and robin thought they could see it , the lingering touches or the fact her eyes would be on eddie  or how they would quickly move before he could catch her bluntly checking him out . 

It went on like that for weeks both looking when the other wasn’t or slightly flirty undertones of exchanges that they would brush off thinking they were reading too much into it .  another thing it was always just at work it was like the friendship or whatever it was only extended to the walls of franks automobile repair shop not that the two didn’t want to like anytime they went to extend it ,they would chicken out or say something completely different . soon  it was a year that had passed since y/n came to the shop , a year of trying to convince himself that he wasn’t in love or that he wasn’t good enough for the woman who gave him sweet words every single day .  like the day she arrived it was hottest day of the year and like it was the universe was trying to kill him when she walked in the door wearing pair of shorts and tank top looking like one of those supermodels on the coke and pepsi commercials . he could feel his throat go dry and his mouth water  trying not to stare at the way the shorts hugged her ass so right  or how perfect her cleavage was in the tank top or how he was sure to melt and evaporate all in one.  Then like the universe called he sensed the real devil in town . jason carver and his bum chum andy another two idiots who still thought they were in highschool .  

“ I got these, would you check the inventory please  “ he called as y/n gave him a nod and a quick good morning. 

“ well looks like your still here huh munson and still the  one fixing the cars , i thought you at least be manager or something “ that smug smirk on his face , the pearly veneers that his buddy never told him look ridiculous . 

“ what can i do you for gentlemen” 

“ it’s making weird noise cop told me get checked out or next time he’d give me a ticket.. Hey were the hot piece of ass that works here maybe i could service her while you service my car” he chuckled looking around . 

“ her name is y/n not piece of ass and she working “ the glare if it could kill jason carver would fall to the ground dead , usually the comment never hurt shit he’s heard it all since he was a kid learned to grow tick skin but hearing them talk about y/n was different . 

“ go get her then i wanna talk to her about the price of all this not that matters maybe throw her a bone give her taste of a good thing instead of being here with your deadbeat ass all time i mean i’m sure she nice to you all time cause she feels sorry for you “ he snickered as andy high fived him . 

“ i mean i seen her man she definitely wouldn’t be into satan spawn here … you like her don’t you munson … what you think girl like that chooses to be here listening to these noise you call music “ andy snide smile as two found themselves hilarious but what they didn’t know was said woman was listening to everything, finding that part of her that wouldn’t end up in a orange jumpsuit . how dare they talk down to eddie like that one of the funniest , goofiest sweethearts that was basically sex on legs . how drooled over her work as she watched him bent over the hood of a car or how she had to clench her thighs when she saw his arm muscle contract along with the ink on his body . how dear these two personality void asswipes talk down to anyone when they looked like dollar store versions of wall street nope not in this world or the next would she let anyone talk down to eddie not on her watch . she didn’t even have a plan nor did she wanna even think of the consequences of what she was about to do it could wait another time . instead she came out of the closet before jason carver could even get anything out of his mouth she pulled eddie by his overalls and crashing her lips against his taking every single male in the room off guard including the one she kissed only to pinch his side to bring him to reality  well it wasn’t reality for him , he was sure this was a dream because it was like so many of the ones he woke up painfully hard from . it had to be a dream because this felt too perfect , too right . like every nearvein his body was under her control as it came to life from just her touch . 

“ oh shoot sorry i didn’t even notice you guys”the coy smile as she pulled back from clearing of a throat. It wasn’t a true lie she did actually forget the two  were there after a while getting lost in the feeling and taste of eddie on her lips . 

“ really the town freak” 

“ really those highlights “ she shot back , “ those clothes i mean  i get you guys got money but shit you got no personality as for eddie being a lowly mechanic he’s been running the place since he started , he is this place but you wouldn’t know that since you work for daddy “ she rolled her eyes . 

“ so what your just some slut anyways “ . 

“ ah as well as no personality , no brains either best you can do is slut ok my turn …. You rich boy never been told his whole like so well you been a prick all your life and who can blame you when toupee tommy which isn’t fooling anyone here bigs you up when your insult hurt as much as a feather … now do you want the car that clearly is compensation for the fact you got nothing going on down there or your free to leave” she batted her eyelashes  while eddie on the other hand never though his feelings could grow even more. 

“ your a receptionist why should i care what you say  , your both trash literally a fuck and dump is all your worth “ . 

“ and all your worth is nothing , yeah you may get girls but it’s for the money and even that isn’t worth sticking around for , which is why you have more girlfriends than you’ve had birthdays , oh and lets not pretend that you have actually friends because the second you go broke you will have no one not even toupee timmy who’s afraid to tell you those veneers make you look like a horse that died decades ago and now looks like a bad taxidermy job  so now do you want the car fixed or do you wanna leave because those are your opinions my friend either learn some manners or drive to another place “ she smiled sweetly like andy didn’t like he was going to start crying suddenly the universe and eddie were great old school pals as  looked weighing their options . through gritted teeth and almost killing him to say it but small town there wasn’t a luxury of going somewhere else and the other repair shop  well  he had a messy situation there too . through the whole interaction eddie stood looking at her like she save him and his whole family from a burning building or she hung the sun, moon and stars and after that fuck she did in his eyes.  The two men stood usually quiet while eddie got to work it wasn’t a tough repair but with those two tried to do it themselves when it would of been a whole other mess . once paid and speeding the hell out of there as she wave ever so sweetly .  like pride filled his body almost forgetting himself in the moment when he picked her up and spun her in a circle , placing his lips on her until he pulled back wide eyed thinking he overstepped the boundary that the other kiss was for show. 

“ shit sorry .. fuck “ he pulled back cursing himself . 

“ eddie..” she went to begin but he went on his own rant. 

“ i am sorry i know you did it to get the guys off my back i stupidly though ..but why would a girl like you like a lo.. Ouch did you just pinch me “ he gasped probably a little over dramatic but then again it wouldn’t be eddie if he wasn’t . 

“ yes because you were going to go on about being a lowly trailer park kid and shit ? wanna know what i think ?” she asked. 

“ if it like what you told carver i’d rather you hit me with a wrench instead … here” he winced handing her the wrench making her roll her eyes she wasn’t new to deflecting humour  she practically mastered it herself . 

“ i see a man who knows how to appreciate things in life like friends and possession, one that even if he did have a ton of money would spend it on his friend than to show off what he had , one of those people that would make sure everyone is ok before himself , a funny silly man who enjoys entertaining those around him , big nerd but honestly nerds are hotter “ she winked . “ also if you haven’t gathered i kinda of kissed you first and it wasn’t fully for those guys but maybe my own selfish reason of wanting to kiss the hottest guy in town by a mile “ she added slowly walking towards him placing her soft hand  on nap of his neck puling him down to her level so she could place a kiss on his lips . 

“  i mean sometimes i do wanna hit you with the wrench but like ninety seven percent of the time i wanna do that” she pulled back only for him to walk over hitting the shutter before lifting her up . 

“ well if we're showing off what we wanna do my little knight in shining ... denim let me really show you what i  really wanna do with you “ a wolfish grin and new found confidence maybe the shop could shut earlier for the day .

[ravensuperr]

Gotham baby mystery part 8

The Council Room stood as a marvel beyond mortal comprehension, a grand architectural masterpiece that made even the Palace of Versailles seem like a quaint relic by comparison. Its sheer scale was overwhelming, stretching endlessly in all directions, held together by celestial forces beyond time and space. The very walls appeared woven from the fabric of the cosmos, shifting subtly with the endless dance of stars and nebulae, their light casting an ethereal glow that pulsed with the heartbeat of the multiverse itself.

Towering columns of pure, shimmering crystal supported the vast, vaulted ceiling, adorned with constellations that shifted and reconfigured according to the will of the Council. The ceiling was no mere structure but a living tapestry of time—a constantly evolving mural capturing the past, present, and glimpses of possible futures. Gold and silver filigree traced intricate patterns along the room’s edges, forming forgotten runes and divine symbols that hummed with power, shifting as discussions unfolded.

The floor was a seamless expanse of obsidian, polished to such perfection that it reflected everything above like a divine mirror. Each step taken echoed softly, reverberating with the weight of destiny pressing upon all who walked its sacred surface. At the chamber’s center stood a colossal round table of iridescent stone, its colors shifting as if imbued with the essence of countless realms. Around it sat thrones of varied designs, each representing the might and majesty of those who occupied them—some sculpted from celestial fire, others woven from the golden threads of fate, and some carved from the bones of ancient deities long passed.

At the head of the room loomed the grand podium, an intricate construct of timeworn brass and enchanted marble, from which Clockwork presided over the meetings. Behind him, a towering stained-glass window depicted the endless cycle of creation and destruction, shifting subtly with the rise and fall of civilizations. When the light struck it just right, it cast ever-changing murals upon the chamber walls, displaying visions of events that shaped existence itself.

This was the sanctum where gods, demons, ancient ghosts, and cosmic entities convened—a place where fate itself was debated and rewritten. Only when the fabric of reality stood on the brink of collapse did they gather, their voices echoing through eternity as they sought to steer the course of the multiverse, lest all fall into oblivion.

The Box Ghost had never seen anything so breathtaking in his entire afterlife.

He was so overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur that he barely noticed the presence beside him—until a voice, clear and tinged with amusement, snapped him out of his daze.

“Hey, Boxy. You’re drooling.”

He jolted, blinking rapidly as he turned toward the speaker.

Serenity floated beside him, arms crossed, her magenta eyes shimmering with quiet amusement. In her ghost form, she was the very embodiment of hope—a celestial presence flickering between realms like the first rays of dawn piercing an eternal night.

Her knee-length, inky-black hair, styled into two high, elegant pigtails, cascaded in waves that shimmered with faint, iridescent highlights as she moved. Strands of energy curled at the ends, subtly shifting like mist caught in the wind, infused with an otherworldly cyan glow as though woven from the very essence of the Ghost Zone itself. A faint, luminescent aura surrounded her, causing her silhouette to flicker slightly, as though she existed between existence and infinity.

Her attire balanced celestial grace with battle-ready resilience.

The Box Ghost hastily straightened, flailing slightly in his attempt to appear composed. “I-I was just… uh… admiring the architecture!” he declared, puffing up his chest as if that would salvage his dignity.

Serenity smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

He huffed, crossing his arms. “This is a very important meeting! I have to be focused!”

Serenity gave him a playful nudge. “Then maybe stop gawking like a tourist. The Council’s about to start.”

The Box Ghost swallowed hard—again, purely for effect. Right. The Council. The most powerful beings in existence were about to decide the fate of the multiverse, and somehow, he was a part of it.

No pressure.

The Great Council Convenes: A Threat Unveiled

The air inside the Infinite Council Chamber was thick with power. The very fabric of reality seemed to hum as divine beings, demons, city spirits, eldritch entities, and never-born ghosts gathered under one roof—something that had not happened in centuries.

They filled the vast chamber, seated in rings of floating platforms that hovered in concentric circles above the center stage, where Clockwork, the Master of Time, stood as the meeting’s overseer.

The gathering was monumental. Lucifer himself was present, seated beside the spectral rulers of forgotten cities. Heavenly beings clad in radiant armor stood near shadowy figures whose forms defied mortal understanding. Gods and goddesses of multiple pantheons—some rarely seen outside their own domains—had heeded the call.

This wasn’t just a meeting.

This was something far greater.

One seat remained empty—the throne of the Infinite Realms' ruler, left vacant for centuries. And for good reason.

Pariah Dark, the Tyrant King, once ruled the Infinite Realms with an iron fist, his influence stretching across multiple realms. His reign left scars that never fully faded, and even now, the aftermath of the battle that sealed him away lingers like a wound refusing to heal.

And that was why they were all here.

Clockwork’s voice rang through the chamber, his expression unreadable. “Vortex, your report.”

The Security Threat: Vortex’s Report

A deep rumble echoed as Vortex, stepped forward. His presence alone sent winds howling through the chamber, though they never reached past his immediate space. The flickering torches dimmed slightly as his glowing eyes surveyed the gathered council.

“The Sarcophagus remains sealed,” he began. “However, the castle and its defenses have not been updated in centuries. What once deterred intruders during Pariah Dark’s reign is now… laughably outdated.”

A murmur ran through the assembly.

“The detection systems are primitive. The barriers have eroded in some places. We must reinforce them before someone with enough power or knowledge exploits these weaknesses.”

Fright Knight’s name was mentioned, but before concerns could be raised, Eris, the goddess of discord, cut in with a lazy smirk.

“The Fright Knight?” she repeated, twirling a lock of hair. “Still stuck in that ridiculous pumpkin. And his sword? Still sealed. No danger from him.”

A few present exhaled in relief, but the tension remained. If security around the sarcophagus and the Infinite Palace was this weak, what other dangers could be lurking?

Vortex’s tone darkened. “We need immediate reinforcement of every level of security. If something were to go wrong…” He let the implication hang.

The Eyewitness: Box Ghost Speaks

Clockwork shifted his gaze to another figure—one not normally given much regard.

The Box Ghost.

Many present barely concealed their skepticism. Yet, the usually bumbling specter did not appear his normal, ridiculous self. His glow was dim, his hands uncharacteristically still.

When he spoke, his voice lacked its usual comedic bluster. Instead, it was grave.

“I saw it.”

Silence.

“I was there when the disturbance happened. I saw the girl enter the portal. I saw her die.”

More murmurs, but none dismissed his words outright.

“She should have crossed over,” he continued, glancing uneasily toward Clockwork. “But something forced her back. Something held onto her. I saw her body flicker between life and death.”

The celestial beings exchanged glances. A hybrid…?

The Box Ghost clenched his fists. “And the location of this? It is just a normal human city.” The room stirred with unrest. A few figures whispered among themselves, alarmed that it wasn’t the government or any cult that caused the rift—it was just a "normal" family.

Serenity’s Revelation: The Blueprints of the Rift

The energy shifted as Serenity, the never-born Ghost of Hope, stepped forward.

Her magenta eyes glowed as she lifted her hand. A set of glowing blueprints materialized before her—designs she had recovered from the human realm.

"When the Box Ghost and I crossed over through the portal, we discovered it was located inside a lab—specifically in the basement of a house. That’s when we realized that someone had built this gateway within their own home. As we explored the surrounding area, we found it was just a normal, medium-sized city dealing with significant electrical issues. However, I can’t say with certainty whether those issues were caused by the activation of the portal or if something else was at play."

The portal wasn’t a natural gateway to the Infinite Realms. It was something built.”

The tension doubled.

She pointed at the activation mechanism. "‘The ‘on’ button wasn’t on the outside—it was built inside the machine, inside the man-made portal.”

A few present frowned, confusion and anger flashing across their faces. They knew something was wrong—the natural portals to the Infinite Realms appeared regularly, but they didn’t cause this level of destruction. Ghost portals weren’t meant to function like this, and Serenity’s words only confirmed their worst fears. The Council members braced themselves, none of them eager to hear what she was going to say next.

Serenity continued, her voice sharp with certainty. “The girl—she touched the 'on' button. The moment her hand made contact, the portal activated. But this wasn’t just any portal—it was a man-made gateway to the Infinite Realms. And because it was forcing itself through the dimensional fabric, cutting through the very barriers between realms, it caused a massive disturbance. A disruption that rippled across the Infinite Realms and reached into the homes of those present here in the Council room.”

Nocturne’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in them. “Are you implying what I think you're implying? If so, just say it.”

Serenity met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. “Yes. This wasn’t some random accident. This was deliberate. The portal was designed to be a gateway to the Infinite Realms—crafted to breach the dimensional wall. And right now, I’m not sure if it can ever be closed.”

The atmosphere in the chamber grew thick with tension. It felt as though the very air itself was suffocating, so heavy that it seemed as though a knife could cut through it, yet the weight of the revelation still hung in the air, unresolved.

The Weight of the Revelation

Clockwork was silent for a long moment. He had already known what had occurred—but now, everyone in the chamber knew.

The implications were staggering.

A human-made machine had successfully created an open portal to the Infinite Realms. The event had resulted in creating a Halfa No cults or government involvement.

Before Clockwork could give his verdict and decide the path forward, he paused. His glowing eyes flickered with something unreadable as he turned toward the grand doors of the council chamber.

“It seems there is one more voice to be heard.”

The massive, ornate doors groaned open.

And, just like that, everything shifted as John Constantine walked in.