#i didn't self insert at all i promise

[ruyakasunshine]

F1 drivers rated on how likely they are to know what ao3 is

note : this is just for entertainment. I will also use this to make a general reminder not to get anything fanfic/rpf related outside of sites such as tumblr, ao3, or wattpad. Enjoy!

This is just the current grid, because if I had to do it with every driver that raced this season, I'd get a surprisingly high amount of drivers to talk about.

20. Fernando

Grandpa. Need I to say more?

19. Checo

In a recent GQ Sport interview, he revealed that he didn't even have social media on his phone. I'd be surprised to hear he has any ao3 tab open up there.

18. K-mag

I don't feel like I need to explain this one. But I also believe that if Haas got him to read a chapter of a wattpad fanfic out loud where he has to replace Y/N with his own name after every penalty point he gets, he would have stopped causing so much ruckus. Or he might even cause more, who knows what goes on inside his mind.

17. Nico Hulk

Hear me out, he doesn't know what a fanfic is, but if he were more popular with the writer, he'd read the shit out of those.

16. Valterri

I could pay actual money to hear him read a 'kidnapped by one direction' self insert story out loud. If there is any Sauber intern lurking here, please consider. Wattpad as a sponsor would bring you a lot of money, think about it. I promise you will see a rise in your fandom if the name of the team was "wattpad kick sauber". I would buy merch. You need the money the way the constructors are going. Think about it.

15. Lance

I don't know too much about him, but I will assume he doesn't spend too much time on social media, or googling himself with all the hate he gets. But maybe if he were to read a strollonso fanfic, we might get to see him have actual expressions on his face. Granted, that would be a look of horror, but I will take what I can.

14. Carlos

I think he might combust if he read any ABO fanfic. I might want to see that.

13. Max

He is too busy sim racing to care. Good for him, I wish I could say the same about myself but alas I am too busy reading the same fanfic for the 23th time.

12. Yuki

I believe if you pronounced the term "Y/N" next to him he might assume that's a car brand. Or, like, hello in a foreign language. Again, good for him.

11. Zhou

Hear me out, fanfics seem to be quite popular in China, and he has a sister, there is no way he hasn't heard of the existences of it. I don't think he has read any though, which is for the better.

10. Franco

Our dear Franquito hasn't been on the grid for long enough to discover the amazing word that fanfics have to offer, but let me tell you that if he hasn't found out stuff yet, he'll find some soon enough. Let the writers have time to write a little bit more about him, and soon we'll get an instagram live of him reacting to those.

9. Liam

I think he is young enough to have googled himself (he had to find something to do since he's been a reserve driver since like the year 2010), but he also hasn't been a permanent member, so he might not have enough material to accidentally stumble upon.

8. Esteban

He googles himself. He knows there are fanfics. And he fucking likes that. If there is a rise of pierresteban fics on ao3 after Brazil 2024, he will be the first one to know let me tell you that much.

7. Lewis

Okay you might be wondering why this senior citizen is up here, and the answer is simple : he is too famous not to know. Like COME ON. He's been here since 2007 (which is longer than some people who'll see this post have been alive for— that's a scary thought for another day), he has been in famous and televised rivalry, and he has to live with the existence of the quote "everything but a lover" about nico and him.

There is no way he hasn't READ a fucking brocedes fanfic. If he is willing, I will teach him how to use ao3 so he can look-up some "fix-it" fics. He might use some inspiration, and who is better for that than tired college students writing about their sad ass in between lectures?

6. George

He seems like the type to lurk a lot around the internet, so the chances of him finding the link to a fic on the third page of google isn't impossible to me.

If you find any comment of someone correcting your spelling, you know who did it.

5. Pierre

He probably googles his name too often not to have stumbled upon a "Reader x Pierre Gasly" wattpad fanfic. sigh.

4. Alex

Alex, I know that you are the second most likely to have tumblr (right after george who actually has an account). The chances of you knowing what a "lemon" is is way too high for my liking.

3. Charles

The C in Charles stands for Chronically Online. My boy was known for liking tweets about himself, and we know that fans talk about fanfics on twitter. He clicked on a link of a lestappen or sebchal fanfic at least once out of curiosity let me tell you this much.

2. Lando

Too chronically online not to have read fanfics about himself. I just know he typed in "lando norris fanfiction" straight in google at least once. Jail.

1. Oscar

Here me out : his sister is a K-pop fan. If you believe that she never yapped about a fanfic she read to her brother, you are strongly unfamiliar with sibling relationships. But the chances of him not listening to her are also very high, so maybe he shouldn't be so high up my list. But oh well.

He is also good at hiding his game, but he is as online as Charles (you thought you were sneaky but we caught you clicking on that link of Max playing air-hocket dear Osc.)

For my own mental health though, I will assume he hasn't read about his own self yet.

[fandoms-writings]

Little Schemer

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.5K (hehe)

Summary: Secrets got Bucky into trouble with you, but he'll never do it again, if you'll give him another chance. This is for the drabble request "choose me" & "let me hear you make that sound again" <3

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, angst, secrets were kept (no cheating, i promise), emotions, smut, p in v smut, fingering, oral (fem receiving), spanking, slight bdsm, bordering overstimulation, some aftercare.

A/N: thank you so so much to @perdidosbucky-yyo for beta reading for me, i love youuuuuuu <3

Masterpost || Bucky Masterlist

Bucky knew he fucked up. He shouldn't have kept you in the dark like he did, but he was just enjoying having you to himself - that you didn't know who he was. You were a breath of fresh air in this godforsaken town and he just wanted it to stay that way for a little longer. 

He wasn't ashamed of himself, but people treated him differently when they knew. Much like when you learned who he was - what he is. 

As he pulled up to the bar's back door, turning his bike off, your face flashed in his mind. The tears, the anger, the shake of your head when he tried to reach out to you. He swore, just thinking about it made his heart break all over again. 

The door opened next to him and he turned to see Steve standing there with a confused look in his eyes. "You good?"

Bucky nodded and sighed, standing from the bike and pocketing the keys. "I'm fine." 

He shouldered past Steve, not wanting his brother to see the turmoil he knew he was wearing on his sleeve. 

He quickly spotted the table in the back of the rundown bar where the others were sitting, smiling amongst each other and chatting and laughing. He plastered on a grin, hoping it reached his eyes enough to be convincing as he approached the table. 

He just had to get through this little gathering and he could go home. Go home and wallow in his self-pity and sorrow. 

But as he came up to the edge of the table, a laugh from across the room had his blood freezing in his veins. It took all of his effort to keep from tripping over his own feet as he slowed to a stop. 

His friends at the table gave him concerned and confused looks as they watched him turn, peeking over his shoulder to the source of the laugh he hadn't heard in two weeks. 

His heart strained in his chest when he saw you. You were laughing at something the guy sitting next to you had said, the smile on your lips as beautiful as it always was. He saw the way your fingers fiddled with the fabric of the skirt you were wearing, the sage green satin already wrinkled under your hand. It was a nervous tick of yours, something you did when you were upset or anxious, or just not having a good time. 

Bucky fought the urge to go over to you, to get the guy away from you and get your hand to stop picking at your skirt. He was about to lose that fight with himself, insert himself into a situation that had nothing to do with him, when Natalia stepped up next to him, bumping his arm with her own. 

"You're being obvious James," Her voice was quiet as she spoke, "and by the way you're looking at her, I'm assuming she's the reason you've been so off lately." 

He pushed a heavy breath through his nose as he continued to watch you, your smile dimming. "What about it?" 

Nat stepped in front of him, pulling his attention from you and down to her red hair. "Make a decision." She softly demanded, reaching forward to pat his chest, right above his heart, "Make a good one." 

She stepped past him, walking back to the table. He heard her quiet voice tell the others to leave him be, that he'll either join in a minute, or he won't, and that was that. 

Bucky looked back at you, watching as you excused yourself from the conversation with the stranger and stood from your barstool. The man tried to caress the side of your arm, but you dodged out of his reach, quickly making your way to the other side where the bathrooms were. 

Bucky straightened his shoulders with a deep breath, intending to wait for you to return to try to speak with you, but when he noticed the man from the bar stand and follow your path, he started seeing red. 

His feet started moving before he could stop himself, refusing to believe that maybe you wanted this guy to follow you. That you were leading him to a more secluded area. Away from prying eyes and eavesdroppers. He wouldn't believe it because he knew you, and he knew what that look on your face meant. 

He quickened his pace when he saw how close the stranger was getting and he could see the uncertainty, the anxiety, in your eyes as your unfocused gaze swept passed him to try a subtle look over your shoulder. 

Your eyes widened slightly when you spotted the guy trying to be nonchalant about following you, and your steps faltered. You were too slow in your reaction to turn back to your route and catch yourself, but Bucky was there, your sides freezing under his touch as he caught you. 

He tried to will the anger from his face as you gazed up at him, your eyes focusing on his before he leaned down. "I've got you, he won't touch you." 

You swallowed and took a shuddering breath, but you nodded to him, the tension beginning to ease from your muscles as you righted yourself, your hands reaching and landing on his arms. The warmth from your skin seeped through the long sleeves of Bucky's henley, shivers instantly threatening to crawl up his spine. 

"Where were you trying to go?" He asked, trying to keep the rage from his voice as he watched the man gain on you, "I'll walk you there." 

"The bathroom," Your small voice replied and he curtly nodded, but before he could guide you there, you spoke again, "I was going to hide there until I could sneak out without him seeing." 

A fist closed around his heart, "You're here by yourself?" At the nod of your head, Bucky's head started to spin as he thought of solutions for you. Frank might get mad at him for what he was about to suggest, but he'd handle him later. 

"I have somewhere better for you," He said, slowly guiding you away from the bar guy who was watching you two, "Will you trust me? Just this once." He knew it was a lot to ask, considering how he'd lied to you for months, but he knew that you remembered how he'd always put your first. Your happiness, your satisfaction, your safety. Nothing else mattered to him until you were taken care of and protected. 

Your chin dipped in a nod and Bucky immediately began cutting a path through the growing crowd, his hand on your lower back as he led you to the other side of the bar, quickly and thoroughly. 

It wasn't long before he came across the door he was looking for, and knocked before swinging it open. Inside was Frank's office, but luckily the man was out of town for the week, so no one would come knocking. 

Bucky ushered you inside before closing and locking the door, pulling the blinds shut so no one could peek inside the small office window. He kept the lights off, but the lights from the bar showed through the small cracks in the blinds, throwing light stripes of yellow through the room. 

Bucky looked through the blinds, watching the man from the bar as he looked around the space, looking for you, only to mutter to himself before going back to sit at the bar. 

"You can wait here as long as you need," Bucky softly said, turning in your direction, but not fully looking at you. 

"Won't Frank be mad?" You asked. You'd met him once when Bucky first started dating you. He'd paid Frank to not tell you about the club, and once Frank saw how far gone he was for you, he kept his part of the deal. 

"Let me worry about Frank," He assured you, "If you need anything, I'll let Wade know you're back here," He reached for the handle, "Lock it after I leave, alright?" 

"Wait." Bucky froze at the frenzied tone as you called for him, his hand on the door handle. The next words of yours were muttered on a low breath, and the sorrow dripping from them sent a crack through his chest. "Why won't you look at me?" 

"I... "He hung his head with a sigh and released the handle before turning towards you with his hands on his hips. "I didn't think you wanted me to see you. Or that you wanted to see me." 

Your soft footsteps padded closer as his gaze remained on the floor, the toes of your shoes coming into his vision. You'd worn those simple black flats you loved so much. They were your everyday shoes. There were no bows and no straps. The most unremarkable thing you owned and yet the sight of those shoes so close to his boots made his heart leap into his throat. 

"James," You called for him, your voice dragging soft fingers down his back, a shiver following in its wake. "Why would you think that?" 

"Because of what I did," He muttered, "What you saw me do."

He heard you heave a breath at the mention of the incident he'd been replaying in his head since you walked away. The blood coating his knuckles. The gasp that fell from your lips. The dread that had instantly flooded his chest at those wide eyes of yours as you backed away. 

You, running from him. 

"Will you please look at me?" The crack in your voice pushed him over the edge and he finally raised his eyes to meet yours. It may have been dark in that office, but even on the blackest of nights, Bucky would know exactly where to look to find your eyes. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered. 

"No, no you don't apologize," His words were heavy on his tongue as he scrambled to understand why you were saying that. "I'm the one who scared you, and lied to you." 

"And I'm the one who ran off before you could explain yourself," Your fingers fidgeted in front of you like you were keeping yourself from reaching for him. "It's not like I didn't know." 

Bucky's whole world froze. "What do you mean?" 

You let out a weak scoff, "Come on, Bucky, it's not hard to connect the dots, I just had to want to connect them."

At the shock that must've been written all over his face, you let out a small sad laugh. 

"I mean, c'mon," You started, "I get asked out by this motorcycle guy, who everyone else in town seems to be scared of. He's the only one in town who doesn't wear one of those vests and is the only one who the club leaves alone." You took a step forward, reaching for his hand. He let you take it in your gentle hold, your fingers turning it over so his knuckles were on display. "He also shows up to my house with weird bruises and cuts on his hands that he has no believable explanation for." 

You looked up from his hand, not letting it fall between you. 

"I just wish he would've told me," You whispered, "If I had known, I wouldn't have gone looking for you that day. I would've seen your text saying you were busy, and left it at that." 

Finally, you let his hand go, taking your warmth with it and he tugged his lip between his teeth to fight the urge to reach out for you.

"And now, I feel like I have to choose between now you and past you. The you I know you are, and the you I thought I knew." 

He took a deep to steady himself, though it came out shakier than he wanted it to. 

"I'm so sorry," His voice strained in his throat, "I just didn't want you involved. I liked that you didn't know who I was. I just wanted to enjoy that while it lasted." 

"Were you ever going to tell me?" You asked, your arms wrapping around yourself. 

"I was," He may have been quick to answer, but he didn't want you thinking for even a second longer than you already had that he was going to keep you in the dark forever. "I promise, I was going to tell you, but I didn't want to scare you off." 

You were quiet for a moment, and he could see those gears turning in your head as you contemplated his words. 

"Please," He whispered, "I'll do anything. I'll do anything you ask if you choose me. The me you now know I am." 

You took him in for a second - the bags under his eyes, the weight dragging down his shoulders, the pained sorrow lining the edges of his face. "Tell me everything." 

"Everything?" He asked. 

"Everything. No more secrets. No more hidden skeletons." You dropped your arms and stepped toward him, "I want to know it all. And then, I'll decide." 

His stomach erupted in nervous butterflies, realizing this was it. This was his last shot. 

So he told you all of it.

How he ended up a part of the club in his early twenties. How you'd stumbled across a rare moment of him having to defend his club's integrity from another. How even though he has to do those things, he doesn't necessarily enjoy it - he's just good at it. 

Some parts had you laughing, pulling a smile from his lips at the joyous sound that seemed so out of place considering the situation. Others had you hastily wiping the tears from your eyes as you sniffled. 

He spilled his guts to you. He turned over every stone and shone a light in every dark corner of his heart. He laid it out before you, for you to examine and judge, but he'd do it a thousand times over if it meant you'd let him sit next to you like you were. 

You two were in that office for hours. The bar had hit its peak hour. The music outside the office had turned from quiet rock to bassy club as people filed in to dance. The lights had lost their old yellow and turned to blues, greens, purples, and pinks, flashing through the blinds.  

When he was done telling you his life story, from the moment he joined the club to you sitting across from him, you were silent, staring up at him on the leather couch. 

"Thank you," You whispered, your voice barely audible over the bass on the other side of the wall. "Thank you for telling me." 

He nodded, his chest aching in suspense as you continued to watch him. 

"Do you really love me?" You asked, "You said in your story about how when I ran off, you couldn't believe you fucked up the one relationship you'd ever cared about and lost the only girl you ever loved." 

Bucky's heart fell to the pit threatening to swallow him whole. He remembered saying those words, but he didn't think you'd heard them clearly enough because you hadn't acknowledged them. He hadn't meant to let them slip quite like they had, he wanted to tell you in a much more romantic way, but his mouth was moving faster than his brain. 

He dipped his chin in a nod, "I do." Your lips twitched up in the corners and that was all he needed to gain more confidence in his emotionally raw state. "I love you, and I've loved you from the moment I first heard you say my name back to me." 

You didn't say anything back, you just sat there with that small grin on your lips as you contemplated him. Everything that he was. Bucky didn't usually like being the center of attention, being examined. But with you, he'd remain under your eye for as long as you allowed. He did his best to ignore the race of his heart as he waited for a response, but your next move did nothing to help ease its fast pace. 

You slid over to him, gently raising your knee and setting it on the other side of him, straddling his thighs as your hands rested on the front of his cutte. He wanted to grab you, desperate to have his hands on you, to feel you again, but he didn't want to push you. So he fisted his hands at his sides as your fingers trailed up his neck and to his chin before resting on the sides of his neck. 

"I've missed you," You whispered, the smile falling from your lips as your eyes traced the lines of his face. "I want to choose you as you are now," You started, his heart racing at your words, "But you have to keep being honest with me. No more secrets." 

Your nose brushed against his as your eyes looked up from his lips and his breath caught in his throat. "No secrets. Ever," He whispered, the movement of his words brushing his lips every so gently against your own. "You have my word." 

"If you ever keep a secret like that from me again," You muttered, your words crystal clear as they engrained themselves into his heart, "There won't be another chance. Got it?" 

He nodded, "I understand." 

"Good," You remained close, your breath fanning against his lips as his hands itched to reach for you. "Are you going to touch me?" 

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, imagining his hands touching you after the things you've seen him do was the hardest part. He didn't want to stain you with the bad side of him, the red on his hands. 

"Bucky?" Your voice brought him back, and he opened his eyes - when had he closed them? 

He wanted to voice what was racing through his mind, but he couldn't find the words and decided to save them for another day. Instead, he asked, his voice hardly above a whisper, "Can I touch you?" 

There was a certain understanding in your eyes as you nodded, "Of course you can." 

His hands found their way up to cup your face, the calluses of his fingers brushing against your soft cheeks. "Can I kiss you?" 

You let out a soft laugh as you nodded. That was all he needed before he closed that minuscule gap between your mouths, groaning when your hands tightened against the sides of his neck. 

Your lips danced to a familiar tune, but there were new notes now. Understanding and trust, however fragile and new. Longing and relief at starting fresh.

Your lips parted, allowing him to taste the subtle drink still on your tongue from hours ago. His hands slid down your shoulders and ribs, landing on your hips and pulling them against him. A whine vibrated through your chest into his mouth and the heat that filled his being was overwhelming as he rocked your hips with his hands. 

"I'm never losing you again," He said against your lips, "Never."

"I'll hold you to that," You breathed out, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth. 

"You better." His hands squeezed your hips, pulling them down again against the hardness in his jeans. 

"I love you, James," His hands slowed as you pulled away. "I love you so much, and that's why I was here tonight." 

His brows pinched together. "What do you mean?" 

"I know you come here every Friday night," You said, "And I didn't want to talk over the phone, and I didn't want to lose my nerve and hang up before you could answer a call, so I came here hoping to see you tonight. And I'm glad I did." You smiled down at him, your hips still moving against his.

He shook his head in disbelief and shock as he loosed a huff of a laugh. One of his hands left your hip and reached up to stroke your cheek. "I love it when you scheme about me." 

You let out a shocked laugh, "I do not scheme!" Your laughter burst out as he grabbed you and flipped you around, hovering over you on the couch. 

"Alright alright, whatever you say," He muttered into the skin of your neck as he trailed his lips down its surface, inhaling the scent of you as he made his way to the bit of your breasts that showed when he pulled your shirt down, "Schemer." 

You opened your mouth to deny the nickname but you hadn't realized his hand trailing up the inside of your shirt, sneaking its way under your bra, his fingers gently pulling at your nipple. Whatever you were about to say broke off in a soft gasp, ending in a little whine that was like fuel to the heat driving Bucky's hand under your skirt. 

It trailed up the softness of your leg, tracing soft patterns as it climbed before landing over the damp cotton covering your center. He pulled the fabric to the side and groaned a soft 'fuck' at the slick that instantly coated his fingers before they slowly circled your clit. "I want to taste you," He said the words into the skin of your breast, "Will you let me taste you again?" 

"Please," You begged, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling at the roots, "please Bucky." 

He smiled into your skin as both of your hands worked to pull the fabric of your skirt up to your waist. Bucky wasted no time pulling your underwear to the side and languidly dragging his tongue up your slit, moaning as your taste flooded his mouth. 

"God I missed this," He wrapped his mouth around the entirety of you, his tongue working slowly as he savored the moment. He would never take another moment with you for granted again, he was going to take his time to brand everything into his mind. The way your eyes fluttered but tried to stay open to watch him. The feeling of your hands pulling on his hair when he slipped two fingers in, curling them against your walls. The breathiness in your voice as you begged him to let you fall over the edge of release. 

"Bucky please," You struggled to grind into his mouth when he pulled away again to watch your cunt greedily swallow his fingers. 

"Can I take you home?" He asked, looking up at you. 

You looked down at him, the exasperation in your eyes almost making him laugh. "Now?"

He nodded, "Yes," He curled his fingers again, a smile growing on his lips as your jaw dropped and let out another delicious sound, "I want to fuck you properly, not in this office." 

"What if I want you now?" You asked, your voice tight and he groaned at the confession. 

"I would fuck you, but I don't want Frank coming back and smelling you in here," He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, "That's only for me." 

A low whine filled his ears as you tugged your lip between your teeth and nodded, "Okay, but you're driving." 

He curled his fingers one more time, relishing in the gasp you sucked in before he removed his fingers from you, sticking them in his own mouth to suck them clean. The sight made you moan before you leaned forward and pulled his hand away so you could capture his mouth with yours, tasting his mouth as he blindly adjusted your underwear and skirt back to normal. 

You two left the office, locking it behind you and weaving your way through the crowd that had gathered in the bar. Bucky laughed as you began to dance behind him while he led the way. When you both got to your car, you tossed him your keys and he sent off a short message to Steve letting him know he was leaving his bike around back. Steve had the spare key and would take it to the club for him. 

Bucky couldn't remember a time he drove so fast as he drove to your place, especially when you were sitting in the passenger seat looking at him the way you were. Your hands trailing over his lap, gripping him through his jeans. 

Your hand had made it past his belt and zipper, sneaking under the waistband of his boxers to start stroking him as you trailed kisses down his neck when he pulled into your driveway. He hastily threw the car in park and turned it off before turning to you and pulling you in for a bruising kiss. 

He pulled your hand out from his jeans and pressed the keys into your fingers, "Get inside," He mumbled against your lips, "You have two minutes before I come in there and take what's mine. I don't care where you are." 

You whined, trying to kiss him again when he pinned you with a look and you shuddered, nodding. 

"Go," He whispered, chuckling to himself as you scrambled to get out of the car and raced up your front steps. He fixed himself back into his pants, not bothering to redo his belt, before getting out of the car. He wouldn't have cared, but he didn't want any of your neighbors calling the cops for his indecency. 

He made sure to grab anything you left in the car and lock it before slowly climbing the same stairs you ran up. You'd left the door open in your haste, and your house was quiet as he stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He undid his boots, refusing to drag anything on to your soft clean carpets. 

As Bucky climbed the stairs to your room, he pulled his belt off, loosely wrapping it in a loop as he approached your half open door, pausing at the sight before him. 

You were sitting against the headboard, naked with your fingers buried in your cunt. Your breathy sigh when you spotted him was his undoing and he grew achingly hard in his jeans. 

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" He struggled to make his voice stern as you flushed, quickly removing your fingers. 

"I just wanted to be ready for you," You whispered, "I don't want to wait anymore." 

He smirked, and approached the bed, setting the belt on the edge of the mattress before he started removing his own clothes. "Kneel right here," He gestured to the bit of mattress in front of him, "and face the other way." 

You nodded, and he could see you easily slipping into the submissive side of you that you only let him see. You moved to where he wanted you, and when he was done undressing, he grabbed the belt again. 

He leaned forward, placing his chin on your shoulder as his tone softened, "You remember your safe word right?" You nodded, mumbling the chosen word in confirmation and he smiled, placing a kiss on your shoulder, "Good. Are you okay with this? Or do you not want that tonight?" 

"I want it," You breathed, a shiver raking over your body as he kissed your neck. 

He nodded into your shoulder before pulling back, "Give me your hands." 

You instantly followed his instruction, putting your hands behind your back, and he looped his belt around your wrists, fastening them together. "Bend over, darlin," He ordered, pushing his hand on between your shoulder blades. He grabbed your shoulder to help you bend over before angling your hips higher, presenting you before him. 

His hands wrapped over your ass, squeezing and spreading them apart. 

"Fuck," He muttered, probing your entrance with a thumb, "You're dripping." You moaned into the comforter as he pushed a thumb in, "I can't wait to feel you around me again." 

You moaned his name again, begging him to fuck you, but he shook his head.

"Not yet," He pressed his thumb further in as he rubbed your cheek with his other hand, "You touched yourself without my permission." He heard your gasp as he pulled his hand back, "Good girls don't do that." 

The smack that rang through the air as his hand collided with your skin was drowned out by the loud moan that you voiced. He waited for you to remember the rules of this little game you played and it didn't take long for pride to swell in his chest as you angled your head out of the blanket. 

"One," You whined, trying to push back against his thumb that was still in your cunt. 

"There you go," He muttered, raising his hand, "Let me hear you make that sound again," and bringing it down again and again as you kept count, your moans turning to shrieks then wails as you reached five. 

He gently laid his hand on the red skin, rubbing away the sting as he praised you, leaning down and kissing the tender area before tugging your legs off the bed. He kneeled behind you, giving you only one warning, "Don't come until I say you can," before removing his thumb and replacing it with his tongue. 

"Oh fuck," You cried, "James!" Your legs shook as your toes tried to push against the ground to raise your hips. His hand pulled your legs apart, keeping your feet from touching the floor as he moaned into you, the vibration tearing another cry from your throat. 

He knew you wouldn't last long like this, but god he just couldn't get over you. He wanted to devour you whole and this was the closest he could get. 

When your cries turned incoherent and your legs started shaking, he removed his tongue, gently setting your legs down and standing behind you. He leaned over you, resting his cock between over your ass and he kissed down your spine, letting you calm for a moment before undoing the belt and helping you turn over. 

He wiped the tears from your cheeks, placing gentle kisses along the trails. "You did so good." You hummed, your lids heavy but your eyes alert as you watched him. He lifted your legs, pushing your knees to chest, "I think you deserve a reward," Your eyes lit up, "What do you think?" 

He chuckled at your frantic nod, "Please, James," you begged, "Please fuck me. I've missed you so much." 

His heart squeezed, "I know," He lined himself up with your entrance, slowly pushing in as your jaw dropped open, "I've missed you too." 

His own breathing became tight as your cunt gripped him, pulling him in, eager to be filled by him again. 

"Fuck, I love the way you feel around me," he ground out, slowly pulling out and pushing back in, setting a slow rhythm. "You're always so warm, so perfect." 

His hands moved your legs to the side, holding them open as he sped up, driving into you. He wrapped one of your legs around his waist, letting go so he could reach up and gently grab your neck. One of your hands wrapped around his wrist, tightening with his own, letting him know how tight to squeeze, making your eyes roll back as you gasped. 

"Oh fuck," You whined, forcing your eyes open to look at him. "Bucky please, I'm so close, so close, please." 

He opened his hand, wrapping it around the back of your neck and pulling you up. Your hands shot out to grip his shoulders as he placed his forehead against yours, his pace growing brutal. 

"Hold on," He told you, "Almost, almost." 

He felt the familiar tightening in himself as he watched you do your best to stave off your own release, waiting for him. 

"Oh, good girl," he panted, his brows pinching, "good fucking girl, just a little bit more. You're gonna come with me, yeah?" 

You nodded, words gone from your brain as your moans grew higher in pitch. 

"That's a good girl," He praised, the sensation growing stronger and stronger until he knew the edge was right there. "Come for me baby," He all but begged, "Come on my cock, soak it , come on." 

He rambled as you tightened around him, squeezing his cock until he was falling over that edge with you, pleasure blinding behind his eyes as they closed. "Fuck fuck fuck," He dropped your other leg, catching himself as he fell over you, his breathing short as every other thought vanished from his brain. 

All he could focus on was the feeling of you wrapped around him, your fingers in a death grip on his shoulders as your cries filled his ears. 

"There you go, there you go," He muttered into your neck as you came down from your high. "I love you so much, I love you." An airy laugh broke from your chest. 

"I love you," You whispered, pressing your lips against his shoulder. 

Once you both came down from your high, he cleaned you up before joining you in bed, wrapping you into his chest. He would never forget how he'd almost lost this - lost you. 

As you drifted to sleep against him, a smile on your lips, he vowed to himself and to the silence of the house that he'd never fuck it up again. Never again.

As always, thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are all appreciated!

If you enjoyed the story, please consider supporting me on my Ko-fi

If you want to be updated when i post a new story, please follow my library blog and turn on notifications <3 @remis-library​

[cas-writes-stuff-ig]

Cheering Her Up

f!/nb! reader x regina george (you love to make Regina feel better)

She calls you "duck" (ITS FUNNY/CUTE I PROMISE)

closeted bi Regina, and openly enby/lesbian reader

reader binds their chest with transtape/kt tape

secret relationship

cheering her up

Regina is taller than you

CONTENT: SO SO SO SORRY I KNOW IM WEIRD

Word Count: 1853

(Originally supposed to be a one shot)

kind of alludes to sex but not explicitly

Regina lets you write your own diss in her Burn Book, so Gretchen and Karen don't get suspicious as to why you're not in it. (a bit of transphobia and homophobia, t-slur/d-slur)

Past bullying and some self-deprication

Reader is a weirdo but Regina likes it

Reader likes classic rock and old hits, Regina pretends to despise it

She lashes out at you but its all good in the end :)

Reader likes to sing

Part 2 of Cheering Her Up (A Party)

a/n: this is a huge self-insert for me, I was really vibing to Bob Seger earlier (btw this is the second thing ive written in like 5 years spare me)

ALSO feel free to message or comment any feedback is appreciated 🙏

——————————————————————————————

Before the sophomore year, you were sure Regina totally despised you. She openly criticized any gay person she came across. Sophomore year, you were seated next to her in math and history, and you felt like you were going to be destroyed.

But when you came over to her house for a project, she asked "You have your first kiss yet?"

It caught you off guard. "Uh, no. Why?" your voice squeaked, although you knew she was a bitch. You were attracted to her.

She got close to your face and smirked, you could feel her breath on yours. "No reason," She grabbed the back of your head and kissed you. You didn't kiss back out of shock and Regina pulled away and went red, she opened her mouth to say something to excuse her actions, but you leaned in and kissed her again. That moment opened a whole new door for both of you.

After that, you and Regina got really close. Outside of the school halls, and in the comfort of Regina's mansion, you were secretly her best friend but also her friend with benefits. She isn't out yet either, she still has too much pride to be seen with a loser, but you don't mind waiting for her.

She was slightly nicer to you than others at school. She was actually pretty kind to you behind closed doors. She cared about you even if she never said it out loud. So about a month after you started hooking up, you were at her house and she handed you her Burn Book which was open to a blank page with only your picture on it. "I don't want Karen and Gretchen to get suspicious as to why you're not in it."

You could deal with the insults and the taunts, it never bothered you that much, so you wrote something that used to bother you 'Y/N L/N is a tranny dyke'.

The thing that did get to you was in 8th grade when you confessed to a girl, and she told everyone in your PE class that you watched girls change in the locker room. Everyone shunned you after that, but you grew thick skin. In freshman year you found your place amongst the loners and the nerds. You were content with it.

"Are you sure you want that in there?" Regina asked, what you wrote about yourself was harsh.

You nodded "Regina, I'm out of the closet already. It's a secret everybody already knows" You closed the book and handed it back to Regina and she tucked it away. "If I walk like a duck, swim like a duck, and quack like a duck, I'm probably a duck" She laughed at your joke, and you corrected yourself smiling "I mean dyke"

"You're so stupid" Regina replied, but it wasn't mean or full of scorn, she just shoved your shoulder. She changed your name to "Duck" in her contacts.

A week later you found out what your contact name was, you laughed at her a little and she got defensive "I'll change it then" and you quickly stopped laughing and took her phone.

"No no, keep it, please Regina it's cute" You yanked her phone out of her hand and tried to keep it away from her. You laughed again and ran around her room holding her phone, but she cornered you, pushing your chest, then your back hit the wall. You were breathless from running and grinned, though her face was stern. "I'm sorry, Gina. Please keep it, it's fine really"

The look on her face made you lose your confidence and you backed down, and handed her phone back, "Thanks loser" She tucked it back in her pocket, and she had a smug smile. "You're lucky I'm in a forgiving mood today" and tilted your chin up and kissed your lips.

After that day, it became one of your inside jokes, and "Duck" became one of your nicknames.

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

That summer she invited you over to swim at her pool for the first time. "Hey loser, hurry up" she opened the door and led you to her pool.

You brought your only swim trunks and taped your breasts back to go swimming. She was in a tight bikini and she slipped in the pool, you took your shirt off, and she was staring at your body.

You weren't sporty, but you went to the gym, it's not like you had rock-hard abs, but you were toned and Regina hadn't seen you like that in the sunlight before, you beamed as you basked in the warm sun.

"Hey Duck, get in here" she beckoned you, you seized an opportunity to make a joke.

You bent your knees and flapped your arms a little walking back and forth at the edge of the pool "Quack quack" You giggled out. Regina cracked out a smile that evolved into laughter, her laugh warmed you more than the sunlight.

When you slipped into the pool, she was still laughing at you. "You're such a dumbass"

She splashed water at you when you tried to come and hug her in the pool. "Hey!" you yelped as the water got in your face and you splashed back.

After you just relaxed in the pool, you floated on your back, eyes closed, and sun-kissed skin. You didn't notice how Regina looked at you, but you heard water swish as she walked toward your floating body. You cracked an eye open, the sun was behind her making her look ethereal. Regina's blonde hair glowed, she looked like an angel, not the bitchy Queen Bee at school.

"Hey," you tried opening your eyes but just squinted.

She leaned down and said "Hey" back in her sweet voice and kissed you gently.

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

The summer pushed you closer together, of course, she had her fair share of parties she went to with the Plastics. You were there at parties too, but you both only shot each other glances. The days she hung out with the Plastics, you missed her company.

You got your license over the summer and when you got the message that she was back home, you hopped in your Mini Cooper and drove to her house and picked her up. Though she usually drove you around in her Jeep.

"Where we heading today?" you asked as she hopped in the car

She ignored your question and her attention was on your music "Earth, Wind & Fire's 'September'? Really?" she criticized your music taste.

She buckled in and you said, "What's wrong with my music taste Regina?"

"God you really are a loser" she insulted, you could tell she was in a mood today. You were a little hurt but tried not to take it personally. "7-11 can you grab me a Diet Coke?" you nodded and started driving.

You skipped to the next song and what played was Bee Gee's "More Than A Woman" You smiled and sang along to it. Hoping Regina would get the hint you were singing it to her.

"Suddenly you're in my life, A part of everything I do. You got me workin' day and night. Just tryin' to keep a hold on you..." Your fingers tapped against the steering wheel and you moved your shoulders to the beat of the song.

She just groaned and pressed her temples, you thought she really hated it but from the corner of your eye, you saw a corner of her lip lift slightly. After seeing that you sang your heart out a little more at a red light you turned to her momentarily "More than a woman. More than a woman to me" and grinned wide.

"Hey! Keep your eyes on the road!" she pushed your head to look back at the road.

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

At school when Junior year started, Regina and you acted like you two were nothing, you both devised a facade as to why you interacted at all. It was a half-truth, everyone at school thought Regina paid y/n to do their math homework. But you only did that sometimes, and usually just helped her.

Today when you met at her house she was upset about something. "Regina, what's wrong?" you asked worriedly.

"Nothing, stay out of it" she snapped at you and she stomped up the stairs to her room.

You followed her "Regina come on," she turned on her heel and looked at you angrily and lashed out.

"Why are you even here? You're not dating me, stop acting like it" She yelled at you.

You paused and your heart faltered "Regina..." you said quietly. She turned back around and she slammed her bedroom door. Regina crawled in the sheets and just went to sleep. You didn't follow her in. But you walked downstairs to her kitchen and opened her fridge.

When Regina woke up she smelled some kind of pastry downstairs and light music. She opened her door and crept down the stairs, as she approached the kitchen, she heard your humming.

The next song started to play, your back was turned and you were using her mom's apron and mittens, pulling out a batch of brownies from the oven. When you sang alone, you were cheesier and poured your heart into each song, then you placed the brownies onto a cooling rack on the island counter and pretended to hold a mic.

"Still like that old-time rock and roll. That kind of music just soothes the soul" You closed your eyes and turned around still pretending to hold a microphone "I reminisce about the days of old, with that old-time rock and roll" Regina just smiled stifling laughter.

But when you started playing air guitar, at the part with no lyrics. You heard her giggle and your eyes shot open, face reddening "Regina! You're up!" she just laughed at your incredible dorkiness and walked up to you, this was the highlight of her day.

You brushed off your embarrassment from getting caught when you saw how happy it made her. And you walked closer to her and continued to mouth the song and dance around her. Still wearing her mom's frilly apron. You took her hand and spun her around and she still laughed at your silliness.

You stopped and walked back to the counter where she followed, "Brownies?" you smiled.

"Yeah, sure" She sat down at the table and you cut two pieces out.

When you handed her a plate, she looked up at you and spoke softly "Sorry about earlier..."

You smiled softly and took her hand as you sat next to her "Its okay, don't worry about it" You let go of her hand and then asked, "You feeling better now?"

"Yeah, thanks duck" She leaned towards you and kissed your lips. "You're so fucking corny" Regina pulled away.

You smirked "You secretly love it"

"I do" She responded, you almost choked on your own spit at her admission. She reveled in your panic and took a bite of the brownie you made her.

Only you could make her smile like this, and laugh like this, you knew that, and you had your silent victory.

Part 2 of Cheering Her Up (A Party)

[the-house-of-auditore-frye]

Mk1 intros with exotic dancer!reader

While reader has no bodily description, the vibe I'm going for is

Please enjoy these self indulgent intros! I have put more details about the reader insert under the intros but see how much you can piece together from the dialogue 😂 Also black text is the reader

Johnny * "How much for a dance, beautiful?" "For you and Kenshi? Always on the house..." * "Think about it, gorgeous! You and I? On the red carpet?! IN THAT RED OUTFIT OF YOURS!!" "I'm not sure I'd enjoy the public scrutiny..." * "You are an entertainer like me in Earthrealm?" "An entertainer of sorts... remind me to show you Ninja Mine when we get back home!" * "Many of your earthrealm friends seemed confused that I am bound to both you and Kenshi?" "Yeah... explaining polyrelationships on earth is a bit harder than Outworld..."

Kenshi * "It pains me terribly to know that you can't see me dance anymore..." "I can still see you in a sense. Besides love, I can feel your dancing much more acutely now." * "How many lucky men have seen the red outfit?" "Just you and Johnny..." * "We have already been threatened by the Empress and Princesses to not hurt you love..." "The bite marks you both left probably didn't help your case!" * "Does everyone in Outworld know about your relationship with me and Johnny?" "Unfortunately, court gossip spreads fast, more so regarding me or Mileena..."

Sindel * "Remember my dear, there will always be a place at court for you, should you want it." "Thank you Aunt Sindel!" * "All those times you took the blame for Mileena, I did know about it - thank you." "It helped Mileena's reputation in court to not always the troublemaker, it was necessary." * "Please do not blame Mileena so much for that one night: Tarkat is very easy to contract." "And yet dear, you lived your entire life on the streets and never contracted it?"

Mileena * "Based on the noises I heard from your bedchamber last night, I assume the earthrealmers are good at pleasuring?" "Mil, pleasure doesn't even BEGIN to describe the feeling..." * "Do you remember that celebration by the sea front when you thr-" "SHUSH - Mother does not know about that night..." * "How can you forgive me for blinding your lover?! I wouldn't blame you for hating me-" "You didn't have control! Kenshi knows that and I do too. Besides, how can you forgive me for letting you contract Tarkat?"

Kitana * "A little birdie told me that Raiden likes you..." "I believe that may have been exaggerated..." * "Do you promise you will come back to visit?" "Of course Kit, I'll be back before you know it!" * "Li Mei still does not approve of your choices-" "Believe me, that will not change any time soon."

Li Mei * "I am only looking out for the Princesses' well-being!" "By isolating them from their only friend outside the palace?" * "With your talent, you could have been a better umgadi than Tanya and yet you choose to be an entertainer?!" "I choose to live and enjoy life: not just survive it!" * "Despite what you believe, I am proud of your skill-" "Then maybe show it once in a while!"

Tanya * "Does anyone know about our training?" "No, and I'd prefer it to stay that way." * "Look after Mileena AND Kitana while I am gone - they are like sisters to me." "Of course - it is my honour and duty" * "Thank you for supporting me and Mileena." "I was allowed to be with who I love; Mileena deserves the same."

Raiden * "Do I make you uncomfortable Raiden?" "Uh... uncomfortable is not the word I would use..." * "I can put in a good word to Kitana for you~" "Thank you - that is very kind!" * "Did Johnny explain the relationship to you?" "I... understand the basic principle..."

Kung Lao * "What does Johnny have that I don't?!" "Better table manners for one." * "How much for a dance?" "I doubt you could afford it!" * "Is it true you were engaged to Reiko?!" "He and I grew up together, nothing more."

Bihan * "I will not associate with an outworld whore!" "You do understand that I am a dancer and not a prostitute? Right?" * "I will not be bewitched Sorceress!" "So you DO find me attractive!" * "I heard about the offer you made to Kuai Liang..." "Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?"

Kuai Liang * "I am here to offer you my services... in ANY capacity... or position... you wish..." "Are you still speaking of kombat?" * "I hear you have a red outfit-" "Unfortunately handsome, that is just for Johnny and Kenshi." * "Kombatant or dancer, if I wanted your services, how much-" "For you? On the house..."

Tomas * "Did you ever feel that you did not belong when you lived with the princesses?" "I was fortunate enough to have been friends with both Mileena and Kitana before Aunt Sindel took me in." * "If it puts you at ease, Madam Bo told me of Raiden's how-you-say 'crush' as well, not just yours..." "I can't believe she told you!" * "Kenshi? I am confused, Johnny said-" "This really is a bizarre concept to earthrealmers, isn't it?"

Ashrah * "I heard what your Kriss said about Mileena and Kitana - what does it say about me?" "It says that you are a better person than you let on and that you keep your kindness guarded?" * "You know, I could show you a few moves to impress Syzoth?..." "Oh... thank you?" * "Perhaps you could do me a favour and not tell anyone about the having-a-good-heart revelation from your sword - I have a reputation to keep up." "If that is what you wish."

Syzoth * "Ashrah is a lucky girl... that being said, my offer for a dance is still on the table..." "Oh... umm I appreciate the offer?" * "Ashrah says you are a better person than most people think." "I TOLD HER TO KEEP THAT A SECRET!" * "If it is any consolation, the people of Outworld considered me a freak as well." "It is comforting to know that someone so beautiful has shared my struggles."

General Shao * "I heard about your relationship with the earthrealmers!" "UGH who told you?!" * "You only survived through Royal nepotism!" "Are you still upset about me defeating you at the banquet?! * "Your attractiveness is ruined by your demeanour and personality." "Is this the great general finally admitting his attraction towards me?"

Reiko * "I heard the rumours, your relationship with the earthrealmers-" "Is none of your concern!" * "Had you not left the palace, we would have been engaged!" "There are plenty of reasons we would NOT have been engaged, Reiko." * "You were practically handed a position at court?!" "I chose my freedom Reiko - I did not want to spend the rest of my life as Li Mei's shadow the way you are with the general!"

Shang Tsung * "I want a dance - name your price..." "Easy - YOUR HEAD!" * "I hear you do more than dance for the earthrealmers..." "DOES EVERYONE KNOW ABOUT MY RELATIONSHIP?" * "Not so innocent, are you?" "Like you have any right to judge me!"

For this backstory description to make sense age wise, I'm going to use human years on the scale that Mileena and Kitana are in their 20s with the reader being the same age as Mileena. Backstory: reader is an orphan who grew up with Reiko - the two were just your average street urchins. At around age 7 when they were stealing from the market, reader saw two girls who were very lost and distraught. They asked her if she could show them the way back to the palace. Assuming they were joking, she ignored the request but asked them to hang out with her until their parents arrived. So the three girls and Reiko spent the rest of the day having fun. The next day, Li Mei found the four children and brought them back to the palace saying to Sindel that the reader and Reiko should receive punishment. However, Mileena and Kitana both vouched for them and their abilities in kombat. Shao, upon hearing this, decided to take Reiko under his wing. Meanwhile, Sindel was overjoyed to see that Mileena and Kitana made their first and only friend outside of the palace and decided to take reader in to be trained as an umgadi. So for the next few years, Li Mei trained reader in kombat and the ways of palace life but this did not stop reader and Mileena to sneak out of the palace at any given chance. By the time reader was 16, it was time for her to take the umgadi vows but reader shocked everyone by saying she wants to be a street performer instead of an umgadi. Sindel agreed with the condition that whenever reader is in Sun Do, she will stay at the palace with them. So the reader split her time between staying in Sun Do and travelling.

In terms of trying to match this up with MK1, following Reiko's defeat, Sindel is ready to yell at Li Mei for failing to secure the entertainment when Reader walks through the door offering to do so. The royal family immediately go to hug her leaving the earthrealmer gang confused. Liu Kang then explains the story to Raiden, Kung Lao and a smitten Johnny and Kenshi. The banquet takes place with the reader as the entertainer. When Raiden's toast is interrupted by Shao, reader tells him to back down with a fight ensuing with reader as the victor. She ends up becoming very fond of the earthrealmers and decides to spend time with them. The game then unfolds as usual and after the festival when the earthrealm players return, reader goes with them alongside Ashrah and Syzoth. By the end of the game, reader returns to earth with Johnny and Kenshi with the promise to return Outworld soon. (Also let's say everyone survives in this scenario because I love writing intros for Sindel).

@redlotus98 maybe it's time to make an MK branch of the red house universe...👀

Let me know if you want to see intros for characters talking about the reader

[blackkatdraws2]

3rd Batch: The Citizens!

[Blank Scripts AU (non-canonical)]

There exists a more peaceful world outside the Parable. Where all the common folks go about their lives.

A group of workers enters the welcoming bakeshop of Red Ribbon operated by a sweet, hardworking family. They take a quick visit together for bread and cake to munch, simple warm food for lunch.

BATCH LIST:

- [1st Batch: The Inhabitants] - [2nd Batch: The Janitors] - [3rd Batch: The Citizens] - [4th Batch: The Guardians]

↓ [Thoughts and Credits below] ↓

-----------⟡

The second illustration is complete! More coming soon!

Slowly fighting art block!! Thankfully it only lasted for 2 and a half weeks. I don't know what I would have done if it extended for a month or more, haha.

These are the citizens! After looking at all these characters, the info given to me shared the same features of these characters existing as normal people or outside of the Parable!!

I didn't put any of my own characters in this illustration. I was planning to but I wasn't capable enough to think of a more clever composition to show all 9 characters [the extra 1 being my own.] So only 8 characters for this one.

Lex by @corelex

Ah yes, the original. Lex was the first to draw about her self-insert, Sies, into the Blank Scripts AU. This character and artist has done a lot in influencing me to interact with other artists with OCs and self-inserts who also wanted to join in on Blank Scripts! Thank you, Lex. I appreciate you and Sies lots and lots. (❁´◡`❁)

Melanie by @insomniphic

OUR PAPARAZZI GIRL!! She loves taking secret pictures of drama and spice in the Narrator's [Black's] company and talks a lot about them too! I absolutely love her teehee

Steve by @xandyprojects

Here comes the chef! The idea of a cook who works for the Parable and feeding both staff and monsters is such a cute idea hehehw. He looks a bit intimidating in appearance but he's a sweetheart when he just wants to feed someone. [Just don't waste food please]

Xavier by @4thwallbreakerdraws

The man, the guy, the legend himself! He's an absolute asshole and I LOVE him. Despite his superficial exterior, he's a very complex and deep character with all his interesting lore! He's been an absolute delight to have around.

Rei by @mei-meidraws

He's a sweetheart and he deserves the world awuhaw I hope he gets to be as creatively free as much as he wants to be. He's just a swell guy in general.

Anala by @hyydrochloricacidd

I kept my promise! Anala is in this illustration!! I couldn't find a scenario to draw both of them last time so I took this opportunity to draw her in this one instead. Also, it just fits the lore of Anala trying to find her sister but she's still in the outside world, you know?

Joshua and lola Edna by @meiitenn

Guh... Joshua.. Our little cringe man, our conspiracy theorist, our meow meow... Oh no, I hope nothing bad happens to him ahahahaw I hope nothing bad happens to him. Right, Mei?

[cozyquinn]

Not bad, old man

Hopping on the older!eddie hype here, seeing as its the only thing I've been able to write anything for recently, bloody writer's block. I'm a sucker for age gap fics, so couldn't resist going for the upper end of the age gap here- Eddie is late 40s, reader is written to be 22-24 (these ages are not mentioned in the fic but they are the ones I had in mind when writing)

A/N: I've left reader's description as bare as possible, down to not specifying what clothes are worn by reader to make it as plausible as a self-insert as possible. I hope it doesn't retract any from the fic! Not 100% happy with this one, but hope it suffices!

I have since gone back through and amended parts that perhaps could have been thought through a little better and added bits in to smooth things out a bit!

Also, I do not give permission for my work to be replicated or reposted anywhere.

summary: When Eddie agrees to resume his place in Corroded Coffin for one night as a favour to Gareth, he doesn't expect the Hideout to offer an opportunity to go home with anyone, let alone the pretty girl half his age.

warnings: 18+ smut ahead, minors DNI. Blogs interacting with this work who do not have their age in bio will be blocked.

No established timeframe, NO established relationship, older!Eddie x fem!reader, NO use of Y/N

trigger warnings for: age gap, daddy kink, use of pet names (sweet thing, sweetheart, baby, baby girl), use of 'fetish' or kink related nicknames (Daddy, Sir), p in v intercourse, oral (f receiving, mention of m receiving) spanking with hand, choking aftercare at the end! Please let me know if you find any others, but also note that this list is not exhaustive- please consume content safely and cautiously! If you don't like this kind of content, please just scroll on!

Your sober mind does little to dull out the unpleasantness of the Hideout in all its stale and smoky glory. The unfamiliar surroundings and gawping eyes of older men have you shrinking into the peeling wallpaper.

Only here thanks to the lack of excitement anywhere else mid-week in Hawkins, Indiana, and the promise that the headlining bands didn't always suck, you settle yourself comfortably against the wall.

Swearing to yourself you'd stay sober tonight, you nurse a tepid Coke -if you could call it that- in your hands, the measly dash of ice now fully melted by the heat of your hands and the heavy smoker's breath filling the room; condensation on your glass matching the slow drip of perspiration at the nape of your neck, both cooling your skin some.

A murmured voice announces the headlining band of the night, and you watch as four older men bustle on to the stage; a concoction of greying hair and fading ink that adorns the skin on show.

The band's entrance is blighted somewhat by a commotion amongst the 18-strong crowd; an elderly patron being shooed from the bar for his rather chancey grope at the band's sole groupie's backside.

On the stage, Eddie shakes his head with a smirk, remarking to himself how some things never change. The wrinkles forming around his eyes deepen as he squints into the cheap fluorescent lights blaring down on him.

Breathing in the stale air of his old stomping ground offers him a little confidence, but doesn't mask the time passed since he was last here; reminiscing on days of shooting the shit until early hours and thrashing himself across the stage until his bones ached.

He scans the room finding mostly dull eyes, only partly bothered by the presence of the aged misfits readying their instruments; the overall response not helping to calm his nerves from years of avoiding any kind of stage presence. This appearance was just a favour to Gareth, after all.

That is, until his eyes fall on you tucked quietly to the side of the room. Entirely out of place, but a gracious reprieve from the groaning oldies giving Eddie an age complex in his forties.

He feels a pang, a warmth, radiating from you across the room; he shakes the years from his heavy shoulders, only breaking your eye contact with a confident wink in your direction.

You quirk a smile up at the older metalhead on stage, his eyes glinting back in amusement as his bandmate musters up an anticipatory drumroll behind him; the rumble sent out across the floor lit a flame of energy below your feet, the vibration coaxing boldness through your bones as you sway to the music.

You keep your eyes trained on him throughout the set, darting between the silver strands scattered throughout his brown curls, his strong hands adorned with rings commanding control over the slender neck of his guitar, and the snarling twitches of his lips as he belts out vocals.

In Eddie's mind, the set goes without a hitch- minus the few misplayed notes dotted here and there from a lack of recent practice. 'Not bad for an old timer, huh', he thinks to himself.

He sets down his guitar, letting the guys know he was heading to the bar to wetten his hoarse throat.

Despite his best efforts to resist temptation -to remind himself of his seniority- he finds himself veering towards you where you'd settled on the left side of the bar, taking in your misplaced youthfullness amongst heavy smoke and wrinkled skin.

He approaches you, announcing his presence to your turned back with a kind greeting to the bartender. You turn your head just as his palm gently brushes your shoulder.

"Hey there, sweet thing. Mind if I sit here?" He says, gesturing to the seat to your right.

"Go ahead" you nod, turning to face him as he settles onto the fraying fabric and creaking wood.

"Thanks doll, the name's Eddie"

He reaches for your hand, bringing your knuckles to his chapped lips; a blush rising from your chest as you garble out your own monicker with as much composure as you can muster. A tarnished ring catches your finger as he gently pulls his hand away, electricity seering through your palm in its wake.

"I see you stuck around for the set. What'dya think?" He keeps up the conversation, a warm smile never leaving his face.

"Yeah, I saw you up there. You were pretty good, for an old man" You quirk your shoulders, a sly grin gracing your soft features as you eye him up from your periphery; doing anything to force a calm facade amongst the flurry of entirely inappropriate thoughts breaching your mind as you eye him up close.

"Oh, low blow. You wound me sweetheart" He chuckles with a hand held mockingly to his chest, any suggestion of real hurt in his voice dampened by the deep-set grin adorning his face. He continues before you can respond.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing here, anyway? Would'na taken this place to be your kind of scene"

You shrug, dipping your head to focus in on your fingers fidgeting against the cup in your hands, doing your best to hide your blush from his attentive eyes.

"I guess I was just looking for something different. I'm sick of all those hyped up bars charging twice the price and offering glorified karaoke as headline bands, you know?" You say, a mischievous glint in your eye as you watch him through your eyelashes.

This earns you a deep chuckle, the gruffness settling heavily on your chest and lighting a warmth under your skin.

"Yeah, I get that" he nods, his eyes squinting in thought for a second.

"Uh, can I get you a drink? Least I could do since you stuck around for the whole set?" Eddie's eyes light up at his own gentle humour, a kind smile settled on his lips to keep you sweet.

Smiling sweetly in thanks for the offer, you reply.

"Oh, I'm not drinking tonight. Not alcohol anyway, just sticking to whatever sugar saturated crap this is supposed to be."

You raise your half-full cup to him with a laugh, trying desperately to ignore the throb settling between your thighs with each look he sends your way.

He laughs deeply, nodding understandingly at your response. He shifts on his seat, his calloused fingers reaching to scratch at the base of his neck.

"I forgot how humid this damn place gets" His voice is hoarse with age and strain but smoothens out with a cough.

He stands, shrugging off his thinning red flannel to reveal a plethora of faded ink dotted down his arms. Your eyes settle on the slightly blownout bats rounding his forearm; wondering what else could be hiding beneath the black shirt left hugging his torso.

Your heart thumps a little harder as your eyes scan out wider, along his broad shoulders and down towards his covered navel. The heavy breath leaving your lips thickens the air around you, winding around your throat in a way you imagine Eddie's rough hand would.

You're cruelly brought out of your thoughts by the sound of Eddie's voice above you.

"Hey darlin', you got a lil bit'a drool right-" he pauses, bringing his forefinger to the corner of his upturned mouth and brushing the greying fuzz above his lip.

You bring your hand up to your face with speed, frantically wiping and prodding at your lips; your mind burning with embarassment, your cunt betraying you with a clench.

He leans down, the scratch of salt and pepper scruff along his jawline tickling your cheek as his supple lips tease the shell of your ear. A gentle whisper sending a flush from your cheeks to your gently throbbing cunt.

"I'm just teasing ya, sweetheart" He takes a small breath before continuing.

"But don't think I haven't seen you eyeing me up. Didn't your daddy ever tell you it was rude to stare?"

His words punch a gasp from your chest, and his sly grin darkens the red tinge adorning your cheeks.

With eyes wide and pupils blown, you lean back. Your mouth agape, lips lightly trembling, as you search your clouded brain desperately for a response.

Eddie beats you to it, his right hand now gently approaching your cheek, his forefinger outstretched to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear; the clench of your thighs doesn't go unnoticed.

A quiet whimper leaves your lips as he brings you closer, his rough palm now caressing your neck. His thumb gently rubs along the vein pulsing through your skin, applying enough pressure to have your eyes fluttering closed and your hands reaching up to his tousled curls for purchase.

Without a second thought, your lips are on his. Chapped against smooth, you taste a hint of settled smoke and mint. You deepen the kiss, wanting to taste more of him. His rough tongue fights with yours, experience overpowering desperation.

His hands map out the path of your body, cupping and pinching in all the right places before they settle on your ass. Experienced fingers pressing into your flesh with a delicious sting, soothed by the lick of cool metal. His lips leave yours as he trails kisses along your chin, suckling a sweet red bud into your skin where your neck meets your jaw.

His mind fights an internal battle. He knows better, you've got to be at least half his age, but the aching pulse from his cock wins over.

"How about I show you what this old man can do, huh?" He growls into your ear, pulling you up onto your tiptoes as he nuzzles his strong nose into your throat.

You squeak out a "yes", the word drawling into a squeal when his teeth nip at your soft skin.

"Was hopin' you'd say that"

With that, he's leading you towards the door, leaving behind any semblance of your control and the now-flat cola you placed clumsily onto the bar.

Your feet stumble slightly underneath you as you try to keep up. The thrash of your thighs against each other with each small misstep eliciting a feeble whine from your lips.

Disregarding the call from Gareth across the room, Eddie thrusts you both out into the crisp air; gently draping the thin material of his flannel over your shoulders as he leads you to his van parked in the lot just a few feet from the door.

Throwing himself into the drivers seat with an urgency he thought he lost in his thirties, Eddie starts the engine and whips the van out of the lot quicker than your hazy mind can keep up with.

Your pulse races to the thrum of the engine, Eddie's hand squeezing your supple thigh leaves you twitching and aching for more; thanking all that's holy for the short distance between the Hideout and Eddie's trailer when he parks up.

He helps you out of his van, his arm flexing around your waist as he half-carries you to the threshold of his front door; swinging it open gently with the rattle of rusting keys.

"Sorry sweetheart. It ain't much, but it's mine" he murmurs, lightly gesturing to the small space of his living room.

You shake your head, a whispered reassurance of his home's perfection slipping through the crack of your swollen lips, you grasp his forearms with desperation, hoping he'll feel the throb of your hole through your hands.

Eddie seems to get the message, pointing in the direction of his room, sealing his promise of joining you in a moment with a kiss.

You rush to his room, peeling your outer layers of clothing from your body, fondling your breasts and teasing the slope of your hips as you go. Unclasping your bra, you toy with the straps in a teasing game, edging yourself with fingertip caresses against your skin.

A hungry grunt behind you grabs your attention, halting your sweet touches. You turn, gently circling your shoulders to tease away the straps sitting pretty on your clavicle.

You spread your arms out infront of you, sending your bra tumbling to the floor; a gentle request for closeness, your skin screaming to be touched.

Standing in just his underwear, Eddie's eyes trace your figure from top to bottom, his chapped lips being soothed with the brush of his tongue across them; you parallel his softness with a harsh bite to your bottom lip as your eyes follow the path of his tattoos to the bulge tenting his boxers.

The only reminder of his age sits at the edge of his eyes, the lines there softening his rugged look. He gives you little time to admire his mature but toned body as, with a feralness you've never before experienced, Eddie has you pinned to the bed.

His hips hold yours to the mattress, the giration of his pelvis offering sweet, agonising relief to your swollen clit through the layers of fabric.

He pulls away, planting hot kisses down your body with a desperation unmatched, the tickle of coarse stubble against your skin soothed by the drag of his warm tongue.

As he reaches the peak of your mound, your jittering hands inch down to circle your thumbs across his cheeks. His deep brown eyes settle on you, committing your vulnerable beauty to memory.

Your fingers loop through his hair, his silver curls adorning your digits like delicate rings as you rut your hips towards him. A sweet whine is all it takes to beckon the touch of his thick fingers through the cotton modesty of your panties.

You writhe and whine, begging for more; the blush of your cunt calling to his cock like a siren's song to a sailor. A slow stream of arousal fills your panties, hollowing the material to show the empty clench of your heat.

"Please Daddy"

It's barely a whisper but Eddie hears it, clear as a bell. His eyes widen for a moment, mirroring your disbelief at the words uttered from your mouth, before he's smirking into your clammy skin.

"What was that baby? Want to repeat that for me?"

You whine, shaking your head as your desperation fights shame. You squeeze your eyes shut and plead, "please Daddy, need you"

He smirks to himself. Whispering so low you'll never hear, "Daddy kink, huh. Should've guessed that one".

Raising his voice enough to flood your senses, his words ring out.

"Sweet little girl wants more, huh?" The smirk evident in his words.

He settles a rugged finger under your chin to coax your gaze back up to his, holding you there whilst you squirm; tears brimming your stinging eyelids.

"No need to cry sweetheart, Daddy's got you" he promises with a gentle tug and pull at the waistband of your panties until they hang idly from your ankle.

He wastes no time in blessing your bundle of nerves with his experienced tongue, branding the Munson name into your skin amongst calculated figure-of-eights.

You sob sweet nothings into the heavy air as his fingers breach the cusp of your entrance. His free hand takes purchase of your chin, curling you in on yourself to watch as the tattoos decorating his knuckles disappear into your heat with a squelch.

The cold sear of his rings against your sore folds has you hissing under your breath; each plunge of his fingers offering a new sweet wetness over the shimmering metal.

You beg to repay the favour, offering him your desperate mouth, as a blinding pressure builds in your core. He reassures you "next time baby", as you soak his fingers, extinguishing the flame of the inked candle on his middle finger with your wet.

Leaving you no time to regain your breath, his mouth is on your lips, your cheeks, your throat. Plump lips caressing your skin as the throbbing head of his cock kisses your entrance.

You whine as he enters you, the stretch unholy as you adjust to his size. His heavy balls rest against your pert arse and his hazy smile tells you he's exactly where he wants to be.

"That's it baby girl. Feels good, huh? Old man still got it?"

He taunts you with your earlier jabs. The curve of his cock relentlessly prodding at your aching walls, sweetening the sting of his jeering.

Flashes of white appear in your vision with each harsh thrust of his hips and snarl from his chest, and you grind your hips further down on to his pulsing cock.

You nod frantically to answer his question, your hands caressing his still-soft skin before puncturing your nails through the swell of his shoulders.

His desperation starts to show, his calloused hands slipping beneath your backside to hold your hips at an angle. His tip kisses your cervix, punching harsh moans from your chest as his thrusts start to falter.

"Gonna cum, sweetheart. Tell me where you want it"

Your head lolls back as you whimper a pathetic "inside me Daddy, please", your own words driving you over the edge to your honey-sweet climax as you quiver beneath him.

His cock throbs inside you, each flex against your walls sending aftershocks through your spent body. His forehead rests against your breasts, both of you rapidly chasing steady breath. As you calm down, he gently removes himself from you, rubbing soothing circles into your hips to lessen the sting.

"I'll be right back babygirl", he whispers into your cheek with a kiss, leaving the room momentarily to grab a damp cloth to clean you up.

You turn to him once the rise and fall of your chest has steadied, your bleary eyes finding adoration staring back. He smiles widely at you as he pulls you in close to his side, but you're the first to speak.

"You okay?", you ask quietly with a smile, not wanting to disturb the moment.

"More than okay. How you holdin' up, sweetheart?"

You only nod in response, your gentle eyes reassuring him that you were doing just fine.

His smile widens, a mischievous glint taking form as your eyes flutter closed.

He chuckles to himself, the vibration of his chest caressing your cheek as his gruff voice fills the air again.

"Not bad for an old man, huh?"

[nkogneatho]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐓

—a/n: a fluff piece with toji. self-inserted because i think about him way too much.

"Toji," you cooed in your sweet voice, grabbing the attention of not only the man you were looking for but a handful of other people in the painting section.

"Yes, my love?" He excused himself from the painting he was eyeing. He was wearing a black trenchcoat, underneath a coffee dark shirt. He had black leather gloves because you asked him to wear it as they completed the look. He isn't the one to care about fashion much, but it's nice to have someone like you to remind him he has potential to look like he's straight out of a vogue magazine.

"Shouldn't you be here too? You're older than the museum probably," you tease him.

"How long have you been waiting to crack that one?" His voice was monotonous.

"The day we started dating." He nodded at your patience. "Now, let's go over there, please."

"Baby, they have nothing interesting in that section. See? Not even a single person there."

"But I wanna see. please? please? I promise we'll be quick." It's not like he didn't want to go, it just felt useless. The room was practically empty. Nothing but a glimpse of a statue lurking that no one was interested in. But since it caught your eye, he probably was curious too, now.

"Okay," he replied. You grabbed his hand, layered in a glove drenched in cold, but you were too excited to care. You dragged him in the room, and your eyes fell on the statue—well...fell in love with the statue. It was a beautiful sculpture of two lovers embracing each other in a beautiful way.

"Oh my god," you were so in awe.

"See? It's just another couple statue," Toji claimed.

"No. It's different. Look how he is gently holding her, like he wants to protect her from every bad thing." Toji chuckled to himself after realizing you might've just described him.

"And the way her hands are reaching for his hair, trying to pull him in so that he is bathed in her love and never leaves. And...and the way he is looking at her which such fondness...like she's something he cherishes so much. Like she's everything he's ever wanted."

The room went silent after you finished your last sentence. Your eyes turned to the side to find Toji staring at you. Surprisingly, with the same expression you were just now describing.

"Toji?"

"You are so cute," he complimented.

"What has gotten into you all of a sudden?" He did shower you with compliments everyday but calling you cute was rare. And it always came after a long gaze.

"Nothing. I just realized this might be us." He walked closer. "Beacause you are everything I ever wanted." His hands started caressing your face. "I wanted these beautiful eyes to search for just me. I want these lips to kiss just me. I want these hands to hold mine."

"Toji—"

"You are what they call art, my love. And if you'd let me, I'll spend my whole life admiring you. Just you."

You pulled him in a kiss because there's no way after hearing one of the most poetic things, you were just going to stand there. He breathed into the kiss, like he was holding them for too long.

"Dammit, baby. Stop making me cry in public," you held his cheeks in your palm.

"Hmm." He let out a small chuckle. "Let's go home. I'll cook your favorite tonight."

[misfitgirlwrites]

Doe Deputy (A Self-Hired Secretary!) | Alastor x Imp!Reader

I wanted to get this out around this time, I'm proud of myself! Here's the deal, guys:

You’re a mischievous bean and why would you not take the perks of working for a scary Overlord?

These are headcanons based off of some stories I have already written with my own character :) I hope you guys enjoy them! I'll most likely have more with this whole secretary thing I have going on

Be sure to join my giveaway while you still can! Want a personalized self-insert with a Hazbin or Helluva Boss character? Come enter! It ends July 4th!

I give you the goods now, lads, please enjoy!

CW: Mentions of violence, mentions of cannibalism (?)

a/n: I couldn't make it a bulleted list? I love it here y'all

🖤 I'll take a step into actual author territory, guys. This is pre-season one. I'm talking Alastor's full infamy in Hell

❤️ And there you were after getting fired from quitting your most recent job, taking the walk of shame home to your...decent-ish apartment that you suspect you wouldn't have for much longer

🖤 You needed a solution. You're willing to work for it, of course, but you still had a time limit

❤️ Rumors were going around that a bit of charity work and a promise of good behavior could get you a stay with the Princess of Hell, but charity work was more of a last resort for you

🖤 Finding a nice Overlord that could hand out some work, however...

❤️ It was the best idea you've had since you've been in Pentagram City

🖤 You didn't need a pushover, and you wanted to like who you were working with so that cut out a lot of candidates

❤️ Before you gave up on the idea completely, you heard the static of a radio faintly from someone's house and it reminded you of one candidate

🖤 It would require work and patience, but you weren't taking no for an answer!

❤️ Well, you didn't necessarily ask the Radio Demon, honestly

🖤 You began tailing him when you could and when it was safe to do so

❤️ Large crowds and far as ALL RINGS away

🖤 You didn't want any stumbles or mistakes that led to your little Hellish life going bye-bye

❤️ You had to know at least a little about him before you could really get things started

🖤 Was he a tea or coffee person? Did he like alcohol? Drugs? Just straight murder? (It's looking like just straight murder. You should search up torture methods)

❤️ It was easy for you to blend into crowds and walk right past the demon; he catches on that you're tailing him a lot but you've been evading powerful hell-born demons your whole life

🖤 We all love a liiiittttlllleeee one-up

❤️ You learn of his diet...how much can you judge, you guess?

🖤 Alastor is particular too, he picks his meat up from the same place at least two to three times a week

❤️ The first part of your plan begins

🖤 Dress nicely, a black below-the-knee pencil skirt or black dress pants, either a black or red (any shade) button-up with black or red (or both) dress shoes or heels

❤️ It's time to pick up Alastor's meals for the week! Much better than making multiple trips, right? He's a very busy Overlord ❤️

🖤 You'd waltz in as confident as possible "Hiya! Uh, name's _____. I'm here to pick up Alastor's venison for this week. Figured it'd be better to store in bulk."

❤️ Rosie would tilt her head and stare down at you, "...who are you, dear?"

🖤 "Right! I'm kinda doing a trial run as his secretary! I'm implementing some of my own ideas that I hope will be improvements on how he already moves."

❤️ Now you're nervous. You have no idea how Rosie could respond but you do know you're in fucking Cannibal Town so the only thing you can do is shoot Satan a quick prayer and show off your sharp smile

🖤 You're relieved when Rosie literally lights up, a large smile grows on her face as she clasps her hands together, "he finally took my advice, did he? And here I thought the bugger would never do it!"

❤️ You nodded, "I think this will be a good fit for me! I hope you can agree since you'll be seeing me weekly instead. I moved your hangouts to the end of the week in case the boss likes a drink here and there."

🖤 "A wise decision. You're doing great already if I have any say. Here, I'll grab what you need!"

❤️ Mission fucking SUCCESSFUL

🖤 Now was Alastor happy finding stacked containers of venison outside of his plate with a note?

❤️ The safe answer was no by how he was searching like a beast on the hunt. Luckily you didn't stay where he could see you

🖤 Next is the fun part and if you did this right, you'd be talking to the Radio Demon about this job position very soon

❤️ You knew of The Vee's. Alastor and Vox were never quiet with their quarrels. Why not take this as an opportunity?

🖤 An opportunity to weigh your options a bit if you want to be real. You could simply apply and most likely get the position

❤️ It took one bump in with a very cute spider demon to fill you in on Valentino and your weighing ceases lmao

🖤 Back to the original plan or as you like to call it:

💙 Mission: Blow Vox's Fuse for Money 💙

❤️ It was simple enough, really. The only part to worry about was security

🖤 But you're one of the best at slipping past guards and cameras

❤️ You really got a kick out of your handiwork

🖤 You even dropped off a picture to Alastor as a little warning 💅🏼

❤️ It was funny when you first thought about it and from the early morning power outage, you think you got your point across very well

🖤 Feeling proud of yourself, you decide tonight to go to your cozy roof hiding spot to see if you can get any new information

❤️ You were really getting into this job

🖤 You were so focused on writing down a schedule, that you didn't notice Alastor wasn't where you left him

❤️ "You're a very slippery thing, I must say."

🖤 Your pen stopped moving immediately

❤️ Because FUCK he was in too close proximity for this part of the plan

🖤 A cute way to say you were sure you were well hidden and he wasn't supposed to find you

❤️ So what could you do now? Speed up the plan and jump straight to your proposal? Or jump off the building and run for it?

🖤 And there you were, scrambling to climb over the ledge

❤️ Of course, you didn't make it very far. Your notebook and pen hit the ground as a black tendril wrapped around your torso and tightly might you add

🖤 "Because you've been so busy running around in my business, I'll give you one chance to explain yourself."

❤️ Truthfully because you've thoroughly entertained him now

🖤 Vox threw a complete tantrum and if he wasn't in front of you, he'd start chuckling at the thought of it again

❤️ "...So I figure all the sweet talk I had planned is out the window?" You'd ask.

🖤 "Absolutely."

❤️ Now or never was an understatement but you felt like this was better than being homeless in Hell

🖤 "I wanted to offer my services as a secretary. I think it'll do us both some good."

❤️ "What makes you think I need your assistance?"

🖤 "Need is a strong word, boss. I'm here if you want to focus on all the fun stuff while I arrange all the shows and bring the coffee for the Overlord meetings--I feel like they would appreciate the nice gesture from you, don't think so? While you're out being scary, I can promote your public image at the same time!"

❤️ "I don't need a secretary."

🖤 "Your good friend Ms. Rosie seems to have been telling you otherwise--"

❤️ The tendril holding you in the air tightened

🖤 You give Alastor a big smile and quickly apologize, "What I mean is this is Hell! Order me around and I'll do literally whatever you ask as long as you pay me."

❤️ "So what do you call this then?"

🖤 "A free trial. Wasn't this week just a little bit more relaxing?"

❤️ Alastor hated to admit it, but you weren't wrong. Rising to infamy was a very busy job and it would be easier to have someone else handle the background things

🖤 And you

❤️ You managed to tail him and learn base information to do all this without him knowing. Realistically he was standing in front of a good candidate

🖤 Rosie already met you (did you plan that??) plus nothing you did wasn't...not helpful

❤️ Alastor couldn't believe he was actually considering this

🖤 You hit the ground and let out a small "oof" before staring up at Alastor who was now pinching the bridge of his nose

❤️ "The actual trial starts Monday. We have a morning meeting to go to."

🖤 ...Yes.

❤️ YES!

🖤 Holy fuck! Hail Satan, you did it! Major pat on the back, you!

❤️ "Don't go getting all excited. I could change my mind at any time."

🖤 "Understood, boss!"

❤️ Alastor could get used to that

Taglist: @alastorssimp @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @dasimp777

Requests are open! If you'd like to be tagged in future Alastor or Hazbin Hotel content, please let me know! My asks and DMs are open to all!

[rey-jake-therapist]

If Sauron just wanted an "assistant" and a "figurehead" who would let him do everything he wanted while happily doing his bidding, Mirdania was a much better pick than Galadriel.

I mean, It's always about what "Sauron wanted", but it's never "how Galadriel would have reacted". If he seriously believed that Galadriel would have been okay with being a powerless puppet, then he was even more delulu than I thought lmao Unlike him, Galadriel's not a follower. If she had taken his offer in season 1, she would have fought to get what he promised, I have no doubt about that !

Mirdania, on the other hand, was so easy to manipulate. That's why I wonder if he didn't consider making her, probably not his queen, but what Charlie said : his assistant/PR/figurehead... We all saw him manipulate her to isolate Celebrimbor and make him more vulnerable to his abusive techniques, which was definitely what Sauron was doing with her, partly at least.

Yet, before Mirdania put on the ring and passed in the Unseen world, he didn't care at all about her. She was trying to be friendly with him, and he just stood like... "Is this an insect on my back ?"

But after Celebrimbor put the ring off her finger, that was his reaction when she said what she saw :

Ohh suddenly Mirdania became interesting to him. Because she had been there. Suddenly, he was all over her, even a little too much over her (get your hands off her you creepo!!) :

I think there were many things in this gesture, which is weird even by his own standards; Sauron's a man of words, he seldom touches people to manipulate them.

1st meaning : he was manipulating her : the most obvious meaning. But he had already gotten into her pants when he compared her to "the lady Galadriel", there was no real need to touch her like that.

2nd meaning : he was thinking of Galadriel : ship or don't ship Haladriel, but Mirdania was totally meant to be Galadriel's stand-in: she was blond, with an identical hairstyle, and she wore an almost identical green dress to the one Gal wore in Eregion. And Sauron immediatly noticed it when she came to meet him the first time. Look at how he's looking at her from feet to head, then start immediatly flirting with her :

So, Sauron likely got carried away by his obsession for Galadriel when he touched Mirdania's hair, here.

3rd meaning : maybe, maybe, he started thinking that Mirdania could indeed provide a replacement for Galadriel, in his plans.

Then there was this scene :

Another unnecessary touching. An intimate one that is, look at what he's doing ! We never saw him touch anyone like this before, not even for manipulation sake. It felt like he was trying to feel something. Something in relation to his obsession for Galadriel, again : if he couldn't get Galadriel, maybe Mirdania could do ? But then his face looked like... Not convinced. Not convinced at all.

Later in that same episode, Sauron created an illusion for Celebrimbor where Eregion was doing fine so he would go back to work. After Celebrimbor left (so the illusion was no longer needed), this scene involving a Galadriel lookalike and a faceless man (likely to be a self-insert) telling her these words took place, and caught his attention :

I think it's when he realized that there could be no replacement for Galadriel. He didn't want a pretty submissive Elf girl who would be only perfect for the PR and the paperwork, he wanted the fiery Galadriel who wanted his death.

I mean, it makes Mirdania and Sauron's last interaction easier to understand; he was back at being cold and uncaring, while he was not done with Celebrimbor yet ! He could have still needed to manipulate her, and yet he just looked annoyed when she reached for his hand :

I don't know about you, but the moment I saw the way he looked at her I thought, "oh Mirdania dear, you're so dead". I think it's the moment he decided she was disposable, because whatever project he had for her was cancelled. This cold cynical bastard even told her she would be "duly rewarded".

We all know what came next :

(R.I.P. Mirdania, sorry, really)

[laylasredemption]

I know Micah Bell is the bad guy, but hear me out, I have a few headcannons for dating him

warnings: might be toxic y'all gotta excuse me cus i've just got out of a toxic relationship myself that's how i deal with it; also smut (i really gotta write a whole smut based on these headcannons) pls guys stay away from toxic men irl read at your own risk, might be a lil messed up

The first time Micah lay his eyes on you, he knew he had to have you, and he knew how to get what he wanted. You were much younger than him, probably somewhere in your early to mid 20s, and he knew how to talk you into thinking he could be the big, scary guard dog, protect you from the evil of this cruel world.

Maybe you even had the tendency to fall for the bad men, and he quickly found that out. Let's be real, he could read you like an open book, so it didn't take long for him to realize how naive and impressionable you are. It was so easy to manipulate your emotions however he wanted to, and you thought he's the only one who truly understands you.

Other gang members would notice that, of course, and they would try to make you realize how wrong this is. But Micah would make sure you don't chat with them too long. He'd barge into the conversation, say something to the other person about not bothering his girl, and drag you away.

He wouldn't physically punish you, or that's what I want to believe, but his words would cut deep into your heart. Almost as if his words were bullets and you were his favourite target (nessa barrett referance), he'd especially try to shatter your self esteem, calling you stupid for believing even for a moment what others say.

The emotional rollercoaster, god, Micah could be so sweet to you one moment if there was something he wanted to gain from you, if he wanted you to believe in his good side. You'd often ditch your morals for him, and he'd reward you with affection, maybe a kiss if you're being really good.

Then his mood could change in a moment. Like walking on eggshells, you make one wrong move, and in the best case he's giving you the silent treatment. In other, less pleasant, cases he would again call you stupid, dumb, anything to tear your self esteem down.

GASLIGHTING!! I totally see him saying stuff like "You must be crazy if you think I [insert something he definitely did]."

He'd never make the relationship official, but at the same time he'd say he'd kill any man who tried to take you from him.

Lying, lying, lying. He'd lie to you so much you wouldn't know what to believe anymore. This and false promises to get on your good side again.

Now the NSFW part

POWER PLAY he'd love to be in charge in bedroom as much as outside of it, having you submit to him is what gets him off, he'd love pushing your boundaries, testing how far he can go with you. He has some dark fantasies and he'd try to get you to try them out.

He's never gentle. We all know he's a lil sick in the head, so he'd always be rough in bed. The louder you scream the better.

His fav position would be doggy, partially because he could push your head into the bed, the ground, or whatever there was underneath you, and partially because he could just grab your hips, digging his nails into your skin, and slam all the way in and out of you, the head of his cock bruising your cervix.

You'd always be sooo sore on the next day, not just inside from all the pounding, but also outside from the bites and scratches he had left on your body. And your ass would be definitely bruised because y'all can't tell me this man ain't into spanking the hell out of you.

During sex he'd love to tell you that you belong to him. He'd keep making you say it, asking you who you belong to. Especially if he'd seen you talking to any male gang members that day. Oh, and of course, he'd say something like "Bet he could never fuck you like this."

As much as he doesn't want to commit to you, he'd love to see the marks he left on your body, indicating you belong to him.

He would make you cum, just because he wants you to think no one else can bring such pleasure to you. But there would be absolutely no aftercare. He's cold and distant. He got what he wanted, that's all that matters for him.

I feel like he would definitely use sex as something to distract you if he makes a mistake. And if you make a mistake? He either fucks your brains out or he turns you on just to not let you even get undressed nor touch yourself.

Honestly, he wouldn't mind people overhearing. Hell, he'd be even into getting caught. At least that would show others that you belong to him and no one else can touch you.

I feel like he'd be into gunplay, using his guns on you during sex, holding a gun to your head while he's fucking into you or when you're sucking him off. You'd have no idea about it, but he wouldn't take the bullets out beforehand. He didn't plan to pull the trigger, but if the gun was to fire on its own, the danger only added to his arousal. He's a sick man, what can I say?

[cadence-the-hypnotic-floret]

HDG and BPD

So Human Domestication Guide, as a setting, is very much built as comfort food for mentally ill, disabled trans folks (not judging, I'm at least two mentally ill sophonts 🤭), but one bit that didn't quite shine through to me until a moment ago is the Borderline Personality Disorder connection. More specifically, the "favorite person" phenomenon.

A floret's affini is their favorite person. They are utterly dependent on their owner, including on an interpersonal level. Thanks to biorhythms, the floret can feel what their owner feels, in a very deep, visceral way that directly influences their emotional state. They are desperate for praise and acceptance, the worst thing imaginable to them is disappointing their owner, and they often spend time gazing up at their owner in a hazy bliss, as though watching an angelic figure and being awestruck by their beauty as the rest of the world decoheres around them.

In turn, the affini is the perfect caretaker for their floret. The influence they wield over the person who adores them is typically clear and intentional. They promise to never abandon you, and they mean it in ways a real person never could, and can force you to believe them. They actually will take all that pain away from you. When you look upon them as larger-than-life, idealized entities, you're not so much putting them on a pedestal they couldn't live up to as you are accurately describing your relationship to them, and they foster that view intentionally and accurately. There is no equality between Terran and Affini.

This is, to put it bluntly, a relationship dynamic I am deeply familiar with. I have stared at someone for minutes at a time, certain that they have a halo and can do no wrong. I drove that same person away in no small part because the version of them that existed in reality kept chafing against the idea of them I was too infatuated with to get rid of. I have caught myself entering that same dangerous emotional spiral with a fellow author I've been collaborating with, thankfully quite early on.

A few harsh reminders seem necessary here.

If you seek the kind of mindless surrender a floret has from another sophont, check to make sure that the sophont you seek that from is aware of this, and make sure that you are seeing them, the person, not merely an afterimage in your head. Be careful! This dynamic is rife with opportunities for self-delusion and manipulation, and often, you cannot trust your rational brain to handle it well. I want nothing more than the absolution hinted at in Anathema in Blue chapter 4... But it would be deeply unhealthy and unethical to seek that out without dealing with some of my own baggage, or saddling the author with my perception of her author insert character.

If you are on the other side of this dynamic, particularly if you have the brand of narcissism that makes you want that kind of mindless adulation (typically talking about "Worship Kink" is a sign that you might wanna take stock, speaking from experience here), make sure you're aware of the dangerous power differential, and make sure your partner is aware of these warning signs. Being on the receiving end of an FP relationship can be incredibly rough, especially once you start to diverge from the idea of you they had in their head.

Oof. Not fun stuff.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to making a worship file based on Anathema in Blue chapter 4, because frankly this bee isn't leaving my bonnet until I process it. Have you read Anathema in Blue? Lady Lysanthae is bae.

🥰

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 2

Summary: The riders know you're addicted to the red smoke. Certain members thought they could help you during that point of your recovery, but that proves to be more difficult than they anticipated.

(This is the OFFICIAL continuation of Part 1. Please check out the talented @onyxonline for more context. Since this chapter contains a lot of sensitive topics, I will try my hardest to be respectful about this. The next chapter will be a little more light-hearted, I promise.)

TW: Blood, Injury, Near Death, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Demon Mentions, Hallucinations, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Self harm, Accidental Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing

-----------

The next few days after your operation pass in a blur. Everyone has been trying to keep themselves occupied, holding on to what little air of normalcy still hung in the air. None of the riders have been able to fully process what could only be described as the biggest turn of events in their time fighting the war. It’s not the first time a member of the cult has had to undergo treatment. Victims that got converted due to planet invasion and nonconsensual exposure to the red smoke are rescued all the time. It is basic protocol for Space Riders. Sometimes a priest would be rescued. The story of how those members came to be priests varies. Some joined of their own free will, while others fought before the addiction made them lose the will to fight.

But you?

Archangels are infamous for their unwavering loyalty to the Prototype. They are the Prototype’s right-hand man, their council, and their second in command. Archangels eat, sleep, and breathe the Prototype and expect others to do the same. There are only a few known attempts to rescue archangels in history. The stories ended in one of three ways: they go back to the Prototype, (sometimes with a new band of “loyal” followers), they slaughter their rescuers, or they take their own life as a last resort.

Knowing that has made most of the Space Riders tense, Bubba included. The elephant has arguably been the tensest. Not even the sight of you resting in a cell with power mufflers on your wrists is enough to put him slightly at ease. He wasn’t a complete stranger to Aether magic (what others refer to as Divinity powers.) Granted, he only ever got to study this powerful and unique kind of sorcery through the catalogs, a few ancient ruins, and his team’s battles with you. Even then, doubt swarmed him with questions concerning how effective the cell, let alone the power mufflers will be in the long run.

Bubba sighs, pinching the bridge of his trunk as the signs of yet another headache emerge. That was one long argument with the Commander and council he would rather not revisit. Not that there are any that Bubba would like to recall. Dogday, despite all his good intentions, didn’t make it any easier for anyone. The two riders may have convinced the higher-ups, but the elephant knows that this is not the last time they will have this conversation with the Commander and council. The thought of that makes him take a swig from his coffee mug.

Problem number one may have been resolved for now, but now there’s problem number two: your red smoke addiction. With no red smoke to give you, it didn't take long for the symptoms to show up. Your feverish face contorts into a grimace yet again. Bubba glances at the vital charts. Of course, none of the numbers look any better than they did 10 minutes ago. He doesn't know why he hoped for expected anything different. Hopefully, the pain medication will do its job soon.

Bobby rushes back to your bedside with a cold, wet towel placed on your head. It's been a common occurrence with her ever since your operation. The "around the clock" care increased tenfold after the first signs of your red smoke withdrawal emerged. She even has the dark circles and bags under her eyes to prove it. Even when she's running on nothing more than fumes (and a few cups of coffee), she still runs around like she has had a good night's worth of sleep. Bubba can't help but sigh to himself.

The two medics are doing what they can to keep you comfortable and stable, but Bubba knows that the two of them will not be enough to help you right now. Hell, even Catnap's powers, despite helping you settle down and sleep, isn't a miracle cure for stabilizing your vitals in the long run. If Bubba wasn't tied up with diplomatic matters, he would take over more shifts for Bobby so that she could get some rest. Unfortunately, the others don't have the medical training so tasking them with watching over you is out of the question. Bubba insists on taking you to the HQ’s treatment center. Bobby refuses every time the idea is mentioned, insisting that the two of them are able to look after you themselves. That led to a few strong disagreements. Bubba may be miffed but can't say he blames Bobby for being concerned about the possibility of (1) another potential massacre on your end and (2) you being mistreated by those you’ve wronged. Unlike the two riders, however, the people at the center have the resources and training to help you.

----------

*MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING, PROCEED AHEAD WITH CAUTION*

You don't know how long you've been here. You can't remember. You just remember waking up to bright lights and a figure or two... maybe a few... standing over you. But then you went back into the world of darkness. Did you really wake up or was it one nonsensical dream?

You don't know.

You REALLY don't know.

It doesn't matter right now. All you know is that you're stuck in hell, and this is worse than what you grew up hearing about. Your powers stopped working, so you can’t escape. There was nowhere to run where those… things won’t find you and bring you back to your prison and torture you. Sometimes you can see the faces of your enemies before those things morphed into… something sinister. Your stomach was doing summersaults. There was a pounding in your head and chest that just won't stop. A burning tightness spread from your chest to your throat, leading you to choking and gasping at this point. This fire smoldering inside you just won’t die. All you want right now is to drop to the floor, close your eyes, and sleep. Your heavy, aching limbs beg for it, but no matter how hard you try, your head buzzes in protest.  

All you need is some red smoke. Just a whiff. Hell, just a tiny little sniff. You don't care. You just need it coursing through you right now. It'll make all the agony stop. You keep praying, BEGGING, to the Prototype to forgive you, to save you from this damnation.

Yet he never answers…

Why won't he hear you?

You know you failed him, but you didn't mean to. You would never disobey him. Not after everything he did for you. You did everything right your whole life to show your gratitude and love for him and you still ended up here-

A searing sensation from your wrist pulls you away from your thoughts. You turn it over and you see... red...

It’s so bright...

So beautiful...

And it's spreading to the white decorating your arms. Your fingers, looming above your forearm are also decorated with red. For the first time, you deliberately take in slow, deep breaths. You take in the red now seeping through the white. With shaky fingers, you slowly unwrap the soaking red barrier on your forearm. To your joy, the red spread rapidly from your bare forearm all the way down to your fingertips. Your red-stained fingers brush over your forearm, painting it with more red. At that moment, you smile, knowing your prayers had been answered. It doesn’t have that sweet aroma as usual, but it will once you allow more to spread around you. Without hesitation, you got to work on the other parts of you that were wrapped in white. Thankfully, there were plenty. You've been wrapped up in white for so long. It would look SO MUCH BETTER in red. You will do ANYTHING just to see red.

You also did have to rip out some stubborn black stringy parasites from your torso in the process. Once you managed to get every single one out, though, there was so much more red embracing you in a warm hug. It was just like all the other times. It was like the Prototype was with you again. It burned so much at first, but after some time, a cold wave of euphoria washes over your entire body. You breathe out a sigh of relief because for the first time in a long time, you can’t feel any pain. Now that there's red around you, you can finally sleep peacefully.

Much better...

Darkness begins enveloping your vision, before being dragged back by... screaming and something shattering? It's hard to tell. All you can make out are a pair of red paws being wrapped around you and lowering you to the ground. A red figure pulls you close to it, but you didn’t mind. Everything about the red figure is so warm you just want to snuggle next to it for eternity. You close your eyes, taking in that warmth. It feels so good to sleep again.

-----

The Space Riders decided to have dinner at Kissy’s Diner. Unfortunately, nothing on the table looks appealing enough to eat. They either stared blankly or picked at their food and drinks mindlessly. No words were exchanged amongst the seven of them, not even one of Kickin’s and/or Hoppy’s stupid jokes to lighten the mood. But what was there to joke about right now? What was there to even talk about?

Picky sighs, noticing one particular member still missing. She wishes she could say she was surprised, but that doesn’t mean a perfectly good meal should go to waste (even if everyone else’s meals have long since gone cold). The pig stands up, exchanges quick goodbyes with the six present members, asks Kissy for take-out boxes for the entire table, and rushes out of the diner. She makes a beeline the one place their missing member could be considering recent events.

It was just supposed to be a quick trip to your cell to deliver dinner for both you and Bobby. If you were going to stay here, you needed some nourishment to help recover. And Bobby, (bless the kind-hearted bear), has been so busy helping you through your withdrawal that she hasn’t had a lot of time to rest let alone take a break. She can’t remember the last time she saw Bobby leave your side for reasons that didn’t include retrieving medication and other things meant for your comfort. Not even Dogday was able to convince her to rest for a while. (Pretty rich coming from HIM if you ask the pig.)

Bobby only left for a few minutes for some water and more medication. Apparently, you were having a hard time breathing. Picky follows Bobby to your cell and when they got there, there you were with scratch marks and aggravated open wounds. Not only were there now bloody bandages laying sprawled on the floor, but you went as far as to rip out your stitches. The pig shudders remembering all that blood on you while you stand there muttering things like, “More red. Not enough. Need more.”

For as long as she lives, Picky doesn’t think she’ll ever forget that scream from Bobby before she ran to catch you. Not even the shattering of glass and ceramics can drown out the bear’s screams and pleas for you to stay awake. Picky remembers rushing for Bubba which ended up with her alerting the entire team. Dogday raced to the cockpit immediately to notify the Commander about the emergency. The others followed Picky down to your cell. When they reached you two, they find Bobby’s trembling hands pressing a bloody rag against your bleeding torso. Poor girl was barely able to keep the rag steady. Bubba, Picky, and Crafty rush to your unconscious figure while Catnap and Kickin gently lead Bobby out the cell. She protested but couldn’t escape the boys’ grasps. All she could do was watch Bubba bark out orders to the other girls, including Hoppy who oddly had been standing frozen in place, staring the whole time. Picky and Hoppy ran to and fro with whatever Bubba demanded while he and Crafty worked together to keep you alive long enough for Dogday to get you to the station.

After 11 minutes, the crew finally made it to the space station. Dogday leads a team of medics to you and… well the rest is history.

*END OF TRIGGERING PASSAGE*

All the riders quickly exited their spacecraft shortly after the medics took you away. None of them wanted to stay on the ship right now. After some time, Bobby said that she was just going to get some “fresh air.” But just as Picky predicted, Bobby is, instead, sitting outside your blood-stained prison cell, curled in on herself with her head buried in her knees.

“Bobby?” Picky settles down next to her, gently placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Bobby slowly raises her head. Her muzzle is wet and the cascade of tears soaking into her fur isn’t helping.

“It’s all my fault.” Bobby takes a deep, shaky breath. “I shouldn’t have left (Y/n) alone…”

Picky opens her arms and Bobby leans into the pig’s embrace without a second thought. “No, it’s not your fault. No one could have known this would happen.”

That was met with more shaking, hiccupping, and whimpering as the tears began seeping onto Picky’s sleeve. She didn’t mind at all. The pig just whispers more soothing words and assurances while rubbing circles around the other girl’s back. They stayed like that for who knows how long. (Now Picky wishes they’d invested in a clock for the cells). Eventually, Bobby ran out of tears, but she remains curled up in Picky’s arms. She hasn’t bothered moving from her spot, instead opting to stare at the metal floor. Picky can hear her occasionally let out a heavy sigh. How this girl has not fallen asleep yet despite pulling frequent all-nighters for the last few weeks is beyond the pig.

“You know… It’s not forever,” Picky began gently. “It’s just until they get better. We can always contact the facility about their progress. We can even schedule visits with them.” Picky didn’t miss the way Bobby’s frown deepened nor the way her gaze remained hardened on the cold metal floor. “Hey, they’re going to be okay.”

The only response Picky gets is a brief nod. It seems to be the only thing Bobby has the energy to do right now.

-----

Quick note - I can't believe this story got this much attention! Thank you everybody for your support. And again, sorry for the confusion yesterday. I didn't meant to post the draft. I was not paying attention to what I was pressing when I was editing. Sometimes I hate writing on mobile phones. 😆

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

What if MC saw death coming and was planning to fight it all along?

(Bear with me, my creativity levels are low so it looks like we're getting some impromptu self-insert MC lore/Arcana plot study -)

I understand a lot of why the MC is written the way they are - some of it is necessary for the plot, and many plot points themselves are necessary to set up an MC so vague that any reader would be able to see themself in them. But it's so easy to let a vague character become a passive character, and I'm not a passive reader. So here's my reconstruction of how Drue handled the Red Plague xD

What if the disagreement with Asra wasn't a fight? What if it was two best friends staring at the same problem and knowing, as different people, that they had different solutions to offer?

What if Asra left, not just because they valued their safety, but because in line with their own working style they thought they'd be able to help most by taking a step back and checking in with old connections for new approaches to curing the Plague?

What if Asra asked Drue to come with him out of a desire to see him safe, but already expected and respected his decision to stay where he could make the biggest difference?

What if parting ways didn't happen on an emotional high as a lover's quarrel got too intense, but was instead planned by two friends helping each other tackle the same problem from different sides?

What if they both knew and openly acknowledged what Drue was risking when he chose to stay, and that Asra's actions were in some part fueled by his fears?

What if Drue stayed up late the night before Asra left to help him pack, each of them playfully threatening the other to stay safe - that's their best friend they're taking care of?

What if Asra quietly mumbled "You'd better not die" and Drue shot back with "Like you wouldn't bring me back so you could kill me for it yourself!"

What if that led to a very sleep-deprived, 2 AM promise that if Asra wandered too far and got lost, Drue would find them and take them home, and if Drue got too close to the Plague and died, Asra would bring him back?

What if the reason Asra still feels so torn about leaving isn't because they feel like they abandoned their friend? What if that night is achingly bittersweet to them, because they felt how openly, platonically, and purely loved they were even while their own romantic feelings stayed hidden and unrequited?

What if Julian and Asra already knew about each other and had good opinions of each other because of how highly Drue spoke of them, either in letters to the magician, or over drinks after an exhausting, discouraging day treating patients?

What if Nadia came to recognize him, if not directly know him, because he was always perched on the top of a bookshelf in the library bumping his head on the ceiling as he devoured encyclopedias?

What if Muriel came to distance himself from him, because Drue was the only person who heard the Scourge rumors and ended up seeing his actions for himself in a desire to investigate?

What if the reason Muriel still doesn't want to connect with him (until he's forced to) is because the last time he saw Drue's face was in the Coliseum stands and he can't bring himself to face him or talk about it?

What if Lucio's resentment towards Drue goes way further back than the ritual, to his ongoing habit of sticking his nose where it didn't belong and investigating/confronting all his shady deals?

What if, when the letters stopped and Asra returned, the idea to resurrect Drue came from that unhinged pact and not from a refusal to acknowledge reality?

What if Drue as a conscious ghost was able to work in small ways, flipping book pages with a light breeze or sending the Countess dreams of Lucio's planned ritual, comforting and reassuring his friends that this was a path he was ready to take with them?

What if the only time Asra went rogue was when the moment came to strike a bargain, and they volunteered half their heart to pay the price when the planned offer wasn't enough?

What if Asra's relaxed attitude towards Drue's dependency on them as his caretaker didn't come out of comfort with being needed so badly, but instead out of the knowledge that he always had and always would be as independent as life would let him?

What if Drue as the MC didn't use his resilience to roll with life as it happened, but instead took Fate by the teeth because he had loved ones to live for and way too much stubborn spite to fall asleep that easy?

Just my thoughts :3

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Five

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

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

WC: 17k (holy moly)

Chapter Warnings: I tried to sprinkle some fluffy flashbacks and smutty references later in here just to lighten the mood but this is angsty!! probably cursing I honestly can't remember, and serious warnings rn mentions of hacking/gossip blogs/blackmail/cyber bullying/nudes being leaked, talia is her own warning tbh. I tried not to make a cliched ex comes in between them plot and idk how it comes across but yeah I was trying to toe the line between it being interesting/different and then going too far and not being able to write around it which is why the plot kind of fixes itself quick and is a leeeetle bit bad but there's some unresolved bitterness in that relationship for sure lmao she has a LOT 2 say!! did I mention there's angst in here? insecurity/self-doubt and miscommunication!!! in abundance!!! but!! luke is a cutey patootie in this I wrote his part with a lil smile on my face 💖 also a ridiculous conversation about huffing glue lmao

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Four)

A/N: ok so in the grand scheme of things this is both a filler chapter and also like a pivotal point in the story to set something later up, but when I was planning this entire fic out, the only directive I gave myself for this specific chapter was insert angst. you wouldn't believe the amount of times I've written and rewritten and gone back and forth on what's in here. it's the kind of instruction only a complete melon would give themselves and I clearly just hate myself in ways that are spooky and strange to submit myself to this kind of torture.

and I hear your cries of hasn’t this fic just been angst so far??? yes!! you may be correct!! but you don’t get a rainbow without a bit of rain hun!!! grab an umbrella!!! I promise good will come of this lmao

I'm sorry this one took so long, it's the only chapter I didn't have any kind of plan or direction for obviously and I tried to come up with so many different options for the talia plot before I landed on whatever this is, but the next one I do have some scenes written out in my plan so shouldn't be as long in between. my goal has always been a chapter a week but like I said the other day work has been a lot for me the past couple of weeks so I am genuinely sorry for making you wait!!

you guys were very fun and very kind to me after the last chapter so please please please lets keep the good vibes going come chat to me about your thoughts about the fic about the weather about anything!! 💓

Nico

When Nico and Talia had first started dating, there had been an element of excitement to the dynamic. Nico hadn’t properly dated anyone in a while - had casual flings here and there, and for the most part spent his time swallowing down his burgeoning feelings for his best friend - and there was a novelty to starting something with someone new.

He had all the intentions of building something serious with her. She was fun, got on with his friends, had ties close to home that meant he wouldn’t be putting a wedge between the two of them should he want to travel back in his breaks, and sinking his teeth into the challenges of a relationship was something that actually intrigued him.

He liked planning dates, liked buying gifts to see that buzz of joy and gratitude it would elicit, and he liked the companionship - liked having someone there when he came back from a long roadie or a tough string of games. 

He liked it so much he never really opened his eyes to the fact that Talia didn’t. 

She didn’t like the dates he planned - didn’t like the restaurants he chose, the movies he wanted to share with her, the bars him and the guys frequented. She didn’t like America, didn’t like their coffee shops, thought their pastries were packed with too much sugar, their portion sizes were too large for her ever to enjoy going for lunch, always complaining about feeling bloated and sluggish after every meal. She hated Jersey - wanted to spend all her time across the Hudson, looking down on everyone she met and everywhere they went together. She didn’t make much use of the gifts he bought her - let every bouquet of flowers die a quick, careless death, said the watch he bought her didn’t go with enough of her other jewellery and turned her nose up at every effort he made to make his apartment feel more like her home. 

She wasn’t all that comforting when it came to companionship, either. Rolled her eyes when he came home aching and exhausted, went out without him on the days he was coming back from a roadie and returned home when he had long retired to his bed. She would always want to meet up with her girlfriends instead of hanging around the team, and only ever wanted to come to games if she could bring her own entourage - mostly to show off her connections and hardly ever to actually support him.

And so, despite the initial attraction, despite the excitement that first came with their blossoming relationship, Nico can only look at Talia with disinterest and frigidity now.

He barely greets her as he opens the door to his apartment, moving aside to let her in and waiting for her to trudge her small case in behind her before he closes it, leaning against the surface and watching her discard her bag and keys on the counter with familiarity.

When she turns to face him, running a hand through her hair and huffing out a big sigh, he takes in her dishevelled appearance.

Even when travelling, Talia usually takes great pride in her pristine exterior - hair blow-dried, outfit co-ordinated and steam-pressed to perfection, not a crease or stain in sight, and usually a light layer of makeup to cover the slight imperfections like the darkened under eyes and redness around her nose. This isn’t like her.

She looks like she’s been messing with her hair the whole 8 hour flight out and beyond, her eyes are rimmed-red with smudges of brown at the corners, her lips are chapped and swollen like she’s been crying, and her sweatpants don’t match her hoodie. It’s almost like she’d thrown on whatever she could find and caught the first flight out, fresh out of bed.

“What’s going on?” He cuts straight to the chase, losing all formality and courtesy. He should feel bad for his callous greeting, but she had broken up with him over text not even a month ago - she doesn’t exactly deserve outstretched arms and a warm embrace, he thinks.

“Hi Talia, how have you been, Talia? It’s nice to see you Talia.” She mocks, a frown overtaking her features immediately. “I’m absolutely amazing, thanks for caring, Nico!” Sarcasm spews from her tongue like pure venom, and his eyes practically roll into the back of his head.

Nico pushes himself off of the door, heavy footsteps leading him into his kitchen where he can make himself a coffee to get through this. His watch reads 6:05 - far too early for her antics - and rising to her nagging is only going to make things worse.

“Do you want a drink?” He asks, as he busies himself with his coffee press, unable to look at her too long without the pricks of guilt irritating him.  He doesn’t even know what he has to feel guilty about.

“I’ll get it myself,” she scoffs, venturing over to the fridge and pouring out some orange juice - her movements around his space eerily natural. She slams back most of the drink as he works out how to brew his coffee - but she sees right through him. He’s hardly ever used the press before, and he’s just doing so now to avoid her in whatever capacity he can. “I need money.”

Nico’s almost positive he hasn’t heard her right - that there’s some kind of mix up between her standard German and his Swiss - and he slowly turns to properly face her, brows slanting into a deep frown as he assesses her expression.

She has a hand on her hip, her jaw set and her eyes darkened and serious. 

“You have money.”

Talia comes from money - her father is some kind of film producer and her mother an artist, if Nico remembers correctly - and she makes good money, herself. She’s been a print model since she was scouted in some market in Munich since she was 15, has had her face plastered in ads in magazines and catalogues around the world. She’s hardly strapped for cash. She gets things gifted to her by whatever company she can get a hold of. What could she possibly need him to give her money for?

“Not enough.” Her tone is cold, her demeanour the same, and if Nico can still gauge her emotions correctly, there’s an element of blame that she is starting to shift towards him, and his whole body starts to feel tense.

“Not enough for what?”

He can’t quite tell what feeling washes over him - worry, at the thought she’s gotten herself into some kind of trouble, stress, at the thought this could be a recurring thing, and potentially pity, at the way she’s so clearly carrying the weight of something heavy - something she’s lugged all the way across the Atlantic on a long haul flight with her.

“Not enough to pay the guy who’s blackmailing me not to leak the videos that I sent to you.”

“What vide-“ he bites back, and the immediate arch of her brow tells him all he needs to know. “Oh.”

Shit.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?” She sneers, fury in her gaze and dismay in her tone. “You’ve ruined my life, and all I get is an oh?”

“Whoa, slow down, I’ve ruined your life?”

Nico has never been one to shame any girl for sending explicit pictures - he’d been more than willing to receive them at the time - but he hadn’t ever forced her hand. He hadn’t even asked her for them, in the first place. 

She’d taken it upon herself to spice things up, as she had put it at the time, when the team had gone on the road in early December. It was just after he’d returned from his injury - a time in which he’d spent mentally distanced from her as he’d focused so much on getting back to the game, their relationship consisting mainly of not-so-passionate sex to avoid aggravating his injury and hardly of any kind of meaningful conversation - and she had thought that keeping him on his toes on a roadie would mean he’d come back more interested than ever.

If he’d been looking out for red flags at the time, he might have caught that blaring one; needing to try new things only a few months into a relationship to keep it fun and light.

He’d been in his hotel room in Seattle, freshly showered and ready to throw himself straight into bed when his phone had started to ping. It was suggestive texts at first, are you alone? And I’m thinking about you. Then it had been pictures, hands over lingerie and fingers between glossy, pouted lips.

And then videos, one after the other before he had any chance to respond - her phone set up far enough away that her whole body was in frame, touching herself while laying on his bed and calling out for him.

He had called her instead of sending anything back, and as he realises the severity of the situation, a selfish part of him is glad he did so.

“Talia, I didn’t even save those videos, and I definitely didn’t show them to anyone else.”

Nico could never. Not only for the fact that he was raised to be a decent human being, but he has a sister - if anyone ever did that to Nina, he’d tear them apart, limb from limb. 

“You’re the only person I’ve ever sent anything to.” She seems to have made her mind up, and Nico feels as if his heart plummets through his torso at the realisation. She’s travelled all this way because she genuinely believes he’s the cause of this - that he’s shared intimate videos of her without her consent, to someone who would extort her for them. “And he sent me some pictures as proof, had information about me like the address of this apartment.”

“Talia, I swear on my mother’s life, I wouldn’t do that to you - to anyone, not ever.”

Tears well in her crystalline eyes, and Nico waits with bated breath as she assesses the situation in her head. 

He isn’t a liar - he has never given her a reason to think he is one. In their time together, he had always been honest, always been loyal, and he hopes at the very least - despite her obvious distain for him now, and how little she ended up caring about their relationship in the end to cut it off in the way she did - she thought of him as kind. 

He can do nothing but be patient, let her come to whatever conclusion on her own, and it’s only when he spots the quiver in her bottom lip that he takes an apprehensive step forward, ready to console her if needed.

She practically throws herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his waist and bawling into his chest, and all he can do is hold her and wait. He tries to rub a soothing hand up and down her back, holding the other against her head as her body wracks with sobs. All he can feel is the pounding of his own heartbeat, pulsing throughout his entire body until it’s all he can hear, too.

Nico does his best to comfort her, shushing and cooing and whispering how it’s going to be alright, but it does little to help. She’s beyond relief.

“There’s a guy who said he can track whoever is doing this to me,” she sniffles as she pulls herself away. “He’s in Jersey City Heights, he’s some sort of ethical hacker, whatever that means, I’m going to meet him and he’s gonna go through my phone.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Nico doesn’t even hesitate to ask - if not to protect her, and make sure she isn’t unknowingly getting herself into an even more dangerous situation, then to protect himself too. If someone has Talia’s pictures, and she only sent them to him, there’s a possibility his phone had been hacked, and if this guy is as ethical as he says, maybe he can check Nico’s stuff, too, just to be safe.

She gives him an appreciative smile, eyes still glassy and cheeks flushed. “I’d really appreciate that.”

“I’m gonna shower, then we can go. You can grab whatever to eat while you’re waiting.” He backs away from her completely, only just able to acknowledge the ache in his muscles once the intensity of the situation has settled a little, and he just needs to stand under the steaming spray and clear his mind before he properly immerses himself in her company. 

He has a lot more than this whole mess that he needs to think about, and maybe a shower can bring him a little clarity on how exactly he’s going to explain himself to the beautiful girl whose bed he had abruptly left not even an hour ago. 

“Why are you dressed?”

Nico stops in his tracks.

When he had got back to his apartment, he’d made a little effort for it to seem like he’d been there all night. He’d gone through to his bedroom, mussed up his sheets to make it seem like he had been sleeping in them - and not with the anticipation that Talia was going to be entering his bedroom, but with her, he never knows - trying to retrace the steps of his usual routine before he goes to bed, he had closed all the blinds, had moved his gym bag by the door.

But he hadn’t changed.

Still adorned in his sweatshirt and jeans from the night before, the clothing feels all that much heavier on his body as she brings attention to it, and he quickly racks his brain to come up with a valid excuse that doesn’t rouse further suspicion.

“I fell asleep in these clothes.” As easy as the lie comes out, he doesn’t feel great saying it. Doesn’t feel like erasing the night he had shared with Poppy is for the greater good, even if it is just to Talia, but avoiding another difficult conversation is a must right now - especially when he’d already lied to her on the phone. “Was out late with the guys last night, Timo threw a party for my birthday.”

“Right,” she drags out, and when he turns back around, she casts a scrutinising glance over him, top to bottom. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“No worries,” he shrugs, genuinely not offended. She has no reason to remember his birthday. Not anymore. “Like I said, help yourself to whatever, I’ll try not to be long.” 

When he undresses for his shower, he’s thankful he hadn’t had the foresight to change in anticipation of Talia’s arrival. He probably would have donned a t-shirt and some shorts, oblivious to the visible indents on his thighs where Poppy had dug her nails in as she took him in her mouth.

His chest and torso are littered with scratches, some faint, some a little deeper, and he can’t get the right angle to see his back but he imagines they’re the same - the memory of her clutching at him as both of their climaxes approached is vivid enough for him to picture the marks she left behind.

He groans as the thought of her brings back that swirling feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he notices the blooming arousal pool there, and feels himself harden as he steps under the spray of his shower.

If his phone had been on do not disturb through the night, he could be in the shower with Poppy, instead.

He could have woken up to her in his arms, could have pecked at her sleep-swollen lips until it brought her out of her slumber, and spent his morning making up for lost time just like he had promised her last night. He could have made light work of the pleasure he had given her the night before - could have had her underneath him in her bed, tangled up in the mess of sheets and falling apart before they shared a morning shower, where he’d have held her up against the tiles and would’ve moved into her until they couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He’d have made her breakfast, something sweet, so that as she sat and watched him atop the kitchen counter he had tasted her on for the first time not even 12 hours before, he’d press his tongue into her mouth after she had eaten and savour the flavour of strawberries that had settled between her lips.

Instead, he’s here, turning the temperature of his water down until any and all excitement in his body is dampened, and all he can focus on is the effect the cold has on all his other aching muscles.

Once he has showered and gotten dressed - and has come to the conclusion that any further thoughts about Poppy need to wait until the Talia problem is resolved and out of his hands, he finds his ex girlfriend sprawled across his couch, music playing from the speaker in the corner, and taking helping herself to a whole new level. 

Her case is opened where she had left it by the door, and she’s set herself a little vanity up on his coffee table, fixing her appearance before they leave.

She’s changed out of her mismatched sweats, has dressed herself in jeans and a sweater, and has found an extension cable long enough for her to plug in whatever hot tool she’s currently running through her hair.

“You take the longest showers in the history of man,” she rolls her eyes, not even casting a glance his way as she focuses on her own reflection in the little mirror she must have brought with her. “I do not want to know what it is you get up to in there.”

“I was barely 30 minutes, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, almost,” she runs the tool through her bangs until they flick out at the edges on either side of her face, and it reminds him of all the times he had watched her while waiting for her to finish getting ready. It makes him feel uneasy how familiar it all is, how she’s so quickly made herself at home again in his space.

He wants to tell her she needs to pack her stuff back up, that she won’t be staying here and needs to give his keys back, but the weight of the situation at hand dawns on him before he can open his mouth.

He’ll wait until they get back later, his decision depending on the outcome of their visit to her hacker friend.

As much as he doesn’t want her around, he isn’t going to kick her out with no place to go if her life is still shrouded in unsafe circumstances. 

Talia unplugs her stuff, wraps the cord around the handle of the brush she was using, and places it on a mat she must have brought with her so it doesn’t burn through the surface of the table. “Kay, let’s go.”

She marches ahead of him, picking up her bag and keys on the way out and leaving him to lock up while she calls for the elevator. They wait together in silence, his heart thudding an anxious rhythm in his chest as he anticipates the arrival of the elevator - and thankfully, it arrives empty.

He tries to distance himself from her as they enter, him standing in one corner, and hoping she takes the other, but she doesn’t quite get the memo, standing obliviously in the centre as she types away to someone on her phone and he presses the button to go to the basement.

Nico watches the numbers go down with bated breath. His floor, the next, the next one after that, and he uses any good will he has left with the universe to hope and pray it skips the floor coming up - but, as is just his luck, the elevator comes to a stop with a soft thud, and the doors open to reveal the very situation he’s been hoping to avoid. 

Jack walks straight in, eyes cast down to the phone in his hands, distractedly typing away and not even noticing the button for the parking level has been pressed before he pushes it, himself.

Luke notices straight away, halting in his movements to enter the space as his gaze flickers between the two people already occupying it. 

He diverts his eyes when they meet Nico’s head dropping as he steps in and stands beside his brother, uttering a quick greeting of, “Hey, Cap.”

Jack’s attention is captured immediately, spinning at an almost dizzying speed to face his captain, phone disregarded into his back pocket. “Schao! I thought you’d be at-,”

He’s thankfully able to tune into his perception before he carries on with his train of thought, a subtle movement in his peripheral diverting his gaze to the figure stood to the side of Nico. 

“Talia. Hi.”

“Hi, Jack.” Nico cringes inwardly at how disinterested she sounds. “Luke.” Talia had never really cared for Nico’s teammates - especially not the younger guys like Jack and Luke. She was quick to pass judgement, making comments on their maturity, or apparent lack-thereof, and wasn’t the biggest fan of how close Nico was with the pair. Didn’t like the time or attention he gave them considering the close quarters they lived in, and had always been resentful. She always claimed her English wasn’t good enough to hold a proper conversation with them, but he’d seen her enough around her American friends to know it wasn’t true.

“We’re just meeting up with some of the guys for breakfast.” Jack says, cautiously, in an attempt to fill the silence. The invitation remains unspoken, but Nico can tell in the way the younger boy cocks his head and meets his eye that he’s gauging his current situation for the morning.

“We have plans.” Talia must be able to tell what he was getting at, too and Nico can see Luke’s eyes narrow as soon as the word resonates in his head. Plans. Pre-meditated. Made before she had sprung all of this on him within the last hour or two. Panic stirs within him, and his throat itches to speak the truth, but it’s just not the right time to do so with Talia stood beside him. If he starts getting defensive, she’ll start asking questions, and the boys will have to bear witness to him skirting around the matter of Poppy. 

It’s not a good look no matter which way he swings it. He’s stuck in a thick, dark, tarry mess of not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings but making all the wrong decisions. A minefield of not knowing how to explain himself without raising a million questions on either side, and hoping one of the brothers might toe the line of the boundaries of their relationship and just straight up ask why Talia is here.

He knows he has fucked up without the way neither of them are looking him in the eye.

He knew it the second Poppy’s door had locked behind him this morning - he doesn’t need Luke refusing to meet his gaze, doesn’t need Jack’s shifting side eye to tell him he’s made a mistake. 

“I’ll text you later.” Nico says, mainly to Jack but still trying to meet his brother’s eyes with no luck. It’s an attempt to say something, without saying anything. A silent beg not to jump to conclusions about what they’ve seen - and, although he knows they wouldn’t, not to tell anyone else. Not whichever of the guys they are meeting up with, not anyone else on the team, and definitely not Poppy.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack mutters in a poor attempt to hide his discomfort, and an even worse attempt at masking his relief when the doors ping open on the parking level.

“Have fun with your plans,” Luke huffs out, his tone like a tight fist clutching at Nico’s chest despite his courteous choice of words.

“We will,” Talia forces a smile. Nico gets the feeling she isn’t as oblivious to the tension as he hopes she is.

The four of them separate into their pairs with mumbled goodbyes, Jack and Luke heading off to Luke’s car on one side of the garage, and Nico and Talia heading to his on the other, and Nico can’t even let out a sigh of pseudo-relief before Talia jumps on him.

“That was weird.”

“We broke up, they weren’t expecting to see us together.” He quickly excuses as he starts the car up, turning on the heat and hoping the soft buzz of the air will fill the silence enough that she doesn’t feel the need to talk. 

“It’s been like 3 weeks, most couples get back together after their first breakup.”

Has it only been 3 weeks? He thinks, shuddering at how little time had actually passed between her sending that text and him restoring balance to his life.

“We’re not most couples,” he shrugs, shutting that train of thought immediately as he starts to make his way out of the parking garage, ascending the ramp where the doors open up to reveal the dull beam of the winter morning sun. “You dumped me over text a week before Christmas, we’re not getting back together.”

“Oh yeah, I bet you were real cut up about it,” she jibes, sarcastically. “Probably landed straight in the bed of some desperate puck bunny more than happy to take your mind off of how awful I was to you.”

His mind immediately goes to Poppy, to last night, to her bed - and despite the complete bullshit Talia has fabricated in her head, despite how much he wants to tell her she has it all wrong, he can’t bear to twist himself even further into knots to skirt around mentioning the girl who did make him better.

“We’re not having this conversation right now.” He decides, tapping at the screen in the console of his car until he brings up the navigation. “Put in the address you need, we’re not too far from The Heights.”

The location she enters into the system is for an unassuming condo in a quiet, suburban area. The neighbourhood itself is picturesque, the buildings colourful, the paths lined with trees that seemed to flourish even in the midst of winter, and when Nico pulls up across the street, he notices the amount of families around - parents walking their kids to school and couples with dogs getting their morning steps in. It’s the last place he imagines some hacker to be shacked up, but maybe that’s the point.

He still doesn’t entirely understand the ethical part.

“It’s the one with the red brick and the balcony,” Talia points to the other side of the road as she unbuckles her seatbelt, and Nico looks over at the building as if he’s going to be able to see all the secrets stored within it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, number 414.” She shows him the messages she has exchanged with the guy, and sure enough, the address matches up. “C’mon, the sooner we get in there, the sooner we can figure this out.”

He follows her across the street, adjusting the cap he wears atop his head and making sure it conceals his identity from anyone with eyesight good enough to catch it, trying to shrug off the discomfort of the whole situation as he waits for someone to pick up the buzzer Talia relentlessly presses.

He hears a different kind of buzz, lighter, like the manual zoom of a camera, and cranes his neck to assess their surroundings as they wait, before he catches sight of the device in the top corner of the porch, facing directly onto them.

He hears the click of a lock as soon as his eyes make contact with the thing, and cautiously tries the handle on the door until it pushes all the way down, letting them into the building. 

The door to the ground floor condo is open, and stood in the entrance is a guy no older than 20, dressed in all black with dark, beady eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. If Nico could find it in him to see the humour in the situation, he’d laugh at how he looks like Luke - a mop of curly brown hair, tall with a slim build and ever so slightly poor posture.

He straightens up as the two of them approach, Nico keeping Talia behind him as he assesses the safety of the situation. If they’re being lured into some kind of trap, he could definitely take this guy - he can’t even maintain direct eye contact, never mind manage to subdue a man of Nico’s stature.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone, Talia.”

He’s soft-spoken, his voice ever so nasally, and despite the fact that he’s talking to the girl behind him, his gaze has settled on Nico’s chest.

“My name’s Nico.” He introduces himself, holding out a hand to shake. He thinks he can write him off as a threat, for now, and if making him feel comfortable encourages him to help them, he wants to put him at ease. “

“I know who you are.” He doesn’t shake Nico’s hand. “I’m Myles. Come in.”

Myles doesn’t wait for the two of them, marching back into his place and leaving the door open for Talia and Nico to enter and close behind them. 

Nico isn’t surprised by the space - from his brief encounter with the resident so far, it fits him to a tee; neat, impersonal, furniture that looks fresh out of a catalogue. He follows him over to the corner of his living room, a PC set up with several monitors that he can’t tell are on until they’re standing straight in front of them.

Myles throws himself down into the large swivel chair, spinning until he’s facing the two of them and crossing his arms over his torso with disinterest. “So, nudes?”

Straight to the point. Nico can’t exactly be mad at it.

Talia steps out from behind him, handing her unlocked phone to Myles. “The messages started last week, just after New Years. Straight to my number, not in DMs or anything, but the number doesn’t even come up for me to call it from another phone or anything, just says unknown.”

Myles takes her phone and plugs it into his setup without even looking at whatever she has opened on it, and Nico watches as the screens come alive with mirrors of the device and some other apps that launch as soon as it connects. 

“That’s more helpful than you think, they have to use an app to be able to anonymously text you, makes it easier to identify them.”

The way Myles talks is monotonous and detached, but the way he works is anything but. His fingers move quicker than Nico’s eyes can track on his keyboard, typing away at whatever as different things flash up and leave his screen. It like something straight out of a spy movie.

“So we can find out who it is just from that?” He asks, arms folding over his chest as he watches in almost-awe.

“Not exactly. If it is a hacker, I could identify their signature. Doesn’t mean I could identify them, but we can work around it potentially.”

Talia throws herself down on the couch behind them exasperatedly, sighing loudly and making her displeasure known. “You told me you could track them down, that’s what I’m paying you to do.”

“I told you I could help you, I didn’t say I could specifically track anyone, that’s not how this works.”

“How does it work then?” Nico asks.

Myles wheels his chair to the side to make room for Nico to get closer, and starts walking him through the process, pointing through the different apps he uses and explaining how he uses them. One deciphers which app the person used to message Talia. Once that’s been deduced, he uses another to enter a backdoor into that app’s servers, perusing through them until he finds the account that sent the text, making sure the date, time and then content line up. Once he’s found the account, he can see the other texts sent from it, and a gallery spreads across two screens, with maybe hundreds of pictures, videos, messages and transactions all to or from that same account.

“You’re telling me you have the power to do all this and you don’t use it to like rob banks or something?”

“Ethical hacker, clue’s in the name.” Myles shrugs. Nico looks back to Talia, her jaw set as she picks at her nails out of boredom. It’s probably taken about fifteen minutes for this guy to work an absolute miracle, and she looks like she couldn’t care less. “We use all this information, and the access I have on the server, to shut this dude down and cut his con before he can do it to anyone else.”

“Whoa whoa,” Talia shoots up, “Won’t that make him mad? Make him just post all the photos?”

“I doubt it,” the hacker comments, bringing up a couple of the photos on the screens, some of Talia, some of another girl, making Nico divert his eyes. “They’re not even real.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Excuse me?”

Talia and Nico both question at the same time, leaning in to get a proper look to confirm what is being told to them. The other pictures Myles had brought up, the ones of other girls, are actually kind of the same. The same poses, the same backgrounds, the same outfits, or lack thereof, just different faces and different hair.

“They’re called deep fakes. Photoshop, essentially.” He has that aloof tone to his words again, and Nico can’t quite believe how simple it seems for him to say. “They put a bunch of your pictures into an AI generator and give it instruction, like put this face on a body posed like this or wearing that. I’d assume the video they have is the same.”

“How is that even possible?” Talia gasps, pushing herself forward and snatching the mouse from Myles’ grasp. She clicks into what she assumes is the video, and it starts playing before she can think better of it, thankfully without any sound. 

It’s Talia - that much is obvious from the initial close up of her face - but Nico doesn’t recognise anything else about it. He doesn’t recognise the room she’s in, the bed she’s on, the things she’s doing. He’s never seen this before. It’s definitely not one of the videos she had sent him, and when he looks closer, he realises the little moles on her ribs aren’t even there.

None of it is real.

“You said he sent you the photos? You didn’t realise they weren’t the ones you took?” He can’t conceal the bite in his tone, his brows furrowing as he looks at her in disbelief. She’s flown out here, disrupted his peace, blamed him for blackmailing her, and she can’t even recognise what is or isn’t her own body. 

“They looked real, I-,” Her shock disappears as quickly as it had come about, her mood shifting and a glare all of a sudden being directed at her ex boyfriend. “I wouldn’t have accused you if they didn’t look real, Nico.” She snaps, frowning at him like this is his fault. “You have no idea what it’s like to be threatened like that, I won’t have you blame me for panicking.”

Slivers of guilt seep into his subconscious, and he takes a deep breath, diverting his gaze uneasily and letting out a big sigh.

He knows he should be a little more compassionate, but there’s panicking, and then there’s this.

She had accused him of ruining her life.

“What about the rest of it?” Nico asks, “Like how did he get her number or have my address? You said he had other information?”

“He did,” Talia nods, looking over to Myles.

“The address he probably got when he got your number, and he could have got that from anywhere. Could be something as small as you ordering something online and the store having a data breach, or clicking a link that shared your IP address, and getting your phone information from that.” Myles starts his typing again, keeping a tight grip on his mouse so that it can’t be snatched again. “I could probably find out actually, they’re pretty easy to spot, do you clear your history often?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to do that,”

“Perfect,” Again, his fingertips work at lightening speed, and Nico watches as instagram opens on one of the screens. “Yeah, a DM sent to you from… Devils_tea. You opened a link to a shared drive to upload some pictures, the drive probably had malware and the pictures have location metadata.”

Nico rolls his eyes, that small ebb of pity washing almost completely away, and before Talia can stop him, Myles carries on. “Some of the pictures you sent them are the ones they used for the AI photos, look your face in this one is the exact same as this photo they threatened to leak.”

Nico recognises these photos. The ones that had been plastered all over social media when their relationship had leaked. Pictures of them back in Switzerland, on a weekend trip to Ibiza, selfies of them in his apartment, and even a picture of the two of them with his parents back at his family home in Valais.

He has been far too oblivious to Talia’s games for far too long, he realises. 

Of course she had been the one to leak everything - who else would have had those photos - but he hadn’t even considered it would be her; she had faced the harshest aftermath for it, why would she subject herself to all the subsequent grief that came with people knowing about their relationship?

Thank God for this guy’s lack of social cues, Nico thinks, or he would never have known that for as long as they had been together, she had been violating his revered privacy and trust.

“Nico, that wasn’t-,” Talia’s panic is evident, wide eyes, trembling hands raised in defence, “I must have been hacked,”

“Actually, there’s no-,” Myles begins to interject, fingers working again to fact check, but Nico doesn’t need him to validate what he already knows.

“Shut up,” Talia snarls, with a finger pointed at him, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re done here.” She reaches forward to snatch her phone back, yanking out the wire that connects it to his monitors and throwing it onto the desk. “We’re leaving, and if you think I’m paying you anything, you’re deluded.” 

Talia marches past them and straight out of the condo, slamming every door she possibly can behind her. Nico can only cringe as the sounds of her stomping footsteps echo until they fade out - until she’s probably outside and waiting for him back at his car.

“Doesn’t she want me to shut this thing down?”

“I’ll pay you.” Nico sighs, reaching into his pocket for his phone and trying to push down the feeling that arises when he’s met with a blank lock screen.

Poppy hasn’t messaged him. 

Not that he deserves for her to make it easy, to let him off the hook and pretend he hasn’t royally fucked things up with her.

“If you stop him, does he still have all the photos? He could still release them?”

“Yeah, but they’re pretty easy to validate as fakes, especially when you have the source material. I don’t think this guy is sophisticated enough for a full blown hack into her phone for the real thing. I couldn’t find evidence of any breach of her cloud or her device.”

Nico nods, but the information does little to quell the anxiety that squeezes his chest in a vice-like grip. 

This whole morning has been nothing but a giant waste of his time. From the second his eyes opened, to this moment right now, he’s made nothing but mistakes.

Not putting his phone on sleep mode before he and Poppy went to bed had been a mistake. Taking Talia’s call had been a mistake. Not waking Poppy up had been a mistake. Leaving without a note, without a text, leaving at all - it had all been one error after another, and all he has left to do is face up to the fact.

He can’t do anything to dwindle the panic rousing in every fibre of his being, the scarring marks left by torturous lashings of regret that whip at his skin.

He’s never felt so ashamed of himself, in such disbelief at his own decisions.

Why didn’t he just wake her?

She’s the most level-headed, acceptable person he knows. She would have understood. He hadn’t had a reasonable explanation at the time, and he doesn’t really have one now - but she would have accepted it, whatever he could have told her, she would have listened, waited until he could give her more.

He needs to see her, to explain, before it’s too late.

If he thinks about the feeling settling in his stomach, if he can compare it to anything, it’s like running from a blazing inferno of doubt and insecurity, licks of fire racing to catch up to him, the soles of his feet pressing into the sizzling ground - and Poppy is the cool embrace of safety.

She is light cracking through a window he just needs to break through to make it out.

If he can get to her quick enough, if he runs, and runs, maybe he’ll make it before he’s jiggling at a red hot handle that won’t move, won’t give, won’t budge.

If he can just talk to her, maybe the morning from hell will be outweighed by the days of resilience, weeks of efforts, years of loving her in whatever capacity, and the promise of something better.

He just needs to get rid of Talia.

The car journey back to his apartment is carried out in a deafening silence. She had tried to talk to him when he’d made his way out of Myles’ condo, when he had found her waiting by his Mercedes with crossed arms and a sour look on her face, but he’d told her he didn’t want to hear it, that they’d deal with it in private.

He hardly wanted a showdown with her in the middle of the street.

And so, she sat in his passenger seat, jaw set, glaring out the window and letting out the occasional huff or puff for attention that he wasn’t entertaining.

The elevator ride up to his place had been the same. Silent, filled with the type of tension you could cut with a knife, and all he could do was ignore her continued petulance and take deep breaths to calm himself down. In through his nose, out through his mouth, overlooking the way she tapped her foot in his peripheral vision, and almost audibly rolled her eyes every few seconds. 

“Would it have killed you to defend me in there?” She scoffs as soon as the door closes behind them in his apartment, “You just let him accuse me of all that stuff and completely invade my privacy!”

Nico screws his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He can’t blow up, can’t stoop to her level. He won’t feel good after the fact. He knows how Talia operates, should have known she’d immediately play the victim card, and he isn’t falling into the trap of arguing to the point of being in the wrong.

He’ll say something he regrets and she’ll use it to her advantage, somehow.

“You asked him to go through your phone, Talia.” He sighs, making his way over to the kitchen and getting himself some water. Chugging at it does little to soothe the burning feeling prickling at the back of his mouth, or the itch of his tongue to spit out a scathing retort. “He’s shut down the guy behind it, he can’t message you or anyone else with any more threats, you should be happy.”

“I should be happy?” She follows him wherever he tries to get away, crowding his space and jabbing a pointed finger into his arm. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through this past week. I thought my career was over! How was I supposed to know it was fake?”

“You didn’t even look at the pictures-,”

“Because I was panicking! I was upset, you can’t expect me to be able to recognise what’s been photoshopped when I’m scared like that!”

“But you can fly straight over here and pin the blame on me for ruining your life? You weren’t too upset to point the finger, Talia,”

“Don’t be an asshole, Nico, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“I’m being the asshole? You don’t even care about the trail of destruction you leave behind you, do you? You send private pictures of us, of me, of my family to random people online who you don’t even know, for what, Talia? For money?”

“I don’t need their money-,”

“So it was just for the attention? You get to parade our relationship around like it means nothing more to you than a title, and once you get your fifteen minutes and a few more instagram followers, you just jet back home and dump me over a text?”

“Oh my God,” she cries, flailing her arms dramatically, following him yet again as he makes his way into his living room, picking her stuff up after her that she had discarded here before they left and throwing it into her travel bag. “Stop playing the victim, for Christ’s sake, you’re hardly heartbroken over it. I know for a fact you’ve been hooking up with someone, one of the girls messaged me that they saw you leave a party with her on New Years!”

“So that’s what this is?” Nico snaps, pointing to her, to her stuff, “You think I’m moving on so you fly back out here and spring this bullshit on me, try to make me feel bad?”

“You have some nerve, Nico,” Talia scoffs, folding her arms across her chest and levelling him with a darkened glare.

“I have nerve? You’re the one who broke up with me out of nowhere and think that you can just march back here and make demands, Talia, blaming me for something that was entirely your own doing.” He’s getting sick of walking on egg shells around the topic. If she hadn’t have been messaging people she wasn’t supposed to, this would never have happened - it’s no one’s fault but her own, and as harsh as it may be, he wants to wash his hands of the whole thing. “Calling me in the middle of the night, telling me I ruined your life, saying I need to give you money?”

“Out of nowhere?” Of course she would only pick up on that, he thinks. “My God, you are so self-absorbed.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think that dating you is easy?” She questions with a measured step toward him. “Do you think I want to spend my life waiting around for my boyfriend, only for him to only ever come home grumpy,” another step, “Or whiny,” and another, “Or too tired and achey to do anything? And that’s when you do come home at all and aren’t half way across the country with the communication skills of a candle. It’s a constant uphill battle trying to get even a second of your attention, Nico, so God forbid I tried to gain some kind of advantage from being with you.”

Her words are starting to cut, but he tries not to react, tries not to bite back. He can count several ways in which she gained an advantage being with him, just off the top of the head - a girl like Talia is never shy of attention. Her courting gossip blogs and sending them private information is probably just scraping the barrel of the ploys she made for exposure while she was with him.

“I didn’t break up with you out of nowhere, I put up with you and the whole circus that comes with you for months, but God, is it exhausting being with you.”

“You knew what you were getting into, Talia. You knew my job, knew my life.” They had met initially through mutual friends - hockey friends of his back home, even - and she has other friends who happen to be wives or girlfriends of athletes. She can’t say she came into the relationship completely oblivious to the downsides of dating a professional player.

“Not really,” she shrugs, “All the other guys can find some sort of balance, but not you. All the other girls get a proper boyfriend, someone who spends time doing what they want to do, who sticks up for them when their psycho fans start to turn on them, who doesn’t keep them hidden away like some dirty secret.”

“That isn’t fair, I can’t control that stuff, Talia, it’s not my fault.” He wants to point out that she was the one engaging in their gossip and riling them up, but he can’t keep harping on about something she refuses to acknowledge. He doesn’t have the time, patience or energy for it anymore.

The initial ‘leaking’ of their relationship had caused their first major fight. Fans online had somehow - although Nico can now hazard a guess as to how - found out about the two of them, had dug into Talia, her background, her family, her job, and had found some pretty toxic posts on her social media. They had been old posts, and she had told Nico that wasn’t the kind of person she was anymore - and he had no reason not to believe her, had never seen or heard her act in the ways she had online in what she called her misguided youth - but someone in the PR department at the Devils had cottoned onto the topic, and had warned Nico of speaking out in her defence when the pitchforks started to raise.

He’d told her he supported her, but he couldn’t do so publicly - not without upsetting people within the organisation he had worked so hard to gain the respect of - and she had told him she understood. They hadn’t been together that long, it would have been a little unreasonable for him to put her above his work in the ways she was expecting, but she clearly doesn’t see it that way, now.

“Maybe not, but if I’d have known that being with you meant having my life invaded, my career ruined, I never would have followed you back here, Nico.” She sounds more solemn now - regretful, even - and as deep as her words cut, she says it like a piece of advice, “I just hope whatever poor girl you’ve got tangled up in your mess this time knows what she’s getting herself into.”

“And what’s that?” His throat feels tight as he speaks all of a sudden, his resolve in defending himself fading, and he tries to gulp down whatever lump is forming there but the feeling doesn’t budge.

This is what she’s good at.

Turning the tables. Reducing him to uncertainty of himself, of his actions, of his memory of their time together.

“A one-sided relationship with a guy who will never be able to put her first.”

There’s a point in every game he has ever had the misfortune of losing, as the seconds count down in the final third, where he has to come to terms with the fact that there’s no possible way for him to win. It’s sort of comparable to the way his insides churn when he’s on a plane and it drops into descent, like his body is falling at a different speed to his surroundings, or the feeling he gets in his gut when he’s hiking, and he dares to take a peek over the edge of whatever mountainside he’s trekking up, where his body can predict the fall, and his mind has set on there being nothing he can do about it.

This feels like all those feelings.

“Whoever she is, and I know she exists, she doesn’t deserve that. It’s not fair.”

Nico’s heart pounds in his chest, echoing and thrumming in his ears until all he can hear is the beat reverberating, ricocheting around his skull.

He can put Poppy first.

So many parts of their lives are intertwined, it would be so easy to make it work. They work together, they live close, he speaks to her more than he speaks to anyone else in his circle. They’ve spent more time together as friends than he has with any other girlfriend he’s had.

He’s wanted her for years, of course he can do it.

Except, deep down, he knows he can’t. Being in a committed relationship with someone is an entirely different ball game to a friendship, no matter how close he and Poppy have been over the years.

He knows there’ll come a point soon into the season where he has to knuckle down and focus, can’t let anything or anyone distract him, and he’ll close himself off. It’s what he has always done. He gets in his head, starts to carry too much weight that he can’t shift until that final buzzer blows - and he can only hope that it happens with his team in the playoffs. Winning, thriving, succeeding. And for that to happen, he can’t prioritise anything other than the game he’s already dedicated his life to, his training, and most importantly, his team.

It isn’t about what he wants.

What have you done? He thinks, his chest aching.

Talia is right.

Poppy doesn’t deserve that.

She doesn’t deserve him only being there in the physical sense, if she even gets that at all. Doesn’t deserve him getting snappy and stressed, doesn’t deserve him not being able to give her time, or give her attention or affection like he wants to, or like she’s worthy of.

“I need to go.” He manages to choke out with a shake of his head, shouldering past her to pick up his jacket - needing to be out of this conversation and away from Talia. “Leave the keys, I don’t want you here when I get back.”

He needs to see Poppy.

He never should have left her - he wishes with everything in him that he had soaked up the time he had with her before everything came tumbling down around him. And somewhere deep within him, there is a fragile, wilting piece of hope that clings to the belief he can make things right. He just needs her to hone in on it. If anyone can reach into the deepest cracks of his insecurities, can show him he’s overthinking things and everything is not as hopeless as he has made it out to be, it will be Poppy.

Poppy

The first time Poppy had ever fallen asleep beside Nico was at a movie night in Jack’s old apartment he shared with Ty Smith. Jack had invited more people round than could reasonably fit in their living room, and so everyone was smushed in - each chair and every inch of floor space used to its full capacity. 

Nico had attempted to save Poppy a space, to give him credit. He had scowled at each of his teammates who tried to throw themselves down in the tiny slot beside him - prime space, corner of the comfiest couch, facing the tv directly, a small table to the side where one could keep their drinks and snacks - only, by the time Poppy got there, he had barely gotten away with man-spreading to make room, so the small section of the couch between Nico and the arm rest had become her designated spot.

It was cosy, to put it nicely. He had to swing his arm over the back so that she wasn’t being assaulted by the hard dig of his shoulder with every laugh, and her closest leg was pretty much on top of his for most of the film.

She’d known the guys for almost a year - had been working in media, attending every game, home and away, and had integrated herself into the group pretty closely - and she felt pretty comfortable around everyone.

It wasn’t the kind of dynamic she had anticipated falling into when she first got the job with the Devils. She was supposed to start getting serious about her life - cracking down on mingling with co-workers and throwing herself into new social circles, and focusing on building a career for herself, climbing through the ranks and attaining the kind of success and happiness she could shove in her family’s disapproving faces - but the guys had charmed her.

Jack had been somewhat relentless in his pursuit of Poppy’s friendship. He rarely took no for an answer when it came to inviting her out. He was new to New Jersey - a much younger player in a slightly older team - and his rookie season had been rough, so it came naturally to Poppy to want to provide comfort. She introduced him to some of her friends, showed him her favourite spots close to his apartment, found him a decent barber, picked up extra fruit whenever she went to the farmers market near her parent’s house and took it over to his and Ty’s place when she came back home so she could mother him into having his 5-a-day as if he didn’t have access to the best nutrition coaches in the country. Despite her best efforts, Jack had weaselled his way under her skin in the way only a brother could.

Nico’s charm was entirely different.

Nico’s charm came in the form of convenience at first - in the oh I live that way, I can drive you and I have some time, I can do some media stuff for you type of way. Convenience blended into companionship - I haven’t eaten either, we should go for lunch together and I’ve been wanting to watch that movie, do you want to watch it with me?

It turned into grabbing food together, even on days neither of them were working - breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, even coffee or sometimes drinks if they could meet up with the rest of the team. It turned into him spending time at her place, whether it was helping her paint her apartment, putting up her new wardrobes, or just binging whatever crazy long series Poppy had decided to start over from the beginning - she provided him with a sense of familiarity and calm he couldn’t really find in anyone else he had met in his time in the states. She became his person, his home away from home, away from home.

And he became hers. 

There wasn’t as much she had to escape; her job not as strenuous, the expectations of her not as high, but when things built up for her - when her mother became overbearing, or her latest endeavour into a relationship crashed and burned - Nico was there. He’d make sure she had a distraction, made sure she was looking after herself, and, in turn, would look after her as well. He made sure she got home safe on nights out, or when they returned from a roadie and landed late - he would always make sure to see her off into the comfort of her own home before he went back to his own. 

And that first time she’d fallen asleep beside him, he’d done the same.

He’d wrapped an arm around her to make her as comfortable as possible for as long as he could, and when the movie had finished - when her face was burrowed into the side of his chest, soft snores falling from between her lips - he gently drew her back to consciousness with his hand stroking at her cheek.

She’d been a little startled, hand shooting up to wipe at her chin and thankful she hadn’t been drooling on him - although with the easy smile he was giving her, she had thought he of all people wouldn’t have minded. 

“Movie’s done, do you need a ride home?” His voice had been low and soft as not to worsen her apparent disorientation, and his hand was still lingering by the side of her face.

She had nodded, blinking away her sleepiness, and working her way up from the couch and onto her feet, stretching out her muscles as Nico did the same.

The two of them bid their goodbyes to the rest of the guys, made their way together to Nico’s car, and he had driven her back to her apartment, chatting on the drive about work and training. 

Poppy had been cramming to prepare for her interview for the Foundation at the time - had been getting herself seriously worked up, staying up late, getting up early, barely allowing herself any time for anything fun - and Nico had seen right through her. 

He’d stopped her before she got out of the car, had held her hand, rubbing at her knuckles with his thumb, and had told her that she should get some proper rest, and that she was going to absolutely rock their world in her interview in a few days time. And, knowing she was going to ignore any instruction he gave to make herself some decent dinner and go to bed early, had ordered her favourite Japanese takeout to be delivered a good half an hour after she got inside, with a text that followed telling her to sleep straight after she had finished.

She’d never expected to drift asleep with him on Jack’s couch - had never expected to open her eyes to the sight of his looking so warmly back at her.

And she hadn’t expected the same thing this morning, because, as her eyes drifted open to the intrusive light peaking through the cracks in her curtains, it wasn’t the first time she had woken up.

The first time had been to subdued movements, a slight groan of her bed frame, and the soft pattering of footsteps leading away. It had been to a hushed voice, the creak of her bathroom door, the flush of a toilet and the uttering of a name she had hoped she would never have to worry about again.

Talia.

The rest of his words had been uttered in his own language, but that she could understand.

She had acted purely on fight or flight instinct, laying back and pretending she was asleep - although as soon as she did, she regretted it, her mind racing at the million and one other possibilities she could have gone with. Sitting up, waiting for him to come out and asking him what was going on being the most rational.

But when had she ever gone with the most rational thought?

She tried not to react as she felt his presence, felt the soft press of his lips to her skin, or the placement of her bunny in her arms. Tried not to follow him as soon as he departed her bedroom, beg him to come back and whatever was going on could wait until the proper turn of the morning. Tried not to get up and go after him when the click of the lock to her main door echoed throughout the empty apartment.

And she tried not to cry as she laid in bed, overthinking herself back to sleep, thoughts racing to the point of exhaustion, and hoping when she woke up again it had just been a god-awful dream.

But it hadn’t.

The spot beside her in bed is empty, not even a crease in the pillow to prove he was ever there - only the t-shirt of his she still adorned, the one that when she takes a deep inhale, still smells like him, and the distinct aching between her thighs.

She finds more evidence of their night together in the bathroom, where she undresses herself with sore muscles and glances in the mirror to see the spattering of purple marks forming on her chest and neck. Her fingers trace over them lightly, her fleeting touch bringing vivid images forth of his lips pressing to her skin, practically able to feel the pressure of her flesh being nipped and bitten again.

He had been so attentive to her - so in tune with what she needed and wanted, and so ready to give her whatever that may be. He’d been gentle at some points, and purposeful at others, and every little thing he did, he did it with sweet disposition.

The kind of man who treats a girl like that doesn’t just leave her in the dead of night with no good reason, right?

Her mind races despite her body going into auto-pilot throughout her morning routine. Her shower is over in the flash of an eye, she strips her bed, starts her laundry, makes herself some tea and gets herself dressed - all the while weighing out all the possibilities of what could have taken him away from her, and what she would be able to understand. 

That quickly turns to her imagining the worst, and a tight, constricting feeling starts to consume her chest. 

There isn’t a single part of her apartment she can get away from the thoughts buzzing around her brain - her kitchen marred with the memory of what had happened on the counter, her couch, her bedroom, her bathroom - all carrying distinct memories of Nico that she needs to bench until she knows the truth.

She mistakenly thinks her escape might lie in her phone. There might be a text there waiting, explaining everything and relieving all the anxiety that has welled up in her very core.

Nia’s warnings from the night before don’t ring quick enough in her mind as the screen comes to life, the immediate barrage of notifications flooding in.

2 missed calls from Mom

Mom: Just calling to remind you of proper table etiquette in case it has slipped your mind, I won’t have you embarrass me in front of a Lyon.

Mom: Cutlery going from the outside in, hold your wine glass by the stem and dab with your napkin, don’t swipe!

Mom: Also let the man tuck your chair in and pay the bill, this 21st century woman nonsense is very unbecoming!

Mom: And I don’t want to have to bring this up but for the love of God, Poppy, have some class. I don’t want to hear mutterings of your promiscuity at the next luncheon.

Whoever taught her mom to text deserves a prison sentence, she thinks.

Tucker Lyon standing a girl up and ghosting her attempts to contact him is what’s unbecoming, not her trying to pay her half of the meal.

She can picture her mother as she reads the texts, sipping on her Manhattan on the couch in the great room, her dad already having retreated to bed at that time, and her having nothing better to do than sit and stew on her daughter’s sex life.

If she knew what was really going down last night, her mom would probably have a conniption.

Knowing she’ll no doubt be getting a call later that evening, Poppy swipes away at her text thread with her mom, immediately checking the notifications she hasn’t long received from her best friend.

Nia: hey if you happen to release yourself from Nico’s wandering hands at all today me and Kelsey are grabbing breakfast by my work!!

Nia: if you need refuelling we’ll be at Marco’s at 9 😘 

Perfect. Therein lies her escape. Breakfast with her best friends, where they can hopefully talk her down from the ledge she’s precariously placed herself on.

A catch up with her girls, and then she can distract herself with work.

Poppy: I’ll be there!!

“Hasn’t he text you or anything?” Nia asks, covering her mouth as she chews on her breakfast bagel, the three girls sat around a table inside their favourite cafe close to Nia’s office.

When Poppy and Nia had first moved in together, they rented an apartment in Hoboken, not too far, and their tradition of grabbing breakfast at Marco’s carried on despite Poppy living further down the river and working even further away in Newark. 

Kelsey had lived in Manhattan at that time, but she stayed over so often with the other girls that she practically spent majority of her week there, and so Poppy and Nia’s routine became hers.

Poppy had given the two of them a brief rundown of her night with Nico, a safe-for-work version of events, all leading up to the mysterious early morning phone call and swift departure.

“Nope,” she sighs, swiping to refresh her messages as if she hasn’t put her phone on loud just to be alerted when he does reach out.

“Have you text him?”

“Nope,” she repeats, putting the phone down and leaning back in her chair, running a hand through her already messed up hair. She’s going to have to throw it up if she wants to look any sort of presentable when she gets to work later.

“Is he usually this pathetic at communicating?” Kelsey asks, manicured nails swiping at a bunch of Sweet’n Lows like she’s trying to play Tetris with the packets. 

Kelsey hasn’t met Nico before, not that Poppy can remember.

Despite considering her one of her closest friends, their personal lives have never quite intertwined like that - not like hers and Nia’s.

In college, things were different. They were coming into their own together, figuring out just what they wanted their personal lives to be, and so Kelsey, Poppy and Nia would all share pretty much everything, just to have someone there to validate their feelings.

But that changed once they graduated.

Kelsey moved in with her boyfriend, Liam - who just so happens to be Poppy’s idea of hell-spawn.

The kind of guy her mother would probably love.

Liam worked on Wall Street, couldn’t go five minutes of conversation without talking about stocks or investment funds. His native language was risky money moves and belittling remarks, and he treated Kelsey like an accessory to parade around in public and discard in private.

Poppy had tried a few times to open Kelsey’s eyes to the way that it was, but it soon became apparent that she had to let her friend make her own mistakes, and some parts of their lives didn’t have to cross over.

They broke up around Thanksgiving, and Poppy had tried with all her might not to show her relief, but it has made her somewhat resentful when it comes to other relationships - like no one can be happy if she isn’t.

She knows it isn’t malicious, but she restrains from letting Kelsey all the way in, all the same.

“Not really,” Poppy lies, not wanting to clue her in on the Big Freezewhere he didn’t speak to her for months on end. It doesn’t entirely help her case. “I just don’t get why he’d sneak out to see her of all people, he told me they weren’t ever that solid, that he wasn’t happy with her.”

“Ooh, what if she’s pregnant?” Kelsey is entirely oblivious to the horrific realm of possibility she has just opened Poppy up to, evidenced by the casual chuckle and subsequent sip of her coffee. “Maybe she’s back to baby-trap him.”

Poppy thinks she would have to flee the state.

Nico is a family guy - if Talia is pregnant, he’d force himself to love her again, if he ever even stopped, for the sake of their gorgeous brown eyed, floppy haired baby, and push Poppy to the side just like he had before. And she’ll have to watch him from the sidelines, yearning for what she had just managed to touch the tips of her fingers to before it was violently yanked from her grasp. 

Maybe she’d have to flee the country even - move somewhere remote where she doesn’t even have the chance of being reminded of hockey, let alone of him.

Somewhere with no coffee shops that she’d enter, and the smell of fresh pastries would remind her of all the breakfasts they had together. No railways, where she’d be reminded of his love for model trains every time she came across the tracks. No weird club music that he loves so much, or dorky wizard franchises he chastises her for never having seen.

Maybe Antarctica. They only have penguins there. No real civilisation that she knows of. No brown haired, dark eyed Swiss Gods with deep, honeyed voices that make her knees weak and dimpled smiles that do even worse.

She wouldn’t be able to cope with losing him like that, living her life in an endless mental cycle of what ifs and maybes.

“Kelsey, I beg of you to read the room,” Nia chastises, swatting the girl on her arm before taking Poppy’s hand in her own. “Don’t listen to her, she just wants us all to be single at the same time.”

“Sue me for wanting to have fun! It would be just like college, you and me full-body plunging into the dating pool. Imagine the chaos, Pop, you don’t wanna be tied down to a guy hung up on his ex right now.”

“Dating pool?” Nia scoffs, turning to glare at her, “You’re hardly dry from your last relationship.”

“I’d rather be a grape than a raisin, Ni.” Kelsey chides back, and Poppy can’t help the twitch of her lips at the horrific comparison. 

“You’re really gonna listen to a girl who says that?” Nia asks, unable to mask the glint of humour in her eyes, and Kelsey bites back a smile, too.

Despite the ache in her chest at the thought of any of it - of Nico leaving her this morning, filling her up with empty words and false promises, potentially knocking up an ex girlfriend he is still secretly hung up on even though he told her otherwise - she manages to crack a full smile.

“You are terrible at analogies, Kels,” Poppy tries to hide the grin behind her cup, sipping at her tea and letting the warmth of it soothe the pain in her throat. 

“I’m trying to encourage you to be a strong, independent woman here!”

“She is a strong, independent woman,” Nia defends, “She also happens to be a chronic over-thinker with a deep seated fear of confrontation.”

“I don’t fear confrontation.”

“Then why are we here chit-chatting about hypothetical scenarios when you could just text him and ask what’s up?”

“Maybe ‘cause that’s scary?” Poppy scoffs, only half joking. “What am I supposed to say, hey I just so happened to eavesdrop on your private conversation before you fled my apartment this morning, and despite me not understanding most of it, I definitely heard you mention someone, so could you just let me know if your gorgeous model ex girlfriend is pregnant with your perfect specimen baby?”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, you don’t even need us.”

Poppy rolls her eyes.  

She could text him. Could be casual about it, a good morning or even an are you okay? Those don’t warrant the alarm bells she’s afraid of raising - the ones that blare out with the siren sound of run, this girl is unhealthily attached to you already!

But she doesn’t want to be the pathetic girl chasing after the guy sending her clear messages that he doesn’t want her.

It’s easier said than done not to overthink the whole thing - not to second guess everything he had said, or everything she had done last night.

She feels like she had rushed things. It was so impulsive, so charged, and after spending the majority of her week away from him, she just hadn’t been able to help herself. And that makes her feel like a hypocrite. She had told him that night he had first kissed her that things between them had gotten intense. It had been the whole reason for spending a few days outside of each other’s company, and in the first possible instance, she had thrown herself at him.

It was desperate.

And maybe that scared him.

It sure as hell scares her.

“I don’t know what to do,” She groans, throwing her head into her hands and scrunching her eyes shut to try and drown out the endless doubt. 

She feels two hands rub at either sides of her back, “Listen, Pop,” Nia is the first to attempt to console her, as always, and Poppy holds her breath for the harsh reality check she’s about to throw her way. “You know I am the one person who would usually be trying to convince you to cut your losses and run when it comes to guys who are no good, but this is Nico. I’ve watched the two of you ignore your feelings for far too long to let you get in your own way, now.

“And you’re forgetting I saw him last night, before you got there, there isn’t a chance in Hell he would have left you like that without a good reason. I don’t for a second think he’s still hung up on her.” Nia casts a side eye to Kelsey.

The only problem is that Poppy isn’t sure there’s a reason good enough. Not when it comes to Talia. Not when the memory of those months of radio silence is still so fresh for her.

“I have to go to work in a building where his face is plastered everywhere, Ni, I can hardly forget his entire existence until he deems me worthy of an explanation. Who leaves after a night like that without even a note or a text?”

“An idiot,” Kelsey mutters around her drink, rolling her eyes when Nia sends her another death-glare.

“I’m not asking you to forget, I’m telling you to wait.” Nia frowns, but her tone remains consoling and warm. “You need to stop letting what this thinks,” she flicks at Poppy’s forehead, “Get in the way of what this knows.” She points to her chest on the left side. “You know him. You know how much he likes you.”

She does.

She knows Nico, she trusts him.

She can only judge him based on his actions so far - the ones that tell her that he cares. He leads with his heart, it’s his most attractive attribute. He’s gentle and loving and she needs to focus on those things over anything else.

“Ugh, corny,” Kelsey drags, and despite her repeated efforts to discourage her, Poppy knows she isn’t being entirely serious. “If he has any non-stupid hot athlete friends though, I’m first in line when the two of you kiss and make up for double dates.”

Guilt pricks slightly at Poppy’s chest - for making her recently single friend sit here and listen to her complain about something so monumentally small compared to the breakdown of the long-term relationship Kelsey had just endured. Even if it was perceivably toxic.

“You’d make such a good WAG, Kels.”

It’s a poor attempt to make up for it, but it seems to console her friend all the same, a giant grin breaking out and flashing her perfect pearly whites.

“I know.”

Poppy tries to distract herself with work. Tries to make her way through her inbox of seemingly never ending emails and her list of ever-growing tasks. She types up lengthy responses, puts together a presentation, makes a bunch of phone calls she’s been putting off for God knows how long, sorts all her invoices out - she even sends a fax. In the year 2024. It’s her most productive work day she thinks she’s ever had.

She zeroes in on the ground every time she moves through the building. Ignores the pictures that line the walls of the Rock, pushes down the memories of all the times she’s walked these very halls by Nico’s side, and she thinks she’s done just about enough to clear her mind for the time being.

She hasn’t thought up some heart wrenching scenario in at least an hour by the time she’s wrapping up for the day.

She’s making her way back to her office after dropping some files off for Elaine when she catches sight of a mop of curls over the top of the chair by her desk.

Luke is sat in her chair when she enters, swivelling around and staring at the ceiling.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick doing that, you know.”

“You’re such a mom,” he scoffs, standing up and clearly trying not to sway, “You ever tried having fun? I think I saw a glue stick on a table out there,” he points through the door into the wider office space, where there are a few, less private cubicles and a common area. “We should go sniff them, let loose a little.”

“Is that why you’re here on your day off? To huff glue?”

“Yeah, I don’t get to let loose enough. Being a rookie in the NHL is hard, Poppy,”

“Bummer for you.” She pouts, mockingly, swerving past him as he rounds her desk and sits on the other side, flicking at the bobblehead version of his older brother that stands by her computer. “If you’re chasing a high can you do it with one of the other departments, it’s not a good look for the Youth Foundation.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

When Luke had first joined the Devils, she hadn’t expected that she would warm to him the way she has - but, surprisingly enough, considering the fact they’re brothers, their relationship recently has started to mirror her and Jack’s.

Luke is funny. He’s sarcastic and a little silly, and it can be nice to have him around when work gets a little stressful. He doesn’t let the pressures of his own career outweigh those of hers, and, despite the gap in age, she actually enjoys his company.

But he never seeks her out like this.

Their interactions have always started through other people. Group conversations that dwindle to just the two of them, or he usually accompanies Jack to bug her and carries on when Jack’s ever-so-busy schedule takes him elsewhere.

She can’t think of another time he’s just shown up in her office alone.

Especially on his incredibly rare day off.

“Why are you actually here?” She asks, casting a suspicious but half-playful glare his way as she starts to pack up her things. 

“Came to see if you wanted to join us for dinner.”

“Aw Lukey,” she reaches over her desk to pinch his cheek, “I’m flattered and all but I’m a little too old for you.”

“Ha ha,” he swats her hand away, “Us. Me and Jack. Maybe a couple of the others if they’re free but you can pick where we go if you make a decision quickly, we were thinking a steakhouse.”

She narrows her eyes at him, expecting him to crack a joke about her being old, but he just looks back at her awaiting a response. “Why?” She drags out the question, her movements stopping completely.

“Maybe ‘cause humans need sustenance to live? What do you mean, why?”

“Why would you want me to tag along on your bro date?”

“Don’t call it a bro date,” Luke cringes, “Just remembered you were working today and we were in the area, don’t know why you’re being weird about it.”

“You’re being weird. You guys never let me choose where we eat. Don’t you remember that time we grabbed dinner when you guys drove me home and Jack told me to stop being a pussy about my seafood allergy ‘cause he wanted sushi.”

“Don’t blame me for the crimes of my brother, Poppy, he was obviously joking.”

“I had to eat tofu, Luke, I don’t find that very funny.”

“Are you coming or not?”

“That depends, how do you have your steak?”

“Well done.”

“Oh! Then absolutely not.”

“Remind me never to try to be nice to you again.” He scowls as they make their way out of her office, and she locks up behind the two of them.

“Gladly, it’s creeping me out.” She grabs at his elbow before he can carry on, stopping him in the otherwise empty common area where she knows no one is around to listen in. “Is something going on, seriously?”

Luke rolls his eyes, but she knows him well enough that it’s only done in an attempt to avert from her gaze. 

Bingo. He’s hiding something.

“I just thought you might want some company.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets and twisting his lips to keep from saying much more.

“Why?”

If Poppy wanted to spend her life getting a straight answer out of people for a living, she’d have become an interrogator. What is it with these guys and their inability to answer a simple question?

“Jack said you left the party last night with Nico.”

Poppy’s eyebrows scrunch so close together that she can feel a deep crease form between them. What on earth does that have to do with asking her to dinner? Or being overly nice to her?

Unless-

“You’ve seen him?”

“This morning.”

“Oh.”

All of her efforts from throughout the day seem to have been for nothing - an immediate rush of insecurities flooding her mind.

Where did he see him? What did he say? Was he okay? Was Talia there?

She feels like she can gauge an answer from the way Luke looks. Sheepish, almost, like he doesn’t want to say something he knows will hurt her feelings.

She had to have been with him. He wouldn’t just show up to her office like this if it wasn’t something that would seriously hurt.

She wishes she wasn’t the kind of person who did this - who filled in the gaps of conversations and always came out with the worst possible outcomes - but she can’t help it. She’s been doing it all her life, and there’s rarely ever an instance where her instincts have led her astray.

She knows it’s some weird part of her mind protecting her, but she needs to do something here. Nia’s words from earlier ring like a warning. Don’t let what her brain thinks get in the way of what her heart knows.

Her heart knows Nico wanted her. Knows Nico liked her. Knows Nico wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

She needs to figure things out for herself and stop running, stop letting her mind fill in the gaps of a situation it can’t even comprehend to begin with.

She reaches her arms around Luke’s shoulders, stretching up on her tip toes to pull him into a hug before rubbing her knuckles into his curls, affectionately.

Luke Hughes is sarcastic and silly, and he cares enough about her to not want her to be alone if she’s going through something.

“Thank you for the offer, Luke, but I’ll be alright.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, a tender smile tugging at the corners of her stubborn lips. It takes over her face, eyes glinting fondly and cheeks warming. 

“Yeah, you can walk me to my car if you’re that worried about me though.” She loops her arm through his elbow as they make their way to the parking lot, and when they get there, he makes sure she’s in her car and has set off before him and Jack leave.

As if her day can’t get any worse, the elevator in her building is cordoned off with tape and a sign when she gets home, and she has never regretted moving up a floor as much as she does when she’s trudging up 6 flights of stairs.

She’s exhausted. Emotionally and physically, and she just wants to throw herself into bed and pretend the last 24 hours were a terrible dream.

Only, as she rounds the final corner to get to her door, any hopes of that go straight down the pan when her eyes land on Nico, standing in front of her door with his hands buried in his jacket pocket.

He looks tired too - hair messed where he’s no doubt been taking his cap on and off for however long he’s been stood here, running a hand through the tresses until they’re all askew. 

His shoulders are slumped, and he doesn’t even greet her with that pretty smile he usually gives her.

His lips do curve up a touch - limp and half-hearted, not even enough for a dimple to form - but it doesn’t provide the comfort she had thought it would.

She feels anxious. A culmination of the day’s emotions washing over in one go. Sad, regretful, nervous, disappointed - all things she shouldn’t be used to feeling when it comes to Nico, but are all too familiar when she takes the last few months into account.

“Hi.” She gives a weak smile of her own.

“Can we talk?”

She wishes he’d have just said hi, back. That might have relieved the tightness in her chest just a little.

Nothing good ever comes of can we talk?

He steps aside as she approaches, maintaining a safe distance as she opens the door and enters her apartment.

The Nico from yesterday might have brushed past her, the graze of an arm or a lingering hand, but this Nico doesn’t. He barely even meets her eye.

He closes the door behind himself, watching as she discards her bag and keys to the console table on the side, and while she’s turned away from him, she tries to let whatever emotions need to come out cross her features where he can’t see them.

She needs to be cool about this, she thinks.

If she doesn’t get her back up, doesn’t get agitated, she won’t scare him off.

“Are you okay?” She asks once she’s turned to face him, not liking how he stands unmoving by the door. He hasn’t made any effort to settle in - his jacket still on and his hands still hidden in the pockets.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

She realises now that she can get a good look at him that the expression he wears is one of shame. Guilt. Apprehension. She needs to be careful and toe the line before he gets consumed by it, she realises.

She steps toward him a little, and he doesn’t back up - not immediately, not obviously - but he hardly welcomes her approach, either.

She doesn’t like feeling this way when it comes to talking to him - feeling uneasy and unsure, but there’s a part of her that’s tired of having to prompt him for answers.

He had been the one to leave this morning. Why can’t he just come out and tell her why?

“I’m alright,” she shrugs, not wanting to scare him off with the truth. “Super tired, though, can we sit?”

She wonders if he thinks about the same things she does as they make their way to the couch. Wonders if he can feel the scratch of her nails on his torso, or the brush of her lips against his, as they sit in the spot where not even 24 hours ago, their bodies had been intertwined.

He doesn’t sit right beside her as he normally would, and she finds herself missing the way his thigh usually brushes against her own.

She doesn’t know where to start or what to ask, and so she basks in the silence for a little - finding comfort in the fact that, despite the mess they’re currently in, they aren’t quite at the end yet.

But a part of her feels it coming.

She’d known it this morning if she lets herself listen to the rational voice in her head. As soon as she’d heard him say her name, as soon as he’d left, a part of her knew that was it, and maybe if she’d let herself believe it at the time - hadn’t talked herself down and convinced herself she was being irrational - she could have protected herself from all the ways this is going to hurt.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and when she looks up, he’s looking down where his large hands are now clasped together in his lap.

“For what?” She manages to choke out.

“Last night, I,” she digs her nails into the palms of her own hands to stop herself filling in the gaps as he figures out what he wants to say, but it’s no use.

He’s sorry for last night.

Last night, he made a mistake.

Last night, he was drunk, he was confused, he was just looking for something or someone to keep him occupied.

“I care about you so much, Poppy.”

That sentence shouldn’t be the one that fills her with dread, but it is.

“You’re my best friend, and I love you,” he does look up as he says this, eye meeting hers in an attempt to convey his honesty, but she sees more of the truth in his glassy gaze than she hears in his words. “This morning, I panicked, and I just needed some time to figure out what I want.”

No, no, no.

She’d rather he tell her what actually happened than do this. Than pretend he left because he doesn’t want her.

“I love you-,”

“You said that, already.” She can’t help the bite in her tone as she prepares herself for the hit. The I love you, but.

“You’re so important to me. Being your friend, it’s like it’s what keeps me sane lately.”

She chews at the inside of her cheek as she feels the tears start to well at her lash line.

“Poppy, I don’t want to mess up what we have,” he shakes his head as his gaze drops, dark eyes darting to focus anywhere but on her own, pleading and watery as she watches him slip away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You don’t think this is hurting me?” She feels weak as her voice breaks, “You don’t think this is already messy?”

She reaches out to take his hands in hers, digging in to unclasp them, to try thread her fingers through, but he doesn’t make it easy.

“Nico, I love you, too, you know I do, we can figure it out, you don’t have to run away from me.”

It’s a desperate attempt and she knows it is, but she needs to know she tried. When she’s sobbing into her pillow and crying herself to sleep tonight, she needs to know she didn’t just let him go without a fight.

“I can’t give you what you want, I can’t be in a relationship, I’m no good at it.” 

Regardless of what she had told herself earlier, about taking what he says at face value, and trying not to fill in the gaps like she does so often with everyone else, she can’t help herself. When he says, I can’t be in a relationship, he means with her. He can’t be with Poppy. He would be no good with Poppy.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I told you-,”

“No, you said before that you’ve wanted this for as long as you’ve known me, you don’t just wake up and change your mind, not after-,” Poppy starts to feel panic building within her like a flipped over sand timer. Rising and rising until she starts to feel nauseous, getting harder with each second not to jump to conclusions. 

The voice inside her that tells her he got what he wanted and decided it wasn’t for him sounds caustic and bitter, and if she hadn’t wound herself up so much about this whole situation over the course of the day - the past week, even, or the months before - she might have been able to fight off the way it so easily convinces her.

“I have to put the team first, it doesn’t matter what I want, I have to focus on them, on hockey.”

She’s too caught up in her own emotions to notice how weak he sounds - glassy eyes unable to catch the glint in his. All she can hear, all she can see, is the minute hints of a cover-up - that she isn’t getting the whole story, that he’s lying to her, and that the excuse he’s giving is cowardly.

He still hasn’t mentioned the call, hasn’t mentioned Talia, hasn’t explained why he left her, why he didn’t say anything, why he didn’t come back.

“And you didn’t know that before?” She scoffs, pushing herself up off the couch and stepping away from him, “I can’t believe you would do this to me.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks as soon as they fall, but she can’t rid her skin of the feeling that they were there, her flesh damp and sore.

“I know we took things a little too far last night, but that doesn’t mean-,” She almost thinks he notices how bad that hurts her, referencing the night they shared as a mistake - an instance where they got carried away, and not where they followed through on years worth of built up tension and adoration for one another. She doesn’t even have to fill in the gaps, this time. Took things a little too far is clear enough. “We can still be friends. I want to be friends.”

“Friends?” Poppy jeers in disbelief, turning completely away from him now and missing the tears that drop from his own cheeks - missing the way his chest cracks and stretches open in a last ditch demonstration of his vulnerability, his desperation not to lose her completely. “You should go.”

“Poppy,”

“I can’t,” she tries so hard not to cry, knowing she won’t be able to stop, but the words come out in a choked sob, and her voice carries on in the whiney way she always hates. “You told me you wanted more, you said I was yours, and I’m supposed to just act like it never happened? Just accept you didn’t actually mean the things you said?”

“I meant them,” he says, defiantly, so sure of himself that it makes her head spin. “I wouldn’t-,”

“No, you didn’t. You’re a liar. You were either lying then, or you’re lying now. I don’t know which is worse. I can’t be your friend. I can’t pretend like you can that I don’t feel the way I feel.”

“Please, Mohn,” His fingertips just manage to reach out to land on her forearm before she shucks him off, wincing as if his touch has pained her.

“Don’t.” She takes an immediate step back, arms crossing over herself as a defence mechanism, body language screaming at him to go away, and she watches his pleading eyes drop to her arms just as she feels the cold of the metal there - so in tune with her every thought despite his denial of their true connection. Her arms move before her mind can make the decision, before it can remember what even sits on her skin, and her shaking fingers fumble to unclasp the jewellery adorned on her wrist. “You should take this back.”

Nico shakes his head, stepping back and away from the outstretched hand that holds her gemstone bracelet like it’s an actual danger to him. “No, that’s yours, Poppy.”

“I don’t want it.” She knows she’s the one that’s lying now. She wants the bracelet. She wants him. She doesn’t want him to leave. She wants to be his friend over being nothing. 

But she doesn’t want to hurt.

Looking at him hurts.

Remembering last night, remembering their kiss, the things he has said, the things he has done, it all hurts, and she can’t keep hold of a constant reminder of the pain, can’t wear it on her person at all hours of the day just to know deep down that the man who gave it to her will never want her the same way.

“I want you to leave.”

“Please,” he begs again, head tilting as devastation floods his features, brows pushing together, tears welling at the corners of his eyes, “We need to talk about this-,”

“No, you were right, we went too far, it was a mistake.” Her voice breaks as she says things she knows she doesn’t mean, but he’s already put it out there, so she doesn’t see the harm in echoing his own opinions. “There’s nothing more to talk about.”

She can’t look at him anymore, and so she drops her gaze to his hands, stepping and reaching forward and forcing him to take the bracelet from her before she rounds the couch and heads to the door.

If he isn’t going to give her the whole truth, she isn’t going to entertain part of the story, and she needs him gone so she can give in to the way her body wants to fold in on itself.

It takes him a minute to gather himself, but she refuses to look his way, waiting by the open door to her apartment and staring at the floor in front of her until his shoes appear.

“I do love you, Poppy. I’m leaving because I don’t want to upset you any more than I already have, and I’ll give you space if that’s what you need, but I’ll be here when you want to talk about this. I mean it when I say I can’t lose you.”

 She doesn’t say anything. She can’t say anything.

There’s a stabbing pain that’s building and building in the centre of her chest, and she doesn’t even think she can breathe in his presence.

He clasps a hand around her upper arm, and leans into her, his lips pressing a firm kiss into the crown of her head, and he lingers there for a moment before he retreats. 

She manages to push the door closed behind him, the click of the lock louder than ever, and waits a good few minutes in silence before her body is wracked with a silent sob.

The one time she had tried to be brave and fight her own intuition, and this is where it gets her.

So much for Nico wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

[emmyrosee]

are u down 4 sum lil angst?? well, i'm just curious how would it be being the famous star volleyball player, Sakusa Kiyoomi's TOTGA?

YOU HAD N O RIGHT MATE

ok so fun emmy history, back when I was a wee child and before the miya twins were even a thing, i wrote a self insert that I’m still weirdly proud of today so congratulations, you scratched that memory HHEISBSOSN-

Hey! Future Emmy here. so... major tw; kiyoomi is very mean, extremely toxic, and i for sure went overboard, but there's a lot of blaming and yelling and just. ugh. this piece hurt my own heart smh.

-

But listen. You slipped into Sakusa Kiyoomi’s life surprisingly. He wasn’t expecting you or even just to date at all, you were just at the right places in the right times where he finally felt at ease in your presence. You just understood who he was beyond surface level, and he’d never had that in someone before.

You loved him before he was cool, before he was anyone other than a top ace in Japan. You were the first to tell him it was okay to mess up, do something other than eat drink and sleep volleyball, even if he wants it to take up most of his time.

Time, he no longer has, when he gets injured.

It wasn't like it was an inopportune time- though, as a college athlete, there really is no good time to get injured- if anything, it was spontaneous and had he not had dreams of making it big, he'd never think twice of it.

But he gets injured. Junior year of college, just as his name starts to grow in the industry, and he gets injured. Bad ankle, it’s actually a former injury from his childhood that apparently didn’t heal right.

There’s articles that spread about Bokuto Koutarou, how he’s climbing the ranks and how Miya Atsumu, the same little rat who bothered him in high school received an offer from god knows what team, and he’s fuming.

That should be him and his setter getting those offers and climbing that ladder, it’s been him and him alone for years, and he knows it's bitter to hate people for their successes, but its not fucking fair, he deserves more than this.

He deserves more than doctors trying to encourage surgery to heal at the sacrifice of volleyball, he deserves more than flowers and cards of best wishes, more than Miya Atsumu texting him to see if he's okay, he deserves more than any being on earth could give him.

And that includes you.

"Baby, did you finally call the surgeon?" You ask, coming in with a water bottle and a cup of his meds.

Apparently, that's more than enough to set him off.

"I don't need surgery."

He hears you sigh, "the doctor says the tear is too big just for physical therapy, you'll need the extra support-"

"In case you forgot, I was fucking there."

His breath becomes hot, and he can't peel his eyes from the commercials playing on the tv. The room suddenly feels suffocating, and of he could will himself to do it, he'd apologize and tell you he loves you, he's just tense and hurt, and he's grateful you're here, and-

"I'm the one who's life is going down the tubes. Fun fact."

The other thoughts in his mind are static. merely an incoherent buzz. You're his victim now, to his ugliest sides that therapy and his family prodded back years ago.

There's no one to prod it back now.

"I... I didn't mean any harm, I promise-"

"You really shouldn't talk to me right now," he snarls, rage bubbling and clawing away at his soul. There's a bubbling of tears that rip at his waterline in a demand to fall, but he's blinded to anything else.

He hates his life. He hates his ankle. He hates his doctors for telling him it may not heal right ever.

He hates you.

"Kiyoomi, please-"

He bears his teeth like a dog in an attack, and you flinch back slightly. "If you hadn't fucking distracted me, this never would've happened." He hears you whine in your throat.

he ignores it.

"I was fine," he barks. "I was happy before you. I was strong, I was powerful, I was a damned force to be reckoned with." He crawls closer to you on the couch, and when you cower to try and get away, he chases your body with his torso.

When you stand up, he does too. His leg lights every single nerve up in a blaze of agony, but he's too gone in his own rage to think about it.

"I... I know you're mad, but please, sit down Kiyoomi-"

You're right.

"Shut the hell up!"

Even on one foot, he towers over you threateningly. You bring your hands up to try and force distance between you both; your touch does ground him slightly, but not enough to stop his scorn.

You sniffle softly, clearly uncomfortable, "you're just mad... and that's okay. Please stop shouting at me, we can make this work, kiyoomi."

Now, his eyes are scalding with furious tears.

"I want this to work, oomi... please, stop shouting-"

“It doesn’t matter if you want it to work,” he snaps. “I’ve got a plan to stick to that’s already been screwed because of us, AND IT'S YOUR GODDAMNED FAULT!"

When you sob and crumple to your feet, there’s a small part of kiyoomi that comes to, the words suddenly sour on his tongue. He feels… confused, he doesn’t know where it came from inside of him, but the way your eyes water from his words snaps him back to reality.

“I’m… im ruining your plan?” You choke, and god kiyoomi wants the floor to engulf him whole. Because duh, of course now you’re not he’s just the scum of the earth, you’re all he can think of wanting in this shitty life, but he can’t say that, not when your hands cover your mouth in distress and horror, tears slipping over your fingers. He feels the blood leave his face when you take a step back, followed by another, then one as you turn on your heel to leave.

“Wait-“

“No, Kiyoomi,” you snap, and its his turn to feel your rage, your head whipping to look at him in betrayal. “No. I’m officially done waiting for you.”

And despite the fact that he wants to chase you, wants to gather you in his arms and pin you to the wall and demand you listen to him, listen to why his plan has changed and how you’ve completely ruined all of it in the best ways, he can’t. His leg throbs at the mere idea.

He just. Stands there, frozen for god knows how long, staring at the long slammed door, wondering if you’d come back for something you’d forgot in your exit. Something dumb, like a charger or a water bottle, something easily replaceable but you wanted from him just as a last chance makeup.

But you don’t. And once his good leg starts to cramp from standing there, he slowly moves his way to his bedroom.

And he’s fine. Honest!

Sitting by himself in the cold of night gives him more time to think about the future. The one without you, of course. Limping around the dorm on crutches makes his arms ache and knees weak, and the backpack on his shoulders making him fall forwards is plenty to make his elbows strengthen up (they’re withering away) and his breathing circulate (he’s breathing back tears of pain and frustration.)

He can’t… he can’t do this without you.

Call him selfish, but his life was not only easier with you around, it was better, it was fun to love you and have you scream his name from the stands, but now that seat is occupied by someone else when it should be yours and yours alone.

He’s tried to get over it. He’s tried to get everything in line, get you the hell out of his mind but he can’t.

You’re different. He hates you for it. There’s something about you that refused to leave his mind and soul. Every time someone is interested in him, he feels disgusted because every crush is based on appearances now; it never was with you. Every time someone laughs, his first thought is how much he misses yours. When one of those stupid fast food commercials comes on in the late hours of night, he smiles sadly as he remembers the way your eyes would meet his and you’d beg him for some fries at ungodly hours.

He has to move on. It’s been fucking years. Why hasn’t he moved on?

Any sane person by now would have moved on, passed through his heartbreak and try to find another, but he’s so emotionally unavailable at this point. Every thought and every reminder that plagues him continues to hit like a ton of bricks every time.

Maybe it's guilt.

No, its definitely guilt.

He loved you, more than you could imagine, he appreciated you more than he can express, and to show you how much you mean to him, he blamed you for his failures.

No wonder he deserves to be alone.

And just when his exhaustion can't grow, his self destruction and crumbling self worth can't get lower, he gets thrown in another circle of hell that he seems to find himself in; this time, in a coffee shop he frequents. Not too many familiar faces, just a couple blocks from the train, and up until that point, only having known him as an alias.

Until today, when the Gods decide to torture him a bit more.

“Name?”

“Sakusa,” he says, not even thinking as he scrolls on his phone. There’s a high pitched gasp from the girl, and it makes his eye twitch.

“NO WAY!!! Oh my gosh, you’re THE sakusa kiyoomi?! Oh my gosh, wait, hold on- can I get a picture? No, wait, you’re not into those- can I get an autograph? I knew you looked familiar, my sister and I watch you play all the time! I’m such a fan!-“

“Uh… thanks. Can I have my tea-“

The girl doesn’t answer, instead, she calls for her co-worker who barrels out in equal excitement.

On any normal day, kiyoomi would snap. He’d scold and snarl about how rude they were, how he’s still a fucking person who just so happens to be good at volleyball, but he’s like a deer in headlights. He’s too surprised at his own stupidity of not using his usual alias, how damn tired is he?

There’s a weight that feels like a ton of bricks that settles on his chest once he hears the line behind him complaining about how long it’s taking, then people behind the register flashing pictures that have him blinded and asking him questions he doesn’t want to answer, he just wants his tea for God’s sake and-

“HEY!” There’s a snap from someone at a table, and it breaks up the small, impromptu paparazzi at the front. “People are trying to work here, and not get a damn seizure from your damn pictures!” He feels all that anxiety break on his shoulders once they cower away. “And shame on you all!” They continue, the line slowly parting to let them continue shouting. “He may be famous but he’s still a damn person! Make the fucking drink and GO!”

Kiyoomi doesn’t want to look. Even if he’s eternally grateful for them, he knows that scold and he knows that bravery to call out random people for their shiftiness.

Because it’s the same thing you used to do all those years ago.

He winced and pulls the mask higher on his nose to keep himself concealed- as if he’s not a 190.5 cm monster. But you don’t say anything about anything that just happened, you must be deep in your work to not process just exactly who you were defending.

He gets his tea with a quick apology from the baristas, and he heads to the door to leave.

….

…right?

He’s gone. He’s on the bus, headphones in and heading to practice, audiobook putting him in a new world where his only current connection is the hot tea in his hands.

Right?

There’s always been a table on the bus, a table he rudely stalks up to, where you’re sitting and typing away furiously at your laptop and massaging one of your temples, too engrossed in your work to notice the outside hitter standing just in front of you.

“Uh…” he chews his lip nervously. You don’t look up.

This is the chance Komori’s been talking about. If he doesn’t take it, he’s going to hate himself forever.

“Thank you for standing up for me back there.”

“You’re welcome.”

He sighs staggered, “can I… uhm… repay the favor?”

To his extreme relief, you offer him a small chuckle, “maybe you can recommend a coffee shop where random cele…” your voice drifts off when you look up at him, jaw frozen open and eyes wide and dancing all over his face. You’re both just staring at each other, breathing ragged and tense, and his brows furrowing to try and hide the guilt and absolute need he has for you to continue the conversation.

You clear your throat, “your uhm… your foot healed uh… well.”

He wants to, but can’t, fight the snort that sneaks past his lips because that’s about the last thing he thought you’d say. But he sees you crack a smile too, and it’s worth it.

“Yeah,” he says after he clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m playing professionally now. Minor aches here and there, but nothing unusual.”

“So you got to stick with your plan,” you hum sadly, and his heart stops. “That’s wonderful, Sakusa. Im glad to hear it-“

“But my plan never felt complete,” he interrupts, and he sees your nostrils flare in annoyance. “I-I-I thought I knew what I wanted, but god, I didn’t. I don’t, I’ve always only wanted you.”

You offer him a shrug, “Kiyoomi, I was an intruder in your life; I can’t blame you for that, I shouldn’t have been there-“

“I wanted you there.”

“Clearly you didn’t,” you snip, and finally, he sighs in defeat. “You made it just fine without me in your plan.”

Fuck it.

If he’s here, he’s gonna lay all his cards, give you every last thought of his and leave you one more time to pick up your shattered pieces.

“I miss you.”

You freeze, but there’s a glazing of your waterline before you slowly, tensely, turn up to look at him.

“Don’t,” you snap. “Don’t do this, Sakusa.”

“I can’t help it,” he says, own voice twinging raw. "I hate it too. I hate that I've had to carry this weight with me for all these years, years I should've been with you, kept you safe and happy, and I couldn't even do that."

"You shattered what we had. Don't ever forget that."

"I never have been able to."

There's another silence surrounding you both, suffocating and hot and thick, and he gets flashbacks of a scenario not too dissimilar, where you're looking up at him with those same, betrayed eyes.

But your gaze doesn't last. It crumbles before you let out the breath you'd been holding, a sign that you're not going to waste your energy on him anymore, "you're too late, Kiyoomi. You don't get to miss me anymore."

When your hands shift to close your laptop, he sees it. The massive, heavy rock on your finger, glimmering under the soft lights of the coffee shop.

Kiyoomi feels sick. He could faint right now if his pride would let him. Instead, he swallows the bile in his throat and grits his teeth, giving you a smile and a casual scratch of the back of his head, "that's... that's awesome! I'm happy for you."

"Don't be," you smile sadly.

"Why?"

You shurg, "you don’t have to be happy for me. I’m happy for me. He's a friend of Bokuto-San's. Set us up not long after we broke up." Then, you sigh shakily, "I'm just here for work, I won't taint your coffee shops for much longer." It was an attempt to break up the heavy silence.

He could puke right now if he didn't feel completely defeated. He could strangle Bokuto in devastation.

In his younger, naïve efforts to drive you away, he drove you straight to someone else's arms.

He nods and chokes out a small "alright," before spinning on his heel away from you

He makes move to leave the coffee shop, but before he does, but before he can, he turns back to face you, trying to get one final look at you, soaking in your presence and soul before you vanish from his life forever. He calls your name, and you look at him one more time with that big, beautiful gaze.

"Do you believe in the one that got away?" he asks, and you process his answer before slipping your computer in your bag.

"Yeah. And I believe I'm yours- but you were too worried about losing volleyball. Now, I guess we all got what we wanted."

His veins turn icy as he tries to blink back the hot tears searing his waterline, turning his head to dodge your knowing eyes.

Everyone got what they wanted.

Except for his broken heart, of course.

[scarletttries]

Roman Roy (Succession) x Reader Headcanons Part Two

Pairing: Roman Roy (Succession) x Reader

Word count: 2.3k (warnings: mention of Logany child abuse)

Author’s Note: Roman Roy, when did you make such a permanent camp in my little heart? Thank you for all the messages and comments asking for part two of these headcanons! Part one of these headcanons are here, they were initially written as age gap headcanons but I think these could be enjoyed with any (adult) reader's age in mind at this point :) Also please continue to fill my inbox with Kendall and Roman requests because I am thinking about little else! 😊

- When your friends ask exactly what's going on between you and Roman it's not easy to answer. Deep down you know that there isn't anyone he feel closer to, Roman opting to spend as much of his time hassling you as possible, but he doesn't exactly articulate what he's feeling, leaving you to piece together the clues in his behaviour to work out just what you mean to him.

- Like the first time you ever saw him scared; you were both stood leaning against the back wall of the bullpen while Logan set up a makeshift stage to rally the troops and reassure them that despite the recent headlines 'he wasn't fucking going anywhere.' Roman had been his usual sarcastic joking self as the speech kicked off, happy for a reason to have you huddled next to him, unable to draw his gaze from your face, awestruck by your beauty even in the office's hard fluorescent lighting, and then Logan raised his voice. His shouts of 'killing the competition' and 'annihilating anyone in their way' immediately turned Roman from a charming, blasé professional to a scared little boy, stood frozen to attention lest he do something to piss off his father. You watch as his eyes all but clenched shut at the chorus of shouts, his jaw tensing to the point we were sure you could see his muscles trembling. Conscious of the crowd around you, you scooted one small step to the side, edging closer to Roman until with a gentle lean your right shoulder delicately met his left. You stilled as you gaged his reaction, not wanting to push a man who already had a habit of retreating away from any affection shone his way. But after a few seconds you watched his eyes blink open, his lips parting to let out a trembling sigh as he leaned his weight slightly into you, your brushing shoulders the anchor he needed in the storm of his father's tirade. Even after Logan's speech had ended and the crowd dispersed, he seemed reluctant to part himself from the warmth of the corner you shared, promising to come find you later 'just in case the Roy's hadn't wasted enough of your time today.'

- The supportive instincts you felt towards Roman as you grew close were not unreciprocated, the usually isolated man being surprised by his own protective streak as it emerged. It would come across in small ways at first, Roman keeping an eye out for who spoke to you at parties and inserting himself in the middle of conversations if he thought someone was getting a bit too friendly. He'd hold a door open to guide you through, putting his hand on your lower back as you moved past him only to feel his entire body jolt with electricity at the slightest bit of contact with your skin.

- One morning he'd be perched on the edge of your desk, where he found himself more and more these days, the hours he spent away from your company dragging until you were together again, like his life had been spent entirely in the shadows but suddenly he had the sun all to himself in you. As you let him fill you in about the latest drama from the top floor, the deafening shriek of the fire alarm blared down on you, making you flinch with its uncomfortable volume. Before you could move out of your seat, you felt the warm hands of Roman Roy settle either side of your face, protecting your ears as he tried to mouth 'It's just a test' over the echoing rings. As his hands rested against your cheeks they didn't tremble or twitch like he usually did around you, they were soft and safe, comforting you while blocking out the noise, Roman pleasantly surprised by how comfortable he felt touching you like this, your soft, rosy cheeks warm under his touch. It took him a few adoring seconds too long to realise the alarm had stopped and now you were just staring at him with a soft smile that had his stomach turning in a way he didn't quite recognise, but wouldn't mind feeling again.

- Reading between the lines is an essential skill when it comes to being close friends with Roman, his childhood of ridicule and discipline making him wary of opening himself up and asking for what he wants. You find him waiting for you in the Reception of Waystar one morning, practically launching himself out of his seat once you step through the large glass doors.

"Jesus don't you ever take a day off? Like, just fucking play hookie sometimes?" First thing in the morning you feel like you've joined a conversation that's been happening without you for an hour, trying to get catch up,

"Uhh, I guess I usually take the holidays off, and my birthday. Why? Should I be playing hookie on some random Thursday in April?" You watch his expression closely, recognising the familiar action of his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the perfect nonchalant way to ask for something, his voice quiet when he speaks again as if he's already hurt his own feelings before you get the chance.

"Fuck you, this random Thursday happens to be my birthday." He feigns looking hurt that you didn't already have this marked in your diary, but you can see what Roman needs and just how badly he needs you to be the one to suggest it.

"Today's your birthday? Happy Birthday Roman! You should definitely take today off! And I should play hookie with you! Come on, let's get out of here." You dial the enthusiasm up to 100 and drag him from the building before he can attempt to make an unconvincing argument that that's not why he mentioned it, grateful that your gentle grip in his hand seems to have momentarily rendered him speechless.

- You spend the rest of the day sat in a local park in the sun, having takeout delivered for lunch, including the best cake your delivery app can make happen at such short notice, watching Roman protest as you tell him to make a wish and blow out the candle, the ever-cynical man telling you that his wish was for 'world peace', so it was guaranteed it wouldn't happen now that you knew.

- The next day when Roman trudged up to his COO office, still internally walking on air after the best birthday he could ever remember. There he found a haphazardly wrapped gift, the first he could ever remember receiving that didn't look like a department store display piece. Inside was a home-baked treat from you, and a planet earth jigsaw with a note that said that his wish of 'World Pieces' had come true. Roman kept that note in the top drawer of his desk whenever he needed to smile, hoping the wish he actually made would come true as well.

- When the nights of family functions grew particularly exhausting, and you had stopped being in Logan's focus enough to merit an invitation, sometimes Roman would find himself torn by indecision of whether or not to try and find you once he escaped the gala in question. Eventually after a few missed late night calls, and an embarrassed cold shoulder from him the next day, you showed him how to just add your phone's location to his 'in case of a work emergency', watching the warm smile flush across his cheeks at how comforted he felt in the knowledge that even when you weren't together, he'd know just how far apart you are.

- It wouldn't be long until one Friday night you'd be at a bar with your friends, probably still trying to collectively decipher what to call you and Roman, having never known anyone quite like him, and suddenly you'd see him slink through the door. He'd look so out of place and uncomfortable in a dive bar without you by his side, increasingly self conscious as each of your friends turn to face him, a knowing giggle spreading round the table as they witnessed the latest event in your bizarre relationship. Roman stood frozen in the doorway as he weighed up what to do, having never thought further than just needing to be wherever you are after a long night of being his father's whipping boy, desperate to be somewhere he felt safe and understood. Recognising the despondent look on his face from reacting to his father's raised voice, you said your goodbyes and collected your things, running over to Roman before he could dash out the door and pretend he hadn't come all this way just to see you.

"I was just about to head home, do you want to make sure I get home safe?" You offered, ignoring the elephant in the dimly lit room of why he was there, a visible wave of relief washing over Roman as he nodded and took your hand,

"Yeah, I'd like that. I have a car outside."

- Roman was clearly on the edge of saying something on the ride back to your place, his lips twitching nervously as if every word that tried to escape them would ruin everything you two had precariously built. It wasn't until he was safely in your home that you perched on the edge of your counter, bringing you to eye level with the fidgeting shape in front of you, that you tried to open the can of worms.

"Is everything okay Roman?" You spoke softly enough that Roman had to stop his pacing and settle into the spot in front of you to reply, letting his torso almost meet your legs where they dangled off the kitchen island.

"All good honey, just all fucking good." He ran his fingers through his slicked back hair as the words felt like acid rising in his throat, even the slightest pet name stirring up every nerve inside of him as he continued, "Speaking of good - we've got a good thing here right?" He gestured between the two of you as he spoke, his hand almost landing on your thigh but never quite braving the landing. His eyes darted up to your confused expression from where they rested, looking down at his shoes like if he didn't see the disgust and judgement on your face then it wasn't there.

You tried to respond kindly, thoughtfully, unsure of exactly how to define the thing between you and even less certain of how Roman saw it,

"Yeah, it's good Roman. We're close." Roman nodded, satisfied enough with the response to continue, desperately trying to ignore the vicious voice of mockery running through his own head, usually echoing his father's words.

"Exactly! We're close...so if I were to call you my girlfriend? That'd be normal right? Like even though we don't..." He trailed off as if he couldn't face addressing his own deviant thoughts or the mental block that stood between him and physical intimacy. His heart hammered in his chest as you considered his words and your own feelings carefully, before gently taking his hand in yours. You let your knees drift apart just enough for Roman to stand between them, encouraging him to take a step forward so your faces were barely an inch or two apart.

"Yeah, I could call you my boyfriend." You tried to deliver the words in the same relaxed tone that the question was asked in, and the walls Roman kept his heart behind betrayed him as a sincere smile flashed across his face at your sweet sentence. He nodded again, his breathing seeming to settle at the agreement, more relaxed now that he knew that these feelings weren't one-sided, that despite being unorthodox this relationship still meant to you what he needed it to.

As the warmth of the moment ran like brandy through his veins he let his eyes drift up to yours, warm and happy, and then to your lips. Roman had never really found himself craving someone's kiss before, but he'd also never felt anything like this, and somehow he knew this time would feel different. Slowly, timidly, like at the back of his mind he still might get a smack across the face at any moment for his behaviour, he leant forward until his lips met yours, barely letting them taste the soft, sweet reception you gave him before drawing back. He took a deep breath and leaned in again, letting himself savour the moment a little longer this time, feeling the corners of his lips tilt up as you kissed him back, the slight pressure against his lips sending his head spinning. His hand found your cheek, somehow even softer than he remembered as he leant his chest forward against yours, his lips parting to capture yours again, needier and hungry to taste more of you, finally understanding why people would write songs and books and films about this feeling, the insatiable need to feel you on his lips sure to plague his thoughts forevermore. You let one hand settle on this back of his neck, thumb stroking softly over the tense muscles there as he forced himself to pull away to breathe, manic hyena laugh echoing through your home as pure exuberance burst out of him that he was finally feeling like this, and with someone as kind and as perfect as you. Quietly you heard him mumble under his breath, "That was actually pretty nice." Which only made you both laugh more, the novelty of finally crossing the line from friends to more, and the ecstatic joy of finding the person you were hoping for, waiting on the other side of that line too.