#IDK MAN. it's been a long rough day and i just. wanted to write this lol.

[revasserium]

the good earth

chevalier; 1,282 words, fluff and the barest hint of angst; chevalier agrees to have a picnic, gn!reader

you ask him out for a picnic, and he agrees before he can stop himself. later, he’d wonder what possessed him to entertain such foolishness, such misanthropic meanderings of the mind but then — then you smile, and he puts aside the seventeen things he’s had on his mind and reaches out to help you carry the four bottles of champagne.

by the time you all settle in the rose gardens, clavis is grinning like the devil and chevalier teeters briefly on whether or not to kick him in the shins.

he decides on not as you go about laying out the freshly baked breads and the soft, melting cheeses. there’s jam from the orchards and cakes from the kitchens. chevalier cocks his head as he watches you spread a liberal dollop of creme fraiche on a piece of bread and offer it to him.

“it’s good! i promise.”

chevalier quirks a single eyebrow, smirks, and takes it from you. the cream is sweet and light and tangy, the bread the perfect amount of warm and chewy. he wonders if the kitchens have always been this good, and then he wonders if it’s just the effect of you.

and later, much, much later — when they’ve all had their fair shares of creme and bread and fruits and jam, when the sun is hanging sweet and low as summer berries, the sky painted in languid, lazy brushstrokes of pinks and golds and blistering silver clouds, he finds himself watching you. like he always has.

“you’re staring,” you say, your eyes slipping towards him to catch his gaze, to hold it for a second before it flickers back up towards the darkening sky. up, far, far above you are the first burgeoning sighs of twinkling stars.

“yes,” he says, unabashed in his intensity, “so i am.”

he watches as your cheeks darken, watches as your eyes slowly slide back to meet his again. and this time, he doesn’t let you go. all around you, the other princes are slowly making their exits, their excuses muttered on smirking lips, first luke, then nokto, and finally even clavis, who’d been watching you both with a sharp, rapier-like amusement bows his head and heads back in. you try your best not to blush and you’re unsure if you manage it.

“there’s still a glass of champagne left.”

chevalier’s voice is pointed as always. you turn to look down at the half-filled flute sitting by your hand.

“so there is.”

“come.”

chevalier stands up with a woosh of ghost-white robes and offers you a hand. you regard it for a split second before taking it and letting him help you to your feet.

“leave the mess, we’ll come back to for it later,” he says, as if reading your mind.

you press your lips together but before you can make to follow him, he turns around, his eyes fixed on you as he says —

“bring the champagne.”

you blink. and then, you reach down for the glass.

you follow him to the memorial grounds, the huge marble monoliths carved with the names of all the knights and soldiers who had given their lives for the greater good. chevalier pauses before each with a solemn silence. you follow behind him, unable to stem your curiosity as you watch him.

“graves are for the living,” chevalier finally says as you come to a pause beside him, looking over the vast sunken green field of the memorial grounds, “they’re for us to mourn the dead. those who have passed have no use for them.”

you nod.

“yes… i know.”

“but it’s because of that… that they’re made all the more important,” he says, turning to face you again. there’s the shadow of a smile flickering across his lips.

“go on then, pour the champagne.”

you blink at him before turning back to the memorial grounds and slowly emptying the glass of champagne into the grass at your feet, pouring it out in a steady, horizonal line. a toast to the dead, made for the living.

how fitting.

later, after the remnants of the picnic have all been cleared away, after the glasses have been washed and the fruit pits disposed of. you find yourself watching him as he reads, leaning against the wall of your room, the balcony open against the tepid summer air.

“you’ve never done that before,” you say, without preamble. because chevalier has never needed you to explain to understand.

“hm.”

you bite back a grin, “what’s made you so sentimental?”

the book in chevalier’s hands snap shut.

“don’t asks questions you already know the answers to.”

you fight back the urge to roll your eyes as he pins you with a glare.

“alright, alright — but… it really isn’t like you… even after all…” you motion vaguely at the space between you and him with a faint blush, “all… this.”

at this, chevalier smirks, cocking his head, and you feel your stomach twist into ever tighter knots inside you.

“i suppose it’s because… someone somewhere once taught me that the only difference between a graveyard and a garden is what you choose to put in the ground,” he says, his head still cocked, his eyes cool even as you go ever and ever hotter beneath his penetrating gaze.

you can’t help but blush at his pointed words, but your body is awash with tingles as you finally parse out the depths of his admission.

you’d taught him something.

“o-oh! i — uhm… that’s… well,” you cast about for something to say, something other than oh and uhm. finally, you settle on, “sounds smart, whoever taught you that.”

chevalier’s smirk grows as he pushes off the large loveseat and closes in on the edge of your bed, towering over your as he looks down at you over his aquiline nose and sculpted lips.

“yes. they were.”

he leans down, and you feel your breath hitch in your chest as he presses you back into the soft, downy sheets of your bed.

“s-so… have you thought about… planting some more flowers in the memorial field, then?” you ask, averting your eyes as he crawls onto the bed, his weight shifting the bed beneath you, your traitorous heart thumping up against your chest in ever and ever faster rhythms.

“i have,” chevalier muses, his voice light and unaffected, “i’ve already given the order for it to be done.”

“oh…” is all you have in response, though it seems to please him all the same. you take a deep, steadying breath before forcing yourself to turn back and meet his piercing, star-fire gaze.

“so next time,” he says, pulling back suddenly, smoothing his hands over the material of his clothes as he makes his way back over to the loveseat to resume his book, “we might have a picnic there instead. once the flowers start blooming.”

“a picnic… in the memorial field,” you echo.

he nods, flipping open his book again.

a picnic with the dead… for the living.

you allow yourself a secret smile as you nod, thinking back to that last glass of champagne.

because yes — the only difference between a graveyard and a garden might be what you choose to put in the ground. but says who that life cannot thrive in a place for the dying? after all — graveyards are for the living, aren’t they? and champagne and flowers too.

“yes… i’d like that,” you say, nodding, smiling, bright as bright can be, “i’d like that very much indeed.”

requests are open

[chrollohearttags]

silk dreams, satin fantasies • e. jaeger

it’s your roommate’s special day and he’s requested only one gift: to unwrap his favorite ‘present’ as many times as he desires and you look forward to granting every last one of his wishes

📝: black fem!reader, roommate!eren, more free use + pure, utter filth (PWOP bc I don’t have the time tbh), breeding, lots of dirty talk, face fucking, squirting, bondage, pet play themes, collar + leash, heavy sub/dom, rough sex, spit play, so many themes, I’d be here all day

wc: 2.2K

🎙️: idk when (or if) y’all will see this but happiest of birthdays to my fav crash out and the only aries man I’ll ever love. my (second BD) eren! I miss writing regularly, specifically for him and feel like I’m losing my touch (school has truly defeated me) but I hope y’all enjoy it nonetheless.

═✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿═══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°

March 30th. A date that seemed synonymous with being a holiday…it was certainly a joyous occasion for one man. Who’d not only get to celebrate another orbit around the sun and the privilege of getting to see another year, but who would do so alongside someone he cherished dearly. 24 full hours filled with nothing but things that would bring him immense happiness and nothing would elicit that quite like having you around to help him enjoy his birthday..in more ways than one!..

“Mmmmph!—oh fuck…’m so deep in your fucking throat, baby and you’re not even gagging. What the hell..

a deep, groggy tone and nasally whimpers filled the desolate bedroom. An area that once was only utilized for sleeping because the right girl hadn’t come along in some time was now the platform for all of Eren’s filthy, depraved inner thoughts. All of which he planned to enact with (y/n), his pretty little roommate throughout the course and duration of the day. You were the most ideal gift a man could ask for..that cunt twitching at the sound of his praise and that puckering asshole suctioned around the metal plug stuffed inside of it. Courtesy of him coming into your room earlier this morning and shoving it in. Along with the first of many loads of warm seed he had poured inside of you today. It was something he did very often..sneaking into your bed to have his way with you as you remained in blissfully unaware slumber. There were times that you’d wake up to the sensation of his cum spilling out of you or wetness splattering your thighs because he’d fingered you in your sleep and those juices subconsciously spilled out. It seemed rather creepy and odd to do such a thing but you absolutely loved it! That much apparent by all of the salacious posts on your accounts all but begging him to.

hence why you were seated on your knees, thighs clenched together to avoid pathetically rutting yourself against his shoe and those big brown doe eyes fixated up at him. (Y/N) had been sporting a pink silk apron with not a single article of clothing underneath with the exception of thigh high socks; the color meshing beautifully with that decadent brown skin..luscious as ever. Long black hair flowing across your shoulders with a bang cascading over your forehead. Around your throat was a pink collar with a thin iridescent chain that was currently clenched around his tattooed knuckles to maneuver you as he saw fit. Satin lined ties binding your wrists in front of you so that he maintained full control. Looking so innocuous yet your head was filled with tons of equally disgusting thoughts. It was a fantasy he’d often dreamt about; watching a beautiful girl be domesticated just for him. Willing to cater to his every whim while looking absolutely stunning doing so. It was his birthday after all and you wanted to make it as special as possible. He did for you on the regular so it was only natural you return the favor. Even if it meant being fucked senseless on any surface at any given time, regardless of how exhausted you were! You’d been in the kitchen attempting to bake him a cake when he all but whisked you away and decided to take his treat early. Holding the end of that chain and making you crawl to him with that ass poking up in the air. He’d never seen something so sexy before in his entire life. If it wouldn’t have been such a damn shame, he would’ve combusted on the spot.

“Fuuuck..you’re doing so good, princess. Just like that..eat that fucking dick up f’r me. Oh my gosh..yes. You must want all of this cum, huh?”

seated on the bed before you, sporting nothing but black sweats that had been shuffled to his thighs with his legs spread far apart, Eren would gently tug that chain and buck his hips upward. Holding your head in place whilst meeting it with rough thrusts.

“Mmmph..fuck, of course you do. I’m just gonna keep fucking this pretty throat until I nut in it. You can take it..”

Peering over the rim of his glasses, Eren gazed down at you with full adoration..in complete awe of how you abandoned every ounce of your morals to please him. Needless to say, he was madly in love with you! He’d make good on his word when you’d feel that pulsating twitch and that same warm sensation gliding down from your jaws. Holding your head down and forcing you to swallow every drip of his seed. He’d begin to convulse and whimper, bucking his hips with a rough pace..spurting out strings of semen; even holding you in place to empty the remnants of his swollen balls into your mouth. He’d cry out, whimpering and moaning until his head would roll back onto his shoulders. For the moment, all he could do was laugh and be in awe of how amazing you were.

“Mmmm..shit. Lemme look at you..wanna see that pretty face covered.” That’s when he’d take his fingertip underneath your chin and hoist your face up. Only to be greeted by a beaming smile and those plump lips coated and smeared with precum and saliva. He’d mark your cheeks with a couple slaps before depressing your tongue using those digits and lobbying saliva into your mouth. Long strings and tiny speckles filled your tongue and you’d graciously beg for more.

“Harder, please.”

“Yeah? You like when I slap you, baby? Treat you like my little whore?..”

“Yes! Fuck..do it again.”

There was something insatiable about the both of you at the moment. The incessant urge to fuck his little toy and yours to get pounded into oblivion had reached its limit. Shoving those fingers in and out once more, he’d finally retract and replace it with his lips; pulling you into a sloppy kiss.

“C’mere..I gotta fuck you, like right now..” almost so desperate that it was adorable and funny. He’d hoist you by the restrained hands before placing you onto his mattress..pinning your legs back behind your head until you were folded. He’d grasp that chain tightly, kneeling down into the memory foam before tapping that juicy slit with the tip of his cock. It was aching and practically begging to feel your tight walls clenching around him.

“Pull my head down please..I love watching it slide in.” That sweet little voice of yours could sway him to commit murder if you desired it and without hesitation, he’d oblige. “Of course, gorgeous. Whatever you want.”

Taking that chain once more, he’d tug into you and have a perfect view of that shaft beginning to disappear between into that tight hole. Still a bit sensitive from that orgasm before, he’d make home inside of you before releasing a loud groan. You truly did bring out his worst. Leaning down, he’d clutch your throat and initiate another kiss before beginning to move. The sensation of that first thrust elicited a sharp gasp from you both simultaneously but staring into your eyes whilst getting to drill your shit was all the motivation he needed to push through.

“You’re so fucking tight..no wonder I can’t stop breeding you. Goddamn..”

(Y/N)’s breath would catch in your throat as those deep strokes slowly infiltrated your soft folds. The feeling was indescribable. That hard, thick cock stretching you open; swollen mushroom tip only inches away from your spot already and the result was silky cream pooling around his shaft. He wasn’t much in the way of being gentle today..he needed to break his pretty little slut! So much so, Eren had found himself with one foot planted on the bed in order to get deep as possible.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s the fucking spot. That pussy feels amazing…you’re creaming too..I love it.”

But he wasn’t the only one feeling the effects..as you were clawing at his abs with those bound wrists ringling around.

“You get me so fucking wet, I swear— ‘s so deep in me, gonna make me come..”

“You like when I dig you out, gorgeous? Look how you keep sucking me back in..”

“Yes daddy, I love it when you fuck this tight pussy.”

at that moment, drool would begin seeping down the corners of your mouth and that fucked out state would fall cast over your face; that tongue wagging and jolting. Your body jolted back and forth, meeting his thrusts..those veiny, inked hands groping your plump tits and ripping them out of the confines of that apron in a matter of seconds. He loved how soft and pillowy they looked bouncing around. He could remain in this like this forever with you and never grow tired. Fastening the grip on that chain, Eren would pull you closer once more and quicken his pace. He’d speed up and feed you deeper, much rougher strokes.

“And I love when you call me that…makes me wanna get your pretty ass pregnant. That’ll be the best present ever.”

letting out a soft cackle, he’d shove his fingers in your mouth..thrusting them in and out to pacify your loud moans. It was honestly such a beautiful sight..watching the subtle tears flow down your cheek and that smile stretch across your lips. He wanted this to be the memory imprinted in his mind when he thought back to his birthday. Seeing you happy, those sweet eyes staring back at him full of adoration and lust, not to mention getting the privilege of doing all of these salacious things with you.

“But first, I need you to come on this dick, baby..make that shit squirt for me.” In a subtle motion, he’d reach down to unfasten your rope, freeing your hands for the sole purpose of aiding him. Those rough strokes began to penetrate your spot to draw it forth. Meanwhile, he didn’t even need to instruct you on what to do next.

“There you go, rub that fucking clit, bitch. Get yourself there f’r me.” Fully aware of just how turned on being called out of your name got you. He certainly didn’t make a habit of it outside of sex but here, nothing was off limits and he knew that you’d do anything to please him. So much so, that you’d plead for more strings of saliva in between your jaws to slicken up that swollen bud. Your chest, still being groped by his palms, began to heave and you’d cry out his name as you felt that climax only seconds away from barreling out.

“Oh God! ‘m coming, daddy, fuck fuck!—“ in that moment, it was as if everything in the room faded to black and the world stopped moving momentarily. The only thing you could feel was a damp warmth forming underneath you as those streams of juices spilled all over the place. Shooting directly against his abs and so powerful, it sent that plug flying out of your other entrance.

“Aw, there you go, baby, I know. I know it feels amazing..you earned that nut, you’ve worked so hard for it.” Talking you through that insane orgasm as you struggled to come back to reality. Once you did however, you’d find yourself rewarded with a barrage of sloppy kisses. Whispering sweet nothings and ‘I love you’s’ through the sound of your soft cries, he'd wipe those tears from underneath your eyes and make certain that you were alright.

“Here, let’s take a break. Let me grab you some water.” Traipsing over to the nightstand as he struggled to capture his own breath. Retrieving the cool liquid, he’d tilt it back and let it flow into your mouth..swallowing the much needed source of hydration.

“Good girl, there you go. Just breathe for me..” that deep voice so stern yet comforting. It was no wonder you fell apart and would give anything to live in his skin!

“I-I’m sorry! I came so hard—“ but he was quick to denounce your apology. You’d done nothing but everything he’d asked today, even at the expense of his own bedsheets. Gently caressing yiur cheek, Eren would chuckle and reassure you that it was all fine. Because not only was this the best celebration he could’ve possibly asked for…

“..hey, it’s alright, princess. You’ve been incredible. Please don’t be sorry, I’m so proud of you right now. I love you so much. Thank you for making this birthday so special.”

but because little did you know…

“Besides, we’ve got plenty of time for you to rest. I’m just getting started..I haven’t even gotten the chance to do all of the nasty shit I want to. Just wait.”

there was a lot more in store!

[beasangel]

the quiet between us

⤷ Joel Miller x youngerfem!reader | age gap

💭 “I ain’t gonna be good at this,” he said. “I’ve done a lot of bad. I don’t know how to be what you need.”

summary : he’s too old for her, too haunted by the past to let himself feel, but he does anyway. She’s too young to be carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, too stubborn to stay away from the one person who makes her feel safe.

warnings: injury (stabbed), light smut, age gap.

joel masterlist main masterlist

my first time writing smut so idk how i feel about it

You were twenty-six when you first met Joel Miller.

He was… not what you expected.

You’d heard his name whispered around town like a cautionary tale. Ellie’s guardian. Tommy’s brother. The man who walked across half the country with nothing but a gun, a girl, and a mission.

He was older. Weathered. Eyes like flint and a voice that could make people flinch. And when he looked at you for the first time, it was sharp assessing. Like he was trying to figure out if you were going to be a problem.

You weren’t. You didn’t want to be. You were just tired. You’d been on the road since you were nineteen—too young to have seen what you did, too old now to pretend you hadn’t.

Tommy offered you shelter. A bed. A patrol schedule.

Joel offered you silence.

You didn’t mean to care about him. But then you started getting paired up for patrols.

He didn’t like that at first. Said you were too green, even though you'd proven otherwise a dozen times over. You didn’t argue. Just kept showing up. Bleeding, bruised, breathing.

At first, he barely spoke to you outside of missions. “Watch your six.” “Stay low.” “You good?”

No softness. Just the rhythm of someone who’d been doing this too long to waste breath.

But you noticed things anyway.

How he always walked a half-step ahead. How he double-checked your ammo count when he thought you weren’t looking. How he’d never let you take the first watch on patrol nights. It wasn’t kindness exactly. It was… guilt. Protection. Like he’d decided that if you died on his watch, it would be one too many.

You were used to people brushing you off. Too young to be listened to. Too old to be coddled. But Joel? He didn’t brush you off. He watched you. He remembered things you said.

And when he let you patch a wound on his shoulder after a firefight, his eyes never left yours.

That was the first time you thought: he feels it too.

-

The age thing was always there.

Not in the way people stared—Jackson wasn’t like that—but in the way he held it. Quiet, heavy. Like a weight he carried between you.

You weren’t a kid. You were grown, capable, had seen more than anyone should. But still, when you laughed, Joel’s expression would twist—like it made him ache. Like it reminded him of a life he lost.

It happened after a patrol gone wrong. You and Joel had been paired together, again.

This time, it was a group of raiders on the road to the old hydro station. Too many, too fast. You both fought hard, but you took a knife to the side before Joel dragged you out of there, blood soaking through your shirt, your voice cracking with pain as you half-collapsed behind an abandoned truck.

He pressed down on the wound with his jacket, his hands surprisingly gentle. “Stay with me,” he said, voice rough. “Hey, hey. Look at me.”

You looked. Not because he told you to, but because you wanted to. His eyes were wild, scared, and that scared you more than the pain.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he muttered. “Just—fuck. Don’t do that again. Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I didn’t exactly plan on it,” you whispered, trying to laugh. You regretted it instantly.

“You think this is funny?” he snapped. Then softer, almost a whisper: “You can’t die. You hear me?”

You did hear him. And not just the words.

-

You woke up in the infirmary to find him still there, face drawn with days of sleepless worry.

When you tried to thank him, he just shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be this important,” he said quietly. “You’re too young. You’ve got time.”

You sat up, chest tight. “None of us have time, all this is just extra.”

He turned away. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.”

And Joel - strong, stubborn, selfless Joel - still couldn’t look at you. “You deserve more than a man who’s got one foot in the grave.”

You laughed, wet and bitter. “You think I don’t know what this world is? We all do, I don’t care about age. I care about you. You’re the only thing that’s made me feel safe in years.”

That made him pause. Then finally, finally, he sat beside you, hand curling around yours with a gentleness that nearly undid you.

“I ain’t gonna be good at this,” he said. “I’ve done a lot of bad. I don’t know how to be what you need.”

You leaned in, eyes searching his. “You already are.”

-

He was waiting by the door when the nurse cleared her to leave days later, arms crossed tight over his chest like he was trying to hold something in. She moved slower than usual, still sore, but he stepped forward before she could reach for her things.

“I’ll take you,” he said, quiet but firm. She didn’t argue.

Outside, the cold bit through her jacket, but Joel walked close, hand hovering at the small of her back like he wanted to touch her but didn’t quite let himself. Not here. Not yet. Not when every step toward her house felt like crossing some invisible line.

 She glanced up at him once, searching, but he kept his eyes ahead, like if he looked too long, she’d see everything he was trying not to say.

When they reached her door, he opened it for her, stood in the threshold like he didn’t know if he was supposed to go in or walk away. And she just looked at him, soft and tired and still a little wrecked, and said, “You can come in.”

 So he did.

The door had barely shut behind you when Joel pressed you back against it, slow, not rushed, like he needed to make sure this wasn’t a dream. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“You sure?” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“I’ve been sure,” you whispered back. “Just needed you to be.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, more urgent. His hands slid down to your waist, drawing you in, and when your fingers tugged his flannel open, he didn’t stop you. His breath hitched when your hands touched bare skin. Scarred, solid, warm.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, tracing a long-healed mark on his ribs.

He shook his head like he didn’t believe you, but the way he looked at you said he wanted to.

You ended up in your bed, half-undressed, tangled in each other, lit only by the soft golden spill of the bedside lamp. Joel took his time. Like he didn’t know if he’d get another chance.

His fingers were careful on your skin, unbuttoning your shirt slowly, pausing only when you shivered. You weren’t nervous, just overwhelmed. His eyes never left yours, even as he leaned down to press warm, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs.

“You tell me to stop,” he said, voice gravel and heat, “and I will.”

“I won’t,” you breathed. “I want you, Joel.”

His hands slid beneath the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down as his mouth followed. When his tongue slid between your folds, slow and deliberate, your hips bucked instinctively. He held you in place, groaning against you, and kept going, torturously slow, then faster when you whimpered his name.

He didn’t stop until you came against his mouth, panting, one hand fisted in his hair and the other gripping the sheets.

Joel crawled up your body and kissed you like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Still with me?” he rasped, thumb brushing your lip.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I need you. Please.”

He slid a condom on, your heart caught at the way his hands trembled slightly, and lined himself up, pausing just long enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“This okay?” he asked.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in. “Better than okay.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you just right. You gasped into his mouth, and Joel groaned low in his throat, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Fuck- you feel so good,” he murmured, “so tight, so warm…”

He moved carefully at first, like he was savouring every second. You moved with him, hips rolling, hands gripping his back. The drag of his body against yours, the quiet, desperate sounds slipping from both your lips, it was overwhelming in the best way.

“Joel,” you whimpered. “Please.”

“Please what, baby?”

“Harder. I can take it.”

He growled softly, thrusting deeper, slow and rough and just right. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, and he kissed your throat, your jaw, your mouth, whispering your name like it meant something holy.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t frenzied.

It was real.

When you came again, he followed, grinding deep inside you with a ragged groan, like the sound had been ripped out of him.

After, he held you.

Not out of obligation. Not because he didn’t know what else to do.

But because he wanted to.

His fingers traced lazy circles along your spine. Your face was tucked into the crook of his neck, his scent—sweat, smoke, skin—like something permanent.

“Was that okay?” he asked softly.

You laughed, a little breathless. “Yeah Joel. That was okay.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“Then I guess I gotta make sure it wasn’t the last time.”

[rosenclaws]

Don't hide from me || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You get hurt on a mission and hide it from Logan. Safe to say he is not happy with you.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, talk of violence, blood, and injury

wc: 3k

a/n: Hi guys, tw for pet death but we had to put my childhood dog to sleep today. He was 16 and he had a good life but it's rough. Writing has always helped me so I just sat down and wrote today. I'm always a sucker for this kind of trope and I also have trouble asking for help so this was born. Idk if I like the ending but I always struggle with those so oopsie

This was not how you imagined your first mission to go. You had assumed it would be easy, boring in fact. It was supposed to be boring. Maybe a little fighting here or there but nothing serious.

Well you were sorely mistaken. Your hand puts pressure on your side as you lean against a tree. The rough bark digging into the cuts on your suit. You wince as you look down to see a massive gash right in your stomach.

"Fuck." Your breath is labored as you slowly slide down the tree. You don't heal like some of the other mutants can. In fact your powers were relatively tame compared to others but you were still an asset to the team.

You had been training for months and months. Learning to control your sparks into blasts of energy and manipulate the electricity around you. You had never been more excited to receive your suit. Handed to you by Logan himself after your final training day.

The proud look on his face made your whole body fill with butterflies. Logan had been your biggest help. He was a very distracting teacher though due to the fact that he's your boyfriend too but if anything that made him push you harder.

"Come on sweetheart, you need to do better than that." He says with a smirk. He's barely broken a sweat while you've been giving it a hundred and ten percent.

"Fuck off." You huff as you lay down on the mat. Body exhausted from the hours of training.

"You're getting better. Just need to keep working." He steps over you, bending down and holding out his hand.

"One more time and we're done." He helps you up and kisses your forehead. Walking back to his spot he raises his arms and braces himself.

"Hit me." Taking a deep breath you channel all your power to your fingertips. Feeling the jolts of power start to form. With all your strength you fire right at Logan. To your surprise it hits him square in the chest and sends him flying into the wall.

"Logan!" You run over to him but he's already up by the time you make it. A big smile on his face as he wraps his arms around you. A burst of pride in your chest as he kisses you sweetly.

"I knew you could do it."

It made it even sweeter when you were finally deemed ready to join them. You were ready. You wanted to prove to all of them that you could do it but most of all you wanted to show Logan.

Show him that all his extra training helped and that you were strong and you could do this on your own. He had always shown a slight worry about you joining the team. He says it's because he's worried and protective but a small part of your brain tells you it's because he thinks you can't do it. That you're not ready.

So this. Well it almost felt embarrassing. The mission was nothing new to the rest of the team but to you it was overwhelming. Fighting with everything you had and sometimes it felt like it wasn’t enough. You took out soldier after soldier but they kept coming. But you were fine. You never asked for backup. Convincing yourself that you could do this. Thinking back to all your long days in the simulation and wiping away any doubt that lingered in your head.

Logan had left your side early on much to his reluctance so you were on your own. You were too focused on the guy in front of you that you didn't notice the man sneaking behind you. You cried out in pain as he dug his knife into your side.

Without thinking you blast him far away, taking out the guy in front of you too. Pure adrenaline courses through you as you run to safety. Now you're here, the sounds of fighting still rage on behind you. Blood is seeping onto your hand at a faster rate than normal.

"Okay. Okay. Okay okay." Sorry Professor but you'll fix your suit later. Your sleeve was already torn so you tear the rest as much of it as you can off. Turning it into one long strip of fabric. You unzip the top of your suit to get to the wound. They briefly taught you how to patch up injuries more akin to scratches not stab wounds. You tie the fabric tightly around your waist. You groan as the pressure shoots a sharp pain through your body. The sounds of fighting were dying down.

You know you should tell someone but the last thing you wanted was to be taken off the team after your first mission. You wanted to make them proud. You loved being on the team.

The injury isn't that bad, if you could just make it back to the mansion you would be fine. Patch it up with the right material and then sleep it off. Thank god you and Logan didn't share a room. Fuck. Logan. He was going to kill you but what he didn't know won't hurt him.

Just this once.

Zipping up your suit again you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself. Just make it back to the mansion. You walk as best you can back to the jet. Your limping, favoring your non injured side and it's incredibly obvious. Still you put a smile on your face. The team clocks your ripped sleeve immediately. Logan scowls as you get closer making you shiver. Or maybe that was from the blood loss.

"So how was that for your first mission?" Scott beams as he walks over to you. He slaps his hand onto your shoulder and you wince.

"Good. Is it always like this?" He notices something's off but doesn't say anything. Instead he keeps his hand on your shoulder as he guides you back to the jet.

"You alright Sparks? What happened to your suit." He asks when you get closer.

"Long story, some guy ripped it and when I ran to the forest it got caught and just. tore away." You lie right through your teeth.

"Don't worry we'll fix it when we get back." Ororo smiles and you thank god they bought it. Well almost everyone bought it.

As you head up the ramp you feel a hand on your side. Your whole body tenses as pain shoots through your side. You bite your lip hard to keep yourself from screaming. You recognize the hand as Logan's as his wide chest bumps against your back.

"You alright sweetheart?" He asks, a skeptical look on his face as you wave his hand off.

"Yeah, just really tired." You sigh as you sit in a chair.

Some relief spreads through your body as you subtly press the arm of the chair into your side. Putting more pressure as you feel the blood soak through your makeshift bandage. He narrows his eyes as he inspects you like an animal. Your heart picks up as he places both hands on either arm rest, caging you in as he leans close.

"What are you doing?" You shrink under his intense look. He sniffs and a low growl emits from his throat.

"I smell blood. Somethings wrong." Fuck. He's caught you. The rest of the team starts to file back in.

"Yeah there's blood on everyone's suit, there's blood on you." You mumble as an excuse.

"Down boy, we're taking off so take a seat." Scott says. Logan stays put for just a moment longer before he finally backs off, flipping Scott the middle claw as he takes the seat behind you.

You can feel his eyes burning in the back of your head the whole flight home. You were sweating, body on fire as you focused on your breathing. The pain was getting worse and you wanted to cry for help. But you were determined to prove yourself here.

Your brain wasn't exactly working right either. Too focused on not throwing up to think logically. Finally the jet lands. You're so close. Just a little longer. Logan moves to go right back to your side but gets pulled away. You can vaguely hear him telling someone to fuck off as you stumble out of the jet.

You feel like a zombie as you walk back to your room. Stomach growing sick as you struggle to stay awake. Sweat pours down your face, body screaming for help as you barely make it to your room. Your vision goes in and out. The darkness calling to you as you swing open your door. That sounds nice, you can just close your eyes and sleep. Yeah. Then you can fix yourself up. Your vision goes black. The last thing you remember is someone yelling your name.

-

The first thing you notice when you come back to consciousness is how much your body hurts. The second thing was the hand that was holding yours tightly. Clearly you weren't in your room anymore. This bed is too uncomfortable and it smells too much like antiseptic.

The lab. You were in a hospital bed in the lab which means that someone found you which can only mean that Logan knew and you were in so much trouble. Maybe if you keep your eyes closed you can just go back to sleep. The urge to avoid the consequences of your actions was strong but you knew you couldn't. You lied and now you have to deal with it.

Surprisingly it's dim when you open your eyes. The ugly florescent lighting was off in favor of a few candles and a soft lamp. The hand holding yours twitched, holding you tighter. Looking to your side you see Logan laying his head on the bed. Guilt seeps into your soul when you see him there.

"Glad to see you awake." A soft voice says from the door.

"Jean." You sheepishly say. She flicks on the lights and you squint your eyes at the bright light.

"You're lucky that Logan found you when he did." Her voice is gentle but there's anger hidden behind it.

"I'm sorry. I thought." You sigh and look at Logan who was still sleeping.

"I thought I could handle it. I just wanted to be one of you guys." "You already were one of us, but we're just glad you're okay." She checks your vitals once more in silence.

"Am I in trouble?" You ask nervously.

"Yes." Another voice makes your heart jump, the monitor picking it up with a massive spike.

"Logan honey I-" He holds up his hand and silently asks Jean to leave. She gives you one last smile before leaving the two of you alone.

"Don't. Don't you dare." You shrink into the bed as speaks.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"I-"

"Hiding a fucking stab wound? For what? Exactly what did you think would happen here!" He raises his voice and you look down in shame.

"You are benched. Permanently." He growls, standing up and storming towards the door.

"What! Logan you can't do that."

"Fuck yes I can. Do you understand how stupid it was for you to hide an injury like that? How irresponsible you were!"

"I thought I could handle it!" The machines near you started to go haywire as you yelled back.

"I thought you were dead!" You go silent as the anger fades, he clenches his fists tightly.

"I smelled the blood and I knew something was wrong. The whole time I knew it. There was a trail of blood to your room and I ran and ran and when I finally got there." He pauses. Not even wanting to say the next thought.

"I'm sorry." You whisper.

You reach out for him but he just stares at you. A painful expression on his face as his eyes zero in on the prominent scar on your side. He shakes his head, turning away and walking out the door.

"Logan please." You beg for him to come back but he doesn't.

The lab is silent and lonely. Jean comes back to check on you, comforting you as you silently cry. All you want is for Logan to come back but he never did.

At least not while you were awake. In the mornings there were traces of Logan. His jacket is left on your bed the one you always steal to cuddle with. Snacks are waiting by your table. Little things to show you had still been there. Just not when you were awake.

It was only a couple days later that you were finally discharged. The Professor had called you to his office, letting you know that you were benched until you had fully recovered and you nodded in understanding. You can feel the stares of the rest of the mansion on you as you walk back to your room.

You've apologized over and over to the team and they welcomed you back with open arms. Begging you to never scare them like that again. Your mind wanders and your feet seem to think on their own as you find yourself in front of Logan's door.

All you want is for him to hold you and to tell you it's okay. Before you can knock on the door it swings open. There he stands in all his glory. He stares at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. It takes you by surprise but you hug him back tighter. You wince as he pushes a little too hard on your side and he lets go instantly. You don't want to let go, he's been gone for days and you need him.

"I'm here to apologize." You say.

"I'm sorry for not saying anything. I was afraid that you would think I'm weak." It hurts to admit but he needs to know the truth. Asking for help has never been your strong suit.

"That I wasn't strong enough and all I wanted was to prove to you that I could do it. I wanted you to be proud of me." You wait for any response but all he does is look at you. Silently he guides you to his bed. Wrapping a blanket around your shoulders that smells like him.

"When I found you, you weren't moving. There was so much blood. You were barely breathing." He shivers at the memory.

He doesn't think he'll ever get the smell of your blood and the sight of you sprawled out on the ground out of his mind. It's burned there. Every time he closes his eyes he sees it. He ran through the mansion. Begging for help with you in his arms.

They kicked him out once he brought you to the lab. He was close to breaking down the damn doors. He had super strength and a raging healing factor but he'd never felt so powerless before. When they finally let him back in he rushed to the bed. He never left your side. Watching and waiting for you to wake up. Begging you to wake up.

Was this his fault? If he had been by your side would he have been able to help? Or is this just the price of this life. To be a mutant and having to fight just to live. Losing you was not an option but it was becoming a reality he had to accept was possible.

"I'm always proud of you. Doesn't matter what you do. I'm always proud." You tug on his tank top and pull him close.

Kissing him with a soft passion, a desire, an apology. He carefully lowers you down to the bed. He lays you on your side as he deepens the kiss, hand ghosting over the scar as he tangles his limbs with yours.

"I'm so sorry Logan." You bury your head in his chest.

It feels so good to be by his side again. He tilts your head up to look at him. He grows serious as he brushes your cheek gently. You're alive but there's still a horrible worry inside of him. Though he doesn't think that will ever go away. Not as long as he loves you and he's never going to stop doing that.

"Don't ever do something like this again. I'm serious sweetheart, I can't lose you."

"You won't." You can't promise him that. Not at all. Bad things happen to those he loves but he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to you. You yawn and cuddle closer to his side.

"How can I still be so tired after sleeping for so long?"

"You really hurt yourself sweetheart," He glances at your side. Knowing that under the blanket was a scar that would never fade. A constant reminder of his own failure to protect you.

"I'm sorry for leaving," He knows it was a dick move to leave has he had done but he couldn't take it. He was so angry. So afraid.

"Just don't leave me again." You say sleepily. His arms wrap around you, his hand rubbing your back soothingly until you fall asleep. He watches you for a while. Not tired himself but keeping his promise of staying with you.

"I was so scared," He admits to no one but himself.

He rests his chin on your head. The sound of your heartbeat echoes in his ears. The sweet reminder that you're okay. He closes his eyes as the nightmares in his mind return. Seeing your lifeless body. The blood. All of it. He tries to shake them away but the thoughts still linger.

"Please, don't leave me. I love you too much to let you go." He whispers his plea to himself, to you, to whoever is listening.

He kisses the top of your head and you smile in your sleep. The comfort of Logan reaching your dreams. That's good enough for him, as long as you're okay. That's all he needs.

[cybrasigilism]

Hi!! I’ve been reading a few of your works and I love your writing sm!! I’ve never done a request to a writer before, so I hope I’m not too vague or ambiguous (but I’m thinking what I’m about to ask could be TOO specific 💀), but I wanted to request an NSFW writing of Choi Su-Bong (Thanos) as a sub (and if you can, could you add a thing or two about edging him and/or overstimming him?). Personally, I’d preferably have them written as headcanons BUT whatever works best for you is most important, so I won’t mind whatever you decide to do :)

And if you’re uncomfortable with the request, ofc feel free to ignore! I appreciate it in advance if you do decide to write it, and I do hope you have a lovely day ❤️❤️

you won’t ever catch me turning down a thanos request, not while i live and breathe 😈🙏

TYSM FOR YOUR KIND WORDS BTW!! hopefully i did your vision justice :>

Submissive Headcanons! (Thanos/Choi Su-Bong/Player 230)

warning: smut and all things of the like (if you’re not used to seeing this warning on my page idk what to tell you) | not proofread | lowercase intended | sub!thanos | overstimulation | edging | begging | mommy kink if you squint | these are my headcanons for this character, please be respectful even if my opinions on the character differ from your own

character: thanos/choi su-bong (player 230)

A/N: we as a squid game society need more sub!thanos content, i’m happy to contribute my fair share. idk if this is ooc or not, because honestly i can see this guy being a total switch, but do with that what you will! enjoy :3 (lowkey running out of gifs for these stinkabutts) PS this may not be a read for you if mommy kink stuff makes you uncomfortable! i have many other thanos works that don’t contain that bc i know its not everyone’s cup of tea, i just thought it fit for these specific headcanons

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, readers discretion is advised

  ———‿‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿‿———

➤ thanos did not strike you as the submissive type, the absolute 180 that his personality made from the public eye to the bedroom was so drastic you could have gotten whiplash

➤ he will for sure be on his knees for you, both literally and figuratively. this man will do anything you ask of him, just as long as it means he gets to please you.

➤ he’s definitely the type to beg. he’ll give you the puppy dog eyes and go the whole nine yards if you agree to let him between your legs

➤ makes the most whorish sounds when you fuck him, especially when you praise him, even if its the smallest thing. even if you say something as simple as “right there, fuck yeah” he’ll be all over that shit, thanking you for letting him please you like that

➤ speaking of his moans, he gets quite high pitched when you guys get into it. i’m not talking anything crazy, just a lot higher than what you could have been expecting.

➤ some of the things you may expect thanos to say while you guys fuck can include:

“oh god, please keep fucking my cock, just like that”

“am i making you feel good, mommy? yeah?”

will straight up just call you mommy through his whimpers and whines if he’s too far gone

➤ goes crazy when you give him hickeys or bite his neck at any point that you can, whether it be before you guys have even stripped, as your jerking him off or while your actively grinding on his dick, he can’t get enough of it

➤ cries during rough sex, no further questions

➤ needs you to be touching him at all points of the sexual journey, loves when you rest your hands on his shoulders/chest as you ride him

➤ likes getting whipped THAT DAMN WIND AGAIN—

➤ goes ballistic when you pull his hair, the slutty sounds really show up then

➤ acts like he doesn’t like being edged, but he’s a sucker for it.

“fuck please…mommy just let me cum, oh fuck”

“i’ll do anything, i just need it so bad, i wan’ it p-lease”

➤ loves when you restrain him, it can be with anything. handcuffs, rope, your own two hands, ANYTHING

➤ choke him when he’s close, better yet, choke him while you edge him.

➤ he will cry when being overstimulated (trust you guys have a safeword set in place for overstimulating, as can be said for any other experimenting)

➤ loves physical touch during aftercare, it doesn’t have to be straight up cuddling, but just you touching/caressing him in any way at all

———‿‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿‿———

thanks so much for reading! as per usual, any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested!

have a fantastic night/day lovelies 💌

tags: @gongyoosgf @kvstjwonnie @pink-apples001 @fiicalapsiholoaga

[millersfinest]

can u make some like generic dating ellie headcannons? (tlou universe preferably)

i love ur writing sm!!

dating ellie williams ◡̈

cw: usual fluff, mentioned love languages, mention of joel’s death (i wanted to be as canon as possible), a little nsfw but nothing too crazy.

note: here are some semi-ooc ellie hc’s!! i feel like im so bad at headcanons, but here you go. thank you for enjoying my work, i hope you like this too pookie!

ellie! is a total introvert to her core, so no matter how she found out about you taking interest in her… she’d probably need some time to think about it.

ellie! would have you freaking tf out over it too. but she means well, she’s just a really bad over-thinker—never wanting to say the wrong thing. but she’d come around and never stop apologizing to you.

ellie! would take a little while to open up to you, if you weren’t friends first. she’s been through a lot in her life, and she fears that her trauma could scare people away.

now, if you were already friends (specifically close friends), you probably would’ve already known her deepest darkest secrets and feelings by the time you started dating. every traumatic event and every fixation she’s had since she was a child.

ellie! thoroughly believes in physical touch and quality time as a love language.

for physical touch: it doesn’t always have to be sexual (she doesn’t complain either way), she just likes to touch you—knowing you’re right there next to her. you could be doing the dishes and she’d come up behind you, leaning her head on your shoulder, with her hands delicately placed on your hips. or standing by the bar at the tipsy bison, with her fingers dipped into any of the pockets of your jeans. keeping you close.

for quality time: she does love her moments alone, but they’re always better with you somewhere near by. sometimes, when she would spend hours painting or drawing in her art room, she’d ask if you could come sit in. so you’d bring your book, or whatever you were doing, and read silently in the same room as her. while a smooth record played in the background. but sometimes, she doesn’t even ask. you could be doing the most boring thing ever, and she’d float around you like a curious bumblebee.

ellie! love, love, loves being babied—even though she’d never admit it. she has a reputation to uphold, of course. during the spring, due to the patrols and supply runs, her allergies would wreck havoc on her. that’s where you come in to nurture her back to health. she’d have tissue stuck up her nose, with her head lying in your lap on the couch. you rubbing your hand over her hair, soothingly.

“if you kiss me right now, i think my sinuses will re-open.”

“ellie, you just sneezed two minutes ago.”

“baby, pleaseeeee! i need it!” and she’d give the craziest puppy dog eyes known to man. and, of course, you’d give in. giving her the sweetest smooch ever. it didn’t open her sinuses, but she knew that. just know… she’s gonna convince you to give her another to be sure.

another scenario would be coming home after a long day at work (idk i feel like doing patrols would be like her main thing). she probably had a rough day with the lingering infected, and came back with a few injuries. the moment she stepped through the door, she’d be calling for you. wrapped in your arms, smelling like the outdoors, you’d slowly undress her and then run a bath. she loved when you’d cater to her in that way—cleaning her cuts, washing her skin from dried blood and dirt. after all that, you’d cuddle in bed, pillow-talking until her eyes shut before yours.

“goodnight, els.” smooch.

ellie! was a little iffy when it came to holidays, but when it came to your birthday it was a special affair. jackson was a healthy and happy little bubble, but because the idea of loss wasn’t foreign to her—celebrating her loved ones was very important to her.

if you didn’t like grand gestures, she’d keep it lowkey. maybe throwing a little surprise for the two of you at home; cooking you dinner, having a movie night, and giving you little trinkets she found on the road. or painting something for you in secret, then giving it to you as a gift.

speaking of cooking…

ellie! has thing for making good food. a part of me feels like joel put her on when she was young, and after he died (yeah, i’m sorry) she made an effort to keep it up. playing guitar was much harder for her since she only had two fingers and a thumb on her left hand—so she decided to pick up something else to stay close to him.

so every chance she can get, she cooks for you or both of you. when you would go on patrols, you’d make sure to pick up cook books from before the outbreak since she found them so fascinating. and you loved being her little food guinea pig. spoiler: she was a fast learner so her cooking skills were pretty good.

ellie! 100% taught you to play the song (that we all know and love) that joel taught her on the guitar. and whenever you knew she needed to hear it, you’d play it for her. and, i swear on everything, there’d be tears in her eyes every time.

and for some freaky stuff… (i won’t get into crazy detail but i just wanna be thorough ;D)

ellie! just loves loving you… making love to you—doing everything that she can to almost prove that you’re everything to her (not that she needs to but she does it anyway).

meaning: at the very best, she’s a service!top. however, i can get behind her being a switch/verse (or maybe i’m bias lmao).

ellie! probably wouldn’t strap as often as the fanfics show. especially being in this apocalyptic world—where would you get them?? if they weren’t hella old… and, i feel like she’d think they were a little silly (but if you wanted to try it, she’d oblige because what you say goes).

ellie! loves to watch the expressions of your features contort into visuals of pleasure. it’s how she knew she was being good for you—doing everything that you asked but better!

your first time: of course she was super awkward. not really knowing where to put her hands at first. but once the heat began to rise, and your bodies began to press together, her entire energy changed! she’s her most confident when she’s in service to someone (in some way)—so she makes it her prerogative to make you feel good and comfortable. you weren’t really expecting that from her, though. it only took one airy moan coming from your lips for her to completely flip the script.

her hands were firmly delicate, and she made sure to be very vocal in your ears and over your body.

overall, ellie williams is a very attentive lover. in many ways than just one.

[antidesire]

specialize in havin' fun. antidesire

disclaimer, 18+ only. f!reader x logan howlett, logan is ancient so obvi age gap? idk who this is for, what am i doing? think im the dick-sucking writer, i seem to always write about it. no established relationship, reader and logan fool around but reader is head over heels for him. this is just porn, I didn't intend to write logan so rough I think I went off the rails. roughness, a lil non-con??? forcefulness, oral m! receiving, boot.. fucking >:), saliva, desperate!reader, pet names, hair pulling, I haven't written in so long I forgot how to tag, lmk if I miss anything, sorry this is garbage babe.

reblogging, interacting and sending feedback is always much appreciated, requests are open !! ♡

logan's boots hit the stony pavement with a thud, leg swinging over the body of his motorcycle, propping it up diligently. what a fucking day, with a sharp inhale, he tried to shrug off any lingering thoughts that were worming around his brain.

your apartment was a humble and homely one, sure, sometimes the water would either scald you or, leave you falling on your ass when it blasted you with an ice-cold wake-up call, but you had decent neighbours, ones that didn't pry, or make a lot of noise, lot's of privacy, logan liked that, though he'd put up with anything for a night with you.

though this habit of leaving your door unlatched because you expected him, was something he didn't want to put up with, had he not taught you better?

"told you not to do that.." logan mummers under his breath, lord knows any fucker that tried to creep into the naively sweet girl's apartment, is one dead fucker.

pushing the door open, he was greeted with the familiar warmth of the living room, a chiffon scarf with tassels draped over the lamp on the tableside, drenching the room in tranquillity, candlelight flickering to compliment the dimly lit ambiance, he almost slammed the front door shut, as though the outside would taint it if it got too long of a look.

like a domino effect, just the click of the door scrambled you to your feet, tripping over the blanket thrown over your shoulders, "logan!" your hush whisper sounded just as excited as every other time he walked through the door, as though it was a script you followed.

"hey bab- ouh," logan huffed out, your head smacking against his chest first, your arms following in quick succession, squeezing tightly around his chest, "one day you're gonna give yourself a concussion doin' that."

muffled laughs vibrated against his chest. when you breathed in you could smell the gasoline on his clothing, and that cologne he wore, smelt earthy, woody, and a little citrus too.

impatient as always when it came to overtaking all your senses with the man you were enamored with, your fingers find the bulkiest part of logan's arms, not nearly enough length on them to get close to fully engulfing the meaty muscle of them, you squeezed and forced them both around your upper waist, encouraging him to hold you tighter, you wanted to feel light-headed with him.

if you could see the soppy smile that stretched on his face, eyes wrinkled with delight, you would've pounced further on him, "how do you do it?" your head raised at his question, chin digging uncomfortably into his sternum, he continues, "exist when i'm not here for you to love up on me?" logan's fingers tapped up your back, under the shirt of his you were adorned in, the blanket you had over you, long forgotten about.

your cheeks puffed out and lips parted, but only an exhale left them. you quickly shook your head, only nudging into him for more comfort.

“c’mere,” it was quite comical because any closer would’ve been impossible, though you craved it, with a push under your chin, logan leaned down, and without another beat he pushed his lips to yours, his thumb, followed by a trickling of his fingers trailing downwards along your neck, resting his grip mindfully there, as though the kiss hadn’t dazed you enough.

hoo boy, you were easy.

logan had years on him- years was an understatement, and you, this doe-eyed girl, hopelessly head over heels to please him, it was dangerous, logan felt guilty, soiling such a deer.

it was perverse.

it was perverse when he first rammed into you and you choked out the cutest little sob he had ever heard, eyes flooding with fat tears, he had tensed himself, so much restraint it took out of him to even think about pulling out after all the effort it took to push his cock inside you, you’d noticed and in a bit of a panic, “no- nonono.” your legs raised up and around his hips, the heels of your feet pushing against his back, “keep— hngh, stay, can do it.. i can do it.” your breath was so unsteady, “please.” and who was he to deny such a brave girl?

and now when he felt your lips part, trying to sloppily catch up with his own, fingers fumbling awkwardly at the lower hem of his raggedy white tank top, it was perverse.

it didn’t have to go like this every time, but it did, it got out of control, and fast, every single damn time.

logan's beard was dark, mostly, with little flecks of grey if you looked close enough. it scratched your pretty face deliciously when you pushed up further into the kiss, your hands exposing his tanned midriff, wandering upward to his chest, covered in coarse hair, you squeezed his flesh under your greedy fingertips every time you grazed over his waist.

the last thing logan would ever tell you to do was slow down, as much as he reveled in control, seeing you like this, your thoughts at the back of your mind, all action and no consequence, just what feels good, it was euphoric for him.

his nose prodded against yours as his tongue invaded your mouth, the sound of wet lips smacking and breaths hitching, you only let up when a sharp twinge of pain jolted at your scalp, logan's grip from your neck had moved up toward your hair, a bunched handful that arched your body delightfully against his own.

just sometimes, he'd have to nod you in a direction, when you got all fuzzy in the head for him you would've been feeling up on him with your tongue down his throat until your knee's buckled- just a little nod.

with another tug, you let logan maneuver you to the floor, not so gracefully when your knees thudded against the wood, but you didn't flinch, making quick work of his leather belt, the thing was heavy, a big brass oval buckle being the obstacle between him being down your throat already.

logan ever so kindly helped when he tugged the rest of the belt through the loops, it clattering to the ground beside his boots, next came the pop of his button and a quick push of the zipper downwards, flickering his eyes to where you were sitting, knees squashed underneath you, palms on each side of his thighs, and big pupils ghosting over his fingers.

"look at me baby." his thumb prodded at your bottom lip, inviting it to slip past and rest on your tongue, your eyes blinking up at logan, and your head tilting a little when your fingers scrunched the denim of his jeans.

his thumb pushed against your tongue and his finger hooked under your chin, pulling you into him until your cheek smushed into his abdomen and he retracted his hand, pushing his strained cock against your mouth.

you darted your tongue out and felt the texture of his briefs against it, eager fingers nudging the elastic down just enough to get him out of the fabric, barely letting his cock twitch as it met the air, a line of open-mouthed kisses trailing from the underside of his cock, hazily trailing the vein your tongue searched for, the one that leads straight up to his tip.

“s’like you’re drunk when you get like this,” logan hums, his grip on your hair was loose now, you made the prettiest distraction he’d ever laid eyes on, his thighs clenched and he twitched against your mouth again, already shallowly fucking up against your lips, “you remember last time? gotta take it easy, baby.”

last time, was partly logan’s fault, far too carried away in the warmth and slippery slick of your mouth that he had forgotten how big he was, and how small you were, how small your mouth was, it was an easy mistake when you always took anything he threw at you so sweetly, even if it ended with you gagging so uncontrollably, you almost threw up, oops.

your skin warmed out of humiliation at the gentle reminder, hastily leaning up on your knees, either of your legs sprawled out beside you when you reached up to hook both of your fingers in either side of his belt loops on his jeans, a steady handle now you opened your sticky-glossed lips and pushed the tip of his cock into your mouth, that familiar ache in your jaw not tearing down your confidence, but fuck, he was big and thick.

he tasted salty and he felt heavy in your mouth when you shoved more of him past your lips, shocks of hot lust pulsing straight between your legs whenever you heard the man above you even so much as sigh.

here he was, not even five footsteps into the room, with his pretty little thing kneeling before him as though he was a deity you praised, and devoted yourself to, in truth further condemning yourself with a life of sin, much to the both of your pleasures.

your head bobbed, and every so often you'd pull your head upward and curl your tongue around the red-hot tip of him, decorating him with sticky kisses, before he got a little too riled and there came that pulse of pain in your scalp again.

"that's very cute," the mewl that sounded in your throat was buried as soon as he pushed on the back of your head, and stuffed his cock down your throat, "i said take it fucking easy, but don't push your luck sweetheart."

your eyes almost bulged when you felt the tip of his boot nudge in between your legs, awkwardly bouncing until you feel it slip underneath you, flush against your aching warmth, "ffu-" you choked out, a stray fat tear trickling down your puffed out cheeks, mixing in the mess of saliva that pushes past your lips when logan keeps fucking up into your mouth.

"sshush, shsh." he coos out, his fingers that were previously tangled into your hair moving to your cheek, wiping at your sweet little tear, "I got you, baby, relax." his voice was as smooth as honey, and you took a second to still yourself, unclenching your jaw, as much as you could whilst he was rammed into your throat impatiently, exhaling out of your nose and hollowing your cheeks, taking a stronger grip on the hoops of his belt, for your own sanity because the way he tilted the tip of his boot up against your pussy was wickedly evil.

the thin layer of your short shorts did little to help you, you'd spoiled them as soon as his lips meshed with yours earlier.

another inhale,

exhale,

you managed to slide your mouth down much more fluidly this time, even tugging him flush against you, until the hairs at the base of him tickled your nose, you tried your best to pay no attention to the way logan had his boot in between your legs, no, no attention to the way your hips had a mind of their own, swaying against the hard material, your clit bumping deliciously every time you breathed him in, and raised your head and letting it fall in a rhythm.

the sounds that parted from logan's lips were otherworldly, his timbre was guttural and he got increasingly vocal, "fuhhck, mm," logan's brow bone had wrinkled, bliss evident, even in the way his head tilts to watch more darling little tears push past your eyes, "wish you'd greet me like this every day, ah, ah!" he hissed out, the muscles in his thighs tensing when you jolt him forward by the loops in his denim jeans, and he hits the back of your damn throat, and you take it.

cocky, that’s what you were being, and he loved every single drop of it, “gonna be a good little girl, make me cum, mm? yeah?” logan hums, feeling you squeeze his legs in approval.

good little girl,

if there were any three words to put together to make you putty in logan howlett’s hands, it was those.

your little sobs were more evident every time you lifted your head to pay some sweet attention to his tip, collecting the dribbles of sticky precum at the tip of him, rutting yourself against his boot which didn’t fly by logan’s head- no matter how enamored he was with his dick down your throat, “desperate for me to ruin every single bit of you, have a little more respect for yourself sweetheart.” he chuckled out, cruel.

if you weren’t so full of him, your senses screaming loganloganlogan, you would’ve said something, you would’ve scowled at least.

“you’re so pretty like this, let me fuck your throat yeah? you want that?” it wasn’t a question, logan’s rough hands settled on either side of your head and not missing a beat, he was thrusting into your mouth, forcefully, and hard.

his grip was stable, far too strong for you to do anything, anything but your arms flailing and clawing up at his chest, even tearing a hole in his white undershirt that bunched up under his arms.

too much. your brain screeched in panic, but your body betrayed you, helplessly fucking yourself against his boot with your thighs squashed on either side, and holy fuck, you were cumming, your puffy clit rubbing perfectly, and the lack of air did something so euphoric, it was all so wrong, but it could only be right when your body pulsed with pleasure so overwhelmingly you could do nothing but trust him, and let those fat crocodile tears stream down your face.

“sh-shit, did you just cum?” he laughs, he fucking laughs, “ahnngn, that’s so sexy.” logan was losing it, his fingertips pressed into the plush of your cheeks, hips getting sloppy as he neared his high.

one, two, three more thrusts, stuffing himself into your mouth and he is cumming for what feels like an eternity, hot and sticky fluid gushing into your mouth and spilling past your lips, dripping onto your thighs.

he lets up and eases out of your mouth when he squeezes the rest of his spend onto your tongue, gesturing with a nod of his head, “there’s my sweet girl.” you swallow, and it hurts, the strain in your throat, in your jaw, between your legs, every inch of you feels used.

“thank you, lo.” you barely scratch out, knees trembling when you lean up, nuzzling your face against his abdomen, your arms clasping around his waist for comfort, his stomach gleamed with sweat and saliva too, somehow.

logan lifted you to your feet in a swift motion, one of his hands under your arms as the other tucked his dick back into his briefs, getting you to the couch, wrapping that previously forgotten about blanket around you, “i’m gonna run us a bath, you stay here.” his lips pressed a kiss so delicately to your forehead that you felt it almost regenerate your entire body.

“can you stay for a second longer?” your voice was small, unstable.

“m’ not leaving.” logan finds it endearing, honestly a little heartbreaking, “you can’t walk and your shoulders are up to your ears sweet, lemme get a bath going,” he explains, more reassuringly but you still grumble.

he sighs at that, you barely even recognize you are horizontal after what feels like a long blink, one of logan’s arms snugly under your knees whilst the other held your upper back, and he walked onwards to the bathroom, “you remind me of a little lamb like this.” he observed, and laid another sweet kiss, this time to your lips, and your stomach churned in delight, he reassured you once again, just for tonight,

“don’t worry, i’m not leaving yet.”

[thinkinonsense]

Logan thought of the day from a fan!::

Old man Logan being all domestic with someone around his age. I don’t think a lot of people think about the concept but I genuinely enjoy the thought of Logan having a wife he’s desperately in love with. Been married to for years on end ��😭 him calling her sweet nicknames, combing her hair or buying her things he knows she loves.

(NSFW thoughts just for the hell of it: him still being an amazing lover in bed. Like sure the man isn’t as fast or agile as he used to be, but he can still absolutely ruin your shit. Pouring all of his love into you in the absolutely most animalistic manner possible before collapsing cause his back hurt like a mf)

You don’t have to write anything you’re uncomfortable with but those were just my thoughts! Love your blog, take care 🙂‍↕️💚

aw! this is such a cute concept! i'm currently working on a series rn but i wanna write a full blurb about this in the future<3

old man!logan with a mature!reader

over the years, you and logan have definitely been through some shit. full on yelling matches, jealousy, near death experiences, all of it. no matter what, he always comes back to you with those water colored eyes that you adored so much.

idk why but i think logan would enjoy the simplicity of doing things like laundry, cooking, and dishes together. he always says he wants to help you but somehow his hands sneak up your sweater and his lips always end up on your neck.

late at night, logan will pull you on top of his chest and play with your hair until you fall asleep. during the day, he will put your hair up for you or style it in a simple brain if you need his help.

old man logan loooovvveeesss passionate kisses. you're always running late to work in the morning because logan can't simply give you a quick peck on the lips.

when you two finally have the 'kids' conversation, something snaps in logan. he's constantly hard just even thinking about getting you pregnant.

logan definitely wants a little girl for many reasons but especially because he's worried that if he had a son, he would only inherit the worst of logan's traits.

the two of you never had an actual wedding and nothings official but logan gave you a ring that you never part with. neither of you need a piece of paper to prove your love to each other.

old man logan can still put it DOWN in the bedroom. it's not as rough or fast as it used to be but he still leaves you whimpering and seeing stars.

he thrives off of taking this slow. logan loves making your legs shake and building up your high.

he wears his wedding band on the same chain as his dog tags because he's afraid of it busting due to his claws.

you love putting on an old record late at night while he smokes and you lay in his lap, reading a book. just enjoying each others company.

you are the only person that gets to see logan in his most vulnerable state. he lets you wrap up his scars, clean his claws, kiss the tender and bloody flesh.

logan always promises that he's done fighting but you know the truth.

he's a sweet talker when your irritated at him.

one time you joke about getting old, something about wrinkles or not looking as pretty as when the two of you first met. logan doesn't let it slide. he spends all night long assuring you that you are still as beautiful as the day he first saw you.

[machveil]

Trying not to think about Simon 'Always Doing Acts of Service and Caring for Others Silently' Ghost Riley forgetting to care for himself as much, and how it would probably touch a part of his heart he thought wasn't there anymore if someone did the same for him. Something simple, like just a new jacket after his old one got wrecked from wear and tear, that's thick and durable but soft and comfortable, a nice weight on his shoulders but doesn't make him sweat, resting over his chair. Or after a long day of work where he's dragging himself along, finding a meal already made for him sitting in the fridge, something actually cooked and seasoned the way he likes so he doesn't have to think about cooking or go to bed on an empty stomach. Idk, this has been rattling around in my brain all day and I needed to get it out, sorry if this is weird! Also really like your art and writing, congrats on the 1k, you deserve it and so much more!

anon I’m smooching your big, beautiful brain (I wrote this in one sitting, hope it’s not terrible lol)

Simon Riley is a man of action - Ghost, the most literal manifestation of serving. Ghost follows and gives orders to assure his team, his friends, make it home safe at the end of a deployment. as a Lieutenant, Simon wouldn’t say it out loud, but he cares so deeply for his team. Task Force 141 is a second home to him, more so the people, and thus makes it his job to protect them

but Simon Riley is also a man of action off duty - a civilian who’s heart rests in your hands. loyal as a dog, Simon would do anything for you. a man of action, he’ll insist you relax, you shouldn’t lift a finger for something small. anything Simon can do in your stead he will. because, while his team is a second home, his true home is you

but Simon, stubborn and strong as he is, gets tired. front door clicking shut, mask already being tugged off, his muscles are tense and sore after a long day. dirty blond hair messy and eyes half lidded with exhaustion, he’s still only got one thing on his mind - to serve you and make you happy. he already planned on trudging into the kitchen to make dinner, something simple but filling. he pauses when he smells food already though

kicking his boots off, worn and dirty, he makes his way to the little kitchen around the corner. cracking a small, barely there smile at the sight in front of him. you, moving about the kitchen. the lights a little dim - he’d change the lightbulb later, and there you are, cooking a meal. one step ahead of him, and he soaks in the domestic scene. a part of him wants to step in, tell you you’ve done enough and he’ll finish everything off… but he doesn’t have the heart to disrupt this cozy, intimate moment

it’s only when you see him does he approach, hands a touch too rough and calloused - he’s sure you’ll make him moisturize later. “Smells nice, lovie.”, he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hairline. eyes fluttering shut as he holds your hands, a small grin tugs at his lips, “S‘pose the food smells good too.”. he relishes in the laugh that leaves you, the way you squeeze his hands. he moves to press a kiss to your jaw, slightly crooked nose nudging against you as his hands wander to your hips - touch featherlight, as if handling you any rougher might shatter you

there’s a reluctance in his heart as he lets go of you, scoffing when you tell him to go sit down. “Bossy little thing.”, he mumbles, voice lighthearted as he leans back against a counter. he stays there for just a moment, one last glance at you happily cooking - cooking for him. it melts his heart knowing that you’re just a loyal as him, that you’d both run to the ends of the Earth for each other

he’s content to finally relax, leaving the kitchen to slump against a chair in the small dining room. head tilted back a little as he rolls his shoulders, his hands move to idly take his belt off - he’d change later, a hot shower after dinner always made him feel better. maybe he’d convince you to join him, better yet— maybe he’d convince himself to indulge in a hot bath instead. and when you join him at the table, sitting down next to him with a full plate for him, Simon feels butterflies in his stomach

he loves eating with you, sharing a meal and letting his guard down. gaze smitten as he listens to you recount your day, breathing steady as he hums. and when everything is done, stubborn man, he’ll take the dishes to the kitchen. as much as he’d like to wash them straight away, he settles for leaving them in the sink tonight. soon enough he’s sweeping you up in his arms - no matter how roughed up and sore he is, he always finds the strength to carry you. he’ll ignore any protest that, “Simon! I can walk—“, a gruff chuckle rumbling in his chest, “Know that, love, but I can carry you just fine.”

and from then on, Simon feels like he’s floating. in a dreamlike state, he sets you down on the cool bathroom floor, feet making contact with tile. gently thumbing at your hips, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, “Thank you.”. soft spoken words contrasting his gravely voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek - lips a little chapped, but he’s never heard you complain about them

and when you help each other slowly strip, the bathroom filling with mist like steam, he feels the tension in his muscles give. he puts up a little fight, grumbled words, when you insist on sudsing him up. he’s all bark though, when he feels you rub his aching shoulders he feels like he could never muster up any bite ever agiain. comfortable and turning to putty in your hands, he’ll happily let you mould him into a soft, gentle man

he’ll lazily return the favor, rough hands lathered in your body wash. content. feeling you under his palms, warm skin dotted with beads of water and bubbles, Simon’s content. a warmth in his chest that he’s still not used to. the simple intimacy of washing away the sweat and filth from the day, it makes Simon feel like a new man - and to wash you? he’s happy you feel safe enough, that you trust him, to handle you so carefully

and at the end of the night, cleaned from the dirt of his daily life, Simon settles in bed with you. all gentle touches and soft, murmured praise - you did so good for him today. he fights the back of his mind off, you’ve taught him better than to believe those gnawing words. Simon Riley deserves this. a phrase you carved into his heart, long since settled at the forefront of his mind. and as he holds you to his chest, warm hand on the small of your back, he sighs deeply…

a man of action deserves rest

[captain-huggy-bear]

I was watching the video where the Utah team were asked their Karaoke song, Clayton's being Wagon Wheel. Then I listened to it and then I realised that I think he'd call you mama when you're pregnant (tbh I think he'd sometimes call you it even if you're not pregnant or a mum) Also I'm less than 200 away from 1000, should I do a celebration? Maybe prompt lists or something idk? Let me know what you think baring in mind it'll probably take me 500 years to write everything anyway lol Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You feel like a very sick, very achy whale. That's really the only way to explain how being 7 months pregnant felt. You were dealing with feeling sick every day, baby deciding she wanted to twist and turn at all hours and kick you at every opportunity. She was heavy as well causing your back to ache, your ankles to swell and your entire body to hurt.

You're just trying to grab something to eat but have to stop halfway to the kitchen, hands pressing to your back, leaning in such away that your bump presses out further. You're starting to get fed up with this pregnancy stuff and Clay hates watching you feel so wrong in your skin every day...even as he thinks you look the most beautiful you ever have, carrying his baby.

Hands are sliding over your lower back, long sturdy fingers pressing into the tense muscle there as Clay presses his chin to your shoulder, having spotted your discomfort a mile off. He knows this pregnancy is being rough on you and he's trying his best to be attentive, supportive even when he's away on a roadie.

"How you doin', mama?" Even as you're annoyed at him for getting you pregnant and putting you in this position, you can't help but relax into him, shoulders pressing back against his chest as his hands move around to your belly, rubbing across the taut fabric of your t-shirt there. The moment you found out you were pregnant Clay had started calling you mama more than he called you baby, a shift that melted you ever single time. Even when you were irrationally and hormonally angry at him.

"Everything hurts and your baby is making me sick." You moan at him, huffing and annoyed even as your body relaxes into him, putting your weight back on him. He just huffs out a laugh at you, knowing you're not actually upset with him and that even if you were he has no right to be upset about that. Not when you're dealing with all the aches and pains of giving him a baby.

"My baby? Mama, you cannot blame me entirely for her actions." He says this even as she kicks you under his palms as if she knows exactly where his hands are and aims for them. You're almost certain she'd be a penalty box baby.

"You put me in this position."

"I know...I know." He hushes you, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He feels bad on some level for how uncomfortable you are, even as he's happy you're having his baby, "What's hurting the most right now?"

"My back, your baby is a fucking giant. Big ass head." It's ridiculous you think, that he's only 5ft 10 and yet his baby feels like a giant. You can't even begin to contemplate how large she'd be if he'd been someone like Michael...it makes you shudder in dread. God help his future partner if she decides to have a baby with him.

"C'mere, mama." He's pulling you back against him even as you start to resist his movements, trying to pull away from him unsure what he's about to do and overly suspicious of his motives. You don't want any of his hairbrained schemes right now, you're too uncomfortable for it.

"Clay..?"

"Come here. Trust me, baby." You stop resisting until he's pressed flat against your back, hands sliding over your bump and underneath with a softness, a gentleness that always surprises you. For a man who can shoot a puck at 90mph he can be astoundingly gentle.

It's almost a shock, the good kind, how Clay's large hands cup your belly from underneath and lift until he's taking the brunt of the 10lbs you're certain your baby is going to end up being.

"Oh..." You sigh back into him, relaxing so completely that you're almost jelly. Head leaning back onto his shoulder, eyes closing. It's instant relief from some of the back pain and the aches, all of that weight lifted from you by his hands so easily because to him the weight is nothing, but then he's not carrying it all day, every day.

"That feel better, mama?" He mumbles it against your temple, pressing intermittent kisses there as he watches the way you ease into him, the smile of relief on your face. You're his baby too, his first baby, and you're important, as important if not more than his baby baby. Taking some of the pressure off you, helping you feel good? That's more important than anything else.

"Mmmmm...yeah, much better." You're so soft against him, pliable, boneless. Clay feels a certain sort of pride at the fact he's able to help like this, that he can take some of that pain and pressure away even for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry she's being mean to you..." God, he can't wait to meet her, but he also hopes she's not as difficult once she's here. Terrified she's going to be a hellion that has him pulling his hair out from stress. All she's done is spend the pregnancy kicking you, keeping you awake at night and making you vomit while making you crave food you hate and be unable to stomach foods you love. If anyone should get an award for patience and resilience it's you.

"She's going to be a handful...but I love her anyway." You smile as he kisses your temple again, firm enough you can feel it, but not too rough that it'll jar you.

"You're going to be the best mama, baby."

"I hope so..." You mumble as he eases your belly back down. Pulling you to lay on the couch with your swollen ankles in his lap. Fingers massaging against the swollen skin as you lean back into the couch pillows.

"You worried?" He watches you, assessing you as he works his fingers into the arch of your heel, pressing at tense little spots. You're biting your lip worriedly as you watch him, gone into that spot in your head you go to sometimes, even as your hand strokes across your belly in an attempt to sooth the baby who's started kicking you again.

"Mmm, just get scared sometimes that she might hate me," There's this part of you that's terrified you won't bond with your baby, that no matter how hard you try she won't love you back...or worse that you'll mess up, do something that makes her hate you.

Clay's hand smooths up your calf to the back of your knee, his eyes impossibly soft as he looks at you. A gentle reassuring smile pulling at his lips.

"Not possible, mama. Promise she's going to love you as much as I do."

And you believe him. In that moment, it's hard to imagine that Clayton's wrong. He knows you better than anyone else, the only other person who knows your baby almost as well as you do. Knows what makes her kick, how best to get her to settle so you can sleep and what foods stop her making you vomit. In that moment you can't imagine that he could possible be wrong and it makes you want to cry because all you want is to be a good mum to your baby, to be a good partner to Clay, to have it all work out.

"...thank you."

"Anytime, mama."

[dilfismz]

hii idk if u write for death note or not, but if u do could you do L with a reader absolutely spoiling him after a long day of detective work? Maybe spoon-feeding him cake while cuddling and rubbing his back... poor baby would probably be so touch starved (i hc that L has never dated before lol) Can be pre or post Kira Case, I don't mind!!

Make sure to take care of urself and drink lots of water! :3 srry for the long ask btw lol....

–your friendly death note obssessed anon <3

A/N: I genuinely love Death Note so much...not only is it a good anime but every time I watch it I get so much nostalgia. Ugh I am so excited to finally write for my sweet L.

Spoiled Boy

Summary: Basically just the request :)

No warnings

The detective slouched into the dimly lit apartment, the weight of the day's cases clinging to him like an unwelcome shadow. His dark, tousled hair was even messier than usual, and the deep circles under his eyes made him look more like a ghost than the celebrated genius who solved impossible cases.

L Lawliet, known in investigative circles simply as "L," was a legend. But behind the accolades and the brilliance was a man who rarely allowed himself to be human. Tonight, however, he looked utterly defeated. Not that he didn’t have a naturally sulky demeanor once and a while, no this was different. This was far worse. 

You were waiting for him on the couch, your eyes softening the moment you saw his figure in the doorway.

"Welcome home," you said gently, setting aside the book you had been reading. He gave a small nod, his lips quirking up into a tired, almost imperceptible smile.

Without a word, L shuffled over to the couch and collapsed beside you, his lean frame curling into the plush cushions. He let out a long sigh, his head tipping back as if he could melt into the furniture.

"Rough day?" you asked softly, already knowing the answer.

"Mmm," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "Too many loose ends. Too much noise."

You reached out, brushing a strand of fluffy hair from his face. He flinched slightly at the contact but then leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut.

"I thought so," you said, your voice laced with warmth. "Stay right here. I’ll get something for you."

Before he could protest, you disappeared into the kitchen. You scanned the fridge for the sweetest treat imaginable, when all of a sudden, your eyes landed on the leftover cake from your work party. 

You returned, carrying a small plate with a slice of decadent chocolate cake, the rich aroma filling the room. L’s eyes opened, and for the first time that evening, there was a flicker of light in them.

"For me?" he asked, his tone almost incredulous.

"Of course," you replied, settling beside him again. "You deserve it."

He straightened slightly, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for the fork but was too drained to do so. You noticed and smiled.

"Let me," you said, lifting a forkful of cake.

L hesitated, his cheeks tinged with a faint pink. "You don’t have to—"

"Hush," you interrupted, holding the fork near his lips. "Just let me take care of you for once."

Reluctantly, he opened his mouth, and you gently fed him the bite of cake. His eyes widened as the rich, sweet flavors melted on his tongue, and he let out a soft, almost imperceptible hum of approval.

"Good?" you asked, your tone teasing.

"Very," he admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

You continued to feed him in comfortable silence, the tension in his shoulders gradually easing with each bite. When the plate was empty, you set it aside and shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him.

L stiffened at first, clearly unused to such open affection, but as you began to rub slow, soothing circles on his back, he relaxed against you. His head found a resting place on your shoulder, and for a moment, the brilliant detective was just a tired man seeking comfort.

"You work so hard," you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. "You deserve to rest, to be cared for."

He didn’t respond immediately, but his arms eventually wrapped around your waist, holding you as if afraid you might vanish.

"Thank you," he said, his voice barely audible. "For this."

"Always," you replied, tightening your hold on him.

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, the world outside fading into irrelevance. In your embrace, L allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability, letting go of the weight he carried, if only for a little while.

[hxt1b]

This request is really cliché I'm sorry 😭

Sukuna's friends made a bet to go hit on the reader and not soon after his arrogant ass starts to feel bad and of course reader would find out about the bed and angst this angst that

How would he solve the situation?

THANK U 💋

Right babe, I love this shit, cliche's exist for a reason!

"i miss you, i'm sorry" 

-> Sukuna x afab reader - Motocross AU, same world as "i knew the day i met you you'd be the one" (choso one shot). 

-> CW: Sukuna is not a soft man, he never will be - BUT he's desperate for you. Yuji and Sukuna hate each other. Smut Warning [grinding, nipple sucking, hair pulling, rough sex not a lot of foreplay - quickie really]  

-> WC: 2.4k

Masterlist | Prompt List

A/N: okay I started writing this and spiralled. I thought I would have finished this the day you sent in the request, but seeing as I got carried away it took long lol. Thank you for the request I had a lot of fun writing this! That being said idk if its the best written, but regardless I still hope you like it! 

Guilt was a passing emotion it always would be. Every emotion was passing. Especially for Sukuna, a month ago he'd felt terrible, then miserable, now he was at the end of his rope - desperate. this is the longest he felt something for someone. The strongest he's ever felt for someone. 

Your face flashed in his head, crumbling as your eyes filled with tears. 

"He's lying right?" You'd asked pointing at Yuuji. The motherfucker was standing to the left leaning against the door jam, his hands tucked into his pockets, an amused look passed over his features before he schooled them back into a sneer. Sukuna's hand itched to break the kid's nose again. 

"No." 

That was it. There wasn't anything else to explain, there still wasn't. But there was something to say, something he had to tell you. 

The bet was fleeting. Everything is fleeting. Especially for me. But you…. 

You weren't answering your phone. You had him blocked, and he couldn't understand. why wasn't this fucking passing and fleeting, why was the hurt and pain still they're stuck in his damned chest. 

Why were you standing with Yuji? Your hands crossed over your chest a painfully beautiful smile spread across your face as you laughed at something that Yuji said. 

Sukuna was leaning on his bike, his racing gear on. The black polyester stuck to him after his race. He'd beat Choso today, he should have been on a high. He hadn't just beat Choso, he'd beat everyone. Come in first place. But the elation that he'd feel for a good hour or two with a win like this was absent. It was won out by the anger and despair in his chest at having you so close but not looking at him. Not talking to him. Not touching him. 

Ditching his helmet on his bike, he decided he'd had enough of your silent treatment, he deserved it sure. But Sukuna never really cared about what he deserved, he cared about what he wanted. And what he wanted was you, your words, your anger, your tears, your smiles, your laughs, your skin on his, your mouth on his. You.  

He ignored everyone as he neared the group, he ignored anything they said or tried to say. He shoved passed Yuji, letting the kid stumble back into Choso, who caught his brother by the shoulder and glared at Sukuna, but didn't say anything. It probably had to do with the girl under Choso's arm. Sukuna's sister. 

None of that mattered right now though. Because Sukuna didn't fucking care. His eyes were geared on you and his hands already grabbing at your wrists. You tugged away and swore something, said something with an indigent tone. Sukuna didn't hear anything. He pulled you, holding your body close to his as he cut a path towards the towering building that hosted the plethora of shit that had to do with Motocross, including his dressing room. 

He shoved you into the room, locking the door behind him before charging across to you where you pushed yourself into the wall. 

"Sukuna," You started but he cut you off. Anything you had to say didn't matter. What mattered was that you understood that he was at his wits end with you, and that his emotions were bubbling over in a flurry of anger and lack of control and patience. 

"No." He said, just before he pressed a harsh kiss onto your lips, his mouth moving against yours coaxing you to move with him, to open your mouth to him. 

You gripped the front of his uniform and pushed him back. 

"Fuck you." You swore, your eyes alight with anger of your own. 

"You can," Sukuna replied and kissed you again. Again you pushed him back, this time shoving him harder forcing him to take a step back, you slipped out from his hold. 

Sukuna quickly spun around and grabbed you again, his arm lopping your waist, stopping you from leaving. 

"Listen to me." He tried again, his fingers circling into your top. 

"You're not talking. Besides I doubt you have anything to say." 

"It was a bet." He started and you snorted. Sukuna narrowed his eyes at your reaction, he expected it but it still bothered him. He turned his head into your hair and sought out your ear, quickly pulling the lobe into his mouth and nipping at the soft skin. 

You gasped, turned around and shoved him off of you. 

"It was a bet, but does it matter?" He asked, letting you take a step away from him. He didn't care to sound eloquent or soft. He just had to get it out. "Does it matter if by the end everything I said was true? I fucking meant it." 

"Why on earth would I believe you?" You asked. He didn't look away from you, his fingers flexed at his side. Everything was telling him to grab you and kiss you again. But he didn't. 

"Why would I lie now?" Sukuna asked. 

"Why wouldn't you?" You retaliated and turned away from him to leave. Sukuna's heart pounded in his chest as you walked out the door. He took a second but quickly followed you into the hall. His hands grabbed at you again pulling you back to him and then straight towards the wall. 

He crowded you, pushing his face towards yours so that his forehead was resting against yours. You scowled up at him, twisting to get out of his hold. 

"How can I prove it?" He asked, his voice filled with desperation. "Tell me. I'll do anything." 

"Nothing." You answered. He let out a large breath from his nose, a deep ache settling into his chest. 

"You're being difficult." He said, trying to keep his voice calm. 

You snorted, "fuck off Sukuna." 

"No." He kissed you again, you didn't kiss him back, not immediately, but he pressed into you tighter. the ridges of his body cutting into yours. Your head tilted up cradled in his hands delicately. His lips were light against yours, moving slowly asking you to move with him. Slowly you did, your hands curled around his wrists as you let him kiss you. As you kissed him back. 

He groaned against your mouth before pulling away from you. 

"Just listen to me." He said. You looked up at him, your eyes still showing your hesitation. "Please." The word was a breath, a soft plea. 

Sukuna never said please. You faltered, and let him pull you back into the dressing room. He let you go, and you walked over to the small couch and sat down. He closed the door and locked it before turning to you his hands tucked into his pockets to keep from reach out to you. 

"It was a bet, but it didn't stay a bet. You hang out with Yuji and Choso that's what prompted the bet anyway. it was hard to get you on that first date. Remember?" He paused, and you kept your eyes on him. "But it wasn't a bet when I took you on the second date, or the third or the fourth. Or when I kissed you, or when we had sex. Anything after asking you to go on that first date wasn't a bet anymore. Not to me." 

"Were you ever going to tell me?" You asked. 

"No." 

"Okay." You got up again to leave. Sukuna watched you and didn't move from his spot. "I listened. Goodbye Sukuna," and you walked out. He didn't stop you this 

time. 

~

Sukuna watched you from across the room. You were talking to Megumi, your face burrowed in his phone as you giggled at whatever he showed you. 

Sukuna was a couple of drinks in and the booze was burning in his blood. He'd said what he could and you'd still walked away. He was angry. 

Angry that you walked away. Angry that Yuji told you. Angry he took the bet. Angry that you were laughing at something Megumi was saying, that your hand was holding his bicep. 

Somewhere in his head Sukuna was sure he shouldn't do what he was about to do. But he was drunk. He finished what he had in his cup in two large gulps and headed across the room. 

His hand gripped the nape of your neck as he came upon you. His eyes glared at Megumi as he pulled you into his chest. 

"No goodbye." He muttered and began to drag you down the hall, corralling you with his body. 

"Fuck Sukuna, you can't do this again." You argued. But he wasn't listening. He pushed you into a room and slammed the door with his foot keeping you in his hold. His free hand cradled your jaw and pulled your head towards his. His fingers dug into your cheeks as he lowered his head so that his nose was brushing yours. 

"You listened. Thanks. I didn't. fuck your goodbye." He said and kissed you before pushing you down onto the bed. You gasped quickly rising onto your hands to sit up but he was already pushing down onto you, his body pressing you into the mattress, his hands returning to your hair, his lips back on your skin. Pulling at your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. 

He sensed your anger but he didn't care. You were melting under him and maybe the weed you'd had earlier was helping that. He didn't care. 

"I messed up. But I refuse to mess up more and let you go." He muttered into your skin. "You're mine. Even if you think you're not. You are." 

You gasped again when he took your nipple into his mouth through your top. He moaned against you, his hips grinding into yours. 

"Your nipples were taunting me across the room." He muttered around your peaked bud, "You know how much I love your tits and you wore this shirt that I got you. Am I supposed to believe that's just coincidental?" He knew it wasn't. He was asking to taunt you. 

You ground your hips up into his finally rubbing back up into his hard-on. He groaned and the heat gathered in his spine he was consumed by you, his pull on your hair tilting your head up as he angled his hips to grind against yours. 

You were panting already, your skin heated under his. His cock was twitching with every shaky breath you took. He watched your face. Before letting go of your hair and sitting up on his heels. 

"Look at me." He prompted, and your eyes fluttered open, your heated gaze landed on him and for a second his heart stopped in his chest. 

"Be angry at me, be pissed, hate me. But do not for one second think that you're not mine. That at the end of the day, you don't end up under me. That you can leave. You are mine. Do you understand?" He kept his voice low and smooth as he spoke. His hands moved on your bare torso, pushing your top up so that your breasts were bare to him. 

"Wishful thinking." You muttered, the anger still in your words. "Just cause I'm letting myself do this with you today doesn't mean I forgive you. Or that I'm yours." 

Sukuna smiled down at you, your hips still moving against his hard cock, your cunt rubbing at him through your clothes. Sukuna gripped a tit, rubbing at the nipple with his thumb making your body shudder under his hand. 

"Oh babe, I think that's exactly what it means." He said and grabbed for your pants moving your legs up so that he could get them off, he took your panties with them. Once they were off he chucked them onto the floor, your legs fell open as he slotted himself between your thighs. 

His thumb dragged through your folds, stopping at your clit and pressing onto it. Your mouth fell open and your eyes stayed glued to his. He leaned over and let his other hand caress your face his thumb trailing your lip before settling at the corner of your mouth. 

"Fuck me." You breathed, taking his thumb into your mouth. Sukuna's chest flooded with heat as he watched your suck on his thumb. His hand left your heat and pushed at his pants taking his cock out and letting the cock head pass through your heated folds. 

"Condom." You breathed. Sukuna bit back a scowl, you hadn't used one before but he wouldn't push it tonight. He pulled away from you sitting back again as he pulled a condom from his pocket and put it on. 

He lined himself up with you again and slowly pushed in. Your loud moan vibrated around in his head forcing him to drop his head back as he sank into you. Grabbing your hips tightly as he did. 

Both of you said nothing as he began to rock into you, his cock stretching you with each deep and slow drag, your hands scrambled in the sheets as he gradually picked up his pace his eyes watching your tits bounce as he went at you harder and harder, until your eyes were rolled back and your breathing was stuttered with moans and whines. His name falling from your lips mixed with curses and pleads for him to touch your clit because he wasn't letting you do it yourself. 

He pulled out of you pulling you up into a sitting position before pulling you into his lap as he sat down against the head bored. You sank down on him again, your head rolling back as you moaned, Sukuna grabbed at your hair pulling your head back further. His mouth hot around your nipple as he pulled it back into his mouth. You rode him, grounding your hips with his pulling moans from him that meddled with yours. 

He conceded when you begged for him to touch you, his fingers drawing slow circles on your clit. He was getting close, the oppressive heat pushing at his body driving him to fuck up into you harder. Bite at your skin more aggressively. Dig his fingers into your skin until his fingers cramped. 

You came a second before him, your body writhing into his your hands gripping at his hair pulling. All this triggered his own release, he came in the condom with a groan. His hips still stuttered up into yours as he worked through his orgasm. You whined at the stimulation, your head resting against his, your soft moans pushing his orgasm out until he was spent and panting into your skin. 

"You're coming back with me." He said softly leaving no room for you to argue. You closed your eyes and settled against him for a second, not able to argue anyway. 

Send me a request! 

~hxt1b, feb 19 2024

[rosenclaws]

Can you please write insecure!oldman!Logan? He is embarrased and sad because he can’t do things he could with you when he was younger, you can’t have sex easily and he can’t run and stuff, you can do whatever you want with the idea 💗🫶🫶

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Smut, blow job, showering together, insecure Logan, angry Logan, mentions of blood.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: Yes sorry this took so long I had a lot of valentines stuff + just my daily life going on lmao. This is a little shorter because I'm not really feeling my smut writing rn idk why but I hope you enjoy it anyways.

Logan had always been a strong man. Always. Emotionally and Physically. In his prime he had super human abilities, his strength, his speed, his agility. He was an absolute monster on the battle field. Nothing and no one could stop him and boy did they try. He was the Wolverine, the X-Man. And now...now he's just a shell.

Logan traces his jaw as he roughly drags the razor along the side of his face. He grunts as he nicks himself again, his hand shakes as he tries to cut trim away the scruff but he just can't get his hand to steady. In a fit of frustration he slams the razor down onto the countertop. Crushing the poor appliance to pieces.

"Logan!?" He hears you call from the bedroom. Your voice drenched in worry.

"I'm fine!" He yells back.

The last thing he wants is for you to come wandering in the bathroom while he's like this. Bitter and angry. The man in the mirror is a far cry from the man he once was. His once dark hair was now old and greying. A rough beard had grown on his face, half due to laziness making him look much older. Wrinkles are everywhere, proving to anyone that looked at him that he was just an old man.

Under his shirt were scars and bruises. He never used to scar. His body was fit, he was muscled and for lack of a better term. Absolutely ripped. Sure he still has his muscles but his chest was littered with bullet scars and ugly tearing from the fights he's tried so desperately to shield you from.

You say you love him, he wants to believe it. But how could someone like you ever truly love a man like Logan. A man who has shed a river of blood and killed more than he can even remember. How does the world decide that now, after everything, he gets to come home to a sweet thing like you. A big smile and a warm heart waiting for him at the end of the day.

How could you want a man who can barely keep up with you. You're younger than him. To be fair pretty much everyone is younger than Logan. But physically, you go for runs in the morning, you dance around the living room, you're just so full of energy. A bright star in the sea of darkness and Logan, well he is the darkness. He's sore and tired and angry. The world does not shine for him anymore.

He can't go out with you, treat you the way you deserve to be treated. He can't take you dancing or go on a walk in the park. All he does is come home and sit on the couch. His joints creaking as it takes all his effort to even get comfortable. He sees you watch those romance movies with a longing in your eyes. It's a cold bitter pill for Logan to swallow but the truth is, he's just too worn down for you. You deserve more than what he can give you.

He looks around, its a small bathroom. It's a small house. He took every extra penny he could get in order to buy this little cabin. It took weeks to renovate it too. But Logan wanted to give you a place to life, to be safe. Maybe he can leave the house to you. He's so deep in his own head that he doesn't hear the door open. He jumps when he feels your hands on his chest.

"Logan what's wrong?" Your voice is soft as you gently cup his face, pulling him from whatever spiral he was sending himself through.

"Nothing. I need to shower." He grunts out, tilting his head to get out of your grip. You frown as he sheds his shirt and turns on the shower. You admire his back as he starts to unbuckle his pants.

"Can I join you?" You ask sweetly as you grab the bottom of your shirt and lift it up.

Logan turns around to deny you but the moment he lays eyes on you any words fail. You smirk as you slowly undress yourself, Logan watching you the whole time. You slip past him and stand under the hot water, letting it run down your body. You hold your hand out to Logan as to silently say, come join me. Logan kicks his pants off and joins you under the water. Groaning as the hot water hits his aching muscles.

"What happened?" Your brows furrow as you see the blood drip down his chin.

"Nicked myself with a razor." He mumbles, his eyes closing as you start to rub your hands on his shoulders.

"That's okay, it happens." You cup your hand to let some water pool and then use it to clean his face.

"You're too sweet on an old man like me baby." He whispers, his insecurities coming to light as he feels a sense of guilt coming over him. Guilt that you're even here with him in the shower, helping an old man like him wash his body.

"Oh hush you idiot." You lather body wash in your hands and start to wash his arms and chest.

"I'm serious baby, just look at me." He gestures lamely to himself. One of his hands coming to cup your chin.

"I can't keep up with the guys your age. I can't..." He sighs, his rough hands grab your waist and gently push you against the wall.

"I can't please you the way someone like you should be pleased." He admits. It's embarrassing to say but he knows it's true.

Maybe in another life, had you had met when he was younger things would be different. But he can't fuck the way he used to. 20 Years ago he could pick you up like nothing and tear you apart like it was nothing. But now, now he has to go slow and he can only last a round, maybe two.

"Shut up," You press your finger to his lips and he rolls his eyes.

"My turn to talk." Logan watches as you slowly sink to your knees.

"You think I don't know you're old? You wear dollar store reading glasses and say your knees hurt when it rains." He opens his mouth to complain but you shut him up by grabbing his cock in your hands. Your soapy warm hands are like heaven.

"I'm not some stupid kid Logan," He's acting like he's the big bad wolf who's hiding some terrible secret from you. You love Logan, all parts of him and you'll be dammed if you let him get in his own head and destroy the life you have now.

"I can make my own decisions and right now, I want to suck my boyfriends cock." Logan grabs your hair and tilts your head up so he can look at you. Lust blown wide in his eyes as you hold his heavy cock in your hands.

"You're gonna kill me one day you know that?" He groans as you stick your tongue out and lick the tip of it. A devilish tint in your eyes.

"What a way to go huh?" You tease as you take him as far into your mouth as you can, hell bent on sucking away any insecurities still floating in Logan's brain.

It's messy and hot and Logan feels like he's going to burst much sooner than he wants but he can't fucking help it. I mean fuck a hot thing like you has your warm mouth wrapped around his dick, how could he not fall apart. He places his hand on the back of your head and shoves you down until you choke.

You love when he gets rougher, he says he can't but his dominance shows in other ways, like the hold he has on your hair and the messy thrust of his hips. You moan around him and he slams his hand against the shower wall, accidently cracking the tile. Not strong my ass. It doesn't take long for him to come down your throat.

You drink it up with ease, wiping your lips as he pulls his softening cock out of your mouth. He pulls you up easily and gently pushes you against the wall, his lips on your neck biting and sucking anywhere he can get.

"Fuck baby," He groans as one of his hands slips down in between your legs.

"You can't get rid of me that easy old man." You groan as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Yeah yeah," He lifts you up, ignoring the pain in his back as he carries you out of the shower and to the bedroom.

"Logan! We're soaking wet." You whine as he tosses you onto the bed, crawling up until he's slotted perfectly between your legs.

"I know." He says with a smirk.

"Feel better now?" You ask as he puts his arms under your thighs.

You were always good at keeping his bad thoughts at bay. Another night he might be pulled back in to his thoughts, but for now he'll just thank the universe for bringing you to him.

"Yeah I am baby, But I'm about to feel even better."

[jeon-ify]

Hiya! Idk if you still take in smut prompts reqs buuut if you do could I request 24, 26, 27 with san? maybeee you're fwb and he gets jealous of you with another guy ohoho i would never look at any man other than you sansjdbedjdbd thank you!!!

a little jealousy - choi san

dude. my head is spinning for this fic and i’m so excited to write this kind of san … mannnn

warnings: dom!mean!san, toxic relationship, rough sex, sub!reader, spitting, hairpulling, keeho appears and gets flirty, manhandling, possessive san, implied abandonment issues (san tells reader), jealousy!!!!!, throat fucking, guided masturbation, vein bulging, implied su!c!de, cnc!!, degradation, breeding kink! forced but willingly making reader swallow a dry plan b, etc. as always, lmk if i missed anything!

24. what would he say if he saw you on top of me losing your fucking mind hm?

26. the day you leave me is the day i slit my fuckin’ throat

27. can’t you see you’re made for me?

—————————————————————————————

“you can’t be serious,” your friend drops her expression, waiting for your response.

“yes! i’m serious. i don’t wanna go out tonight, i don’t wanna deal with weird guys everywhere.” you used this as an excuse to see your “friend” san tonight, as he said he’d be home all day.

“bitch, go put something on, we’re going and it’s final.” you groan as you pull out a black midi body-con silk dress, the chest falling loosely onto your cleavage. you put on your black YSL heels with gold detailing, your hair and makeup done and curled.

you head out with your friend, arriving to the rather large club an hour away. this club was the talk of the town, owned by a man named Park Seonghwa. he owned multiple, this one being the largest. the music blares through the speakers, your skin glistening with body glitters and oils.

your friend shouts something and walks away, you assume she’s grabbing drinks and a guy on her way. you walk over to the dance floor, in hopes that you’d see someone you knew. to your luck, you see a guy from your high school. you walk over to him and tap his arm to get his attention. he turns towards you as you catch him by surprise.

“y/n! hi! it’s been so long! how are you? how’s everything been?” he exclaims as he pulls you in for a hug.

the hand placement of his grazes your lower back as you only wrap one arm around his shoulders from underneath his arm. you hug back in a friendly remark, as his fingertips graze the upper part of your ass. “i’ve been great, how have you been, kee?”

you smile in response to his loud voice. you know why he’s so touchy feely with you— just not sure as to why and how you ran into him on a night like this. you knew you didn’t want to be here.

“i’m great, you look beautiful, y/n. do you wanna come sit with me and my friends?” he leans to your height, shouting in your ear so you’d hear him well.

“sure! i don’t know where my friend went.”

you follow keeho through the crowd of sweaty and drunk people, reaching the table everyone was seated at. it’s like you’re in high school again, seeing all the familiar faces.

“y/n! oh my god you look great! how are you?” mingi says. he’s grown into a handsome man, you won’t deny that. you conversate with the group, catching up and laughing with everyone. you find it weird now that you look back at it— that all of your friends are guys.

as you’re sitting with keeho, the jokes he makes make your breath hitch, needing to catch yourself before you choke on your drink. you laugh up a storm with him, playfully slapping his leg by yours. he leans closer to your ear, whispering a bunch of nothings as you laugh even harder while your face turns a slight cherry red.

you open your eyes and across the dance floor, a black couch is planted against the wall. a man about 5’11” is seated with his legs slightly spread, watching you. you do a double take, noticing that he looks familiar— almost too familiar— that he looks like san.

the friend you’ve been fucking behind everyone’s back.

he watches you with his black button up and black straight leg slacks, a silver chain hiding underneath the flaps of his collar.

he leans his elbow onto his knees where his chin rests on his knuckles, watching the way your friends are getting handsy with you. you’ve laughed a little too hard, and san doesn’t like that.

you turn your attention back to keeho where he’s still laughing and talking about some girl he slept with last week.

“hey, i’m gonna go get a drink, see you later.” you’re still distracted by san’s gaze, your knees already threatening to buckle. you manage to walk over to where san was, he walks out of the club as you follow wherever he’s headed to.

you both make it outside, his car already started and the passenger door already opened for you to get into.

“가자” he speaks. though you’re not sure what it means, you use your pretty brain to understand that he wants you to get in the car.

“don’t wanna hear a word from you, understand?”

“h-how did you find me?” you manage. you were just told to not speak, but curiosity killed the cat.

“did you not understand what i just said?” he stops the car, fully turning towards you. his black hair bounces when he shifts gears again, speeding through the highway.

“take your phone out and tell your friend you’re not coming home tonight. tell her you feel sick.” he does not change expressions, nor does he turn his attention to you.

the rest of the car ride is silent until you reach his home. it’s a grey brick home, with long windows on each side of the door. it looks like a castle, but it’s a homey feel.

he unlocks the door, holding it open for you to get in.

what a gentleman.

“take your clothes off. leave the heels on.” he says as he’s unbuttoning his blouse and throwing his shoes off. you’re well behind him, still struggling to unzip the dress. he notices your struggle, unzipping it himself and ripping it off.

“look me in the face and tell me what was so funny. if you wanted to go to a comedy show so bad, you should’ve just told me. didn’t have to fuck around with random guys, did you?”

he grabs the back of your head through a fist full of your hair, your hands on each side of your hips. he tilts your head upwards, giving himself access to your neck, licking a stripe up to the middle of your collarbone and up to your chin. he inches closer to your lips then pulls away, not letting you kiss him.

“you think you deserve to kiss me after you practically already fucked some other guy? listen to me, and listen carefully. i know you have issues darling, and maybe you don’t hear it enough, but you belong to me.” he caresses your face, in a faux sympathetic manner, spitting venom into your skin.

“i don’t understand what’s gotten you so worked up, sannie. we’re not even dating, so why are you so jealous?” your eyes sparkle with lust, san feeding into the delusion that he’s your man and no one else’s, even though he’s made it clear he doesn’t do the whole “dating thing”.

“‘m not jealous, baby. i just don’t like other people playing with my toys. don’t you get upset when other kids play with your toys, darling?” his hand snakes its way under your bare chest, squeezing your tit as san tugs a moan out of you.

he kisses your jaw, moving up to your lips, finally kissing you the way you think you deserve. he moves his hand to snake its way around your throat, his tongue exploring various areas of your mouth.

“on your knees, right now, jagi.” its so fucking hot that he speaks two languages. it almost makes your panties pool with arousal. he hears you whimper as you get onto your bare knees, the backs of your gold heels poking your thighs.

“‘m gonna fuck this tiny throat. if i hear a word, you’re not cumming at all. i’ll cum in you all night and won’t let you do the same. am i clear?” he fists your hair into his large hand, forcing you to look up at him when he speaks. he looks fucked out already, as you do so yourself.

not-so-innocently, you agree to his command, mouth already falling open, ready to take him into your throat. you bob your head up and down slowly, releasing with a pop then spitting onto the base of his cock to make it easier for you to suck.

he never fails to surprise you with his size. you use your right hand to support you in getting him to reach his first high of the night, sucking and swallowing all of the spit and precum on his length.

“yeah, fucking hell. doing so good f’ me. you fucking belong to me. never wanna see you leave.” he bucks his hips into your mouth as you threaten to whine out in response. before he can reach his orgasm, he pulls you back up by your jaw to kiss you open mouthed-ly.

“lay back and spread those pretty thighs for me.” he stands at the edge of the bed, watching the way your pussy already throbs with need, desperate to have him inside already. your walls gush with desperation for san’s veins running against your walls.

his fingers graze softly over the inside of your thigh as he lifts your leg to easily access into your hole. he slaps the tip onto your clit a couple of times, earning gasps and pleas from you. after moments of teasing you, he gives in and immediately pounds into your sopping cunt.

“wanna hurt you in the best fucking way possible. never wanna see you laughing with another guy again. it hurts me,” he groans as he slowly strokes himself into you,

“the day you leave me is the day i slit my throat. i’m fucking crazy for you, y/n. don’t you understand? can’t you see you’re made for me?”

you moan in response, his words sending an electric wave through your core, already cumming around his length. he feels you clenching around his cock as his eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head. his stomach tightens as he tries to balance himself with not cumming and making you cum over and over again, his abs making your head spin.

“s-san, fuckin- it’s too much.” you gasp. you’re so overstimulated from your countless orgasms, you think you’ll start crying.

“it’s not. don’t make me stop.” he pounds into you furiously, making you cry out for him to stop, though you never want him to.

he flips the two of you over, making your legs shake and your arms weak as you have to balance yourself this time.

“rub that pussy, fuckkkk, just like that. watch me fuck you stupid. make sure you know who the fuck you belong to, how’s that?” he groans as he spreads his legs to balance himself as he fucks up into you. you fail to rub your clit, too overwhelmed by the pleasure that san is building in your cervix.

tears run down your face as a sign of overstimulating yourself, san moving up to lick them off your face. laying back down, he pounds up into you almost too fast you start seeing stars.

“look at you, fuckin’ stupid whore. what would he say if he saw you on top of me losing your fucking mind hm? what would he say? enlighten me, darling. would he think you’re a whore?” he stills his thrusts, burying himself deep in your uterus.

“i’m not- i’m not a whore!” you cry out.

“oh, but yes you are. you say you’re not but here you are, fucking a married man and crying over some dick. what does that say about you?” you feel like he’s gaslighting you, but he’s completely right. you should be ashamed of yourself, but you’re getting off knowing that you make san crazy.

“th-that i’m a whore.” you admit.

“look at that, your brain works!” he smirks as he twitches into your cervix, almost cumming in your stomach.

“san! pull out, you can’t cum in m-me!” you beg. you don’t want him to cum in you. you’re not ready for anything at all.

“gonna fill you up, cus that’s what i do to sluts. i knock them up and never fuckin’ see them again. want me to show you how much of a slut you are?”

“n-no! fuck, please pull out. let me go!” you beg. you’re so scared but so turned on by it, not even thinking of using a safe word right now.

you feel his hips still, his cock twitching in you as he empties himself in you. he pulls out after a few seconds, reaching for his nightstand. he takes out a plan B box, making you dry swallow the pill.

“the next time you wanna fuck around with random guys, think about the consequences, darling. i watch every move you make.”

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter One

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: 14k

Chapter Warnings: angst, miscommunication, drinking, some fluff!! a cute flashback and a happy ending, references to poor relationships with parents/bad parenting (including minor mentions of maternally-encouraged disordered eating but not an ed), instagram stalking, allusions to cultural appropriation and problematic tweets, depictions of anxiety, a lot more words than necessary because it was like 23 words away from the next thousand and I'm nothing if not a yapper

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 (Prologue)

A/N: thank you thank you thank you for all your kind messages and feedback around the first part it really means a lot to me!! taglist included at the end, if you want to be added pop me a message :)

when I first started writing and mapping this series out I never intended to have split pov chapters cos that's !a lot! but I ended up writing so much more from Nico's perspective I literally never write male pov cos who wants to be in the mind of a man?? not me. but Nico comes easy to me what a man what a man what a mighty good man. he's a bit dumb in this series but who isn't. don't shame him. he is very precious to me.

Poppy

How Poppy ever thought she would have been able to get away with tricking Jack Hughes into forgetting she said she would come to his party by just waiting out his drunkenness, she does not know.

The guy is a nuisance.

Her phone has been blowing up since she and Nia started getting ready for their evening festivities, sharing a bottle of rosé between the two of them as they both sit in Poppy’s bedroom doing their hair and makeup.

Jack: What time do u think u’ll get here? 😬

Poppy: idk

She’d tried being somewhat aloof in the hopes he would move on from bothering her and she could let the wine do it’s intended purpose of blurring her mild irritation from the day, but she’s starting to think mild irritation is Jack’s middle name.

Jack: rough estimate?

Poppy: roughly? 🤔

Poppy: idk 🙂

Jack: cool

Jack: ur uninvited

Poppy: cool 

Poppy: see ya next year

Jack: ur reinvented

Jack: invited*

Jack: attendance is mandarin

Jack: mandatory* ffs

“Is that Hughes?” Nia questions the continuous buzz of Poppy’s phone. She’s sat on the floor in front of the mirror with a curling wand in hand, her hair 90% done and curls pinned up to set them. Nia has borrowed some of Poppy’s pyjamas, and is sat wearing a silk robe she didn’t even know she owned. “Dude needs a hobby.”

“Annoying me is his hobby, I think.” Poppy locks her phone and puts it face down on her dresser as she skims through her closet. She did have an outfit picked out already for her usual New Years celebrations, but bar hopping around New Jersey and attending a fancy private party with a bunch of rich athletes and their drop dead gorgeous partners are two different ballgames entirely. 

Poppy knows all too well what it feels like to turn up to an organisation event underdressed, and she won’t be making the same mistake ever again - even if this is a party held in a player’s own residence, she knows that people will be dressed up.

It’s New Years Eve, for sake - everyone will be primed for a photo opportunity for the instagram dumps, her usual trusty top, skirt and boots combo won’t cut it.

“Blazer dress?” She holds up her latest suggestion so that her best friend can see it. She’s worn this one a couple times before, knows it makes her legs look incredible when she pairs it with some pantyhose so she doesn’t have to worry about getting too cold on the way there, but it limits her shoe options if she is going to cover her legs.

“Boring,” Nia throws back, and Poppy isn’t even sure she’s looked, but she knew the second she pulled it out her friend would decline - it’s what she’s been doing at everything Poppy owns for the past half an hour.

Poppy’s thankful she hadn’t started by trying on the options, knowing that if she was in and out of all the dresses she’d suggested, she would be a hot, flustered mess by now.

“Surely you’re running out of excuses by now, Ni,” Poppy sighs, stepping away from her closet so she could stare down Nia’s reflection in the mirror she was sat before. “You’re being absolutely no help.”

Nothing has been right.

The red strapless dress that flared out at the waist? Too Christmassy. The navy blue one shoulder body con dress? Too millennial. The rhinestone silver slip dress? Too much. The black off-the-shoulder mini dress? Too plain.

There is nothing in Poppy’s closet that is going to appease her best friend’s tastes, so she doesn’t know why she’s bothering.

“Just give me 2 minutes and I’ll find the one, trust me.”

“Why have you let me stress about this for so long if you’re just gonna come over here and pluck out something random like you’ve had it in mind this whole time?”

“Because I like winding you up and watching you go, Pop.” Nia winks at her from the mirror, holding up her near empty glass. “Top us both up, babe, you still have your cranky pants on from earlier.”

“I’m not cranky.” She mutters to herself, picking her phone back up from where she had just discarded it, and collecting both their glasses to take back through her apartment into her kitchen. 

The device buzzes as soon as she sets it on the counter, but she ignores it in favour of pouring herself a drink, taking gulps of the rosé she’s just poured before topping both of the wine glasses back up with equal measures. She needs the extra pick-me-up to calm her nerves, and debates swigging down her second glass when she turns her phone back over.

Jack: ur grumpiness is contagious btw

Jack: u have broken my captain

Below Jack’s messages, he has sent through a picture. It’s a setting Poppy knows all too well, having only left a few hours ago after helping finish set up the party. In the midst of everything - decorations, attendees with drinks in hand chatting away and mingling with each other - Nico stands alone. He has his arms crossed, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up to his elbows, and he looks deep in thought. The people around him have turned into their own conversations, but he shows no interest in joining them, not in the picture at least. 

It’s not the way she remembers him to be - not the way the pictures that still litter the front of her refrigerator portray him to be. Front and centre in most of them, tongue sticking out or mouth open in a face consuming grin in all, drink in hand in a few. Her free hand lifts until her fingers graze over one of the pictures - taken when the Devils had thrown a party after they had clinched the playoffs at the end of last season. Nico and Poppy stood together, his arm slung around her, cheeks smushed together as the rest of the boys and a couple other friends from within the team pressed themselves into the frame, smiles so big she can barely see their eyes. 

She doesn’t know why the pictures are still up. She should have taken them down, by now. Made way for new memories. Pictures of her with Nia or any of her other friends, pictures of her with family, but she struggles to recall a memory as happy as the ones magnetised to her fridge door - none from the past few months, anyway. 

Her eyes dart back to the picture on her phone. Nico doesn’t seem himself, but, then again, he hadn’t seemed entirely himself earlier, either. The few smiles he had offered hadn’t quite reached his eyes, she had noticed, and he constantly broke out into nervous ticks - chewing at the inside of his cheek, scratching at the skin of his elbow when he folded his arms across himself, rocking on the heels of his feet. 

Sure, she hadn’t been the nicest to him, but that was the first time they had spent any longer than a minute in each other’s company since the summer, and she’d noticed him being off before that interaction.

He’d been similar when she’d seen him throughout the last week at work. Zoning out sometimes, eyes focusing on some far off spot until someone spoke directly to him and shook him out of it.

Whatever is going on with him isn’t her fault.

Her grumpiness is not contagious.

She isn’t even grumpy.

Poppy: not grumpy

Jack: he’s watching the door

Jack: has been since he got here

Jack: clearly waiting for someone 👀 

Poppy: maybe you should talk to him instead of texting me

Poppy: be a good host

Jack: he’s waiting for u 🙂

Poppy: not friends, remember? 🙂

Jack: popstar

Poppy: 🙄

Jack: pls hurry

Jack: he’s depressing me

“This one.” Poppy hadn’t even heard her best friend approaching, her lack of shoes and her featherlight step making her the perfect creeper. Nia is stood on the other side of the kitchen island, holding a dress between both of her hands. Poppy puts her phone back down on the counter and leans over it to properly assess what is being shown to her.

The dress is asymmetric, she thinks - she can’t entirely tell by the way Nia is holding it and she knows she hasn’t worn it before, can still see the tags attached to the label inside - one of the shorter ones in her closet, but not in the way she will worry about flashing her co-workers all night, and a boat neck so she doesn’t have to worry about it being too revealing up top. It ticks most of her boxes. Not too bright, not too showy. She’s pretty certain she’d shown it as one of her earlier options, but Nia had turned her nose up at so many things she can’t remember. She only wishes she had saved herself 30 minutes of irritation by not asking in the first place.

She reaches out to where Nia is holding it, feeling the fabric between her fingers, testing to see if she can see them through the material and breathing a sigh of relief when she can’t. She takes the garment out of her friend’s reach entirely and holds it up in front of her body.

“Are you sure? It’s not too dressy?” Poppy mocks, trying to catch her reflection in the glass parts of her kitchen cabinets. 

“It’s perfect,” Nia says, eyes pulled down by the flash of a new message on Poppy’s phone. Too distracted by trying to get a good look at herself, Poppy doesn’t notice her best friend pick up the device and start looking through.

She wouldn’t usually mind, but Nia has been dropping comments ever since she had arrived at Jack’s place earlier, and Poppy has only just been able to shrug off her commentary. 

“Why is Jack sending you weird, sad pictures of Captain Sexy?”

“Could you stop calling him that?” Poppy frowns, reaching back out for her phone only for Nia to pull it out of her reach.

“Oh my God, Pop, he’s waiting for you!” She pouts, flipping the screen to show Poppy the newest picture of Nico sat checking his watch.

He’s doing her no favours right now.

“Don’t you start with that, too. I don’t know why everyone’s so intent on blaming me for how sad he looks.” she scoffs, “He’ll be waiting for his girlfriend, Ni,”

“About that,” Nia taps away at the phone before turning it again towards Poppy’s glare. “There’s no trace of a girlfriend on his insta,”

“You’re probably checking the wrong one.”

“Nope. Checked both while you were in the shower before. Not even a sneaky hand shot or a corny Christmas stocking with her name on.”

“Give me that,” Poppy finally manages to snatch the cell back, crease forming between her brows as she frowns down at the device, scrolling through Nico’s private instagram where she knows for a fact there had been pictures of him and Talia earlier in the month.

It isn’t that she checks frequently, she just hasn’t unfollowed him yet - wasn’t ready to put the final nail in the coffin wherein lied their friendship, so to speak - and so she’d seen them as he posted them. And she had maybe tried not to throw up in her mouth and had cast her phone beneath a stack of cushions and throws on her couch to avoid it for a few hours after the fact.

The pictures of them in New York City have disappeared. As have the ones from early December, where they were looking at Christmas trees together, wrapped up in matching hats and scarves with sickly sweet loving gazes cast toward each other. Nothing in November, when Talia had started coming to games and he had posted something with a corny caption along the lines of her being his biggest fan. No carousels, no story highlights, and when she checks his following list, Talia is nowhere to be found. 

“Huh,” she mutters, going into the search function and trying to hide from her best friend that Talia is already one of the options there. She really needs to clear her history before that lands her in trouble. 

Her latest post is a photo dump from Christmas, Talia with her family, as well as a few other pictures of her in New York throughout December, no sign of Nico in any of them, and he hasn’t liked it. Hasn’t commented his usual red heart. She has no qualms about checking her story - she and Talia were never introduced, she’ll have no idea who she is or care that she’s viewing her story, and she’s a model with thousands of followers, Poppy isn’t sticking out to her at all - and squints to read the text over a video of fireworks before realising it’s written in German. She isn’t in New Jersey. She’s already in 2024 in a whole other timezone, and has left Nico behind.

No wonder he’s grumpy.

Not her fault, after all.

When Poppy snaps herself out of sleuth mode, she looks up to meet Nia’s knowing gaze. She looks smug. Like she’s caught her out - and Poppy can’t even deny that she has. “Stalker."

“You started it.” She huffs, pointlessly locking her phone knowing Nia knows the password and throwing it onto the side. 

“I was doing my due diligence as your best friend,” Nia shrugs, picking up the wine glasses as the pair make their way back toward Poppy’s room to finish getting ready. “If we’re heading into a New Year, we are doing so as new and improved women, Poppy. 2024 is the year of reconciliation!”

“I thought 2024 was the year of saying yes.” She mockingly references the mantra her best friend has been spouting since the start of December every time she made a somewhat irrational decision.

“That too, obviously.” Nia smiles big, waiting until Poppy has laid her dress out on the bed to hand her her drink over, holding her own glass out for a toast. “To saying yes to reconciliation!”

“You’re an idiot.” Poppy says, but clinks her glass, anyway. 

“No, you are, Pop.”

Poppy can’t shake the buzz of anticipation as the two girls finish getting ready, the previous pool of trepidation in her gut swirling into something a little more optimistic. 

It means nothing, she tries to tell herself as she fastens her earrings and fans her hair out down her back so it doesn’t get all tangled up in the hoops. Instagram isn’t a reflection of reality, Poppy, you know this.

There are several reasons the pictures could be gone. 

There is a high possibility he has archived the posts because someone leaked the photos of him and Talia. They were on his private account for a reason, and Poppy knows the guys have all had trouble with this kind of thing before - photos from private events being posted all across fan socials because someone had taken screenshots from a hacked account. And she also knows there had been some kind of discourse around Talia online - about some tweets she’d put out years ago or a photo fans had found from a halloween party where her costume wasn’t entirely appropriate - but Poppy had tried not to get lost in it. She didn’t want to form an opinion on the girl without having properly met her, considering they still technically operated in the same circles despite Nico’s insistence that he and Poppy no longer did.

Nico is a protective person by nature - she’s been on the receiving end of it before, so she knows how quickly he can shut things down when intrusive fans become a little too much - and having his privacy violated like that would definitely cause him to be grumpy. 

But with the looming possibility that she is looking too much into such an easily misinterpreted detail, the memory of their earlier interaction floods back to the forefront of her mind.

He had spoken to her. In clear, full sentences. As much as she had let him, at least. Had tried to initiate actual conversation, wanting a back and forth that she hadn’t been prepared to reciprocate. He had wanted to help her, wanted to be around, and for as long as he had been with Talia, he hadn’t wanted any of those things. 

Something has to have happened, another voice chimes in within her. He’s been off all week, remember?

Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

Poppy can’t let herself fall down the rabbit hole of what ifs and hypotheticals. Not anymore. She’s spent the last 4 months in her head about the whole thing, and if she’s going to enter the next year a new and improved woman, she needs to learn to let things go.

Saying yes to reconciliation is one thing, letting delusion take over is another. 

She casts a final look over herself in the mirror, fingertips flitting over each of the touch points she wants to check before she leaves. Hair still feels smooth, free of knots and frizz so far, earrings are secure, necklace clasped and positioned right, heels buckled, a couple of rings on odd fingers.

When her right hand brushes her left wrist, her eyes dart over to the jewellery box on her nightstand, where all her favourite pieces are discarded at the end of each day. She knows what is sat in the bottom, has had to ignore its presence every day when she reaches in there to put on her other bits. 

On her right wrist sits a welded bracelet, identical to the one currently wrapped around Nia and her other friend Kelsey’s wrists. The trio had gotten the matching permanent jewellery at a random pop-up one weekend in SoHo, figuring it was the more responsible thing to do than get tattoos to symbolise their friendship, and it has lasted well for being 3 years old. Still shiny, still pristine, still as gold as the day it was fixed to her arm. Still never cut off for the sake of an MRI like her mother keeps threatening she will need. Sometimes she wears a watch, usually one gifted to her by Nia after one of her trips to Japan - gold banded with a mother of pearl watch face, classic and goes with everything - but she likes it more for every day, and doesn’t trust herself not to lose it or break the dial if she’s out somewhere at night with a few drinks in her.

Her left wrist has been bare since September, around the time she stopped reaching out to Nico. Before that, since she had received it on her birthday a couple years ago, it had been adorned with her favourite piece of jewellery she had ever been given. 

Most people gift Poppy silver, and not that she’s ever ungrateful to receive any present, she can’t bring herself to wear it outside of seeing whoever gave it to her. Silver just never looks right. Mixed metals aren’t her thing, either.

But Nico had gotten it right. A gemstone bracelet, pink tourmaline and opal stones dotted along a fine gold Figaro chain, similar to the one permanently enclosed around her other side. She had worn it every day, wouldn’t even take it off to sleep, and had only stopped when she started to feel the true weight of it.

A constant reminder of a once formidable, now broken link.

“Look, I know you said no gifts,” Nico turned to face Poppy as she unbuckled herself from his passenger seat, turning the engine off so he could focus on her for a minute without the sound of the car running in the background. He usually does the same thing when he drops her home, parks up on the street and leaves the car off until she’s safe inside.

“The flowers from the team are very pretty, so you’re forgiven for going against your word,” She gestured towards the bouquet sitting on his back seat, craning her neck to look back and admire them. She had never seen a red arrangement quite as beautiful as this one - the use of tulips instead of roses a nice touch. “They’ll be dead in a week, but I’ll cherish them for as long as I have them.”

When she looks back toward Nico, he’s wearing a shy smile, and when her gaze drops to his shuffling hands, she notices the elongated black box within them.

“What’s that?” She asked, on too much of a high from such a good day to give him a hard time about it, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as her eyes look back up to meet his. 

“We don’t have to call it a gift if you don’t want to,” he extended his hand out towards her, the box clutched between his fingers. “It can be payback for all the snacks you’ve given me in the last year.”

“The snacks you’ve stolen.” She corrected. 

“Well, when you keep your office stocked with the stuff only I like, is it really stealing? That sounds like a trap to me.”

“I’ve been collecting evidence against you for your crimes. What I do with it depends entirely on what’s in here.” She had tried to shake the box by her ear to gauge the contents. 

“You’ll like it.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

“Open the box, Mohn.” Nico’s voice was lower, commanding, and he leaned forward over the console, so close she could probably count his eyelashes if he gave her the time to do so.

The box itself was fancy, bound in black velvet and magnetised like a sunglasses case, so she knew it had to be something nice in there - knew he wasn’t pranking her with team merchandise or a bobblehead version of him for her desk like Jack had tried to give her. 

She tried to shrug off the heat of his gaze as she pried it open, never enjoying opening gifts in front of the giver, but her mind went blank as she looked down at what he had gotten her.  

The stones in the bracelet matched that of one of the rings she already owned and wore every day, an ornate opal ring passed down from her late grandmother. There were pink gems in there too, and she knew as soon as she saw them what they were. 

“It’s your birthstones, right?”

She nods, unable to form any words yet, passing the box back over and holding out her left hand. Most other people she knows don’t pay enough attention to notice she wears gold everyday, and Nico knows her birthstones. “Could you put it on for me, please?”

Nico clasped the chain around her wrist, taking her hand in his and angling it a few ways to make sure it was the perfect fit - loose enough to move around and reposition with ease but not enough to fall past the base of her thumb. “Is it okay?”

“It’s beautiful, Nico.” She smiled softly up at him, watching his eyes reflect the dim ambient light in the car. “I’m never taking it off.”

“You probably should around water,” he had chuckled, bashfully, looking down and breaking their gaze, “I found it in a market back home, I’m not sure how durable it is.”

Poppy knew real gold when she saw it - knew the shimmer of natural gemstones and the shine of genuine opal, the stone on the bracelet mirroring that on her ring that she knew was antique and valuable. And although she didn’t care if it was expensive or not, she understood what he was trying to do. 

He hadn’t just stumbled across this on some street market.

Poppy reached over to grab either side of his face, leaning across the console and planting a firm, loud kiss on his forehead, chuckling slightly to herself when she pulls away and he wipes at where her lips had just been in faux disgust. “I’ll look after it, I promise.”

“Happy Birthday, Mohn.”

“Thank you, Nico.”

She had found herself admiring the bracelet every time it caught the light, and when she had met up with her mother days later to celebrate her birthday with her family, the authenticity of it was confirmed when she had heard her shocked gasp - her mom, an expert in fine jewellery, spending the entire evening fawning over it as if she was jealous it wasn’t clasped around her own wrist - and had spent the evening fighting off questions about who had gifted it to her. 

She shouldn’t wear it tonight, she thinks. That would be a bad omen - an assumption that one conversation between the two of them was going to immediately put them on the straight and narrow path back to being friends again. 

But it’s just a bracelet - a gorgeous one, at that, and Poppy has it in her head that she’s one beautiful accessory short of perfection. She marches over to the jewellery box, opening it up and picking the bracelet up from where it has its own compartment. No one will even notice she tells herself as she manages to clasp the metal around her wrist with one hand, it doesn’t mean anything.

She is about to enter the year of saying yes, after all.

“You good to go?” Nia asks from the doorway of Poppy’s bedroom, Poppy’s phone stretched out for her to take.

“Let’s go.”

Poppy: omw stresshead

Jack: finally!!!!!! 

Poppy and Nia arrive to a party that is well and truly in full swing. It’s crowded, Jack having invited all the team and a quite lot of the staff, and everyone has brought a plus one, so Poppy is glad she overcompensated for him when she ordered all the drinks and food. She's also glad Jack and Luke had overcompensated for space when picking out an apartment meant only for the two of them.

The girls had ubered over from Poppy’s apartment despite it being so close, partly due to the almost freezing temperatures in the midst of winter in New Jersey and partly due to the amount of wine they had consumed when they were getting ready.

Poppy is tipsy enough that her previous anxiety around coming has quelled for the most part, but not so much that she is unsteady on her feet. 

She’s has a sociable kind of buzz - not that she isn’t usually sociable - that makes her slip into conversations with ease and without much thought about what she needs to say.

She has introduced Nia to whoever she has talked to so far, her best friend holding her own in conversations too, and, attached at the hip, they have immersed themselves into random discussions with the guys, flitting between the different groups that had formed before they got here.

They joke with Luke about Jack torpedoing through the apartment checking in that everyone is having a good time.

John Marino cracks a joke about how on earth Jack has managed to lure Poppy out of whatever hole she’s been crawling into after work, and Nia joins in, affectionately jibing that 2024 is the year Poppy renounces her life as a recluse. She doesn’t usually take well to being the butt of the joke, but she’s happy her friend is getting on with the guys, and the rosé has now managed to fog up the part of her brain that takes offence to little things.

She chats with Holtzy and Jesper about their Christmas spent in each other’s company, not having the opportunity to do so in the week when she had been working. She talks to Dawson about his brief trip back home, to Curtis about his sons and coos at all the pictures he shows her of them in their cute little Christmas get-ups.

She reaches a point where she doesn’t even remember why she hadn’t wanted to be here.

She has built such great relationships with the guys on the team over the years she has worked with the Devils - those friendships extending to their significant others, too.

And it’s only a matter of time before she is pulled into a group of the girls. It’s been a while since she’s been able to catch up with them, having not spent too much time with any of the team outside of work for so long. She is introduced to the new faces, is flashed the sparkling new engagement rings she had only seen on instagram, and is practically given a play-by-play for all the things she’s missed since she truly had dropped off the grid to them.

It is Jesper’s partner, Nicole, who has the guts to open the gossip floodgates. It starts off innocent on her end, telling Poppy about how she and Jesper had hosted Christmas at their place for some of the European bunch, which she already knew after her conversation with Alex and Jesper, and how she had been stressing about how many people she was going to have to entertain. She mentions the amount of food she had to cook, especially considering the amount of hungry athletes in attendance, and then says, “I am thankful Nico turned up alone, after all, though. We ran out of chairs, I almost had to have people standing to eat.”

“Nico went to Christmas alone?” Nia’s ears have clearly perked up at the information, along with the few of the other girls, who all lean into the circle - a telltale sign, if any, that they have stumbled into a juicy topic of conversation.

“Yeah, him and Talia are done.” 

“I knew it!” Nia yells in triumph, pointing at Poppy with a too loud, “I told you so!”

Poppy pinches her best friends finger until she drops it, the other girls giggling at her outburst. Thankfully, not too many eyes have been cast their way, the steady thump of the music overpowering their conversation. 

“You didn’t know anything,” Poppy rolls her eyes. “She just stalked his instagram.”

“Yeah, sure, I stalked his instagram,” Nia scoffs, “His instagram which his girlfriend has mysteriously disappeared from, Pop, doesn’t take a genius to put 2 and 2 together!”

Poppy really doesn’t want to be having this conversation again. “He probably archived the posts, Ni.”

“Nope. They’re done. Deleted.” Nicole shrugs, “No chance we’ll be seeing her again.”

“Why?” For someone who doesn’t want to engage in a gossip session about the object of her own problems, Poppy sure has had her interest piqued there.

“She dumped him like 2 weeks ago.”

They had literally just been on a romantic trip together, Poppy remembers, why would she dump him?

“Over text.” One of the other girls adds.

“What?!”

“Nia!”

“Sorry!” Nia grimaces at her previous volume, this time definitely attracting attention. “Over text?” She whispers to the circle of girls, who nod in response. “What a bitch.”

Poppy’s stomach feels tight, like her insides are cringing at the realisation of what she’s engaging in. The girls continue to talk around her, but she can’t focus enough to make out words, guilt clouding her senses. 

She doesn’t want to talk about Nico - not like this, at least.

She doesn’t want to dissect the breakdown of a relationship he clearly cherished - enough to squash their own. Doesn’t want to pick apart what went wrong, or map out a timeline of how and when things fell apart. 

She doesn’t think she could even if she did want to, because all she can do is think about those pictures Jack had sent her earlier, and about how she’d shut Nico down before when he had maybe tried to talk to her - potentially wanting to open up to someone.

As much as she hasn’t been that person for him in a while, she has always wanted to be, and so she can’t help the shame that gnaws at her. Wondering that maybe if she’d had the nerve to take a proper look at him when she’d seen him earlier, or at any point when she’d been in his vicinity and ducked around corners or hung her head to avoid him in the past couple of weeks - if she’d taken notice of him, just once - she’d have been able to see through him. 

She’s been so wrapped up in the way she’s been feeling, the way she has been hurting, that it hasn’t occurred to her that he could be hurting, too.

Maybe not for the same reasons, but hurting, all the same.

“I’m gonna get another drink.” She mutters out quietly, excusing herself from the group and ambling through everyone to get to the kitchen. 

“Why do you look like that?” She hears as she’s looking through the different bottles littered atop Jack’s countertop. “Please tell me you’re having a good time.”

“It’s not quite the depression session I was promised,” Poppy pouts mockingly over at her jittery friend, trying to fix whatever Jack had seen on her face to question her. “Are you having a good time, Jack?”

“I am if you are.” He reaches out for one of the bottles in front of her, twisting off the cap and taking a swig straight from the bottle of Jim Beam. Poppy grimaces at even the thought of how that tastes. The poor kid is wasting his night away stressing when he should be enjoying himself, she thinks.

“You’re sweating.” She observes.

“Yeah, well, I think I’ve hit 10k steps checking in on everyone.”

“Everyone’s having fun, you should relax.”

“Not everyone,” Jack sings, clearly having found some liquid courage in his gulp of hard liquor. 

“99.999% of your guests are having a great time.”

“You know me, Poppet, I’m nothing if not a perfectionist.” He swings his arm around her, guiding her away from the counter until he can point towards the far side of his apartment.

Nico is stood with a few of the other guys - Curtis, Dougie and Timo. He’s listening to their conversation, nursing a bottle of beer in hand, looking between them as they speak, but he’s not engaging in it. Not talking back, only just smiling when the rest of them laugh. 

“If I’d have known you’d break him, I never would have sent him to help you earlier.”

“Yeah, I never thanked you for the ambush,” she shrugs out from under his arm, walking back to pour herself a drink, mixing herself a makeshift Paloma with what’s on the counter - tequila and grapefruit juice with a wedge of lime to try and jazz up the plastic cup. “You ever thought that maybe his bad mood has nothing to do with me?”

“No.”

“Jack, we’re-,”

“Not friends. Right. And the Pope’s not really a Catholic, and the Earth is flat.” Jack mocks.

“You know, I’ve always had my suspicions Luke would be the Flat-Earther in your family.”

“He is. He also thinks the world is run by lizard people.”

“Weirdo.”

“Total weirdo.” Jack chuckles, almost losing himself. “Stop trying to dodge the real issues, here, Poppy.” The lack of any childish moniker is Jack’s way of attempting to be stern, he doesn’t resort to it often, but when he does, Poppy tends to fold.

She’d tried her best to avoid broaching the topic of Nico at length with Jack. He’s his captain, his teammate, his friend, too, and it hadn’t felt fair to vent her feelings about the whole situation to someone he was equally, if not more, close to. 

There was also the minor detail regarding the voice inside her telling her Nico never cared about her in the same way that stopped her from opening up about her disappointment and hurt out of sheer embarrassment. The potential that she was mourning a friendship that never meant as much to him, and doing so to other people who saw all along what she was too naive to notice. 

But that hadn’t stopped Jack from trying to eke out information from her the whole time there had been a noticeable tension between the two of them.

He’d try and initiate conversation between them in group settings, often getting one or two word responses before one of them excused themselves. He’d invite either of them to plans he had with the other person, and there was even a stupid group chat he’d tried to form that Poppy quickly archived and ignored after Nico never responded to Jack’s clear attempt to reel them both in.

“You should talk to him,” Jack pushes, sticking to his guns and rooting for the revival of their relationship. “He’s had a rough couple of weeks, could really use a friend.”

If Poppy Jensen is motivated by anything in life, it is the crippling guilt that Jack knows just how to spark up.

“So I’ve heard. Maybe you should go check on him,”

“Don’t be annoying.” Jack frowns. “I know it sucked that he dropped you before, he’s an idiot and I won’t back him up for it, but you can either mope about it forever and both suffer, or suck it up and move on.”

“Go check on him, Jack.” Poppy speaks through almost gritted teeth.

“Poppy,"

“Don’t be a dumbass.” She sighs. “Be a good host, maybe see if he needs to get another drink,” she enunciates her words as much as she can, and her eyes widen suggestively, waiting for him to catch on. 

“Oh!” Jack exclaims, shooting back with a slacked jaw as realisation washes over him. “Yeah, he looks thirsty! Great idea, Poppy!”

He dashes off, bumping straight into someone and getting mildly distracted as their drink spills down his front.

Poppy mutters a profanity to herself, not able to watch the absolute train wreck of a man in front of her.

This is where making spur of the moment decisions gets you, she thinks, but her own thoughts are drowned out by another voice inside her head - one that sounds a little too much like her annoying, inebriated and loud best friend. This is going to be the year of saying yes. Yes to growing up, yes to moving on, and yes to olive branches offered to her from pouty Swiss hockey players who are clearly going through it right now and don’t need her to be stubborn about her forgiveness. 

She tries to busy herself in Jack’s kitchen, making quick work of straightening out all the drinks and throwing away some of the discarded cups - anything to avoid looking over to where she knows Jack is being his obnoxious self.

She can practically hear him from where she stands, not knowing lowkey if it smacked him in the teeth. Poppy’s asked me to lure you to the kitchen or Poppy’s absolutely desperate to speak to you, Cap.

Annoying.

“Hi.”

Unlike earlier in the day, Poppy allows herself to truly take Nico in when he stands in front of her, this time. 

He’s dressed in all black, a dark sweater and dark jeans, no hat for once though - his hair has grown out enough that it’s at the length he usually gets frustrated with it and hides it under a beanie or a backwards cap, but tonight he hasn’t, unless he’s taken one off and discarded it somewhere. It is a little unruly, but more in the way he might have been running his hands through it all night. And he hasn’t shaven in a few days, she can tell - the darkened formation of a shadowy stubble frames his jawline and runs in a slightly jagged line below his cheek.

“Hey,” she attempts a warm smile when she notices him chewing at the inside corner of his mouth, nervously anticipating a response. Her own heart is thumping so hard in her chest it almost feels like it’s echoing. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah,” he nods, stepping further into the kitchen so he’s on the same side of the counter as her. “Jack just stole mine straight out of my hand. Thanks.”

Of course he did. “He’s a strange boy.” She says, wanting to distance herself from his behaviour. If she’s being fair to herself, she hadn’t asked him to be a freak in his endeavour to send Nico over here - he chose that path, himself. 

“Very.” Nico affirms, taking the bottle out of her hands by the neck to avoid touching her. “He’s asked me seven times already if I’m enjoying myself.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we should let him throw another party for a while, it makes him go weird.” She watches him smile as he takes a sip from his drink. “Are you, though? Enjoying yourself, I mean.”

She doesn’t remember talking to Nico ever making her feel like this before. Like an uphill climb to figure out what to say and still only coming out with unfamiliar small talk. But she can give it time, she thinks. Maybe it just needs time. They just need to warm up to each other, again.

“Yeah, but I want to make him sweat a little, so don’t tell him I told you that.”

“I won’t.” The smiles they share are familiar. Knowing. Like they’re the only two people in on a joke. “He said you’ve been off all night.”

She only realises once she’d said it that it’s almost word for word what Nico had said when she saw him earlier in the day. She wonders if he remembers the same thing, wonders if Jack had said something similar to Nico to prompt their run-in. If he had been worried about her in the same way she was starting to worry about him.

“Is that why he sent me over here? For you to scope out the reason for my bad mood?” He tries to keep his tone lighthearted, as Poppy’s has been, but she can tell it’s an effort not to sound bitter. There’s a disappointment that presses obviously on his posture, shoulders dropping.

“Cute how you think I’m at his beck and call like that,” she leans against the counter behind her, wanting to send a message through her body language that she’s settling in for a conversation, instead of avoiding one like before. “He’s worried about you, I think.”

“And you’re speaking to me now for his benefit?”

“No.” She tries not to frown at the accusation. Maybe his back is up after their earlier interaction. All she can do is own up to her actions. Growing up. Moving on. Accepting olive branches from pouty Swiss hockey players. Maybe even offering one of her own. “I feel bad for being a bitch to you before. You were trying to talk to me and I was shutting you down.”

“I didn’t think you were being a bitch, Poppy.” He leans against the counter that is perpendicular to her. 

“Oh, I’ll try harder next time, then.” She makes an attempt at a joke, and relief washes over her when he breathes out a chuckle. “I was for sure trying to blow you off.”

“Yeah, I got that from your two word responses.” He jokes back. 

It starts to feel like progress. A silence falls between them, and it isn’t uncomfortable, per se, but she doesn’t quite bask in it like she used to. Her muscles don’t relax the same and her worries don’t entirely ease up.

She glances over at him, able to take a good look as he stands with his arms crossed, looking down at the floor as if in deep thought. And, not for the first time in her life, Poppy wishes she could read Nico’s mind.

Nico

Nico is cursing every day he has spent in the cold, away from the warmth of Poppy Jensen. How he’s survived this long, he doesn’t have a clue, but he wishes more than anything he’d worked to fix things so much earlier than now.

It’s not the looming deadline of midnight that’s making him feel like this - he knows deep down that he’s placing an unnecessary time limit upon a reunion - but the instantaneous relief he feels whenever Poppy’s eyes meet his, and she keeps them there, looking straight through the privacy film he’s wrapped himself in for so long. He’d forgotten how good she was at that - making him feel deeply seen with one glance.

It’s the relief he felt when she’d smiled at him - fully, properly smiled; eyes crinkling slightly in the corners, soft, balmy lips stretching and cheeks rounding - or when she’d casually fallen back against the counter, feet crossing over each other at the ankles, showing him she had no intention of running away from him anymore. She’s even facing away from everyone else, not actively looking for a way out. It’s like a flashed out version of the Poppy he had only managed to catch a glimpse of earlier. 

He wishes he could have felt this sooner, the absence of the consternation that has clouded his every thought lately brings a welcome comfort. He feels like he’s taken his first deep breath in months, and he’s greedy with it, filling his lungs with everything she can offer. Snark - albeit with less bite than before - sarcasm, jokes, even the littlest offering of pity she seemed to give. He doesn’t have much time for anyone else’s attempts at empathy, but with her he doesn’t care, he’ll take it. With Poppy comes genuine concern, and that means she still cares.

That had been a little hard to gauge before, her avoidance and indifference blurring together, and her lack of emotion had stung, but he sees it better now. Sees it clearer - how she is consciously making an effort to make him feel better.

He doesn’t entirely know why, doesn’t think he deserves it.

“Did you have a nice Christmas?” He asks in an attempt to shift the conversation, not quite ready to attempt to tackle the behemoth elephant in the room - not with everyone around, at least. Although as soon as the words leave his mouth, his toes curl at how he’s now engaging in small talk with her.

Poppy scrunches her nose in a wordless answer, and he feels himself smile before he realises he’s doing it. “It was pretty boring,” she shrugs, “I had dinner with Nia and her dad and then came home, watched some football and snacked myself into a coma.”

Nico frowns, thick eyebrows pushing together as something akin to a fiery guilt bites away at the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t like the idea of Poppy being on her own for the holidays - she’s usually so tied into a routine around this time of the year that it doesn’t seem right. “You spent Christmas alone?”

“My parents went to California to see Oli and his family.”

“And you weren’t dragged along, kicking and screaming?” He asks. She shakes her head and gives him one of those smiles again - and pride swells in his chest at how well he knows her. 

Nico finds it strange how much comes flooding back to him when he gives himself the opportunity to think about her. To think about all the parts of their lives they had shared with each other, and all the little details about her that were ingrained within his memory as much as details about himself. Recalling tidbits of information about her comes to him as effortlessly as breathing.

“I’m a big girl, now, I can make my own decisions about where I spend my holidays, thank you very much.”

“I hope that’s not what you said to your mother.”

Nico can’t recall a single person in the world who intimidates him as much as Priscilla Jensen, and he has constant face-offs with amped up, aggressive, mostly 6 foot-whatever hockey players on a regular basis.

That woman is scary, but no one can handle her better than her daughter - he’s witnessed it first hand.

The first time he had ever met Poppy’s mom had been an unfortunate, unplanned accident. He’d been returning from a roadie, and Poppy had loaned him her headphones after his AirPods had given up on him mid-workout the week before. He could have just bought a new paid, but he’d run into her on her way out of work before the team were about to leave, and when he’d mentioned he was about to fly cross-country with no music, she had taken pity on him. She’d placed her headphones around his neck, telling him they had a full charge and should last him until he was home.

And they had. He’d gone straight from the team bus to her place after they’d gotten back from the airport - not much of a detour, her apartment not out of the way on his usual journey home - and when he knocked on the door, he was a little shell-shocked when her mother answered. 

A lot of things about the woman before him immediately intimidated him to the nth degree.

The way she somehow seemed to look down upon him, even from a stature that was inches shorter than his own. The way she was dressed, prim and proper, not a wrinkle in her fancy dress, somewhat out of place in the doorway of a Jersey City apartment. The way she so easily made her distaste of him obvious from the second she laid eyes upon him. Dread had consumed him, like he’d stumbled into a lion’s den and the only exit was immediately blocked behind him. 

“Who are you?” She had asked. No hello or can I help you? Just pure distain and an eyre of being inconvenienced by his mere presence.

“Oh, I’m Nico,” he stuttered. “Is Poppy here? Poppy Jensen?” He was starting to think he had to have the wrong place, and had seriously just ruined this woman’s day by knocking on her door and interrupting whatever sacrifice she was making to the gods behind closed doors to keep her youth. She was going to sacrifice him, next. But, there was no mistaking the relation when he took a proper look. The slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the unique shade of her eyes, he was definitely in the right place. “This is Poppy’s apartment, right?”

“What do you want with her?” Her glare was just as accusatory as her tone, like he could ever be worth a second of her or her daughter’s time.

Nico’s throat was closing up. As captain of the Devils, he had faced some hard press in his time Having to deal with media after back to back losses, organisation restructures, poor performances, and dancing around admitting to injuries for himself and his teammates - but he hadn’t had to answer to anyone like this in a long time, and he was seconds away from apologising, forgetting how to speak English, and bolting back down the stairs before he heard Poppy’s voice. 

“Jesus, Mom, cool off,” she had sighed, coming into his field of vision behind the scary woman before him. “This is Nico, he’s here to whisk me away into the sunset and elope so I don’t have to answer to you guys anymore.”

Nico’s eyes widened. If she didn’t have a reason to hate him before, she sure did now. Thanks, Poppy.

“That isn’t even remotely funny, Poppy,” her mom snarled, disgust evident in her tone. “You have 5 minutes before we’re leaving.”

She had stormed off then, the echo of her heels clicking against the hard wood floors of Poppy’s apartment echoing until they eventually dulled when Poppy came out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. 

“Hi,” Poppy gave a bright smile, as if Nico hadn’t almost just been traumatised.

“I just came to drop these off,” he had gulped, with an alarmed look to make sure she had definitely closed the door and he was safe. He handed over the headphones, as well as a cookie he’d got her from the airport. “Did I do something? Has she gone to put some sort of generational hex on my family back there?”

“You didn’t give her your last name, did you?” Poppy asked, her eyes widening in mocking horror. 

“Not funny.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Poppy scoffed, “She wouldn’t waste her evil energy on such petty curses. She’s already forgotten you exist, bud.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” He shuddered, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody that so outwardly hates me within seconds of meeting, before.”

“She’s like that with everyone, I wouldn’t take it personally.” Poppy tears open the wrapper to the cookie before bringing it up to her mouth and taking a bite. She hums in appreciation.

“What, even you?”

“Especially me.” She covers her lips as she speaks around the mouthful of gingerbread. When she’s finished, she gives a gentle smile, reaching out to pat his arm, thankfully. “Thanks for the cookie, I’ll let her know who’s to blame next time she’s over and I’m like half a pound heavier.”

“Maybe I should take that back,” he frowned, reaching forward only for her to pull her arm back, out of his reach. 

“Nope. This is my only sustenance for the evening. Who knows if she’ll let me even look at the hors d’oeuvres.” She shudders. “I’m resigned to a night of sparkling water and biting my own tongue.”

“If you need me to make up some emergency for you to leave whatever hell it is you’re being taken to, I could call you. I’m really good at fake crying.”

“I bet,” Her eyes shone with mischief, biting back a grin. “Unfortunately I don’t think she’d care enough about your wellbeing to let me leave, but I appreciate the effort, thanks, Cap.”

It was only the rush of blood to his cheeks and the need to divert his gaze from the teasing glimmer in her eyes that brought his attention to Poppy’s attire. An ankle length, satin cocktail dress fit like a glove to Poppy’s figure, the bright magenta colour not something he was used to seeing her in, but complimented her skin tone perfectly, nonetheless. Her hair fell in loose waves, one side tucked behind her ear, and her makeup was soft - cheeks flushed, lips balmy and a small spattering of barely-there shimmer in the corners of her eyes, making them sparkle even more than usual. “You look nice, Mohn” He hadn’t tried to make his voice sound any kind of way, but it had come out lower, breathier than normal, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint the new feeling that began to brew in the pit of his stomach. 

“Thank you,” she had given a bashful smile, reaching her left hand up to tuck her hair behind her other ear, too. The bracelet on her wrist had caught the light, the same one he had gifted her on her birthday a few months before, the same one he hasn’t seen her without, since. The beat of the peaceful silence that fell between them was harshly interrupted by the shrill call of Poppy’s name from within her apartment, accompanied by a banging on the other side of the door. Instead of shouting back, Poppy just banged back on her side with her elbow. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Only if you can figure out how to break the curse she’s for sure put on me back there.” He pouts, “Otherwise, it might be too late.”

She smiles big, and his lips automatically mirror the curve of hers, arms instinctively opening for her to shuffle into his embrace. “I’ll see what I can do to save the fate of all future Hischier children.” She promised as her arms wound around his back. “Bye, Nico.”

“Bye, Mohn.” He’d pressed his lips to the top of her head before backing away, making sure she was somewhat safe inside before making his way back down the stairs.

Nico had left her that night to whatever her unspoken, fancy plans with her mother were. He’d driven back to his apartment, unpacked from his roadie, and had spent the evening alone, watching soccer and eating meal prep. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed at the fact he had ended up viewing Poppy’s instagram story a mere 40 seconds after she had posted it. 

She had been with Nia, still dressed up, both of them wearing goofy smiles as they fed each other greasy pizza outside one of the hole-in-the-wall vendors in the city across the river.

That had been maybe 18 months ago, and it concerns him only slightly how little has changed in that time.

He’d done the same thing tonight, before Poppy got here. Sat on his own, busying himself by doing nothing on his phone, refreshing instagram in the hopes she or Nia might have posted a story and he could tell where she was outside of checking the door every couple of minutes for her arrival. 

He wonders, as he remembers back on how easily Poppy had handled her terrifying mother, if things are still the same with them, but refrains from delving too deep into that whirlpool, and instead asks, “She didn’t blow up on you, then?”

“Worse, she gave me the cold shoulder for a week.”

“Sounds like the dream.”

“You’d think so, but my mother’s version of the silent treatment is surprisingly loud.”

He doesn’t know how he hasn’t noticed it before now. He’s had his eyes on Poppy from the second she came in. He’s watched her hug everyone she speaks to, has watched her hands gesture around whatever story she’s telling, watched her cover her mouth when she laughs a little too hard at someone else’s joke. But it’s only as she lifts the plastic cup she’s holding to her mouth and takes a sip that he catches the glimmer of the gemstones adorning her wrist. 

She wasn’t wearing it, earlier today. 

Hasn’t worn it in some time, he doesn’t think.

But she’s wearing it now - the bracelet he had given her for her birthday 2 years ago - as pristine as they day he had bought it. She’d worn it so much before that he had thought she’d permanently fixed it to herself, but she’s always taken good care of it. Always cherished it, despite him selling her short on its value.

And he knows he shouldn’t read too much into it. It’s just a piece of jewellery. But it isn’t. It never has been. Not to him, and certainly not to Poppy. So he can’t stop himself before the words tumble out from between his lips. “I think I need some air."

He looks up from her wrist to meet her eyes, now widened in confusion. “Oh,” her lips form a pout around the exclamation, her feet uncrossing and her back straightening until it’s no longer resting against the side. “Okay.” 

She seems disappointed, and he immediately realises that she thinks he means without her. “Would you come with me?”

“I, uh,” she cranes her neck to seemingly look back for something in the crowd of their teammates. “I didn’t bring a jacket.” She’s frowning when she faces him again, and he knows not to take it as another attempt to avoid spending time alone with him. She’s genuinely disheartened at the thought of missing out.

“You can borrow mine?” He suggests.

“Are you sure? It’s barely 30 degrees out,”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, like he even understands Fahrenheit, anyway. 30 degrees sounds decent. Where he wants to go, there won’t be much need for a jacket, but that would involve divulging more information to Poppy than he needs to share, right now. He just needs to get her to come with him. “I run hot, remember?” He swears he sees her blush - tries not to give into the quiver of his lip that’s fighting to curve into a smirk. He feels giddy, almost. “I also live upstairs.”

“Oh yeah,” she chuckles, nervously. “Let me just find Nia?”

“Of course.” He straightens up, “I’ll grab my jacket and meet you by the door.”

Nico had shrugged his jacket off somewhere in the corner when he had come in, and when he goes over to retrieve it, digging it out from a pile of coats that had formed since he got here, Jack rushes over.

“Are you-,”

“I’m having a great time, Jack.” He chuckles, and this time he thinks he means it. “Me and Poppy are gonna go out for some fresh air, so don’t go blowing up her phone when you can’t find her.”

“I would literally never do that,” he snorts in denial, backing away and acquiescing immediately, giving up whatever he had come over to bother Nico with. “You kids have fun!”

Nico finds Poppy waiting by the entrance to Jack’s apartment, hands busying themselves by playing with the rings on her fingers. She looks up as he approaches and smiles, accepting the jacket he hands over to her and immediately shrugs it on. 

The jacket is only slightly shorter than her dress, and so her bare legs come straight out from the bottom, but he hopes it’s enough to keep her warm for the time being. It has a fleeced collar, a thick overall lining, and he knows that if she puts her hands in the pockets, the soft sherpa interior will melt her icicle fingers in no time. And if her legs do get cold, he’s almost desperate enough for her approval that he will shuck off his pants and give them straight over to her.

He holds the door open for her, and when they get over to the elevator, he presses the button. They wait side by side in a comfortable silence, arms bumping each other as she sways very slightly on the spot. He tries not to get into his head about how she doesn’t move away. They stand similarly when they get into the elevator - he reaches forward to press the button at the top, and falls back into place beside her, her shoulder brushing his bicep.

“We’re going up?” She asks. “I didn’t think you could get on your rooftop.”

“They opened it up back in September,” he tells her, “It’s nice, there’s seating and tables up there and everything.”

“Oh wow, you’re gonna get hypothermia.”

“I’ll be alright,” he breathes out a laugh as the doors open, and he gestures for her to step out before him. He buries a hand into his pocket for his keys, pulls them out, and reaches around her to unlock the entrance to the roof - only accessible to a few people in the building if they have paid for the privilege. There’s a single flight of stairs before they make it up there, and they climb them side by side before he pushes the door open. He’s grateful for the lack of wind, tonight, but she’s right. It’s cold. And as much as he’s used to temperatures like this, he’s thankful he had the foresight to prepare for this earlier.

Nico guides Poppy with a hand on her back to the far corner of the rooftop, toward the pergola that surrounds the outdoor seating area. 

The city provides a decent glow at this time of night, but the pergola is lit up with ambient lighting strips, and it looks cosy. The couches have plush cushions, and the weather hadn’t been too bad the past couple of days, so it’s all dry. 

“Wow,” Poppy steps away from Nico, toward the side, hands reaching out to grasp the railings as she looks over what she can of the edge of the building. There’s a safety perimeter that stops her from being able to see to far if she wants to look down. “This is a lot higher than my roof.”

“It’s a great view, huh?”

“It’s incredible.” Nico had been on her rooftop with Poppy a couple times, and she has a great view, herself, but hers is blocked by some of the taller buildings to either side of hers on the waterfront. “You can see my apartment from here.” She points, and Nico’s eyes follow the direction of her finger. “We’ll have to get binoculars and test if you can see me through all my windows.”

As ridiculous as that suggestion is, Nico’s heart beats erratically at the idea of it. He can picture the scenario in his mind, clear as day. She’d get him to call her to test the theory, ask him if he could see how many fingers she was holding up, and flip him off from the window in her bedroom.

He laughs out loud at the thought.

“Do you come up here a lot?” Poppy burrows into his jacket, stepping away from the side and toward the seats.

“Not really,” he denies. He’d only gotten a key from the building manager today. He’d put in an urgent request after he’d seen Poppy and Nia, and realised Poppy wasn’t going to get to fulfil her New Years tradition. He’d wanted to do something nice, and as he takes in the wonder and amazement she exudes, he’s happy he did. There had been a few scenarios of how he’d get her up here, and he’d actually settled on a plan to give Nia the key and tell her to take Poppy up before midnight, but he much prefers how this is playing out. “Hasn’t been the weather for it.”

“Right,” she sighs, sinking down onto one of the couches, sitting with her knees tucked beneath her and her feet hanging over the edge so her shoes don’t touch the cushions. “Because the weather now is ideal for a rooftop gathering,”

Nico lifts the top of the storage trunk that sits beside the couch, reaches in and retrieves the blankets he’d stashed in there earlier when he’d scoped the place out. He throws one over to her and chuckles at the surprise that spreads across her face when she catches it. 

“I take it back,” she bites back a smile as she unravels the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders and making sure it spreads to cover her legs. Nico waits until he’s sat before he wraps his around himself. He sits beside her, inclining his body towards hers, one leg under himself and elbow leaning on the back of the couch. When he drapes the blanket over himself, he does a quick check to make sure there isn’t any bare skin of Poppy’s he can see that he’d need to extend his cover over. “I never asked about your Christmas.”

Nico thinks that maybe he doesn’t hate small talk as much - talking about anything with Poppy is good enough. “It was pretty boring,” he echoes her earlier sentiment, smiling down at her when she glances over and rolls her eyes.

“C’mon, I know what you European guys are like when you all get together, Holtzy said a few of you were over at Jesper and Nic’s place.”

He lets himself wonder for a second if she’d asked about him, specifically, when she was talking to the other guys about how they spent their holidays. If she had still cared enough to consider where he had spent his Christmas, and wasn’t just asking now to fill in any potentially awkward silence or reroute the conversation from anything else.

“It was good,” he offers, vaguely, “I do think I was bringing the vibe down, though, wasn’t really in the Christmas spirit.”

Christmas at Jesper’s hadn’t been as bad as he’d made it out to be in his head in the build up to the day - he’d had a good time in the end, but he had left just after dinner; told everyone he was still tired and aching from their game the few days before. He’d paid no mind to the pitiful glances cast to him from throughout the group, and he would never in a million years admit to any of them that even in a room full of people that he did genuinely care about and love being around, he couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness that crept up every time he glanced around and saw his friends all loved up with their partners and having the time of their lives.

He realises that he and Poppy had both been alone on Christmas, and maybe if he hadn’t have been such a royal idiot about things, he could have invited her along and had a chance to truly engage in all the festivities and joy.

“Never had you down as a party pooper, Nico.”

“You sound like Jack.”

“I take great offence to that.”

“I got dumped.” He may as well get this part of conversation over with, he’s going to struggle to skirt around it much longer. He almost expects surprise on her end, shock or disbelief, but Poppy just nods in understanding.

“I heard.” She purses her lips, shuffling until her elbow is against the back of the couch, a mirror of his own position, and she can listen with intent. “I’m sorry, I know how much you liked her. It seemed like you two were perfect for each other.”

Nico can’t hide the frown that takes over. He doesn’t feel like they were perfect for each other. Doesn’t remember trying to make it seem that way, or remember telling anybody in any kind of detail how much he liked being with Talia. He doesn’t quite understand how she had come to that conclusion. 

When she takes in his expression, her shoulders tense. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry or anything.”

“No, you’re fine, I don’t mind talking about it.” With you, goes unspoken, but lingers quite obviously between them, he hopes. He nudges her elbow with his, narrowing the space between them in the process. Pry away, he thinks. He’d much rather have Poppy poke around at the inner workings of his brain than anyone else. She’d be able to make much more sense of it. But she needs to do so with the right assumptions. “It’s just that it wasn’t really like that, I don’t think.”

“Oh.” She sounds almost disappointed, he thinks - disheartened, maybe. It almost seems like she wanted them to be good, wanted him to be happy, and seemed unsettled by the idea she had the wrong perception of it all. The idea brings back a constricting feeling in his chest. “Breaking up around Christmas must be like torture, either way,”

“The returns policies aren’t too bad this time of year actually.” He shrugs. He feels like enough air has cleared between them that he can attempt a joke to pick the mood back up. He doesn’t really want to talk at length about his break up - he’s processed it, he thinks, despite the short passing of time since it’s happened. He wants to talk about Nico and Poppy - he’s finally ready to now.

That doesn’t change the swell of pride he feels with the way she looks at him, like she hadn’t expected him to make light of the situation, and doesn’t know whether it’s okay to laugh until his own cheeks dimple and his eyes crinkle with mirth.

She scoffs out a genuine chuckle, and he can no longer feel the cold seeping into his bones; the blanket covering him is just a mere coincidence, it’s the warmth that radiates from Poppy that does the trick.

“That’s bleak,” she shakes her head, biting back a full smile. 

“I thought it was funny.”

“You can’t joke your way through heartbreak, Nico, trust me,” She gives a familiar sigh, and he wants to tell her his heart hasn’t been broken, but that’s a partial lie. It just hasn’t been broken for the reason she thinks. “My dad always says that’s like patching up a boat hole with a bandaid.”

“You Americans have such a way with words.” He smiles, fondly. “I think it’s easier to see the situation for what it was now that I’m out of it.”

He notices that pang of disappointment make another quick appearance before she has the chance to check herself. She seems to let his words stew for a second in her brain before forming her next question. “If you aren’t cut up about the breakup, why have you been so down these past couple weeks?”

Nico tries to remember all the times he had seen her in that period. The time she was speaking to Jack in her office, a couple times on the plane to and from away games, he’d maybe caught a couple of glimpses of her around the Prudential Center when she’d been working - but all those times, he had never managed to catch her eye.

Had she been looking out for him, too?

His lips part to form a response, but words fail him for the time being, and all he can do is tilt his head and try to properly decipher that look about her that she reserves just for him.

Poppy’s eyes glow in the subdued light, reflecting the faint beams that line the structure around them, and they narrow only slightly as he stares at her for a prolonged moment. 

He’d been a little harsh earlier when she’d tried to measure the scale of his mood - thinking it was only because she was pushed by someone else to do so - and she had said  that Jack was worried about him, but maybe she was worried, too.

He doesn’t want to worry her. 

He wants to explain things, but a sudden barrage of emotions seems to hit him at the concern etched upon her soft features. Months worth of inner, suppressed turmoil wreaking havoc within him like a tornado of grief, stress and longing. He had maintained an unwavering calm about himself for the last two weeks - or, so he had thought.

Whenever anyone had directly asked about the breakup, he’d given short, unattached answers, never showing his hand, never revealing his true feelings, and now he can feel it all climbing its way out from the depths of his chest. Feelings from before then, even, when he had been struggling in the months leading up to that God-forsaken text from Talia, and he’d had no one to talk to, clawing their way up, scratching his throat and burning the back of his mouth like acid that he needs to spit out before it has the chance to poison him. 

He wants to tell her none of it had been purposeful. How he’d slipped straight into routine, at first - pre season had been rough in comparison to his somewhat slack summer training schedule, and he and Poppy never used to hang out much at that point in the season anyway. In the beginning, it hadn’t felt like he was doing anything wrong by not reaching out.

He wants to tell her about the first time he’d seen her after he came back from Switzerland, at the end of summer get together the team had thrown for the whole organisation in the Prudential Lounge, and he’d seen her slink in through the side doors with one of her colleagues from the foundation to sneak some food from the buffet. He remembers the nerves creeping in, and how something had kept him rooted to his side of the room where he would have normally gone straight over to greet her. He’d introduced Talia to the team as his girlfriend that afternoon, and had tried to focus more on making her feel welcome than tracking where Poppy had ended up.

He wants to tell her about the pages he’s formed on his Notes app - wherein sits a bunch of drafted messages to her from the past week. Even stupid stuff that his mind has lingered on - mundane questions he wants to ask in order to catch up with everything in her life. Does she still have a weird food fixation for Caesar salad and French fries? Is she still trying to force herself to like matcha? Is she still thinking about getting a cat? Did her super fix that cracked tile in her bathroom that she keeps cutting her foot open on and complaining about it every time she has to walk more than usual?

He wants to tell her about how he was so focused on being the best player, the best captain, the best teammate, the best boyfriend, that’d he’d forgotten how to be a good friend. He knows that if anyone had no expectations of him to be the best, it would be Poppy, and so the excuse seems a bit pathetic when he reflects on it.

Instead, through a lump in his throat and the welling of tears in his eyes, he tells her, “I’ve missed you,” and hopes it’s enough to answer her question, and for her to understand the insurmountable weight of those 3 words.

Nico anticipates from the quiver of her bottom lip and the rounding of her eyes that she gets it.

Poppy offers him a kindness he knows he doesn’t deserve when she sits up straight and takes the weight off of where she’s leaning on her elbow. She shrugs the blanket from over her shoulders and throws her arms around him - barely giving him a millisecond to even fear a negative reaction.

Her grip around his shoulders is tight, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck, and he tries to match her fervour with his own embrace, arms looping around her ribcage and cradling her back. They both seem to squeeze, his hands stroking soothingly up and down her back, and he’s not sure if the erratic thumping he feels in his chest is his own heartbeat, or that of hers pressed against him. 

They stay together like that for a good minute, maybe more, her body relaxing a little more into his until she’s practically in his lap, knees overlapping his. 

Nico can’t remember the last time he felt this calm.

It’s only when he hears the hitch in her breath that he pulls away. 

He feels like he’s taken a hit to the gut when he gets a good look at her face - eyes glassy with unshed tears, her lips pursed as she bites at the inner corner of them. 

“I’m so sorry, Mohn,” he mutters softly, thumb raising to swipe at her cheek when a tear falls free. “Please don’t cry.”

“I don’t understand what happened,” she laments, “You just shut me out. It’s like you went home for the summer and decided you didn’t want to be friends, anymore.”

“That’s not,” he begins to rationalise it before realising he can’t. He barely has an explanation he can voice, not one he has been able to bring himself to understand, yet, anyway. “I wanted to come over and speak to you after like a week of being back, but I just-,” his throat starts to feel tight again, but if he doesn’t get this out now, he might not get it out at all. “Every day that passed that we didn’t talk, that I didn’t reply to your texts or come find you, things just got worse. And then, after a while, no matter how much I needed to reach out, it felt like I’d left it too long.”

He knows it’s a cop out of an answer, and that she deserves more, but she also deserves for him to be at peace with what he wants to say, and he isn’t quite there yet.

“You could have just come to me and told me you were being an idiot.” 

“That doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”

“It can be for now.” For now. She gets it. “I missed you too much to hold a grudge.”

“Really?” Nico can’t fully comprehend why she would go easy on him. She’s well within her rights to cause a scene - kick and scream and never speak to him again - but instead, she gives a remorseful shrug, glassy eyes casting down to her lap.

“I don’t want to lose you for the sake of my pride, Nico.” She admits. “And I could have fought harder, too.”

He knows he’s long lost the right to ask such a selfish question of her, but he can’t help himself. “Why didn’t you?”

“You seemed happy.”

The thud of his heartbeat rattling around his brain turns into an incessant ring, like the kind that people use to measure the frequency in which they stop hearing noise. His bones feel like they’re buzzing, and his lungs feel like they’re plummeting somewhat throughout his body, his breath stuttering in his chest.

Maybe this is her way of dishing out some unintentional cruelty - he can’t argue that he doesn’t deserve it - implying she would have, in any way, suffered herself, just because he seemed content in shutting her out. It hurts to acknowledge that he had let her hurt for so long.

“I wasn’t.” He feels slightly better having said that. It almost makes up for what he’d chickened out of saying before, hopefully saying more than the 2 words might suggest.

Maybe if they’d been speaking all along she’d have seen right through him - got a glimpse behind the curtain of the charade he’d been putting on since the summer. Maybe it would have eased the weight of whatever was sitting on his chest for the past 4 months, would have made everything just that little bit easier to have shared his true feelings with someone who had no expectations of him other than to be there.

He has missed having someone he can be honest with. Has missed not having to keep up appearances, or make himself bigger or smaller to fit someone else’s needs. 

And when Poppy’s fingers wrap around his, looping through them when they open up at her touch, and the bracelet she wears tickles softly at his own wrist, it washes over him just how much he truly had missed her. He’d said it before, but there aren’t enough ways to to say it and accurately convey the depth in which he feels it. Having her here, now, makes him feel whole in a way he hasn’t for a long time, and he hadn’t realised all the time he’d known her just how much she calms the storm within him.

He pulls her hand back over his shoulder and circles an arm around her waist, tugging her body back into his embrace until she’s cuddled into him and he’s leaning into the back corner of the couch. There’s no point in which she fights the movement into the position, and when his muscles settle into the cushions, she follows suit, her head resting on his chest and her legs thrown over his. 

The hold they have on each other now feels a lot more secure, and he manages to wrangle the blankets back over the two of them, covering her legs so they can stay like this for a little longer.

“Thank you for letting me back in.”

“Thank you for coming back to me.”

Neither of them make any effort to move, content in each other’s arms, not caring about the time - even when the distant calls of a countdown stagger in the air, stirring a pulse of anticipation, and muffled cheers erupt from the surrounding buildings, a symphony of joy washing over the city like a tide. Not even when the sky ignites into a breathtaking explosion of colours, the fireworks painting their world in vibrant hues, do they break free from their tranquil embrace.

“Happy new year, Mohn,” he whispers into the crown of her head, placing a soft kiss into her hair.

“Happy new year, Nico.” She whispers back, looking up at him to give him a heart-stopping smile that had his chest aching in an entirely new, almost welcome way.

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

> Chapter Two

[sugar-omi]

PLSSS I BEG OF U COVE HOLDEN X FEM!READER NEWLY MARRIED AND R JUST SO LOVEY DOVEY AND CANT GET ENOUGH OF EACH OTHER let me stop with the caps anyway as i was saying newly married cove and fem!reader on their honey moon to (insert place with nice oceans and views but you can take them anywhere you want) and they’re just sooo IN LOVE ITS DISGUSTING HOW IN LOVE THEY ARE you can add spice and intimacy if u want 🤷🏾❤️‼️

IM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE THIS ITS BEEN SITTING IN THE DRAFTS FOREVER.... im gonna blame it on my demon cat, its his fault he always wants to play outside i wanted a cat not a dog wtf !!!!! anyway here you go anon i loved writing this sm bc i have been thinking abt honeymoon hcs for awhile mmm<3333 also i jus wanna say cove is very much a "grabs your stomachs n prbly shakes it" man, like yk how your boyfriend is always grabbing your stomach idk at first i thought it was weird like "wtf is he grabbing your stomach n shaking it" but now i know. n cove does it ok i wont explain it but he also rubs anywhere, hes tracing your body n making shapes w his fingers on you, hes just so TOUCHY eta: I JUST REALIZED THIS LIKE 70% SMUT BUT UM.... ANYWAY 😁😁i hope you like it anyway, also added a hc's i forgot at the v bottom <3333

tags : fluff, step 4/wedding dlc, fem/afab reader (could be okay for masc/amab/nb readers as well if you ignore cove calling you 'wife' once), buff tatted cove, headcanons at the very bottom below the nsfw

+ NSFW (at the bottom), fem/afab reader, rough raw sex, creampie, missionary, v horny cove <3

perhaps i should make a part 2 with all the times n places cove fucks you during your honeymoon, mmm thats a good idea write that down write that down

synopsis : you and cove on your honeymoon to the bahamas !!

surprise to literally no one, you two pick the Bahamas for your honeymoon

it wasn't a hard pick. it was just a matter of where had the nicest views, open hotels, and safest locations, and with how cove got more starry-eyed with each solidified detail, the Bahamas was your destination.

if it wasn't for the fact that you just had an eventful wedding full of love from friends and family, plus the plane trip, cove would've dropped everything and ran for the glittering water.

once you're checked in and changed from your flight clothes into something a bit more dressy but comfortable, you and cove make your way for some much anticipated dinner.

when you're seated, the silence between you two is so easy and filled by the bustle of the restaurant.

across from you, cove is watching you with his chin hiked atop his clasped fingers, easily looking like a puppy.

"what? what're you staring at?" you laugh, taking a dip if your drink to uselessly wash away your fluster at your husband's blatant staring.

cove already has a rosy tint to his cheeks and if he was younger cove would've caught fire at being caught staring. instead he just grinned cheerily and happily, with a gaze of a man sick with love. "just admiring my wife."

you can't help but tuck your head a bit, flustered by his direct compliment. God you're in for a long marriage.

thank god, you think distantly.. a lifetime of being flustered by each other no matter how long you're together doesn't sound to bad at all.

while you're eating, you two respond to your family blowing up the "[Last] - Holden family" group chat, that was so courteously made by your snickering sister and cousin leading up to your wedding.

after a lovely dinner (only after you reassured cove that you had a few days to try out everything on the menu before the trip was over) you two took a well deserved nap together with cove tucked into your neck and your fingers in his hair. <3

okay listen... would it be bad to say you planned your wedding around your honeymoon

there's a reason!!!

i imagine you and cove (mostly cove) wanted to rent a house on the beach, or at least close to it, but i imagine its hard to snag one so once you finally got a place the wedding just fell around it

while you're in the bedroom sleeping, recovering and recharging, cove still gets up early to go play around on the beach.

not without a fight though!

when he wakes up the sky is still navy, and he flips over, feeling antsy to start the day and your activities.

but there you are, laying next to him in one of his shirts that you've stolen and your face is still scrunched up a bit from cove's movement which makes him settle down.

cove reaches to stroke your cheek, running his hand over your hair and he admires the way your face relaxes from the touch...

he feels like kicking and screaming right now, now looking at his ring(s) and remembering that you're married and you're his and he's yours and...

he's going to bawl his eyes out again.

so instead of crying and watching you until you wake up, which definitely won't be for another hour or more at least, he slowly untangles himself from you and the sheets.

it kills him a bit to do so, wanting nothing more than to be close to you every second of the day but he also wants to make you feel special today. he also can't stay in bed that long, he's too much of a busybody to do that..

so when you finally wake up, after much struggle and a lot of stretching, you drag yourself from the bed and tame your wild hair before you find your husband.

cove is leaning on the porch overlooking the beach, a random song playing lowly on the radio that you left on last night.

he whips around when you tug open the sliding door and abandons his orange juice to pull you into his arms and cove's rocking you two back n forth, kissing your jaw and cheek and he's holding your hand and compliments you.

"you look so pretty..."

"nice ring, your husband is really lucky." he says it with a smirk and you both laugh.

when he finally snaps out of his daze, totally bewitched by the warmth of the sun, view of the beach accompanied by the sound of waves and the way you lean into him had cove in a trance.

he leads you over to the kitchen where he insists you sit and watch while he makes breakfast.

in the end, you do end up spending most the day at the beach house. so when lee shoots a series of text asking about your day and if you did anything, you respond with a picture of you two buried in the blankets and a christmas hallmark movie on the TV, you laugh at her spam about how you should be enjoying the sand and waves instead of a out of season movie and respond with a meme.

the next day you spend a lot of it outside, and i even imagine you rent a boat to take out for the day or smth like that and it reminds you of when lee took you all out on a boat, but this time it was just the 2 of you

let me just say.. everyone even 5 miles away can tell you're on your honeymoon

cove is always looking at you

whether its to see how you react to a good joke

or you're telling a story and he's watching in admiration at your mannerisms while you speak

or you're at the booth ordering ice cream for the both of you

or even better, he's trying his best to capture you imagine as you walk back to him, squeezing out your slip/coverup that blew away and you laugh at him for capturing this moment instead of helping you.

"stop laughing! haha, it's not funny! *swats at him with the coverup* im taking your shirt to cover up with!"

many many pictures and videos of your honeymoon. they're mostly of you

or your shared favorite:

you're on top of cove and his eyes are closed so he doesn't notice you're recording him.

"you've gotten more tan. y'know that reminds me of when we were kids, you had such bad tan lines!" you laugh, the camera shaking.

he squints at you, squeezing your hips when he realizes you're recording him. "i did not."

"you did, i saw it. you had different tan lines from your shorts!" you tease loudly and giggle, thinking about the varying darkness of teenage-cove's tan lines because of how some of his swim shorts and pants hung lower than the other bottoms he'd wear.

cove jumps up a bit, laughing as he sputtered. "you saw that?!"

"yeah! you were the one with your v-line hanging out all the time, mister "i don't like wearing layers'!"

his look is full of love, and so is cove's hands running up and down your hips and back. but he's still smug when he says it and the wide smirk on his face makes you wanna kiss it off him.

"well you were the one looking, i didn't hear any complaints.."

you hit his shoulder, "you're so smug, you brat!", the camera shaking from your laughter.

cove is very handsy during this time

something about being married now has him seeking you out and keeping some form of contact between you

whether its holding hands, locking arms, or kissing you in public

he's always pulling you into him, wrapping a arm around your waist...

but when you're at the beach house.. well i hope you keep the curtains closed for the most part especially in the bedroom because clothes are pretty optional/limited during your honeymoon

usually cove's sex drive is pretty average, or low (i feel like at this point his drive matches yours but it's always a little lower depending on how high yours is, but thats for a different post okok)

so it surprises you how.. horny he is

he surprises himself too honestly

but he just wants to be close to you so bad!

you look so beautiful, and so happy... and now you're married and its like when he was a teenager all over again

the sun is coming through the windows, warming up your naked back.

you hum, enjoying the warmth and you feel the bed shift and now there's lips on your forehead, and cove's hand is running up and down your spine, rubbing soothingly across your shoulders.

"g'morning, y/n..." cove's gravely voice sends a shiver down your spine. "mmm, hi.." you tilt your head to the side, letting him kiss your cheek and the back of your neck.

you peak at him, still sleepy but enjoying the warmth and attention. you try to stretch your body, stretching out your legs and with how cove is leaned over you, your butt brushes against him and makes him gasp, his fingers squeezing your shoulder reflexively.

"at least let me brush my teeth..." you laugh, sitting up and after a second of looking at your clothes on the floor, you grab the robe on the chair beside you and lazily wrap it around you and shuffle to the bathroom.

cove is looking at you, you can feel his gaze and the second you disappear behind the door you hear him shuffling around before he comes behind you, dressed in nothing. cove didn't walk around naked often, only if he was walking around your bedroom finding his clothes for the day, but man was it a treat.

he wraps his arms around you, his hand rubbing your stomach and the other is wandering.

"c'mere..." you mumble, grabbing cove's toothbrush and sitting on the counter to brush his teeth for him. he lets you, and you laugh throughout the process because its a funny thing to do but you get through it and he spits in the other sink beside you before he picks you up and carries you back to bed.

on your way back to the bed, your lips find his shoulder and you add onto the array of marks already bloomed on his neck.

cove lays you down on the bed, shuffling your bodies closer to the pillows, tugging off your robe as you fumble around and throwing it somewhere. you're definitely making him clean up the room after this, but first..

you bring him in, letting your tongues tangle together and cove stretches his arm, looking for the lube and a rubber.

"ah-" cove sits up, and he looks back at you sheepishly. "there's no more.. um..."

you grin, already looking forward to cove's reaction. "that's okay. just fuck me raw, won't be the last time. right, covey?" you tangle your fingers in the sheets and get comfortable while you watch it sink in.

it isn't the first time, but fuck it always turns cove on and it makes him impossibly horny.

cove curses and he moves down, pushing your legs up and he kisses your inner thighs, sucking on the skin very close to your cunt that his cheek brushes against you and you whine, your hands finding his hair.

cove teases you a bit more, but he's teasing himself too so his mouth happily finds your cunt, grinning at the way you jump when his tongue runs over your sensitive clit.

even though cove ran a pleasurable train over you last night, your cunt sensitive but still pulsing with need.

your leg is shaking in cove's hold, his hand holding up one of your legs to give him easy access to your wet cunt but he happily lets your other leg shake on his shoulder, your foot bumping against his side and toes curling as he thrusts his tongue in and out your twitching insides.

he kept tongue-fucking you, his thumb petting your clit and he mumbled praises against your cunt as you came, your slick pooling on his tongue.

you buried your face in the pillow, always left twitching after cove sucks your soul from your body. you peak at cove spreading the lube on your sexes, lining himself up and sinking into you.

"ah fuck..."

cove looks so attractive like this, sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains and leaned over you, shaded by the broad expanse of his torso and caged between his arms.

"cove!" your nails dig into his shoulders, your mouth falling open with a sharp moan when cove snaps his hips, burying himself inside you.

cove tucks his head into your shoulder, both of you panting and pulling each other closer even though the air between you two is balmy and hot.

"i'm gonna move..." cove kisses your jaw, tearing himself away from you to show you his flushed face. you whine when cove picks up your lower body, stuffing a pillow under you and the movement makes his tip bump your insides.

cove throws your legs over his shoulders and grips your hips in his hands, kissing your ankle that has your anklet hanging on it.

you throw your head back and moan loudly, cove starting a rough pace from the beginning.

you're so sensitive from last night, and cove abusing your insides again has tears coming to your eyes. "oh fuck! please, cove-"

you reach for him and cove offers his hand and intertwines it with yours. you don't know exactly what you're asking for, for him to be more gentle? a kiss? for cove to fuck you harder?

you just want more of him, to be closer, to be one with him...

"its okay, that's it.. good girl." cove shushes you, putting his free hand by your head to lean over you, your legs almost flush with your chest as cove practically mounts you.

something about the sharpness of cove's eyes and his flushed face makes you want to mess with him, so you bring his hand up to your mouth, wrapping your fingers around his tattooed wrist and sucking on his middle and ring finger.

cove groans, watching the way your tongue slides around his wedding band(s). "you.." cove pushes on your tongue, thrusting his hips up to bump against the spongy spot deep inside your cunt.

your eyes roll into the back of your head when cove picks up the pace again, his hips rolling back and slamming against your butt hard, making your body bounce, pushing his cock deeper against your walls.

while you're moaning and crying out so sweetly, cove squeeze's his hand between your bodies to rub your clit, the proximity of your bodies not leaving much room for anything more than tight circles against the poor sensitive nub.

"cove.." you huff, feeling your cunt gush more slick and adding to the wet, loud squelching. "cove, kiss me, please. oh fuck- oh fu-" cove's lips cut off your mindless babbles, muffling yours and his loud moans as he fucks you with shallow thrusts.

he breaks apart, panting and stealing small kisses in between his sentence. "i'm- *kiss* oh god- i'm gonna *kiss, kiss* cum.."

you whimper and hook your shaking leg around cove's back, the overstimulation makes you want to pull away but you're so close and you want cove to make you cum, and to finish with you. to finish inside you.

"cum inside!" your nails scratch down his back. "please, cum, cum inside-"

cove whines into your neck, the rhythm of his thrusts falling apart as he comes closer to finishing. he rubs faster circles on your clit, and when your fingers drag down his back as you cum, cove's hips push your body deeper into the bed as he fills your cunt with his thick cum.

he leans lifelessly over your body, panting into your neck and pressing kisses into your shoulder as he sits up to give you a kiss.

"i'll..i'll run us a bath, okay?" cove smiles dozily, stroking your hips. you blink, trying to regain your vision from your orgasm.

"and carrying me to the bath!" cove nods at that, accepting the fact he's basically rendered your legs useless for the morning. "and you're making breakfast too." you grin at him. "its punishment."

cove kisses your cheeks. "mm, trying out new methods?" cove teases.

you smack his arm and push him away, breath hitching when he pulls out.

cove watches out his cum starts to leak from your poor, twitching cunt and before he can get any bright ideas you put your foot on his shoulder and nudge him. "stop looking!" you tug the sheets over you and cove gets up with a sheepish laugh. "okay, okay!"

is very very whipped for you

does anything n everything you ask the whole trip

when he goes out and it comes up somehow, he'll tell anyone and everyone he's on his honeymoon w his lovely spouse <3

if you do any underwater activities like snorkeling or smth, you're holding hands underwater <333

yes you hold hands everywhere you go, he's so in love with you he just has to be close to you

if you're not holding hands than he's trailing very close behind you or you're at least wearing his shirt

MATCHING OUTFITS

every young person is ither inspired by your relationship or is sick of seeing you at the beach, go HOME

the old people love you and talk your ear off in the middle of the store, telling you stories of their marriages and tips on how to have a long happy marriage

when you tell them you're childhood friends/lovers though they laugh and tell you you already have it down then since you've known each other so long!

when you finally get on the plane to go home, i hope you rmbr to get some foundation or at least tell cove to wear his hair down and a t-shirt instead of a tank top because his neck and back/shoulders are Marked Up

liz and lee tease you about how glowy and refreshed you look <3

cove is very flustered if any of your friends or family see any marks or scratches

or even worse if someone asks if you had a good wedding night, etec

if you want to have kids n give birth, liz also jokes that shes too young to be a grandma for real (you sputter n tell her you and cove arent her kids n shes exaggerating!!)