8xbettdev

[queers-gambit]

Ignorance is Bliss

prompt: turns out, you didn't care if they fucked - it's her job. you do, however, care that your husband's been confiding in her more than you. -> or in which your husband has an emotional affair.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!wife!reader platonic pairing: Aegon Targaryen x mean!bestie!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: Pumpkin Eater - coming soon!

word count: 3.2k+

note: because we don't explicitly see them fucking, this is an emotional affair. cool? cool.

warnings: kinda AU timeline so very small spoilers, alcohol consumption, Aegon's a gossipy little bitch, kinda mean!reader, self doubt, not all cheating is physical - this is a single variation. cursing, established relationship / wife!reader, relationship angst, generalized angst, hurt no comfort, feelings are hard. Aemond's a dick, ONE SHOT, abrupt ending, drama, technically friends to lovers, is this a toxic relationship? idk, maybe. not edited. requires maturity and caution.

"Oooooohhhhh, sis-teeeerrrrr! Sister, where art thou!?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you snarled quietly, dropping the book in your hands to your lap in defeat. "Is nowhere sacred?"

"Sister! Sister, dearest! Hello? Your little handmaiden said you were down here! Wheeeeere arrreeeeee yoooouuuuuuuu?"

"This fucking lecher will wake the whole bloody Keep," you shook your head with a scoff. Then, with a raised voice, you called, "Over here, Aegon!"

"Who's here!?"

"Left!"

"It's dark - where's Left!?"

"Oh, Gods, walk straight ahead of you!" You watched as the King slowly revealed himself, turning every which way. "Okay, halt." He did, hands held out carefully. "Turn a little... No, no, over here, mate - to your left... Your left... Your LEFT! Aegon, your other left!"

"Oh, hoooo!" Aegon giggled when he spun in a complete circle before pausing upon his sight of you - sitting beneath the Heart Tree in the Godswood. "There you are, sister! Oh, you look glorious tonight!"

"Fuck off with your fake compliments, Aegon, what do you want?"

"Perhaps I am merely happy to see you!"

"You're never authentic, tell me what you want. Why do you seek me?"

"Well, that's no way to speak to your King."

"I am speaking to my brother-by-law."

"Not your friend?" He pouted dramatically before dropping to the spot beside you in the dirt, groaning, "Oh, how do you sit like this? It's - It's miserable. The bloody roots... Here, I got this, this will help, make it allllllll better," he wriggled around to pull his flask from his belt.

"How much have you had to drink tonight, friend?"

"Enough," he assured, taking a swig, "but this is mostly for you."

"Oh, I'm fine - "

"I think you'll need it, sister."

"Why's that?"

"I have something toooo telllll yoooouuuuu," he sang with a devilish grin.

"I truly don't care for petty gossip - "

"It's about Aemond."

"Spill, bitch."

"Okay, so," Aegon and you both readjusted to face one another in your respected cradles of the Heart Tree's roots, "do you know where he was tonight?"

"Am I to track his every move?"

"It was a mere question, sister, c'mon, play along and humor me."

With a sigh, you relented with a shrug, "He was... Supposedly in the library."

"Wrong," he handed over the flask, "he was in a brothel!" You lifted the flask to your lips and took a slow pull, narrowing your eyes in suspicion. "I swear it, we walked in on him! I would not lie to you! Well, not about this!"

Gulping, you pondered, "Hmm... Who's 'we'?"

"Myself and, uh, some of the Kingsguard who had yet to be blooded... If you catch my meaning."

"Everyone always catches your meanings, you wouldn't know subtly if it smacked you in the face," you chuckled dryly, taking another swig. "Where were you? Which brothel?"

"Sylvie's? Whatever her name is - the one with the lion's head door knocker."

With another nod of understanding, you asked, "And who was he with? Just one woman?"

"Yes, yes, just the Madam of the House."

"I see... Hm... Wait, do you mean - "

"The woman he lost his boyhood to?" Aegon snickered, "Yes!"

"I was going to say the brothel owner, but all right. Do keep in mind you're not just exchanging gossip, Aegon, but telling a wife you found her husband in a brothel," you sighed, nodding and knocking back one last shot.

"Right, no, you're right," he cleared his throat. "I apologize for sounding so... Um, uh, insensitive?"

You snorted slightly in amusement, knowing he never apologized to anyone but you because he never cared for what others thought. It was a foreign sound on his tongue, so you took mercy and moved on, sighing deeply and revealing, "In truth, my friend, I think I'm just shocked."

"Ah, well, that's to be expected, innit? Every wife is."

"Is yours?"

"No," Aegon snickered. "But I have to admit, after seeing how he pined and begged me to set you two up, I did not think my brother could ever be the type to cheat."

"Nor I. It's why I let you arrange our betrothal."

"Are you angry?"

"I'm processing."

"Well - "

"Aegon, shut your trap for just a moment," you pleaded. "It's a lot to take in and process, I'm unsure what I feel in this moment."

He paused and nodded, breathing deeply before taking a swig from his flask. "Are you angry at me, though?" Aegon asked softly, like a wounded child - akin to who he was on the inside.

"About what?" You asked patiently.

"Telling you...?"

You heaved a deep sigh, "No, no, my friend. I appreciate knowing, though, you took far too much pleasure in telling me."

"Well, in my defense, it was quite humorous to find him in such a position."

"I don't wish to know - "

"They were cuddling!"

You couldn't help the small chuckle that burst forth, asking his drunken person, "So?"

"Well, it's weird, is it not? To cuddle with a woman you pay to fuck you?"

"Some men have paid for weirder things, cuddling is the least of it."

"Are you trying to rationalize your husband's cheating?"

"No, just - defending different tastes?"

"You sound in denial."

"Perhaps I am."

"Have another shot," he insisted, nudging the flask closer.

"No, I should, uh... I should head back, confront Aemond."

"He might already be there, he left in a real big huff."

You sighed and nodded, "Tell me something in truth, please, Aegon?"

"Now would be the best time," he snickered, but nodded and gestured you to continue.

"Cheating doesn't mean he's... Unhappy, does it?"

"It could mean anything, everything, honey. Do you truly believe it's cheating when we aren't meant for just a single person to begin with?"

"What're you on about?"

"Well, no one person can be everything to anyone. Right?"

The entire walk to your chambers, Aegon's words echoed in your head. You had to admit, you understood where he was coming from, what he meant; but you hated the concept that cheating could be excused because humans weren't 'simply' monogamous. What a pathetic excuse, humans were capable of a great many things - being loyal and trustworthy among them! You oft heard it said you were only ever asking too much if from the wrong person, and the idea that Aemond was your "wrong person" to ask anything from gutted you in a surprising way. To say you were caught off guard was an understatement.

He was supposed to be your friend and husband, what happened to that trust?

You barged into your chambers, shutting the door in a flurried rush as you were desperate to speak with your husband; who you married at the age of ten-and-five after years of companionship. Your family had serviced the Targaryens for ages, it was only natural you grew alongside the newest brood; finding an unlikely, lasting friendship with Aegon, of all people. It was surprising, but the pair of you seemingly needed someone to lean on, so you developed a friendship to keep the other in line; something you obviously failed at.

YET - if Aegon would say humans are not monogamous, you'd argue humans had free will and made their own decisions. So, the little lecher should be held accountable for how he turned out as much as Aemond should be questioned about what was seen in the brothel.

It was Aegon who set you up with his brother. Aegon who supported your courtship. Aegon who instigated your engagement. Aegon who told you your husband was found in a brothel, cuddled up to the Madam... Naked.

Upon your inspection, Aemond wasn't back yet.

For mere fleeting moments, you despised being alone, finding the silence haunting; your chambers too big, too empty, too cold without your husband's usual warmth. However, the moment you thought of him in a whorehouse, laid naked with a woman not you, rage returned ten fold; burning bright and white-hot in your gut. You needed to nip this curious situation in the bud. Tonight. By confronting him. No matter how scary or anxiety inducing it surely will be.

So, you waited.

With a glass of wine, you settled in your living quarters; tucked on the loveseat with nothing keeping the thoughts at bay. They were terribly invasive, forcing you to relive your discovery and accept your husband preferred the company of whores over you. Forced to accept he was cheating on you. You waited.

Maids entered your chambers for nightly chores, even letting you remain in place, facing the door, when fixing your hair in loose braids for sleep. They turned your bed down, placed hot coals under the blankets, refilled wine decanters, and lit the candles in each corner of your suite. Aemond's prolonged absence might've been cause for concern if you hadn't been cursed to know where he was. You waited.

Yet that anger was dulling into something more alined with annoyance to learn he lied. "If he wants to fuck painted whores, let him fuck painted whores," you thought, "it's the lying and deception I am uncomfortable with! What need could he have for lying about his whereabouts? Was this an affair of some sort? Was it just my flesh he desecrated or our wedding vows, too? If he wanted to fuck whores, that was fine - it was just their job, they did this for coin. Yet if this was an affair of some sort - like the rumors of Prince Daemon and his mysterious whore he lifted from the ashes - I don't know how to move past that. Please, please, Gods, let this just be him wanting to fuck painted whores." You waited.

Your leg bounced, a fresh decanter of wine being presented and set upon the table you sat before. Nerves prickled your skin, tension coiled your stomach, heart hammering so intensely that it nearly beat out of every pulse point; so you reached for your chalice to quell the erratic speed in which everything throbbed. Polishing off any drop of wine, you felt warmed to your core - though, whether from the alcohol or anger, who could tell? You waited.

Your ladies maid lingered after the others filtered out; laying out an acceptable night gown, dressing robe, and house shoes the Dornish called "slippers". She tried to goad you into changing into them, but you insisted you would later. When she questioned you, you answered your business tonight was not yet concluded and you could not yet prepare for bed. Kindly, she asked if there was anything she could assist you with, but all that was left was to refill your goblet with a worried gaze before being dismissed for the night. Still, you waited.

Until, finally, after hours of isolation, your husband returned. He didn't seem to notice you yet, whipping off his cloak in a flourish only to drape it over the back of a perpendicular chair. When he noticed you, he jumped slightly, "Gods, love, what're you doing? I wasn't expecting to see you there."

"No shit."

"Why're you out here? Awake?" He asked, dropping into a padded arm chair so he faced you. In truth, you were grateful since either the wine or acute anxiety prevented you from finding your feet. "Oh, I see," he purred. "Can't sleep without me, can yah?" Aemond's lips curled at the corners.

"I'll sleep easier after you confess."

"To what charge, my darling?" Aemond reached for your thigh, but you swatted him away. With a sigh, he sassily requested in a quip, "It's been a long night, just tell me what you're upset about, I won't play these games."

"You're disrespecting the vows and sanctity of our marriage by visiting brothels! What an insult to spend the Crown's coin on such foul debauchery, Aemond, you were supposed to be a better man than this!"

He froze, staring at you without blinking. Then, slowly, Aemond asked, "What?"

"I know, Aemond! I know about Madam Sylvie." Then, to your shock and horror, Aemond chuckled; leaning back in his chair, hand raising to curl over his lips as if to hide his amusement. You shot out of your seat, "Oh, fuck you, then - "

"No, no!" Aemond rocketed to his feet, two long strides bringing him to your side. His hand grabbed your upper arm, "No, my love, listen to me - you do not understand - "

"You went into a brothel, it's not a riddle, there's nothing for you to explain nor for me to further understand, I am no fool," you snapped, allowing him turn you so you faced him.

"I did nothing of the sorts with her - with anyone."

"I'm not so ignorant nor foolish. You forget, I grew up with you and Aegon! Our own King Lecher!"

"I swear to you, my sweet wife, I have not lain with anyone since our marraige but you."

"How can you stand there and lie to me? Aegon saw you! Naked with her, in bed!"

Your husband took a deep and long breath, then told you slowly, "When I was ten-and-three, Aegon took me to the Street of Silk."

You nodded with a small roll of your eyes, "Yes, I know."

"The woman who I laid with - she's a Madam, yes, named Sylvie."

"So... You... You visit the woman you lost your virginity to?"

He sighed, "Yes, and I know it sounds strange."

"It's borderline wretched, Aemond, to us, this relationship. You are not making the case you think - "

"Please, allow me a moment to finish explaining?"

You've never seen or heard Aemond beg, so you nodded slowly, "Speak."

"I visit Madam Sylvie... Because she's the only other woman I've lain with. There's a certain level of... Comfort that goes beyond her payment. I lay with her, yes, but only together, in bed, without ever fucking."

"You just, what? Cuddle?"

"Yes."

This made you pause. With several flutters of your lashes, you asked, "W-Why?"

"I felt I was bringing home to you too much tension and strain... This war takes its toll on us all, so I go to Sylvie to unload and... Be vulnerable? Have an outlet?"

You're unsure how long you must've stood there in genuine confusion, earnest hurt, prolonged disappointment, but jolted when he tugged you forward towards the loveseat again. After he guided you to stiffly sit, you met his eyes with confused tears while he asked, "My love? Would you say something? Anything?"

"How... How long?" You managed to croak.

"Only a few visits."

"And you've not fucked her?"

"I've not fucked her."

"You just... Lay together, naked, and what? Talk?"

"Yes."

"W-What?"

"I fear I do not know what else I can clarify, love."

You just nodded and leaned back in your seat, sighing deeply. Aemond mimicked your position beside you and tentatively picked up your hand to hold. You swallowed thickly, asking, "So, you've not slept with Madam Sylvie?"

"No."

"You go to her for some kind of emotional comfort?"

"I suppose."

You nodded slowly. "You just talk... Naked, in bed, laid together, and talk."

"Yes. It is a grave comfort in this time of uncertainty."

You couldn't help but snip, "And I do not provide such comfort?"

"Darling girl - "

"What do you speak of to Madam Sylvie that you cannot speak to me about? What comfort can she provide that you cannot seek in me? What insights to this war can she provide that you cannot hear from me?"

Aemond froze, blinking in shock and letting his thin lips part without words. "It is... You are not serious, are you?" He suddenly snipped.

"Deadly," You assured.

"You're angry at me for speaking to another woman?"

"It's more than that and you know it. You lay in a private bed of a public whorehouse, naked! Open! Vulnerable! You speak to her as you do a wife - as you do me! You seek her ear when you neglect mine own!"

"Do you hear yourself?" He chuckled cruelly. "I have never fucked her, yet you grow angry - irritable! You pick this fight with me when all I do is unload my burdens - "

"What burdens!? What burdens do you have that I do not already know of!? That you cannot speak to me about?"

You both stood off the loveseat - taking several paces in opposite directions to distinguish space and sides of this fight. "Perhaps that is what I seek! An unbiased ear! An opinion untainted by the venoms of the vipers of the Red Keep! Someone removed, uninvolved! Someone on the outside that - that - "

"That will what, Aemond? Take your side?"

"Yes! Perhaps that is something I seek!"

"You pay a woman to tell you woe is me!?"

"You make it sound so vain - "

"How would you phrase it, then!?"

"That I need an outlet! With everything going on, I needed something more!"

You nodded sarcastically, "Well, you'll be needing her for more than an emotional outlet from now on, won't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aemond watched you storm away, following hot on your trail, barking, "Hey! Don't walk away - I'm speaking to you!"

"You know," you pushed into your bedchambers, "I didn't think you'd be the one to belittle my feelings so easily!"

"I fail to see how this is even an issue! Why're you - what're you doing, now!?"

"You being blind to my feelings is why I think we should spend a few days apart," you snarled, shoving a few items into a carpet bag and rushing in a flurry to grab necessities and comforts of 'home'.

"Fine."

You paused, glaring at him and asking, "What? That's it?"

"You wish for a fight?"

"Anything - "

"I told you, I will not play games. So, fine; leave," he shrugged. "I certainly won't be."

"Oh? That so?" You challenged - obviously already planning on leaving, but wanting to test him.

"I'm the Prince," he eased, "you're the one married into this family, I will not be the one to vacate these chambers. So, fine, flee, go, take your things and be gone. I'll send for the maids and have a chamber prepared for you, take your time packing the rest of your items."

You watched him charge from the chamber and slowly lowered onto the edge of the bed behind you; crumpling the laid out nightclothes while pulling the carpet bag closer to your chest. Blinking rapidly, you fought back tears and decided that perhaps your marriage was too far gone if your husband was so willing and nonchalant about you wanting distance post his breech of trust. He had evidently emotionally moved past you, something you hadn't realized was happening in real time before it was too late; and now, you were left to reel in the aftermath.

Why did Aegon have to tell you? Why did you have to know? They say Ignorance is Bliss, and if you didn't know, you and Aemond would be right as rain right now. He could have all the alone time with Madam Sylvie he wanted and you'd be none the wiser. But now that the cat was out of the bag, you were cursed with knowledge and felt incapable of processing, accepting, and moving forward in the wake of this emotional betrayal.

You didn't see Aemond the rest of the night, just the nightshift maids, errand boys, and guards who helped you gather your belongings and usher you into a new chamber... Three floors away from Prince Aemond, further evidence he perhaps did not intend to mend the tattered threads of your torn matrimony.

requesting rules and masterlist

Pumpkin Eater collection masterlist - coming soon!

HOTD masterlist

NO INTENDED SEQUEL

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

Hey actually let's talk about cigarette burns since I feel like they're pretty in vogue rn for the t4t girlies out there. I have a few dozen of em so I'll share my experience.

First off, they are usually going to be semi permanent if not permanent. Not saying don't do it, but I am saying that should be considered.

There are ~16 on the back of my hand, all from around the same time from over 2 and a half years ago. Most if not all were not from putting out a square, but instead, holding the cherry against the skin. Most are faded enough that you have to look really close, but a few you could see from a glance

Most of these below are from a year and a change to nine-ish months ago, and they all were from putting out cigarettes. Some of them have a slight bump to them (likely small keloids) whereas some of them are much flatter. They don't itch or irritate and besides the visual blemish, I wouldn't notice I had em. Some are very faded and don't even show up well on camera, whereas others are very noticable even from a distance. I would very much not recommend getting them on your breasts, those are the only ones I regret. They healed slower and poorer and I just don't like their look.

I also have some on my back and legs but they're similar enough to examples shown here.

Second--the actual act of burning. Look idk jack shit but I find it's less painful and heals much nicer to just get it all done quick. It's like putting out a candle with your fingers. From contact with the skin to being pushed down all the way should probably be like a second, maybe less. Once it's out, it's out, it's not really gonna damage the skin any more, so unless you're going for long term skin damage, the name of the game is speed.

If you want to make that second hurt a little more, give it a drag right before you press it down, it'll heat the cherry up, though again, more likely to damage the skin more. Want it to hurt/damage a little less, wait till it's already going out. Besides that, any actual tips for putting on a good show are for another time.

Finally--caring for the wounds. I literally did nothing to care for any mine so no advice from me besides probably hit that bad boy with some alcohol wipes every now and then and please don't keep picking at it. I'm sure others can add what to actually do. I did have luck breaking down one that turned into a keloid by massaging it gently for a bit every few hours for a week or two but that could be random

I'm sure there are other risks but this is just things I've run into with burns, so others can feel free to add on

If u appreciated this post, consider checking out my leather at pansy-leatherwork.com

[measuredingold]

coeur d'alene

authors note: i was a minute late posting on the 31st, but i'm still counting this as my noah day present to you all :) here’s part two of heaven sent, and i hope you all enjoy it. it took a long time for me to finish this and idk how i really feel but, i think it’s sweet LOL feedback is always appreciated :)

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

divider: @saradika-graphics

cross-posted on ao3 / part one

word count: 4.1k

cw/tw: friends to lovers, realization of ~feelings~, fluff, ~kissing~, angst, miscommunication trope at its finest, lots of tension, noah is still very much a sweetheart, 18+ minors do not interact

You wake slowly the next morning, the soft light of the sun flooding into your room. You blink once, twice, three times before groaning softly, squeezing your eyes shut to keep out the light. It was bright - way too bright for your poor eyes and your sleepy brain. It takes you a second to come to, flopping onto your back as you rubbed at your eyes. You groaned, arms flopping down beside you, and your brain finally caught up to the realization that you were alone.

Alone. In your bed. That you originally weren’t alone in.

You turn your head to where Noah had once laid beside you and your heart drops to your stomach. The sheets weren't warm, but they weren't cold. If he had left, it was probably in the last 30 minutes or so. 

You try to control your rapidly beating heart, telling yourself he probably went to shower or that he's in the kitchen making breakfast. Your ears strain to try and see if you can hear the running water of the shower, or maybe the playlist he loves to blare when he cooks, but you hear nothing. Your heart rate quickens again, and you reach over to your bedside table to grab your phone. Maybe he sent a text.

You sift through your notifications, hoping to find one from Noah with any indication where he ran off to, but find nothing from him. You go to your guys text thread, heart twisting beneath your chest when the last text was from him a few days prior. 

Fuck.

You sink back into your bed, trying to blink away the burning feeling in your eyes as you stare up at the ceiling. 

He left. Without a word. Didn't even bother waking you up to tell you, just slipped out of your room without a goodbye. Something swirls inside of you, building up in the base of your throat but you swallow it back down.

You should've expected it, you think. He was probably freaked out from the reality of the situation. Seriously, who can sleep with their bestfriend and be normal after? You slap your hand onto your forehead, mentally cursing yourself as your eyes begin to burn more. This time you don't blink away the tears, allowing them to slide down your face freely.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You should have never fucking asked. How could you do this? 

The one relationship in your life that you cherished more than anything down the fucking drain because you... wanted to stop feeling so behind? You could have slept with anyone. Anyone in the world and yet you chose Noah. Your heart twists beneath your chest at just the thought of your friend and you don't stop the quiet sob that slips from your lips, hands coming up to cover your face.

How can you face him after this? Wherever he went off to, he'll have to come back. Because he lives here. In the same apartment. With you. God, how could you be so fucking stupid?

You let yourself cry, rolling over onto your bed to bury your face into your pillow. Your entire body freezes when you realize it was the pillow Noah had used the night prior, and it still smelled like him. More tears fell at that, your stomach twisting so violently that it made you feel physically ill. Your sobs grew, arms circling around the pillow to pull it closer to you, face pressing so hard into the fabric of the pillow case that it almost hurt.

Your mind is racing, images of last night running through your head and it only makes you feel worse. It was almost everything you could've ever wanted, everything you pictured out of your first time. You never felt so cared for in your life, and the way Noah was so gentle with you... under better circumstances, you would have blushed, but instead your stomach just twists again as another sob rips from you.

The reminder of his gaze on you stings much worse than you could have ever thought. Your skin burned where he touched you, which was everywhere, and your lips felt sore at the reminder of the kiss you shared. The only kiss you have ever shared with Noah, and will ever share probably, and that thought alone brings a sour taste into the base of your throat. 

You find yourself wishing that there could be more kisses and moments like last night with your best friend, and that realization is scary all in itself. 

You trusted Noah, that much is true, but maybe somewhere deep down, the reason you had asked him wasn't just on that alone. Maybe... there was something more, lingering in the back of your mind, your heart, and you just hadn't noticed it yet. Or chose not to notice it? You're not sure, but either way it's here now, pushing it's way through and God... it fucking hurts.

You cry until you can't anymore, until it hurts to even blink, and then you're pushing yourself up and out of your bed. You're not sure if it's because of the raging headache you're sporting at the moment, or if it really is a good idea, but you decide on the only thing you can think of at the moment that may salvage your relationship with Noah.

Ignore everything. Act like nothing happened. If you do that, maybe he'll realize it wasn't a big deal and things will go back to normal. That'll work, right?

Something in the pit of your stomach tells you you're completely wrong, but you listen to that loud part in your brain that just won't shut up. You're going to shower and then hole up in your room. Maybe you'll take a drive. Anything to take your mind off of last night and off of Noah entirely. 

Your stomach twists again in that way you hate at the thought of your best friend, and you do your best to shove it to the back for at least a few more hours.

Noah feels lighter when he steps back into your shared apartment, a small smile on his face. The song he and Jolly worked on this morning was coming together and he felt really fucking good about it. So good, in fact, his feet were already dragging him towards your room, excitement filling him to tell you all about his morning endeavor.

He realized he can’t wait to see you, excitement only growing as he inches closer to your door. His mind wanders to last night and his skin buzzes just at the thought, stomach turning in the most delicious way. His face flushes at the thought of you beneath him, and his step slows down.

He never thought in a million years he'd ever been in a position like that with you. Had the thought ever crossed his mind? Sure, but he would never ever even consider making a move on you. You were his best friend - one of the most important people in his life. He wasn't about to ruin that, and maybe that's why he initially declined your offer. Though, the more he thought about it, the more he inched towards yes.

What really sealed the deal was the thought of you being under someone else. It made his skin crawl, and his stomach turned so roughly that he almost made himself sick over it, learning quickly that that feeling was jealousy. 

He feels a bit selfish having agreed to your favor, because he knew deep down it was more than just being a good friend. Maybe those feelings he thought he had pushed back into the deepest parts of his brain had vanished after the many years of being your friend, but he thinks it just grew. Slowly, but surely, and then all at once whenever you looked up at him last night, eyes glossed over and his name on your tongue.

He knocks on your door and waits, but after a solid minute of silence passes by his hand twists the knob, slowly pushing your door open. He expected to find you asleep in bed, growing excited at the thought of crawling back in with you, but his heart drops when he realizes you were nowhere to be found. Your bed was neatly made and your bag you typically kept on your desk was gone, indicating you were probably out.

Which was fine. He reaches for his phone, maybe having missed your text that you wouldn't be home, but finds nothing from you. That's odd.

He frowns, thumbs already moving across his screen as anxiety bubbles slowly in his chest. Usually you'd at least let him know you'd be out or even where you had gone, but giving him nothing was completely out of the norm for you.

where are you?

With a friend! Be home later.

His brows furrow at your message. Relief doesn't wash over him like he thought it would, instead dread fills his stomach.

You have other friends. This isn't anything out of the ordinary, he's come home to you not being there. You can hang out with other people. However, after last night, something in the back of his mind is screaming at him that something’s wrong. He shakes it off, chalking it up to his anxiety messing with him, thumbs moving again.

just checking :) got worried lol when will you be back?

Not sure. Don't wait up :)

His stomach drops. He didn't like the way that made him feel, the anxiety inside of him bubbling over. He scrolled up to your other text thread, seeing the messages shared between the two of you and the obvious vibe switch. To an outsider, this would probably look like a normal text between two friends, but deep down he knew something was up.

He makes his way to his room, chewing on his bottom lip as his mind races. Had he done something last night? Noah can't think of a single thing he may have done wrong, having thought he had done everything right. He did his best to make sure you were taken care of, the way he had wished his first time was, but maybe he hadn’t.

Or maybe you just simply didn’t like it.

He tells himself not to dwell on it, trying to find something to do to pass the time until you come home. That doesn’t work, because he finds himself staring at the ceiling hours later, the anxiety inside of him growing as each minute passes.

Fuck.

You managed to stay out much longer than you anticipated, turns out you had a lot to say to Anna when you had asked her if you could come over. You were scared that she was going to judge you for asking Noah to be your first, but instead she sat patiently with you on her bed, listening intently to everything you had to say.

When you were finished, she simply smiled at you before asking, "You like Noah, don’t you?"

All you can do is nod, and if you hadn't cried yourself out that morning, you would have probably cried right then and there. 

She didn't seem shocked, instead only smiled more before telling you that she figured as much, and maybe even confessed that that's why she suggested to you to ask someone you trusted like Noah, because she knew, and you quote,  Noah would never say no to you. You're not sure what to do with that information, because she refused to elaborate, saying you'll understand eventually. 

Hours later, when you came home and quietly tip-toed to your room, you thanked God that Noah was asleep. It was close to midnight, you think, and you had to pass his room to get to yours. His door was cracked open and you could just barely see him curled up in his bed, and the sight alone made your heart clench beneath your chest. 

Anna said you had to talk to him, and you think eventually you will, but the thought still hurts. You'll have to do it when it doesn't anymore, yet you're not sure when that will be. You toss and turn that night in bed, eyes glued to your ceiling as every single possible scenario passed through your mind.

What if you had truly ruined your relationship with Noah? You had to have, seeing as he didn't even feel comfortable enough to stay long enough for you to wake up. 

You let yourself cry one more time, mourning the loss of one of the most important people in your life, before you finally drifted off to sleep. Then, that morning when you woke, you told yourself that you'd talk to him tonight. Apologize for everything and tell him it can be forgotten, and hope you can go back to normal eventually. 

His door is still shut when you wake up, and you rush to your shared bathroom to try and hurry through your morning routine. You pray that he doesn’t wake, and when you’re tiptoeing back to your room, his door is still shut.

You’re relieved, but there’s still a small part of you that wishes maybe, just maybe, he would’ve been out here waiting for you. You crawl back into bed after that, deciding you’ll rot there for the day before having to face your roommate.

Maybe you’ll take another nap. Maybe you’ll finish that book you’ve been putting off for months. 

You actually don’t get to do any of that because your door is being pushed open, Noah staring at you from the doorway. At first you don’t do anything, hell, you don’t even breathe. Your eyes widen as you stare at your best friend, whose eyes are narrowing at you.

“Alright,” Noah stares at you on your bed, hands on his hips. “What the fuck is your problem? Was it seriously that bad that you’ve resorted to straight up ignoring me?”

You sit frozen, pulling your blankets up your body. “What?”

“Was it bad?” He repeats, his tone insistent. “Or did I hurt you? I had to have done something for you to ignore me.” 

“What? No.” You shake your head, embarrassment and slight anger running through because this is what he wanted to talk about after leaving you alone? “I’m fine. It was great.” 

He stares at you for a beat before his arms fall to his sides, mouth dropping into a frown. "Okay, cool. That still doesn't explain why you've been ignoring me."

The anger outweighs your embarrassment and you sit up fully in your bed, eyes narrowing in a glare at your best friend.

"Well, why haven't you talked to me?" Your arms cross over your chest, tilting your chin up. "Besides, you're the one who left me alone in the morning without a fucking word."

You could hear a pin drop with how silent the room fell, the frown on Noah's face slipping away. Your heart raced beneath your chest as you watched Noah's face fall into one of confusion and then into understanding, soft brown eyes widening as yours only narrowed more. 

"Shit. I didn't text you."

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

"I meant to text you." He says almost frantically now, slapping a hand to his forehead. "Holy shit, is that why you haven't talked to me? Because you thought I left you alone?" 

"Well, I didn't have to think about it - you did leave me alone."

His lips form into a frown again. "It’s not what you think."

"Well, what am I supposed to think, Noah?"

He sighs before running a hand down his face.

"Jolly called me about some studio time, caught me up on an idea he had and I think I just got so excited over the whole thing I just... left?" He comes to stand next to your bed, frown still evident on his lips. "And I meant to text you, because I couldn't get myself to wake you up. You looked too cute. Didn't wanna disturb you after um… the night you had."

Your face flushes at his words, flashes of your night shared together racing through your mind. Noah notices, his own face flushing, before sitting down beside you. Your shoulders tense at the closeness. 

He continues, "I was going to come back. I wouldn't just leave after that. I'd never do that to you."

You let his words linger. If you had thought about it with a more rational mind, you would’ve realized that yeah, Noah would never do that to you. Leaving you without a word made no sense whatsoever. 

"Well." Your shoulders deflate, giving your friend a sheepish look. "I really wish you had texted me, because then I wouldn't have convinced myself you hated me and regretted the entire thing."

"Hate you? Babe, I would never." He looked at you, almost offended, and yet your body was buzzing at the slip of the pet name. "And for the record, I don't regret anything. As long as you don't."

"I don't." It flies from your lips so quickly that your face warms from embarrassment, Noah's own face flushing. "I don’t regret it at all. As long as you don't."

"I don't." He mimics your words, much softer than you had, and his gaze falling on you makes you feel warm all over.

Your mind was racing, trying to catch up with everything. Noah hadn't actually left you in a haste of regret, instead left because... he got excited about new music? A text he had meant to send was forgotten due to likely being distracted by whatever Jolly had sprung onto him, and you feel like punching yourself for not using the rational part of your brain and talking to him to begin with. Anna even told you that you should, but by then you had fully convinced yourself he hated your guts.

If only you had texted him that morning, maybe all this miscommunication would've never happened. Instead, you'd not only caused anxiety for yourself, but for Noah, and that thought alone upsets you immensely. You meet Noah's eyes with a frown, arms tightening around your chest.

"I'm sorry." You tip your head back with a groan, hands now coming up to cover your face. "If I had just... fucking texted you like a normal person, we wouldn't be in this weird mess."

"It's not a mess. Just miscommunication at its finest." Noah chuckles halfheartedly at his joke, and you feel the covers shift as he scoots closer to you. "It happens, and honestly, I should've just woken you up. That would've probably solved everything."

"Maybe."

Noah pauses before asking, “So… you actually don’t regret it?”

“No.” You flush, before quietly adding, “…It was amazing.” 

He flushes. "...Yeah?"

You feel him scoot closer, your covers shifting and all you can do is nod. He's close enough now that you can feel his body heat, and the urge to reach out to touch him was suddenly the only thing you could think about. 

"Mhm. Thank you... you didn't have to do that."

"I didn't." He hums and you realize just how much closer he's gotten. If it weren't for the blanket still partially wrapped around your body, your legs would be touching, and the thought brings a shiver down your spine. "But I wanted to. Thank you for trusting me."

You don't know how it happens, or when it happens, but the second your eyes meet Noah's again it's like some gravitational pull is tugging you towards him. It's all one big blur, a flurry of limbs as Noah reaches for you while you're trying to free yourself of the blanket wrapped around your body to crawl into his lap. Your lips smash together in a bruising kiss but you don't even care, especially when Noah makes the sweetest noises against your lips.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders as you settle into his lap, legs on either side of his hips, and his fingers dig into your thighs. The groan he lets out against your lips goes straight to your core and the reminder of last night is clear as day in your mind. You're overwhelmed, the need to be as close as possible to him again flooding your senses. It's you who lets out a noise this time, a desperate whine, and Noah pulls back at that, eyes half-lidded.

You catch your breath before you're chasing his lips again, drunk off the feeling, and your hips start moving on their own, grinding yourself into him. You gasp at the feeling of his hardening cock between your thighs and Noah takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, swallowing the noises you were making. He pulls back only trailing his lips across your cheek and down your jaw, nipping at your skin. Your eyes are beginning to roll back at the same time he sighs out your name, fingers inching dangerously close to where you needed him the most, before something inside of you snaps. 

"Wait." The almost drunken-haze you had felt from his kiss was shattered, the reality of everything falling all at once. You pull back from his kiss against your skin, resting your hands on his shoulders to keep yourself steady at how fast you moved, eyes widening. "Wait, wait, wait. What the fuck are we doing?"

Noah pulls back from your neck, brown eyes glossed over in what you can only assume was want. He blinks before realization fills his features, and you feel his grip on your thighs loosen.

"I..." You can't help but watch his neck when he swallows, and also can't help but follow his tongue as it swipes across his bottom lip. "I don't know. I just really wanted to do that again."

His words hit you right in the chest, heart pounding against your ears. "Really?"

"Yeah. I haven't stopped thinking about it," He murmurs, and you watch his eyes drop from yours back down to your lips. "Kind of want to keep doing it."

"Oh." It comes out weakly, and you're not sure if the flush on your cheeks was from his words or from the kiss you just shared. Maybe both. "You want to keep doing it?"

"Yeah." His eyes drag back up to yours and you see something flash in them, something that has your stomach turning in a way you've never felt before. Were those butterflies? "I think I have for a while. Is that okay?"

Oh.

Your heart was beating so rapidly against your chest and you couldn't find the right words to say, because what the fuck was he talking about? He wanted to kiss you? And has been wanting to for a while? Your mind immediately goes back to Anna, to her telling you that you'll understand eventually, and suddenly it was all starting to make sense. Your arms settled back around his neck and you felt his fingers dig into your skin again, eyes never leaving yours.

"I think I have for a while, too, so um.” You swallow down the nerves, giving Noah a timid smile. “Yes. Very much okay."

You see the ghost of a smile on his lips, outer corners turning up at your words. "Yeah?"

You nod, but instead of answering you lean back towards him. He meets you halfway, lips pressing to yours in a much different kiss than the one you had just shared. It wasn't as frantic, filled with something you can't quite place yet, but you were obsessed. It made you feel warm, almost like you were floating, and you quickly realized you would never get enough of it. 

You've never experienced this with another person in your life and you're suddenly thinking about how you never want to do this with anyone else. Just Noah.

You squeak against his lips when you feel him lift you up and toss you onto the bed, your back meeting the sheets. He's on top of you immediately, but he doesn't attach his lips to yours just yet, instead stares down at you with the softest brown eyes you'd ever seen. 

"I also think I've liked you for a lot longer than I've realized, and I hope that's okay, too." He looks almost terrified to say that, and you feel a pang of sadness punch you in the stomach.

"That's more than okay," You all but whisper, reaching out to pull Noah down to you, "because I think I have too."

You don't miss the relieved smile Noah gives you before his lips were back on yours, his body melting right on top of yours.

[phoenixisobsessed]

Erm, I would like to request one drawing of the big titty robot please (Shockwave (G1))

Maybe like, standing cuntily LMAO I don't know, I just wanna see that pretty mech in your style :3

Cunty scientist.

I LOOOOVE Shockwave. Always. He’s one of my top 10 faves. While drawing this my mind has just been going “here comes the hurricane bitch POW” over and over again. Idk. There’s something about drawing cunty robots. Also I forgot my ADHD meds at home today. Going a lil silly. Also slept for 10 hours and I want to go ack to bed. UGH I FUCKING HATE SCHOOL. Stay in school kids. Have a good day.

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Nine

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 23k (have fun!!)

18+ MDNI!

Chapter Warnings: so we're hitting the ground running here - poppy is horny in abundance tbh so smut!! thigh riding, dry humping, unprotected p in v, she's just a girl who wants what she wants and who are we to judge or kink shame?? that's what I thought. and the rest of this chapter just has some lighthearted banter between two pals welcoming a baby into the world. mentions of anxiety, the usual. poppy is on edge because there's another jensen family dinner. nia being nia, the boys being the boys. if guys talking about women's hormones disturbs you look away now. jealous nico once again, a gender reveal!!!! the fluffiest one you ever did see to be honest. there's maybe a point in this where you could get second hand embarrassment but that's not my problem. honestly I've written this chapter so out of order I don't even know what else is in here or if it all links but you get what you're given atp.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Eight)

A/N: this is potentially my favourite chapter yet these two are so stinkin cute!!!! months ago I had a fleeting thought about a pregnancy pillow and wrote a little thing in my notes about it, and this whole fic so far (150k+ words shoutout all my yappers) has been bred from that single scene which is in this chapter. nine chapters to get the the first thought I ever had of Poppy and Nico. I really hope you guys like it and I'm sorry that this has been the longest between updates yet. hopefully a 20k chapter makes up for it. my plan was always 12 chapters but idk if it will end up being more but just the thought that this is potentially over in 3 or 4 chapters is CRAZY I'm so attached to these two idk what to do with myself!! also once again shoutout to rory @h1sch13r for always inspiring me when it comes to these two and little baby (pepper) cheeto I hope I can make up for spoiling the gender to you like an idiot weeks ago with how cute this reveal is lmao

Poppy

Poppy has given endless thought and mind space to the situation that might bring her and Nico back into some sort of intimate space, together.

A romantic, candle lit dinner, where she’s so in the moment that it only makes sense for them to turn it into something more - baby steps be damned, and he’d take her back to that huge bed of his that she loves so much and keep her there until she can’t function properly, anymore.

A movie night, cuddled up on the couch together, where them spooning ends up with his hand down her pants, or her on top of him as whatever scene flashes in the background, the movie long forgotten as they get lost in each other. 

She hadn’t given much thought to it happening in her office, with him finding her all pent up and frustrated after a long day, and he’s all freshly showered after training, his hair still damp and his t-shirt clinging to him in all the right places.

It’s a single look that has her throwing herself at him, hands cupping either side of his face to pull him down until he’s tired of craning his neck, and his hands lift her hips until he’s walking her back and planting her down on her desk.

He pushes at her skirt, pulls at her panties, and pops the buttons of her blouse, all while their mouths move around each other’s, gasps and groans falling between them and hands wandering everywhere they can possibly go. 

She tugs at his hair, bunches his t-shirt in her grip and leans into his every touch, falling back onto her palms when their lips part and moves to pepper kisses along her jaw.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” she whispers as his lips press into her neck, pressure firm as the sensitive skin there gets sucked into his mouth, his stubble scratching into her skin in such a way that she opens up even more for him - head craning back, legs widening, hips pushing right to the end of her desk where his thigh presses between them.

“No?” He mutters into her, “You want me to stop?”

“No.” She pouts, and he chuckles against her flesh, the hot air from between his lips sending shivers all the way down her spine. “Of course I don’t want you to stop.”

He hums, pressing his thigh straight against her heat, and she grinds onto it through sheer instinct, seeking whatever pleasure he can give her and moaning out in response as soon as she feels the contact.

“Good girl,” he praises, swiping his chin against the skin he’s marked up until she hisses at the feeling, the prickly hairs on his jaw scraping against where she feels like she’s been rubbed red-raw.

It isn’t until he takes her jaw in his hand, pinching slightly to pull her toward him and slotting their lips together that her hips start to gyrate of their own accord, rubbing against his thigh without shame in the middle of her office, her nails clawing into the wood of her desk until she hopes they leave some sort of mark.

“That feel good?” He mumbles into her mouth, a hand of his falling onto her hip to assist with the movements before he kisses her again.

She just hums against him, eyes screwed shut as she tries to savour the feeling when her clit presses straight against his thigh, his pants being the only barrier. 

“M’just gonna move you a little, yeah?”

She nods, mindlessly.

And then his hand is gripping at her thigh, fingers and thumb pressing into the flesh firmly to push her legs even further apart so that he can stand between them, and he unbuttons his jeans with his free hand until he can push them down. 

She can’t complain at the lack of friction when this is what she’s getting as a result.

She can see the firm outline of him through his briefs as she looks down between them, her mouth watering slightly just at the sight, until her view is obstructed by his face when he kisses her again.

She tilts her hips in anticipation, ready to meet him when he moves to push into her, but the feeling she gets instead is different. Similar to before, a layer of fabric sits between them as he presses his hips into hers, still not having undressed completely.

She whines, lips pouting so he’s kissing at them as they remain still, and he keeps at it, hips working into her own until he gets frustrated at her lack of response. 

“What’s wrong, huh?” He asks, pulling her hips forward himself until he’s right against her and she gasps, “Why’re you being pouty?”

“S’not enough,” she mumbles, “Need more.”

“Aw pretty girl,” he pouts himself, mockingly, “I’m not giving you what you need?”

She shakes her head.

“Thought this is what you wanted? To take things slow?”

“Not this.” She whines, her hand trailing down his abdomen, feeling the soft ridges even beneath his t-shirt, until they meet the elastic of his pants, snapping it teasingly against his skin. “Think you should fuck me.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

The smile he gives reads like a promise of everything to come, of all the dirty, sinful things he’s been waiting all this time to do for her, and she feels her heart jump and thud in response. 

He closes the distance again, so that she can’t see between them, his tongue lapping languidly against her own and she’s moaning into his mouth when she feels what she has been craving pressing against her entrance, pressing to slide up until it bumps against her clit and her back arches straight into him.

She feels sticky all over. Lightheaded and far-off like she isn’t even here, and when he finally pushes into her, she’s startled back into clarity.

The shrill beeping of her phone alarm rings on the nightstand right beside her head, and when her eyes adjust to the light, she feels tears of frustration well up in them at the realisation of what she’s just been deprived of.

She still feels sticky. Still feels lightheaded. Feels hot all over and tingly like she’s been left unsatisfied.

Only now, there’s no promise of any sort of reward for it.

She’s alone in her bed with nothing but a pillow for company, and she’s so exasperated she wants to scream.

Yet another cursed pregnancy dream she gets no form of relief or respite from.

She could honestly curse the Hischier genes if this is what they bring.

She’s tired of it, now.

Most of the time, she’s usually able to shake her dreams off as soon as she’s awake, but this one seems to linger in her mind, an ever-present heat creeping up her skin despite the fact she tries to wash it away in the shower.

She feels hot as she gets ready, feels hot as she drives to work, and even in her office, where she can turn on the AC and try to distract herself.

Only that doesn’t work, either. 

Obviously.

She’s brought herself to the one place that’s going to bring the whole picture back.

So she ventures upstairs to the supply closet, deciding to fill a box with everything she’s low on just to pass the time - to occupy her mind with something other than the thought of Nico, and him having her legs spread on top of her desk.

She’s closing up when she hears the distant call of her name.

“I’ll take that.” Luke appears seemingly out of nowhere as she’s in her own world, coming toward her before she really has a chance to do anything about it. “Can’t have you carrying these things on your own.”

“It’s not that heavy,” Poppy protests as he takes the box from her hands, clearly not believing her or expecting how light it would be when he takes it into his own. “Told you.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s best you don’t lift anything, too much work on your body could make your feet swell, and that might not go down. Did you know most women go up a shoe size when they’re pregnant?”

All she can do is blink at him, narrowing her eyes as he talks like he isn’t being a complete weirdo. “I didn’t, how did you know that?”

“I bought a book.” He shrugs as he starts on the way back to her office.

“You bought a-,” she stumbles to follow after him, his long strides already carrying him halfway down the hall, “Luke, you’re gonna end up weirding yourself out with that sort of stuff.”

Him and Jack have both been on at her all week since they found out, appearing to take it in turns to bombard her with gross pregnancy facts, like Nia and the girl with the list - although she’s at least had the decency not to mention that since finding out, herself.

The boys, however, have branded themselves the Funcles, already regaling Poppy with stories of how they’re going to be the ones to make her baby laugh for the first time. 

It shouldn’t stress her out, the thought of those two being responsible for a baby - not with Mr Research in front of her - but it does. Luke would probably learn too many weird facts, and stress himself into some kind of almighty meltdown.

She had to block them last night for her own peace.

“Too late. I already know too much.”

“Like what?”

“I know that as of this week, your baby has started peeing inside you, which is absolutely gross.”

That is gross. She didn’t know that. She doesn’t really want to know that. If only she could block him in real life, too.

“I need you to hand the book over.”

“Can’t, Jack’s reading it now, we’re very serious about this funcle thing.”

“Luke,” she warns, not wanting to be on the receiving end of this horror from everybody.

“What? The more we know the better we can help you.”

“What book did you get that from?” She scoffs, pressing the button for the elevator while his hands are full.

“Same one. It’s good, I’ll tell Jack to give it to Nico after, it’s all about what you’ll be going through in each stage of your pregnancy-,”

“Nico doesn’t need the book, Luke, he’s going through it with me.” She frowns a little as she says it, a little voice in her head telling her it isn’t exactly working out like that. “And I thought me blocking you guys would have made it clear enough, I don’t want your weird facts. If I need to know something, I’ll find out from my doctor, not your deep dives on the internet.”

“Hey, to be fair, I was just trying to prepare you with the thing about your brain.” They step into the elevator and she presses the button for her floor,  “Maybe yours won’t shrink, maybe you’ll-,”

“Nope. No more talk about pregnancy symptoms. You’re on a time out, funcle privileges revoked. If you want to be unblocked, you’ve got to give up Google.”

“I don’t know if it’s worth it, I use Google for everything,” he frowns, like this is an actual thing he needs to seriously consider, “How will I know what I can and can’t eat?”

“You’re not a dog, Luke, if you can buy it, you can eat it.”

“I can buy bleach-,”

“You know exactly what I meant.”

“Fine. No more Google.” Luke huffs, stepping out with Poppy as the doors slide open, “But if I eat an unidentifiable seed and it’s poisonous, we all know who’s to blame.”

“Maybe stay away from seeds, then?”

“My body is a temple, PJ, you can’t tell me what goes in.”

If he wasn’t doing her a wasted favour with the box, she’d probably give him a hearty shove. He can be so irritating when he wants to be. Now she has his death-by-unidentifiable-seed weighing on her conscience.

“Got to get all my nutrients in if I’m gonna be Mitchie’s favourite uncle, Nico looks like the type of dude that makes chunky babies.”

He probably isn’t wrong, not that she entirely wants to think about it, but baby Cheeto measures a little over expectations every time she has a scan, and her bump is a little bigger than the average, she has been told.

“I really don’t want those kinds of ideas in my head,” she pouts, her mind immediately going to the delivery aspect of it all, relief flooding her system as her office finally comes into sight, “And for the last time, I’m not calling my baby Mitchie short for Michigan.”

“It’s better than calling it Cheeto,” Luke scoffs, “At least Mitchie is unisex.”

Poppy gasps, stopping and placing two hands over her bump as if she’s covering tiny little ears in there. “Words hurt, Luke, you’re hardly gonna be favourite uncle chirping my baby in the womb.”

“Actually, it can’t hear anything outside of your body until like 28 weeks.”

“If I could block you in person, I would.” She’s pushing the door to her office open as she says it, turning to face him and walking in backwards to give him a meaningful glare when she notices his face twist in confusion at something behind her.

When she spins around to see what he’s bothered by, she sees a tall figure stood by her wall, hands in his pockets as he looks over the photographs that line it - and even from the back, she can tell who it is.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Looking at all your pictures, I’ve never seen any of these before.”

That’s because you don’t care about my work, she withholds from biting back, remembering Luke’s presence behind her and not at all prepared to have any sort of family bust up today - especially not in work. “You’re from this one. 43. A little scrawny to be an athlete, aren’t you son?” He points to one of the pictures, one of Poppy, Luke, Johnny and Holtzy before a game at the beginning of the season. 

“I’m-,” Luke frowns, almost comically if Poppy wasn’t too tense now to laugh, “Scrawny?”

“Look like you’d snap in two if I ran at you too hard.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be running at people?” Maybe she isn’t too tense to laugh. “Respectfully, I mean.”

“Thank you for your help, Luke,” Poppy takes the box from his hands and immediately puts it on the couch in the corner before he can protest, making eyes at him to get out of there before it’s too late. It’s for his own safety. “I’ll unblock you later, I promise.”

“Right.” He nods, “Catch you later, PJ. Good to meet you, sir.”

He dashes out so quick she swears he leaves a Luke shaped outline in his wake, her door swinging shut before she can even call out a response. 

“No pictures of the boyfriend?” Her dad asks once he’s gone, taking another quick look over the wall.

“They’re at home.” She says, going around the other side of her desk so that there’s some sort of barrier between them. “Did something happen? Is that why you’re here?”

“Cant a father visit his daughter at work?”

“If he can name her job title without looking it up, then sure.”

“I don’t need to know your job title, Poppet, I know the day you were born and how much you weighed, beyond that, I’m not expected to remember the little things.”

It isn’t the little things, she thinks, it’s my career.

“Whatever,” she sighs, not wanting to get into it, “What are you here for, dad?”

He sits in the chair opposite her, looking a little large for life now that she’s properly seeing him in front of her. It’s like when he would sit at her tea parties as a kid, always too big for the chairs and table.

“I came to say that what happened at dinner last week was embarrassing.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes, despite how petulant he probably thinks it is, crossing her legs and wiggling her mouse to bring her computer to life, hoping if she looks busy enough this conversation will be much shorter.

She’s been trying not to think about it, trying to suppress the floods of disappointment that wash over her every time she remembers it. Her mother’s biting words, her father’s indifference, it all hurts just the same.

“I’m not gonna apologise for defending myself, or defending Nico, I don’t care if I humiliated-,”

“I was embarrassed of myself.”

“I-,” Oh. Just as she feels herself start to get defensive again, his words register. “What?”

“I’m your dad, I’m supposed to stick up for you and have your back.” He frowns, “Especially knowing how hard your mom is on you, and what you’re going through, I was just blindsided by the whole Rich Horowitz thing with your brother, and-,”

“You’re supposed to stick up for him, too, dad. You’re just as hard on Oli.” She doesn’t know why she’s defending her brother after what he did, but after all these years it’s almost like a second nature. She can snap at him, but if anyone else does the same, she won’t let it slide.

“Says you, you called him an idiot.”

“Yeah, well he got under my skin.”

“He was being an idiot. We all were, that’s why it’s embarrassing.” He sighs, “It took your boyfriend stealing my job for me to realise-,”

“Stealing your job?”

What on Earth does he mean by that? 

“What is it that you kids say? He handed my ass to me?”

“What kid taught you that?” Oli’s boys are too young to know that one, and it won’t have come from her brother. Is the demographic at the club really that young these days that someone’s teaching her dad the meaning of having his ass handed to him? It can’t have been Nico. “What do you mean?”

“After you and your mother stormed off, he gave me and your brother a verbal spanking, if you will.”

I won’t, she thinks, unable to stop the grimace that comes out in instinctual response at her father mentioning spanking.

“He yelled at you?”

“Well I can’t picture the boy yelling, Poppy, he’s a little gentle-mannered, don’t you think?” His tone is patronising, but from the way this conversation is going, she doesn’t think that’s his intention, for once. “That isn’t a bad thing, of course! I wouldn’t want my daughter to be with a man so quick to raise his voice, anyway.”

“What did he say?”

“That’s probably up to him to tell you.” He shrugs, “He just made me realise that I haven’t been the most supportive of you lately. With all this,” his hands gesture around the room, “And that,” and then towards her belly. “And I didn’t give either of you a chance the other week. I’d like to get to know the guy who sat at a table in my house and had the guts to put me in my place. Have a do-over.”

Her mouth hangs open at the revelation, blinking slowly as she tries to come to terms with what her father has just said.

Nico stood up for her? To her dad? After how eager he was to impress him and bond with him over something - he just laid down the law on how she deserves to be treated? Like it’s nothing for him to do so? And he didn’t even tell her he’d done so, didn’t even try to get some brownie points?

And her dad respected it enough to come all the way out here and ask for another shot?

“You want a do-over?”

“I do. One of my golfing buddies has a suite at Madison Square Garden, he’s a big Knicks guy, but he rarely uses it for the Rangers, he’s said we can use it for the game on Wednesday. It is your guys they’re playing, right?”

The game on Wednesday.

Who is this man and what has he done with her dad?

Her dad who has never shown anything but distain for hockey in his life, has voiced it so much to Poppy since she started working with the Devils that she stopped talking about work, entirely.

She nods, anyway.

“And then we’re gonna treat you and Nico to lunch on Thursday, if he’s free.”

“We?”

“Me and your mother.”

Poppy gulps. She’ll probably have something to say about Nico speaking up in her defence. 

“She’ll be on her best behaviour, I’ve had assurances.”

“Right,” she scoffs, finding that hard to believe. “I don’t know, Dad, I don’t think a game against the Rangers is the best place to do this-,”

“I want to understand your world, Poppy.”

Well that’s a cruel thing to say to an overly emotional pregnant woman, she thinks, eyes watering at the thought that maybe this could actually be a turning point for them. 

All thanks to Nico.

“Okay.” She agrees, despite her better judgement warning her against doing so.

“Great. I’ll email you the details for the suite. I have to go, your mom is getting her hair done and I won’t hear the end of it if I’m late to meet back up with her.”

“You guys are over this way?”

“We’re in midtown for a conference on Tuesday, we’ll be going back on Thursday after lunch.”

Poppy just nods in response, having nothing more to say to the fact they’re just across the river and neither thought to check up on her.

She supposes this is that, her dad checking up, so she lets it go as she rounds the table to hug him goodbye before he leaves her alone with her thoughts.

She’s only alone for a minute before her door opens without a knock, and she looks up to see an out of breath Nico barging into her office, skin almost glossy with sweat and still donned in his team gym gear. 

He pants to catch his breath once he has closed the door behind him, putting his hands on his hips and frowning over at Poppy, who can’t help the alarm that crosses her own features.

“Are you okay?” She stands and rounds back to his side of her desk, standing before him to get a better look, assessing for any way in which he could be hurt, because why else would he rush straight here in a panic?

“Yeah,” he breathes, tongue swiping out against his bottom lip as he looks over her in the same way, head tilted and eyes blinking slowly, “Are you? Luke said your dad was here, I was worried you’d be upset.”

“Oh,” her lips remain in a pout around the word as her eyes dart to where she can see a little bit of sweat trickling down the side of his neck, and she feels hot, herself, all of a sudden. “I’m good.” The words slip from her mouth before she can even think of them, making up for the way her mind is racing at a million miles an hour out of nowhere.

“You sure?” He runs a hand through his hair, and she sees his t-shirt strain against bulging biceps, making her struggle to swallow and only able to nod in response. “I ran up here like a madman,” he chuckles, stepping around her to sink down into the chair behind, spreading his legs and laying his arms on the rest in a way that reminds her of the dream she had been woken too soon from this morning. 

It’s a real mental effort not to let her eyes travel lower than his broad, heaving chest as she looks down at him, perching herself on the edge of her desk, awkwardly, not knowing what to do with her own arms and legs that isn’t going to elicit such sinful thoughts.

“Sorry, I didn’t tell him to go find you or anything.”

“No, it’s okay, I asked the boys to come get me if they think you need me,” he shrugs, like that isn’t going to cause her heart to do little somersaults in her chest. “Would have ended up here at some point this morning, anyway.”

“Less stressed, though.”

“Always stressed when it comes to you.” She kicks softly at his calf, underestimating just what the effects of the touch would do to either of them when he smirks up at her, his eyes dark and inviting.

All she wants to do is crawl into his lap.

This isn’t your ridiculous dream, Poppy, she tells herself, chewing at the corner of her mouth to ground her mind.

“He wants a re-do.” She tells him, “My dad. He and my mom are staying in Manhattan for something this week, and he wants to come to the Rangers game on Wednesday, and have lunch with us the day after.”

Nico straightens up in his seat, leaning his elbows onto his knees as he looks up at her. “That’s a good sign, right?”

The gleam in his eyes paints a picture of optimism, and the thought that anything about this is going to result in a positive outcome, but Poppy knows her parents too well to get her hopes up.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “He seemed apologetic, but I doubt my mom is going to have magically changed her entire outlook in the span of a week.”

“Getting your dad on side is still a win,” he keeps that sweet smile despite her pessimism, and she feels a little lighter just looking at the curve of his lips. 

“Yeah, I heard I have you to thank for that.”

He pauses a second while he thinks over her words, before slinking back into his seat, defeated, but still deciding to feign ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?”

“Nope.”

“That’s a shame,” she pouts, “‘Cause my dad told me about someone matching your description, sitting at his dinner table and putting him in his place about not sticking up for his daughter.”

“Sounds like a decent guy,” Nico shrugs, standing from the seat, closer to Poppy than either of them could have anticipated, their knees bumping together as she’s now the one looking up at him. “Probably didn’t mean to cause any offence and just wanted to defend the mother of his child like she did for him.” His hand reaches instinctively to settle against her side, the tips of his fingers on her waist and his palm caressing her belly. 

She hums, lips curving as she watches his eyes drop to where his hand is, fighting the urge to touch him back.

“Sounds very decent.” She agrees, “No one’s ever gone to bat for me like that, before.”

“Yeah, well, whoever he is, he knows he’s the luckiest guy in the world to have you.”

A large palm comes to cradle her cheek as she beams up at him, and his touch lights all her nerve endings ablaze.

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, she thinks, with him practically stood between her legs and his melted chocolate eyes looking into hers, swirling with what feels like adoration. 

They dart down to her lips, and his tongue swipes at his own, and just when she thinks this is it, think he’s going to lean in and close the gap, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his shorts.

He sighs as he retrieves the hand from her face to get it, frowning as he looks down at the screen while his other palm stays on her belly. “I have to get back,” he mutters, “But Thursday is fine with me, I’m free. I’ll text you when I’m done with practice, we’ll figure everything out,”

“Okay,” she smiles, despite the fact that she feels like she’s now wound tighter than a drum, all the anticipation in her body stiffening her muscles as she watches him retreat.

“Or we could do lunch together later?”

She should be embarrassed of how quick and how eager she nods in response, but she can’t really be ashamed when he smiles the way he does, a soft laugh accompanying it as the dimples settle into his cheeks. 

“Let me know what you want and when you’re free and I’ll bring it by.”

“Okay,” she breathes as he gets a little closer, smiling back shyly.

He swipes his knuckle along the curve of her bump, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek, and she hopes he doesn’t notice the way she smushes herself into it, nuzzling into the feeling of his lips against her skin. She can feel him smile against her, though, so that hope goes out of the window too quick for her to really care.

“I’ll see you later then, Poppy.”

“And Cheeto.”

And he leverages two hands at either side of her hips on her desk before leaning down, face level with her belly as he says, “And you too, Cheeto.”

She's gonna have to stop letting him into her office, for her own sanity.

“I’m gonna need your dad to tell me who hooked us up with this suite, this is insane!”

Poppy hadn’t been sure when her dad had sent over the instructions on how to get to his friend’s suite at MSG, especially not when the staff had been so attentive and treated the girls like they were the most important people in the building, having a guide literally walk them to the door before letting them know where he’d be if they needed anything replenished while they are here. But now that she’s in the suite, she gets it entirely.

She’s used to watching from the staff suite at work, but even those aren’t as nice as this one. 

The room itself is intimate, dim, warm lighting cast across leather seating, pictures of the arena on the wall, and a few pictures of Knicks winning their championships in the 70’s. Thankfully not a Rangers themed box or Poppy’s nausea might have returned. 

“It’s alright,” she shrugs, trying to ignore how incredible it is to be in a private suite at MSG. She’s a Prudential girl, always loyal to The Rock. Private restrooms and a VIP entrance won’t sway her to the dark side, she isn’t that fickle.

“Oh my God, they have baked cookies.”

When she looks over at Nia, she has the lid lifted on one of the trays in the chafer in the corner, the smell of fresh, hot cookies flooding the room and luring Poppy over like a siren-call. There’s a tray of quesadillas, some crudités, a salad and some chicken fingers, and she wants to eat all of it.

It’s probably a good thing she can’t drink, because the mini bar might have done the trick.

“I’m not waiting for my parents to dig into this.”

“You’re pregnant, they’ll understand.”

The two best friends share a knowing look before breaking out into laughter, and filling two plates with food before going to sit at the counter-like table that overlooks the ice. 

Poppy feels her anxiety slip away a little as her and Nia catch up, hearing about her work and her dad’s new random venture into woodworking that has him flooding her apartment with new shelves and a TV unit so that he can test their durability before he builds Poppy a crib, her heart melting at the thought of him being so sweet to someone who isn’t even his own daughter. 

They watch as the arena fills up, the noise building to a continuous buzz that always makes her hands shake a little, and Nia, knowing her all too well, is able to distract Poppy entirely from her parents impending arrival and whatever else is going on in her crazy mess of a head.

That is until she gasps, pointing toward the jumbotron that’s playing some sort of preview. “Look, it’s your man.”

“I don’t know if I’d call him my man.” Poppy huffs as she manages to catch a glimpse of him, a 2 second flash that has her whole body vibrating.

“I thought things were going well?”

“I don’t know, Ni,” Poppy sighs as she leans back, snapping a cucumber stick in half, “I mean, they are, but I guess I just thought he would have made a move by now.”

“Haven’t you been pushing him away every time he tries?”

“No. I pushed him away once.” She frowns, rolling her eyes when Nia raises a single brow at her incredulously, “Maybe twice, 3 times, maximum. But that was so long ago, now. And things have been so good lately, he’s been incredible.” Poppy’s limbs feel a little like jelly as she melts into her seat, her mind relaying all the ways in which Nico has been a rock for her over the past few months. Taking her to her appointments, going on grocery runs with her, coming around and helping her put them away. The whole family dinner ordeal and the agreement for a re-do. 

He’s so good to her that it’s driving her up the wall.

“But?” Nia asks, knowing her best friend all too well.

“But nothing! I wanna,” Poppy looks behind her to double check her parents haven’t arrived yet, “climb him like a tree,” she whispers, “and he’s being respectful and decent about it.”

“Ugh, what a dick.” Nia scoffs in faux-agreement, raising her arms mockingly. 

“I know.” Despite the fact that Poppy knows Nia is being sarcastic, she carries on anyway to further drive her point home. “He came by my office the other day, and he was all sweaty and gorgeous, and things got all intense, and kissed me on the cheek. How am I supposed to slip him some tongue when he kisses my cheek? And then he came back later for lunch and pretended like everything was normal.”

He had brought her a wrap and some juice, and the two of them had sat and eaten together in her office like he wasn’t about to kiss her stupid in the morning, stood between her parted legs like something fresh out of a literal fantasy she’s already had.

“I thought you’d last a little longer before you completely lost your mind, to be honest. You’re falling apart before my very eyes.”

“I haven’t even told you about the dreams yet.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” 

“I just feel like I’m running out of time, or something.”

“You guys are having a baby together, Pop, you literally have forever to figure things out.”

Poppy knows that’s technically right. It had been her exact sentiment when she had suggested taking things slow in the first place. They don’t need to rush into something just because they’re going to be parents, soon, but she had thought those things at a time where everything was confusing. 

She was still hurting a little, fresh from almost a month of the two of them not talking, of him rejecting her and telling her he wouldn’t have the capacity to be a good partner. And she had been a little overwhelmed at the time, her life changing before her eyes, and all. But he’s done so much to disprove all of that, since. 

He’s there for her, physically, emotionally, however she needs and whenever she needs him. He looks after her, tries to help in whatever way he can when she’s exhausted or feeling sick - brings her food and smoothies and sends her pick-me-up texts that make her feel like she’s floating. 

All that when he’s in the thick of his season too, fighting what is looking more and more like a losing battle for playoff contention, going home every day exhausted and beaten and bruised, and he always makes the time to call her. To ask how she’s doing, how she’s feeling, to make sure she has eaten and is tucked up for the night and safe. 

They kiss each other, they hang out like old times, he caresses her belly when they’re in private and she rubs his back affectionately when they cuddle, and sure, her hormones are all out of whack and her brain is shrinking and maybe she is falling apart, but she wants him so bad she doesn’t even know how to function, anymore.

Everything they do together points to the fact that they should be together, but he isn’t doing anything about it - and so all Poppy can think is that maybe he doesn’t want that, still.

“He’s going home for the summer, Ni,” Poppy frowns, “And we haven’t even really talked about it, but I feel like if something doesn’t happen before then, then maybe it never will.”

“That’s ridiculous, you said it yourself, the two of you are in a good place.”

“This time last year we were in a good place too, and then he left and came back with a girlfriend.”

Nia’s eyes widen as realisation flashes across her features, and Poppy’s brows push together at the depth in which she’s being perceived by her best friend. “You’re really worried about that?”

Poppy shrugs, shuffling in her seat as she watches the lights dim across the arena, thankful for the darkness so that Nia can’t notice the heat creeping up her neck.

She doesn’t want to be told she’s an idiot, right now.

“You’re being an idiot.”

Great.

“Poppy, c’mon, this isn’t even remotely the same situation, anymore. I know I’ve been giving him a hard time since he hurt you, and I’ve had a lot of other things to say, but that guy worships the ground you walk on. I posted a picture of you on my story the other day with some writing on there, and he replied to it asking me to send him the original picture like a giant lovesick dork. That’s like obsession, there’s no chance in hell he’s going home and not thinking about you and your baby every waking second of his life.”

“You unblocked him?” Poppy can feel her lips twitching a little into a smile.

She knows Nia never hated Nico after what he did - she was angry, and probably felt betrayed herself a little that she had trusted him with her best friend’s heart and he had stomped on it - but she’s never really been a forgive and forget kind of person.

But she’s been doing her own version of baby steps with Nico. When they cross paths at Poppy’s apartment, one on the way out, one on the way in, she no longer scowls at him. No longer rolls her eyes when he’s brought up in conversation.

And, evidently, she no longer has him blocked 

For everything Nico has done to prove himself to Poppy, Nia has seen it, too. 

Even just to let him back in, in such a small way, is such a big step.

“He’s on a probationary period, three strikes and he’s out.”

“Wrong sport.” Poppy smirks.

“Don’t care. Besides the point anyway, what I was trying to say is that you’re worrying too much about stupid things when you should be focusing on the things he is doing. He literally endured dinner with your parents, and is going to do it again. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

“I thought the point of this pep talk was to stop my anxiety, not double it.”

She’s been trying not to think about lunch with her parents. Has been trying even not to think about them coming to this game, Nia being the only reason she hasn’t tried to make her escape by now.

They probably won’t show, anyway, and it will start their meeting off tomorrow with already raised tensions, just how her mom prefers it.

Her stress levels dip and rise like a rollercoaster in the build up to the game. The announcement of the players, the national anthem, the tension in the room palpable as the clock ticks down, high already from the last time the two teams met and the constant chatter of a fight breaking out on the ice - and she’s feeling more and more grateful that they haven’t arrived yet.

Until the door to the suite swings open, and her dad walks in on his own, an apologetic smile on his face as he rushes over.

“Sorry I’m late,” He kisses Poppy and the cheek, and greets Nia with a warm hug, sitting beside his daughter and looking out into the arena, “Did  I miss anything?”

“Pucks about to drop,” Poppy tells him as he gets himself comfy, watching as he scans the crowd with an expression that kind of, sort of, looks like awe. “Mom’s not coming?”

“Not this time,” he shrugs, patting a hand against her back gently and not really delving any further into it. “We’ll have more fun without her though.”

Nia scoffs from the other side of her, hiding her smile with a bite of a cookie while Poppy tries to swallow down her unexpected disappointment.

This will have to be enough - her dad trying his best while her mom sulks on her own in her hotel room. He’s right, anyway. It will be more fun without her here.

Poppy has work the next day, Nico having a rare morning off, himself, and so the two of them arrange for him to pick her up at lunch, driving over to meet her parents together. She blocked the afternoon out of her diary, having to account for the travel either way across the river, and for whatever trauma the two of them are about to face, no doubt needing a good 20 minutes to wind down in the car after, and her morning goes by way quicker than she probably would have liked.

She packs up her office with as much delay as she can cause, stopping every couple of minutes to put her hands on her hips and try out a couple breathing exercises that Nico has been teaching her, huffing out long breaths through puffed out cheeks and letting the tension drop from her shoulders. Once she has everything, she reluctantly heads down to meet Nico where they had agreed after he sends her a text to tell her he’s there.

She straightens her skirt out as she waits in the elevator, making sure her hair is neat and her top isn’t riding up against her small bump as it has been all morning, no longer able to cover it up with her cardigan tied around her waist, knowing her mother would call her out for being unkempt.

She wouldn’t be wearing heels if it were up to her, a subtle ache already settling into the soles of her feet, but it’s only for an hour or two, she has some sneakers in her trunk for when he brings her back for her car, and if anything, they make her legs look good so it isn’t entirely a bad thing to be wearing them around Nico.

When the doors to the parking level open, she has the expectation that he would be in his normal spot around the corner, where the players usually park - the spaces a little bigger, less chance of anyone being careless with the way they open their door and dinging it against another like she’s had happen before - but she’s surprised to see he isn’t too far, parked straight ahead so she doesn’t have far to walk.  

Nico leans against his car, dressed smart in charcoal pants and a light grey shirt, and she finds herself doing a not-so-subtle once over, mainly to check he isn’t wearing sneakers. 

She’s grateful she has a little time to walk over to him, to admire him before it’s too obvious she’s doing so, because if he got a close enough look at her, he could potentially call her out for drooling. 

She catches him doing the same, eyes lingering on her bare legs as she closes the distance between them, before flickering up to greet her with a dimpled smile.

“You look good,” she comments as she steps toward him, reaching to smooth his hair where he’s slicked it back a little, swiping her finger along his clean shaven jaw as she retreats.

“It goes against everything I believe in, wearing dress pants this early in the day.” 

“I appreciate it.”

“I know you do.”

He opens the car door for her and walks by the front to round to his side, giving her a chance to admire the back of him as he moves before he’s jumping into the drivers seat. 

She reaches to put the AC on low as he drives, getting a little hot watching his fingers flex around the wheel, and tries not to spend all her time leaning against the headrest and looking over his side profile like a crazy person. 

Although, if admiring a guy as gorgeous as Nico while he’s in her presence is a crime, she thinks she probably deserves to be locked up.

She’s a repeat offender, after all.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I feel weirdly good, actually.” Her morning at work hadn’t been too hectic, a meeting and a few calls, and she hasn’t really felt sick all week, so things are definitely looking up.

And last night with her dad went better than expected, despite her mom not making an appearance.

She’s even slightly optimistic for this lunch, oddly enough, not having that nagging voice in her head telling her everything is going to fall apart, for once.

“What about you? You aren’t gonna threaten to drive off again, are you?”

“Nah,” he chuckles, casting her an amused glance before focusing back on the road. “I think I’ve got a good read for how these Jensen table talks go by now.”

“I think my dad will be okay today, he got really into the game last night. I think it was all the fighting, and my mom not being there, it was like he’s been holding back all this time.”

She had been initially disappointed when her mom hadn’t shown, but when all the fighting had started, she had been relieved. She had warned her dad when he had made the suggestion in the first place, but nothing could have properly prepared him for the carnage of a game against the Rangers, and so she just had to let him endure it.

And he loved it. It was bizarre to see. He’d been cheering on the boys, oohing and aah-ing in time with the crowd, and jumping whenever she and Nia did.

She had actually had fun, and it seemed like he did, too.

“He’ll be coming to The Rock in a jersey before we know it.”

“Is that how things work out for you, everyone just comes around in the end ‘cause your so charming?”

“Surprised it took you this long to notice.” 

Poppy’s parents are waiting in their hotel lobby when Poppy and Nico arrive after a quick drive, thankfully both dressed just as smart as they are, because she knows Nico would have something to pout about if her dad showed up in khakis. 

The four of them sit around a table in the lounge restaurant of her parent’s hotel in Midtown, her dad having tried to find another spot and her mom having quickly vetoed every cafe or restaurant in the area after vigorously trawling through the Yelp reviews and no doubt turning her nose up at every picture she came across.

Despite the setting being suited to her, she still rearranges her table setting when she arrives, still swipes at the surface and assesses her finger for dust or grime with a dissatisfied look on her face, and Poppy’s trying her best to ignore the little things. Her mom would be like this in the finest restaurant in the world, it isn’t specific to Jersey, it isn’t entirely personal.

It has been cordial, so far. Pleasantries exchanged, small talk conversed. The food had been nice, the wait staff thankfully avoiding her mother’s daring glares, and Poppy starts to feel her anxiety dwindle the more her father talks.

He asks Nico of his interests, trying to find something shared, but coming up slightly short - but that’s okay, she thinks, not everyone has something in common. Maybe they’ll discover that down the line. Maybe there’s something niche that their conversations haven’t sparked yet. 

Nico is his charming self, she has no worries there, and her dad is putting in enough effort to make up for the lack of it on her mom’s end.

Then he moves onto hockey, and Poppy can tell he had been paying attention when he had watched them play the day before. 

She and Nia had been too invested in the game to explain much to him, and it’s hard - being in the arena, watching it live - without having heard most of the terminology through commentary or any sort of breakdown of a play, and so Nico ends up pretty much going through plays and game structure with him, explaining penalties and power plays, shift switches and face-offs, and Peter sits, nodding along as if he’s actually taking it on board. 

“And what do you do with yourself when your season is over?” Her dad asks, and despite the depth in which she knows him, can see the lingering suspicion and distrust in Nico, and of their situation as a whole, she’s grateful for that fact that he’s at least trying.

“I usually go back home and spend time with my family, sir. My brother plays in the league over there so I don’t get to see him when we’re playing at the same time.”

“That’s nice. And that’s Sweden?”

“Switzerland, Dad.” Poppy corrects him, her fingers tickling mindlessly at Nico’s palm in her lap. 

“Of course! Beautiful country, Poppy’s mother and I always used to stop by Zurich whenever we were in Europe. You loved the Opera House, didn’t you, Cilla?”

“Hm,” Poppy’s mom confirms, sipping at her wine with feigned disinterest. Poppy knows she’s paying attention, is going through Nico’s every word with a fine toothed comb. “I much preferred France.”

Poppy rolls her eyes, shifting a little in her seat until her knees knock into Nico’s.

“What do your parents do, son?”

“They both work in insurance, my dad has his own firm.”

“Ah, they’re not athletic, like you and your brother?”

“They were. My mom was a swimmer, my dad played footba- sorry, soccer. And my big sister, Nina, she used to play volleyball.”

“I bet your family game nights get heated.”

He really is trying, Poppy thinks, smiling softly over at Nico as he chuckles in response, lips twisting fondly at whatever memory that invokes. 

“They aren’t too bad, only a bit competitive. No major fights, thankfully.”

“Is that what you want for our grandchild?” Priscilla chimes in, only proving Poppy’s point that she isn’t as disinterested as she’d like to seem. “For them to put all their focus on games and competitions?”

“Mom,” Poppy frowns, shuffling uncomfortably again, all too ready to jump to Nico’s defence until he speaks up from beside her.

“It’s okay,” he assures her, “I haven’t thought much about it, to be honest, I would just want them to be happy.”

He doesn’t say it like he’s trying to win points or be corny, when Poppy turns her head to look at him, she sees the slight dopey smile he has whenever he talks about their baby - a look of pure adoration for even the unknown - and she smiles too. If anything, his outlook would have the opposite effect on her mother than to give him any sort of kudos, but her heart warms, all the same. 

She clutches at his hand under the table, giving him a reassuring squeeze that he returns three times over.

“Nico plays for Switzerland, too,” she directs more towards her father, who might be a little more receptive to the fact, “They have the world championships in Prague this year, if the Devils don’t make the playoffs, Nico might be going over earlier. Might even captain the team.” She beams with pride, using her other hand to rub at the arm of the hand of his that she’s holding.

“That’s great-,”

“That’s an awfully busy schedule for a father-to-be.” Her mother scoffs from across the table. “How are you supposed to look after my daughter from half way across the world?”

“I can look after myself, Mom.”

“You shouldn’t have to. What if something happens, and he’s 9 hours away?”

Why does she have to be like this?

Poppy can feel the responsive insolence brewing within her, bubbling and steaming and about to rear it’s ugly head when another voice speaks up.

“Cilla, that’s enough. She’s shown us she can take care of herself, stop trying to instigate something and scare her for no good reason.”

Poppy feels herself mirror her mom’s expression, her mouth gaping open in shock at the nerve of him to stand up to her like that out of nowhere. As Priscilla presses her lips together in indignation, Poppy prepares hers to speak when her dad turns to Nico, completely disregarding the interruption in their conversation. 

“Is that different? Being a captain for your country compared to the Devils?”

She could lean over the table and kiss him on the head, beyond grateful for the interest he’s now showing, hoping it overpowers the venom spewed from her mother’s mouth. 

“A little bit,” Nico nods, lips curving softly at the corners, clearly appreciative, too. “I don’t really have to worry about trades and contracts and stuff when it comes to my national teammates. I grew up with a lot of those guys, and the tournament is a lot closer to home than the games here. I don’t want to say I prefer it, but it’s always nice to play closer to my family and friends.”

“You’ll have to let me know when it’s on the TV, Poppy. After last night, I’d love to watch more games. It was quite exciting.”

She squeezes his hand again, her smile wider when she looks up at him this time, her eyes settling on the dimples she wants to press her lips to. 

Her dad’s words from the other day ring in her head.

He made me realise I haven’t supported you in the way I should be.

Her dad has never stuck up for her like this. Always turning a blind eye to the way her mom zeroes in on all the things that could possibly sting her - and here he is, in public no less, putting her in her place to protect Poppy. To protect Nico, even. 

“I don’t know if that game was the best introduction for you, sir.” Nico chuckles, “We lost, too.”

“I have it on good authority that that’s only because the Rags are a bunch of no-good cheaters.”

Nico snorts, glancing down and meeting Poppy’s gaze, fondly. “Is that so?”

“I said dirty, rotten, no-good cheaters, actually,” she shrugs, “Dad, if you’re gonna start chirping, you’ve got to put a little more heart into it.”

“You’ll have to teach me, Poppet,” Peter tells his daughter, “Maybe that’s how we keep you busy this summer, you can get me up to scratch for the next season.”

And despite the way her heart hammers in her chest at the mention of her having to be kept busy and the thought of being apart from Nico, she feels the tension in her shoulder slip away. Even her mom’s sour face can’t ruin this moment, where her dad starts showing slight signs of approval for the first time in her life, she feels.

“We can discuss my rates, later.” She smiles over at him, cheeks tightening and eyes watering slightly as she smiles, her appreciation for his time, and for the moment, far outweighing her disappointment in the woman sat beside him. 

It’s only two days later that Poppy and Nico are separated again, him and the team leaving a day early for their game against the Senators, situating him overnight in a hotel in Ottawa when she really wants him back with her in Jersey.

It’s getting pathetic now, she thinks, the way she misses him all the time. It’s one day. She’s still texting him, still speaking to him practically every hour. She shouldn’t need to have him right next to her at all hours of the day.

If anything, she needs to start getting used to this - him not being around. Within the next month, he’ll be back home in Switzerland and she’ll be here, grumbling and moaning to herself and everyone but him about how she wants him back.

She’s been trialling out other people’s company too, as pitiful as that sounds. Nia she knows is a safe bet - she’ll be around, already in full auntie mode and more than ready for Poppy to enter her nesting and shopping phase. Jack and Luke will be going back to Michigan, no doubt, but they’re bound to have some trips back to Jersey. Kelsey is kind of a no-go, because despite the fact that she still considers her one of her best friends, she’s all of a sudden under the impression that Poppy is no fun now that she’s pregnant, and she doesn’t have the energy in her to prove her otherwise. Josh at work had come with her for lunch earlier in the day. He’s alright company, but a little boring, if anything - doesn’t make her laugh straight from her belly, not like Nico, not that she’s comparing them.

Nothing really compares to him, if she’s honest, so it’s a fruitless task to even try.

And so, she’s resigning herself to the little version of him that sits in his poor-signal box on her FaceTime app, crashing and pausing and cutting out sometimes when he speaks.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” Poppy groans, leaning forward onto her elbow in front of where her phone is rested on the counter, a pout on her lips as she watches Nico situate himself on his hotel bed.

“I thought you were getting food, before? Didn’t you say you were gonna have a late lunch?”

“We did,” she sighs, remembering the disappointment that the first bite of her bagel had elicited and swearing that even the memory of it has her stomach growling.

“We?”

“Yeah, I went with Josh.”

“The PR guy?” Nico looks so cute when he’s frowning, she thinks, his eyebrows pressing together and his doe-brown eyes going round, his screen pausing on a very adorable pout for a few seconds. 

“Yeah.”

“You went on a lunch date with Josh the PR guy?”

“I wouldn’t call it a date, we just had the same lunch hour.” She shrugs, trying not to get distracted at just the sight of him on a phone screen. Nia was right the other day, she really does need to pull herself together, she thinks. “I don’t think anyone in their mind would want to date me right now, I’m distinctly round and up until a week ago was walking around with a gross vomit smell about me.”

“Was it just the two of you?” He asks, doing little to dispel her undateable theory and causing her to frown, too.

“Yeah,” she drags out with the tilt of her head.

“And you went away from The Rock?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did he pay?”

“Well, yeah, but-,” He probably wouldn’t appreciate her telling him it was Josh’s turn, implying they had shared other lunch breaks, but he cuts her off before she can.

“And you walked back to work together after?”

“We’re in the same building, and it was nice out today.”

“Has he text you since?”

“I-,” She doesn’t actually know. Poppy swipes up from their FaceTime to check her messages, seeing his name near the top. Sent 30 minutes ago, I had fun today, with a smiley face - a blushing smiley face, at that. “Yeah? But you used to pay for my lunch and text me when you got home,”

“Yeah and now you’re carrying my baby.” He’s smiling when she brings the FaceTime back, a soft smile that barely meets his eyes but melts her heart, all the same.

“Can’t argue with that logic.”

“It was a date.” He tells her, and he shifts on the other end of the phone, discomfort evident as she realises that the smile is more resolute than she first thought. “A cheap one, if you’re still hungry.”

“Well he wanted to go to that bagel place a couple streets from work,” she says, ignoring his jab, “You know the one with outdoor seating?” He nods, “He said it’s his favourite spot nearby.”

Maybe it was a date. Walking in the soft sunshine together to his favourite spot. Him buying her a bagel, an iced tea and a little tub of tiramisu for her to eat at her desk that had way too much coffee for her to eat.

Shit.

“You hate that place.” That frown comes back, defensive, almost, and he leans back onto his bent arm in a way that makes his muscles flex, distracting her entirely.

“I know,” she sighs, at the sight of him or at this conversation, she doesn’t know. “They’re so dry, I swear they’re stale, I ended up just picking mine apart, but now I-,”

“Could eat a horse?” He grins, flexing his arm like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Exactly,” she smiles, “And I have nothing in.”

“You went shopping yesterday,” he hums, leaning back and getting comfortable, looking back at her with that sleepy smile that makes her want to cuddle into him. She could so slot into that space that his arm makes - it’s literally Poppy shaped.

“Yeah, but yesterday I had all the intentions of buying things to cook, and now I don’t want to cook.” She walks over to her couch with her phone in hand as she talks, throwing herself down into the cushions with a heavy sigh. “I saw someone with this giant soft pretzel earlier, and I know it isn’t moving yet, but I swear Cheeto started doing backflips at the smell. It’s all I can think about. Soft pretzels and melted cheese, I could actually cry right now just imagining it.”

“Maybe take a shower,” he hums, and he looks like he could fall asleep, any second. “You might have some energy after to make something.”

“Maybe,” she hums, back, soft tone matching his as she watches his eyes flutter. “Still won’t be a soft pretzel, though.”

“Keep me posted on whatever you pick, I’m gonna go before I fall asleep, I’m grabbing dinner with the boys.”

“Show-off.” She pouts, lips twitching when he smiles big enough for his dimples to form. “Text me when you’re back?”

“Sure thing. Make sure you eat something, yeah?”

“I will. See you later, Nico.”

Once her screen goes black with the end of the call, she falls into the back of the couch with a heavy sigh, head craned back to look at the ceiling. 

This is so hard, she thinks of missing a man that isn’t entirely hers, of trying to suppress her feelings before they spread to every fibre of her being. 

And with her patience wearing thin, all she has left is to listen to him - to follow his instruction in the hopes that this is what will make the universe reward her, subliminally giving him what he wants.

She showers, trying not to think about him as she faces up into the spray and lets the hot water rain down on her, lathering her hair in a shampoo she wishes smelled like him and dressing herself after in a hoodie she had stolen a while back, all remnants of his scent long washed away. 

She’s staring at a full refrigerator with a head empty of ideas when there is a knock at her door, and she trudges toward the entrance to her apartment with heavy feet. 

She knows as soon as she opens the door what it is, her nose perked like a sniffer dog as the aroma floods from the paper bag being held out to her.

“I got a delivery for Poppy?”

“Thank you so much,” she smiles, taking the bag from the pre-pubescent looking Postmates delivery guy, and handing him a tip from the little stack of notes she keeps on the table by her door. 

The name on the bag is for a bakery she knows is around 15 minutes away, closer to her old place up in Hoboken, and she practically skips around to her couch to open it up. 

Two soft pretzels and a tub of Cranberry-Bacon Swiss cheese dip that she had forced Nico to try one time a few years back, and hadn’t had since she moved - still warm in the bag and the smell of it causing her mouth to water.

She thinks this might be the sexiest thing he’s ever done.

Remembering a random order for a soft pretzel from years ago. Relaying her schedule over the phone before, how she didn’t like a certain bagel shop that she had probably mentioned one time before, how she had gone shopping the day prior, something that had probably been a passing comment in a text earlier in the week - flooding her with his perfect recall and insistence on delivering a love language from hundreds of miles away. 

I think I’m in love with you, she types out in a fit of giddiness, senses overpowered by the delicious smell from the bag in her lap, her judgement thankfully coming back before she can hit send, because sure they’ve told each other they love each other before, but never like that. 

Instead, she types out something much more reasonable for the occasion to send along with a selfie of her holding the bag with a stupid smile on her face.

Poppy: You’re my favourite baby daddy 😊 

Nico: I’m your only baby daddy 🙄 

Poppy: Potentially my favourite person 

Nico: Potentially?

Poppy: Cheeto’s first

Nico: So I’m second?

Poppy: Potentially 💖 

Her mind goes back to something Nia had said at the game earlier in the week, about how Nico cared for her like it was an obsession.

Maybe she’s obsessed, too.

Nico

“What do you know about Josh from PR?”

Nico knows that he should probably feel at least an ounce of shame for going to the rest of the guys about this - should feel childish for letting his own insecurities cloud his mind like this, but he’s tried talking himself out of it, and it hasn’t worked.

The locker room has kind of always been his safe space to vent - in a room surrounded by his peers, where better to air out his grievances and have his irrational feelings validated than here?

Especially on the road, after a rough night’s sleep in a hotel bed, and in a practice facility that has a distinct chemical smell that is making him a little loopy.

This is truly his last resort, and he’s already regretting it from Jack’s response, alone.

“I know that his name is Josh and he works in PR.”

“Funny,” Nico scoffs as he leans back into the bench of his locker, running a frustrated hand through his sweat-matted hair. 

“Why, what beef do you have with Josh?”

Jack sits a few cubbies over, the distance causing his voice to carry and opening the conversation up to the other stragglers, namely Timo, who doesn’t speak up but Nico can see his attention pique.

“He took Poppy out on a date.” He grumbles.

“Our Poppy?” 

Mine, Nico thinks, but nods in response, anyway, hoping only Jack takes notice but wincing when another voice responds, instead.

“Damn,” Timo teases, “Going after a pregnant woman is ballsy.”

“Do you think he’s a problem?” He knows he shouldn’t rise to Timo’s ribbing, the panicked raise of his brow only eliciting a smirk from his fellow countryman and longtime friend, but he can’t help it.

“The last time I had any dealings with him, he was wearing a tie with turtles on it, so the chances are slim, but what do I know?”

“Poppy does like her guys dorky,” Jack joins in, a taunting glint flashing across his eyes.

“Does she like him?” Timo asks, throwing himself down beside Nico, who shrugs in response.

“She didn’t even know it was a date,” he tries to brush it off a little, to sound cocky, but he doesn’t really pull it off.

“Hardly sounds like a threat to me, Cap,” Luke speaks up from the other side of his brother, always the voice of reason. 

“I’m not threatened.” He gives a nonchalant frown.

“Sure you’re not.” Luke scoffs.

“I’m just looking out for her.”

“Of course you are.”

“Stop being annoying.”

“Stop being a liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

Luke is always so quick to call Nico out that it’s starting to remind him of Poppy, a little - sharp tongue and a slight disregard for where he pokes it, if needed. It almost makes him appreciate it, all the more.

“She’s the mother of my child, it isn’t a crime to care about who she might be going on dates with.”

“Buddy, she’s carrying your baby, the last thing she’s looking for is a serious relationship with someone else right now.”

Nico narrows his eyes at his best friend, waiting for the follow up he knows is coming where Timo says something to chip away at his dwindling resolve - something to keep him awake, tonight.

“She’s probably just looking to get some.”

Something like that.

“Get some?” He scoffs, uneasily, his face curling in disgust, “This is Poppy we’re talking about, she isn’t like that. It was a stale bagel and an iced tea, not some sordid hookup.”

“You said she didn’t know it was a date.” Luke chimes in, his tone bored and his expression the same - halfway done with having to entertain Nico’s incessant talking and no action. 

“She didn’t, he took her out to lunch. But she didn’t seem entirely opposed to the idea it was a date when I pointed it out to her.”

“Well maybe,” Timo drags out as he pushes himself off the bench and stands before him, a playful smirk on his lips, “And hear me out before you go crazy,” Nico rolls his eyes, swallowing hard in anticipation, “She’s just crazy horny.”

“Fuck off,” Nico throws one of his pads at him, bouncing off his shoulder before he catches it with a chuckle.

“No, I’m serious,” he throws it back for Nico to catch, “Pregnant women are freaky, it’s all the hormones, and most of them have their partners to scratch that itch,” Nico wonders where he’s getting all these ridiculous sayings, all of a sudden, “But you two aren’t together, so she has to get her fill from somebody else.”

Nico tries looking at the other boys for validation. Jack is already distracted on his phone, and Luke looks too grossed out to comment.

“I don’t know why I’m even speaking to you about this, I should have asked someone with at least two brain cells to rub together.”

“Fair point, hey, Curtis, come over here a sec!” Timo calls out, swinging his arm over his shoulder as he approaches, “Tell Nico, in graphic detail, just how freaky pregnant women get!”

“I want nothing to do with this conversation,” he grimaces, shrugging out from under Timo’s grip and carrying on over to his cubby. 

“He didn’t deny it!”

And he knows, deep down, that Timo has been on a personal mission to grind his gears the last few months, finding joy in getting Nico all riled up for no good reason other than it makes him laugh. He knows he shouldn’t take him seriously, but all of a sudden, his chest feels tight - and the feeling won’t go away.

He tries not to overthink any of it, but it’s no use.

All the little nagging thoughts he’s had about his relationship with Poppy over the last few months start to surface, and bubble into something dark and ugly.

Sure, they’ve had their baby steps, they’ve had the odd kiss here and there, they have told each other’s families that they’re together, have spent an awful lot of time together for two people who aren’t together, but that’s just it.

They aren’t together.

They haven’t had that conversation, haven’t set any boundaries, and as much as he hasn’t even looked at another woman since New Years Eve, he can’t expect Poppy not to have done the same.

Why wouldn’t she date Josh?

He has a decent job, seems like a nice enough guy despite his poor timing and his weird need to always be in Poppy’s office. He makes her laugh - Nico’s seen it, has felt his ears go hot as her eyes have crinkled at the corners and that sweet, melodic sound has crossed through the barrier of her lips in his presence - and she clearly likes his company enough to grab lunch with him in the first place.

And it’s those lingering worries that put him into a funk.

When Poppy texts him, his replies are short. He misses a call from her after their win in Ottawa, and doesn’t find the time to call her back. He doesn’t stop by her place when he lands after their flight back, going straight back to his apartment and tossing and turning all night wondering how long it will be before she finds someone else to keep her company and googling all the ways in which her hormones are about to come at her full force - finding an article that points out the exact timeline of it all in gut wrenching detail. He doesn’t see her before he’s locked away for their game against the Predators the next day, either - and when they lose after overtime, and a poor shootout, he feels guilt more than anything when he checks his phone after his shower and Poppy is still texting him like nothing could possibly be wrong.

Poppy: I’ve left a key under the mat if you want to drop by after the game 💖 

It had been sent sometime in the third period, over an hour ago at this point, and she’s more than likely asleep, he thinks.

But God, he wants to see her.

So where he’d usually drive straight home, he drives to her place, instead, hoping they can have some sort of conversation that suppresses the uncertainty that is starting to keep him awake at night.

He parks up beside her car on the street, and takes the stairs instead of her death-trap elevator, ignoring the protesting ache building in his thighs as he climbs all six floors in a hurry.

The key is where she said it would be, and the weight of it is nothing in comparison to the meaning of her leaving it for him, the responsibility of handling it causing his hands to shake as he opens the door quietly, in anticipation of her already resting up.

The lights are off, but there’s a lamp on beside the couch in the living room, and commercials are playing on her TV, and when he steps fully into the space, he finally sees her, and he can finally breathe.

She’s curled up on the couch, dressed in pyjama shorts that sit low on her hips and a tank top that rides up along the curve of her bump, and is snuggling into a pillow while the flashing lights from the TV reflect on her skin. He reaches onto the coffee table for the remote and puts it on mute, watching her for a second as soft snores fall from between her lips.

Jesus, he thinks, she’s beautiful.

Every time he looks at her, he finds himself picturing her features on their baby. The colour of her eyes, the roundness of them when they look straight at him, or the crinkling in the corner when she smiles, the slope of her nose, the fullness of her lips.

He wouldn’t be mad if there was nothing of his. If their baby didn’t have his eye or hair colour, his nose, his smile. He’d be happy with a mini-Poppy.

She must feel his presence as he kneels down beside her - probably hears the crack in his knees or the grunt he thought he was withholding on his way down, because her eyes flutter open slowly, focusing on him with a mellowed, dreamy gaze.

“Hey,” she smiles softly at him, voice thick with sleep and eyes still half-scrunched shut. “Tried to wait up for you.”

How could he let anyone get in his head about this? He thinks, as she looks at him with eyes that sparkle and a smile that grips at his heart like a vice. 

Is this what being apart from her is going to keep doing to him? Forcing him to spiral out of his own mind until he sees her, again?

“I was surprised to see you text so late to be honest,” he hums, reaching out to tuck her sleep-mussed hair behind her ear. “You’re usually out by 9 these days."

“Growing your baby is exhausting,” she sighs with her whole body, shifting on the couch to make room for him, and he falls down into the space she makes, positioning his body to her liking as she snuggles straight into him. He feels himself sigh, the content kind, where the aches in his muscles wither into something a little more comfortable, and everywhere she touches feels warm and soothed.

“You could have gone to bed, Poppy, I was going to see you in the morning, anyway.”

“Missed you.” He likes how there’s no preamble about it - the two of them no longer skirting around their feelings as much, not needing to think up some other excuse for wanting to see each other. She missed him enough to leave a key under the mat, enough to stay up despite her body being overworked, enough that waiting less than twelve hours just wouldn’t suffice the desire to see him again.

He has nothing to worry about, he realises. 

“Missed you, too.” He relaxes fully into the couch, an arm slung around her shoulders and the other reaching to rest in its default place on her little bump. “And Cheeto.”

Poppy hums, and he swears he can feel her arch into his touch.

It’s quiet between them for a moment, illuminated by the muted flickering of game highlights flashing across Poppy’s TV screen, and he can’t help but feel like this is where he is meant to be. This is what he’s meant to come home to. Not an empty apartment with leftovers in the fridge and a bed 10 times too big for one person.

Poppy, on the couch, warm and receptive to whatever he can give her, slow, content sighs slipping from between her lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he hears after a beat, he gives an affirmative hum as a response before he even registers what she’s said. She uses the hand on his chest as leverage to push herself up, still leaning on him slightly but able to look him in the eye. “Are you mad at me?”

“For what?” He frowns, his heart jumping under her touch.

“For Josh,” her body leans away from his a little as she rests back with her knees beneath her. “I swear I didn’t realise that he even liked me like that, and then after we spoke last night I started getting in my head about it, I don’t want you to think I’m just out here going on dates with other people.”

“I don’t think that-,”

“I just miss you a lot when you’re not here, lately,” she admits, nervously, most likely not even hearing what he had said. “And I’ve been trying to fill my time with other people so that I don’t think about you as much and that I won’t go crazy when you leave again in a few weeks.”

“Okay,”

“Not that it actually works, I-,” her lips twist as she looks down at her lap, her hands both fidgeting between them, “I just feel like I’m getting super clingy, and with you going home soon, I don’t want you to feel like I’m smothering you or something.”

“I don’t feel like that,” he doesn’t know why he keeps trying to reassure her. She’ll listen when she’s finished talking, herself, he figures, because again, she doesn’t acknowledge him. He feels his lips twisting in amusement as she carries on, revealing probably more of herself than she had originally intended. His chest warms, weirdly, at the idea that they’ve both been apart, wanting nothing more than to be with each other, worrying that they’re overbearing the other. 

“And I know this whole,” she lifts a hand to point her finger frantically between the two of them, “thing between us is moving super slow, and I know that’s my fault, but I feel really good about it. It feels really right to me. But we haven’t really talked about it since we agreed on baby steps, and I don’t know where your head is at around everything, but I don’t even see Josh like that, and I wouldn’t agree to go out with him when we’re-,” 

He wants her to finish that thought so badly.

When we’re what, Poppy?

She sighs - another big kind, where her shoulders rise slowly and drop suddenly. Like she’s gearing herself up to say something she thinks he won’t like.

“I don’t want you to go back to Switzerland and get over me again.”

What?

Where the hell did that come from?

He doesn’t think there was even a second he was ever over her. Not entirely, at least. Distracted, maybe. Ignorant, obviously. But never detached.

“And I realise that’s a stupidly super clingy thing to say, but-,”

“Hey,” his tone is clearer, firmer than the last few times he had spoken, and he reiterates the sincerity in what he’s about to say with a calloused hand to her face, the touch shocking her into reception. Glassy eyes sparkle back at him, like rippling water under moonlight, and he wants nothing more than to dive in, to bathe in the hidden vulnerability until his skin prunes, and he’s the one who bears the burden of it. “There is no getting over you. Not then, not ever.”

“But what about-,”

“Joshua’s been doing the groundwork to ask you out for months, Poppy. Probably for even longer, but I first saw he was into you back before that auction.” Back when he’d colour-coded notes for her and stared after her like she was a mirage and he’d been stranded in the desert for weeks.  

“I told you, I’m not-,” He’s doing the same thing, now, not letting her get her say. But he has a point to make, and she needs to understand the depth of his feelings for her in the only way he knows how to express them.

“I know. You didn’t even see it is what I’m saying. And you notice when one of the guys starts using more emojis in the group chat or when the coffee shop around the corner uses a different kind of milk. Why do you think that is?”

“It tastes different-,”

“Not the milk, Poppy. Why do you think you didn’t notice the guy following you around the office with hearts in his eyes?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’ve been,” she frowns as if she’s actually thinking about this for the first time. “Distracted. I don’t understand what this has to do with-,”

“Why?”

“You know why.” She levels him with a glare.

“Wanna hear you say it,” he smirks, a flicker of his eyes to her lips that twist at the attention.

“No.”

“C’mon,” he drags out, teasingly, reaching out to tuck her hair back behind her ear after it had fallen back over the side of her face, “Wanna hear you tell me how you’re so obsessed with me that you don’t even consider anyone else.”

“This has nothing to do with what we were talking about.” She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance and trying her best to look offended. She doesn’t deny it, though.

“Doesn’t it?”

“No. We were talking about you. I’m not obsessed with you.” She grumbles the last part like her mouth is fighting the truth. 

“I am.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Obsessed with you. Could throw a thousand women in bikinis my way I wouldn’t notice a single one of them.”

“Why’d you have to specify bikinis?” She frowns. “Who’s throwing half naked women at you?”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“You can’t say something so ridiculous and not expect me to comment on it, Nico.”

“Fine, I take back the bikini thing,” he rolls his eyes, affectionately. “What I’m saying, is that me going back home for the summer isn’t going to change the way I feel. It never did in the first place, Poppy, I was just stupid and afraid of my feelings, last year.”

“And you’re not, now? This doesn’t scare you?”

From the second he found out the news, Nico can recall a bunch of times where he has thought that he should be scared. Should be spiralling out of his mind and anxious as hell about the way his life is about to turn upside down - but those kinds of feelings have just surpassed him. He has no doubt they’ll come at some point - the panic, the fear, the trepidation - but with every day that passes in the calm of it all, he feels more prepared to tackle those feelings when they do swarm him. He’s aided by the comfort of knowing that something in his life is a sure thing.

Playing in the NHL, maintaining his role as a captain of a beloved franchise, making it to and succeeding in the playoff finals, winning an international tournament, they’re all dreams. They’re all things he wants and wishes for, but may never get. He may never lift the cup. He may get a season-ending, or even worse, career-ending, injury out of nowhere. He might one day have to give up the C for someone else to lead his guys on the ice. He may fall out of contention for the national team, have to watch from the sidelines as they thrive without him.

But no matter where he ends up in all of that, he knows now who will be there.

Poppy is a certainty. 

Even if they’re not together, if they never cross that line completely, if the baby steps they’re navigating so well stumble so far out of control that a relationship is out of the picture, their futures are intertwined now. 

She will always be a part of him - of his life. Her and the little Cheeto in her belly. 

“No.” He says it with conviction, which his chest puffed as much as he can muster through the exhaustion that overwhelms his body. “You don’t scare me, Poppy Jensen."

She watches him for a bit, trying to gauge the honesty of his sentiment, and he waits with bated breath, his gaze switching smoothly in a triangle between her soft eyes and pursed lips. Once she has deliberated what he’s stated, has assessed the weight of his words until the sincerity of them settles into her bones, she leans forward until she’s resting back into his outstretched arm, head resting on his chest as the thumping of his heart beats against her ear. 

She sighs, big and tired, and her body melts completely into his, the curve of her belly pressed into his side and her arm slung over his torso. 

“Thought you weren’t obsessed,” he whispers teasingly, pointing toward the TV, where a slow-mo replay of him on the ice is taking up the screen. 

She just hums in response, nuzzling sleepily into his side, and he tries to even out his breathing, leaning back and closing his eyes to bask in the moment.

How could he have ever thought this wouldn’t be enough for her? All those months back when he’d spinelessly disregarded the beginnings of something more. When he had thought that this would have been something she would only settle for - the girl who has moulded herself to fit into whatever shape he leaves beside him and makes it seem like it’s everything she wants it to be.

He’s never known calm like it.

On the back of a loss, leading a team that is potentially one game away from losing out on playoff contention entirely, ending a difficult season plagued by injury and turbulence within the organisation. 

He’s physically depleted - his muscles stretched, his bones banged up and bruised - and he should be the same, mentally.

But he gets to come back here, to Poppy, who misses him when he’s gone, who stays up despite her own exhaustion just to see him, who keeps a place warm for him on the couch and curls up into his side until he forgets the rest of it. 

Until he forgets his instinct to second guess either of their feelings, or the need to overthink how her words might measure up to her actions.

Until he forgets the notion Talia had implied that he wouldn’t be enough, wouldn’t make her happy, makes him forget the comments her mother had made about him being absent or distant and unable to support her, or the suggestion from her brother that he wasn’t the right fit.

“You can’t fall asleep.” She speaks slow, like she isn’t far off falling asleep herself, and it isn’t until he hears her voice that he realises just how tight his eyes have welded themselves shut, too lost in the comfort of her embrace to notice that he was about to drift off. 

“Why not?” He huffs, feeling the weight of her head on his chest when he tries to sigh.

“‘Cause I don’t wanna be blamed when you mess your back up on my couch.”

He chuckles, appreciating how her impertinence doesn’t wear off even when she’s half asleep, herself. 

And despite every instinct in his body telling him that he wants to stay like this forever, he shifts his hip to nudge her upright. “Alright,” he groans as his muscles protest at the straightening of his posture, “Let’s get you to bed first then I’ll head out.”

“Carry me?” She holds her arms out as he stands, and he swats them away.

“No."

He helps her up anyway, and keeps a hold of one of her hands as he sets off down the hall toward her bedroom, taking slower steps than usual so that she doesn’t have to stumble after him - knowing she will drag her feet, anyway.

He drops her hand when he crosses the threshold, allowing her to do whatever she needs while she’s in here without him hovering. 

“What the hell is that thing?” Nico rubs at his eyes as if he’s imagining the giant, elongated cushion that takes up more than half of Poppy’s bed, only when he pulls his knuckles away, it’s still there, sprawled out and taking up the entirety of what would be his side in another universe.

“It’s my pregnancy pillow,” Poppy follows him into the room, chuckling as she sidles past him to the bed, “It’s supposed to be really good for resting on when the bump finally comes in more, after a certain point I’m not supposed to sleep on my back. But for now it’s nice to cuddle. Nia got it for me!”

“Of course she did,” he mutters, narrowing his glare at it like the pillow has personally been placed onto this Earth to spite him. He’s been tossing and turning at night wondering if Poppy is okay on her own, yearning to be closer to her, and she’s been here cuddling a pillow?  

He wants it gone.

“It’s comfy, you should give it a go, might help you relax”

“I don’t need to cuddle your giant pillow, thanks,”

“Okay, Captain Grumpy, suit yourself,” she shrugs as she edges past him to her en-suite, and he stalks behind her, watching as she reaches to grab for her toothbrush.

It’s the rattling noise of another in the holder that captures his attention, the red handle of the one she had given him all those months ago still stuck out of the glass, and he feels the tension in his shoulders dissolve somewhat just at the sight of it - waiting there for him to pick back up again like an inevitability. 

He leans against the door as he watches her, head lulling against the jamb as his eyelids grow heavier by the second. He just needs to make sure she gets into bed okay, then he can leave. He can drive back to his apartment, throw himself into his own bed and try not to grind his teeth throughout the night at the fact that a bunch of fabric and fibres is taking his rightful place. 

“You could stay.” He hasn’t even realised she’s watching him, too, hip resting against the sink as she takes the toothbrush from her mouth. “It’s late and you’re clearly spent, and you need to be back here in the morning anyway.”

“Thought you didn’t want me hurting my back on your couch?” He hums, sleepily.

There’s a beat. A heavy silence as she levels him with a look that’s more intense than her pretty eyes allow. “I don’t.” 

Oh.

He can be cool about this, he thinks, despite his exhaustion. He doesn’t want to overreact to the thought of sharing a bed with her, doesn’t want to make her rethink it or scare her away. It’s just the two of them sleeping beside each other. It’s not the craziest thing they’ve ever done.

The ever growing roundness of her belly peaking out the bottom of her tank top is evidence enough of that. 

“Your bed isn’t big enough for the three of us,” he nods back towards the pillow, his lips twisting in mirth.

“Four,” she says around her toothbrush, spitting out the paste into the sink before adding, “Five, if you’re taking Bunny into account, too.”

“Jesus, Poppy,” he snorts, and he doesn’t know why he’s pushing his luck anymore, risking the fact that she might change her mind, but he likes pressing her buttons. Likes the soft way in which she looks up at him, her eyes going round as she waits for him to respond with a slight smudge of white at the corner of her lip that he wants to swipe at with his thumb. “You sure you can fit me in?”

She nods, tilting her head like she has to convince him at all. “We could cuddle?”

He scoffs, more so in disbelief that she actually thinks he needs to be talked into it somehow. “Thought that’s what your pillow is for?” He teases, pushing himself off the doorjamb and sliding past her with a steadying hand on her hip, reaching for his toothbrush and holding it out for her to add the paste. 

“You’re really gonna use up the last of your energy to chirp a pillow?”

“It’s hideous,” he mumbles almost intelligibly around the toothbrush, snickering when Poppy bumps her hip into his. 

“It’s relaxing.” She pouts, leaning once more against the sink instead of vacating the bathroom, watching as he brushes his teeth with a lingering gaze stuck to the movement of his lips. “You did this to me, you should be more concerned about my comfort.”

“I’m very concerned about you,” he coos, finishing up at the sink and wiping his mouth with his wrist before rinsing it off. “Lie awake worrying about you here all alone, turns out you’re snuggled up to a big, strong bunch of fluff every night.”

“Ohh,” she taunts, backing out of the bathroom before calling him out. “You’re jealous.”

“M’not jealous,” he scoffs, following her and watching as she climbs into her all-too-inviting bed. “Just not playing three in the bed with your body pillow.”

He rounds the frame, and before she can protest, he grabs the thing with an unassuming grip, not expecting the weight of it and only able to fling it to the floor by his feet - not as far as he’d like but at least it isn’t on his side of the bed, anymore, he thinks.

“Hey,” she pouts adorably, lips round and too alluring for him to focus on for long. “If I can’t sleep on that, you’re gonna have to let me sleep on you.”

“On me?”

“Yep. Wrapped around you like a vine,” she affirms, “And I don’t wanna hear you whining about dead arms or dead legs, the pillow doesn’t talk back and I’m not above kicking you out in the middle of the night.”

“Can’t see myself complaining about being wrapped around like a vine,” he chuckles, his fingers working deftly to unbutton his pants, chest heating at the way her eyes follow the movement and her lips part. He tries so hard not to let the smug smile that’s threatening to break out fully take over his lips, biting at them to withhold it as he notices her stare go glassy. 

“Good.” She mutters, distracted as he pushes down, the fabric bunching at his ankles before he kicks it off and bends to take off his socks, too. 

He moves to take off his shirt, stopping with his fingers clutched at the back before he asks, “This okay?”

Her throat bobs, and her eyes flicker from the flex of his muscles to meet his gaze, widened and dazed. She presses her lips together and nods, and he can feel the heat of her stare prickle at his skin as he works the t-shirt over his head, shaking his hair back out once it’s off.

Even in the dimmed light, he can see the warmth creeping up her neck, the flush on her chest and the tug of her bottom lip between her teeth.

That article he had found the night before flashes clearly in his head, and reads back to him almost verbatim.

With the loss of fatigue and nausea at the end of the first trimester, expectant mothers may experience an increase in their sex drive. 

Poppy looks like she wants to eat him whole.

It makes him feel like he’s on fire. 

Especially when he considers what happened the last time they were in this bed together.

If she wasn’t fighting so hard to keep her eyes open, he might have called her out on it. 

He reaches to turn off the light before he crawls under the covers and sidles up to her body, laying on his side and watching as she mirrors him, the two of them knocking knees in the middle of the mattress. 

“C’mon then,” he mutters lowly into the space between them, “Do your worst.”

“You don’t actually want me to sleep on you.”

“I don’t care how you sleep as long as you’re actually sleeping.”

“You’ll regret that when I keep you up all night fidgeting in my dreams.” Her body relaxes a little more as they carry on talking, her legs loosening until he starts to feel them press a little more against his own, and he tries to best to make his limbs receptive, adapting to her touch - adapting to her needs, even. 

“You’re still having bad dreams?”

He remembers her talking to his mom about them before - about them making her feel restless, so vivid that she wakes up still feeling exhausted. He remembers his mom talking about the kind of dreams she had when she was carrying him, about animals and aliens and weird, subconscious fears she didn’t even know she had before she was pregnant.

“They’re not all bad,” she hums, “Just strange.”

“What are they about?”

Her eyes flicker up to his, still shining in the darkness of the room, and it makes his throat go dry.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Talking about it might help,” he insists.

She considers it for a second, and he holds his breath while she does, watching her gaze go back and forth between his eyes until it settles on his mouth. “I dream about you.”

“About me?” He frowns, despite the jump of his heart rate, “Like nightmares?”

“No,” she shifts toward him, closing the gap between them just that little bit more, “Not like that, not scary.” She presses her hand to his chest, soft fingertips toying with the gold chain that sits around the base of his neck. “Sad, maybe.”

“Sad dreams?” He asks, and she’s close enough now that he extends an arm out under the covers to rest on her hip, flexing his fingers out to the small of her back.

“You keep leaving me.”

“Oh.”

Great, he thinks, even the dream version of him lets her down.

“It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a dream. I know you wouldn’t, ‘cause you’re obsessed with me, and all,” Closer again, her hips wiggle and his grip on her tightens ever so slightly. “But it feels real, and I guess I get upset about it.”

“Poppy-,”

“It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” he frowns, clutching at her with purpose now, using the leverage he has on her hip to push his own closer to her, their legs fully intertwined now. “I mean, it’s stupid in the sense that I would never leave you, but it’s not stupid that the thought of it upsets you. I’d be upset, too.”

“You would?”

“Mohn,” he doesn’t know how they can get closer, but he can only try. His legs are slotted between hers, her thigh draped across his, the swell of her tummy pressed into the curve of his waist, bare skin touching where her tank top has ridden up and it’s warm and soft and intoxicating, almost. Her hands are pressed to his chest and shoulder, short nails tickling at the flesh there when she chooses to gently scrape and scratch at him, and he could so easily inch his face toward hers until their mouths meet. “If I kept dreaming that you were leaving me, I’d be waking up screaming and crying and holding onto you for dear life.”

The smile she gives him is almost shy, and he feels his heart melting into a sticky, gloopy pile in his chest. He’s so far gone for her it isn’t even funny anymore, isn’t something he feels like he can shoulder the jokes of for much longer. It’s all-consuming, and serious, and it washes over him like a tidal wave when she says, “I’d never leave you either.”

He presses the tip of his nose to hers, bumping at it until she angles her head how he needs, and he can press his lips to the swell of hers.

This kiss reminds him of the one she had given him back in her bedroom at her parent’s house.

It’s gentle, unassuming, tame, if anything.

It might be one of his favourites.

Because this kind of intimacy with her means more than the rushed, frantic collisions they had found themselves in before.

As much as he enjoyed those, and if you’d have asked him at any other point in the day, he’d have given an arm and a leg to have experienced them again, these kinds of kisses mean more to him than that. 

They’re precious to him - provide comfort when he’s laying awake most nights in his own bed, and thinking of all the ways in which he wants to take the next steps with her. He thinks about the soft press of their lips together, and the deeper meaning of it being the sturdy foundations of something way bigger.

This is where it starts for them.

It’s about more than that - it’s about the dedication the two of them share to do things right. To take their time with each other to make sure that it will last this time.

And it’s in her lips he always finds the affirmations he needs. It will last this time. 

He lets out a self-satisfied hum when they part, half chuckle, half sigh, and she tilts her head inquisitively before her eyes flutter open. “What?”

“Nothing.” And when she leans back and looks up at him with a pouty frown, he snorts. “Maybe I should be jealous of the pillow if this is what you’ve been getting up to.”

“Shh,” she cranes her neck and presses her face into the warmth of his chest, before mumbling “Pillows don’t talk, remember,” into it and smiling into the vibrations of his fond laughter.

He falls asleep thinking about the way all the curves of her perfectly fit into the curves of him - the puff of her smiling cheeks pressing into his chest, the swell of her belly pressing into his waist, and the wrap of her legs locking him into an embrace he wouldn’t want to leave even if he had a choice about it.

Nico had thought it would have been the fidgeting that kept him awake. The first few times he woke in the night to Poppy shuffling in his arms, he had just waited it out until her body relaxed, and would subtly and softly tighten his hold on her until she settled into it - the warmth of him easing her back into slumber and allowing him to fall back, too.

He had gotten used to it after that, his body not rousing fully from sleep most times, instinctively accommodating whichever position she needed to be in until he slipped back under, and he could hardly say it irritated him - the desire to be in this position far outweighing his need for an uninterrupted, full night’s sleep.

But then the noises had started. The hums and the whimpers, the staggered breaths, the whines - and he couldn’t stay asleep thinking she was having another of those dreams.

The one where some alternate, dip-shit version of himself leaves her for whatever stupid reason. 

That brings him into full consciousness, tightening his hold on her with a furrowed brow, hand splayed out across the exposed part of her lower back, where her tank has bunched up to reveal warm skin, and he presses firmly until they’re touching at every which point of their bodies they possibly can.

Maybe in her dreams she’ll feel his presence, feel comforted, and the rational part of her brain will kick in that it isn’t real - that she has nothing to worry or be afraid about if he can seep into her subconscious with every touch.

And then she makes another noise - a mixture of a shudder-like breath and a gasp - and her hips jut forward, and he realises that maybe that isn’t the kind of dream she’s having. When he focuses on the other places they are touching, he knows for sure.

With one of his thighs slotted between hers, pressed right up against the apex where they meet, he swears he can feel a dampness even through her shorts.

Fuck.

Oh God.

He can feel himself half-hard already, he’s been that way since he crawled into bed beside her and they snuggled up so close, but this is impossible to ignore now. It doesn’t help how close they are, feeling himself stiffening into her side.

Arousal swirls like a whirlpool in the pit of his stomach, and it whooshes almost out of control when he feels her jut her hips again, grinding down onto his flesh and whimpering into his chest.

“Poppy,” he breathes, figuring he can’t let her carry on now that he’s awake, himself. It wouldn’t be right, he thinks, and curses the part of himself that argues internally. He pinches at her hip, careful not to aid her in her movements, before he tries again. “Poppy, wake up.”

She whines, shuffling as she regains consciousness, her face pressing into his chest as he just about makes out her grumbling, “Don’t want to.”

“You’ve got to.” He squeezes again, willing himself to ignore how good it feels to hold the fleshy part of her hip in his hands. He leans back a little with his neck, careful not to move any part of his lower body now that she’s awake, and looks down at her as her face contorts in confusion. “C’mon, need you to look at me.”

“Nico,” God help him, it sounds like a moan. And double God help him, because she shuffles with her whole body against him, and presses one of her thighs straight into the hardened length in his briefs. She gasps at the same time he winces, and her eyes shoot up to meet his, glistening in the dark of the night and panicked. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-,”

“S’fine,” he mumbles, desperate for her not to shuffle back away from his touch, and he feels relief flood his system when she keeps his leg slotted between hers, only separating their bodies at the top.

“Do you need to handle that?”

“No, I’ll be good.” It’s probably a lie. If she carries on the way she has been, he’ll no doubt have some sort of internal meltdown. He’ll stay hard just thinking about it for weeks. “Do you?”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you were uhm-,” he breathes, not knowing why he’s embarrassed to say it when she’s literally pregnant with his child. They’re both adults, who have been there and done that once before - and have spent the last few hours slotted together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. “Dreaming.”

“I was-,” she frowns, brows scrunching together and lips forming a pout around her next words that don’t quite tumble out before she gasps, her hips shifting like she has realised what rests between them for the first time, “Oh my God.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures her as she begins to shuffle back.

“Oh my God!” She scrambles away from him, the sheets twisting around her body, and he feels an almighty loss when the warmth of her is no longer pressed up against him. It makes him realise just how hard he is, now, his focus entirely on the pulsing pressure gathering between his legs instead of her touch.

“It’s fine, at least you weren’t having a nightmare-,”

“No, I’m just living one, now.” She groans, the end muffled by the fact that she pulls her sheets over her face to hide the heat creeping up her neck. 

“Poppy,” he feels a laugh rumble from the depths of his chest, and his brain works too slow to stop it before it comes out in a low chuckle, Poppy responding immediately by poking her head out with a glare.

“You think it’s funny?”

“No-,”

“Tell that to your face!” She pouts, brows furrowed in an attempt at intimidation that she’s too cute to get away with - cheeks flushed, skin glowing from the soft sweat that arose from them bundling up together for so long. “You’re laughing.”

“Not laughing,” he says through a smile, lips twisting in amusement as she huffs in response, and before she can burrow herself back under the covers, he reaches under them to paw at her hip, “C’mere.”

“No.”

“Come here.” He gives her little choice about it, firming his grasp on her flesh and reaching with his other hand to lift and pull her over, twisting his body so that they press back together and he can hold her on top of him. She puts up little protest, balancing herself with soft hands pressed to his bare chest, and he likes the way her fingers curl just a little, nails scratching just enough to feel it. She does make an effort to keep her hips raised, never pressing them fully down as he holds her above him. “It’s fi-,”

“It’s not fine.” She frowns, her nails digging in a little harder, and Nico can’t help the slight buck of his hips. “It’s not fair, I’m so worked up all the time and nothing helps and you’re not doing anything about it-,”

“Me?” He scoffs in amusement, “You want me to do something?”

“Not if you’re gonna keep laughing about it!” She swats at his chest, and he takes a hand from her hip to grasp at her wrist. “You come in here all warm and snuggly, telling me you’re obsessed with me and taking your shirt off in slow motion-,”

He uses the grip on her wrist to catch her off guard, tugging at it until she stumbles, her other wrist going limp as she falls forward, and he leans his own head up to bump their mouths together on her way down.

Poppy’s lips are parted when they meet his, and he takes immediate advantage, slotting his tongue between them until it presses straight against hers, and she responds with fervour, her body arching straight into the curves of his and hips pushing down until he feels that press of the damp patch on her shorts on his bare thigh.

She moves like putty in his hands as he repositions the two of them, twisting his body until he can lay her on the mattress, pushing down into her with the steady rocking of his hips as she lifts hers to meet his in a slow rhythm. 

She breathes soft moans into his mouth, and her legs part completely to accommodate him, wrapping themselves around him for leverage so that she can grind her core directly onto the stiff length in his briefs.

It’s heaven - the way she manages to rock herself straight onto his cock with every roll of her hips - and with the way her lips part with a gasp, he knows she feels it too.

They’re hardly kissing anymore, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths as the friction builds between them - he’s pawing under the hem of her tank top, sliding to push it further up to expose her belly, and she’s clawing at his back, gripping him closer than he thought possible as their chests press together and he realises for the first time all night that she hasn’t been wearing a bra when he feels the hardened buds poke through her top. The hand sneaking up her skin heads straight in that direction, thumb wiggling between their bodies until it runs over her nipple, the sensation furthering the arch of her back and eliciting a deep whine as she bites teasingly down on his bottom lip. 

“S’that feel good?” He mumbles into her mouth, barely able to get the words out before the pressure of her lips around his closes, her tongue darting out to poke at his. She gives an affirmative hum, and he feels the vibrations of it travel all the way down his throat, filling his chest with a warm buzz. He blames the lightheadedness it causes for his incessant need to tease her, but is thankful it doesn’t entirely ruin the moment when he follows up with, “Better than your dreams?”

“Depends if you make me come this time.” She teases back, the tip of her nose bumping his.

Whatever version of him she’s been dreaming of is a loser. A certified idiot. What kind of man has this girl at his fingertips and doesn’t finish the job? Doesn’t satisfy her the way she deserves?

A schmuck.

“Can feel you soaking through your shorts,” He has a hand on her hip that slides down, over the roundness of her ass and grips at the soft flesh of her thighs until he can push himself straight up against her core, his entire body thrumming at the way she writhes in pleasure. “How long you been like this, huh? All desperate for me?”

“Too long,” she whines, pushing back against him, seeking whatever touch or friction she can get, “Need you to fuck me, Nico.”

“Can’t,” he sighs out a halfhearted denial, to which her lips pout in response. He probably could fight through the almighty ache that has settled into his bones, he definitely wants to, but it might not live up to her expectations - the last thing he ever wants to do is disappoint her. “Not tonight, I’d last 10 seconds,”

“I don’t care.” He can tell she means it, she probably isn’t far off, herself, having gotten halfway there just in her sleep. “C’mon, you’re being mean,”

“I could be meaner,” he smirks, his cheeks pushing into dimples that she immediately presses her lips to. “You know how long I’ve waited to touch you again? When you give me those sweet little kisses,”

“Touch me then,” she breathes not too far off his ear, eliciting shivers that creep down his spine until he arches into her. “Please.”

“You don’t have to beg me, pretty Poppy.” He tells her, his voice low as he works at taking her shorts and panties off one leg at a time, her knees bending in time with the movement of his hands. “Remember what I told you before, I’ll give you whatever you want,” he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Whatever you need,”

“Need you inside me.”

“Do you have a condom?”

“Now you ask me that?” She scoffs in disbelief, breaking out into a chuckle that quickly dies off when she takes notice of where his hands are going, pushing at the waistband of his briefs until he bears his all to her hungry eyes. Her lips part as he stumbles to kick off the fabric, and her gaze lingers as he takes himself into a firm grip and closes the distance, her lashes fluttering in anticipation. 

He slides his length teasingly against her folds, pressing into the wetness that has gathered there, coating himself in it and hearing her pleasured gasp echo around his skull.

“Is that a no?”

“Nico, I swear to God, if you don’t-,” He cuts her off as he pushes his cock into her, further than he thought it could go at first but she’s so wet that he moves with slight ease, already. She’s eager, too, lifting her hips until they meet his, and he’s as far inside her as he can possibly go, settling there as their breathing syncs and he presses his clammy forehead straight to hers.

She’s the one to start shifting, rocking her hips as they both groan and gasp into the small space between their mouths, and their matched desperation seeps into the frantic movements between them, him fucking into her in a building pace and her meeting it with the arch of her back and the scratch of her nails down his. 

He has to be careful not to collapse on top of her entirely, muscles flexing at either side of her head as he holds himself up, and she’s mindful of winding her legs too tight around him, instead working from below to push up to meet him instead of pulling him down to meet her.

It all catches up to him quicker than he would like, overstimulated by the sticky press of his chest to hers, sweat accumulating between their bodies and he feels it everywhere they touch. The clamminess of his neck under her hand at the top of his back, the sheen on his forehead that he uses to reach up to push his hair back when it starts to restrict his view of her, the curve of her belly when she arches a little too much into him and they slot all the way together. But his worries are quelled by the soft trembling of her thighs around him, and the way her mouth falls agape in unadulterated bliss. 

She’s close, too.

“So good to me,” he presses his lips clumsily to the corner of hers, remembering how she’d liked it the last time when he praised her, “My pretty flower, my good girl,”

“Yours,” she pants out, bumping her nose against his before chasing another kiss, muttering, “I’m yours,” between his lips. 

“Mine.” He affirms, his big, calloused hand cupping the side of her sweaty face, possessively. He loses his rhythm as he loses himself in her, his hips stuttering sloppily as he chases his high, “All mine. I’d give you anything. You gonna come for me?”

She nods, and when Nico gets a good look at her, her eyes are glazed over, dazed and on the verge of falling apart, and he balances himself on one hand to reach between them and press at her clit until she stumbles over the edge, legs tightening in a shaky hold around his waist as she comes around him.

He’s actively trying to commit it all to memory, the sweet sounds that spill from her lips, the delicious dig of her nails into his flesh, the tremors that travel all throughout her body as it wracks with pleasure, the way her muscles contract around his cock as it spills into her, filling her with the stutter of his hips.

He collapses to the side of her, their limbs tangling limply between them, her body twisting with his so that he stays inside, and the room filled with the noise of their panting as they both try to catch their breath.

They lay together in blissful peace for a good couple of minutes, her pointing a finger and tracing mindless doodles into his chest and him raking his fingers gently through her hair. Months, and years before that, of tension leading them both to this point, where Nico feels lighter than a feather laying beside the girl of his dreams.

He blames the dizzying way in which she consumes his thoughts for what comes out of his mouth next - but he just feels so content, so at ease, that the stupid joke stumbles out before his brain can register to stop it.

“Don’t think your pillow can do that.”

She snorts from beside him, her eyes crinkling in genuine amusement, and the way her body shakes with laughter has the rumblings of arousal travel through him again. 

“You’re such an idiot,” she giggles, swinging her leg over him and he twists in sync, making sure he stays inside her as she lifts her lips back towards his - any earlier exhaustion from either of them long forgotten as their mouths slot back together and their hips start to move again, chasing further euphoria.

Nico wakes the next morning with a sense of deja-vu that strikes at him like a bat, a full bladder, an ache that settles over him from top to toe, a buzz on a nightstand, and a sleeping Poppy beside him, tucked up against his body with tangled legs and her face pressed into his chest. 

The sun is peaking through the closed curtains, casting the room aglow, and he watches her rouse from her own sleep at the continuous vibrations from beside her. She groans as she twists out from their entanglement, and he keeps a hand at her hip to make sure she doesn’t move too far, already missing the warmth of her.

She checks her phone before she answers it, rolling back over into his side and settling next to him as she shuffles up so that they’re a bit more level.

He watches her as she speaks, admiring how she glows in the small slither of sunlight that casts directly upon her like an angel - despite the mess of her hair and the sleepy-swelling of her face. He isn’t entirely paying attention to what’s being said, watching her fingertips play with the chain that sits on the base of his neck while she talks, leaning forward to bump his nose at her brow and pressing a fleeting kiss there, content in the domesticity of it all. 

He wants all his mornings to start like this.

“That’s perfect, I’ll see you then, thank you.” She closes her call before hanging up, discarding of her phone behind her and focusing her attention back on Nico’s chest.

“Who was that?” He hums as she shuffles back up against him, his hand slithering over her hip to rest on the small of her back.

“Just my ex,” she shrugs, “I’m gonna leave you here on your own and go meet up with him.”

“Wow,” he chuckles, eyes dancing over her lips as they curl into a self-satisfied smirk, “You’ve been dying to fire that bullet, haven’t you?”

“Mmhm, I’m making the most out of my quick wit while I still have it, Luke told me the other day that women’s brains shrink during pregnancy.”

“We need to start taking Google rights away from people.” 

“That’s what I said!” She smiles like she’s proud of the way they think the same things, “It was the doctor’s office. They had a power cut and they’re gonna be running behind so our appointment has been shifted to later.” Her fingers start to dance teasingly across his chest, her tone carrying a suggestive lilt as she continues to speak, her touch moving down as she suggests, “So we could go back to sleep, or we could-,”

He leans up and kisses her with his hands cupping her cheeks, holding her firm against him as he feels her smile against his lips. “I’ll take option two.”

After a blissful morning in Poppy’s apartment, where the two of them, both literally and figuratively, stayed joint at the hip - in her bed, in her shower, no funny business, she said she just wanted to wash his hair, in her kitchen, drinking his morning coffee out of a mug she painted just for him, on her couch, snuggled up when exhaustion caught back up and they had a quick nap together, bad backs be damned - and an early afternoon spent in the doctor’s office, where they learn that their baby is now growing bones, which Poppy should start to feel move soon, and can smile and frown and squint, Nico glides through his afternoon practice with a smile of his own that won’t shift.

He has a new picture that he elatedly displays on the shelf in his cubby, the boys all getting a good look at the now not-so-Cheeto-like shape of his baby, cooing over all the new developments like proud uncles and chirping Nico for the ever-present dopey look on his face. 

No amount of jokes directed his way will ruin this for him, though. 

This feeling of rapture that hasn’t left since he first opened his eyes in the morning. The way his body buzzes at even the thought of the girl waiting for him to finish practice, to come home to an apartment that she had told him earlier to keep the key to, to kiss at her rounding belly and know that their baby is growing hair and limbs and expressions in there.

To finally say goodbye to the baby steps that he’s been taking for what feels like forever, and dive head first into the crystal clear waters of life with Poppy. Sharing a space, being intimate in every which way with one another, it feels like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

And he wants to bask in this feeling for as long as he can, pushing down the impending date of his flight back home, replying to the emails from his national team coach about the upcoming world championship games and then pretending they don’t exist. 

The idea of being in Switzerland for the summer has always filled him with joy - being home, being with his family, it’s where he needs to be after a season like he’s had - losses and injuries and all the turmoil that comes with them - but the thought of being away from Poppy, of missing any of these scans or moments with her and their baby, it fills him with dread. Her mother’s words from their dinner the week before ring through his head like a bell, loud and impossible to ignore. 

Which is why he finds himself heading for her place when his practice is over - after showering at the rink and dropping home to pick up an overnight bag, he drives over with all intentions of spending the night again. Sitting her down and talking over the potential of him flying back out for appointments and visits.

She greets him with a kiss once he’s gotten to her apartment and found her in her kitchen, rendering him stunned for only a second before he responds to her touch, hands falling to her waist and lips closing around hers.

It only drives his point further home that he can’t go too long without seeing her, now. Not if this is how he’s welcomed back, not if this is going to become a thing. 

He pulls her body flush against his, deepening the kiss like it’s been more than a few hours since he last saw her, savouring the taste of her vanilla lip balm and the way her bump presses into his stomach. 

When they part, he finds himself chasing her, pressing quick pecks at her swollen lips until she’s beaming in response, and he feels like his entire body is on fire. 

“Wow, you really are obsessed with me,” she giggles, pressing her hands to his chest to keep him at bay, looking up at him with the glimmer of the light reflecting in her eyes. “You okay?”

“I think your mom was right.”

He doesn’t even know why he said that, the words tumbling out before he can even think them over, and as he can feel his own forehead crease into a frown, and his own brows push together, he sees Poppy’s do the same.

“That might be the most unsexy thing you’ve ever said to me.” She pouts, balm smudged still around her lips as they form into a confused pout that he already wants to kiss away, “Where did that come from?”

“When she said I won’t be around enough,” he flexes his fingers against her hips, tightening his hold on her, “I was thinking about going back home before and I realised I don’t want to miss out on anything, I want to be around if you need me-,”

“Please don’t let her get in your head,” Poppy worries as her hands travel up, her fingers curling delicately around either side of his neck, “She doesn’t understand what being home means to you, she just says things she knows will sting, you shouldn’t have to fly back and forth just to make her happy-,”

“I want to make you happy.”

“You do.” She promises, “When you don’t mention my mother, at least.”

He feels a little better at that, at the conviction of her words, the honesty in her eyes, the soft curve of her lips. But the conversation needs to be had, something needs to be set in place to quell the flickering flames of anxiety that fill his chest before it becomes an inferno. 

Before he can open his mouth to carry on, she speaks instead.

“Go sit down, I have a surprise for you.”

And despite the itch in him to say something else on the topic before she completely shuts it down, he follows her command, the excited sparkle in her eyes hypnotising him into compliance. 

He waits on her couch for her to come over, and when she does, she has a small, white box in hand. Rectangle in shape, around 5 inches deep and 8 inches long.

“What’s this?” He asks when she places the box into his hands, the lid blank and closed.

“Cupcakes.”

“What’s the occasion?” When he goes to lift the lid, she places her hand over his, shuffling until she’s kneeling on the couch, ankles tucked beneath her.

“I’ve been sneaky.”

She looks proud of herself, a sweet grin hesitantly stretching her lips as her eyes dart between his, and he can feel his lips mirror hers.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she hums, “When I had my blood taken before you came in for the scan earlier, I asked Lucy to write down the gender if she could see it clear enough.”

Nico feels his heart stutter.

It’s one of the big things he had feared missing out on, having been told they wouldn’t get a proper view of it until 16 weeks - in another 2 weeks time - at which point he would more than likely be back home. He had resigned himself to finding out over the phone - still exciting, but not the same. “But I thought they couldn’t see it yet?”

“Depends on the position Cheeto wants to be in,” Poppy shrugs, “They do say it isn’t definite, so if it grows or loses an appendage in the next few weeks, blame Lucy, not me.”

“So you know?”

There’s no way she could have hidden it from him, so far. Poppy can’t keep a secret from him to save her life.

“No. Bonnie at the bakery on the corner knows. She hid it in the frosting.”

Nico takes the lid off the box now on his lap, looking into it to see two cupcakes, a thick serving of white frosting and a round, disc-like cake topper with blue and pink writing.

“Baby Hischier?”

He feels warm all over, a static-like tingling spreading across his skin, and he can feel heat creeping up his neck. It all feels so real, so overwhelming. Seeing their baby earlier, the blurred, splotchy shape of it’s head, little features like a nose, lips and eyes starting to form more clearly in the picture. A little baby with his last name.

“It is your baby,” Poppy chuckles, reaching for the box herself and handing one of the cupcakes over to him. 

“No hyphen?” He elaborates, and he can feel his brow twitch of its own accord, catching her eye and making her lips twist, fondly, in the way that makes him already anticipate some smart-ass comeback.

“It’s a cupcake, not a billboard,” she quips, “We could do that, it that’s what you want?”

“I thought that would be what you wanted.” If it is, he’ll do it that way, but God does he all of a sudden hate hyphens. 

“I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest. Hischier just felt right when I wrote it down for Bonnie. I like your name.”

You can have it, he thinks.

“The less claim my family have to our baby, the better. Plus, it’s kind of the tradition, to give the baby it’s father’s surname.”

“Because we’re so traditional,” he chuckles, liking the way he makes her laugh, too.

“That’s true. Maybe we should make up a name, then? Say, fuck the system,”

“Hischier’s fine.” He says, resolutely, a sudden wave of possessiveness washing over him, and he only feels slightly ashamed of it.

“Hischier is great.” She reassures him, enough to make his chest puff with pride, and the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth is enough to tell him she’s proud of her own teasing - and all too aware of his mini-neanderthal moment. “Can we get on with it, I’ve been glaring at this box all afternoon.”

“I don’t know, I’m all of a sudden nervous about eating a cupcake.”

“Welcome to my first trimester.”

He can feel the beat of his heart in every inch of his body.

He hasn’t really given it much thought, before now, if there’s any specific gender he wants it to be. He’s always thought it corny, when people say I just want a healthy baby, but that truly is all he wants.

He sees the best of both worlds - a mini him, or a mini Poppy. Half of each of them in one bundle of joy.

He’ll be in love with it, either way.

“We’ve just got to do it,” Poppy says, placing the box down on the coffee table and holding her cupcake across from his. “Close your eyes and take a bite after three.”

He nods, before cheers-ing his cupcake against hers, and then closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and waiting for Poppy to start the countdown. 

“One…” He peaks an eye open, watching and unable to stop the grin that spreads into his cheeks, already. “Two…”

She opens an eye, too.

“Close your eyes, Mohn.” He warns her.

“I was checking yours were closed.”

He makes a show of scrunching them shut, assuming she’s doing the same, and she starts the countdown back up again.

On three, he takes a bite and opens his eyes, disregarding whatever colour sits on his own cupcake and immediately watching for Poppy’s reaction.

Her bite had been clumsy, the frosting smearing on her lips, and where he had wanted to see her eyes light up, his gaze is stuck in a magnetised grip to the soft pink colour of the sugary goodness that now surrounds her mouth. 

A girl.

A mini Poppy - pretty eyes, a killer smile that he folds to in an instant, a sharp tongue that fills his life with equal parts sarcasm and light.

He’s so done for.

Before he can help himself, he discards his cupcake onto the coffee table and pounces forward, hoping that she flings hers in the same direction as he takes her face between both hands and pulls her lips into his, licking the frosting straight from them before he kisses her with all the passion he can muster.

It’s messy, he can feel the icing transfer to his own upper lip, tasting the sugar as she giggles into his mouth, and his whole body lights up with the joy of it all, their teeth clashing in a messy abundance of shared glee.

He can’t get enough of this feeling, of the sound of her blissful laughter, and so even when they part, he keeps going back for more, pressing his lips to any part of her face he can reach - her lips, her chin, her nose, her cheeks - and when they’re touching the corner of her mouth, he feels the movement of it as she asks, “Are you happy?”

“So happy.” It’s an understatement, but he’s hard pressed to think of more elaborate wording, so he kisses her again before saying, “Come home with me. To Switzerland. I don’t want to spend another summer missing you, Poppy. I don’t want to be apart from you and our baby girl.”

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t asked before. He knows it’s what he’s wanted this whole time, to be in the place he loves the most with the girls he might love more. 

“Really?”

“I wanna share the other half of my life with you. We can sort out a doctor so we don’t have to fly back and forth or miss any appointments, and it gives my family a chance to spend time with you, I can show you all my favourite places, we can-,”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You don’t have to sell it to me, Nico, I’m already there.”

“Yeah?” The thumping of his heart is so vigorous he thinks she can probably see it, breaking out of his chest and flying out toward her like a cartoon. 

“I’m hardly gonna say no to a European summer.” She teases with a shrug, licking at the remaining frosting on her lips before she leans in to press them softly against his, again. 

“The fact I’m there is just a bonus?”

“If that’s what you want to believe.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk @dasiysthings (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

[squinch-depraved]

hi. i couldn't help myself and had to come back you should write lc!schlatt and reader at his friends halloween party,you can pick the costumes because i have no idea for that..it should totally stem off of intoxication etc whatever you want to put for your idea on this and another reason was because halloween month is here:)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

i hope this is good i kinda just let this one take me where it wanted to take me idk

CW: intox/cnc/dubcon kinda

you knew as soon as you saw him across the party that the night would end with you two hooking up. he was dressed in a knight costume (it was a simple one, but he pulled it off really well) and you were in a cute little witch's outfit. the two of you were stealing glances at each other all night, and whenever you went to refresh your drink, he would walk up to the alcohol table just to get a chance to talk to you.

"some party, huh?" he asked awkwardly, refilling his cup with way more whiskey than he had any business taking.

you snorted, smiling, and eyed him up and down as you tried to decide what beverage to grab. you settled on taking the whiskey from him and filled your cup up almost as much as he did. "you've been eye-fucking me all night and that's your opener?" you teased him as you clinked your plastic cups together and took a big gulp.

schlatt's face flushed as he held eye contact with you. "what the fuck else am i supposed to say??" he fumbled, making you giggle. the melodic sound stuck in his mind for the rest of the night- he loved when he made you laugh like that.

"you're fine, jay, i was just messing with you. fuck, my head is spinning," you assured him before taking another long sip. about half of the contents of your cup were gone now, and he raised his eyebrows at how drunk you must be- he had been watching you for most of the night, this had to have been your fifth trip to the table.

"maybe don't drink that much that fast?" he suggested in a joking tone. he hoped you were too far gone to detect the genuine concern in his voice.

"don't tell me what to do," you squinted at him. "i'm fine." you were almost swaying at this point.

"alright," he agreed reluctantly, putting his hands up to show he believed you. "you wanna go sit down somewhere, though? it's kinda loud in here, maybe we can find somewhere to sit and talk or something."

you eyed him suspiciously. "just talk?"

he nodded and tried to look sincere. "yeah, if that's all you want."

and so he led you to the only space the two of you could find that wasn't crowded with your drunk friends- a small, dimly lit bathroom. schlatt felt a bit weird sitting down with you on the floor, backs to the bathtub, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

after a bit, you traded your cup for his so you had more to drink.

"hey!" he objected, but you weren't listening. you were just taking long gulps of the alcohol, grimacing as it burned your throat on the way down.

"y'know, i really don't mind that you've been staring at me all night. makes me feel special," you slurred. "i like when you make me feel special."

his face reddened and he took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "what about it makes you feel so special? i'm just admiring you." his voice was shaky.

"just the way you stare. you've always got this hunger in your eyes when you look at me; usually, i try to ignore it, but tonight, i'm too drunk to shove the feelings down."

schlatt smirked at your admission. "so there's feelings?" he sounded more sure of himself now.

with a chuckle, you nodded and took another sip from your cup. "there are definitely feelings. i've just been ignoring them for a while because i didn't know how you felt." after swallowing a large mouthful of the amber liquid, you sighed deeply. "can't believe i'm actually telling you this, i'm gonna regret it so much in the morning. if i even remember..." you muttered.

he shifted on the floor next to you uncomfortably, moving his legs in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension in his groin. "listen, i'm not as drunk as you, but," he took a long gulp from his plastic cup, "there are some feelings on my end, too, if that helps. i dunno..." he sniffed and inspected a framed painting that was hanging on the wall.

you felt your cheeks heat up at his confession and finished off your drink hastily. "can you fuck me?"

"w-what?" he sputtered, turning to stare at you.

"can you fuck me?" you repeated. "tired of waiting for you, j. i know i'm wasted, and maybe i won't have any recollection of this happening when i'm sober again, but i need you right now."

schlatt blinked a few times, running over your request in his mind, and ran his fingers through his hair. "isn't that, like... taking advantage? ted said something about drunk people not being able to fully consent," he mumbled. you sighed frustratedly and grabbed his chin, turning him to look at you.

"i don't give a shit, schlatt. fuck me." the demand caused his pants to tighten, and you glanced down at his lap just in time to see his bulge twitch slightly. grinning, you scooted closer towards him, savoring the look of desire in his eyes. "i can tell you want it just as much as i do. c'mon, baby, please. take advantage of me." his breath hitched in his throat, and in an instant, he was standing up and extending a hand down to you to help you rise as well. as soon as you were both on your feet, he pressed you against the counter and pulled you in for a deep kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth after biting your lip. you yelped and jumped up onto the surface behind you, sitting down on it and spreading your legs open so he had easier access for whatever he wanted to do.

"mm, you're so eager," he breathed into your ear before taking it between his teeth gently. a whimper escaped your lips, any confidence you had now gone from how flustered his dominance was making you. "you've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you?"

another whine slipped out, and you wrapped your legs around him in an attempt to hold him close.

"yeah, bet you've just been dreaming about being used by me. sounds like it, judging by how easy it is to make you moan for me." his velvet smooth words coated your eardrums, rendering you helpless as he reached and slid your stockings and panties down. using his thumb to collect your slick, he brought it up to your mouth and pressed it onto your tongue. the taste of yourself being forced upon you like this left you rolling your eyes back into your head.

"good slut," he whispered with a slight smile. withdrawing his thumb, he swiftly dove in to replace his digit with his tongue, swirling and exploring your mouth with such passion that it made you dizzy. after he had enough of the taste of whiskey on your lips, he lowered himself between your thighs and stared up at you, eyes full of longing.

"you don't know how long i've wanted to do this for you," he said earnestly.

for me. not to me, you thought fleetingly.

"then do it." the words were barely audible, but they made him grin and duck his head under your dress. as soon as his tongue met your folds, clumsy and desperate to taste you, you were a moaning mess. you tried to cover your mouth, but he reached one arm up to reach for your hand and pulled it off.

"lemme hear you," he mumbled against your core. "you wanted to be fucked here so bad, you get to be embarrassed by your choices."

a whorish noise spilled from your lips before he continued, "and say my name, too. want people to know who's makin' you feel this good."

he sped up his tongue, circling your clit over and over, and inserted two fingers into you one by one. the speed at which he pumped them in and out of you would have been cruel if it didn't make you feel so euphoric. it didn't take him long to make you cum, you were so worked up- not to even mention how drunk you were; that always made it so much easier for you to orgasm.

"please, schlatt!! ohh, fuck, oh my god!" you screamed as your legs trembled around his head. he smiled against your cunt and pressed a few messy kisses to it before pulling away to stare up at you. his face was covered in your juices, although you almost didn't notice it due to his expression of pure adoration.

he rose after a few moments of admiring you, undoing his pants just enough to expose his length and positioned himself between your legs once more. "god, this is gonna feel so good," he babbled as he fished a condom out of his pocket.

"you don't have to use that," you offered, snapping out of your daze of staring at his cock.

"'s fine. wanna make sure i'm sober the first time i cum in you. don't wanna even risk not remembering it." his words sent a shudder down your spine; did he want to do this again? would this be more than a one-night stand? you prayed that it would be as he slid the protection onto his shaft.

schlatt made eye contact with you as he pressed his tip against your sensitive bud. you drew in a small breath and clutched onto his shoulders, trying to keep the room from spinning.

"you ready?" he asked, planting a warm kiss on your neck. you nodded as you let out a sharp gasp and braced yourself for him to enter you. it hurt a bit when he did, but the hiss you let out didn't make him stop. he just kept pushing in until he was buried to the hilt between your velvet walls.

he gave you a few seconds before he started moving. it was awkward at first; you were both intoxicated, so it was bound to be a little clumsy, but every second felt incredible. once he established a rhythm, rolling his hips so hard they smacked against your ass, you were clawing at his back and chanting his name. the doorknob rattled loudly and some people laughed on the other side of the door- it sounded like ted and a few of your other friends, but you couldn't be sure.

"fuck," he grunted, gripping your hip with one hand and using the other to cup your face and bring you in for a kiss. "so fuckin' good for me, you stupid little whore." the mixture of praise and degradation made the knot that was forming in your stomach tighten, and you groaned into his mouth. "you gonna cum for me again, doll?"

with a vigorous nod, you leaned your head back against the mirror and surrendered to the endless pleasure schlatt was giving you. "i think i'm gonna cum, too," he grinned. "you keep gettin' tighter and tighter around me, it's gettin' impossible to- nnggh, keep, it together, holy shit! fuck, i'm gonna cum!"

with one final slam into you, he bit down on your shoulder through your dress and groaned loudly, chest heaving. you yelped as he did so and wrapped your arms around him for a hug, which he immediately reciprocated. after pulling out of you and discarding the very full condom, he helped you down and assisted you in fixing your costume so you could return to the party with at least a little bit of dignity.

"wanna come sleep at my place?" he offered. "i feel like it's the least i can do after... that." he smiled softly and adjusted a strand of your hair that was out of place.

"only if we can do it again," you bargained.

"deal. i'll call an uber." he stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door behind him, leaving you to have a second to yourself. you made the final fixes to your costume and applied a coat of your lip gloss before taking a deep breath and exiting the room, ready to face whatever else was in store for you that night.

[undercoverdonderwolk]

What are some of your ultimate fave Maxiel moments and why, M? ❤️

changes everyday but currently: 1) max fixing daniel's remote control while daniel's talking to someone else, not even looking at max. the quiet domesticity of this interaction just always takes my breath away lmao i wish i was kidding! so groggily walking around through your shared kitchen at seven in the morning grabbing your partner by the hips to quietly move them out of the way to get a spoon coded etc. just the way they're clearly so comfortable with each other and it's such a snapshot of their personalities and love languages. it's so so sweet and important to me. >>> (also in this category daniel taking a bit out of the stroopwafel max is holding up for him while in a convo with other people lmao that's a ten year relationship baby that's love) 2) max figuring out on that stream daniel's written an article about him and getting more and more hysterical everytime he asks if someone can please for the love of god send him the link now and then reading it live instead of waiting until he's logged off. max has such a hard time accepting compliments and goes out of his way to never hear and/or accept praise in public if he can help it but as always daniel is the exception :( he wanted to read so badly what nice things daniel had said about him and the way he's so quiet and introspective after too. kills me 3) max's guarddog moment in hungary when daniel's asked if maybe it's the wrong thing to go back to an ex. looking back this is even more painful lmao because uhhh yeah it was the wrong thing to do! but the way max is just foaming at the mouth to clap back. i think we talk a lot on here about how daniel is such an excellent max reader and so super attuned to max's moods and how to work those moods but this was max reading daniel's mood correctly and reacting accordingly! he knew daniel was never going to stand up for himself and he saw that daniel was feeling awkward and he did not hesitate. just such a kind thing to do for daniel and i love how it was clearly personal to max. like that hit him where it hurt because when you deep it max is the ex they're talking about and he clearly took it as such too. 4) max randomly saying 'well. you look good' kind of mournfully during that american football bit they did lmaooooo! the way he says it just takes me out all the time. like how he sounds so morose when he unprompted tells daniel he looks good. and then daniel's awkward af laugh in response and max quickly adding a 'in the outfit' (or something). idk it's just so teenage unrequited crush coded in the max-est of ways. yeah you don't feel the same way about me but you look good :( and i wanna tell you :( idgaf about that camera you look good danyul :( GOD and before anyone asks no i do not have any links to these things they are logged into my beautiful mind

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

The Shining, 1980

Pairing: Buck x Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Notes: I finished!!! I actually did the kinktober challenge I set out to do and idk I might CRY cause when do I ever finish anything 🥹🥹 thanks for reading all my super shitty work homies like it means a lot that you stick with me. Back to work on my inbox! 🧡

Day 16: Thigh Job

You and Buck had been dating for a few weeks now, and nothing had really gone much past kissing and him feeling you up. He wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it was him? Maybe he didn't shower enough. Or maybe you weren’t into him like that, which was okay! But he just wished you would tell him. 

He sets his bag down and turns to Eddie “ I don't know dude... Maybe she wants to break up with me”

“You guys haven’t exactly been together all that long.. Maybe she’s hesitant? Have you tried just talking about it?”

“How lame am I gonna sound!” Buck scoffs, resting his head against his locker “Hey Y/N Why haven't you let me rail you through my mattress?”

Eddie tosses his head back letting out a sharp laugh before slamming his locker shut. 

“Man up and talk to her about it. Lord knows communication is definitely the best avenue.” 

“I’m.. not sure I should be taking advice from you when it comes to that” 

Bobby finds Buck locked in the supply closet 20 minutes later. 

Buck drops his bag at the door as he walks in, he sighs and looks down at your number on his phone, he’d just invite you over for a quick dinner, maybe some wine and he’d talk to you.

Communication is key. 

He stops in his tracks as he looks over at his counter, there’s a row of Chinese take-out boxes and you’re setting out silverware. 

“Oh- h-hi” you blush, “I let myself in, I hope you don’t mind” 

“Of course I don’t” He smiles widely as he comes over and scoops you up in his arms while hugging you tightly. He sets you back down with a sweet kiss on your forehead and pets your head 

“What are you doing here cutie?” He hums happily as you pull him down to your height and peck his lips 

“I wanted to talk to you”

Even if he wanted the same thing, his heart still drops to his feet, his smile is uneasy and clearly stressed.

“O-oh? Uh- okay… what um- what about?” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, trying to seem confident, but you can see right through it. You put your hands up fast, shaking your head. 

“It’s nothing serious!! Well, it’s- it’s serious but nothing bad!! I just- I wanted to explain myself!”

He groans loudly as his arms fall and he melts into your arms, you giggle as he buries his face in your neck, letting you hold most of his body weight to your chest. 

“Why the fuck would you scare me like that!!!” He whines and you coo at him while running your nails through his hair 

“Awwww baby I’m sorry” you laugh “It’s just about sex” 

He perks up and you swat at his chest as he immediately pulls away and kisses your face 

“Well, well, don’t let me interrupt you. Please, go on” He wriggles his eyebrows, his face is so close to yours that it makes you smile when you kiss his nose

“I know you’ve been kind of… antsy,” You say as he settles down against you. He’s practically bent in half to be less tall than you are, looking so sweet and innocent as he eagerly listens 

“Have I?” 

You roll your eyes playfully and his eyes flit down to your lips, watching as you bite down on them. 

“Yes, you have… and I realize, that I haven’t exactly been… reciprocating” 

“Really? Hadn’t noticed” He mumbles, his eyes still on your lips and you groan, pushing his face away

“Buck! I’m being serious!” You pout and it’s his turn to coo as he sets you on the counter. He puts his arms on either side of you, trapping you, and smiles softly 

“Okay, okay I’m sorry… you’re right. Now, what’s going on?” 

“Your dick is literally too big and I’m afraid it’s going to hurt if we don’t take it slow but I’m going to burst if you don’t throw me down on the floor and take me and I don’t know what to do” 

His jaw drops as you blurt it all out in one fast sentence. He blinks a couple of times, his mouth gaping and he turns away for a second before looking back at you.

“I’m sorry… what?” He gestures wildly and you slap your hands over your face. 

“I’m… smaller than average okay! It- it takes a little work and… I just didn’t know if that was something you could deal with.” 

“What’s… a little work?” And you know he’s asking seriously by the sincere look on his face, he reaches out and cups your cheek with his hand and you lean into it. You spend the next hour explaining everything to him over dinner. He sits crisscross on the couch as he listens to you intently over his container of chow mein.

“I wish you’d have said something sooner baby… I could have been blowing your back out by now” 

You snort and set your empty carton down on the coffee table

“You’re such an idiot” 

“Mhm, you say that now… but this idiots got ideas baby, trust me. There’s more than one way to have sex” 

It’s not until four days later Buck corners you in the apartment, you’re doing the dishes when he puts his hands on either side of the sink, trapping you between his arms. 

“Hello Buck,” You say as you keep rinsing your dish, and his hands move to take it from you, rinsing it for you. 

“Hey baby” He purrs in your ear, kissing your neck, you watch him wash a couple more dishes before craning your neck to look at him and pecking his cheek. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Mmm.. maybe, depends. You busy?” 

“Apparently not,” You gesture and he smirks, taking the dish towel and drying your hands before his. You look at the clock on the stove “You’re kinda early”

“I begged Reynolds to come in early for me, it’s only a couple of hours. I couldn’t wait any longer” 

“Any longer for what?” 

“I bought you something” He grins eagerly and finally lets you go. He puts his hands on your hips when you turn around, kissing you softly and pulling you over to the island. There’s a pretty pink box in the middle with a white bow around it. He pulls away and nods his head over at it, his eyebrows wriggling.

“Ya gonna open it? You should open it!” 

You giggle and reach for it, pulling it to the edge of the counter “Alright, alright, I’m opening it”

You pull the bow and remove the cover, there are hearts all over the tissue paper, clearly hand drawn and you smile at them before pulling the paper back. There’s a brand new lingerie set in it, it’s black and strappy with little hearts where the nipples are

“Buck” You gawk and he grins, pushing the baby doll aside so you can see the crotchless panties underneath and your breath hitches.

“I want you to go take a shower, pretty yourself up a bit, and put this on” His hands slide up your arms, grinning as he feels the goosebumps “Take all the time you need, I’m gonna run to the store for a minute okay?”

“O-okay” you mumble as you stare at it and he takes your chin between his fingers, turning you to face him.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my entire damn life and you were just doing the dishes” He pecks your nose and you giggle a little

“My plan works even if you don’t want to do all that, I just know you kinda prefer to doll up sometimes you know? I just wanted to give you a chance. But whatever you decide is sexy to me no matter what” 

You smile as he cups your cheek, leaning into his reassurances “You better hurry up” you tell him “Don’t keep me waiting” 

He pecks your lips and grabs his keys from the counter “I promise I’ll be so quick baby” He turns to run out the door but comes back, kissing you again and biting his lip “Okay, okay, I’m going”

You watch him leave, standing at the counter for a minute waiting to see if he comes back, when he doesn’t you grab the box and go running up the stairs to shower. 

Buck takes his time at the store because even if he’s itching to get home he wants to give you time to clean up. He stares at the rows of candy in front of him, grabbing a few of your favorites, he didn’t really need to be at the store but it was a good way to kill time and an even better way to get you more presents. He’s reaching for those pretzels you like when he gets a text, a picture from you. His jaw drops as he stares at his phone, You’re sat in front of his full-length mirror on your legs, your hand between your legs as you give him the cutest little smile.

He’s gonna have to ask Athena to fix that speeding ticket for him. 

He throws the front door open and launches the bags onto the counter 

“Daddy’s home baby!” He yells and he can hear you burst out laughing from upstairs. He takes the steps three at a time and collapses at the top of the stairs before dragging himself over to the bed. You’re sat in the middle of it, perfectly poised, buffing your nails 

“You good?” You look over the edge. 

“I’m- Jesus- fuck I’m-“ he pants, giving you a thumbs up and you giggle.

“Need a minute?” 

“Think I pulled a hammy” He wheezes and you roll over on the bed laughing at him, your hair hangs around you like a curtain as you look down at him, your eyes are so sweet and wide as he holds a hand out to your cheek. 

“Remember me as I was, wild, and free” 

You climb down from the bed and settle on top of him, flipping your hair to the side as you place your hands on his chest. 

“Are you okay?” 

His heart skips a beat as he looks up at you, his hands finding their home on your hips. Your skin is so soft and smooth, he even admires the soft shimmer from the body oil you used. 

“Yeah I’m good.. just bein’ dramatic” he chuckles quietly, his hands sliding down your thighs as he sits up. 

“You look… so damn good” He mumbles, before kissing you, his tongue tangled with yours immediately, things went as they usually do, his touches are so featherlight and teasing and he grins. 

“Okay baby,” He takes you from his lap and stands up, pulling you with him and kissing you again before putting your hands on his belt. 

“I thought we could try something. I’m willing to take everything as slow as you need to, I promise. I just thought you might go for this” 

“Go for what?” You undo his belt slowly and he watches you, his hands ghosting up and down your arms slowly 

“You’ll see” he teases, as you let his pants drop, freeing his hard length. It bobs heavily between his legs, the tip already glistening with precum.

“You’re ridiculously sexy” You mumble as you look up at him and he cups your face, kissing you deeply while moaning. 

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing…”

He grabs your hips, positioning you in front of him 

“Now do me a favor. Keep those pretty little thighs together, mhm, just like that” He watches the way you squeeze your thighs together, shuddering at the friction.

With that, he puts the tip of his cock against your slick folds, rubbing it up and down your slit. You groan together at the sensation, his hips rocking gently as he coats himself in your arousal. 

You look down with wide eyes, watching him sliding in between your legs

“O-oh my” You mumble and he smirks his free hand slides up your body, pushing your bra up to expose your breasts fully. He palms the soft flesh, tweaking and pinching your nipples roughly as he continues to thrust harder between your thighs.

Buck groans as you squeeze your thighs tighter around his cock, the pressure and friction driving him wild. He can feel your slick arousal coating his shaft with each thrust, making the glide deliciously smooth.

"That's it, baby, just like that," he pants, his hips snapping faster now. 

"Gonna make you cum so hard on my dick. Wanna feel you shake and moan for me."

He reaches between your bodies, spreading your lips so your clit drags against his cock more. You gasp, your body jolting against his as you grip his arms tighter. 

“B-Buck please, just- just the tip“ you gasp, looking up at him, your eyes wide with lust “I need you”

Buck slows his thrusts, looking down at you with a heavy mix of lust and concern. He cups your face gently, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

"Just the tip, baby? You sure? I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs, searching your eyes.

You nod eagerly and he carefully positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock just barely slipping inside. He holds himself there, letting you adjust to the size.

"That's it, baby girl. Nice and slow. Tell me if it's too much, okay? I've got you."

He starts to rock his hips, pushing in a little deeper with each movement. His other hand slides down to keep rubbing your clit, helping to ease the stretch and keep you focused on the pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so tight. Feels like you're squeezing me so good already. Gonna make me cum if you keep this up."

He leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers. His tongue laps at your mouth, stroking along sensually as he continues to thrust shallowly, he’s never practiced so much control in his life and he’s not even bothered by it. 

Your head falls against his shoulder, your soft breaths fanning across his chest. 

“J-just like that” You whimper, your body trembling against this “Oh god just like that” 

He holds you close, his arms wrapped securely around your trembling curves. He continues to thrust shallowly, the head of his cock just barely dipping inside your tight heat with each movement.

“You're doing so good, taking me so well. Such a perfect little angel," he murmurs encouragingly, his lips brushing against her ear.

His hand on your clit never stops its maddening circles, keeping you right on the edge. He picks up the pace slightly, still keeping his thrusts shallow but adding a little more force behind them. His other hand slides down to grip your ass, kneading gently and pulling you tighter against him.

“Cum for me, baby, wanna hear those pretty little moans as you fall apart on my cock."

Your thighs shake as you cum, your chest heaving as you grip his arms, your nails digging into them as your orgasm crashes over you in delightfully intense waves. 

Buck groans deeply as he feels your orgasm rip through you, your walls clamping down around him like a vice. He buries his face in your neck, biting down on the sensitive skin as he fights the urge to thrust deeper.

He growls into your neck, his cock pulsing as he spills his load into you, you moan as you feel it spilling down your thighs. You reach down quickly, pumping his cock and sliding it just a little deeper inside you, letting him coat your walls. He whimpers into your neck while you squeeze his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. 

He pulls away shakily before collapsing onto the bed and bringing you with him. He wraps his arms around you, snuggling into you like the little cuddle bug he is and you giggle breathlessly, kissing the top of his hair. 

“You know you started something now” He mumbles against your skin as you drag your nails through his hair, scratching his scalp. 

“Oh?” You say and he nods, craning his neck up to look at you. 

“Oh definitely, just the tip? I can work with that. Doesn’t take much to make you my little cream pie” 

Your cheeks flush in embarrassment and you whack his arm. 

“Buck!”

“And don’t you worry baby we’ll get you used to my size I promise, maybe we can buy some toys or something! Take things nice and easy, find some good ways to tease you open” 

“You really want to take your time with me huh?”

“More than anything” He smiles, cuddling into you closer and nuzzling his head against you so you’ll keep petting him and humming happily when you do

“Hey Buck?” you whisper a little while later, tugging at his hair to get his attention. 

“Hmm?” He mutters, half asleep.

“You um…. You think you might be up for a round two?” 

Suddenly he’s awake again, you shriek as he yanks your body on top of his and shoves your thighs upward, you awkwardly scramble to slap your hands on the windows in front of you and he puts his arms over your thighs and holds your hips. You feel his breath fanning across your pretty pussy and you moan softly, putting your head against the windows. 

“I mean yeah if you wanted to sure”

[gloooper]

3D Gillion WIP

RAAGGHHH I have been in blender hell for like 3 weeks and I have nearly finished this low poly model of Gillion!!! Features a responsive 2d facial animation rig :3 I just have some bones to finish adding drivers to (and a sword and environment to model and texture) and then he is ready to animate!!! (nerd shit rant under cut)

I have been having a lot of fun learning blender!! in comparison to my first model in March of this year I think I have certainly come a long way!

Bonus: I am finally starting to understand the evil spaghetti

Here is the nodes for the 2d facial animation rig in all their glory! it's a whole process but a lot of fun I was using principled BSDF for shading up until the point of actually making the face rig which... does not work if you add a bunch of colour mix nodes so I had to switch to diffuse BSDF. If you're interested in learning how to make a rig this is the tutorial I followed it only covers the eyes but you can just copy the steps for making the eyes and use it to make additional bones for the mouth & eyebrows, adding them through colour mix nodes with alpha channels set to your textures like in my image!

I have also been using the pribambase plugin & aseprite to create my textures which I highly recommend! asesprite honestly is such a wonderful and intuitive program I had never made pixel art before starting this project and I know I certainly could be doing better (I am fully aware the model has mixels but I honestly don't hate the look personally which I know isn't the common take but whatever) but for my first time doing pixel art I'd say it's not too bad! Pribambase is a bit of a pain to set up now since the original creator has discontinued it and is no longer supporting it but it is still possible to find and use I am happy to teach anyone who would like to know!

Once the model is done I will be releasing my blender files & texture files as free to use for anyone who wants to animate with it or just play around & deconstruct! (with the exception of my animations) I am only learning myself so idk how useful they'll be but I would not have been able to make this model if it wasn't for kind modellers online who have released their files to deconstruct and learn from.

I have many plans for future blender projects all currently jrwi related (the brainrot is intense rn) & I am very excited to keep learning as I go! I currently have plans to make low-poly models of all the riptide pirates, the pd & the godslayers with animations in mind :p and I really wanna try some 3d sculpting (and maybe 3d printing) which I have wiwi in mind for... if any of these ideas get finished I will also release those models for free :)

[alexxncl]

‼️NIGHTBRINGER LESSON 53 SPOILERS‼️

masterlist | all lessons | season 3 | lesson 52 ! lesson 53.2

now i knew we were gonna get some kind of lore drop given the "waking up from a dream" title card at the beginning of the lesson

can someone explain to me what the FUCK is going on ???? like it's obvious we're not supposed to be there, but where is there?

for context, all we saw was a black screen with the characters in front of it. like what is happening

the way that lucifer was so adamant about mammon not using his card in meowcao only to let him use it anyways 😭

he can't resist his favorite baby brother ig

HELP 😭 not he told levi to touch grass

but on a less joking note i think this is sweet bc it's clear that he's worried about levi's physical/mental wellbeing

if only he worried this much about his own wellbeing

also is it canon that levi sometimes takes virtual classes bc of lucifer's intervention or is that something i/someone else headcanoned ??? bc it's canon to me

maybe i'm having war flashbacks from meowcao but this isn't sitting right with me. idk. maybe this is where the "dream" (?) mc had comes to fruition

but back to the dream, was that like a vision ??? was it actually happening in real time ???? maybe i'm just dumb and sleepy idk (it's midnight in china rn)

ngl i completely forgot about mc's whole magic sickness thingy (i'm so tired forgive me)

what happened when someone gets magic sickness ?? do they die ???? don't leave me in the dark

okay but WHY is this a thing ??? like i feel like we're back in season 2-3 of the 1st game when mc did that whole quest to become a sorcerer 😭 ik solomon taught them better than that like c'mon gworl get it together

but i GUESS it can be explained bc they have pacts with 2 sets of demons from different timelines, and that's a lot of magic for a mortal to be able to tap into. given all the emotional strain they've been put through, i get it

#obeymegivemcabreakchallenge2k24

the way that literally NOBODY answered mc 😭 but why are they talking within earshot of literally everyone at the fire. i wanna be nosey. let me in.

the next part of the lesson having the title card "devildom flowers, celestial realm memories" is scaring me a little bit ngl. what is this is the "dream" mc had earlier

:((((

ik i said i wanted a lore drop but this hurt. now i get why raphael's been mopey since coming back to the devildom. not only has simeon lost his wings, but he's turning into a demon on top of that, drifting further away from the celestial realm and raphael by proxy

more on this here

but also why would they end of a cliffhanger ??? raphael opens up and then they bith get attacked by god knows what

can diavolo just...kill whoever's trying to attack the brothers. like is that illegal here. can it be legal just this once

[writingescapades]

Blessed

A/N: Long post. Basically me daydreaming the Forgotten Sea Myth. Just trying to connect things in the story and other myths together. I know Rafayel and the player met as kids, but I don't know how that story connects to this myth, and the myth never alludes to meeting before. IDK, things are not accurate for sure.

You should have died when you fell into the sea, but somehow you survived. Probably because of the man, the Lemurian, who currently stood before you. His face displayed obvious disinterest, yet here you were, alive by his whim. He asked why he should spare your life. You were intended to be the sacrifice. So you lunged at him, selfishly kissing him because you were desperate to live.

You didn’t understand the consequences of your action. The action of affection for humans meant much more for Lemurians. You just wanted to live, but for Rafayel, his bond began. He should have cursed you for stealing his lips, taking his heart, before he could give it to you. But now the emotions filled him, and his senses were heightened. He didn’t know you. Didn’t want you, but now you were stuck together. So he introduced you as the chosen one for the rite and tried to ignore the look in Amund’s face. The elder somehow knew what had happened, and he wondered if the young god’s heart could bear the sacrifice he was offering up.

“A god must always protect his followers,” Rafayel firmly stated.

“They too must be a willing follower, young one”.

The ceremony was months away. In the meantime, Rafayel kept you nearby. Initially he seemed to ignore you, even fall asleep as you looked about your new world with curiosity. Your discoveries were mundane after centuries of being alive. Yet if you ever wandered away, you would always find yourself bumping into him. And while he valued silence, Rafayel found himself more irritated in not knowing the thoughts that swirled around in your head. A strained closeness formed. Rafayel encouraged your curiosity and discoveries. But everything he did was to prepare you for the role you were to play in his ascent to full godhood. He didn’t really know you, didn’t want to know you. Life soon began to feel like a prison. You wanted the warmth of the sun and the sand. You wanted the taste of fruits. You wanted to hear more than the ocean depths. Above all, you wanted to feel cherished. Naturally, Rafayel objected to letting you go.

“What could Lemuria possibly lack?”

It lacked many things, namely that it wasn’t ever meant to be a home for humans. How could he expect you to live here forever? Everyday the sea bit into your soul.

“A god with a heart,” you muttered in frustration.

Your words must have hit home for the deity took a step back and looked genuinely distressed. It was odd, and though you wanted to stand your ground, the unexpected reaction made you reach out to him. It was the first time you touched him. A light hand on his shoulder. A hand you expected him to shrug off. Instead Rafayel crumbled into you, almost leaning his entire weight into your hand. His eyes closed and he sharply inhaled. You thought to apologize, maybe explain your emotions better, but before you could, the sea god’s cold blue eyes snapped open and he jerked away from you, stagging off and slammed the door behind him. You were left to stare into the abyss.

You were duty bound to be his follower, but it wasn’t enough. Rafayel knew it wasn’t enough as he read though every slab the library had on Lemurian gods. Your heart had to be in it. At least, that’s why Elder Amund had warned. It seemed to him that the elder always judged Rafayel for not being like his predecessors. They had followers. They had the hearts of the Lemurians and their human counterpart. Rafayel merely had the respect intuitively given to every deity and he detested it, especially when it came from you. Ever since that night, he knew he was doomed to crave more from you. Initially, he thought your act would benefit him. Surely you would be more willing to give your heart and be his follower if you were bonded, right? Instead, he found you languishing like the algae that grew on rocks along the shore. It hurt. His heart screamed at him to do something, anything.

“Followers are gained, not assigned,” Amund’s voice echoed as the elder ghosted past Rafayel into whatever new study took his fancy.

……

Rafayel started down at you, arms crossed and foot tapping, as he waited your answer.

“You’re granting me my freedom?”

The deity’s eyebrows scrunched as he contemplated your question. Then he took a deep breath and repeated his offer.

“One day in the human world. Just the one”.

“And what do you want in return,” you cautiously asked. There was no such thing as a free gift from the gods.

Rafayel pointed at your chest, where your heart pulsed.

Indignation washed over you. One lousy day on land, and he expected you to fork over your heart?! To be so devoted to him, for one day?

“Is that not what you want? To be around the same humans who were ready to sacrifice you?”

By now you were accustomed to the deity’s mockery and barbed tongue. So you met his eyes and challenged the offer.

“You want my heart that bad? Then earn it. That’s my wish”.

For the first time you saw Rafayel’s eyes glimmer as he took in your challenge.

“Easy”.

“You sure?” you asked. “I don’t give my heart away so easily”.

“Good,” the god’s voice spoke softly as a tender look came onto his face.

It was the first time he expressed such an emotion to you. You expected Rafayel to go into full bravados with his attempts at winning your heart. Instead, the deity took you by surprise. He quietened down. Days spent watching Lemurians go about their day. Nights spent watching marine life quietly drift by. He taught you his language. Told you how to name and call out to each species. You could see genuine praise in his eyes when you remembered their names. But it wasn’t just his world that opened up. Rafayel’s curiosity was insatiable. He wanted to see the world through your eyes. To see the beauty you held in your eyes and mimic the songs you heard. He frequently brought you to a small room filled with paintings and tried to recreate your world from your words, surprising you with his accuracy, as if he’s already seen your world. It was inevitable for you to enjoy his company, and though he wouldn’t admit it, the sea god relished in experiencing his first friend. But, you wouldn’t give him your heart.

Time passed, and it seemed that the two of you forgot the original challenge. Ease and general camaraderie replaced roles and expectations. Excitement rose in you when you saw his familiar face and you knew from the twinkle in his eyes, he felt the same. Many times he would break off a conversation with someone to watch you walk by. Only after you disappeared from sight would the Rafayel turn his attention back to his follower. Often, he would consult with you, bouncing off quandaries he faced and genuinely seeking your advice. You started to feel strange. You weren’t sure if Rafayel considered you a friend. Neither one of you even called each other by name. Rafayel wanted you to be his follower, but you weren’t sure anymore what he meant by that. He clearly did not engage with the other Lemurians as he did with you. On sleepless nights, you would ask yourself if you considered yourself the sea god’s follower. Would you follow him wherever he went? Would you endure what he endured, if only, so that he was not alone? Was he always in your thoughts? Did you act in his name? Were you devoted to him? You could never really answer these questions. They were too weighty for the emotions that sprouted within you. But, as the months wore on and the emotions within you began to grow, you came to one undeniable truth.

Elder Amund pronounced the upcoming ceremony. Within a fortnight, Rafayel would ascend to full godhood and the Lemurians would gain another chapter in their history as the new dawn started. Rafayel always knew this day would come, but for the first time, he felt giddy, unsure. He knew you were the reason, but he still had not gathered the courage to ask you the imminent question. No, that wasn’t the whole truth. Rather, Rafayel realized, the question had long changed, and your answer would determine the challenge. Rafayel had not gone a single day without thinking about the challenge. It would determine everything. He frequently basked in your presence these days, always toying with the question he wanted to ask.

“Tomorrow’s the ceremony,” your voice gently broke through the empty corridor.

You both were staring at the temple doors that would lead to the ceremony.

“What will happen during the ceremony?”

“We will be serenaded by the entire ocean. Our chariot will be drawn by marine creatures as we tour around, greeting our followers”.

You scoffed at Rafayel’s obvious lie.

“Not sure I like the idea of being made a spectacle,”

“You’re right. It’s too ornate. I don’t really know the details of the ceremony”.

His response seemed in line to your question, but you could tell Rafayel’s thoughts were elsewhere tonight.

“Would you like to retire early tonight?”

“No”. Rafayel got off the balcony rail and turned towards you. “We can sleep when it’s all over”.

He continued to stare at you, and you waited for him to ask what was clearly consuming him. Ever so gently, Rafayel reached out a hand and placed it on your head. You looked at him, confused. With more confidence, his hand descended down your face to cup your cheek, and though you leaned into his palm, you tensed.

“I have a question for you,” his voice was low. “Tis a very important one. Are you willing to be my follower?”.

It was different this time. Last time it was the sea god who spoke to you. It was the sea god who pointed to your heart and expected you to all but rip it out. But now, all you could see was Rafayel, and you knew there was more contained in that one word, that one request.

“That’s a heavy request. What does the sea god offer in return?”

You raised your hand but began to lower it as the courage slipped away. Rafayel caught it and continued the ascent to his heart. You could feel it steadily pumping against his cool skin.

“And,” you continued, “What does Rafayel offer?”

You watched as Rafayel’s hands entwined with yours, resting the back of your hand against his heart. Then he lowered his head to kiss your knuckles.

When Rafayel looked up, he saw your free hand outstretched towards him. He placed his hand on yours, and watched as you brought his hand to your heart.

“I will be your follower, O Sea God”.

He could feel the strong beat of your heart to know you were not lying, not hiding anything from him.

“And what does ___ offer?”

Now it was his turn to feel your fingers lace within his.

“My love”.

For the first time, you stood as equals, both relishing the new emotions and path you managed to create. It was well past sunrise when you finally parted, and when the hour of the ceremony arrived, there was new depth to the spoken words that formally bound the two of you together. With the last ritual pending, Rafayel began to anticipate his new life with you. He would take you to the surface. You would bask under the sun and share new experiences. For the first time, Rafayel would have a partner to share life with. Excited for the future, Rafayel turned to Elder Amund, only to freeze. Elder Amund had placed a dagger in the sea god’s hands.

“The rite will be complete when it has the sea’s blessings. You must obtain their heart”.

Rafayel’s eyes widened at the realization of what he had to do. Then he snapped his head towards you. You were stock still, staring at his hands, at the dagger. He could see your jaw and hands were clenched.

“Is this a joke, Elder Amund?”

“I’m afraid not, young one. It must be done, and it can only be done by your hands”.

“No! I refuse!”

“You do not have a say in this rite”.

“It’s my rite!” Rafayel shouted, hands tightly gripping the dagger. He glanced once at you and his voice wavered. “I can’t kill them. They are half my heart”.

Amund’s eyes were downcast as he spoke quietly but firmly. “I did ask you if you were sure this was to be your selection for the rite, and I put my faith in you as our god that you knew what you were doing. That you had our, Lemuria’s, best interests at heart”.

Now Elder Amund rose to observe Rafayel, and the sea god realized that his devotee was watching at him, awaiting providence. Rafayel dejectedly turned towards you, but you had not changed your pose during the argument. When the reality of what was about to happen hit you, you vanished within yourself as your mind screamed at you. All you could hear was Rafayel’s mocking tone to your challenge, Easy. Easy. EasyEasyEasyEasy. EASY! What a fool you were. An utter fool of fools. You wanted to lash out at him! Stab him before he could hurt you! But when you finally registered his face, love and anger both surged forward for Rafayel was in complete anguish.

He was cowering. The sea god was cowering in front of you, unsure of himself for the first time. His eyes begged a word from you. An order to take away the responsibility. Your eyes turned cold as the malice slipped in and a smirk appeared on your lips. You could wait. Stand there forever, refusing to ease the burden off the deity’s shoulders as he sank closer and closer to the floor. Then you could reach for the dagger and end him. But as Rafayel sank, you saw that he still held the dagger firmly in his hands and the smirk slowly slipped off your face as your eyes observed Rafayel steeling himself for the task.

Oh cruel deity. My heartless one. What a mess we’ve made.

Hands gently pressed under Rafayel’s arms, urging him back up to your face.

“You are a god. You cannot hide in the face of adversity,” you bitterly admonished.

“I can’t!” he protested.

You bit down your anger as you brought the dagger up to your heart, holding Rafayel’s wrist firmly.

“You are a god. You were never provided with a choice”.

“How can you be so calm? Aren’t you upset? Don’t you value your life? What’s wrong with you??”

A shudder ran down you at the last accusation. Indeed, what was wrong with you?

“Doesn’t matter which world, I was made a sacrifice,” you bitterly spat, “But what’s pathetic is that I am still willing to give you my heart because I am your follower”.

At this the tears finally began to flow down your cheeks and you allowed Rafayel to wipe them with his thumbs.

“Don’t you hate me?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Oh yes. I hate you. I hate you so much,” you spoke with a shine in your eyes and the sea god knew it was the truth.

“Then why?” he began, but your interrupted him. “Because I love you”.

Rafayel leaned into your shoulder and cried, but you knew now that his heart could bear the pain.

You leaned into his ear to whisper.

“I still hate you. You will regret breaking my trust. But I love you more, so my heart was always yours to take”.

With those final words you gently kissed Rafayel’s cheek and guided his hand to your heart for the last time.

Amund watched as the sea god held the pure flame in his hand. There was nothing he could say, and given the situation, he knew it would be best to stay silent under the deity sought him out again. Rafayel heard the elder leave the temple, but he kept staring at the flame in his hand. Fish are emissaries of the sea. If your wish is blessed by the ocean, a fish will appear. He remembered telling you that one night. There was no fish now. Perhaps because the sea god lost the right to give blessings after destroying his own.

[anomaly-076]

Going on a date w/ Tkdb teachers

♦ I don't think I've seen anything related to the professors during my time lurking around in the tags, which is kinda a shame, so here's some love for our wacky adults :D ♦

  ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

The Chancellor

(Ik he looks like a kid, but he literally has a son if I remember correctly)

Even with how busy Cornelius usually is, if he likes you he'll find a way to squeeze you into his agenda

It's either a lunch date during his hour or so that he has for a lunch break

Or a dinner date after which he'll have more freedom to also do something else with you

Like stargazing

Idk why but Cornelius strikes me as the one to love stargazing

Sadly, you can't be up for too long though, since he has to wake up early to work again

But the next day, one of the mail cats drops by with a rose and a note thanking you for a nice evening and invitation to meet with him for lunch

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Professor Dante

Not really a date, but more of a parallel reading session in Dante's private library

He's already there when you knock on the door, beckoning you to enter the room so eh doesn't have to open the door for you

If you want, you two can snuggle up on a sofa that's in the library and he'll read some classical literature book to you

Once your relationship progresses further, Dante wouldn't be against laying his head on your lap while you read to him

He might fall asleep each time, but how can you blame him?

Your voice is so soothing and your lap is so comfortable

Only when the two of you are alone, he's able to fully relax

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Professor Hyde

Clueless idiot alert!

Huh? Him asking you out on a date? That's ridiculous! Unless....?

If he somehow manages to ask you out in person and not via a note hidden in one of your books, his whole face is red to the very tips of his white hair

Takes you out for crepes or something

It has to be something simple

Something that doesn't scream 'date'

You're just two colleagues trying out the new ice cream stand since few of your students talked about it, haha... right?

Prepare to be the first one to initiate everything in the relationship and even then, Hyde is flustered mess

But don't you dare mentioning any of that to his other colleagues or even Sho!

Hyde definitely doesn't get all red just from holding hands or when you peck him on the cheek!

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Professor Moby

The sole reason for how I came up with this idea

I can just imagine Moby trying so hard to make up with his behavior for the fact that the place he took you is a very cheap 2* diner that may or may not have a bit of a mice problem

Worry not! All six of his remaining tentacles will make sure no little critter will get into your food!

He feels very guilty to drag you to such place, but it's the best he can afford

And no, he will not let you pay for yourself so you can eat somewhere better

What gentleman would make you pay on a date he invited you to?

After that mice fiasco, he'll try to find different places you two can enjoy yourselves

Like a walk in the park! That doesn't cost anything and is nice to get to know your date

Maybe, once he manages to find a way to feed The Chancellors cats without getting attacked, he'll be able to buy you a snack or something!

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Professor Nicolas

Talk about busy

Nicolas barely has a time for himself while managing the hospital

If it weren't for Yuri and Jiro, he wouldn't even be able to get any sleep

So instead of dates, you usually just bring him lunch and eat it together in his office

Sometimes, if you don't happen to have a lesson to teach, you're helping him out

By some point, you've learned so much, that you're able to get qualified as a nurse

You don't have to, but it would help Mortkranken a lot to have another person on their team

Plus you could spend more time with him that way

But he insists, that you really don't have to and if you want to spend more time with him, he'll try to find a different way

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey!! I really admire your writing so I thought that maybe you could lend me a hand w smth... Do you happen to have some tips or exercises to get out of a writing block?

Or well, idk if I'd call what I'm struggling with that- is just... Whenever I try to write stories, my brain just isn't capable. Like. I know what I want and I know how I want it to sound but words just don't come out and if they do they don't feel good at all. And I /was/ able to do it before. It's like a part of my mind got blocked. I was reading your Miss Raven lore and what she studies while trying to create her UM made me think of this problem I'm having- the part rediscovering a part of oneself that was lost... or something like that.

So I thought that maybe you knew of some exercises or just... Something? Anything? If not I totally get it tho- sorry for rambling

[Referencing this series!]

Hello, hello!! ^^ Thank you for complimenting my writing, your support's much appreciated! I hope you can continue to enjoy my work~

I think I understand what you're going through. Gosh knows how many pieces I have on the backburner... but never enough time or motivation to finish them all. Having ideas is the easy part; actually fleshing out those ideas into fics is tricky, especially since we creatives can easily be our own worst critics. I'm pretty finicky with my own action scenes, dialogue, and emotionally intense moments and have to edit, revise, or completely rewrite them multiple times until it's sounding the way I want it to. Writer's block gets to us all sometimes. It's a natural part of being a creator so don't be shamed or worried!

abldsbuaodadfjnla It's interesting that you mentioned Miss Raven's struggles when describing your own. When I was in the process of writing her saga, I wanted her problems to be relatable and meaningful to others in some way. I'm glad that it happened to help you identify something within yourself 😃

Here are some of the things that I personally do to get out of writing slumps. This is what works for me, so I cannot guarantee that they will also work for you--but hopefully this at least gives you some kind of starting point!

Take a walk! Touch grass! It's good to get your mind off of creating and just... take a breather. You'd be surprised how refreshing it is to get fresh air and sunshine. Who knows, you might also see something on your walk that inspires you.

Take a nap! If you have an interesting dream, write it down. It could become a cool idea somewhere down the line.

Talk to a friend; it helps to have a new perspective to bounce ideas off of.

Read a book! Sometimes getting a sense of how someone else shares their ideas can inspire you to work on your own style.

Use another hobby as a creative outlet. For me, that's scrapbooking/journaling and baking. Don't set limits or rules, let yourself work at your own pace and have fun.

Start small, like writing some dialogue exchanges or a sentence or two.

Do writing or character prompts. You can find prompts of your own or use a website to generate random combinations.

Another exercise I like to do is writing a short story based solely on a random image. You can find images yourself or have a friend hand you one. It helps stretch the creative muscles!

The most important thing is to allow yourself the chance to rest and recover! No one can be a content making machine 24/7; that’s not what humans were built for. Be kind to yourself!!

Good luck with your writing~ ^^

[agentem]

here's what i want.

billy goes off to fight evil with the young avengers. they find wanda and all that children's crusade stuff.

jen goes off to fight evil with the midnight suns. idk. more vague here because i don't read midnight suns comics but maybe they go get some mcguffin to stop dr. doom.

then secret wars is wanda putting reality back the way it should be and killing dr doom. then VERY LONG SHOT of jen and billy running into each others arms and singing "burn and brew with coven two"!!! (and ghost!agatha is like, grr two and a half.)

[cowboybeepboop]

Magic

"Your hands are... quite magical, you know that?”

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 4.3k 

Summary: Modern reader falls for Thorin and captures his heart. 

Warnings: Soft thorin, unprotected sex, handjob, p in v sex

a/n: Idk I’ve been wanting to write smth like this for a while so hopefully it’s good. Let me know if you have any requests and I hope you enjoy. I’m also currently in school so I’m trying to write in my free time but it’s a difficult balance 😣💔

Gandalf had come across you lost and confused, wandering the trails of the earth. You remembered him, his face, from a movie you had seen in your world. “Gandalf?” You called out to him suspiciously. 

"Hm?" He looked around then spotted you. "Ah! A human! What are you doing out here all alone in the middle of the wilderness?"

“I don’t.. I don’t know?” You reply, stepping closer to him seeking the warmth of another body. 

Your stomach growled, you have been wandering for hours, maybe even days. Your clothes aren’t from this world and aren’t proper hiking attire. 

You adjust the skirt of your dress as you stop in front of him. “I’m not sure where I am..”

His bushy eyebrows furrow at your strange, out-of-place clothes, and a bemused look crossed his face. 

He took a step closer, noting your exhaustion and the state of your attire. "I can see that. You don't belong here, do you?"

Gandalf assessed your weary state and wrapped his large cloak around you gently, guiding you towards his horse. 

"You look exhausted," he murmured, concern in his eyes. "You can ride with me to Erebor. It is not far."

With a little help from him, you clambered onto the horse's back, settling between Gandalf and the horse's broad neck.

Gandalf led you through the winding paths towards Erebor, the mountain's towering presence growing larger and larger through the trees.

His horse carried you both steadily, and after some time, the grand entrance to the dwarven kingdom came into view. 

Gandalf dismounted first and helped you down from the horse before guiding you into the hall of the dwarven king.

King Thorin Oakenshield sat upon a throne carved from solid oak, a long, dark beard covering most of his broad chest. He regarded you with quiet curiosity as you and Gandalf approached.

"Gandalf," Thorin greeted. "You've returned. And with a strange companion?"

Thorin's gaze flicked between Gandalf and the strange human standing beside him. It was a woman, but not like any he had ever seen before. Her clothes were unlike anything from Middle Earth, and she appeared lost and dazed.

"Who is this?" Thorin demanded, his voice sharp and suspicious. "And where did you find her, Gandalf?"

You subconsciously hold the cloak closer to you, shifting under the scrutiny of the King.

Thorin's blue eyes, sharp and calculating, studied you closely. The way you clung to the cloak, the slight tremble in your hands, it all spoke of fear and uncertainty.

Gandalf stepped forward, gesturing to you. "King Thorin, this woman... she appears to be lost. I found her wandering in the wilderness, disoriented and bewildered."

“Y/N.” You say softly, “My name is Y/N.”

Thorin's eyebrows raised at the sound of your name. It rolled off your tongue softly, and he noted the gentleness in your voice. 

"Y/N," he repeated slowly, the pronunciation foreign on his tongue. He then turned to glare at Gandalf, his eyes narrowing with a hint of suspicion.

“I don’t mean to intrude..” you give the king an awkward smile. “But is there any food I might be allowed?” Your hand goes to your rumbling stomach, your expression a grimace.

Thorin's eyes softened as he heard your stomach grumble. He couldn't help but let out a small, gruff chuckle, amused by your honesty. 

"Starving, are you?" he asked, a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "We can't have that now, can we?" 

He then barked out a command, "Nori! Bring some food and drink for our new guest!"

You visibly relax, a small smile creeping up your lips. “Thank you.”

Thorin's stern demeanor softened slightly as he saw the relief on your face. "It's the least we can do," he replied gruffly.

Nori, a wiry, quick-fingered dwarf, came rushing into the room, carrying a tray of steaming food and a tankard of ale. He placed the tray on a table near you, a sly smile playing on his face. "Here you go, lass."

You reach out and give him a swift hug. “Thank you so much,” you grin widely as you take a seat, eyes sparkling.

Nori's cheeks flushed as he received an unexpected embrace from you. He chuckled and patted your back awkwardly. 

"No problem, lass. Just doing my job." He backed away, mumbling something under his breath about "soft humans" as he scurried out of the room.

Meanwhile, Thorin watched the exchange with a mix of surprise and fascination. He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him.

Thorin observed you, watching silently as you took a small bite. His penetrating blue eyes studied your every move, his gaze unwavering. There was something about you that intrigued him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Finally, he broke the silence. "So, Y/N," he began, his voice deep and rumbling. "Can you tell me how you came to be lost in the wilderness?"

“Not really.” You chew eagerly, the cloak Gandalf gave you sliding down your shoulders slightly and exposing your skin to Thorin's gaze.

Thorin's eyes were drawn to the exposed skin of your shoulders as the cloak slipped down. A shiver ran down his spine at the sight of your bare flesh. He quickly schooled his reaction and returned his gaze to your face.

"What do you mean, not really?" he asked, his voice gruff, feigning indifference. "You must have some idea of how you ended up out there, lost and alone."

“I don’t..” you sigh, stopping your chewing as you look up at him. “I just remember falling asleep in my bed and then waking up in a cold dark forest.”

Thorin's brow furrowed at your response, confusion and concern etched on his face. "So... you just appeared out of nowhere?" he asked, his voice edged with skepticism. 

He took a step closer to you, eyeing the strange clothes you wore. "And what of your clothes? Those are unlike any I've ever seen."

“I was at a party,” you laugh, looking down at your revealing dress that is less than practical in this situation.

Thorin's gaze darkened as he took in the sight of your party attire, the low neckline and the bare length of your thighs on display. He swallowed heavily, his mind wandering to places he shouldn’t allow it to go. 

"A party, you say?" He repeated, his voice a little huskier than he had intended.

You nod, Thorin joins you at the table, encouraging you to eat as he continues to question you. 

A few weeks have passed since you arrived, you’ve become a little more versed in the world and palace. Having now met each of the many dwarves living in the palace.

As the weeks passed and you grew accustomed to the palace, he found himself seeking your company more and more.

The other dwarves had grown fond of you as well, especially Fili and Kili who teased you frequently and took every opportunity to make you laugh.

One evening, after a particularly long day, Thorin invited you to his private chambers once again. 

You carefully step toward his room, cautious and silent as to not wake anyone. You lightly tap on the heavy door, “Uh your highness?”

Thorin rose from his chair as he heard the soft tapping on the door. He took a moment to compose himself before calling out, his voice gravelly and deep, "Come in."

He stood by the fireplace, the amber glow of the flames dancing across his face as he waited for you to enter.

You struggle with the door, still not used to how heavy doors in this world are. “Fucking hell,” you murmur as you finally get it open, slipping inside and walking toward Thorin.

Thorin chuckled; he found your modern curses amusing and strangely endearing.

As you approached him by the fireplace, he took in your appearance. The low light of the fire illuminated your features, casting soft shadows across your face. He noted the way your gown clung to your curves, and his eyes darkened slightly as he fought to control his thoughts.

"Close the door," he commanded in a gruff voice, his gaze still fixed on you. 

The room was large and sparsely furnished, with only a few pieces of furniture placed throughout. The fireplace provided a warm, intimate setting, and Thorin gestured for you to take a seat on a nearby couch.

You close the door carefully, trying not to make too much noise. Having your back turned to the dwarf meant his gaze could wander your frame and each slight movement of your body. 

“Thorin,” you take a seat next to him. “Those doors are so damn heavy.”

As you settled down beside him, Thorin couldn’t help but notice the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. His eyes were drawn to the subtle movement of your body, the way the fabric of your gown clung to your curves.

He chuckled at your comment, a gruff sound that rumbled in his chest. "You'll get used to it," he said, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. "After all, you've been here for a few weeks now."

You’ve gotten used to being in his room as he’s been teaching you the history of his kingdom, but you’re never here this late in the evening. “Did you miss me?” You tease as you relax into the plush couch.

Thorin's lips curled into a small smile at your playful tone. He rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the hint of amusement in his gaze.

"Don't get too cocky," he grumbled, trying to appear aloof. "I just thought you might want to know more of our history, that's all."

But deep down, he had grown quite fond of your company. Perhaps a little too fond.

“Mm, do I have to learn?” You pout, tired from the day you’ve had. “Perhaps we can just relax..”

Thorin chuckled, his gruff exterior softening slightly at your pout. He knew you had been working hard and was pleasantly surprised by your suggestion to relax. 

"Hmm, you want to skip the history lesson tonight?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "And what would we do instead?"

“I could.. brush your hair! I could braid it.” You offer, not knowing the implications of your suggestion.

Thorin's eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion. He hadn't expected you to offer to brush his hair, let alone braid it. In dwarven culture, it was considered an intimate gesture, reserved for close family or lovers.

But he couldn’t deny that the idea of having you touch his hair was appealing. He found your presence soothing, and the thought of your fingers running through his hair was more enticing than he cared to admit.

"You... want to brush my hair?" he repeated, his voice gruff but tinged with a hint of curiosity. 

He shifted in his seat, watching you closely, his eyes darkened with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. He could hardly deny the effect your presence had on him, and the thought of you being so close, touching him in such an intimate way made his heart skip a beat.

“Why not?” You grin while scooting slightly closer to him. “It would be nice..”

Thorin's breath hitched as you scooted closer to him, and he found himself strangely compelled by the thought of having your hands in his hair. Despite his usual gruff and stoic demeanor, the idea of allowing you to brush and braid his hair felt oddly vulnerable.

He cleared his throat, trying to suppress his growing desire. "All right then," he grumbled, his voice betraying a hint of excitement. "You can brush my hair."

You grin, taking the brush from the table in your hands. “This is quite exciting.” You murmur, your hands on his shoulders as you kneel behind him.

Thorin felt the warmth of your hands on his shoulders as you knelt behind him, and a shiver ran down his spine. He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself as he felt your breath on the back of his neck.

"Exciting, you say?" he murmured, his voice low and gruff. "I never thought having my hair brushed would be so thrilling."

“I’ve been wanting to touch your hair for ages,” you softly undo the braids from his hair, your fingers nimbly gliding through. “It looks so soft.”

The honesty and softness in your voice sent a rush of warmth through his chest.

He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper, "It’s not as soft as yours, I assure you."

The feeling of your fingers gliding through his hair was both soothing and arousing, sending tingles down his spine. He closed his eyes, relishing the sensation of your gentle touch.

You carefully brush through his locks, your fingers brushing against his back as you do so. 

Thorin's breath hitched slightly as your fingers trailed against his back, sending a ripple of heat through him. It took all his self-control not to lean into your touch, to feel more of your hands on his skin.

"You... have nimble fingers," he mumbled, his voice gruff and a touch huskier than usual.

“I take that, that is a compliment?” You murmur with a soft giggle as you begin to massage his scalp, the action is something your mom used to do to help you relax.

Thorin let out a low, rumbling sound of contentment as you began to massage his scalp, the tension in his muscles melting away under your touch.

He hummed in response to your question. "A compliment indeed," he murmured, his eyes closing as he leaned into your fingers. "You have a gentle touch. It's... soothing."

“Well, thank you.” Your nails gently scratch against his skin. The pads of your fingertips working at his scalp.

Thorin couldn’t help but moan softly at the pleasure of your touch, the soft scratching of your fingernails sending shocks of desire coursing through him.

He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to regain some control over his growing need. His body was on fire, every inch of him aching for more of your touch. 

"Keep that up, and you'll put me to sleep," he teased gruffly, his voice rough with suppressed desire.

“Maybe I’d like to lull you to sleep.” You tease, you adjust yourself, sitting down against the arm of the couch. “Just relax, you can lean against me.” Your legs spread, resting on either side of his body.

Thorin’s mind raced as you adjusted your position, the thought of leaning his weight against your soft body was both thrilling and terrifying. He could practically feel your thighs against his sides, and the thought was both enticing and tortuous.

But he couldn’t deny the aching need in him to give into the temptation of your offer. Without a word, he leaned back against you, his head resting on your chest as he allowed himself to relax into your embrace.

“Are you comfortable like this?” You question, fingers still working in his hair.

Thorin let out a low, rumbling hum of contentment as he leaned against you, the feeling of your fingers in his hair sending waves of pleasure through his body. 

He nodded, his voice gruff and slightly sleepy. "Yes, quite comfortable," he mumbled, his eyes closed as he savored the sensation of being so close to you. "Your hands are... quite magical, you know that?”

“They’re good for other things too…” you reply in a suggestive tone.

Thorin's eyes snapped open at your suggestive tone, his body tensing at the implication. He swallowed heavily, his mind immediately filled with vivid images of all the “other things” he wished your hands could do to him.

He cleared his throat, his voice rough and strangled. "Is that so?" he managed to reply, his eyes dark with a mixture of surprise and desire.

“Mhm,” you trail one hand down his chest. “I’ve been told that I’m quite skilled with my hands.” You bite down on your lower lip.

Thorin's heart pounded in his chest as you trailed your hand down his chest, the simple touch sending a wave of heat through his body. He swallowed heavily, the sight of you biting your lip sending his thoughts spiraling out of control.

He couldn’t deny that the thought of your skills with your hands aroused him deeply, but he fought to keep his desire in check.

"Are you now?" he managed to reply, his voice thick with suppressed need. "And who exactly has told you this?"

“They’re not important right now,” you mutter, “my focus is on you, love..” you slide your hand under his shirt, fingers brushing over his muscles.

Thorin's breath hitched at the feeling of your hand under his shirt, your touch igniting a fire in him that he could barely control. The way you referred to him as ‘love’ made his heart clench.

He let out a low, guttural sound as your fingers grazed over his muscles. Your touch was both soothing and arousing, and he found himself leaning into your hand, craving more of your touch.

"You're making it very hard to think straight," he whispered huskily.

“Mm, you’re very handsome my King.” You press a kiss to his temple, your other hand moving from his hair to his chest.

Thorin's eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of your kiss on his temple, his heart hammering in his chest at the simple yet intimate gesture.

"You... you have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. The feeling of your other hand on his chest made his muscles tense under your touch, his breath catching in his throat.

“Let me take care of you..” You move from behind him, your breasts pressing against his back as you move your hand to his trousers.

The feeling of your breasts pressing against his back sent a jolt of pleasure through Thorin’s body, and he let out a strangled gasp. He could feel the heat of you against him, and it was both tantalizing and torturous.

He swallowed heavily, his voice a hoarse whisper as he tried to fight the overwhelming desire coursing through him. "Take... take care of me?" he repeated, his eyes dark with need.

You kiss his neck as you slip your hand into his pants, fingers grazing over his hardness.

Thorin’s breath hitched as your lips brushed against his neck, followed by the feeling of your hand slipping into his pants. His body trembled with need as your fingers grazed over his hardness, and he let out a guttural moan, his head falling back against your shoulder.

"You’re... you’re driving me mad," he managed to gasp out.

“Relax. I’ll take care of you,” you whisper into his ear, your hand grasping his length.

Thorin's body tensed as your hand grasped him, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips at the sensation. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such pleasure, and the feeling of your breath on his ear sent a shiver down his spine.

He forced himself to relax, his head falling back against your shoulder as he surrendered to your touch. "Please... yes, take care of me," he whispered, his voice hoarse with need.

You comply, your thumb brushing over his tip and spreading his precum. He pulls his trousers down, exposing himself to the cool air, your hand moves around him.

You begin to stroke him gently, your hand moving with a rhythm that you've learned from his reactions. Each stroke causes his breath to hitch, each touch of your thumb sends a jolt of pleasure through his body. "Is this what you want?" You whisper, your voice a seductive purr in his ear.

Thorin's eyes squeezed shut as he nodded, his body reacting instinctively to the exquisite pleasure you were giving him. His chest heaved with each breath, his heart racing faster with every stroke. "Yes," he managed to murmur, his voice a rough growl of need. 

You lean in closer, your breath hot against his skin as you whisper sweet nothings that only served to heighten his arousal. Each word was a caress, each sound a stroke of pleasure that painted images in his mind of what was to come.

Your hand grew bolder, your strokes more deliberate as you felt his cock swell and throb in your grasp. You knew you had him right where you wanted him, and the power of it thrilled you. 

"Y/N..." he gasped out your name, his body begging for more. He was lost in the sensation, the world outside of the warmth of your embrace and the feel of your hand on him ceased to exist. 

Thorin's hand reached up to clutch the fabric of your gown, his fingers digging into the material as he fought the urge to pull you closer, to feel more of you.

Your touch grew more insistent, your hand moving faster as you felt him growing closer to release. His muscles tensed, and you knew he was close. 

"I... I need you," he whispered, his voice strained with desire. "I need all of you."

With those words, the last of his self-control snapped, and he turned to face you, his eyes burning with passion as he pulled you into a bruising kiss.

As Thorin claimed your lips in a fiery kiss, his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. The heat of your body pressed against his, and his hands began to roam, exploring the soft curves hidden beneath your gown. 

His fingers traced the lines of your corset, desperate to feel more of your skin. Your own hands moved to his broad chest, exploring the firm muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Each touch, each kiss grew more feverish as you both gave in to the passion that had been simmering between you for weeks. 

Your breaths mingled, gasps and moans filling the air as the intensity of your connection grew. The fireplace cast flickering shadows on the wall, dancing in time with the rhythm of your bodies. His hands found your breasts, cupping them gently before moving to untie the corset strings.

 As the fabric fell away, revealing your naked chest, Thorin couldn’t help but worship them with his mouth, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples, making you arch into his touch with a whimper of pleasure. 

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you rocked your hips against him, feeling his hardness beneath you, begging for more. The room grew hazy with desire as you both lost yourself in the moment, the world outside forgotten in the face of the passion consuming you.

Feeling the warmth of your skin and the weight of your breasts in his hands, Thorin's desire grew more insistent, his cock straining against your stomach. He broke the kiss, panting heavily as he looked into your eyes, searching for permission to take this further. 

Your eyes met his, dark with want, and you nodded, your hands sliding down to his hips to guide his cock against your wet, eager pussy. He groaned as the head of his cock teased your entrance, the sensation sending a shock of pleasure through his body. 

With a gentle rock of your hips, you encouraged him, and he pushed forward, sheathing himself inside you with a deep, guttural moan. You gasped as he filled you completely, the sensation of him inside you like nothing you had ever felt before. 

The room spun as he began to thrust, the sound of your mingled cries and the crackling of the fire the only noises in the vast space. Each stroke was met with a whimper of pleasure from you, your body moving in perfect harmony with his, your hips rising to meet each powerful thrust. 

The intensity grew, your breaths becoming more ragged, your movements more erratic as the pleasure built within you. Thorin’s hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements, pushing deeper and faster as he chased his own release. 

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving marks that would surely be visible tomorrow, but neither of you cared. The only thing that mattered was the overwhelming ecstasy that crashed over you both, leaving you gasping for breath and clinging to each other as the world outside the warm cocoon of his chambers faded away into insignificance.

You moaned into Thorin's mouth, feeling his cock pulse and swell as he claimed your body, the intensity of his thrusts increasing. His beard brushed against your cheeks, adding an extra layer of sensation to the already overwhelming experience. 

Your own hips met his rhythm, desperately seeking the peak of pleasure that was just out of reach. Your breaths grew quicker and shallower, your heart hammering in your chest as the pressure builds between your legs. 

Thorin's hands slid down to grasp your ass, lifting you slightly to change the angle, and the new sensation sent you spiraling over the edge. You cried out as your orgasm washed over you, your inner walls clenching around his cock, milking him for all he was worth. 

The dwarf king growled in response, his own release following closely behind, his warm seed filling you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, you remained like that, panting and trembling in each other's arms, the only sound in the room the crackling of the fire.

Then, slowly, he pulled back, his gaze searching yours, a mix of passion, vulnerability, and something deeper that neither of you dared to name. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip, and whispered, "I never knew... I never knew it could be like this."

[eri-pl]

A fic in need of a name (I'll be grateful for ides, not necessarily will use, but I'll be grateful) and maybe some proofreading

<2k words. No TWs, very fluffy. Lúthien and Finrod talk about art.

One warning: IDK how to explain, but: my friend dfw and everyone else who sees Lúthien as unfairly treated well by the narrative: I do kind of admire this unfairness in this fic. Also, she has an …intense personality here. Read at your own discretion.

Lúthien looked at Finrod with her strange, Light-filled-but-not eyes. “Why are my songs so boring to you?”

They stood under the stars and the new moon, in a small glade, now filled with nightingales that looked at the princess of Doriath and whistled, as if pleading her to continue.

“I would not call them boring.”

“You do not say it, but they seem dull to you. Dear cousin, you don't need to speak in courtly lies with us. Never. We are not— hypocrites.” She almost said “Noldor”, he could feel it from her. So who was the hypocrite there? The princess continued: “I simply seek to know how to sing better.”

Despite being born from an union of an elf and an Ainu, she was in many ways like a child. All the Sindar were so. Finrod smiled, but didn't try to conceal his thoughts about the conversation. There were some secrets he needed to keep from her keen mind, but if his feelings could be revealed without enraging anyone…  “They are beautiful, but there is never any conflict in then,” he said gently, observing Lúthien's reaction.

It wasn't anger, but surprise. “Why would a song need strife to be good?”

This gave Finrod pause. How could she have questioned something as obvious as one of the fundamental laws of art? But indeed, the ancient songs — from the Journey, and even the early ones from Aman — did not have any strife in them. Just like hers, they were about things and people simply …being. 

He pondered about it for a while, until the answer came to him. “Without conflict, there's no change. No progress. No clear point to end the song.”

“You end the song when you don't want to sing anymore. Or when you want to sing a different one,” said Lúthien in a tone that was half curious and half patronizing. “Besides, we didn't really have time until recently. At least we didn't have anything to measure its passing. Maybe except me and Daeron maturing. Hey! This is a change. Cherries blooming, bushes growing — that's progress. Walks in the woods—” she put the last idea into action, leaving the glade.

Finrod joined her and they went between the tall beeches, on the forest floor filled with violets and niphredili. “A song about nature never really reaches any destination. Flowers grow and die, and then new ones come to life. It's not a true change.”

“You can't simply replace a rose with another, or a yesteryears’ snowdrop with the next springs’ one. Hmmm, you're a Noldo, you do not know flowers well enough to notice them, so maybe you could. But even then: we do change. We grow. I was a child and now I'm a woman.”

Finrod didn't reply and for a while they just walked.

“You need songs that are about sorrow, don't you?” asked Lúthien softly. “Due to— your king and all that.”

“And all of that… Yes. I think we do. We do need art which promises a change mightier than just the turn of seasons, which tells us that the darkness may one day end and makes it almost— makes it possible to believe. And to achieve this, you do need to start with the darkness.”

“I was born in darkness, dear cousin. Under the stars,” she said, gesturing at the sky, but the moon’s narrow crest peeking between the branches spoiled her reference. 

“I mean a different kind of darkness, sweet child of the stars. Deeper. Not a darkness that never saw light, but darkness that saw light and—” Finrod shivered. “Darkness that comes after the light is gone, not before it's born. Darkness without a single star to break it.”

“I don't think I can imagine it. Still, I'm sure there is a way to sing interesting songs without making them all about violence.”

“Not all conflict is violence.”

“But it's all— you, Noldor, absolutely love to argue. We try to understand each other instead.” 

“So do I.” 

They awoke a sleeping deer at a distance, but it didn't run away like most beasts of Beleriand used to, it only watched them cautiously.

“Well, this is true, you don't argue that much. Anyway, maybe that's it. When people meet and get to know each other more, it also grows in time. And it means more than flowers.”

“Maybe. Is that how you see art here in Doriath?”

“No. As Daeron sees it, the supreme art is: you see a thing. Then you see another thing. Then you see them together in a way that awakens new meanings in both of them. And then you weave all that into words with enough alliteration. The same with music: you play a motive, then another motive, and then you marry them to each other. This makes the verse, the chorus and the ending.”

They entered a denser part of the forest and now walked a narrow path, surrounded by blackberries, bushes and ferns.

“What if the motives don't fit together?”

“He would say it means you're a mediocre musician. But… I think if they don't fit you need to find a way to force them. Or, rather, help them. Change one or the other into a different mode. Or change the tuning. Or keep playing the harp but add singing to it and tell everyone that it had been your plan since the beginning.”

“You can't change the rules of art.”

“What force is going to forbid me?”

Finrod laughed. “I don't think it's that easy, but maybe you are right. Maybe there is a way to reconcile both of our ideas. To create art that is not boring, but not violent either. But I do not know where to even start looking for inspiration.” Right now, the bushes clinging to his clothing and pulling on the delicate embroidery weren't particularly inspiring. 

“You always seek something, wandering here and there. I'm sure you will find a lot of wonderful inspiration.”

“Don't you want to travel?”

“Oh, I love to travel!” said Lúthien in a laughing voice. “But in Doriath you can discover wonders too! Maybe the same answers that you seek far away I'll find in here. Or maybe we'll both find sorrow.”

Finrod blinked. That had been a strange turn of the conversation, but not the first of them. “I don't think beauty can exist without sorrow.”

“Then should I wish sorrow beyond measure for both of us?”

“That would be a very Noldorin approach to art, wouldn't it?” he asked half-jesting, but curious.

“Sorrow and strife aren't the same.”

“How are they not? Sorrow is born from loss, and loss is born from violence.”

“When I was a child, I cried about clouds disappearing, because I knew I'd never see any of them again. And yet nobody took them away from me by force. And I wouldn't fight for the clouds, as that would make no sense. So I remembered them. But it's not really the same.”

As Lúthien spoke, they entered a small clearing and, as if responding to her, a small cloud hid the moon and hung above them, backlined with silver. A few others passed nearby: fuzzy dark shapes, but not as dark as— Finrod looked away from the sky, back at the princess.

“You could see clouds in the starlight?”

“Of course. Can't you?” She looked back at him with wide eyes.

“Not with enough detail to miss them. I never looked much into the sky anyway, not back then.”

They left the clearing. The forest was even darker now, but there was a peace to it.

“You Noldor are so strange. I wish I would know you better.”

“I wish I could understand you better too.”

“I have an idea.” Without saying more, Lúthien led him to a small grassy hill, not even as tall as the surrounding trees. A narrow path went upwards. “I'll show you another way in which we entertain ourselves here—well, I do— but first tell me, cousin, what would you want if you could wish for anything?”

“To meet my loved ones again,” said Finrod quietly. “I'm not sure how this would happen, unless— but even then… I'm sorry. You deserve better than hearing about any of that.”

“Only so little?” Lúthien laughed, though it felt forced. “I want everything! I want a love like my parents’, but let it be even more so. I want songs to be sung about me— not only by Daeron — songs that even to you would sound interesting. I want to behold the most beautiful treasure in the world. I want to be free and to fly. I want to sing a song mightier than my mother’s. I want to seek a star and wear it as a trinket. I want—” She paused as they reached the top. “No, now it's your turn. What would you want if you could ask for anything?”

“I want there to be a solution to all that.”

“All what?”

He looked away. “All the darkness I won't trouble you with.”

“If you won't, surely someone else will.”

“Even so, I shall not.”

“Then try not to trouble yourself with it either, at least for now. Only look.” Lúthien lied on the hillside and tumbled down, like a log, if logs could laugh loudly. 

She rose from the grass at the bottom and began walking back. “You are humble and I do ask for so much. But it's alright if I can't have any of that. I'm not stubborn. Well, I am not as stubborn as some believe. But if I can, I do want all of my wishes to come true. And I want to travel. To see strange lands beyond stormy seas, cities both old and young and alien, new countries my mother never knew, never dreamed of… To have my home there. I hope I will not miss her too much.”

“You know such places may not even exist. Except maybe one—” Finrod shivered at the very thought, even though they were miles South from there and under Melian’s Girdle. “—but nobody would ever go there of their own will, especially not someone like you, sweet princess. And about all other lands your mother could surely tell you. After all—” 

Lúthien waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, she saw the world before it was born and sang it into being. It's boring how everybody keeps reminding me about that. But she is also my mother. Of course I desire to reach beyond her, that's how it is with mother's and daughters. Also, how would you know there's no place unknown for her, Noldo? You've barely seen any of Beleriand, and yet you try to tell me how the world is?” Her words were a challenge, but her tone was friendly.

Finrod bowed his head. “That is true. Neither of us have seen much yet. But if you ever find such a place…”

The princess stood next to him again, picking leaves of grass from her hair. “I will surely show it to you. Though you could probably wish for a better guide.” 

Finrod smiled, remembering the chaotic string of excited tangents that the last few days have been. “Many things could be better, your guidance isn't by far the first of them. And anyway I am really glad to be here with you, Lúthien. You are very kind and fascinating. And I'm honored to learn the customs of your people.”

“Like tumbling from tops of hills? It's not a very Noldo—”

“That's the point.” Finrod lay on the grass and let the steepness of the terrain pull him down. 

It felt only half as bumpy as he'd expected, and in its strange, wild way liberating.