#idk if this is the longest chapter yet

[kjhmyg]

just a little preference survey; would you prefer i upload the next chapter of rough edges in all it's 26k glory, or should i separate it into two 13k worded posts each?

ultimately, the decision will be made based on how i want the story to be presented etc, but at the same time i do also want your opinion as re lovers and readers!! <3 please vote ily

[russsiangirl]

a cowboy's sweetheart. ( dodge mason x you! )

North Carolina, 2016. 

You had never understood the hype behind rodeos, a bunch of guys practically begging to get injured in some way just for riding a bull? Well, that was bullshit if you had ever seen it. And you were about to. 

Your friend Lauren had practically begged for you to come, she had even bought you a pair of cowboy boots for the occasion! Lauren had a weird obsession with cowboys since this one boy in 8th grade, the year when the two of you got really close. Ever since then, you two had been glued at the hip, a thorn in each other’s sides as well. But here you two were, in college, together! Practically living the dream. “Please come, just this once!” Lauren pleaded, standing at the door of your shared dorm. You look at her with a sigh falling from your lips. She was persistent, but you just wished she would be persistent with other things. She looked at you with puppy dog eyes and repeated your name. “Fine,” You said with a huff, shaking your head. You couldn’t believe this. “I’ll go to your cowboy thing.” Lauren practically leaped with excitement as you agreed to this thing. You smiled back, watching as she dropped the cowboy boots at the door. Yeah, you were not wearing those. Over your dead body. 

at the rodeo… So you ended up wearing the cowboy boots. As you and your friends made your way to the stadium, you couldn’t help but take in your surroundings. “The toughest sport on dirt, huh? My ass.” You scoffed as your friend nudged your shoulder with a giggle. You didn’t really understand why she liked cowboys this much. It honestly astonished you. Cowboys were never really your type. But maybe, just maybe would this change your mind. You weren’t against liking cowboys, it just never really stuck with you. “Noo, you just need to see it to understand it.” Lauren clung onto your arm as she looked around like a kid in a candy store. You were glad she was excited. You wanted Lauren to be happy. You looked around at your other friends, Aubrey, Stella, Brianna. They weren’t huge cowboy fans, yet they went along. You had heard all about their nights with the different cowboys. As y’all found your seats in the bleachers your attention was drawn to the current cowboy in the chute. He donned a cream-colored cowboy hat and you could hear your friends giggling next to you. The announcer’s voice went off with a rumble, you listened closely trying to find out who this mysterious cowboy was. 

“Let’s go guys as we now have Dodge Mason from Martinsburg, West Virginia!” You raised a suspecting eyebrow, Dodge Mason was certainly a cowboy name, no doubt about it. The stadium immediately erupted with cheers as the announcer continued, naming the bull that Dodge was going to be riding. You and your friends made your way down closer to the fence, trying to get a better view. Your friend Brianna seemed like she knew this cowboy. He had probably been here before, you thought. You watched intently as he gave the nod to be released and watched as the bull tried to buck him off. The roll of his hips to stay balanced was hypnotizing, you watched as his face contorted with concentration. There was a cloud of dust that followed as the bulls hooves’ scuffed the dirt. You never had thought that bull-riding, for fucks sake, could be so.. entrancing? Your gaze didn’t leave him, the way he looked so stable on the bull that was so desperately trying to buck him off. It looked like second-nature for him, probably was too. He was, what, 52nd in the world? That must’ve been pretty high up there. You were sadly taken out of your trance as the bell went off, signaling that the 8 seconds were over, that the cowboy had made it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a champion!” The entire stadium broke out in cheers and yells and whistles. You and your friends immediately hopped up and cheered as well. Why wouldn’t you? He had just won! It was astonishing! Anybody who could win at one of these things deserved some fucking applause. You beamed as you continued to applaud, though the cowboy didn’t have much reaction. Like he was used to this? 

Your gaze tracked him as he hopped off the bull. The helpers came over to reign the bull back over, except they couldn’t.  The bull rushed at the cowboy and you examined how his eyes widened in fear before he bolted over practically to where you were, his cowboy hat falling over the fence. Your heart pounding in your ears as you reached down to pick it up, offering it back to him.

“Oh no, you keep it.” He nods at you with a small smirk and you find yourself smiling back. His voice was nice, it was the kind of voice that could calm you down when you couldn’t sleep at night. A voice that was just naturally comforting.. Now that you could see him up close you started to see things about him. LIke how he had a small splattering of freckles on his face or how part of his left eye was brown. You looked down at your feet before setting the hat on your head. Dodge gave you a small nod before hopping off of the fence and making his way back to the exit. Maybe cowboys weren’t so bad after all..

Your friends immediately giggle and swoon behind you as you smile and you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling as well. Who knows, maybe you’d go looking for Dodge Mason later. There was just something about him that was so captivating. Something that made you need more, like a drug. You wanted to see what was up with this mysterious cowboy. You needed to see him again.

uhhhh yeah there's chapter one for you guys!! sorry that its so short this is my first time posting anything like this enjoy :3

[honnelander]

friends….i have some news….i think part 3 of go fish! will be the final chapter of that mini series 😶

it’s going to be so 🤌🏼✨ fluffy and intimate that it just makes sense that the confessions will just come out then….but maybe i’ll change my mind idk 😜 sometimes the characters have a mind of their own

so….be prepared 👀

[ddeongies]

nmau 70k real???????

[misty-zzz]

Msm: yeah so in the new update we got a bunch of quints and fires on the magical islands, rare candelarva and spurrit, oh and gobblegourd. I hope you enjoy this update :3

My honest reaction 

I went insane over new incisaur content

[bluegarners]

unfortunate news yall. for those of you waiting on a solar flares update, im sad to report that due to certain circumstances (nothing bad, rest assured) i will likely not be able to publish the final chapter before new years. that was the original plan, to publish it to finish out 2023 with a bang, but i am about to travel unexpectedly and this is going to halt my writing and editing schedule i had set up. however!! the final chapter will be published very soon. for sure it will be published before january 7th, as that is when my uni schedule picks up again

in case i dont make a post on new years, i hope everyone brings in 2024 with a hopeful heart! thank you guys for sticking around all these years, it's been so fun and such a positive space for me <3

[thefloatingwriter]

Whats in ch 2 of the beetee fic 👀👀

progress is a little slow lately due to school and various other stuff, but currently i’m at 11,690 words. this might be the longest chapter in the fic, though i still don’t have the last one figured out completely. we haven’t even made it to the capitol yet lol.

but basically to answer your question, chapter two spans the entirety of the 40th hunger games. the majority of it will be from beetee’s perspective, but i think i will add some surprise povs from time to time.

currently beetee, amalia, his district partner, and attican, their mentor, are watching the reapings on the train. here’s a little snippet:

A scream from the screen rippled through their conversation, shattering it into pieces as Amalia stiffened next to him. They all watch as the girl on screen walks up the steps to the stage, shaking next to Iris as she asks for volunteers. The silence is only interrupted by her mother’s screams. Beetee doesn’t know what the announcers say after that as Amalia shuffled closer to him on the couch. He isn’t sure if it was even intentional, but he opens his arms like he would for one of his siblings. Amalia only hesitates a second before entering them, hugging his side. 

[missarchive]

american jesus⁴ ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; In the final chapter, the dynamic between Spencer and the reader has evolved into something quieter, less fraught with complications. There’s a sense of ease in their connection now, a comfort in simply being in each other’s presence. While the future remains uncertain, they both seem to find a certain peace in the current moment, no longer overanalysing what comes next. The chapter closes on an unspoken understanding, leaving the path forward open, undefined, but somehow, still shared.

cw; +18 minors dni, SMUTTTT, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, inexperienced reader, pleasure dom spencer, fingering, dirty talk, munch!spencer, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, reader calls spencer "sir", idk guys this one's super fucking filthy, spencer cums inside, angst, fluff, praise, cum eating/swapping, spencer grovels for forgiveness, slight love-bombing, spit swallowing, slight overstimulation, spencer's a total perv, lmk if i've missed anything <3

an; the final part!!! thank you for sticking with me through this, this is the longest fic i've written to date at about 12k! P.s. this is written with jesus reid in mind <3 xoxo

It’s been weeks since that argument, yet the memory of Spencer’s words still lingers like a wound you can’t help but poke. Immature. Reckless. You’ve played them over and over in your head, dissecting the way his voice cracked on the harsher syllables, the fear and frustration behind his outburst.

But none of that matters now. He made it clear where he stands…or doesn’t. And you’ve resolved to move on, even if it means pretending your chest doesn’t ache every time you see him.

He walks in, hair slightly disheveled, a stack of papers clutched to his chest. His fingers twitch against the edges, knuckles white. His eyes skim the room, carefully avoiding yours, but you still feel the weight of his presence. He’s ignoring you, and it shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

“As we discussed last time, the concept of memory consolidation…”

His voice, usually a source of comfort, now feels like a barrier. You watch him intently, your hand resting lightly on your notebook, waiting for the moment when you can contribute something meaningful to the discussion.

When the opportunity arises, you raise your hand, heart thudding in your chest. His eyes flicker in your direction for a split second before skimming past you. He calls on someone else.

You blink, lowering your hand slowly. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck, and you fight to keep your face neutral. Maybe he didn’t see you.

But Spencer did see you.

In fact, he saw you the moment you walked into the room, your head held high even though he knows—God, he knows how much he must’ve hurt you. Every second he spends pretending you don’t exist is another stab to his chest, another reminder of how he pushed you away with words too sharp to take back.

Spencer knows he should’ve handled things differently. He shouldn’t have yelled. He shouldn’t have called you immature, reckless, or whatever else his panicked mind had thrown out in an effort to create distance. But the fear—the crushing fear—of losing everything, of losing you, had twisted into something ugly and defensive.

Ignoring you feels like punishment, like standing in the wreckage of something he helped destroy. And yet, he convinces himself it’s the right thing to do. For his job. For your reputation. For the tiny shred of professionalism he has left.

He hears your voice rise again, another eager attempt to participate, and for a moment, his resolve cracks. His gaze lifts, just for a second, but he forces it back down, pretending to sift through his notes. He picks someone else, his voice coming out tighter than before. He can’t let himself soften. Not now.

By the end of the lecture, you feel like you’re being crushed under the weight of his indifference.

As the other students begin to pack up, you linger in your seat, pretending to adjust your notes. Spencer busies himself at the podium, organising his materials with too much precision. Every fiber of him wants to speak to you, to say something, but he remains silent.

When you finally leave, without so much as a glance in his direction, his shoulders sag. The door clicks shut behind you, and he exhales shakily, gripping the edge of the podium to steady himself.

He knows he messed up.

And he’s starting to realize that letting you go was the biggest mistake of all.

Spencer stares at the empty lecture hall long after you’ve left, his fingers absently tracing the worn edge of his notes. The silence around him is deafening, amplifying the thoughts that have been circling his mind since the moment he pushed you away.

He shouldn’t have said those things.

The memory of your expression—hurt, betrayed, yet still defiant plays on a loop in his head. He’s analyzed it a thousand times, picking apart the exact moment he saw the light in your eyes dim. It was right after he called you immature, right after his voice wavered with something dangerously close to regret, but he’d pressed on anyway, too caught up in his fear to stop himself.

He thought cutting you off would make things easier. That ignoring you would put some much-needed distance between you both. But every time he sees you in class, looking straight at him with that quiet determination, he feels like the world is shifting beneath his feet.

Tonight, he doesn’t go home right away. Instead, he finds himself at the local bookstore, pacing the aisles aimlessly, running his hands over book spines as if the answers might be hidden somewhere in their pages. His thoughts are a mess, apologies, regrets, the gnawing ache of missing you, all tangled together in a knot he doesn’t know how to undo.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he stops in front of a small display of classic literature. A collection of short stories catches his eye, your favorite author. He remembers how passionately you spoke about them, how you’d once challenged him to find deeper meaning in the prose when he’d claimed it was too sentimental.

Before he can second-guess himself, he buys the book.

The next morning, he’s in the lecture hall early, long before anyone else arrives. His hands tremble slightly as he pulls the book from his bag and places it carefully on your desk, tucking a small note inside the front cover:

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I miss talking to you.

He hesitates for a long moment, staring down at the message, before quickly retreating to his usual spot at the podium. His heart hammers in his chest as the first students trickle in, and when you finally walk through the door, he forces himself to look away.

You pause at your seat, your brow furrowing at the book resting neatly on your desk. Your fingers brush over the cover, and for a split second, Spencer allows himself to glance up, searching your face for any reaction. But you don’t look at him. Instead, you slide the book into your bag without a word and take your seat as if nothing happened.

Spencer swallows hard, disappointment settling in his chest. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

But he’s not giving up.

Not yet.

You haven’t acknowledged the gesture—not in class, not after, not in the fleeting moments when your eyes almost meet across the room. You carry the book with you now, tucked safely in your bag, but you haven’t said a word about it. Not even a glance in his direction.

And it’s driving him insane.

Spencer isn’t used to feeling this way, this gnawing guilt, this helplessness. He’s spent his life solving complex puzzles, breaking down human behavior into patterns and probabilities. But you? You’ve always been the one thing he couldn’t quite calculate.

So, he tries again.

The next morning, when you walk into class, there’s something small and unassuming on your desk, a cassette tape, carefully placed where only you would notice.

Your fingers hover over it for a moment before you pick it up, inspecting the label scrawled in Spencer’s familiar handwriting:

Songs that remind me of you.

You stare at it, expression unreadable. For a moment, Spencer wonders if you’ll just leave it there, push it aside like it means nothing. But then you slip it into your bag without a word, and his chest tightens with something halfway between relief and frustration.

Still, you don’t speak to him.

But that doesn’t stop him.

A few days later, there’s a cup of your favorite coffee sitting on your desk before you even arrive, the heat still lingering in the cup. The note attached is short, almost tentative:

Thought you might need this.

You hesitate again, fingers tracing the rim of the cup as you glance around the room, like you’re trying to catch him in the act. But Spencer is already at the podium, pretending to review his lecture notes, though his ears burn with anticipation.

You take a sip.

And though you don’t say anything, Spencer catches the tiniest flicker of something soft in your expression before you steel yourself again.

It’s not much. But it’s enough to make him keep trying.

The next week, small gifts keep appearing—your favorite pen when yours mysteriously runs out of ink, a folded paper crane sitting in the middle of your notebook, even a neatly written study guide with helpful annotations in the margins.

Each time, you pretend not to notice. Each time, Spencer wonders if you’ll ever forgive him.

He knows he messed up. He knows words alone won’t fix this. But he hopes, God, he hopes, that maybe persistence will.

At first, you think the book was a fluke.

Maybe he left it there by accident, a leftover impulse from the time when things between you were different—when he would listen to you ramble about your favorite stories and pretend not to be impressed by how much you cared.

But then the cassette tape appeared.

You remember sitting in class, holding it in your hands, staring at the neat, careful handwriting on the label: Songs that remind me of you. A lump had formed in your throat, and for a second, just a second, you thought about confronting him. Asking him what exactly he thought he was doing, why he felt the need to dangle these little reminders of what you used to be in front of you.

But you didn’t. Instead, you shoved the tape into your bag, ignoring the way your hands shook slightly.

Then came the coffee. The stupid cup of coffee sitting on your desk like it belonged there, warm and familiar and him. You almost didn’t drink it out of sheer stubbornness, but the note: Thought you might need this, sat there staring at you, and somehow, it felt worse to let it go to waste.

So you took a sip.

And the worst part? It tasted exactly the way you liked it. Because of course he remembered.

The next time it was your favorite pen, smooth and easy in your grip just like the one you always used—until yours ran out of ink at the worst possible moment. You’d stared at it for too long before finally picking it up and using it, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite name.

And now, as you sit in class, your fingers trace over the paper crane he left on your desk this morning. It’s small and delicate, made with precision that you know took time, and something about that unsettles you more than you’d like to admit.

He’s trying.

And you hate that it’s working.

You keep telling yourself that you should stay mad. That you should hold onto the anger from that night—the words he flung at you like knives, the way he made you feel so small. You remind yourself of the humiliation, of the ache that settled deep in your chest when he turned away and left you standing there alone.

But still… he remembers. The coffee, the songs, the little things that no one else would ever notice. And that’s what makes it harder to push him away completely.

You glance toward the front of the room, where Spencer is hunched over his notes, pretending to be absorbed in them. But you know better. The tension in his shoulders, the way he hasn’t called on you in weeks, the flickers of his gaze when he thinks you’re not looking—it’s all there, plain as day.

He’s waiting.

And you hate that a tiny part of you is waiting, too.

The gifts keep coming.

At first, you think they’ll stop after a few days, that he’ll get tired of the silent treatment you’ve been giving him. But Spencer Reid is nothing if not persistent.

Today, it’s a folded piece of paper tucked inside your notebook, carefully slipped in sometime before you arrived. Your chest tightens the moment you see it, and despite your better judgment, you unfold it with a quiet curiosity.

It’s a handwritten list.

Books you might like.

Your eyes skim the titles, some you’ve mentioned in passing, others completely new but eerily fitting your taste. You swallow hard, your fingertips lingering over his handwriting, neat and deliberate, as if he put real thought into each selection. Because he did.

You hate how well he knows you.

Sliding the paper into your bag, you pretend not to notice the way Spencer's shoulders shift slightly at the podium, like he’s waiting for some sign that you’ve seen it. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

You should be angry. You are angry. But underneath it, something else festers—something warm and unsteady that you’re not ready to face.

The next morning, there’s something different waiting on your desk. A small, almost inconspicuous flower, nestled between the pages of your textbook. Pressed and delicate, like it’s been saved for a long time.

You pause, staring at it longer than you should, before carefully closing the book around it and moving on as if nothing happened. But your heart betrays you, thudding hard against your ribs as you struggle to keep your expression neutral.

Spencer, standing at the front of the room, doesn’t look at you once. But you can feel the weight of his presence like gravity pulling at you.

This silent game you’re playing, it’s exhausting.

He’s trying.

And it’s getting harder to ignore.

By the end of class, you find yourself lingering, watching him from the corner of your eye as he pretends to organise his papers. Your fingers brush the edge of the book in your bag, where the flower is safely tucked away, and for a brief moment, you consider saying something—anything.

But then you remember how easily he walked away last time.

So instead, you leave without a word, ignoring the way your heart feels just a little heavier with every step you take.

The gifts stop.

You don’t notice it right away. It’s only after a few days of arriving to an empty desk, no thoughtful notes, no carefully placed trinkets, that it finally sinks in. At first, you feel relieved. No more gentle reminders of what you lost. No more soft apologies tucked between pages and beneath coffee cups.

But then why does it feel so… disappointing?

You shake the thought away as you sit through another lecture, taking notes with the pen he gave you. The small reminders are still there, whether you like it or not.

And that’s when he changes his strategy.

“Y/N.”

His voice stops you cold, just as you’re packing up your things. It’s the first time he’s said your name in weeks, and it sounds almost foreign on his lips, careful and unsure.

You look up slowly, wary, your heart hammering in your chest. “Yes, Dr. Reid?”

His mouth presses into a thin line, and for a second, you swear he looks almost hurt. His fingers fidget with the strap of his bag, and there’s something in his eyes, something regretful, something desperate.

“I—” He hesitates, glancing around at the few lingering students still shuffling out of the room. “Can I talk to you?”

You stiffen, forcing yourself to stay neutral. “About?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, and you can practically feel the weight of all the unsaid things hanging between you. “About… the class,” he says finally, but the hesitation in his voice betrays him. “Your last paper. I had some thoughts.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. And for a moment, you almost believe him—almost fall back into that easy rhythm of long discussions and shared ideas. But you catch yourself, steeling your expression.

“I think I’m managing fine,” you say, slipping your bag onto your shoulder. “Thanks, though.”

You turn to leave, but he steps closer, too close, and you have to fight the urge to back away.

“Y/N, please.”

The crack in his voice is almost enough to make you stop. Almost.

But instead, you keep walking, ignoring the way his presence lingers behind you like a shadow.

The next lecture, it happens again.

And the one after that.

Every time, he waits. Every time, he calls your name, softer, more insistent. He tries to start conversations, little ones, harmless ones, asking about assignments, books, anything to get you to talk to him. And every time, you walk away, pretending you don’t notice the way his voice trembles just slightly when you turn your back on him.

But you notice.

It’s almost routine now.

Class ends, you gather your things, and before you can make it to the door, Spencer is there—waiting, watching, always just close enough that you can’t ignore him entirely.

“Y/N, wait—”

You don’t. You keep walking, pretending not to hear the quiet desperation in his voice. But he’s not deterred.

The next class, he tries again.

“I wanted to talk to you about—”

“I have to go.”

And again.

“I—uh, I found this article I thought you might find interesting—”

“I’m busy.”

Each time, his voice gets a little softer, his eyes a little more tired. But he doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s getting bolder.

One afternoon, you’re halfway out the door when he catches up to you, falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You know,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “there was this study done on avoidance behaviour. It found that people who actively avoid situations tend to experience heightened stress and—”

“Seriously, Spencer?” you snap, stopping in your tracks. You whip around to face him, and for a second, he looks almost startled to hear you say his name. His first name.

His mouth opens, then closes again, as if he doesn’t know what to do now that he has your attention. His fingers fidget nervously with the strap of his bag, and his eyes—those ridiculous, stupidly expressive eyes—are wide and earnest.

“I just…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. “I miss talking to you.”

You inhale sharply, that familiar ache creeping into your chest. “You don’t get to do this, Spencer.” Your voice is quieter now, but firm. “You don’t get to push me away and then decide you want me back when it’s convenient.”

His face falls, and for a moment, you almost regret saying it. But then he nods slowly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”

You hold his gaze for a beat too long before shaking your head and walking away.

But this time, it doesn’t feel like a victory.

You start seeing him everywhere.

At first, you think it’s just bad luck—running into him outside the library, at the campus coffee shop, even near the quiet corner of the park where you like to study. But after the third time in one week, it’s obvious that it’s not a coincidence.

He’s trying. Again.

You spot him before he sees you this time, sitting on a bench near your usual spot, a book in his hands but his gaze flickering up every few seconds, like he’s waiting, hoping you’ll notice him.

You consider turning around, walking the other way, but something inside you tightens at the thought. You’re tired of running. Tired of pretending his presence doesn’t affect you.

So, you sit. Not next to him, but close enough that he knows you’ve seen him. Close enough that you can feel the tension humming between you, thick and heavy.

A few minutes pass before he speaks. “I didn’t know you liked this place.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “I doubt that.”

His lips twitch, the ghost of a smile, but there’s something almost sad in it. “Okay,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I might have… remembered you mentioning it once.”

You exhale, shaking your head. “Spencer—”

“I know,” he interrupts, voice quiet but insistent. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I just—” He hesitates, fingers gripping the edges of his book like it’s the only thing grounding him. “I wanted to see you.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes your heart stutter. Like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

You look down at your notebook, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into your chest. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “But I’m going to anyway.”

You don’t know whether to be annoyed or touched.

After a moment, you sigh, flipping open your notes and pointedly ignoring him. But you don’t get up to leave.

And Spencer, for once, seems content just sitting there. Close enough, but not too close.

The days that follow feel like a delicate balance, each encounter with Spencer nudging at the edges of your resolve. At first, you tell yourself it’s nothing, he’s persistent, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s breaking through. You’re still in control. You remind yourself of all the reasons you keep him at arm’s length, the walls you’ve built around yourself, stronger than ever after everything.

But as the days stretch on, those walls start to feel more fragile.

You see him again, this time outside a classroom. He’s standing near the door, arms crossed, looking uncharacteristically uncertain as he scans the crowd for you. When his eyes find yours, it’s like he’s finally breathing. Like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.

“Hi,” he says, voice slightly hesitant, but his smile, that familiar, soft smile, makes your chest tighten. “I—uh—I’ve been meaning to ask, if you’re not too busy... Would you like to grab coffee after class?”

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes. He’s persistent, you can’t deny that. But there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes you hesitate.

“I don’t know, Spencer,” you reply, voice a little firmer than you intend. “You don’t have to keep trying.”

His smile falters, but he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he steps forward, just a little, and you notice how his fingers flex against the strap of his bag, the quiet anxiety there. It makes your heart twist, but you push it away.

“I know. But I want to,” he says simply, with that same quiet intensity. “I miss talking to you. It doesn’t feel right not... having you around.”

Something in his words catches you off guard. You feel a flicker of something inside you—something you’ve been trying to ignore for too long. His presence has become like a ghost in the back of your mind, never quite leaving, always lurking. And for the first time in what feels like ages, you wonder if maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

You glance at him, letting your guard down just a little, before you let out a sigh.

“Alright,” you say, almost reluctantly, “But just coffee. No more… no more trying, okay?”

He looks at you like you’ve given him the world, and something inside you cracks just a little bit more. “Okay. Just coffee.”

It’s a small step. But it’s a step forward. And somehow, that feels like the beginning of something you’ve been trying so hard to avoid.

Spencer’s already sitting at a table in the corner, a book in front of him, but the second the door opens, his gaze snaps to you. He doesn’t even look surprised—just relieved.

“Hey,” he says, standing up quickly, his voice just shy of uncertain, but his smile genuine. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

You glance around, taking in the space, trying to ignore the way your heart starts to race just seeing him there. “This place is... different.”

Spencer gives a small shrug, eyes flicking to the side. “I thought it might be nicer—less busy. You know, somewhere we can actually talk without having to yell over the noise.”

You stare at him for a beat, almost surprised by how considerate he sounds. “I didn’t think you’d know the first thing about quiet spots.”

His lips curl into a sheepish grin. “I guess I’m full of surprises,” he says, his tone light but a bit uncertain.

You can’t help but chuckle, feeling the tension between you start to ease. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s nice.”

Spencer looks relieved, but his gaze softens a little. “I’m glad you think so. I wanted this to be… better. For us.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. For a second, the air feels heavier. He’s not just here because he wants something from you. He’s here because he wants to be with you, in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider before.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he leans back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly on the table. “I know I’ve probably been too pushy lately. I get it. But I just… I miss you. And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just want to be here. If you’ll let me.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his words. You feel a twinge in your chest, something you haven’t let yourself feel in a long time. “Spencer…”

“I know,” he interrupts, voice softer now. “I know. I’ve been trying to figure it out, how to give you space. But I don’t want to let go either. I want to be around. Even if it’s just this—just coffee and talking. No more... no more rushing things.”

You take a breath, your gaze drifting to the table. His words are simple, but there’s something in them that makes it hard to push him away.

“I’m not saying I’m ready for everything to just… go back to normal,” you admit, your voice quieter. “But I don’t want to keep avoiding this, either.”

Spencer’s eyes brighten at that, and he leans forward just slightly, his gaze intense but warm. “No pressure. I’m not going anywhere.”

You can’t help but nod, the corners of your mouth turning up a little. “Okay. Just coffee, for now.”

His smile is soft and real, like it’s been a while since he’s had a reason to show it. And in that moment, you think maybe—just maybe—you’re beginning to let him in.

You tell yourself it’s still nothing. Just coffee. Just familiar habits that are hard to break. But when you find yourself walking into that same quiet café again—when your eyes immediately search for him—you know you’re lying.

Spencer’s already there, his usual spot by the window, fingers wrapped around a cup that’s probably gone cold by now. He’s staring out at the street, lost in thought, and for a brief moment, you consider walking past, pretending you didn’t see him. But then, as if sensing you, his head turns, and his eyes meet yours.

This time, there’s no nervous startle. Just a slow, tentative smile.

You sigh, stepping forward before you can talk yourself out of it. He stands when you reach the table—always the gentleman—and you wave a hand at him, rolling your eyes. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know,” he says easily, but the way his fingers twitch at his sides tells you he’s still figuring out how to act around you.

You sit, and before you can even glance at the menu, there’s already a cup in front of you. Your usual, just like last time. You arch an eyebrow at him, but he only shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

You could argue—tell him not to make assumptions—but the warmth of the cup in your hands feels... nice. Familiar. So instead, you take a sip and let the silence stretch between you.

Spencer fidgets with his sleeve, then glances up through his lashes. “How’s your week been?”

It’s such a simple question, but for some reason, it catches you off guard. You hesitate before answering, “Fine. Busy.”

He nods like he’s cataloging the information, filing it away for later. “I, um... I was reading something that reminded me of you.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a book, sliding it across the table. “I thought you might like it.”

You stare at the book, your fingers hovering over the worn cover. It’s thoughtful, maybe too thoughtful, and for a second, you feel the familiar urge to pull away, to remind him of the distance you put between you.

“Spencer...”

“I know,” he says quickly, leaning back. “No expectations. Just... I saw it and thought of you. That’s all.”

You hate how easily he reads you, how effortlessly he disarms the excuses you’ve been holding onto. With a quiet sigh, you pick up the book, flipping through the pages absentmindedly.

“Thanks,” you murmur, and when you glance up, his eyes are soft, hopeful but not pushing.

For the rest of the coffee, you let the conversation flow in slow, careful steps—nothing too personal, nothing too deep. But the walls you’ve built aren’t as solid as they used to be.

And when you leave, the book is still in your hands.

It starts creeping in when you least expect it.

Little things—quiet moments that used to be yours alone—are suddenly filled with the weight of his absence. The inside jokes that no one else would understand, the random facts he’d blurt out when he got nervous, the way he’d always—always—remember the smallest things about you.

You catch yourself thinking about him more than you’d like to admit. Wondering what book he’s reading now, if he’s still showing up at that café, if he’s sitting by the window hoping you’ll walk through the door again. And it’s infuriating—how much space he takes up in your head despite all your efforts to keep him out.

But it’s not just in your head anymore. It’s in your chest, a dull ache that lingers whenever you pass by the places you used to see him. And slowly, inevitably, your resolve starts to slip.

The first time you slip, it’s barely anything. Just a text.

Did you ever finish that book you were telling me about?

You stare at the message for longer than you should before hitting send. And when the reply comes almost instantly—Yeah. It made me think of you.—you realise just how much you’ve missed the way he always ties things back to you, like you’re still a constant in his world.

You tell yourself it’s harmless, just a conversation. But one text turns into another, and another, and soon enough, you’re back to talking late into the night, the glow of your phone illuminating your pillow as his words make you laugh—really laugh—for the first time in a while.

The second time you slip, it’s worse.

You go to the café, fully intending to sit alone, to prove to yourself that you don’t need him there. But the moment you step inside and see him, already sitting in the corner with a book he’s barely paying attention to, it’s like something inside you cracks.

His eyes widen when he notices you, surprised but hopeful. He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches as you walk over and slide into the seat across from him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t know what to say at first, but then Spencer offers you that small, tentative smile—the one that always used to break through your walls—and suddenly, you don’t feel like fighting it anymore.

"Hey," you say softly.

His eyes soften. "Hey."

And just like that, you're back in that quiet space between friendship and something more.

The third time you slip, it’s undeniable.

You find yourself reaching for him, metaphorically at first, sending texts when your day feels off, calling when you can’t sleep. But then it becomes literal. A touch here, a lingering glance there.

You miss him. More than you want to admit. And Spencer, being Spencer, doesn’t push. He just waits, patient and steady, like he’s always been.

And maybe... maybe you’re finally starting to realise that you don’t want him to wait anymore.

It’s late when you hear the knock at your door. Too late for anyone to be stopping by without a reason. You hesitate, staring at the door like it might answer for you, your heart already picking up speed in your chest.

A part of you already knows who it is before you even look through the peephole.

Spencer stands on the other side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, his hair a little messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it too much. There’s something in his posture, an uncertainty, a restlessness, that makes your stomach twist.

You consider not answering. Pretending you’re not home. But deep down, you know it wouldn’t change anything. So, with a slow breath, you unlock the door and pull it open.

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The hallway is too quiet, the air between you thick with words left unsaid.

“I can’t stay away anymore.”

The words come out in a rush, his voice low but desperate, like he’s been holding them in for too long. His eyes search yours, pleading, hopeful. “I tried, I really did, but I—” He swallows hard, shifting on his feet. “We need to talk.”

You should say no. You should tell him it’s too late for this—too late for him to show up at your door like this, looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him together. But instead, you step aside, letting the door swing open a little wider.

Spencer hesitates, his breath hitching, before stepping inside. He stands awkwardly in your living room, looking around like he’s trying to remember how it felt to belong here.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the door. “Spencer, what are you doing here?”

He lets out a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I just... I couldn’t do it anymore. Pretending like we’re okay with things being like this.”

Your throat tightens, and you hate how much his words affect you. “We were doing fine,” you say, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

“No, we weren’t,” he counters, his voice soft but certain. “I miss you. And I know I messed things up before, but I—” He pauses, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t care. Like I don’t need you.”

You swallow, looking away. “Spencer... it’s complicated.”

“I know,” he says quickly, stepping closer. “But I don’t care how complicated it is. I don’t care if you need time, or space, or if you’re not ready to figure this out yet. I just—” He exhales sharply. “I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I never was.”

Your resolve, the one you’ve been holding onto so tightly, wavers under the weight of his words. The way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing that makes sense in his world, makes your chest ache.

After a long pause, you sigh, running a hand over your face. “Spencer... you’re impossible, you know that?”

He smiles—small, but real. “I’ve been told.”

You shake your head, but there’s no real fight left in you. “Fine. Talk.”

His shoulders relax, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, and as he sits down on your couch, you realise something terrifying.

You missed him too.

Maybe more than you were willing to admit.

Spencer sits on your couch, his fingers laced tightly together like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching out. His knee bounces slightly, nervous energy spilling out in little ways, but his eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering. Determined.

“I don’t care about my job,” he says, and it’s so sudden, so absolute, that it takes you a moment to process it.

You blink at him. “Spencer, what are you—”

“I don’t care,” he repeats, leaning forward, his voice low but insistent. “If it’s my job that’s keeping us apart, I’ll leave. I’ll get a position at a different school, another department—hell, I’ll move out of the city if that’s what it takes.” His words come in a rush, desperate and unfiltered, like he’s been holding them in for too long. “I just... I don’t want to lose you over this.”

Your chest tightens, a sharp ache settling deep inside you. “Spencer, you’ve worked so hard to get where you are. You love what you do.”

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “No. I love you.” His voice cracks, just slightly, but he presses on. “The job, the school... none of it matters if I don’t have you.”

You stare at him, words caught in your throat. This is Spencer—logical, pragmatic Spencer—offering to throw away everything he’s built because of you. Because he wants you back. And it’s terrifying.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” you murmur, shaking your head. “This... this isn’t something you can just throw away.”

“I have thought about it,” he insists, his eyes pleading with you to believe him. “I’ve thought about nothing but this. Every day. Every night.” He exhales, his hands gripping the fabric of his pants like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “I can’t keep pretending that work is enough to fill the space you left.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. The weight of what he’s saying, what he’s offering, hangs heavy in the air between you.

After a long pause, you shake your head again, weaker this time. “You don’t have to do that, Spencer.”

His eyes soften, and for the first time tonight, his voice is gentle. “But I want to. I want to do whatever it takes to fix this. To be with you.”

Your throat feels tight, emotions bubbling up to the surface faster than you can push them down. “Spencer...”

He leans forward just a little, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Just tell me what you want. If you tell me there’s still a chance, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

You feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece, under the weight of his sincerity. The way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered—makes it so much harder to hold onto the walls you’ve built.

You take a shaky breath, searching his face for some kind of answer. And for the first time in a long time, you realise that maybe... maybe you don’t want to fight this anymore.

Your eyes search his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The doubts, the fear, the stubborn voice in your head telling you to keep your distance. None of it matters.

Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

You don’t think. You just move.

One second, you’re sitting there, caught in the gravity of him, and the next, your lips are on his, soft and searching, your hands curling into the front of his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go.

Spencer freezes, just for a beat, and then he’s kissing you back, his hands hovering over your sides, hesitant—like he can’t quite believe this is real. But you feel it in the way he exhales against your mouth, in the way his fingers finally find their place on your waist, holding you like he’s afraid he might be dreaming.

It’s not slow, but it’s not desperate either. It’s something in between—familiar and new all at once, a collision of everything you’ve both been holding back for too long.

You pull back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Your heart is pounding, and you can feel his racing just as fast beneath your hands.

“Tell me this isn’t a mistake,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

You shake your head, eyes fluttering closed. “It’s not.”

His grip on you tightens, and the relief in his expression is enough to make your chest ache. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he murmurs, and there’s something so raw in the way he says it, like it’s the only thing that’s mattered all along.

You tilt his chin up gently, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Then don't.”

A low groan escapes Spencer’s chest, and in an instant, he’s pulling you into his arms with a desperation you didn’t know he had in him. His lips crash against yours, hot and urgent, as if he can’t get close enough. The kiss is deep, raw, and hungry—neither of you holding back any longer.

You lose track of who’s moving who, but suddenly you’re pressed against the wall, Spencer’s body firm against yours, his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. His lips part yours as his tongue makes its way inside, a sigh slipping from your mouth at the intensity of the kiss. You tug at his hair, hard enough that he groans, but neither of you pulls away. Instead, he presses into you, every inch of him consumed with the desire he’s been hiding—just as much as you’ve been hiding yours.

His cock digs into your hip as you press yourself up against him, a flutter low in your belly. God, how you want him so badly. 

He tears his mouth away from yours, panting. “I’ve wanted this,” he mutters against your lips. “I’ve needed this for so fucking long, y/n.”

He nips at your chin, at your neck, anywhere he can, moving lower. Your head falls back against the wall as he trails open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips. You can feel the pressure building inside of you, a wild, uncontrollable fire.

“Spencer,” you gasp. “Please...”

His lips ghost over your clothed nipple, then his teeth are tugging on your bra, pulling the cup down. He licks over your skin, his breath hot against your flesh. Then he’s sucking you into his mouth, his tongue swirling over you, dark brown eyes gazing up at you. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh there as you squirm against him.

He moans, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. His fingers trail down your stomach, palms pushing your skirt up around your waist when you feel his fingers graze your underwear.

He slips his fingers beneath the fabric, his thumb slowly rubbing at your clit. A whimper tears its way out of your throat.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his teeth tugging at your nipple. “Gonna make you cum over n over. Gonna make you beg for it.”

You’re already there, but you don’t tell him that.

Instead, you push back against him as his fingers start to thrust inside of you. Your underwear is still in the way, but it doesn’t matter. 

“I want this,” you tell him. “I want everything you can give me.”

He makes a noise against your skin, and you know that he’s giving in. That he’s letting go of his fears of crossing the line, of being inappropriate with a student. Of the ethics, of the potential consequences.

As he keeps kissing your neck, his fingers slipping inside of you harder and faster, you realise that you want this for more than just the moment. You want to explore these feelings between the two of you, to see where they take you. If they can take you somewhere special.

He groans again, and you hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper. You feel him press against you, his cock hard and thick through his underwear. He’s still wearing his trousers, but his cock is free, rubbing up and down over your clit.

“Gonna cum, Spence,” you tell him, the words coming out of your mouth in a rush. Your legs are shaking, your knees weak. Your orgasm is building, breathing growing heavy, just threatening to spill over. “Fuck, please, I need to—”

He grunts, his hips moving faster, pressing you back harder against the wall. You can feel him, feel his cock throbbing and hot against your sensitive flesh..

“Look at me,” he orders, pulling away from you.

You force your eyes open, staring up at him as your orgasm rips through you. It’s blinding, overwhelming, making your vision blur. He leans forward and kisses you, swallowing your moan whole. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is dizzying.

Spencer breaks the kiss first, pulling his fingers out of you as your orgasm recedes. You blink up at him, dizzy, as he lifts the fingers to his lips and licks them clean.

“Taste,” he whispers, pretty eyes flitting to your lips as he brings his mouth back to yours. You can feel rough stubble rasping against your skin, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when you're finally getting what you want.

You press into the kiss hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue, letting out a soft noise of need as his tongue explores your mouth.

He turns you around, his hand on your chest pushing you into the wall as he leans over you. His breath is hot against your neck, your shoulder. “Bend over for me,” he whispers, his voice deep and raspy. “I’m not going to fuck you just yet. First, you’re going to cum on my tongue.”

“Spencer,” you groan. He’s going to tease you, to torture you until you can’t think anymore.

You’re dripping with need, your pussy clenching as you feel him slide his fingers inside of you again. He works his way up your back, then down to the curve of your ass. He rubs a circle over the flesh there, teasing. You know what he’s doing.

His mouth is on you suddenly, and all you can do is gasp for air. His tongue is hot and slick against your clit. He presses inside, his lips and tongue rubbing over your sensitive flesh.

You groan, your hips twitching as he keeps licking into you, pleasure so strong that it’s almost painful. Your pussy aches, clenching with the need to be filled.

“Please,” you pant. “Fuck...”

Spencer makes a sound in the back of his throat, then his fingers are back, thrusting deep inside of you, rubbing over your g-spot with his fingertips.

“Fuck, angel… taste so good, always knew you would,” he grunts into your weeping cunt, voice muffled against your flesh.

You can barely breathe.

Spencer is relentless, using his tongue to make you feel things you never have before. He’s got your clit trapped between his teeth, his fingers curled inside of you.

The pressure building inside of you again, climbing higher and higher.

Your legs give out and you feel Spencer hold you up. Finally, he pulls away and you’re sagging back into his arms, breath coming in gasps and pants.

Spencer holds you upright as he drags your skirt back down over your hips. Then he’s turning you around, pulling you close as you tremble in his arms.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers. “I can’t believe I waited this long to touch you.”

He kisses you again, the taste of your pussy still on his tongue. You moan against him, your head spinning.

“Please, don't make me wait,” you gasp, pushing back against him, feeling his cock throb in response.

“You want my cock, angel?” he rasps.

“Yes,” you pant. “Please, fuck me.”

And then he’s kissing you again, tongue parting your lips and slipping inside your mouth. You feel him walking you backwards, towards the couch in his living room. 

He sits on the couch and pulls you onto his lap, moving to straddle him as you kiss him, his cock throbbing against your inner thigh.

“Wanna sit on this cock, pretty girl?,” he growls, breaking the kiss. “Show me how much you need it?”

Your lips are swollen from his kisses, your skin hot all over. He helps you up as you move to straddle his cock, gripping your waist to keep you balanced as you sink down, feeling him nudge against your pussy before finally pushing inside.

Your head falls back as you cry out, feeling your pussy stretch around him. You’re so wet that it’s easy, but he’s still big, bigger than you’d ever taken.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “It feels...”

Spencer swallows hard as he stares up at you. “Yeah, angel?” he murmurs, his hands skating over your thighs to your hips. “Tell me how it feels.”

You start to move your hips, grinding yourself down onto him. It’s a slow, sweet torture. Every time you clench your pussy around him, his eyes flicker closed for a moment before he opens them again. His gaze is fixed on yours, dark with need.

“Spencer,” you moan, leaning forward to kiss him.

He groans into the kiss as you start to ride him, picking up the pace. Your hips roll against him over and over, making the couch creak and groan beneath you. “I said tell me how it feels.” 

“Fuck! Feels so so good, sir,” you babble as you break the kiss. You’re close again, cunt pulsing as you take him in his entirety. His hands knead at your ass, guiding you up and down.

“I’ve got you,” he pants, his lips moving over your neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He groans and then you feel him start to move beneath you. His hips thrusting up into you as you grind down, the sensation so overwhelming that it makes your vision blur.

Feeling your pussy clench around him again, you hear him make a noise in the back of his throat, then you’re cumming again, your body trembling above him as the pleasure spills over inside of you. Spencer holds you close, his arms wrapping around your back as his hips thrust up into you again.

“Spencer,” you cry, your head falling back. He’s still thrusting into you, still fucking you as he groans in pleasure.

He cock spilling inside of you, pulsing as he buries himself deep. His arms tighten around your back, holding you close to him. Your body shudders against his as he groans and pants, his breath hot against the bare skin of your neck. You feel his lips on your skin, soft and sweet.

You stay like that for a long moment, Spencer buried deep inside of you as you catch your breath. You blink down at him in surprise, feeling his cock fill you up again.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s eyes open, his pupils wide with need. He swallows. “Shh, angel. Just take it,” he tells you, his voice hoarse with need. “You're a good girl, aren't you? Gonna take what I give you?”

You feel him start to move again, his hips flexing up and down. You’re still sore from the last time, but the sensation of his cock rubbing against your sensitive walls makes your eyes flutter closed.

“Oh God,” you gasp. He’s picking up the pace now, fucking you with a hunger and desperation that makes your head spin. His cock somehow feels even bigger as he thrusts into you again and again, his hands holding onto your hips, keeping you in place. 

His lips are soft and gentle against your own, tongue moving into your mouth.

Crying out into the kiss, your orgasm comes fast, overwhelming you so quickly that you can’t even process it. You feel his thick cock pulse inside of you, the wet sound of him filling you up again making your head spin.

You’re both gasping for air as you come, your bodies trembling against each other.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you collapse on him or lean back. Instead, he keeps moving, his hips thrusting up and down in a rhythm that makes your head swirl.

“Spencer—”

“Not yet,” he gasps. His eyes are wild, his pupils so dark and wide that they make you feel dizzy. “Not yet, y/n.”

You can feel him filling you again, his cock rubbing over your sensitive walls. Your pussy clenches around him again, even though you’ve already cum. He groans, his voice so loud in your ears that it makes your body shudder.

“Sir- fuck… Spencer,” you whimper.

He presses his lips to your throat, licking at your skin. His hands are still holding onto you, keeping you upright even as your legs threaten to collapse beneath you. You feel like a puppet, your strings being manipulated by the movements of his cock.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp. Your vision is blurring now, breathing coming in short gasps. His cock is relentless as he thrusts in and out of you, making your cunt clench around him again.

Your orgasm tears through you, wild and uncontrollable, pussy milking his cock as he keeps pumping into you.

Spencer grunts as you cum, his breathing heavy as he buries himself inside of you. His cock pulses inside of you, hard and deep. 

You collapse into his arms, barely conscious.

He holds you there as his cock starts to soften, still buried deep inside of your throbbing pussy. Your limbs feel heavy, your head lolling against him as you struggle to catch your breath.

“Fuck,” he whispers in your ear.

Your pussy clenches again at his voice, his lips moving over your skin, kissing and licking you, murmuring words against your skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of you,” he whispers.

You let out a soft whimper of response, your body feeling overstimulated. Every movement of his mouth over your skin makes your pussy clench.

“Too much, Spencer, it’s too much.” You whisper, making no move to push him away.

He groans softly in response, his hand sliding between your legs and down to your pussy. You try to squirm away from the touch, but it’s no use. His finger is rubbing at your clit as his tongue moves inside your mouth, making your head spin.

“Spencer,” you gasp. “Fuck.”

He growls something deep in his throat, his finger moving faster. “You can do it, baby. You can give me another.” Your eyes are rolled back, your head pressed against the couch behind him.

You shatter apart in his arms, his mouth swallowing you whole. 

He holds you close for a long moment before he leans forward to kiss you softly. He murmurs words against your lips, words that are sweet and gentle and loving, then you feel him shift your body so that he can pull out of your pussy.

You make a soft whimpering sound as his cock slides out of you, feeling the cum drip down your thighs. He reaches between your legs to cup your pussy, feeling the wetness drip out of you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Look at that. So fucking full of my cum.”

He pulls his hand away and holds it out towards you. He looks up at you with dark eyes as he moves his fingers to your mouth. You watch as the cum drips off them and down your chin as you lean forward and lick them clean, swirling your tongue around his digits, collecting your mixed release.

Spencer groans, cock twitching against your thigh, still half-hard. He pulls his hand back, rubbing the cum over your pussy.

“Stay like that for me,” he rasps, his voice full of need. “So fuckin’ pretty, such a messy girl.”

“Anything, Spencer,” you whisper back.

You watch as he strokes himself again, groaning as his cock hardens again. You feel empty without him inside of you, like a part of you is missing.

It’s not long before you feel his lips on yours again, his tongue moving into your mouth.

“I have to taste you,” he growls against your lips. “I need to taste you, need to taste us.”

He breaks the kiss and presses your head to the side. You watch in a daze as he moves down your body, lifting your skirt up over your hips and leaning forward. His hands press your thighs apart as he stares at your cum-drenched pussy.

“I think you can cum again for me,” he murmurs.

You whimper in response.

Spencer presses his thumb to your clit. You cry out as he rubs at you, feeling your body tremble again. You’re barely able to hold yourself up at this point, your muscles so overstimulated that you’re trembling all over.

“Please—”

He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Please what, angel?”

You whine in response.

“Please what?” he growls again. “Ask me nicely.”

Your eyes flutter closed. You feel his thumb rub at your clit again, and your pussy clenches.

“Please,” you gasp. “Spencer. Please, just need you.”

He kisses your thigh again before moving up towards your mouth. Lips move against yours as you tremble against him, his kiss hungry and deep. You feel your head spin as you try to return it.

He breaks the kiss and looks up at you, his gaze hungry. “Open your mouth for me,” he growls.

You do as he asks, parting your lips as he moves towards your mouth, then he’s spitting inside of it, his saliva dripping down your chin.

He rubs his spit into your skin with his hand, leaving it there, watching it glisten over your lips and chin. His hand moves back to your pussy, rubbing his cum into you again. He keeps going until you’re dripping with it, until the cum is running down your inner thighs.

“Look at you,” he rasps, leaning forward to kiss your lips again. “Look at what you did.”

Then you feel him lean forward and lick up his cum, his tongue rubbing against your sensitive clit. You make a noise deep in your throat and try to arch into him, his hands holding you down.

“No,” he rasps. “Stay still.”

“But—”

He leans forward, licking at you again. You can’t take your eyes off the sight of his tongue moving over you, can’t help the way your body shudders in response.

Spencer looks up at you as he licks at you. His eyes are dark with hunger, his mouth dripping with his cum. “Stay just like that,” he growls. “Such a good girl, my pretty little angel.”

His tongue making you shudder as your orgasm builds again. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking against him, your clit so sensitive that you’re almost sobbing, cunt clenching so hard that you feel like you might explode.

You cum hard against his mouth, his tongue licking at your release even as you clench around it. His tongue never stops, even as you whimper and thrash out against him. He holds you down and licks you until you’re a trembling, shuddering mess against him.

Then finally he pulls back, looking up at you with hungry eyes.

You look up at him dazedly, your body still quivering. Your legs are still draped over his shoulders, your pussy open to him. Cum is still dripping down your thighs.

Your eyes widen as you watch him stroke himself, his hand moving fast. His eyes are fixed on your pussy as his cock stiffens, as his breathing comes faster and faster.

Then he’s leaning down, kissing your pussy one last time.

You can’t help yourself from arching against him, even though he makes no move to touch your clit this time. Your body is too overstimulated, too sensitive to his touch. 

Spencer kisses over your pussy again and again, making you tremble as you feel his cock rub against your thigh. You hear him grunt as his cock pulses, feel his cum soak your pussy all over again. His mouth moves over you again and again as you tremble and whimper, his cum dripping over your swollen cunt.

Finally, he pulls back, finally allowing you to collapse onto the couch, barely able to keep your eyes open.

Spencer pulls you into his arms, holding you tight against him. You lean forward, burying your face in his chest as you try to catch your breath. You hear him whispering words in your ear, sweet and soft.

“Good girl, baby. Such a good girl for me,” you hear him murmur. “Did so well, made me so proud.”

Then his fingers are back between your legs, rubbing at you with gentle strokes. You hear his voice whispering words of praise, telling you what a good girl you were for him. Your pussy clenches against his fingers, and you make a small sound of pleasure. You feel boneless now, your body heavy and relaxed.

“I’ll take care of you,” you hear him whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, baby.”

You lean forward against him and let yourself melt, his fingers rubbing at your oversensitive pussy as he murmurs praise in your ear. You close your eyes and let him take care of you, let him do whatever he wants to your body.

You know now that you’ll do anything for him.

You feel your pussy clench against his fingers one last time, and then you’re out, held in his arms as the cum runs down your thighs. You feel him whisper one last thing in your ear before you fall asleep. You can’t quite make it out, but you know it’s something good. Something sweet.

You sleep in his arms as he holds you tight, his fingers still buried in your cum-soaked pussy. 

Nestled against Spencer’s chest, the silence between you comforting yet heavy. There was an undeniable tension in the air, like you were both waiting for the other to say something. He eventually broke the silence, his voice hesitant but determined.

“I’ve been thinking... about us.” Spencer shifted slightly, his hand still resting on your back, his fingers tracing small patterns against your skin. “The money. Our arrangement... I don’t want to stop giving it to you.”

You tensed at the mention of it. You’d been trying to push that part of your relationship into the back of your mind, but hearing him bring it up again—especially now, when things felt so different—was jarring.

“I don’t need the money, Spencer,” you said quickly, pulling slightly away from him, your gaze searching his face. “I never needed it. Not from you.”

His brow furrowed, his hand gently grasping your wrist, his thumb brushing over your skin with a quiet insistence. “I want to give it to you,” he said softly, his tone a little more urgent now. “It’s not just about... the arrangement we had before. It’s about me taking care of you, providing for you, because I care about you.”

You shook your head, your chest tight. “I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want to feel like I owe you something. I just want you, Spencer. Not the money, not the... arrangement.”

He let out a long breath, clearly frustrated with the distance between what he wanted and what you were saying. “You don’t owe me anything. But this is how I show you that I care. You don’t get it. I don’t just want you physically, or emotionally. I want to take care of you. I want to make sure you have everything you need. If that means money, then that’s what I’ll do.”

His words were persistent, full of a quiet desperation that made your heart ache. “You’re not getting rid of me,” he continued, his gaze intense. “Not now. Not after everything.”

You felt the tension building inside you, a tug of war between pride and the vulnerability his words offered. He was right in one way—you didn’t want to feel like you were taking advantage of him. But another part of you knew he was genuine. He wasn’t just trying to control you, or manipulate you. This was him trying to protect you, in the only way he knew how.

“I... I don’t want to need it,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to need anyone like that.”

Spencer’s thumb ran across your cheek, his touch gentle but firm. “I understand. But you don’t have to need it. You don’t have to feel like you’re relying on me for everything. But let me do this for you, please. Let me take care of you in this way.”

There was a quiet, almost painful silence as you thought over his words. You felt the battle between your independence and his need to provide waging inside you. He was so certain, so unwavering in his desire to take care of you. And you knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just about the money. It was about him wanting to feel like he was enough for you—like he could give you something, be something more than just a professor or a lover.

With a soft sigh, you finally relented, your eyes meeting his. “Okay,” you said quietly, your voice tinged with hesitation. 

His expression softened immediately, a mixture of relief and something else you couldn’t quite name. “Thank you,” he said, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I just- I want to take care of you… in every way possible. I need to do that.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest, but now it felt a little easier to breathe. You were navigating this relationship together—despite the secrecy, despite the complications. And now, despite the money, too.

The morning light crept through the blinds, painting the room with soft hues of gold. Spencer sat at the kitchen table, his book in front of him, but his attention was somewhere else. His glasses were perched low on his nose, and his hair was slightly messy from sleep.

You leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching him, feeling a small, contented smile tug at the corner of your mouth. “Early start today?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

He glanced up at you, his smile gentle and easy. “Couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts.”

You moved to the table and sat across from him, the space between you feeling familiar now. It wasn’t filled with tension or expectations—just quiet comfort.

After a moment, you spoke again, this time quieter, more thoughtful. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How easy it feels now.”

He set his coffee down, his fingers lingering on the cup. “Strange how?”

“Like we don’t have to overthink everything.” You shrugged, leaning back slightly in your chair. “Like we can just... exist here, like this. Without any of the complications.”

He watched you for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know what you mean. It feels... easier than I thought it would.”

You couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something in his expression, in the way his eyes softened when they met yours, that made everything feel a little clearer.

“Is this what you want?” you asked, the question feeling lighter than it had before.

Spencer took a moment, running his hand through his hair before answering, his voice steady. “I think this is what I’ve been wanting all along.”

You sat with that for a moment, letting it settle between you, and somehow, in that quiet space, it made more sense than it had in the past. There didn’t need to be grand gestures or sweeping promises. Just a simple understanding, and that felt enough.

The rest of the world could wait. You didn’t need to rush toward anything else.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

taglist: @ivet4 @lunarmoonbeam1

[acid-ixx]

the jason hurt/comfort scene in chapter five is quite literally the longest scene i could possibly write. and yet it's the one that hurts me the most, i'm quite literally crying over a fictional character i'm writing about, what the hell 😭... it's literally questionable comfort (do you want to be comforted? why is jason trying to help you just now? why are you so weak, melting against his body as if you never told yourself you'll never fall for their trap again? why does jason refuse to let you go?), so many conflicting feelings and so many song references.

i'm not kidding when i'm telling everybody that i am getting all emotional over what i'm writing, probably because i feel the most connected to jason and harbor favoritism towards him but you guys have to bear with me because he's quite literally the most similar to the reader in regards to just wishing bruce loved them both enough. it's just two children chasing after a father's love, and it being reciprocated in different ways. bruce loved the other more than you, you're bonding over the trauma you both faced in different moments.

and just when jason thinks your relationship with each other would improve from now on, just as he promises to be your sole protector, you've long since let him go and prepare yourself to run away from gotham.

... it's making me feral, i'm so glad to contribute to the platonic yandere trope because family angst is NOT PORTRAYED AS MUCH!!!

my heart is exploding, i am not overreacting, why am i so attached to this series ngl HAHAHA. idk when i will post chapter 5, but there's so many yummy moments, so many characters i'm writing about that i'm contemplating on cutting it into two different parts and releasing it at the same time for i fear the word limit and my phone glitching at the amount of words. anyways, i hope u guys enjoy this ramble, i am foreshadowing the amount of hurt i've felt writing. this series became a big passion of mine and i hope u all get attached to jason as much i am.

[candykissd]

drunk bingo

𝓗𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒 🐇

drunk bingo is a crazy time, especially when you're a lightweight. although, harry's there to take care of you.

warnings : alcohol consumption, nausea, mature language, fluff

nats notes : idk how to feel about this, i feel like it could be longer? i'm not sure though, i can never really write long chapters... but lmk what you think !! - luv from nat <3

the flashing lights were enough to make you feel sick, sicker than you already did. drunk bingo was one of your most favourite events, though, it's safe to say alcohol isn't your best friend.

you were already pretty much pissed by the third drink, and yet somehow were managing to pass out coherent sentences.. up until the eight drink, at least.

you were wedged between george and harry, with bach and arthur tv on the ends of the table. at the start of the night you were sure you were going to be the best team, winning all the challenges, calling bingo here and there. but then they decided to give you a few drinks. not a smart move.

"number 63!" simon called out from the platform on which he stood, the various flashing lights surrounding him sending your head spinning into a vortex of feeling sorry for yourself.

"'m gonna get some air.." you slurred out as you stood up, making your way around the tables, not without stumbling into a few, and finding the back door. pushing it open with all your might and leaning against the railing outside.

"she okay?" arthur asked the other boys as he saw her leave. "yeah, probably just so unbelievably shitfaced." harry shrugged as he stood up, following along the trail that you had walked just a minute ago.

deep breathe in, deep breathe out, is what you told yourself, the nauseous feeling creeping up on you again, despite the fact that it felt as though it had only just washed away. you couldn't help but jump in your skin as you felt a hand on your lower back.

"you okay?" sounded harry's familiar voice as he smiled down at you.

"yeah... 'm good." you mumbled out, raising your hand to your forehead as you turned slightly to face him, whilst you still felt ill, you couldn't help but smile up at him.

you'd liked harry for the longest time, and the two of you had somewhat of a flirtation-ship, always taking the piss out of each other, and flirting with one another. but, it was all harmless. you both denied having feelings for each other; even though all of your friends could see through it.

harry's hand slid up your back, his touch light, but enough to make you shiver as his hand made its way to play with your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear. "you wanna go home?" he asked, tilting his head, as if he was secretly admiring you, which he wasnt doing a good job at hiding.

you didn't say anything, not feeling the need, nor the ability to speak properly, just nodding and smiling softly at him as he stood up straight.

he turned around and signalled to the others through the door that he was taking you home, and just to carry on with the game, before placing his hands on your shoulders from behind, spinning you around and practically pushing you towards the main road where he called for a taxi.

when the two of you got to your apartment, you fumbled around in your bag for your keys. harry laughing as he saw you struggle, grabbing your bag and pulling out your keys for you, unlocking the door and letting you stumble inside first, shutting the door behind him as he followed you in.

it was a good thing harry good handle is alcohol, as he was damn near sober, sober enough to take care of you properly.

you stumbled into the kitchen, steadying yourself with your hands on the countertop as you looked over at him.

"come on.. let's get you ready for bed." he said with a fond smile as he picked you up bridal style, a childish giggle escaping your lips as your arms wrapped around his neck, just as an extra precaution to make sure he doesn't drop you.

"harry wroetoshaw lewis if you drop me..." you laughed out, throwing your head back as he walked you down the hallway and into your bedroom.

"i won't drop you, love, don't you fret." he shook his head playfully as he plopped you down on the edge of your bed.

you sighed contently as you watched him disappear into your en suite bathroom, coming out with the bottle of micellar water and a cotton wool pad, crouching down infront of you.

without saying anything, he wet the wool pad with the micellar water and helped you wipe the makeup of your face, eliciting a small laugh from you and a smile.

once all your makeup was off he threw the cotton wool pad in the bin and looked at you, "you're so good to me..." you mumbled, titling your head as you smiled at him childishly.

"well, im not prepared to get a bollocking off of you in the morning when you wake up with your makeup on." he laughed out as he stood up.

you flopped back onto the bed with a sigh. "these jeans are so uncomfy.." you grumbled out as you swayed from side to side on the bed, as if the action would somehow wriggle them off of your body.

"you wanna get changed?" he asked, looking down at you as you nodded.

"gimme your hoodie." you practically demanded, crossing your arms as he laughed and shook his head.

"so demanding..." he mumbled, pulling his hoodie off over his head, the shirt that he had on underneath riding up slightly, a sight that caused a slight blush to creep up on your face, despite the flush you originally had from the alcohol in your system.

he walked over and stood infront of you, "arms up." he motioned with his hands as well as his words, with you happily obliging as he pulled the top you were wearing off your torso and over your head, placing it on the bed beside you.

you fumbled with the button of your jeans and unzipped them, laying back and lifting up your hips slightly as he pulled the denim off of your legs in one swift movement, before helping you into his hoodie, which you quickly settled into, the warmth of his body still stuck in the fabric, as well as the subtle scent of his cologne.

you let out a soft hum as you crawled over into your bed, snuggling in under the duvet, your head resting perfectly on the pillows.

"you comfy?" he asked, smiling at your drunken state.

"mhm.." you hummed with a small nod, just as extra reassurance. he nodded slightly as your eyes closed, and he knew you'd quickly drifted off to sleep as he made his way to your bedroom door, flicking the light off on his way out, making sure not to make too much noise when leaving your apartment.

the fresh sunlight woke you up as it filtered through the curtains of your room, the sun just directly shining on you as you rolled over with a groan, trying your hardest to shield yourself from the blinding light.

your eyes fluttered open, settling on the glass of water and paracetamol on the bedside table, a small smile forming on your face, your mind flooding with the memories of the previous night, and just how well harry had taken care of you. looking down at yourself and seeing the hoodie your were wrapped up warm in, quickly identifying it is harry's, causing your smile to grow.

although the smile was quickly overtaken by a frown as the pounding in your head grew. pushing yourself up on your arms slowly, and leaning back against the headboard; you reached over for the glass of water and tablet, desperate for some sort of pain relief.

and all you could thing to yourself was:

harry lewis, the man you are.

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Nine

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 23k (have fun!!)

18+ MDNI!

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

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Eight)

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

Poppy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods, mindlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shakes her head.

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

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

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s tired of it, now.

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

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

Only that doesn’t work, either. 

Obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too late. I already know too much.”

“Like what?”

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

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

“I need you to hand the book over.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can buy bleach-,”

“You know exactly what I meant.”

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

“Maybe stay away from seeds, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cant a father visit his daughter at work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was embarrassed of myself.”

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

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

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

“Says you, you called him an idiot.”

“Yeah, well he got under my skin.”

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

“Stealing your job?”

What on Earth does he mean by that? 

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

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

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

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

“He yelled at you?”

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

“What did he say?”

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

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

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

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

“You want a do-over?”

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

The game on Wednesday.

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

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

She nods, anyway.

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

“We?”

“Me and your mother.”

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

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

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

“I want to understand your world, Poppy.”

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

All thanks to Nico.

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

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

“You guys are over this way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Less stressed, though.”

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

All she wants to do is crawl into his lap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or we could do lunch together later?”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see you later then, Poppy.”

“And Cheeto.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my God, they have baked cookies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought things were going well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s keep it that way.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re being an idiot.”

Great.

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

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

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

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

And, evidently, she no longer has him blocked 

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

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

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

“Wrong sport.” Poppy smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I appreciate it.”

“I know you do.”

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

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

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

She’s a repeat offender, after all.

“You feeling okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Surprised it took you this long to notice.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s nice. And that’s Sweden?”

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

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

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

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

“What do your parents do, son?”

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

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

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

“I bet your family game nights get heated.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s great-,”

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

“I can look after myself, Mom.”

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

Why does she have to be like this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?”

“Yeah, I went with Josh.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“And you went away from The Rock?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did he pay?”

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

“And you walked back to work together after?”

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

“Has he text you since?”

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

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

“Can’t argue with that logic.”

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will. See you later, Nico.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I got a delivery for Poppy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poppy: You’re my favourite baby daddy 😊 

Nico: I’m your only baby daddy 🙄 

Poppy: Potentially my favourite person 

Nico: Potentially?

Poppy: Cheeto’s first

Nico: So I’m second?

Poppy: Potentially 💖 

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

Maybe she’s obsessed, too.

Nico

“What do you know about Josh from PR?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our Poppy?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure you’re not.” Luke scoffs.

“I’m just looking out for her.”

“Of course you are.”

“Stop being annoying.”

“Stop being a liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

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

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

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

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

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

Something like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He didn’t deny it!”

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

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

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

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

They aren’t together.

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

Why wouldn’t she date Josh?

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

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

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

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

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

But God, he wants to see her.

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, he thinks, she’s beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has nothing to worry about, he realises. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think that-,”

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

“Okay,”

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

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

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

He wants her to finish that thought so badly.

When we’re what, Poppy?

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

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

What?

Where the hell did that come from?

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

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

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

“But what about-,”

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

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

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

“It tastes different-,”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“Doesn’t it?”

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

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

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

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poppy is a certainty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s never known calm like it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No."

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

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

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

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

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

He wants it gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poppy looks like she wants to eat him whole.

It makes him feel like he’s on fire. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re still having bad dreams?”

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

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

“What are they about?”

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

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Talking about it might help,” he insists.

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

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

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

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

“You keep leaving me.”

“Oh.”

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

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

“Poppy-,”

“It’s stupid, I know.”

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

“You would?”

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

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

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

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

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

It might be one of his favourites.

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

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

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

This is where it starts for them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

Oh God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you need to handle that?”

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

“Do I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think it’s funny?”

“No-,”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A schmuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need you inside me.”

“Do you have a condom?”

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

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

“Is that a no?”

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

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

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

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

She’s close, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants all his mornings to start like this.

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

“Who was that?” He hums as she shuffles back up against him, his hand slithering over her hip to rest on the small of her back.

“Just my ex,” she shrugs, “I’m gonna leave you here on your own and go meet up with him.”

“Wow,” he chuckles, eyes dancing over her lips as they curl into a self-satisfied smirk, “You’ve been dying to fire that bullet, haven’t you?”

“Mmhm, I’m making the most out of my quick wit while I still have it, Luke told me the other day that women’s brains shrink during pregnancy.”

“We need to start taking Google rights away from people.” 

“That’s what I said!” She smiles like she’s proud of the way they think the same things, “It was the doctor’s office. They had a power cut and they’re gonna be running behind so our appointment has been shifted to later.” Her fingers start to dance teasingly across his chest, her tone carrying a suggestive lilt as she continues to speak, her touch moving down as she suggests, “So we could go back to sleep, or we could-,”

He leans up and kisses her with his hands cupping her cheeks, holding her firm against him as he feels her smile against his lips. “I’ll take option two.”

After a blissful morning in Poppy’s apartment, where the two of them, both literally and figuratively, stayed joint at the hip - in her bed, in her shower, no funny business, she said she just wanted to wash his hair, in her kitchen, drinking his morning coffee out of a mug she painted just for him, on her couch, snuggled up when exhaustion caught back up and they had a quick nap together, bad backs be damned - and an early afternoon spent in the doctor’s office, where they learn that their baby is now growing bones, which Poppy should start to feel move soon, and can smile and frown and squint, Nico glides through his afternoon practice with a smile of his own that won’t shift.

He has a new picture that he elatedly displays on the shelf in his cubby, the boys all getting a good look at the now not-so-Cheeto-like shape of his baby, cooing over all the new developments like proud uncles and chirping Nico for the ever-present dopey look on his face. 

No amount of jokes directed his way will ruin this for him, though. 

This feeling of rapture that hasn’t left since he first opened his eyes in the morning. The way his body buzzes at even the thought of the girl waiting for him to finish practice, to come home to an apartment that she had told him earlier to keep the key to, to kiss at her rounding belly and know that their baby is growing hair and limbs and expressions in there.

To finally say goodbye to the baby steps that he’s been taking for what feels like forever, and dive head first into the crystal clear waters of life with Poppy. Sharing a space, being intimate in every which way with one another, it feels like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

And he wants to bask in this feeling for as long as he can, pushing down the impending date of his flight back home, replying to the emails from his national team coach about the upcoming world championship games and then pretending they don’t exist. 

The idea of being in Switzerland for the summer has always filled him with joy - being home, being with his family, it’s where he needs to be after a season like he’s had - losses and injuries and all the turmoil that comes with them - but the thought of being away from Poppy, of missing any of these scans or moments with her and their baby, it fills him with dread. Her mother’s words from their dinner the week before ring through his head like a bell, loud and impossible to ignore. 

Which is why he finds himself heading for her place when his practice is over - after showering at the rink and dropping home to pick up an overnight bag, he drives over with all intentions of spending the night again. Sitting her down and talking over the potential of him flying back out for appointments and visits.

She greets him with a kiss once he’s gotten to her apartment and found her in her kitchen, rendering him stunned for only a second before he responds to her touch, hands falling to her waist and lips closing around hers.

It only drives his point further home that he can’t go too long without seeing her, now. Not if this is how he’s welcomed back, not if this is going to become a thing. 

He pulls her body flush against his, deepening the kiss like it’s been more than a few hours since he last saw her, savouring the taste of her vanilla lip balm and the way her bump presses into his stomach. 

When they part, he finds himself chasing her, pressing quick pecks at her swollen lips until she’s beaming in response, and he feels like his entire body is on fire. 

“Wow, you really are obsessed with me,” she giggles, pressing her hands to his chest to keep him at bay, looking up at him with the glimmer of the light reflecting in her eyes. “You okay?”

“I think your mom was right.”

He doesn’t even know why he said that, the words tumbling out before he can even think them over, and as he can feel his own forehead crease into a frown, and his own brows push together, he sees Poppy’s do the same.

“That might be the most unsexy thing you’ve ever said to me.” She pouts, balm smudged still around her lips as they form into a confused pout that he already wants to kiss away, “Where did that come from?”

“When she said I won’t be around enough,” he flexes his fingers against her hips, tightening his hold on her, “I was thinking about going back home before and I realised I don’t want to miss out on anything, I want to be around if you need me-,”

“Please don’t let her get in your head,” Poppy worries as her hands travel up, her fingers curling delicately around either side of his neck, “She doesn’t understand what being home means to you, she just says things she knows will sting, you shouldn’t have to fly back and forth just to make her happy-,”

“I want to make you happy.”

“You do.” She promises, “When you don’t mention my mother, at least.”

He feels a little better at that, at the conviction of her words, the honesty in her eyes, the soft curve of her lips. But the conversation needs to be had, something needs to be set in place to quell the flickering flames of anxiety that fill his chest before it becomes an inferno. 

Before he can open his mouth to carry on, she speaks instead.

“Go sit down, I have a surprise for you.”

And despite the itch in him to say something else on the topic before she completely shuts it down, he follows her command, the excited sparkle in her eyes hypnotising him into compliance. 

He waits on her couch for her to come over, and when she does, she has a small, white box in hand. Rectangle in shape, around 5 inches deep and 8 inches long.

“What’s this?” He asks when she places the box into his hands, the lid blank and closed.

“Cupcakes.”

“What’s the occasion?” When he goes to lift the lid, she places her hand over his, shuffling until she’s kneeling on the couch, ankles tucked beneath her.

“I’ve been sneaky.”

She looks proud of herself, a sweet grin hesitantly stretching her lips as her eyes dart between his, and he can feel his lips mirror hers.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she hums, “When I had my blood taken before you came in for the scan earlier, I asked Lucy to write down the gender if she could see it clear enough.”

Nico feels his heart stutter.

It’s one of the big things he had feared missing out on, having been told they wouldn’t get a proper view of it until 16 weeks - in another 2 weeks time - at which point he would more than likely be back home. He had resigned himself to finding out over the phone - still exciting, but not the same. “But I thought they couldn’t see it yet?”

“Depends on the position Cheeto wants to be in,” Poppy shrugs, “They do say it isn’t definite, so if it grows or loses an appendage in the next few weeks, blame Lucy, not me.”

“So you know?”

There’s no way she could have hidden it from him, so far. Poppy can’t keep a secret from him to save her life.

“No. Bonnie at the bakery on the corner knows. She hid it in the frosting.”

Nico takes the lid off the box now on his lap, looking into it to see two cupcakes, a thick serving of white frosting and a round, disc-like cake topper with blue and pink writing.

“Baby Hischier?”

He feels warm all over, a static-like tingling spreading across his skin, and he can feel heat creeping up his neck. It all feels so real, so overwhelming. Seeing their baby earlier, the blurred, splotchy shape of it’s head, little features like a nose, lips and eyes starting to form more clearly in the picture. A little baby with his last name.

“It is your baby,” Poppy chuckles, reaching for the box herself and handing one of the cupcakes over to him. 

“No hyphen?” He elaborates, and he can feel his brow twitch of its own accord, catching her eye and making her lips twist, fondly, in the way that makes him already anticipate some smart-ass comeback.

“It’s a cupcake, not a billboard,” she quips, “We could do that, it that’s what you want?”

“I thought that would be what you wanted.” If it is, he’ll do it that way, but God does he all of a sudden hate hyphens. 

“I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest. Hischier just felt right when I wrote it down for Bonnie. I like your name.”

You can have it, he thinks.

“The less claim my family have to our baby, the better. Plus, it’s kind of the tradition, to give the baby it’s father’s surname.”

“Because we’re so traditional,” he chuckles, liking the way he makes her laugh, too.

“That’s true. Maybe we should make up a name, then? Say, fuck the system,”

“Hischier’s fine.” He says, resolutely, a sudden wave of possessiveness washing over him, and he only feels slightly ashamed of it.

“Hischier is great.” She reassures him, enough to make his chest puff with pride, and the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth is enough to tell him she’s proud of her own teasing - and all too aware of his mini-neanderthal moment. “Can we get on with it, I’ve been glaring at this box all afternoon.”

“I don’t know, I’m all of a sudden nervous about eating a cupcake.”

“Welcome to my first trimester.”

He can feel the beat of his heart in every inch of his body.

He hasn’t really given it much thought, before now, if there’s any specific gender he wants it to be. He’s always thought it corny, when people say I just want a healthy baby, but that truly is all he wants.

He sees the best of both worlds - a mini him, or a mini Poppy. Half of each of them in one bundle of joy.

He’ll be in love with it, either way.

“We’ve just got to do it,” Poppy says, placing the box down on the coffee table and holding her cupcake across from his. “Close your eyes and take a bite after three.”

He nods, before cheers-ing his cupcake against hers, and then closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and waiting for Poppy to start the countdown. 

“One…” He peaks an eye open, watching and unable to stop the grin that spreads into his cheeks, already. “Two…”

She opens an eye, too.

“Close your eyes, Mohn.” He warns her.

“I was checking yours were closed.”

He makes a show of scrunching them shut, assuming she’s doing the same, and she starts the countdown back up again.

On three, he takes a bite and opens his eyes, disregarding whatever colour sits on his own cupcake and immediately watching for Poppy’s reaction.

Her bite had been clumsy, the frosting smearing on her lips, and where he had wanted to see her eyes light up, his gaze is stuck in a magnetised grip to the soft pink colour of the sugary goodness that now surrounds her mouth. 

A girl.

A mini Poppy - pretty eyes, a killer smile that he folds to in an instant, a sharp tongue that fills his life with equal parts sarcasm and light.

He’s so done for.

Before he can help himself, he discards his cupcake onto the coffee table and pounces forward, hoping that she flings hers in the same direction as he takes her face between both hands and pulls her lips into his, licking the frosting straight from them before he kisses her with all the passion he can muster.

It’s messy, he can feel the icing transfer to his own upper lip, tasting the sugar as she giggles into his mouth, and his whole body lights up with the joy of it all, their teeth clashing in a messy abundance of shared glee.

He can’t get enough of this feeling, of the sound of her blissful laughter, and so even when they part, he keeps going back for more, pressing his lips to any part of her face he can reach - her lips, her chin, her nose, her cheeks - and when they’re touching the corner of her mouth, he feels the movement of it as she asks, “Are you happy?”

“So happy.” It’s an understatement, but he’s hard pressed to think of more elaborate wording, so he kisses her again before saying, “Come home with me. To Switzerland. I don’t want to spend another summer missing you, Poppy. I don’t want to be apart from you and our baby girl.”

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t asked before. He knows it’s what he’s wanted this whole time, to be in the place he loves the most with the girls he might love more. 

“Really?”

“I wanna share the other half of my life with you. We can sort out a doctor so we don’t have to fly back and forth or miss any appointments, and it gives my family a chance to spend time with you, I can show you all my favourite places, we can-,”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You don’t have to sell it to me, Nico, I’m already there.”

“Yeah?” The thumping of his heart is so vigorous he thinks she can probably see it, breaking out of his chest and flying out toward her like a cartoon. 

“I’m hardly gonna say no to a European summer.” She teases with a shrug, licking at the remaining frosting on her lips before she leans in to press them softly against his, again. 

“The fact I’m there is just a bonus?”

“If that’s what you want to believe.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk @dasiysthings (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

[sorcerersseestars]

LIMERENCE (part I)

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

"I can't stop loving you, no matter how hard I try."

summary: Your long-time friend stirs feelings inside you that you never realized existed. Of course they bubble up in your chest while he’s in the midst of ignoring you and discovering his own possible romance. Your mutual friend thinks she has it all figured out—or does she?

pairing: gojo satoru x gn! reader

fandom: jujutsu kaisen

genre: hanahaki sickness au, angst, hurt/comfort, drama, slow burn!

warnings: mentions of feeling sick, being stonewalled kinda, usage of the word (Y/N) bc Gojo is too fed up for nicknames (in reality idk what else to use 😶), Gojo being an ass (common theme in my fics oops)

word count: 3.6k

a/n: This is the first part to my hanahaki au! I’ve had this in my drafts for the longest time, but never committed to writing it all out until now. This first bit is kinda slow and maybe confusing BUT hopefully I’ll be able to clear it up next chapter. Not proof read very thoroughly; will probably regret later 🫥

part ii part iii

“DON’T YOU THINK you could be a bit nicer to me?” You try, clasping your hands together as you look up at him with an odd smile—a cross between apologetic and playful. You’re joking, or at least half joking. It’s too difficult to be serious with Gojo; his habit of masking emotion with jest must be rubbing off on you.

Only one corner of his mouth raises. “Good one, (Y/N)-chan. As if I didn’t use to pay your bills.”

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks, and he walks away from you without a single glance. You frown and lightly jog a few steps to catch up to him.

“Ah, and I’m forever thankful for that!” You say, cringing at how overly peppy your tone is. “But that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Hmm,” Is all he says. His hands are in his pockets, but he doesn’t carry himself with as much ease as usual—his posture is closed off, angular and tense.

“What I meant was–” You prompt your own answer, as he doesn’t make any move to. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I know you’ve been really busy lately, so I don’t blame you, but I think we should go out and do something. Could help relieve some work stress too, don’t you think so?”

“Maybe,” He says, the word short yet effective in its delivery. The word was sharp in his mouth, clear annoyance shaping his tongue enough for the word to have a bite to it.

You wince. He never used to be like this. Gojo has been in a state of perpetual mirth—and one could argue levity—for the entirety of your friendship, never taking anything seriously and always looking for opportunities to poke fun at you to half-jokingly glorify himself. His expression has always been infectiously positive—never molded into anything hard or serious.

But, lately, everything you thought you knew about Gojo Satoru has faded away into your memories. He never seeks out your presence anymore, which is polar opposite from your high school days, when he would follow you around and pester you until you’d hang out with him. You actually used to get annoyed at this behavior, but you’re sorely missing it now.

You feel like you know nothing about him these days, only hearing tidbits here and there from your mutual friend Shoko. It stings to know that he obviously talks to her, and quite often at that, seeing she always has new details to spill every other day.

It doesn’t make sense to you: him and Shoko were never particularly close, definitely not nearly as close as you and Gojo were. In fact, she thought of him as particularly annoying in high school, and often swore to you that she would cut all contact with him once they graduated.

Back then, you had rolled your eyes at her antics, never believing that anybody could cut Gojo out of their life, seeing as he simply wouldn’t let them. But how else could you describe what he seems to be doing to you?

You bite your lip nervously. “Satoru? Is there something wrong?”

“Not particularly,” He says with a forced smile that’s screaming for you to shut up. You pretend like it’s not the most disingenuous smile you’ve ever seen smeared on his face.

“Are you sure?” You probe. “I mean…what’s been going on with you these days? We haven’t seen each other in forever, and you don’t seem yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

His lips are quirked up, as they perpetually are, but it’s different this time. It’s mocking. A mocking smirk that’s telling you to face reality. Do you really know him anymore?

You pause in your steps, studying his expression. You can’t see his eyes, but you wish you could. He’s hard to read with that blindfold concealing those powerful eyes of his, but it never used to be a problem. It hurts that you’re now struggling to gauge him when your emotions used to feel like one.

Evidently, you can’t answer his question. Not that he seems to care.

“I’ve really got to get going. Students to teach, curses to kill, all that,” He announces, tone low and apathetic. Bored. “See ya.”

Your breath flutters in your throat as you try to bid him goodbye. You choke on your words and only end up tentatively raising a hand. Before you can wave, his form disappears. A gust of wind greets you in lieu of a proper goodbye.

You stay where you are for a few shocked moments, not even registering the hot tears that leak from the eyes he avoided.

You wander aimlessly around campus for a while, the whole interaction replaying in your head several times over. His “Are you sure?” needles its way into your brain even when you push it away, the words hitting where it hurts every time.

Your feet find themselves taking you to an empty break room – ah, this is the one that has your favorite flavor of tea. You turn the kettle on, then eagerly dig through the tea stash. You file through the individual packets quickly and thoroughly, but to no avail. It’s gone.

With a sigh, you grab a random tea bag and throw it into your mug. Frustrated, you roughly begin pouring the now-boiled water into the mug, but it doesn’t seem that was a good idea. Your hand slips for just a split second, but a sizable splash of boiling water still manages to singe your non-dominant hand. A stream of expletives leaves your mouth, and you instantly cradle your hand to your heart.

More tears appear. At least you have an excuse this time—it fucking hurts.

You trudge to the clinic, feeling quite silly, but also seeking some much-needed relief. And you’re not exactly imagining painkillers or an ice pack—no, there’s something else. Someone else.

You hesitantly knock on the door. You feel stupid, but you really have to see her.

You crack a smile at the creak of the door. Your friend and co-worker Shoko strides out with an air of confidence you wish you held.

“What happened?” She asks calmly, eyes lazily taking in your form.

“Spilled some water from the kettle,” You say lamely. “It hurts.”

That doesn’t really constitute a visit to one of the only reverse-cursed technique users in the school, and you know it. So does she.

“Mmhm,” She raises her eyebrows. “Well, come on in.”

You shuffle in a little sheepishly, not able to meet Shoko’s eyes. Now that you’re here, you start to feel unsure about your own motive—do you really want to discuss this? Won’t it just be embarrassing more than anything else?

You stall a little in your steps as the negative thoughts invade your head. You’re startled to attention by a poke to your side—when you look up, Shoko’s playful smirk fills your vision.

“Come on over to the sink and we’ll put that under some cool running water,” She says, gesturing to your reddened arm.

You cock your head, looking between her and the sink skeptically, “No ice?”

She shakes her head, sticking her tongue out at you a bit, “Nope! Running water for burns.”

You hold up your hands in defeat, smiling, “Whatever Doctor Shoko says.”

“And I do,” She says cheekily. “So get under that water!”

“Aye-aye,” You say with a salute.

She groans, “Ugh. You guys are so annoyingly similar. Hang on a sec, I gotta grab something.”

She turns away before she can see the way your expression drops. The smile is stolen from your face, leaving behind saddened eyes and a slight frown. There’s only one possible person she could be talking about.

You sigh and turn on the faucet—your disheartened sigh morphs into one of great relief as the cold water soothes your burn.

“That better?” Shoko asks upon her return.

You nod, a small smile coming back, “Yeah, thanks Shoko.”

“Is there something else wrong?” She asks, then shakes her head. “No, scratch that. What’s actually wrong?”

You take a deep breath. How are you going to broach this subject? You wait several moments, pondering your exact next words.

“Do you think Gojo is okay?” You finally ask your long-time friend, words coming out almost cautiously.

She eyes you funnily, “Why are you asking me? As if he doesn’t chase you around the school to blab on about himself.”

You smile, but it’s tainted by bitterness.

“Shoko…Gojo hasn’t talked to me for two months,” You admit quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

She stops.

“What?”

You hate hearing the confusion in her voice. You hate the pity that soon fills her eyes.

“He seriously hasn’t,” You affirm, sighing. “I don’t know what I did, or if I did anything, or…or what. I just, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

You sigh. “Of course I have, but he didn’t seem to take my concerns seriously. Or consider them at all. It just seemed like he wanted me to shut up and leave him alone.”

Shoko looks at you curiously, lips quirking as if she has something to say, but no words come out. Is she holding something back?

You take a deep breath, willing the horrible emotion that squeezes your throat away. You look out the window to distract yourself, watching the branches of a sakura sapling swaying in the wind. It looks alone and lost, battered by the relentless wind.

“What’s he been like recently with you?” You finally ask, your gaze still on the tree.

“Normal,” Shoko says. “Annoying as ever. Noisy as ever.”

A cluster of pink petals is ripped from a branch, swirling hopelessly to the ground. When they settle on the ground, you look back to your friend.

“He’s really the same?” You ask weakly.

“Unfortunately,” She says wryly. “Besides, why do you care? We’ve both been trying to get him off our backs since waaay long ago. Sounds like a blessing in disguise.”

“Ah, that’s true,” You admit with a weak chuckle, trying to ignore the way your heart throbs painfully. “But he’s also our friend.”

“Since when? More like a thorn in my side. Maybe he finally got the message,” Shoko smirks. “You should give me instructions for that. I’d have a lot better quality of life, you know.”

You know she’s just joking around with you, but she’s truly just rubbing salt in your wound. Not very ethical for a doctor, even if unintentional.

“Yeah,” You laugh, but it’s an empty sound. “Well, I guess I’ll get going then. Hopefully your next patient gives you an easier time.”

Shoko jokes, “Yeah, this has been my toughest job all week. You fiend.”

Your head is filled with so many questions, all of them growing louder as you walk away from your friend. Your friend who you thought would sympathize with you, but only ended up making you feel worse in the end is acting suspicious. It’s not like you’ve ever wanted to actually cut ties with Gojo, even when he used to pull pranks on you in high school. You craved for a strong friendship with him throughout all his shenanigans.

Why is Shoko acting like you hate Gojo, and what isn’t she telling you?

Before you reach the door, you decide you need to know. You stop abruptly in your tracks.

“Ieiri, you’re not telling me something,” You say softly, not looking back. “Why?”

Shoko sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “You don’t miss anything, do you?”

You say nothing. The door in front of you is tempting—it’s your way out of knowing the truth. Do you really want to know?

You wait tensely for a few seconds, the silence causing nerves to bubble up in your stomach. But when Shoko begins to speak, they go don’t go away.

“He hasn’t really been acting strange around me, but he’s constantly on his phone. Like always. Whenever he comes to chat, he immediately tunes me out and starts texting or loudly takes a call,” She snorts, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “I thought he was just bored and trying to make me feel disrespected as a sort of cruel joke, but I think it’s something else. I think…I think Gojo is interested in someone.”

Your head whips around, disbelief clear in your features. Interested in someone?

“Maybe that’s why he’s been acting weird. I always thought he was crazy for you, so it didn’t cross my mind until now.”

“Crazy for me?” You immediately echo back, voice hollow and confused.

Shoko shakes her head at you, “C’mon, you can’t be that oblivious. He always followed you around like a lost puppy in high school. He never said anything to me about it, but I really thought he would confess any day for years.”

“He did that to everyone…” You shake your head. “You say yourself he bugged you so much.”

She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, it was different.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Your vision becomes foggy at the edges, reality fizzling out.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” You ask. “It’s not like that matters.”

You try to appear uncaring, yet it was a fight to get those words out.

“You’re a sensitive person. ‘Didn’t know how you’d react since Gojo always seemed to chase after your attention, exclusively. But it’s not like it was the other way around—should have known it wasn’t a big deal. It’s not. Guess he’s just growing up.”

“Yeah,” You agree faintly, voice devoid of emotion. Reality is slipping through your numb fingers, the information turning your world into a nightmare. You should have opened the door and ran when you had the chance.

“It’s not,” You say with a saccharine smile, one so sickly sweet that Shoko gets chills. That’s not your usual smile—not one that Shoko has ever seen you wear. “Of course it’s not.”

When you turn on your heel and rush out of her infirmary, Shoko reaches out a hand and her lips part to call after you. It’s uncharacteristic for her—the cold doctor is rarely sentimental or emotionally affected, but she saw something ghastly in that smile of yours.

The slam of the door answers her call. The truth, now imparted, comes to bite her in the ass.

It’s been a few days. You’ve been moping around the school, around your students—trying to cope with the information that you don’t even know is true. You see him across campus sometimes; he’s so easily spotted with his translucent hair and tall frame. Every time, he’s facing away from you, and your eyes fall on the back of his head. Your chest always tightens and you end up turning away, too.

You have ignored the feelings stirring in your chest, not willing to admit something that clearly isn’t reciprocated. It has been working, you suppose, since you haven’t cracked under the mental weight of possibly being in lo—

No, you can’t even think that.

Everything has been as okay as it can. It’s not until you attempt to visit Shoko again to try sort out your feelings, however, that things take a turn for the worse.

Your hand is raised as you prepare to knock on the infirmary door, but you hesitate once you hear muffled voices.

“I don’t know…I didn’t expect it at all.”

That’s Gojo’s voice. That low but self-assured tone is undeniably his.

“Expect what?” Shoko asks, sounding bored.

His reply is so soft that it passes by as just a hiss of air, so quiet that you physically startle at Shoko’s loud reaction.

“No! What? I can’t believe that!” She shouts, laughter quickly following her exclamation.

You shouldn’t be listening—you hadn’t planned to eavesdrop on your two best friends, but for some reason your ear seeks out the wall, as if magnetized.

The next three words uttered still your heart.

“Utahime kissed me,” Gojo admits quietly.

You feel like you can’t breathe. Utahime, who has always despised Gojo even beyond Shoko’s extent. Utahime, who once cried into your chest after Gojo was harsh with her at an exchange event. Utahime, who always persisted that you and Gojo were into each other during high school.

Shoko’s unbelieving chuckle cuts through your thoughts.

Shoko laughs, “Oh, yeah, okay, as if I’d ever believe that.”

There’s silence. Your heart drops at the lack of response—no teasing refute, no playful faux playboy attitude.

Shoko absorbs his unusual silence, finally interpreting his words for what they are.

She gasps loudly, spluttering, “Oh my God, you’re being serious. What?! There’s no way…”

Gojo’s voice is even and deep. “I didn’t lie. She just did it out of nowhere. I didn’t even know how to react, to be honest.”

“So you just stood there?” Shoko snorts, trying to keep up her usual sarcastic persona. “God, you’re insufferable all the way around.”

“I kissed her back,” He breathes out, voice almost weak.

Another long moment of silence ensues. You hold your breath, terrified that your panicked pants will alert them of your presence.

Shoko recovers quickly this time.

“Still insufferable,” She sighs, and you can imagine her shaking her head. “So what now? You like her or something? This is so random.”

“I���I don’t know,” He admits quietly. “I never thought she’d do that, it took me by surprise. I…I think I liked it?”

Your heart shatters. You clutch a hand to your mouth, gagging yourself, forcing back the pained gasp that’s threatening to leave your lips.

“Oh, is that so?” Shoko says drily, but the usual edge to her voice is absent. You can only imagine her expression: contorted with pity and pain, desperately trying to maintain her poker face.

“Yeah,” Gojo reaffirms. “It was nice.”

There’s silence for a few seconds as Shoko takes it all in. Then, “Is she who you’ve always been calling and texting when I’m talking to you? You’re an ass for that, by the way.”

Gojo exhales out a sardonic sniff, “You’re spot on.”

Why are you still listening? You should leave. You shouldn’t be hearing this. Pain blooms in your chest, as if thorns became lodged between your ribs.

“What about (Y/N)?”

You freeze, eyes bulging out of your head.

Gojo sighs, sounding annoyed, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not dumb, Satoru. There was something going on during high school and frankly in the past few years as well. Are you going to deny it?”

He scoffs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shoko. It was never like that.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick. You shouldn’t—there’s no possible way you’re actually in love with Gojo Satoru, is there?

Fuck. The thought you’ve been trying to avoid all this time has finally firmly inserted itself into your head.

You take off swiftly and immediately, and your footfalls are as light as you can possibly manage. If either of them knew you were here, you wouldn’t be able to handle the shame.

Gojo and Shoko are none the wiser to the immoral action that took place just beyond the door—so when Shoko is ready to clock out and opens the door, the presence of a school ID on the ground is nearly missed. She feels something strange crunch underneath her foot and steps away and glances at the foreign object.

You left in such a hurry that your ID flopped out of your pocket. It lays on the ground, your smiling face staring up at Shoko, who looks on in horror. She immediately knows that you heard everything. She quickly steps back onto your ID, concealing your identity with her foot.

With all the sight of his six eyes, Gojo somehow completely missed Shoko’s strategic maneuvers to erase traces of your presence. He whistles nonchalantly, not having a care in the world, apparently.

In contrast, Shoko’s mind is racing. Her eyes roam around the courtyard, searching for your form. She feels rooted to the spot—will she reveal you if she steps away? She almost forgets that she’s not alone.

“You looking for someone?” Gojo asks.

Shoko stiffens, but forces herself to relax and appear nonchalant. “Ah, I was just wondering if…if (Y/N) would still be around.”

Gojo frowns. “Hm. Not sure. Don’t they usually go home right after they get off?”

“Lately, they’ve been staying back to do paperwork,” She sighs. “Masamichi has really giving them too many missions…How come you don’t know that?”

“Haven’t had the chance to catch up, I guess,” Gojo says evasively, then quickly changes the subject. “Besides, aren’t you the same way? You coming or not? I’ve got better things to do.”

He waves his cell phone around playfully, a smirk widening across his features.

Shoko rolls her eyes, “Go ahead. I’m just going to wait here a bit and see if I can text them and get them over here.”

She hesitates for a second before adding, “Actually, why don’t you wait a sec? We haven’t all seen each other in a bit.”

Gojo immediately stiffens. He scratches the back of his head and says, “Ah, I’m actually sort of on a time crunch. Maybe next time.”

What a lie. Shoko thinks, eyes narrowing subconsciously. What is he up to?

As he trails off into the distance, the gears in Shoko’s head continue to turn. He always, always teleports home after work finishes. So why is he slowly walking around campus, head turning this way and that way as if searching?

And you! Why were you there? Why were you so affected? What is going on in your head—or rather, your heart?

Something strange is going on with her two friends and Shoko is determined to find out what.

next part

credit 🩷:

@kiyaedits - baby pink dividers, @sweetxmelody - cherry blossom divider

*note: taglist open!! comment to be tagged in part 2 :)

[effervescentpoet]

sirius black x slytherin!reader idea i thought of listening to peter by taylor swift

- childhood friends to strangers to friends again? lovers?? idk yet (maybe romantic!remus x reader ???)

- reader is younger than sirius.

- sirius and reader were both raised by pureblood families, meeting at a very young age and recognizing each other after many pureblood galas.

- they got close, often hiding in secluded rooms together and talking about how much they dislike their parents.

- “in closets like cedar, preserved from when we were just kids.”

- after sirius gets sorted into gryffindor, he’s forced to one last party and tells her about hogwarts.

- “what if im not sorted with you?”

- “don’t worry, no matter where you get sorted, you and i will stick together.”

- he promised, believing there’s no way reader would get sorted into slytherin.

- “promises oceans deep, but never to keep”

- once reader gets sorted into slytherin, and sirius immediately closes off. he feels betrayed by the longest friend he’s ever had.

- she keeps telling him that nothing has to change, that they’re still the same person he was friends with.

- sirius tries to give up on reader, but reader refuses to give up on him.

- “and i won’t confess that i waited but i let the lamp burn as the men masqueraded, i hoped you’d return with your feet on the ground- tell me all that you’d learned because loves never lost when perspective is earned.”

- “the shelf life of those fantasies has expired, lost to the Lost Boys chapter of your life, forgive me peter, please know that i tried to hold on to the days when you were mine.”

would anyone be interested in this ???

[boleynqueenes]

2740.... hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

737 words...hmmm.

[jacaerysgf]

Flowers | The Series | Chapter Thirteen | The Grand Tourney

Summary | its finally the day of the grand tourney ! but you seem to be out of it....

Pairing | Jacaerys Velaryon × Fem!Reader

Warnings | fluff, a lot more world building, happy family, idk how tourneys work pls ignore, not proofread

Word Count | 2.7k

a/n | a much longer one, i think this is the longest one yet! i really hope you guys enjoy it!!!

series masterlist

“Tell me”

“No”

“Tell me now”

“No dear”

“If you do not tell me now i will be angry at you” “You have been saying that since the sun rose pumpkin.”

You were furious, your parents had not told you a single things about their conversation with jacaerys last night even while you were grilling them in your room last night and even right now as you sat for breakfast they kept their mouths shut. 

You groan and throw your head back in frustration. “I just dont understand why you cannot tell me.”

You miss the knowing look shared between your parents as you cross your arms cross your chest. “Some things are just meant to be kept between parents.”

“Not when said thing involves a potential suitor.” 

Your father sighs and he reaches over to place a hand on your crossed arms. You huff and turn your head away from him and he laughs. “You really want to know so desperately? Lets crack a deal.”

Your mother lets out his name in a hiss as you sit up and look at him eagerly, “yes! What ill do anything?” 

“Tell me what you and the prince talked about last night in the hallway and i will tell you what we talked about.” 

You and your father have a staring contest as he looks at your expectantly and you glare at him as you groan and turn away, attempting to push down the heat that rises to your face as you think over the conversation the two of you shared. 

“See, some things are just not meant to be shared.”

“That is different-”

“It is no different you are lucky i am such a strong, kind, loving, caring, charismatic, charming,” you roll your eyes as he gives you a sharp look, “and good looking father that i am being more than kind and not asking what scandalous things the two of you were talking about in that dark and empty hallway. If anything you should thank me.”

 You laugh and cover your mouth as you shake your head, “father please you are being ridiculous.” “I certainly am not. I put in a lot of work trying to convince your mother not to hunt you down until you told her what happened.”

You tilt your head as you think over. Your mother had been oddly quiet that morning and she had stared at you rather long as you ate breakfast and when you asked her what was wrong she merrily shook her head. She slams her hands on the table as she stands, taking a deep breath and runs her hands down along her dress. “Let us get going. The tourney should be starting soon.” 

She moves to rummage through some of the stuff in the room as you look over to your father with a bewildered look but all he does is wink at you as he stands and offers you his arm.

The three of you make your way outside to the bustling walkway towards the stands for the tourney; horses are led by knights and you see many men in gear. You are in awe as you look around barely hearing the call of your name until you are startled by the man in front of you.

“Ser joffrey!” you jump back with your hand on your chest and he grins at you. “I apologize my lady, I didn't mean to frighten you.”

You take a couple deep breaths before you shake your head, “it is my fault ser i was not paying attention.” 

You take notice of his attire and smile at him, “your gear suits you ser.”

He smiles and offers you his arm, “your compliments warm me my lady, and please, call me joffrey.” 

You look over at your father who lets go of you, “me and your mother shall go promenage for a bit before the fight, good luck ser joffrey.” Joffrey nods with thanks before you watch your parents walk off, turning back to joffrey.

You grab his arm and the two of you begin to walk down the lanes. “You look wonderful today lady dunn.” “thank you ser-” he gives you a pointed look, “joffrey. Thank you joffrey.'' He smiles warmly at you as the two of you continue your walk in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence and the nice weather. He mentions he has his own tent as all the competitors today do and the two of you head there.

As soon as the two of you enter you notice he stiffens up and looks at him as he has a thoughtful look on his face. “Joffrey?”

“I truly hope you do not hate me.” you gasp as you pull away from him, turning fully towards him.”whatever do you mean?”

“You are clearly very taken with the prince and I have done nothing but attempt to throw an obstacle in your path. You could be queen yet here I am a mere lord asking you to join me after you have barely known me a day.”

You grab both his forearms as he casts his head down towards the ground, “I am a selfish fool.” 

“That is not true. You are merely a man attempting to survive in a world who wrongly would hate him for being who he is. I do not hold that against you. And should i remind you you are not merely a lord you are heir to the eyrie for god's sake. If anything, I am the one who is in your way.” 

he shakes his head and looks at you with a grin, “well it seems i am a very generous man.” 

you hit his arm and he laughs as you shake your head at him, unable to help the smile that climbs on your face. 

“thank you y/n. you are kinder than most.”

The two of you soon leave the tent and make some more mindless chatter, as you walk you can't help but overhear some of the ladies' conversations as they walk by, “did you hear the prince has entered a courtship with cassandra baratheon.” “it is of no shock, of course the baratheons have managed to worm their way into the royal family.” “it would be a shock to no one if their engagement were to be announced soon enough.” 

you must be bug eyed as you continue to walk towards the stands. A courtship? between the prince and cassandra? Cassandra baratheon? this could not be happening. Was jacaerys merrily toying with you last night? he did not seem like the type but you had not known him well. Maybe he had been, he did not ask to enter a courtship with you last night, maybe your parents had been hiding the conversation they had last night with him because he had not asked to enter a courtship with you and they did not want to upset you. 

your mind running a mile a minute you do not even notice you are basically in your seat as joffrey manages to catch you attention once more.

“This is where I must leave you my lady.”

“I wish you luck today joffrey.”

he kisses the back of your hand with a smile before he walks off. you sigh as you begin to move towards your parents who have already taken a seat, attempting to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest as you greet them before sitting down.

you hear a gasp next to you, “y/n?” you turn your head a gasp, “trisk? trisk beesbury is that truly you?” she squeals and wraps you in a hug, you laugh and wrap your arms around her.

trisk beesbury. the third daughter of house beesbury and your good friend. she always came by your house to stay and you would consider her your closest friend. 

“I had no clue you were coming here, oh how I've missed you.”

you pull away and she gives you a heartfelt smile. “me and my family arrived late. Barry had a horrible horse accident. though he is alright, we made it just a day ago.'' Barry, one of her two brothers, had always been a clumsy one, “again? i thought it was not too long ago he had been in one.” 

she sighs and nods her head, “yes. father has forbidden him from riding for a while.” 

the two of you make some nice conversations and your parents say hello to hers. while you all make conversation your eyes drift up to the royal box where the royal family sits and locks eyes with cassandra. you notice all the other baratheons in the box as well. the pit that had been forming in your stomach grows as she sees you and smiles before sending you a wave. you can't look away from her and before you can even form any thoughts an announcer begins to speak and the tourney begins.

You watch as many men stride over on their horse, they ask a lady for their favor, then they fight. It was rather dull for someone like you but with trisk there you ended up enjoying it more than you thought.

“and presenting his royal highness, prince jacaerys velaryon!” The crowd erupted into cheers as the prince rode out and waves at the crowd. you watch him as he takes off his helmet and shakes his head with a smile. 

“oh gods he is so handsome” 

his eyes roam around the crowd until he spots you and you swear you see his smile grow.

“He is surely going to ask Cassandra for her favor, ugh she is so lucky.” you gulp at trisk’s words as you look at cassandra who's gripping her favor in her hand as she fixes her hair. 

Yet when the time comes he rides over near your seat and you freeze.

“You look lovely today lady dunn.”

you hear trisk gasp beside you and you grip tight onto the favor in your hand.

“I thank you, my prince.”

you stare at him as he continues to smile at you, lift his hand in your direction without breaking eye contact, “your favor my lady? if you would do me the honor?” 

you ignore the whispers of the people around you and you do not dare even look in cassandra’s direction as you stand and walk towards him and use your free hand to grip onto the railing as you offer the favor to him.

“tie it on for me.” 

you lean over the rail and ignore the hot feeling all

over your body as you feel his eyes on your face. You finish tying your favor around his blade and as you pull away he grabs one of your hands and places a kiss not on the back but on the inside of your wrists before he lets go and gives you a final smile before he rides off.

you hurry back to your seat and put your hands against your cheeks to attempt them down as trisk grabs your shoulder and shakes you.

“I cannot believe it! I knew you were in a courtship but I do not know with whom! the crowned prince!”

“trisk-”

“ugh that was the most romantic thing i've ever seen you should have seen his face i've never seen a man look more in love,”

“He is not the man I am in a courtship with.”

she looks at you with a confused look, “whatever do you mean you mean to tell me he just did that because he was feeling kind.”

you groan and shove her as some other lord gets announced to compete against the prince.

“It is complicated.”

“and you will tell me every detail, immediately.”

“can't we wait until we are in private.”

she gasps and places a hand on her chest, looking around before looking back at you “is it so scandalous you cannot tell me here? y/n you dirty dog.”

you feel your father laugh next to you as you shh her. “you make me sound like a monster!” 

“Well right now you are giving me the impression you are one!”

“It is because it is more complicated than you think. I promise I will tell you everything once we are alone.”

she seems content enough with your answer and with one last look she turns her attention back to the field where the fight is about to begin.

you cannot take your eyes off of jacaerys as he seemingly easily takes down his opponent, you never knew it could be so attractive to watch a man fight. maybe it had something to do with the show of strength, yet it mattered little to you. you could watch jacaerys fight all day. especially after he wins he lifts up his blade where you can very clearly see your favor wrapped around it.

As the rounds go on you can still not bring yourself to even look in the direction of the royal box, soon enough Joffrey is announced and you smile at him as he makes his way towards you.

“I am sad to see you have already spoken for my lady.”

“I apologize ser joffrey.”

“It doesn't matter, I shall be quicker next time.”

you laugh and shake your head as he looks at trisk next to you and smiles, “your favor my lady?”

Trisk, shocked by Joffrey looks over at you and you nod your head as she rushes to hand over her favor to him and he thanks her before he rides off.

“Who was that?”

“That man I'm in a courtship with.”

she hits your shoulder in shock, “no way. he is so handsome.”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“you know that's not what I meant, I just cannot believe it, you have two very handsome men fighting over you. how lucky.”

Yes, how lucky. one man you cannot possibly be deserving of and another one that could never even love you despite how kind he truly is. you had never even really grasped how odd the situation you found yourself in truly was. 

lost in your thoughts you're shocked when the crowd erupted into cheers. “who won?”

“were you not paying attention? Joffrey won.”

you sigh with relief and look at him as he waves to the crowd, he locks eyes with you and blows you a kiss. you smile at him and laugh as he rides away. 

The tourney continues and you begin to get lost in your thoughts over not only jacaerys but joffrey's offer and how king he’s been, your conversation with jacaerys last night, you get help but run your hands over your face.

“Are you alright, pumpkin?”

your father places his hand around your shoulder as you sigh and lean against him.

“why does courting have to be so hard?”

he laughs and squeezes you against him, “you’ll figure it out pumpkin.”

Soon enough it's the finale round and just your luck it happens to be a match between joffrey and the prince. 

“Who do you want to win?”

You groan and shake your head, “I don't know trisk.”

“Well I wish for joffrey to win, he asked for my favor.” “Are you trying to get me to say I wish for the prince to win?”

“I said nothing of the sort, you are the one implying something. Anyway, shouldn't you wish for him to win you gave him your favor.”

You ignore her as the round is about to begin, you hate to admit it but a part of you is praying jacaerys wins. You're on the edge of your seat as the two begin to ride towards each other but they end up missing. You sigh and grip trisk’s arm as they quickly race back at each other. But you miss what happens as the people in front of you stand and the crowd erupts into cheers. You all quickly stand up and you attempt to look around the people to see what happened.

“The winner is prince jacaerys velaryon!”

You feel the stands shake as the people cheer and clap and yell. You feel your heart swell as Trisk grabs you into a hug and shakes you. 

“And the prince as the winner will now crown the queen of love and beauty.”

The stands quiet as jacaerys rides around the stands, the people in front of you turn back and give you a knowing look before sitting down and jacaerys eyes lock onto you.

“There is no way he would, right?”You whisper to Trisk as she smiles.

Soon enough the crown is tossed into the crowd and falls into your hands.

“Oh he absolutely would.”

---

Taglist <3 (feel free to ask to be added !!)

@alexa554 @demedidnothingwrong

[stonesparrow]

Made some colored sketches of Sora, my version of Fem!Senku and the star of my current longest Dr. Stone fanfic, Etymologically Identical. Chapter 31’s is an outfit I came up with for a beach episode chapter.

Spoilers for the fic past chapter 32 under the cut!

The middle outfit is meant to be the feminine counterpart of Senku’s casino outfit, though since the anime isn’t there yet I guessed at the colors. Also I didn’t add the diadem described in Chapter 35 because…idk I didn’t feel like drawing it and Sora probably would have taken it off because it was annoying her.